#sano shinichiro x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zeltqz · 2 years

Text

— three’s game

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ a simple question led to feelings being revealed & a heated threesome one-sided threesome.

pairings — shinichiro sano + wakasa imaushi

warnings —fem!reader, cigarettes, voyeurism near the end, oral (f), missionary, creampie, unprotected sex, shinichiro gets jealous and kicks wakasa out the room, shin and waka brainrot hehe, OG timeline shin + waka.

notes — i tried to make this fluffy but put more effort on the smut bye 💀 also this is ib @/heich0e hehe @luvhaitani tagged as promised🫶🏾🫂

“Do it [Name].”

You bite down on your lip a bit too hard and grip the phone in your hand a little bit tighter.

You contemplate for a moment; ask your roommate an awkward question that will for sure ruin the balance of your ‘friendship’ for the rest of your life, for a simple 30 bucks.

“If I do this—” You swallow hard, “you gotta buy me takeout tonight, and on top of that, send me the 30.”

“What?! You’re doing way too—”

“Do you even get what you’re asking of me? You want me to ask my roommate if my name is moanable enough…”

“Heh, yeah. Do it!”

You fight the urge to reach through the screen and bash your friend’s face into the glass. “Takeout and money? Tonight? I won’t ask unless you agree to it.”

“Fine, takeout and money. Now go, don’t be a pussy!”

You swallow for the tenth time in the last two minutes, shoving your phone in the backpocket of your shorts before you head over down the hallway to your roommates room. He’s been in there all day with the door locked. “Hey, Shin, could I ask you a question?” You ask, knocking at the door.

“Yeah, wait, come in.”

You reach down and open the doorknob, only to freeze the moment you open the door. Though he’s not looking at you, you had completely forgotten he had his bestfriend Wakasa over. Shit, shit abort mission.

Abort—

“What question?” Shinichiro smiles at you from his bed, that stupidly innocent smile that made you fall for him the momenet you laid your eyes on him.

“I—uh—” Your phone vibrates through your backpocket and you don’t need to look at the screen to know your bestfriend is spamming the shit out of you to ask. “Do…do you um—” Shinchiro blinks at you, waiting for you to ask the question, and Wakasa isn’t even paying you anymind, just on his phone and not even sparing you a glance. “—do you think my name is moanable?”

You swear your heart rate stops the same time you see Shinichiro’s eyes go wide and for the first time tonight, Wakasa actually looks up at you; his face is unreadable but the smirk on it says exactly what you think he’s thinking.

“Moanable, huh?”

“Hey, Wakasa… I didn’t see you there.” You try to act like you weren’t even aware of his presence, like it’s a shock seeing him here, but he just darts his eyes back between you and Shinchiro.

He nudges Shin with his elbow, the slight jostle brings Shinichiro away from his thoughts and back down to earth. “Well, you think her name is moanable or not?”

“I—uh—I don’t—how am—uh—what?”

You fiddle with your fingers. “Well?”

“I mean—sure? I don’t know, I’ve never moaned your name or anything so—” The hard blush on his cheeks gives himself away without even trying. You pretend not to notice it, but the more you look at it, the more confident you feel.

“Is it moanable, Shin?”

When Shinichiro doesn’t respond, Wakasa nudges him again. “Dude, moan her name.”

“I’m not fuckin’ doin that!” Shinchiro nudges him back with as much force.

Wakasa laughs before switching off his phone, ready to give his full attention to you. “[Name], right?”

“Wow, you forgot my name already. I’m hurt.”

His eyeroll is expected; choosing to ignore your sarcasm. “[Name]...[Name]...hm.” He repeats the name under his breath a couple times, inside his head he’s thinking of all the lewd ways your name could be said. “Yeah, sounds pretty hot.” He turns to the side to face Shinichiro who looks like his face is about to explode with how red it is. “See, I answered it, now you do it.”

“Yeah—” His voice comes out raspy before he clears his throat, trying to not let his nerves show. “Yeah, it is.”

“Thanks!” You chirp, ready to leave the room and escape this awkward situation and speak with your friend but Wakasa calls your name before you can go.

“Why’d you ask that? Seems a little random.” He leans back against the bed, then pats the open spot next to him and Shinichiro.

“It was a dare.” Wakasa waits until you’re in an arm's reach before he’s dragging you closer with a simple tug, causing you to sit on the bed. The side of your thigh rubs against Shinichiro, who’s struggling to make eye contact with you.

“Dare?” He flicks his eyes over to Shinichiro; a mischievous gleam in his eye makes Shinichiro panic with what he’s about to say next. “Say [Name], do you think my name is moanable?”

“Yes.” You can’t help but shy away from him when he moves closer to you, your lower back hitting Shinichiro’s leg as you try to shift away from Wakasa.

“You do?”

“Are you deaf? I already said ye—”

Wakasa covers your mouth with a huge palm, before looking up at Shinichiro with a raised brow. “Shin, you never told the lady if her name is moanable.”

“I did, dumbass.” Shinichiro tries to joke, but with how your lowerback is currently digging into his kneecap, he can’t help but feel jittery with how close your back is.

You furrow your brows and try to peel Wakasa’s hand away from your mouth, but his grip is too tight. “Do you think his name is moanable?”

His. Him as in Shinichiro.

The realisation makes your squirming come to an end; suddenly the feeling of his kneecaps pressing into the bone of your lower back just near your ass becomes more apparent, like the only thing you can feel is that. You know Wakasa won’t drop it unless you answer him, so you drop all hesitation and nod your head.

You don’t see how Shinichiro darts his gaze towards your direction—an action only Wakasa sees before he smirks. He’s the only one aware of his friend's sly crush on you, he’s noticed how every single crumb of confidence Shin has suddenly disappears whenever you walk into the vicinity. And it’s even worse the fact you’re roommates together, having to see you everyday, hear you everyday—it’s gotta be soul crushing being so close to you yet so far.

“I’m gonna ask you another question, sweetheart.” Wakasa warns you before he lifts his hand away from your mouth. “Who’s name is more moanable, mine or his?” He nods in Shinichiro’s direction, grinning when he can practically see the gears turning in your head.

You already know the answer; having moaned Shinchiro’s name a constant amount of times whenever you’re horny at night, fingers dipping a little low underneath your sheets for comfort as you cover your mouth with your hand as you play with yourself, wishing the finger flicking your clit was his tongue.

But you have to act oblivious.

So you shrug and say, “I don’t know.”

Waka clicks his tongue before he’s leaning forward once more, causing you to move backwards, your back backing up against Shin’s chest. The moment you realise you can’t move backwards is when your brain realises what sort of position you’re in right now.

Waka’s fingers move along your thighs as he brushes his lips against your own. “Want to test it out?”

There’s an ill feeling in Shin’s chest as he watches how Waka’s fingers dance along your skin, how they inch further up your leg, stopping directly at your thighs before bunching up the skin in his grasp. “Dude, stop—”

“Stop what?” Waka lazily looks up at his friend, his hand massaging your thighs in his grip, “she likes it, look at her.”

Shin glances down at you briefly, his dark eyes somehow darkening even more when he realises from this angle he can see down your shirt, staring down directly at your breasts before he’s shifting his gaze somewhere else, trying to remain respectful, but you reach behind and grab onto his leg, nodding at Waka’s words.

“I want to test it.”

“I’m gonna make you scream my name.” Wakasa boldly states before his fingers leave your thighs, travelling up north towards the hem of your shorts. He unzips them before pulling them down.

Your phone slips out from the backpocket, the green call button on the top of your phone catches Wakasa offguard. He bends down to pick it at the same time you and Shinichiro manage to lock eyes with each other.

Your stomach flips and your breath catches in your throat when you soak in the look of flustered Shin, his cheeks have lost their pink hue but some of it is still evident there, his lips are slightly parted before you see his eyes slip down to your lips—for only a short second—but that second was all you needed before you felt it.

Felt something semi-hard prodding at your lower back, then you realised exactly what it is. “Shini—”

“Oh, you were on the phone the entire time?” Waka holds your phone out, causing you to whip your head back to the man in front of you.

“Well it was a da—”

“Hope you don’t mind if I hang up now, right?” He’s already pressing the big red end call button even without your permission. Though you should be mad he just hung up on your friend, a part of you is grateful that he did, because honest to God—the moment you locked eyes with Shin you’d had forgotten all about that phone.

“‘Kay so ‘m gonna eat you out now.” Waka hooks two fingers under your chin to tug you closer to him, “don’t forget to moan my name.”

“I’ll moan if it’s good.”

You regret saying that, because the smirk on his face shows he’s more than confident in his abilities and you’re actually scared when you feel him reposition you on the bed.

“Hey—” A softer voice taps at your shoulder and you look over your shoulder at Shin. “We really don’t have to do this, if you’re not comfortable.”

Wakasa is about to tug your panties off before you move on the bed a little, repositioning your body to half face Shinichiro. “It’s okay, I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Really?”

“Yea—”

“You guys’ done? Let’s get to work.” Waka hooks a finger underneath your lace panties, peeling them away from your body.

Despite his finger moving through your folds, you can only focus on the heat radiating from Shin’s chest as he warms your back, can only focus on how he finally loosens up and leans down, pressing his lips against your shoulder, kissing a line towards your neck.

You help him out by moving your neck to give him more room. He rests his chin along your shoulder as he watches Wakasa tug your panties somewhere across the room.

He runs a finger down up and down your slit, each stroke has your breath hitching as you wait for him to reach your clit—but he never does. He’s taking his sweet time, wanting to make you fall apart first. “Is she wet?” Shinichiro asks, his lips brushing against your ear. “I can hear her from here.”

You want to sink in on yourself, suddenly regretting everything you said early about wanting to do this. You had no clue that two guys on you would be so overwhelming, especially not with the way the noises coming from your pussy fill the silent room.

“Yeah—this wet over a conversation?” Wakasa presses a kiss to your thigh, “was thinking about moaning my name so hot?”

“Don’t flatter y-yourself.” You try to sound confident, but when you feel Shinichiro’s hands place themselves on your waist, squeezing the flesh there slightly, you can’t help the way your voice wavers. “I was thinking about something e--else”

“What were you thinkin’ of?” Shinichiro’s hands slide around your midriff, pulling you back against him more, making sure your ass bumps against his crotch.“Look at me.”

You can’t find it in yourself to respond, especially not with the way Waka’s lips sear marks into the skin of your thighs, how Shinichiro runs his hands along your stomach—slow strokes that reach to the underside of your bra before he shifts them back down.

“Oi,” A harsh slap to your thigh catches you off guard, letting out a quiet yelp/moan, catching the attention of the two men. Waka squeezes your thigh in his hand, ensuring that when he moves it there will be a mark there, and you swear you can feel Shin growing even harder against your lower back. “Answer his question.”

You look down at Waka, his dead eyes peeking up at you as he waits for your answer. “What question?”

He clicks his tongue again before he hooks a finger on your slit, catching some of your slick on the tip of his finger and pulls back slowly, seeing how far it stretches before breaking, dropping to the bedsheets, leaving a stain there.

“What were you thinking of to get you this wet?” He repeats and you wince when you feel Shinichiro start up his slow kisses once more.

“It doesn’t matter—jus—just keep going.” Your hand finds it’s way to the hair of the man behind you, digging your fingers into his scalp as you let out a soft sigh as he kisses your skin. “Fuck, Shin—” Upon hearing his name leave your mouth, his fingers dig into the skin of your stomach, tongue darting out as he licks a stripe along your neck before he’s biting down.

Waka hates the way you’ve already moaned Shinichiro’s name and all he’s done is kiss you. He needs to step up his game, so he leans down to your cunt and licks a slow soothing stroke from the bottom, to your clit, where his lips wrap around the small bundle of nerves.

“Fuck—!” Your back arches into Shin’s chest, digging your nails into his hair, not caring if your grip is too tight, you just need to grab onto something. Waka’s tongue gets to work, flicking your clit in several directions as he brings your legs over his shoulders.

You instantly wrap your legs, enclosing them around his head as you lean into the warmth of Shinichiro’s chest as he continues to mark your neck. His lips leave your neck, one hand lifting off your stomach to tilt your face towards him.

There’s a set of lips pressed against yours and you melt into his touch, twisting your body to try and face him a little better as you loop your arms around his shoulder. You can’t even feel Waka’s tongue on you anymore, not when every single functioning braincell in your head is just focusing on Shinichiro, his lips, his taste, his warmth, trying to remember every small detail to store in your brain for later.

You can’t focus on anything but the slide of his tongue against yours, the groan he lets out against your mouth when you dig your nails further into his hair, tugging him even closer to you as possible.

“Shin—” You break the kiss to moan his name once more, but he cuts you off with another kiss, too desperate to taste your soft lips once more. His hands slide up your chest, slipping them between your bra as he grabs at your tits, flicking his finger across your nipples and the feeling of Waka pressing a finger inside you has you pulling back from the kiss.

“Waka—wait—!” He curls his finger directly into your spot and you moan his name, dropping your hands to his hair when he leans back down to suck at your clit, flicking it harshly and rapidly with his tongue. “Waka—fuck ohmygod—” You squeak out, fighting the bodily urge to kick him away from you because the sensation was too much.

Shinchiro tugs your shirt off and helps you unhook your bra before he’s playing with your tits again, desperate to get your attention back on him. His hand slides up your neck, gripping at your throat tight enough to grab your attention before he’s kissing you again.

You feel dizzy, having both boys on you, using your body, your lips, just to get you to moan. You wonder just how far the two of them are going to take this. “Shin—” You can’t help but moan out once more, desperate to just climb into his lap and let him embrace you.

“Yeah,” Shin mumbles against your lips. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, how his eyes almost look relaxed as he soaks in your appearance, drinking in the sight of you panting heavily, your lips wet with his saliva. “Fuck,” he mutters so quietly you barely even register it, not when you feel another finger prodding at your entrance. He catches your bottom lip with his teeth, sucking on it as you let out soft moans, feeling his other hand slide up to your nipple, flicking it with the tip of his finger.

Shinichiro lets his eyes linger along the swell of your lips before slowly looking back up to your face. The moment he reaches your eyes is when you break down, walls tightening around Waka’s fingers he lets out a small groan.

His lips are back on you, kissing you through your orgasm whilst Waka’s fingers don’t let up, continuing to twist them in and out and hook onto your spot before your hand darts out to his hair, making him wince as you cum on his face.

Your moans are silenced by Shinichiro making out with you so softly, just waiting for the moment Waka lifts his face from your cunt. The second he pulls his fingers out, Shin is grabbing your hips and tugging you on top of him. You kiss him back just as eagerly, hands cupping the sides of his face as you lick into his mouth.

He lifts you up, high enough so he can slip a hand inside his pants to grab his cock. The moment he brings you back down, you can feel just how hard it is as it presses against your asscheek.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” He pants out, already reaching behind you to grab at his cock. When your hips rise high enough to let him in, he smirks, dropping his head into your shoulder to brace himself the moment his tip enters your pussy.

“God—s’fuckin’ tight, jus’ like how I imagined—” His words are hot against your shoulder, his fingernails digging into your hips as you start to sink down onto his cock.

“Imagined?” You use the small energy you have left to lean back to get a better look at his face, the action causing you to sink a little lower, stealing another groan from his lips.

Shin freezes upon the realisation of his words—ready to take it all back but you’re sinking down further, putting your hands behind you to rest on his knees to get more comfortable. “Shin—” you moan out, all elegant-like when he finally bottoms out.

He doesn’t give you a moment, his hands already lifting you up his entire length, ensuring nothing but the tip is left inside, before he’s pulling you back down. Shinichiro finally lifts his head away from your neck, only to be met with the eyes of Wakasa who’s smiling before he steals a cigarette from his dresser.

“You’re welcome.” Waka nods his head over at you; and you’re too out of it to even notice what the two of them are even talking about. Your mind only filled with the man beneath you, the man who’s currently splitting you open with his cock, the man who’s nails are digging so deep into your skin—a forceful reminder that this is real-life, and not another one of your wet dreams.

“How’s she feel?” Wakasa asks, brows perking up at the strangled moan that leaves your lips the moment his cock hits something deep inside you.

“Fuck, Waka she’s squeezin’—shit—squeezin’ me s’tight.” Shinichiro grips your hips a little harder, hard enough to rip another moan out from you, almost hard enough to hurt.

“Yeah? I can tell.” As much as he’s enjoying the view, he has to rip his gaze away from the scene to search for a lighter. “Man where the fuck you keep these things? Messy ass roo—”

He’s cut off when Shinichiro slams you back down with a groan, a loud scream of his name leaves your lips before he’s flipping you over, pressing you into the sheets.

You grab onto his shirt, not caring about how hard you’re wrinkling it as you wait for him to put it back in. “Shin—c’mon hurry—” Your words are slurred, panting as you eagerly wait for him to stuff you full.

“‘M comin’ wait jus’ one second.” Shinichiro sits back onto his knees, grabbing the base of his cock but not before pumping it a couple times, each stroke makes a bead of precum leak out from the tip. He does it a few more times before he’s leaning forward, resting a hand against his bed frame before he shoves it back inside, hiding a choked off groan inside the junction between your neck and shoulder.

You lift a shaking hand to brace it against his shoulders when he slams his hips against yours. Your neck tickles with his hot breath at every muffled moan he lets out whenever his balls slap against your ass just a little harder. “O-oh Shin’ keep goin’—ah fuc—”

“Touch yourself, please, need to f—feel you.” His breath stutters at the plain thought of seeing your nimble fingers struggle to rub your clit. The moment he feels your hands leave his shoulders, he’s sitting back up, tracing his eyes all over your body, the curve of your breasts, the way they bounce with every hard thrust from him.

Fuck—this is a sight he thought he’d only see in his dreams. You make sure to follow the trail of his eyes down your body, fingers ready by your clit the second he reaches it.

“Shin.” Your voice is hushed and whispered when you throw your head back, fingers dancing along your clit, fingers shaking with every roll of his hips against yours, each roll pushing his cock even deeper inside you, the curve of his cock making it easier to hit spots that make you clench around him even tighter.

“Goddamn—” Shin grabs your thighs, lifting them closer towards him as he watches his cock disappear inside you every few seconds. He digs his fingers into your skin, letting out a shaky groan when he fucks the white ring of cum on his cock back inside you. Fuck, when did you even come? How long ago was it?

The smell of cigarettes and ash fills your nostrils and you want to cough. Looking to the side of Shinichiro, you see Wakasa blowing a puffy cloud of smoke out from his lips. His dead eyes meeting your own as he watches your body get jolted forward with each thrust from his friend.

“Wakasa—”

“Mmm, I like it when you say my name like that.”

At that, Shinichiro stills, hips slamming against yours before he comes to a stop to turn his head back to his friend.

Wakasa raises his brow, flicking his cigarette as he meets his friend's gaze.“Hm? Don’t mind me, just watchin’ the show.”

“Can you get out?” He tries his hardest to sound stern, but Wakasa only finds it amusing with how breathy and hard he’s panting.

“I’m fine here, actually.”

“Get out.”

You trail your eyes up the man in front of you, how his grip on your hips tighten with how hard he’s glaring at Wakasa right now. He only returns the glare with a lazy one of his own and an obnoxious cloud of smoke that makes you cough again.

Shinichiro returns his gaze back to you the second he hears Wakasa mumble something like ‘I got you two together and you throw me out like this’ followed by him leaving the room with a slam of the door. Shinchiro rolls his eyes before leaning down and using his hands to fan the smoke away from you. “You okay?”

“‘M alright, Shin.” You run your hands up his neck, tugging at the hairs on the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Now fuck me, please.”

“Shit—okay.” He presses his lips against yours and rolls his hips back, making you mewl into his mouth as your hands travel down his white tee, slipping underneath to scratch at his back.

The moment your nails dig long red lines into his back, he groans into your mouth; the tight and wet warmth of you holding every inch of his cock has him fighting an orgasm, trying not to cum before you do.

Wakasa would never let him hear the end of it. He looks over at the door, having a slight feeling his friend is just waiting outside for the moment of you both to finish so he could come back inside. That idiot.

The feeling of your fingers digging into the muscles of his back brings his attention back to you, how your blunt nails are etching themselves into his skin as you try to tug him impossibly closer to you. “Shin ‘m gonna cum, don’t don’t stop please.”

“Cum for me,” he pants as his eyes search your own, his nose brushing yours as he tilts his head to kiss you roughly, “Cum on my cock, wanna feel you squeezin’ me again.”

You run your hands down his body, squeezing past your bodies to rub at your clit, twisting them in rough circles and you’re throwing your head back, his name leaving your lips in a loud cry as you feel him use your neck to his advantage, his lips sucking and licking all over the open space.

“Oh shit, s’tight, ‘m gonna—gonna cum in you—”

“Do it. Please, Shin.” You breathe out, shaky hands leaving your clit as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, digging his face deeper into your neck. His hips still in one final thrust and your neck vibrates with the low groan he lets out as he emptied himself inside you, feeling ropes of cum staining your insides as he trembles against your neck.

“Fuckkkkkk,” he lets out after he catches his breath, rolling off of you to the other side of the bed. Your body aches and your muscles feel stiff, but you turn to face him, shifting close to him until your breasts are against his arm.

“Shin.” You tilt his head to face you and watch as his dark pupils dilate when he meets your gaze.

“Yeah?”

You can’t help the lovestruck smile on your face when he tilts to face you, both of your faces just inches apart. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him so your lips are touching but not in a kiss. “I’ve wanted that for so long.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

He drops his eyes to your lips, not moving them as he says, “Me too.” His hand slides down to your waist before he’s drawing you in for a tender kiss.

“Shin,” you breathe against his lips, kissing him so eagerly as you roll onto your back, pulling him back ontop of you. His arm comes up to brace himself up so he doesn’t topple onto you.

“Can I come back in now?” Wakasa’s lazy voice makes the two of you freeze, having completely forgotten he was in the house.

“No, go away.” Shinchiro says before he’s looking back down at your naked body, “not until she’s decent again.”

“But I already saw her naked, dude.”

“That was before she was my girlfriend.” A gasp leaves your lips and he’s looking down at you like he’d said something wrong. Then he panics, realising he’s never even asked you to be his, he just assumed you would.

As if you could sense he was about to take it back, you pull him down for another short kiss. “It’s okay, ‘m all yours, Shin.”

You let out a little laugh when relief washes over his face and he’s dropping his face back down to your neck. “Thank God.”

3K notes · View notes

garoujo · 2 years

Text

・✶ ｡ﾟ you think that shinichiro might have a natural talent for eating pussy.

♱ warnings — f!reader, pussy eating, inexperienced!shin, it’s his first time <3

♱ note — yes i’m back w more shin content . i can’t help myself i’m sorry </3 hes 2 pretty !

“have you done this before?” you breathe and shinichiro blows out a slow breath that makes you tremble, his fingers squeezing at your drool-worthy thighs from where they’re tossed over his shoulders and spread for him.

“nah, first time. wanna make you feel good though.” his voice is carefully neutral, his tone carrying the same lazy drawl as always despite the edge of desperation that makes you burn.

but he feels his whole body shiver when you cast him a starry eyed look before your fingers are reaching down to split your folds, letting them part your lower lips so he can discover the warm slick that’s gathering between them.

this is all new territory for shinichiro, so his blown gaze stays trained on the way your fingers explore the intimate skin, sucking in a breath when he feels his cock throb with the twitch of your thighs when you brush over your puffy clit.

“this.. fuck, this is the clit.” you murmur, lips parting to whimper when you let the pad of your finger trail under the hood before he’s peering up at you through heavy eyes, and the way he watches your body melt so intoxicatingly makes it feel like his ears are ringing.

“so that’s y’re spot then, angel.” shinichiro drawls, desire heavy in the undercurrent of his voice that’s driven by the weight of his arousal, and it’s almost too fast how eagerly his mouth replaces your fingers.

he’s sure you had more to tell him, show him, but with the first press of his lips against the sensitive, puffy bud and the way you moan for him already has him too mindless to hold himself back any longer.

his calloused hands imitate your movements from earlier as he spreads your folds, bathing the bud in mindless licks and rolls with his tongue and he can feel the way your slick only seems to intensify—these are good signs, right? but fuck, he can’t look away when he watches you wiggle and twitch in time with his movements.

it’s like how he’d kiss you, shinichiro thinks as he remembers the articles in those womens magazines that wakasa and benkei always bought him as a joke, telling him he’d “need to know how to do it some day.” but with the way your fingers are twisting in his messy, dark hair now — he thinks he should really thank them next time he sees them when he gives your pussy another eager, messy lap with his tongue as he makes out with your cunt.

“fuck, those ‘re some pretty sounds.. that feel good? could get used t’ this.” the low tone of his voice sends blissful vibrations straight through your clit before he’s curling his tongue around your pussy, groaning when he feels the first greedy squeeze around the entrance to your walls that only feels like it’s luring him in.

shinichiro’s movements are clumsy but there’s something about the way he’s eagerly drinking you up, smacking and slurping at the first real taste of you as it drips down his cheeks that makes your abdomen tighten. he wants to eat, drink, breathe your pussy for the rest of his fucking life.

“shit, baby. dunno how i went so long without ya—been keepin’ this pretty pussy from me.. ‘m already fuckin’ addicted.” his words are too muffled from where he’s buried himself in you, he’s experimenting and driven by the way you’re crying for him — fingers twitching where they’re twisting in his hair and the searing pain only makes him feel dizzier, drunker on you.

but shinichiro’s efforts only seem to grow messier, feeling his tongue finally dip past into your walls to explore what’s hidden beneath, experimenting when he lets the muscle graze along the sensitive nerves — his nose grinding against your clit with every eager swipe as needy, breathless sounds fall from your lips.

he doesn’t think he ever wants to stop when he hears the first breathless croon of his name from your lips, mindless mantra’s about how you’re so close and he feels like he’s going to fucking pass out. you’re pulling at his hair, guiding him back and he knows what you want when he’s hooking his tongue around your clit once more, it feels firmer, more sensitive when he’s twisting and laving it over the bud as you meet his movements with eager, intoxicating humps.

“feels s-so good, shinny! gonna make me cum—ah!” god—you’re so fucking cute. “yeah, baby? gonna let me do this again for ya? y’taste too good.” shinichiro’s fingertips feel like they burn you when they squeeze into your skin.

he remembers your movements from earlier when he trails his tongue under the hood of your clit and closes his lips around it, suckling languidly as his eyes flutter closed in bliss when you rock yourself against his mouth, letting him bathe the bud in mindless licks and rolls with the wet muscle.

“that’s it, angel. n-need y’to cum on my face, can you do that for me?” he’s babbling and you’re trembling, hearing his own muffled moans against your cunt as bliss curls down your spine with every eager roll of your hips, chasing the twist of pleasure in your abdomen as your slick coats shinichiro’s cheeks and chin.

but then you finally stiffen, pulling him deeper into you when your orgasm suddenly rolls over you in waves and he only dives into you eagerly, groaning shamelessly at the first taste of your cream on his tongue as his eyes roll back. “holy fuckin’ shit, my baby tastes so good.”

shinichiro’s slurping and drinking you up greedily as he flattens his tongue against your folds, bathing you in long kitten licks until you’re finally slackening and pushing his head away with an over sensitive whine. but not before he’s placing one more soft, wet kiss against your clit.

he’s flushed to his chest, cheeks to his chin glistening with your juices while his chest expands with every shaky breath he takes to catch his breath before his wet, blown gaze is meeting your own. his cheek smooshing against your thigh as his fingers trace along the skin and he blinks up at you.

“fuck.. y’look so pretty like that, angel. why’d you have to stop me, could’ve kept goin’ all day.”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#tokyorev smut #tokyorev x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev smut #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro smut #sano shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro x you #sano shinichiro smut #shinichiro x you

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saetoru · 2 years

Text

#𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘)

☰ SYNOPSIS ⋮ it’s always been you for him, just like it’s always been sano shinichiro for you

— pairing ⋮ sano shinichiro x reader

— length ⋮ 8.3k words (sobsob)

— contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, best friends/childhood friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, jealous shinichiro, slightly insecure shinichiro, virgin shinichiro, dry humping, praise, handjobs, unprotected sex, creampie, misunderstandings, the bike shop incident but he lives (in my world he never dies), love confessions, happy ending :)

— notes ⋮ this is for my sweet angel @arlertslove 's selfship collab <3 tysm for letting me join i had so much fun writing my lil love story with shin <33 and fank you cat and ris for listening to me ramble about this and beta reading 💋

shinichiro is used to girls coming into his shop looking for wakasa. he’s used to the wandering eyes and the stalled excuses as they wait around for his friend to show up. and he’s fine with it, really. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why someone would want imaushi wakasa, and he’s not so stupid as to miss the fact that his friend is as smooth with words as he is gifted in the looks department.

but still, he kind of wishes he could fulfill that one last part of his “biker dream,” the one where he’s got eyes with heart-shaped pupils following his every move as he pretends to be unaware, rolling his sleeve up as a “coincidence” while he tightens bolts with his wrench. but he finds the only eyes of a girl that ever seem to pay attention to him are yours—and he’s okay with that, really.

it’s just that you’re simply way out of his league, and he’s not foolish enough to daydream over a king’s riches when he’s dressed in the rags of a commoner.

“shin, do you ever leave this lame ass shop?” you complain, taking a sip of your soda from your straw. from the side, manjiro makes a disgruntled sound of protest.

“you wouldn’t get it,” the child huffs, cheeks puffed out as he glares at you, “girls don’t get cool stuff like this.”

“oh, i’m sorry,” you snort, shooting him a teasing grin, “i’ll try harder to see the wonders in scrapped hunks of metal.”

“this is not scrap,” shinichiro grumbles, tinkering away at the engine of the bike before him, tongue stuck out in concentration. your gaze softens just a little at the way his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. “this ol’ thing’s still got some life left in her,” he hums, “think i could make a decent number offa her.”

shinichiro is a simple man. he wears a white t-shirt and dark jeans every time you see him, and he does his hair the same way he has since the day you met him as a kid. he has the same fast food order that you know by heart by now, and he still gets a diet coke from the convenience store every time you get a bag of chips—the only thing that’s changed is he now adds a pack of cigarettes to the mix, a sheepish grin on his face when you look at him disapprovingly.

i’ll break the habit someday, he always tells you, today’s just not that day. and then, before you can open your mouth to tell him not to make promises he can’t keep, he swoops in under your nose and grabs your chips from your hand, lumping them in with his pile and paying for you despite your protests.

every time, without fail.

“that is if you don’t keep her for yourself,” you point out, making him roll his eyes.

“are you here to drink all my soda or lend a hand?” he grumbles, shooting you a half-hearted scowl. “now make yourself useful and hand me a few screws,” he turns back around, hand reaching behind him as he motions for you to offer them to him. you reach for what you think are the screws—that is until manjiro snorts in amusement, of course.

“those are nails,” he snickers, hopping off his stool and moving to get the correct items in question. your brows furrow, glaring at him when he sticks his tongue out to you before plopping a few screws in his brother’s hand—which look awfully close to nails if you might add. “see? you girls aren’t cool enough to understand the difference.”

“hey,” shinichiro scolds, tongue peeking out again as he concentrates on lining the screw up just right. something fond bubbles in your chest at the sight, something warm and sweet, even if it feels just a little scary. “if you keep saying things like that, you’ll never get a girl, manjiro.”

“oh yeah? you’ve never had a girl, shin. what would you know?” the blonde pipes up, and almost instantly, a wave of crimson dusts over his cheeks as shinichiro throws his brother a dirty look. and when you chuckle, hand clamping over your mouth as you giggle into your palm, the blush rises to the tips of his ears.

he’s cute, you think. he’s always been a charmer, always made your lips twist upwards no matter how much you tell yourself you won’t let him. he’s a good friend too, sends you songs he thinks you’ll like, never leaves you on delivered for too long—even if you text him at three am, and sometimes, even as he rolls his eyes and complains, he’ll shove his plate your way when you steal a bite or two.

shinichiro’s a simple man. he’s got a good head on his shoulders, and more importantly, a good heart in his chest.

you think you hate whoever the girl he’s going to spend the rest of his life with is—even if you’ve yet to meet her…and even if she doesn't quite exist just yet.

“well, i know how to respect them,” he points a thumb at himself, flicking manjiro’s forehead affectionately as he stands to his full height. he reaches over to grab a towel, wiping the grease off of his hands. “you better head home now,” and then he turns to you. “and you, i’ll walk you home.”

you start to protest instantly. “i can walk myse—”

“i’ll walk you home,” he says firmly. “it’s getting dark.” you know better than to argue with him when he uses that tone—the same tone he uses on manjiro and emma when he’s being gentle yet firm, loving yet strict.

“fine,” you huff, but the warm feeling from earlier returns, this time tenfold. you almost think you’ve swallowed the sun in the middle of winter.

“you better come home right after. grandpa says to be home in time for dinner for once,” manjiro says pointedly, and with a whine of complaint as you ruffle his hair with a grin, he’s off. and then it’s just the two of you as you turn back to shinichiro, devious look on your face that tells him he’s about to be the unfortunate victim of your relentless teasing.

“you know, at this rate manjiro will settle down with someone before—”

“are you two just gonna spend the rest of the night in here?” a voice cuts you off, smooth and deep—and at the moment, the bane of shinichiro’s existence. wakasa strolls in, hands in his pockets and the stick of an already finished lollipop in between his teeth as he finds his way to stand next to you.

shinichiro pretends he doesn’t care about the way you beam at his friend. no, he tells himself, he doesn’t care one bit.

“not everyone closes up early like you,” you tease, poking wakasa’s chest as his smile widens, “quit slacking off at your gym.” and wakasa is as easy to fall for as he is to talk to. he lets banter fall off his tongue almost as naturally as people fall for his charms, and shinichiro doesn’t see why you should be an exception.

wakasa isn’t a weak man who runs toward trouble before he can think. he wouldn’t have to stand in between your legs as you’re sat on the sink, flinching under your touch as you dab disinfectant on his wounds. he wouldn’t stumble over the right words to tell you when you flash him a smile as you ask him if you look alright. he wouldn’t cry over small things and embarrass himself when you’re around to witness. so of course you’d want imaushi wakasa—who wouldn’t?

shinichiro just wishes that it were as easy to shrug off the sinking of his heart as he tells himself it is.

“well, there’s not much keeping me there when i don’t have a pretty face to keep me company,” wakasa teases back as he winks playfully, and shinichiro almost has to swallow down bile as you look down shyly.

when was the last time you ever looked away from him shyly? or the last time something he said ever made you stumble over your words as you answer back? his mood sours, and then before he can think, he shrugs his jacket over his shoulders, lips pressed into a tight line as he clears his throat for your attention.

“well, you heard manjiro. i shouldn’t be late for dinner,” he says dryly, making your brows furrow. “i’ll be off.”

“but what about—”

“waka will walk you home,” he grunts, cutting you off before turning to the male beside you, “you know how to lock up.”

“shin—” but then he’s gone, and you’re left alone with wakasa as the door shuts behind him. you stare at the man next to you, and he stares back, and neither of you quite know what to say—or what’s even happened in the first place.

and when you get home that night, for the first time in a really long time, your text message gets left on delivered for ages—even though it’s not three am.

——————————

by now, it’s common knowledge that sano shinichiro has never had much luck in the love department. he asks and asks, and girls always deny and deny. but contrary to popular belief, he’s not desperate for some sort of action like most guys his age are. he’s not particularly interested in sex—at least, not urgently, anyway. and he doesn’t think he’s undesirable by any means, after all, he wasn’t the leader of the top gang in the nation for nothing. he’s sure there are girls who would happily take the chance to sleep with him—but that’s not quite what he wants. he doesn’t want a meaningless fling one after the other.

he just doesn’t like the idea of waking up to empty sheets with the lingering scent of perfume and sex, and he doesn’t like the idea of not knowing the names of people he gets in bed with. and he especially doesn’t like the idea of letting people see the intimate parts of him without feeling intimately for him in some shape or form. the truth is that shinichiro, the weak king and famed leader of the mighty black dragon, is really just a romantic at heart.

so he asks shyly, roses in one hand and his heart in the other, weight shifting on the balls of his feet. he asks and asks, and girls deny and deny—and he wonders if maybe he’s just too pathetic to love.

and then there’s you.

he’s been in love with you since before love was a concept he even understood—and he suspects he’s even been in love with you since his “girls have cooties” stage at the tender age of six. for as long as he can remember, sano shinichiro has grown up on the warmth of your hand holding his.

you hold it in line at school when you insist he be your line buddy, you hold it when you carefully help him off the ground when he’s beaten by people twice his size, you hold it when you’re nervous about getting lost in a busy crowd on the streets, and you hold it in his dreams before tugging him in for a kiss.

but of course, as on brand of his luck as ever, he wakes up before he can feel the softness of your lips and taste the sweetness of your chapstick—which he suspects you wear strawberry flavored.

except today, shinichiro doesn’t get to wake up to the crushing disappointment of your kiss being cut short. instead, today he’s awoken by the loud sound of a fist banging on his door, making him jolt awake with a gasp.

“shin, open the damn door,” you demand from the other side, and he groans, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a scowl. now he’s thinking of the image of your lips pressing onto wakasa’s, and he feels bitterness creep up his shoulder, hunching over him and whispering sweetly in his ear to ignore you and promptly fall back asleep.

but you’re nothing if not persistent, so you keep pounding against his door.

“sano shinichiro, if you don’t open this door right now, i’ll walk in whether you’re decent or not,” you warn.

“well, i’m naked. so stay right there,” he calls out—even as he’s dressed fully clothed in a tank top and sweats.

“you don’t sleep naked,” you point out dryly, and he can just picture the scowl on your face, the way your arms cross, and your cheeks puff up in anger. he can also picture the way your foot taps impatiently, and if he wasn’t so mad at you (for no good reason at all), he’d have smiled fondly.

“how would you know?” he mutters, “you sleepin’ in the same bed as me?”

“shin, just open the damn door,” you sigh, and the soft thud against the wood tells him your forehead has gently fallen against the surface.

shinichiro, as he has been for most of his life, has not one ounce of him that has the strength to deny you. so with a heavy sigh, he slumps back against the headboard of his bed, crossing his arms.

“door’s open,” is all he says.

you don’t waste a moment, twisting the doorknob and walking into his room. it’s dark, and the curtains haven’t been drawn yet, but like clockwork, you step over the piles of clothes and seat yourself at the foot of his bed. you know his room like that back of your hand, what with the way you’ve spent damn near two decades coming over.

sano shinichiro has been your best friend since childhood—which by default, has always made you both susceptible to the cliche they’ll get married when they’re older remarks adults love to throw around so easily.

at six, you don’t care much for the statement outside of the mild shock you feel that adults always bring marriage into everything. shinichiro is fun, and he’s sweet, and that’s it. more importantly, he’s tall and easy to find when you play hide and seek, so you always end up winning. but shinichiro also splits his candy bar with you when you can’t decide between that or a bag of chips, and in exchange, you give him half of your bag. it works—you think it’s a rather unlikely pair between the two of you, but it works.

at twelve, you’re disgusted. shinichiro and you could never get married—could you? the adults need to stop talking because honestly, adults don’t know what they’re talking about. they work just to pay taxes, they tell you to go to bed at ten pm because “sleep is important”—only to stay up until three am themselves, and they always talk about marriage when half of them can’t even make theirs work. shinichiro is your best friend and that's it. you don’t think you could ever kiss lips as chapped as his anyway.

at eighteen, you think the adults may have had a point. maybe they know what they’re talking about after all. shinichiro is so incredibly handsome—when did he get this handsome? he smokes outside with his hair slicked up, a new little style he’s trying out, but it’s always back to falling over his eyes by the end of the day. the phase doesn’t last very long. and even though as his best friend you hate that he inhales those death sticks, as his secret admirer you can’t help but appreciate how perfect his lips look curled around the roll of tobacco as he takes a drag.

at twenty-three, you hate the adults for filling you up with false hope. you think they must hate the youth and that’s why they fill their minds with sick, cruel daydreams and fantasies of true love and happily ever afters. shinichiro has asked every girl he can think of on a date except you. you know it’s because you’re his best friend—but that’s just the problem. best friend. that’s all you’ll ever be, and it’s all the more frustrating that it’s all he’ll ever see you as, that you’re the only fucking girl he hasn’t asked out—especially since you’re the only fucking girl that appreciates him enough to say yes in a heartbeat.

but shinichiro is your best friend, and you’d rather have him like that than not at all.

“why’ve you been ignoring me,” you cut right to the chase, crossing your arms and throwing him a look as mean as they get. he crosses his arms right back, looking to the side as he avoids answering your question.

he’s obnoxiously persistent in avoiding you even as you’re less than two feet away from him, so you decide you have no other choice than to be obnoxiously stubborn in demanding his attention one way or another.

“shin, if you don’t spit it out, i’ll tell waka it was you who scratched his bike,” you threaten. it’s a good start, it gets his lips to twitch into a slight frown, but he’s still determined. “i’ll scratch your bike,” you huff. still nothing. “i’ll tell manjiro about that one time you accidentally—”

“you promised you’d keep that a secret,” he scowls, and then his eyes widen. it’s too late, though, and you’re already grinning at him cheekily as you revel in your victory. rolling his eyes, he grumbles under his breath before uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to either side of him with a sigh. “what is it?”

“oh, i don’t know,” you scoff in disbelief, raising a brow as if to question if he’s being serious. “maybe it’s that you’ve been radio silent for three whole days. three! i could’ve been dead in an alleyway and you wouldn’t even know.”

“i’d be invited to the funeral,” he points out.

“i’d tell them not to let you in.”

“you’re supposed to be dead,” he furrows his brows, staring at you like you’re stupid—and then you’re back to usual for a moment, like he hasn’t ignored your existence every time he remembers you smile at wakasa, like you aren’t ready to skin him alive for disappearing off the face of the earth, like you’re both just too damn in love with each other to stay mad for long.

it’s a little too bad he doesn’t realize it and neither do you.

“it was hypothetical,” you pinch your nose. “stop dodging. why haven’t you been talking to me?”

“glad to know you noticed,” he grumbles. he could really use a smoke right now, he thinks. but it’s barely eleven am and he hasn’t even had breakfast yet—even he’s at least that much concerned for his own wellbeing.

“what’s that supposed to mean?’ your eyes narrow, angry slits that glare at him like they’re daring him to explain himself further and tread down such a dangerous path. but shinichiro doesn’t back down, doesn’t even falter as he looks you dead in your eyes as he answers.

“just thought you’d be busy is all,” he says nonchalantly. too casual, too relaxed. like the calm before the storm—and you sense a storm might be approaching rather rapidly. “talking to wakasa must really clog up your schedule.”

“what the fuck does that even have to do with anything, shin?” you stare at him incredulously. that evening was not your first time talking to imaushi wakasa, nor was it your second or third, and it likely won’t be your last. you’ve talked to wakasa so many times, you can’t imagine why it should matter to shinichiro now.

unless…

no, you reprimand yourself, no wishful thinking. but what else could it be if not jealousy? all too suddenly, a small spark of excitement knits itself comfortably into your bones, and in a small fit of boldness, you wriggle your brows at him. he scowls instantly.

“what are you makin’ that face for at me—”

“are you jealous, shinny?” you tease, shuffling to sit next to him, face inching closer to his. you almost—almost, but not quite—miss the way he gulps.

maybe wishful thinking is only wishful thinking until it comes true.

“w-what are you…n-now you’re just makin’ stuff up—” he cuts his stuttering off when you giggle, face crimson as he throws you a (weak) glare. reaching, you pinch his cheek, and you can hear the audible hitch in his throat as you do.

“jealous you won’t be my number one man? don’t worry,” you hum, patting his face gently with affection. anything to keep touching him. “you’re the only one i text at three am—though it would be much appreciated if you’d answer this time,” you say pointedly.

“you’re the only person i text at three am too,” he mutters.

“not that anyone else texts you at three am,” you snicker, throwing your head back and laughing when he gently bumps your shoulder with his. “it’s a good thing. more attention for me. if you text other girls in the middle of the night, i’ll have to enlist wakasa for more attention—”

his face sours, making you trail off. and for some reason, he really seems to be taking this friendliness with wakasa personally.

“well, what’s wakasa got that i don’t anyway?” he grumbles, “just cause he’s a good kisser or something doesn’t mean—quit laughing,” he hisses when he hears you chuckle quietly.

“how do you know wakasa is a good kisser?”

“you tryin’ to tell me you think he’s not?” he raises a brow. somehow, your silence tells him everything he needs to know, and he feels bitterness creep into his skin, seeping into the small crevices of sano shinichiro that are very hard to reach—the small parts of him that are envious and resentful, so unlike his usual golden heart.

“i’m sure you’d be a great kisser,” you offer, which he takes as a half-ditch effort to comfort him. “you just need to practice ‘s all.”

“yeah well, that’s kind of hard to do when no one even says yes to a date,” he grunts.

it’s quiet. he almost feels bad for springing this on you like this, like it’s your fault you’re into a guy as great as wakasa—like it’s your fault girls aren’t into a guy who pales in comparison like shinichiro.

“we could practice if you want,” you say quietly. he finally turns to look at you full on.

“what?”

“well, i mean…just for practice, you know? we’re still friends,” you shrug nonchalantly.

right, friends. but shinichiro wants to feel your lips on his one way or another, and this might just be the only way. he’s not going to ask for more than what he’s already been graciously offered from the universe.

“okay,” is all he says, voice somewhat strained. “d-do i gotta like…y-you want me to play music? o-or i could—”

“shin,” you snort, staring at him amused, “we don’t need music to kiss.” he’d be embarrassed—really, he would. but you’re just so pretty when your eyes are bright like that, and he’s shameless enough to be proud he’s made you laugh.

wakasa can suck on that, he thinks.

“w-well, i just thought…c-cause you know, people say music sets the…you know?” he stares at you like he hopes you’ll catch what he’s hinting, and you blink innocently—purposely, he suspects. “you know, th-the mood,” he croaks.

“we’re kissing, not fucking,” you snort. he sputters at the directness, and then you decide to spare him and cup his face with both hands, face hovering just inches before his. “just tell me if you want to stop, okay?” you murmur, thumb stroking his cheek tenderly.

like he’d ever ask you to stop, he thinks. still, he gulps and nods.

“okay,” he murmurs back when you seem to wait for him to say it verbally. “i will,” he assures,

and just like that, you kiss him. shinichiro almost takes this as a sign to pinch himself, just to make sure this isn’t a dream he got lucky in and didn’t wake up early from. but he decides if this is a dream, he’d be cruel to take away the one chance he has to experience this, so he plants his hands on your waist instead, gently tugging you to straddle his waist.

his lips are soft, and they aren’t chapped like they once used to be. your lips taste of strawberry chapstick, just like he always imagined.

shinichiro isn’t a bad kisser, you decide. he’s equal parts enthusiastic as he is gentle, and you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t one of—if not the—best kiss you’ve ever had. but then again, maybe it’s just because you’re in love with him. you’ll take him however you can, and even if this is just “as friends,” you’re content at the moment with the way his lips mold against yours, large hands gripping onto your hips as he pants under you.

except, neither of you takes the initiative to be the one who pulls away—and then one thing sort of leads to the other, as they always do in cases like this. your hands wander to his hair, tugging at his roots, he groans in surprise, and then suddenly both of your hips are grinding your crotches together. he lets out a muffled moan against your mouth as you rub against his growing erection.

and even though you really shouldn’t, you grind down on him until you feel his hard-on poke through his sweats, pulling sweet little whines from him as his breath grows ragged.

“f-fuck, that…that feels good,” he groans quietly, “keep doing that.”

“yeah?” you ask, “like this?” your lips are trailing along his jaw, sucking on the skin—just because you can, just because he’s not stopping you. he throws his head back against the frame of his bed, whimpering as you drag up and down his length through your pants. you gasp as you feel him rub against your clit, hips moving faster as you chase the friction.

he seems just as desperate for it as you do—because now, his hips buck to match your rhythm, panting raggedly as he feels his orgasm slowly build up.

“‘m close,” he gasps, “fuck, fuck, ‘m so close. jus’ a bit more—f-fuck,” he cuts himself with a whimper of your name as he cums, fingers digging into your hips bruisingly tight as he desperately rolls his hips against you. you watch his head fall back, how his cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, how he shudders with a blissed-out face as his mouth parts with pretty little moans, how his hair falls over his closed eyes and curtains his face. you feel his pants dampen, sticky ropes of cum seeping through the fabric, making a mess and soiling both of your clothes.

but you’re too busy mewling as he drags against your clit to care, hips rutting against him faster. you’re close—he knows it too, and he’s determined to get you falling off the edge as quickly as possible.

“c’mon,” he says through a shaky voice, “jus’ let go, cum for me.” for someone with no experience, shinichiro isn’t as shy as you initially thought, and he certainly knows where the clit is. he guides your hips with his hands, helping you stroke against his cock until you slump over him, crying out as you cum too. your walls spasm around nothing, aching to clench around his girth.

“shin,” you whine, “sh-shit, feels good.”

“god, n-need to be in you,” he gasps, “can i? please, please, please,” he pleads into your skin as his head falls to the crook of your neck. you don’t waste a second, grabbing at the hem of his tank top and lifting it over his head, slipping it over his arms. you take off your own shirt, and his eyes fall to your chest instantly. “can…can i?” he asks hesitantly, and you nod, grabbing his hands to cup either tit.

“yes please,” you breathe, letting out a shaky sigh as he kneads your breasts in his hands before letting them wander to unclasp your bra. he gulps when it falls, eyeing your bare chest before leaning to press a soft kiss to your collarbone.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against the skin, nose brushing against it and sending shivers up your spine. his thumbs roll over your nipples, pebbled and hard under his touch, pulling a soft moan from you as he pinches lightly and rolls them between his fingers. “feels good?” he gives you a charming little grin—just a little giddy he’s doing something right.

“yes, keep going,” you whine, pulling a grunt from him as you shuffle on his lap to get closer, rubbing against his still hardened cock. your hand reaches past his waistband, pulling his length out and wrapping your hand around it as you squeeze gently.

shinichiro lets out a strangled groan—somehow, it feels way more different when it’s your hand and not his. he lets out ragged breaths as you gently stroke him, whimpering when your thumb glides through his slit and smears the pre cum around the head of his cock.

he’s pretty, long and curved and flushed a soft pink at the tip—and truth be told, bigger than you expected.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he rasps, staring down at the way your hand fists his cock, a slick, wet noise ringing through the room as you drag your hand up and down his length. he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his hair clings to his sweaty forehead. and then you pull away, making his eyes fly open as his mouth opens to protest.

you speak before he can. “you sure about this?” you ask, and he swallows at the tenderness of your voice, the way your eyes are soft and sweet and searching his for any signs of changing his mind.

he shakes his head quickly—embarrassingly quickly if he’s being honest with himself.

“yes. please don’t stop, baby,” he groans, and the pet name slipping off his tongue is all the encouragement you need, letting out a labored breath before nodding.

shinichiro watches in a trance as you rid yourself of your pants and underwear, watches as you tug his own sweats down his hips and help him out, watches in sheer awe as your grip his shoulders and line your entrance up with his tip, rolling your hips to just glide him over across your folds, gathering your slick along the head of his cock. you both shudder at the contact, and slowly, you sink down on him, taking him in inch by inch.

“god—f-fuck, s-so tight,” he chokes, hands flying to your waist and gripping tightly, panting harshly as his eyes squeeze shut. you gasp, head falling to his shoulder as you sink down on the last few inches, bottomed out as he drags along your walls.

he’s big, and he curves into you just right—almost like he was made to fit you. slowly, you grind your hips, moaning against his shoulder as he groans, the sound of his voice making you clench down on him unintentionally.

“so full, shin,” you whine, “feels good—you make me feel good.” slowly, the grinding turns into your hips slamming down on him, bouncing on his cock as he throws his head back and lets out a wanton moan.

“sh-shit—you’re perfect, so, so perfect,” he rambles, hips snapping up to match your pace, thrusting into you deeper. he pauses for a moment when you let out a shrill squeal when he slams into you particularly deep, fat tip kissing your sweet spot and making you cling to him tighter. he throws you a cheeky grin, one that makes your heart melt and your eyes roll at the same time. “looks like i found it,” he grins to himself, and then he’s flipping you both over, a new aura of confidence radiating off of him that you’ve never quite seen in shinichiro.

“shin, please,” you whine, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling his forehead down to press against yours, “fuck me,” you whisper.

“shit, baby,” he groans, “look at you, so pretty. prettiest thing i’ve ever seen.” you clench down on him. who would’ve thought praise from his tongue could make you wonder if you’re about to cum again, but it sounds so perfect off his tongue. so intimate and so sacred. “needed you so bad, you have no idea.”

“me too,” you gasp, drawn-out moan pulling from your lips as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips and bullying his cock past your folds in a perfect rhythm—you almost question if he really has been a virgin this whole time.

shinichiro is pretty—it’s the conclusion you’ve allowed yourself to come to after a long time of denying it. he looks pretty when his hair falls over his eyes as the sun makes the strands look a shade lighter, and he’s pretty when he rubs his neck and laughs nervously in the endearing little way that he does. and now you know he sounds it too, breathy and whiny against the shell of your ear as he desperately fucks into you, losing himself to the warmth of your walls, to the way they flutter around him so tightly. he’s also pretty when he lets out a deep, raspy grunt, and it serves as a reminder that he’s grown into a man now.

he’s not the same cry baby on the playground, staring up at you through wobbly lips and a bruise on his cheeks, desperately fighting back the tears in his eyes.

he’s a man now, lean and built with muscle you never really noticed was there, with a deep, husky voice that you never really took the time to register how much has changed over the years, with hands that are big now, way bigger than you ever remember as they pin your hands over your head, wrapped around your wrists.

but somehow, he’s still the same shin when he meets your eyes as his forehead presses against yours. your shin—your shy, awkward, weak little cry baby shin.

and you love him.

“you close? ‘m so fuckin’ close,” he pants, and then his hand sneaks down in between your bodies to rub his thumb over your clit, making your back arch as you mewl, chest pressing against his as your nipple graze against each other. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum baby. cum with me,” he pleads.

“s-so close, shin,” you sob, “need it, need it so bad.”

“fuck, you’re so pretty,” he groans, “anyone ever tell you that? how fuckin’ perfect you are? you drive me so fuckin’ insane.”

“shinichiro,” you cry one more time before he angles his hips to slam into your spot, and then you cum—hard. your hips leave the mattress, shrill squeal rolling off your tongue as your walls spasm around him, making him grunt at the way you squeeze his cock. your legs are wrapped around his waist, mouth hung open as your eyes roll back, and if your face isn’t enough to send him over the edge, the way you moan through broken sobs definitely is.

“fuck, fuck—y-you gotta let go, baby. ‘m gonna…gonna c-cum, gotta let me go—”

“no, no, inside,” you beg, wrapping your legs around him tighter, pulling him closer as you stare up at him with wide, watery doe eyes. “please, i need it.”

he couldn’t hold back if he tried.

“shit—you’re really gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groans, and then his lips are on yours, desperately kissing you, letting you drink in his moans and swallow them up as he spills into you, cumming a second time.

he cums for what feels like forever—and if it were up to you, it’d be longer than that. his hips are sloppy, fucking into you as he rides out his orgasm with muffled whines against your mouth and a tight grip on your wrists. “fuck, fuck, fuck—f-feels good. ‘s so good,” he babbles, and you can feel his cock twitch with every rope of cum he spills into you, painting your walls white. with three more thrusts, he finishes, whimpering as you flutter around him and milk him dry.

and as he pulls out, slumping his body over yours while he breathes through labored inhales, shakily catching his breath, you take this as the perfect opportunity to be brave.

you’re brave as you mumble, “i love you, shin,” fingers weaving through his sweaty locks.

he tenses. your heart shatters. there’s a knock on his door.

“shin, hurry up,” you hear manjiro’s muffled voice through the door, “grandpa says no breakfast for either of you if you don’t come right now.” there’s a quiet grumble of, “they talk so much, as if they don’t see each other every day,” under the blonde’s breath, and then you hear the soft pads of his feet as he walks away.

and silently, as you both dress and fix up your appearances, you don’t know if shinichiro is the same shin you grew up with.

you don’t stay for breakfast, and he doesn’t ask you to.

——————————

shinichiro is stupid.

he’s a fucking idiot and he knows now why he’s never had any luck in the department of love. he’s pathetic and a coward and he deserves all the rejections he’s got lined up on his record—at least, that's what he woefully tells wakasa as he’s got his head in his hands.

“you’re not a virgin anymore?” wakasa asks in shock, mouth agape as though this is more surprising than the aftermath shinichiro’s so kindly summed up—the same aftermath that happens to be the worst mistake of his life.

“that’s not the fucking point i’m making,” he grits his teeth. “the girl i’m in love with thinks i don’t feel the same, man. can you read the room?”

“so no congrats cake, then?” wakasa asks, just to be sure. he dodges the screwdriver thrown at his head expertly. “i don’t see what the big deal is,” wakasa sucks on his lollipop, shrugging as though it’s a simple matter. shinichiro wishes his aim wasn’t equally as bad as wakasa ability to dodge is good. he really wishes the screwdriver hit. “anyway, just show up at her house with flowers and say, i love you too, i just got shy. girls love flowers.”

“i wasn’t shy, i was shocked,” he mutters quietly, “and it’s not that simple,” he grunts, sighing as he wallows in self-pity. wakasa is not as good at relationship advice as shinichiro thought, and now he’s even more irritated that someone as dense as his friend is blessed with so much romantic appeal.

“why not? she loves you, you know that now. the hard part’s done,” wakasa shrugs, “so you guys like…had full-on sex? are you actually not a virgin anymore?”

“you know what, forget i said anything,” shinichiro huffs, staring down at his hands with a frown. wakasa gazes at him for a moment, eyeing the look on his face that can’t be labeled as anything other than purely crestfallen.

“if you love her, you wouldn’t be sitting here feeling bad for yourself,” wakasa says quietly. “between the two of you, she’s probably more miserable right now,” he mumbles. “no point in being a coward now.”

it’s silent. and then shinichiro’s groaning before he stares up at the ceiling.

“i’m not like you,” he mutters, “i can’t sweet talk or be romantic or anything. i’m hopeless.”

“you’re right,” wakasa agrees thoughtfully, picking at his nails as he rolls the lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other, “you’re not me.”

“okay, man. i get it, you don’t have to—”

“that’s why you lead black dragon and not me,” wakasa looks him dead in the eye, giving him a pointed look as though to say wake up. “and that’s why she loves you and not me. quit makin’ excuses and get off your ass.”

and shinichiro is stupid.

he’s painfully unaware of a lot of things, reckless and a tad bit too spontaneous in his choices, but he thinks maybe you’ve known that all along, and you still love him even through the busted lips and wounded pride. you loved him through his delinquency and trouble-making habits, and you loved him before he’s built himself to be the most respected gang leader around these parts.

so with a nod, he smiles softly at his friend—maybe it’s a good thing wakasa dodged the screwdriver after all.

“thanks, man.”

“yeah, whatever, don’t make it weird,” wakasa grunts, rolling his eyes. there’s a fondness in his gaze, though—and his lips just barely tug at the edges. “so did you really last long enough?”

this time shinichiro throws a wrench.

——————————

it wasn’t supposed to go down like this. he had a plan. a foolproof plan.

he had the flowers, he had the chocolate, and he even had a piece of paper in his pocket with a bulleted outline for the all the things he wanted to say—reading off of it word for word seems like a tad bit of a dick move, so he opts for bullet points instead of full sentences.

it was supposed to be smooth and heartfelt and endearing enough that you’d have absolutely no choice but to give in to his charms and say it’s okay, shin. i still love you. and maybe, if he got lucky and the universe was on his side, he’d get to kiss you some more. maybe other things too, but he tries to be practical and not hope for too much.

but evidently, the universe was not on his side because before he can even grab the flowers and be on his way to your house, he’s being robbed. and to make things worse, it’s by his own brother’s friends. and to add icing to the cake, one of them split his head open with a fucking chain cutter. he wonders if this is karma for trying to hit wakasa’s head with not just a screwdriver, but a wrench too.

so, instead of your front doorstep, he lands himself a nice little visit to the hospital, a teary-eyed manjiro and emma at his bedside by the time he wakes up.

“shin, do you remember me? i’m your sister, emma,” she says with wobbly lips and a quiet sniffle, tugging gently at his hospital gown. his eyes soften, and he places a hand on top of her head, ruffling her hair affectionately.

“yes, emma, i still have my memory,” he chuckles, “and you must be manjiro,” he teases. manjiro purses his lips with a huff, but when two tears trickle down his cheeks, shinichiro wipes them away with the pad of his thumb. “i’m fine,” he murmurs, “see? nothin’ to worry about.”

and then the door slams open and everyone flinches, all eyes darting to look at you as you stand with your own teary eyes and wobbly lips, the sound of your sniffles joining the rest.

“oh shin,” you sob, and soon, you’re gently cupping his cheeks and tilting his head to get a better look at the bandages. “does it hurt? are you gonna have any permanent damage? is the kid in jail? do you remember what happened? wait, do you remember me? it’s me, remember? we’ve been friends since we were kids, i helped you up after you got beat—”

“okay,” he hisses, “we don’t need to relive that. it’s in the past,” his eyes glance at manjiro and emma before meeting yours again. you purse your lips and roll your eyes.

“you almost died,” you spit at him, “how are you still worried about your rep?”

“i’m fine,” he grumbles, and then his eyes soften and he meets your gaze. he feels his heart sink when he notices there are tear tracks down your cheeks, staining your pretty little face in a way it never should be—you’re too good for this world for that. “really, i am.”

before either of you can even ask, manjiro is grabbing emma’s hand and tugging her along as he shuffles out the door, leaving you both to yourselves in the room without two sets of eyes watching…whatever this moment is as it goes down.

“shin,” you sigh, seating yourself down on the chair beside his bed. he almost whines in protest when your hands leave his face, missing your touch as soon as it’s gone. “i’m sorry i’ve been avoiding you. i…it’s not your fault you don’t feel the same.”

“wait—”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” you cut him off, “i get it, really i do! and i’m not hurt. well, i am a little sad, i can’t lie, but i’ll be fine. we’ll be fine. i don’t…i can’t lose you, shin, you know? we can be friends, i’m okay with just friends—you’re my best friend, and i thought…i thought you were gonna die, and i hadn’t spoken to you in like five days, and—”

“but i do—” you shush him with a finger to his lips.

“just let me finish, okay? i’m really glad you’re okay, i don’t know what i’d do if you weren’t. god, you weren’t waking up, and there was so much blood when i got there, and manjiro was…a-and…” you trail off, voice cracking and eyes watering—and now you’re crying. sobbing, actually. sobbing and tearing his heart right out of his chest and shredding it one tear at a time, and he scrambles to grab your hand.

“you sure do love to hear yourself talk,” he grumbles, tugging you forward to wipe the tears off your face. and the proximity should make him the shy, awkward guy he always reverts into when you’re so close, but somehow all of it flies out the window at the sight of you crying.

he hates the idea of tears ever falling down your cheeks, and he hates the idea of him being the cause even more.

“what are you—”

“i’ve been trying to say,” he huffs, “i–” he takes a breath, one that’s a little shaky before he swallows. “i love you too. i just…just got surprised, you know? cause…cause you’re you, and you laugh at wakasa’s jokes—even though he’s not really that funny, anyway,” he rolls his eyes at the mere thought of wakasa, “and i just froze. i-it’s not cause…l-like, i meant to say it back, really! i j-just…w-well you know me,” he chuckles nervously. you’re staring with your mouth agape. “n-no one’s ever said anything like that to me—well, no. i do get told i love you…by like my family and stuff—wait, that sounds lame. forget that last part—” he almost wishes hanemiya kazutora hit him harder with the chain cutter at this point when he hears you giggle.

maybe death would be better than this, and at least that way he could haunt wakasa to make sure he stays far away from you. but he’s here, making a complete fool of himself as he openly admits that in his twenty-three years of life, he usually really just hears i love you from his younger siblings—and that’s typically only through batted lashes to get him to give in and let them get their way.

“well, at least hitting your head didn’t change you,” you tease, “you’re still the same.”

“it’s too soon to be making head trauma jokes,” he glowers, “i just poured my heart out to you, you know.”

“i know,” you hum, cupping his cheek and tracing a thumb over the skin. he leans into your touch and closes his eyes—and a small part of him is just the slightest bit proud he doesn’t need flowers and chocolate and his stupid bulleted list of things to say on paper.

maybe, he’s enough as is. shy, awkward, weak little cry baby self and all.

“it would be really appreciated if after this, you stopped giving imaushi wakasa the time of day,” he grumbles, “he’s really fuckin’ annoying.”

“you be nice to waka,” you chide, staring at him sternly. he pouts unhappily at the way you defend his friend. “he always says good things about you.”

at twenty-three, you think the adults are right. you don’t see yourself spending your days with anyone else besides shinichiro, and if you have to fight the reaper’s scythe yourself, you will—but you’re marrying sano shinichiro one way or another. now that you have him, you’re never letting him slip from your fingertips again.

so you climb into bed with him, tangle your legs with his and lay your head on his chest, ignore the cramped bed on the hospital that’s a little too small for the both of you, and you gently tilt his head down and you kiss him.

he kisses back as he holds your face, smiling against your lips like he’s got the world in his palms—and he does.

“i’m in love with you,” you murmur as you pull away, not meeting his gaze. your finger traces patterns into his chest, and his arm curls around you tighter.

“oh,” he says.

you glance up at him, frown marring that pretty, pretty face of yours. “that’s it?”

“and i’m in love with you too,” he whispers.

“oh.”

“that’s it?” he pouts playfully, bringing a hand to his chest as he writhes in faux agony. you snort, throwing your head back as you laugh, and he grins down at you, watching the light break over your face as you realize it’s always been you all along—just like it’s always been him.

“shut up, shin,” you smack his chest, smiling against his lips when they find yours in another giggly kiss.

shinichiro is a simple man. he finds that if he has you, he doesn’t really need anything else.

#teepods.writings #thirstee!#fics.#shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x you #shinichiro smut #sano shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro x you #sano shinichiro smut #tr x reader #tr x you #tr smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers smut #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev smut

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suhjihanma · 6 months

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☩ 𝔇𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔊𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰 ☩

☩Pairing: Shinichiro Sano / Female Reader ☩Words: 569 words ☩Kink: (8) Lactation / Nipple Play ☩Contenting Warning: Dirty talk, teasing, grinding, nipple play, lactation kink, mentions of nipple clamps, ☩Author's Note: Minors, ageless blogs, and kink shamers do not interact. Also. my masterlist tag has been hidden on my blog so, to hell with Tumblr. Y'all have to do some searching on my blog. Still, I love you horny guys. I need to show my 'Tokyo Revengers' boys some more love. It's hard writing fics while on your period. So much impure thoughts, you guys. Hope you guys, enjoy. Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

Silk fabric pressed against warm skin.

Now, the cold material that draped across your ample breasts now suddenly comes with the warmth of large hands that handled them with care. Tilting your head back to meet the shoulders of a man that was focused on giving you the pleasure that you craved for, a constant string of pathetic mewls stretched across ears that were listening to pleasure.

A pleasure that you yearned for so badly under a guy like Shinichiro.

He could be minding the shop, rambling on about the accessories that he had for his motorcycles, along with mingling around regular customers, but having both of his hands feeling over the warm weighted breasts had him wanting to explore every part of your body. Frame by frame.

An addict would be harsh of words, yet the desire of wanting more grew as his fingers lightly touched the small rises that circled around your areola. You knew that Shinichiro was a man that played with his food, yet the horrible aches of wanting more than just his fingers grew to be more of a teasing hindrance. Enough of standing up with your ass grinding to the familiar dent that slowly grew in his pants, the hurting desire of being pushed down on a maintenance desk while he mercilessly fucks you from behind grew stronger.

You wanted more.

The mewls that came from your lips grew to be more frustrated as he playfully brushes both of his fingers around your erected nipples, now the fingers gently caressing the perkiness. Curse words of the book slipped out from each moan as you shamelessly grind yourself more into the back of him, a guttural groan was made in response as Shinichiro pinched your nipples with force. A pleading cry came out of your lips as you bit the puffed-out bottom lip, suppressing every moan that was made.

Your body can be unforgiving.

“Fuck, baby. Need some clamps on these things.” He moaned out before playfully plucking at the erected nubs. As the pressure of his fingers grew, so did the small secretions that dripped from the corners of his pressed down fingers. The feeling of something dripped between your legs caught your attention to look down and see that a familiar white substance was slowly began to ooze from your nipples. As Shinichiro’s fingers began to trance the liquid all over your nipples, you couldn’t help but to moan at the sight you were seeing. “Oh, baby. Ah, my tits…”

Shinichiro quietly noticed the haze-like gaze as he continued to tease your nipples, soft moans escaped his lips as he was looking over the shined, milky liquid that coated your hardened, yet highly sensitive nipples, traces of droplets leaving and splashing against your soft, thick thighs. Such an erotic view, Shinichiro was no better than any man. As he continued on with his teasing, the more you grew restless of wanting more than just his hands on your breasts. He could be suckling on them, favoring the taste of your sweet essence that secreted from your body. He could be doing all of those things and the more frustrated you became, so did the tortuous teasing.

It was now as if he was reading your frustration as words ever so calm graze the noises of moans, cries, and please.

“Guess I’ll be milking these tits, too. Fuck. I wonder how you taste, baby?”

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8aji · 1 year

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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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