Young God | MASTERLIST

i’ve gained so much respect for chan and the humbleness he has shown. he works so hard, and stray kids have gained so much popularity that it could’ve been very easy to get cocky. however, he and the rest of the guys are so humble. also, for anyone that might be going through a rough time and that stray kids is one of their emotional support, just know that the guys (and I even if we’re strangers) love you and appreciate you all very much.

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A dream unrealised

Summary: Alhaitham always imagined a future with you in it. Word Count: 0.3k Warnings: major character death, angst, female reader, pregnancy A/N: I dunno why it is that whenever i get stressed and my heart does the badum-badumps i like writing angst :<< Here's a little drabble based off a thought I had a few weeks ago about the after hours couple. Can be read as a standalone. To clarify that this is NOT a continuation of after hours! It's just an au of that couple! Don't worry they are safe they are happy this is just a what if

Alhaitham was not one for baseless dreams, but when it's confirmed that you're pregnant, he dreams. He imagines countless beautiful scenarios he could build, a million or more memories he wanted, and would, share with you.

Alhaitham thinks - and feels - many things. When he sees the home that you and he have made, his chest warms with pride and adoration. This is where you'd spend the rest of your life with him. This is where he'd devote his entirety to you.

Building a family here is not half bad, if he might say so himself. His mind conjures images of you and him and a bundle of joy in the nursery he built. He imagines future nights spent pacifying a fussy baby, the countless diaper changes, the disrupted sleep; but there's no dread that settles deep in his bones, only anticipation. Navigating a new world is worth it because it's with you.

Early on, he already imagines early mornings with a tot attached to his hip, helping him make pancakes to surprise you in bed. In the springs to come, the tiny hand of his tot would hold onto a similarly sized stalk of flowers as they toddle next to him, on their way to surprise you at work. His mornings will be spent preparing them for school with you, bumbling around as he tries his best to get his child's pigtails right. Nights will be accompanied by the vast stories he's accumulated since birth, all while tucking his child in, with you.

You, you, you.

You had his heart in your palms, his mind wrapped around your finger. You consume his thoughts. You were his everything.

Alhaitham is a capable man scholar husband father who thinks of every possible outcome before it happens.

He just didn't think he'd be sixteen all over again, sitting in the cold living room with papers for funeral preparations sprawled across the table.

a/n: i had no idea how to name this it got SO long like?? i swear originally it was just like 6 lines in total i wasnt even going to tag it under the main tag... then i got carried away LMAO ok enjoy! i will go back to my assignments now

Extra:

His newborn cries in nursery. Alhaitham rises to his feet.

As he picks up his crying daughter, it seems like she, too, grieves for a touch that neither of them could ever experience again. The weight of the world is heavy on his shoulders.

a/n: ok im gone fr now byebye i study

©shiinleaf Do not plagiarise, use, translate and/or share my content outside of Tumblr in any way, shape, or form. Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated if you enjoyed!

words to use instead of

as 

while 

when,

whilst

 even as

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 simultaneously as

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 at the moment that

 at the same time that at the time that

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on the point of

during the time that

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at the very time that after

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instantly when once

looked

glanced 

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stared

gaped

peered

focused 

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peeked

took a look

taken a look 

watched

considered 

saw 

seen

observed 

viewed

regarded

marked 

checked out

glimpsed 

spotted 

eyed 

took in 

taken 

in ogled

eyeballed 

beheld

beholden 

before

ahead

back

previously

since

sooner

afore

aforetime

ante

antecedently

anteriorly

before present

ere

fore

former

formerly

forward

gone

gone by

heretofore

in advance

in days of yore

in front

in old days

in the past

past

precendently

previous

up to now

smiled

beam

grin

laugh

smirk

simper

be gracious

express friendliness

express tenderness

look amused

look delighted

look happy

look pleased

touch

brush

caress

feel

handle

hit

kiss

lick

pat

reach

rub

strike

stroke

tap

abut

adjoin

border

communicate

contact

converge

dab

examine

finger

fondle

frisk

glance

graze

grope

inspect

join

line

manipulate

march

massage

meet

neighbor

osculate

palm

palpate

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paw

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pet

probe

push

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smooth

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tag

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thumb

tickle

tip

toy

verge

be in contact

butt on

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feel up

impinge upon

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exhaled

breathe

emit

give off

let out

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eject

emanate

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expel

issue

respire

steam

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nodded

acknowledge

bend

bow

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respond

salute

acquiesce

agree

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assent

passionate

ardent

dramatic

eager

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emotional

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forceful

heartfelt

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violent

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deep

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melodramatic

moving

precipitate

quickened

steamed up

stimulated

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warm

wild

but

although

however

nevertheless

on the other hand

still

though

yet

gasped

choke

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blow

convulse

gulp

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inhale

inspire

pant

puff

respire

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wheeze

catch one’s breath

fight for breath

frowned

glare

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grimace

pout

gloom

lower

sulk

cloud up

do a slow burn

give a dirty look

give the evil eye

knit brows

look black

look daggers

look stern

movement

act

action

change

development

evolution

exercise

flow

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move

operation

progress

shift

advance

agitation

alteration

swirled

boil

churn

roil

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whirl

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coil

crimp

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eddy

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surge

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whorl

wriggle

꒰ ☆ : seeing you in a wedding dress

꒰ ★ : shikanoin heizou, kunikuzushi

details. f!reader / modern / wc. 1.3k / like or reblog

shikanoin heizou [鹿野院 平蔵]

ah, weddings… the union between two individual to journey through the remainder of their lives facing every high and low, and in sickness and in health together side by side. the silver band slithered around your finger acts as the ultimate symbol of love and companionship. unfortunately, majority seem to forget how stressful it is behind the scenes. although well-known due to the many bridezilla jokes made over the years, it was never taken seriously.

heizou was grateful your best friend and her fiancée had yet to succumb to the pressure when they begged for your help in tending to their wedding plans. it is one of your many duties as her maid of honor. she did a superb job at keeping her emotions at bay; however, if he squints hard enough, he could spot her eye twitch when the dress shop clerk tried to recommend other dresses while they wait for you.

he didn’t know if this was a part of the process but he didn’t bother to question it when she decided to shove you inside the dressing room, insisting you try on the bridal gown you were evidently admiring. as they sat there, she not so subtly circles around the question of when he intends on tying the knot with you.

it felt like he was under police interrogation with the slew of questions she threw at him.

was this what his suspects felt when he grilled them for any answers? he thought, as your best friend proceeds to shake him for more information about your relationship and if he’s got plans to take it to the next level.

“uh… guys?”

it was as if time itself slowed down when you shyly step out wearing the white garment. everything and everyone seems to fade into the background as his olive eyes traces your figure. you were… bewitching to take in. heart pounds in his chest while his cheeks flush red. he couldn’t find it in him to speak. the words dried up in his mouth the moment he cast his sight on you.

it was like falling in love with you for the first time again.

it was like he went back in time and he was that starry-eyed and bushy-tailed college kid who was struck with the grand epiphany that the funny, warm feeling he felt whenever you graced him with your company was love. his palms begin to sweat and he lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding.

i can’t believe you’re mine, he internally sighs, as the tips of his ears turn a deep pink.

“oh, my goodness!” your best friend squeals, and nears you you to wrap your arm around hers. she faces you towards the mirror to see your reflection. despite being stressed out by her schedule today, a wave of emotions wash over her as it sinks that she was about to enter a new chapter of her life with you.

wiping the tears off the corner of her eyes, she shows you a toothy grin. “look at you! look at us!”

she glances at heizou to see his reaction on you wearing the bridal dress, might even tease him to say something, anything! for a chatterbox, he surprisingly kept silent for the past minute. no one heard a peep out of him. she soon finds out when she spies how fondly he drinks in your image from his seat. she’d have to be blind or in denial to ignore the way too obvious look for adoration on his face.

she can’t help but silently wish that you catch her bouquet at the wedding reception.

“god, you left him speechless!” she wiggles her brows. your hands immediately cover your face. you want to dismiss her juvenile taunts, howbeit, when you peeked through your fingers, you were stunned to see she wasn’t exaggerating at all.

the lone thought swimming in heizou’s mind on a loop right was “i’m gonna marry her some day…” and he had a stupid, lovesick smile to match it too.

kunikuzushi [scaramouche]

“and what the hell are you doing?!”

suffice to say, you’re a hopeless romantic at heart. growing up, you read through stacks on top of stacks of fairytales to pass time—each one held near and dear to you. its tellings of ‘happily ever after’s mesmerized you. you had your head in the clouds as you fantasize about meeting your ‘one true love’ who’d take your hand and whisk you away to your own happy ending.

and you did… sort of?

you found your handsome prince charming, though, he was less than kind and grouchier than the grinch himself. while he hasn’t carried you off into the sunset to spend your both of your lives in unadulterated domestic bliss, you were very hopeful to say it was a work in progress.

he loves you.

and you know deep down that he’d do anything for you and your happiness. therefore, you had a big chance of swaying his current perspective on marriage and weddings.

again, he loves you.

if he wanted to make you his bride, he would’ve done it at a moment’s notice. he couldn’t understand for the life of him why you’d want to rush your relationship. your clear fixation on marriage annoyed him to no end. to him, you already have good thing going on, why ruin it? you knew you were it for each other, what was the point of planning a gaudy, and unreasonably expensive, ceremony?

it’ll do nothing but leave you swimming in loans! now that’s for sure!

still, it didn’t stop you from dreaming or talking about it day in and day out. and without a fail, you’d get a glare or a loud scoff from him. but did that ever stop you? of course not. whether he wanted to deal with it or not, you spiraled down into your wedding fever, which only worsens thanks to your cousin recently announcing his engagement.

life just loves to get on his nerves, no?

you didn’t hesitate to offer your assistance when you heard his best man was unavailable. while you were able to evade your boyfriend’s suspicions during the days leading up, you should’ve known better because, unbeknownst to you, your cousin invited him to have dinner with both of you and alas, it led him to arrive at the most inopportune time.

“i can explain!”

you ramble excuse after excuse, however, none of it reaches his ears. it puzzled you to see him silent for once. normally, he wouldn’t waste a second later to—gently—scold you for your latest shenanigan. instead he stands dumbfounded, as his eyes roam over your figure. how does he respond to this exactly?

you were dressed in a… bridal gown? the nth one within the hour whereas your cousin checks his chosen selection from the other side of the store with the clerk’s aid.

“now i know i promised that i wouldn’t do anything wedding related or talk about it; and i know that you’re probably mad at me right now, so why don’t you go on ahead and get it over with?” your eyes squeeze shut, almost bracing yourself for impact.

it didn’t come.

to your surprise, your boyfriend stutters a weak, “y-you’re… you’re beautiful,” before facing the ground, away from your prying gaze.

“oh, my gosh…” you gasp, “you like me in a wedding dress… which means that we’re gonna get married one day… which means i can finally talk about it without you getting grumpy with me!” falling into one of your many musings about your dream wedding.

kunikuzushi grunts in reply before he struts over to you and hauls you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. he plops your body behind the dressing stall then closes the curtains mid-conversation. out of sight, out of mind, right?

my tumblr needs more watermelonracha

1.37 a.m.

"darling, you're as pretty as ever," a suave voice whispers into your ear, warm breath hot against your skin. eyes widening, you dart your head to face the sound and are met with the cool blue eyes of the one and only kamisato ayato. "ayato! what are you doing?" you scramble to the other side of the bench in surprise, though you regret it a moment later when his expression is marred with exaggerated sadness.

"it was too crowded inside, so i came out for some fresh air," he grins, sadness wiped away in an instant, "but then i got distracted by the stars!" you follow the movement of his shaky index finger to gaze up at the night sky, admiring the infinite stars scattered like glitter across the blanket of the galaxy. but suddenly, ayato's hand moves to point at you as he blinks, "by that, of course i mean the ones in your eyes!" your face heats up at the compliment as you mumble a thanks; it's already such high praise to compare your irises to the beauty of the universe, but when it's coming from the yashiro commissioner that you've fallen in love with, you swear your heart is about to stop right there.

but then you realise something, "wait, wait, wait, rewind. did you just wink at me with both eyes? although i suppose thats considered blinking..." "no, i winked normally! as any proper gentleman would in the company of the one he adores," he sighs as if explaining to a child, "see, i'll do it again." you watch him intently, and he shuts both eyes tightly before opening them again. "ayato, you're really just blinking," you shake your head, and he frowns before blinking again repeatedly to the point where it looks like he's trying to communicate in morse code. at this point you can't help but burst into laughter at his antics; seeing him so relaxed is a stark contrast from his usual aloof personality.

then ayato flops onto you, head landing in your lap as he wriggles around to make himself comfortable – he really is childish. "and what are you doing now, pray tell?" you look down at him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "well, i'm glad that i got to make you laugh, so i'm going to sleep now," he beams at you, and you have to fight the urge to trace your finger along his cheek. finally, he closes his eyes before you cave and a slow exhale escapes your throat – you aren't sure if it's one of relief or disappointment.

your hand subconsciously travels to thread through his aqua hair, trailing through the incredibly soft strands as you permit yourself to dream about how this could be your life if you were ever able to wed him. but sadly, you know it will never happen. your families have a feud between them spanning centuries, and it doesn't look like the hatchet will be buried anytime soon. that knowledge is what makes these twilight trysts even more painful, as you and ayato always sneak out of the grand functions you can't be bothered to attend and end up next to one another. but no matter how friendly the alcohol makes him act, you know he'll be back to being the cold head of the kamisato clan tomorrow, a world you have no chance of stepping foot into.

but suddenly, ayato's eyes flutter open slightly, and he lifts one hand to place it on yours, intertwining your fingers as he smiles softly at you. "go back to sleep, ayato," you whisper, unsure if you're able to speak louder without your voice cracking and betraying your true emotions. "someday..." he murmurs, eyes sliding shut once more as sleep overtakes him, "i'll marry you, y/n."

"what?! hey, what?!" you shake his shoulder gently, "ayato, wake up! did you mean that?" the head of the shuumatsuban doesn't stir, but his mouth remain fixed in a mischievous smile that doesn't leave even as he fades into dreamland. "you really know how to pick when to fall asleep, huh?" you groan, but you can't stop the matching smile springing to your lips as well. if drunken words truly are sober thoughts, then perhaps the secret dream you nurse in the hidden depths of your heart will become reality soon enough.

it all depends on the rascal sleeping peacefully in your lap right now; kamisato ayato.

for @hamayumis !! rebiiii i love u so much this is for u !!!!! i rlly hope u like it <333

© starglitterz 2022. do not repost or modify in any way - reblog if you enjoyed.

“How about another joke, Murray?”

JOKER (2019) dir. Todd Phillips

🗗 MORE THAN ROOMMATES | k. ayato

precis. you plan to move out of your apartment and ayato sees his whole life flash before his eyes.

wc. 10.3k please please please read this do not ignore because of the word count. please read it for ayato in silk robes

genre. humour, roommates ! au, modern ! au, suggestive, roommate to lovers ( ? )

warnings. profanities, this gets sort of sensual pls, suggestive, mentions of sex, disclaimer : there's no style & only writing, very bad jokes i'm unhinged with this one, more or less an inner monologue, unsolicited crack, kys and kms jokes ( ? ), drinking, mentions of dying, open ending ? it's pretty obvious if you'd ask me, thoma and sara are absolutely shit at giving advices, both the reader and ayato are absolute simps oh god please forget i ever wrote this ( actually don't. come talk to me about this )

note. repost :( my brother deleted my account sighh anyway please read this ig this is my fav work ever rip. inspired by this fic by my dearest mai go read it

ayato has no business living in an overly expensive apartment with a broken heater and cracked ceilings. in fact, he can instead move out any second. one call and his chauffeur would pick him up, another call and the kamisatos will have another villa signed under their names— well, ayato’s name, to be specific. for someone with overflowing wealth and a father who’s an excellent architect, ayato is surely down to earth.

his sister, ayaka, drops by every few weeks to check up on her brother. well, honestly, she only arrives to check up on the apartment and try another shot at persuading her brother to move out, only to return back home with nothing but failure in her palms. much to your surprise, she even offered the landlady a contract to buy the apartment. ‘we can buy, renovate and decorate this— then you and ayato can live happily!’ her exact words, but you declined. after all, you can not keep leeching off the kamisatos and living lavishly with a million dollars debt threatening to decapitate you in your sleep. ayato has done enough by handling your expenses when you were fired from your previous job.

talking about you, your life in the apartment isn’t any better. if you ignore the benefits of being roommates with ayato— which solely includes free boba and the opportunity to watch him in a silk robe every time he takes a shower— you don’t have any reasons to not move out of the apartment either. surprisingly enough, you’re sure that if you continue to living there and keep using the dark and narrow alleyway as your shortest way home from the university campus, you’ll be murdered luxuriously. 

that was four months ago, though, when you were a new resident who paid an offensively high rent for a shitty apartment and saw yourself on the streets in the near future. the you from four months ago is probably cursing the hell out of you; not even probably, it’s certain. every night, you entertain your two lovely, semi-functional brain cells telling you to gather your stuff and move out the day you get your pay cheque. 

you’re reminded to move in with your parents again after you had the nastiest argument with them and moved out impulsively, saying you’ll ‘slay’ out there, in the world, all alone. well, surprise, you’re not. instead, the world is slaying you by having you juggle between three part time jobs while managing your hair-greying college schedule and an apartment who’s faucet goes out every other day. that’s when the landlady gave you the happiest news you’d heard in months : a roommate. 

now, you see, for most people, having a roommate would be troublesome. no one wants to share the kitchen or their favourite spot on the couch or something, but the day you were informed about your roommate moving in, you were on cloud nine. you had a drink, blanked out completely in the middle of the living room for absolutely no reason, even cleaned the apartment extra carefully the next day for dear roommate. you’re crazy for that, you had your reasons. 

first, the rent. thankfully, it is still around how it was before with a bare fifteen percent increase; but hey, you no longer have to carry the financial burden yourself and have your conscience call you an imbecile every night before you drift into sleep. moreover, you’d finally have someone to fix the faucet, change the bulbs, and most importantly, hear you venting about how shit the apartment is. you were also excited about your roommate being the ‘nice, college student in his early twenties’ guy, as informed by your landlord, but that’s for another day. 

and that is how you had ayato as your roommate. his first look was intimidating. you remember wondering if he’s actually a college student and not some undercover assassin. but again, he looks too, if anything, decent, to be an assassin. ayato likes his boba extra sweetened and his closet consists of anything but hoodies and sweatpants. he watches bunny videos in free time and feeds stray cats whenever they come around. he also cooks two meals a day and ends up ordering the third one so you don’t have to overwork yourself after all the part time jobs and stressful classes, helps you with assignment, puts you to bed if you fall asleep in living room— yeah, no. he’s way too decent to be an assassin. 

ayato thinks he’s doing a wonderful job at being a roommate who you can depend upon. from the first hour of the day to the last one at night, he helps you, greets you, stays by your side; he’s an amazing roommate, and it’s a fact. thoma confirmed, and sara thinks he’s being a little too generous but hey, it’s about you; and when it comes to you, nothing is ‘too much’ for aayto. 

so when you tell him on one fine sunday morning that you’ll be moving out next month, ayato sees his life flash before his eyes. it’s been two days since you’ve informed him and he’s still too stunned to speak. 

“hey,” ayato greets you in the kitchen, fetching a glass from a shelf higher than usual. there’s something off about the atmosphere, and it’s definitely not you. so, your eyes travel to ayato as he pours himself a glass of ice-cold water at the ass crack of dawn. “so you’re really moving out?” 

what the fuck. 

no because, you’re still half asleep. it’s half past five, you’re getting water and ayato waltz into the kitchen with his robe half draping off one of his shoulders and a raspy morning voice that has you weak in knees. perhaps, you expect a sweet little ‘good morning’ with his trademark smile that has the landlord’s daughter wrapped around his finger— and you too, honestly. instead, you’re met with a frown hanging on his face and a question about the topic that was last brought up about two days ago. 

“yeah. surprise?” you let out the fakest laugh before letting it die just as quickly the moment the sound of your cracked voice hits your ears. actually, you don’t even care about how you look and sound. what’s more important is that ayato isn't acting like himself. well, he’s the one to react quickly and not resurrect a dead conversation two days after, especially when you’re in the process of mourning and grieving about the lack of ayato you’ll have in your life from the next month onward. 

see, you have a disease, and it’s terminal. you could’ve moved out the day you moved in, or the day ayato moved in, or on any day in the past four months, but your condition didn’t allow you. first, it was the lack of green money in your hands to get a better apartment and after ayato moved in, he became the problem. 

you’re down bad. outsold. you have one look at a fine man and you wobble on your knees; one sight of toned muscles and you’re a goner. flatline. dead. there’s no going back. the first time you saw ayato was after you came back from your classes with a cake in your hands to celebrate the welcoming of your roommate. you opened the door and before you stood ayato with his drenched hair and silk robe, smelling like primroses and everything that the man of your dreams could have ever.

he shot you a smile, and you were sold. 

forget the cake, you had a whole five-star exquisite cuisine standing in front of you. rent was no longer a problem, you didn’t mind living under leaking roofs and honestly, even if someone murdered you, you wouldn’t mind. you have been planning to move out for a long time but if that was going to be the scene you came home to everyday, you didn’t mind any of the problems offered by the apartment. 

that is what ayato did to you the day he moved in. 

so, making a decision about moving out and telling that to him was a torture. not only were you losing your man— how funny— but also your daily free boba supplier. it was a life changing, heart wrenching, decision; but it had to be done. 

you shoot him a smile, patting his shoulders as you walk towards your room. “hey, i’m not leaving until next month so don’t think you’re getting rid of me anytime soon.” you hear ayato let out an exaggerated sigh, one that could blow away the wig of your mathematics professor. you don’t know what occurred to him at five-thirty in the morning when he showed up with the saddest frown ever, but thinking he’s upset about you moving out would be getting ahead of yourself and making a clown of yourself once again, in the circus that your life is. 

.

.

.

“dude, what the hell—” that’s thoma, and the saccharine words of compliments leaving his mouth are for none other than ayato. “what’s with your face?” 

no no, not only his face; in fact, ayato, as a whole, is fucked up. he didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night and you can blame some netflix shitshow for that. and just when he was about to fall asleep, his hydration requirements led him into the kitchen and the rest is history. 

“why is she moving out?” ayato mumbles in the most disappointed and sorrow ridden voice. he didn’t even sound this heart broken when his last girlfriend dumped him in the middle of victoria’s secret because he didn’t help her choose, you know, her lingerie; as insane as it sounds. thoma hasn’t seen ayato this dejected in over a year and the blond head is convinced his one and only close friend, his bro, is losing his mind.

a second passes, thoma repeats ayato’s question in his head. “she, as in yn?” and the next second, he gets his answer. thoma sits straight, back tightened, eyes fixed on ayato who’s very, uh, desolate right now. he has a class in ten minutes but bros before everything, and especially before an hour-long lesson about shit newton did as a scientist. his priority at the moment is to beat some sense into his friend in the politest way possible. 

“why shouldn’t she move out— i mean, have you looked at the apartment? it sucks ass, i’m surprised she made it till four months, i would’ve killed myself on the spot if i had to live there.” ayato shoots him a desperate look, a whine rolling off his pout as thoma’s face scrunches up into disgust because the fuck kind of behaviour is ayato exhibiting in middle of the cafe. “you know, you should move out too. i can clearly see the damage that place has done to you.” 

oh no, the damage is yet to be done. it’s happening slowly, gradually, slower than the tortoise in that tortoise and the hare race, slower than a sloth, drop by drop, sucking the life out of him. ayato doesn’t have any interest in that sorry excuse of an apartment. instead, he’s interested in you. the day he moved in, you appeared in front of him as an angel. an angel with a cake, strawberry flavoured cake that he absolutely despises but you, on the other hand, looked edible— he means, you looked beautiful. you always do, even when you’re wasted after four bottles and a plattering mess. 

god, ayato thinks it’s a blessing to be able to wake up in the same apartment as you. you may say you’re a potato but for ayato, you’re the longest and spiciest chilli in the bunch, he said what he said. and now you’re moving out, he can already spot the differences in the apartment. your stuff is no longer lying here and there since you’ve started arranging your things.

ayato can sense his descent into madness for several reasons. first, you’re just a roommate so why the fuck does he care if you live with him or move to mars; and second, you lived with him for two months without complaints so, why do you want to move out now. he wants to rip his hair out, drink bleach and sleep, hoping to wake up with a better thinking process and stability. 

ayato feels like he has been stripped of humanity, all because you’re moving out in less than thirty days. 

“hi— shit— you need to start sleeping, ayato!” this is sara, and once again, the elite words of compliments are thrown at none other than the boba man. kujou takes a seat next to thoma, observing ayato as he whines and sighs into his hand, looking like a sleep deprived, homeless man who probably has post traumatic stress disorder, but it’s literally just him crying over you, much to sara’s unawareness. “is he okay?” 

thoma shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink, shooting her a ‘does-he-look-like-he’s-okay’ look before sighing at his friend’s state once again. “yn’s moving out and he’s not coping well.”

sara leans back on her chair, rolling eyes at ayato’s diseased situation. it’s surprising that someone hasn’t reported him to the infirmary or some asylum; but she knows the cure. unlike ayato, sara isn’t stupid. she knows; studying criminology gives her an advantage of knowing how to read between the lines, or in this case, ayato’s whines. 

“it’s about time you accept your feelings.” what. she states and it feels like ayato’s heart skipped several beats. he looks at her wide eyed, flabber-gasted, with jaw dropped to the floor. “what? i know you like her. you’re fooling no one with that stupid face of yours.”

no, what sara’s saying is stupid. you’re a roommate. his roommate. ayato’s roommate. mate of the room. nothing less and certainly, nothing more. you don’t share a single class. his mornings start with your face and then ayato doesn’t see you for the whole day, unless you bump into each other on the campus, which is rarer than him getting hit by a meteoroid and dying. ain’t no way, he likes you. sure, you’re pretty. god, you’re gorgeous. human embodiment of goddesses but it’s just the beauty. apart from being extremely gorgeous and someone who ayato probably values more than his life, you’re basically a no one. 

kamisato ayato trusts his instincts, and his instincts tell him that he doesn’t like you. he likes you, just not in that way, not the like-like. not the i-want-to-surrender-my-life-to-you kind of like, not the i-want-to-make-out-with-you kind of like. okay, maybe the last part is a lie— but he still stands by his words. 

“you’re gaslighting m—”

“you’re gaslighting yourself.” thoma cuts him mid-sentence. “i still have the screenshots from the day you spammed me after yn posted that pic. don’t even try to deny.” 

wait, that happened? 

the, going crazy and spamming after seeing your post? ayato likes to think he was drunk. 

“you we’re sober, by the way. never been more, honestly.” and oh god, he’s done for. but that’s okay, right? you’re his roommate, and it’s normal for a roommate to aggressively talk about how pretty their roommate is, isn’t it? ayato believes it is normal. it’s as normal as drinking coffee to sleep better. a human appreciating another human’s beauty, what’s so wrong with that? one should support their kind, mutualism is the way through the ecosystem. rhizobium doesn’t live symbiotically for nothing, after all. it’s just give and take— 

“are you going to say something or…?” sara interjects ayato’s trail of useless thoughts. he still doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t like you, right, right— it’s clear in his head, he just needs to put it in words. he’s unable to carry out the last part. “okay, if you don’t like yn, then why do you have a problem with her moving out?” 

ah, yes. now we’re talking. the life in ayato’s eyes revisits. “look, look— she’s a great cook,” hah, what a liar. you’re a cook, not a great one. you don’t even cook in the apartment to begin with. the kitchen belongs to mister kamisato ayato and you sit by the counter to watch him cook and add another ten to fifteen years in your life. “and she can clean,” that’s something you’ve always been good at. truthfully, you don’t mind cleaning or doing any of the chores for ayato. you’re ready to get on your fours and bark for him. “and, she's pretty…”

“there,” thoma interrupts, slamming his hand on the table, having ayato look at him with a curious gaze; which looks horrifying because of his lack of sleep, by the way. “i don’t see how being pretty is anywhere close to why you need her to stay.” 

sara nods in agreement, but ayato knows he makes sense. who wants to live with an ugly roommate? okay, maybe, all roommates are pretty, but thoma, if ayato had to live with him, he’d flee the country. so, being pretty does co-relate with living peacefully, because if you’re not pretty, your roommate will flee countries and that’ll cause unnecessary expenses. henceforth, point proven. ayato still thinks he makes absolute, completely, hundred percent sense. 

“whatever, just ask her to stay if it’s that important,” thoma snickers, rolling his eyes. but what he’s saying is not possible. ayato may be good at flirting, he does have a pretty good record with dating, but he becomes a nervous wreck around you. 

he’s nervous right now. 

you make him nervous. just the thought of you makes him nervous. 

and believe it or not, ayato can’t just walk up to you and ask you to not move away because you’re a great cook, you can clean and you’re pretty— no. he doesn’t have the confidence. the whole process sounds like a secret military operation where flexible deterrent options are a must if he wants to survive. 

talking to you feels like writing finals for a subject he has never touched in his whole life. it’s like skydiving without a parachute, going into space without oxygen, and whatnot. despite spending two months with you in the same apartment, under the same roof, ayato’s communication skills haven’t improved past the ‘hi / hello’ stage. 

it’s like stepping on his sister in front of his mother and then breaking her favourite vase before throwing his father’s golf clubs into the sewer. and even though ayato says he likes you, hypothetically, he wouldn’t stroll up to you and ask you to not move out. that's utterly selfish. you’re just a roommate, a chapter in his life, someone who he stumbled across on his way and took a liking to— platonically— that’s it. that’s all you are. ayato thinks it’s insultingly selfish of him to ask you to stay. so he wouldn’t ask you, but he wants to, he wishes for you to stay, no matter how selfish it sounds.  

“i can’t ask her that.” it’s a stern reply, ayato is way too confident with his words while thoma raises his eyebrows as an interrogative response. “what, you expect me to go ‘hey yn, please don’t move out’ one fine day?” 

“no, but you can definitely go, ‘hey yn, you have a sexy and hot roommate who will do you right so don’t move out,’ at her.” ayato believes that the stupidest and most brain-degrading sentence that has ever come out of kujou sara’s mouth. “i mean, you don’t have to tell her to stay, show her.” 

“this isn’t literature, sara.” 

“i know, but show her the benefits of not moving out,” she repeats, her eyes enunciating a bigger plan behind those few insensible words. “seduce her with your skills, ayato.” 

yeah no, there’s no bigger plan. 

the only plan is to fuck up kamisato ayato’s already fucked up life with her illogical, useless fucked up plan. for someone studying criminology and nailing those charts, sara surely thinks less before speaking. no, she doesn’t think at all. her brain is probably in the suitcase she trashed last week. 

“sara, shut up before i—” 

ayato wants to continue his statement, but thoma beats him to it. “no no, wait. she, she makes sense.” 

no, she does not. 

she doesn’t make any sense.

no dots are connected, the dots aren’t here to begin with. head in hands, ayato sighs again. this sounds like something that would ruin his life beyond repair. to damage his reputation so much, he’d have to flee the country and change his identity. perhaps, the kaedehara family would take him in. 

“dude, think about it,” ah, no. ayato very well knows that thoma doesn’t get to talk about ‘thinking’ and anything related to it after saying sara’s plan makes sense. her words are incredibly thoughtless. “you show her the benefits. drop her to campus and drive her back, cook for her, clean for her, arrange her bed for her, earn for her, spend on her, just anything— show her, ayato.”

no. 

ayato doesn’t like the direction this conversation is heading in. 

or perhaps, he’s just overthinking. well, he has been doing almost everything on that list, honestly. everything as in, cooking. that’s it. that’s important, cooking is necessary, one must survive to eat— he means, eat to survive. he has spent quite a generous sum when you lost your very first job. 

this whole conversation is eating his brains out. you’re just a friend, not even a friend, a roommate. a fucking roommate he got attached to and how his abandonment issues are surfacing and god knows what will follow. he repeats thoma’s words in his head over and over again— now way, it makes sense. if anything, it’s going to give you the wrong idea that your roommate became a sugar daddy overnight and you’re going to be his first sugar baby, as sweet and horrific as it sounds.  

talk to us when you’re in a state to accept your feelings. that’s what sara said before excusing herself out of the cafe with thoma following her shortly behind. yeah no, ayato is regretting every decision that led him to this conversation, this unsolicited therapy session that fucked his brain inside-out. he’s about to leave the cafe as well, planning to skip all his classes and probably go visit a temple or something, until you come around with your friends.

there’s a smile on your face, the one he wakes up to. he loves your smile. ayato thinks your smile is really pretty; you are pretty— platonically. a smile creeps up to his face as well, dissipating as soon as thoma’s words re-visited his mind.

show her. ayato bites the insides of his cheeks. he’s probably going to take that advice. after all, you can make anything make sense if you really tried. 

.

.

.

ayato is on his way to the apartment.

he clearly disposed of all his responsibilities as an ideal student and sprinted out of the campus like a criminal on the run. well, he’s on his way to become a criminal. he’s about to seduce you using his skills and then you’ll report him to the police. doesn’t matter that he can get bailed out in minutes thanks to his mad rich family, he’ll still flee the country, get a new identity, dye his hair. kaedehara ayato doesn’t sound bad, not bad at all. it sounds delicious, healing, sounds like something that would save his life. 

now, he’s on the elevator to the floor. he’s afraid the elevator would stop moving if another pack of stress stacks up on his shoulders. actually, that wouldn’t be half bad.

the elevator stops, security comes, you will come running, the management will open the door and he’ll die in your arms out of collapsing lungs? stress? anxiety? heart attack? you’ll cup his face and he’ll tell you about his last wish— please don’t move out. though, it would lack the necessary fucks to give since he’s dead but in case, he’s alive, in case, then you’d live with him. sounds like a plan. godbless to whatever sara and thoma have done, ayato is incapable of carrying out the general thinking procedure. 

now he’s walking towards the door, fiddling with the key between his fingers. show don’t tell, show don’t tell, show don’t tell— fuck, if ayato ever paid attention to all the lessons about creative writing in highschool, he would’ve been the best selling author; which he is not. there’s a reason why he’s majoring in history, out of all the available options.   

for some reason, ayato expected you to be home. if he remembers correctly, you only have half your lessons and he knows you wouldn’t attend half of those scheduled lessons to read webtoons in the library. 

but you’re not home, and he’s going crazy. did you run away? oh god— what if you already moved out? surprise, with the haha, happy living alone note? he doesn’t wait another second before opening the door, coming across a living room that’s seemingly… normal. 

he spots your plushie on the couch, your gaming console lying around like trash or whatever, and uh, a poster of some levi ackerman from that apocalypse au of the anime you watch after sacrificing sleep to you sleep paralysis demon. he remembers you ordering it a week ago, turns out it arrived this morning and you unpacked it, leaving it in the living room because you were getting late for classes. 

you’re still living here, definitely. there’s no way you’re moving out without that silly poster of yours. 

ayato picks it up, judging the man from head to his chest since that’s where the poster ends. he looks like a bergamot. that’s all, and ayato dumps the poster on the floor and leaves to take a shower. 

.

.

.

it’s six in the evening. 

you got drunk at two for absolutely no reason and passed out at your friend’s place. good for you, your hangover is evaporating. though, your head throbs like something else when you watch ayato in his silk robe after shower when he smells like the man you’d get on your knees for. 

you don’t have high expectations this evening. it’s tuesday and ayato never returns on time when it’s tuesday. no he doesn’t drink and judging from how he’s always up at six on wednesdays, he doesn’t get laid either; which is actually good for you because you would never, ever, want any girl to sleep with your man, even though he isn’t yours. 

you’re met with a pleasant surprise when you stand in front of your door with the keys in your hands, noticing that it’s already unlocked. perhaps, you can at least end your day with ayato in his finest attire. you smile, opening the door, your smile grows wider as you notice ayato’s shoes, it grows even wider when you smell freshly prepared creme pasta lingering in the air. you’re in for a ride. you step in further, eyes settling on your roommate who’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a wine glass in his hand— wait.  

wait a damn minute.

wait a fucking second, that’s— ayato for sure— okay, you decide to take it from the bottom. that’s ayato wearing a silk pyjama, okay that’s new. new for you, maybe not for him, but you’re used to seeing him in silk robes with nothing beneath, you know, bare calves and feet. his toenails probably look prettier than yours. your eyes travel up further, completely leaving out the part you shouldn’t be thinking about especially when you’re still partly hungover, you see his abs— pause.  

hold the fuck up, his abs? you blink, and look again, you stare at him for a better look. abs. fucking abs, you’re— but why abs?! no, you don’t complain. all you’ve ever seen is a part of his chest from the godsent chest window offered by his robes. nothing more, nothing below, not abs. never. 

you— okay— you take a deep breath and process the situation. ayato is wearing the same silk robe, except it’s with pyjamas, however he didn’t tie it. he didn’t tie it, oh god— you’re watching kamisato ayato from the first seat, full access to his toned abs, you’re frothing at the mouth. 

“welcome home, yn” silence. what. what. what the fuck did he say? no, ayato greets you everything but not like this. not in the seductive tone that makes your name sound a hundred times breathtaking and make you feel like you’re an empress to some crazy rich nation, not in a way where you can look at his abs, and he runs his fingers through his wet hairs before taking a sip from the wine. not in the sexy, knee weakening, voice that fills your brain with the visual depiction of ‘pregnant emoji’ over and over again. 

you’re done. sold. dead. gone. mother of his kids, probably? you don’t mind because just when you thought you’re over your silly little crush on your roommate and ready to move out, he stands in front of you, looking like aphrodite’s son or just, aphrodite herself— except, this one’s male. 

“yn, you okay there?” no no no, you’re not, you’re not. you’re not okay. you’re oscillating between having the time of your life and lying on your deathbed. it’s like you’re playing a quiz with your own mind where the first option is to die and the second option is to die as well. you’re— you’re failing to compose yourself and you’re sure if someone doesn’t drag you out of this, you will embarrass yourself horribly enough for you to dig a hole and decompose. 

ayato chuckles. he chuckles. he has the audacity to chuckle at you after looking at that. does he even know about the effect he has on you? no, of course he doesn’t. he probably thinks it’s completely normal for him to stand in front of you, half naked, looking criminally hot; yeah no— someone needs to stop him.

“your face is red,” oh, i wonder why. “are you sick?” it’s such a rhetorical question, you’re not sure if he’s actually that innocent or whether he’s having fun teasing you like this. you nod, avoiding all sorts of eye contact and verbal conversation. you’ve figured out enough that if you open your mouth, it’ll get you in trouble. you’re bound to say something stupid, perhaps about how you want him to blow your back like a glowstick or something, or maybe you’d tell him to dress up and put on some clothes, despite the fact that you very much adore the scene in front of you right now, and make everything terribly awkward for the rest of your lives. 

ayato smiles, putting his hand on your shoulder, and you feel several volts of electric current travelling down your spine. you’re getting butterflies, or perhaps the whole damn zoo with monkeys swinging off your ribs and vertebrates. you want to pass out. you want to faint right fucking now before something goes wrong because he’s standing right in front of you, and his hand is on your shoulder, and you’re getting a much much closer and clearer look at this toned muscles— you’re about to start barking. 

“uh, i’ll go—” yes. leaving is the only option, the only correct option. exactly what you should do right now. gather your useless thoughts, run away, go to your room, take a cold shower, and don’t come out until ayato leaves for his classes the next day. 

he smiles, taking his hand off your shoulder and you take a sign of relief. probably the best you’ve felt in months, really. “okay, i’ll set dinner.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“huh?”

“i’m not hungry, i feel sick. it’s uh— dysentery.” great. fucking marvelous. out of everything, it had to be dysentery. 

“oh. do you need med—”

“no, i have benadryl.” you want to bang your head into the closest wall, want the ceiling to finally collapse, the tiles to break and take you inside. you just want to disappear because benadryl is a fucking cough syrup. you simply excuse yourself before he could ask anymore questions, hearing him suppress his laughter as you walk away. he probably knows you’re lying, doesn’t take a doctor to tell what a benadryl is; and you couldn’t thank him enough for pretending you’re absolutely right with the medications and letting you be. 

you get inside your room, you shut the door, you lean against it and contemplate every decision you ever took in your life. 

where did it go wrong? 

was it the part when you moved in? damn, sure you should’ve moved out earlier. you should’ve ran away the day you saw a fine man like ayato standing in front of you, tagged as your roommate. you know you’d sell your soul or something for him, you are aware of the things you’d do for him, for ayato, because a man like him deserves the world. you should’ve moved out before your inner simp had started channelling herself. 

you grab your clothes and decide to sit in the shower until you prune up and die. that’s probably the only right decision. you’re about to get inside the bathroom when you hear the doorbell, halting your steps as you hear footsteps approaching inside. 

“hi,” that. that’s a woman. a lady, a female human, you didn’t think ayato would be capable of being friends with any other woman beside you and kujou sara. 

now judging from the low, scarred intensity of the voice that’s reaching your ears, you can tell she’s a pretty woman. pretty like those campus crushes but in your head, she’s pretty like those main antagonists of some melodramatic television show that make you want to strangle her to death with every breath she takes. you don’t even know her but the way your fist clenches, it’s definitely jealousy piping out of you like candies from pez dispensers. 

“i’m sorry for last night,” last— last what? “we can continue.” 

continue what. 

no. no fuck, you can’t.

if this is about what your rotten brain is thinking about then there’s no way they can continue. you’re here, in your room, the walls around aren’t soundproof and you aren’t ready for whatever obscene act they’re going to pull in his room, or perhaps in the living room because the woman seems to have zero patience. 

“my roommate is here,” that’s ayato. yes. you nod in approval. tell her ayato. tell her to gather up her fantasies and desires and get he fuck out of your apartment. “hope you don’t mind.” 

what. 

what. 

of course, you mind. you didn’t sign up for some real life porn show when signing the papers for this apartment. moreover, you’re not stable and mentally, physically or emotionally strong enough to stand all the moans and groans that’ll fill up the room when he’ll do everything that you want him to do with you, and you’re thinking this with all your soberness. 

“oh, she can join us! the more, the merrier.” no, never. you don’t want to join them in their silly little adventure. you’re not in for some monstrous threesome, as amazing as it sounds. you still have to live with ayato for around twenty-eight days and you can’t just join the two of them tonight and wake up the next day as if nothing ever happened. 

you’re insane, but the sane part is still functional. your last two lovely, worn out brain cells are working day and night to keep you alive, successfully having you avoid all the pits of embarrassment and shame, you can not let them down. 

you don’t hear ayato’s response, or perhaps, you want to pretend you didn’t. because you definitely heard something along the lines of ‘bend over,’ and then he cues some music. 

it’s sway by michael buble. out of all the testosterone stimulating sex songs out there, ayato had to choose this. well, it doesn't change the fact that she’s living the life you’ve been dreaming for, ever since ayato moved in. you’re fucking glad the song is loud enough to block any R-rated sounds or else you would’ve suffered a trauma and piss your pants everytimes someone brings up sex the next time in your life. 

you’re on your bed, covering your ears with your pillows, trying to sleep, while she’s in his arms, doing the deed. funny, very funny. is there a chance you would have completely misinterpreted the entire situation? maybe. but no woman randomly shows up at a man’s house after seven in the evening and the first thing she asks is to continue their last night activities. 

you wish your ears would fall off and you’d forget everything you heard tonight. the sound of music isn’t helping you sleep and you can waltz to ayato and ask him to turn down the volume in middle of whatever the fuck they’re doing and infect your eyes and lose your virginity along with the last bits of your sanity, but you don’t have the balls to do so. 

you don’t have the balls to do anything. maybe if you did, you would’ve told ayato about your feelings and maybe, tonight, it would’ve been you instead of that woman. so you just do what you can : bury yourself inside the covers and try to sleep. 

maybe if you ignore it, it will go away. 

.

.

.

waking up, you realise you haven’t had any sleep in the past twenty-four hours or so. maybe you did, thirty minutes, or so. that doesn’t count when all you’ve heard last night are some horribly weird sex songs and phrases like, ‘that feels so good,’ and other things along the same lines whenever the music stopped. 

you looked at yourself in the mirror and almost passed out at the sight. horrible, literally. failing valak from the conjuring universe. actually, you can be the new valak except you’ll have real, actual, trauma and reason to haunt people. 

what surprises you more is that you haven’t come out of your room since last evening and ayato didn’t even check up on you. not like he’s obliged to, but he must. despite the fact that he was probably having the best night of his life, he should have morals as a human who cares about another human; or, as a roommate, because what if you fell from bed and broke your back? what if you got stuck in a chair and died of poor circulation? he probably doesn’t care. you’re pretty sure he’ll call the woman from last night the moment he finds your body and they’ll dance and sing on your grave; maybe, even fuck around it too. 

you want to get out of your room and go to the kitchen. you want to eat. but you’re scared the pair from last night would be passed out naked on the floor— nah, you’re not ready for that scene at seven in the morning. and this wouldn’t have been another issue to worry about if only ayato showed a little more patience and compassion and took her to his room. 

well, you have to survive. there’s a harsher world out there.  

you open the door and creep out of your room as if you’ve been meaning to steal something. you’re acting like this isn’t your apartment but the apartment of someone you’ve stolen a couple million dollars from. oh, and your eyes are closed. yeah. you’re not ready, not ready at all. you’d rather bump and fall and hit your head, die on spot; that'd be way better—

“oh, you’re up,” that’s a familiar voice. you’re sure, you look crazy standing in front of your room with your eyes closed, but that’s for another day. the main question is whether you should open your eyes or not. “you didn’t come out for dinner, i was waiting.” 

your eyes shoot open. 

okay. okay…

so, he’s not naked. thankfully, he’s dressed. fully dressed, in a white shirt with a top few buttons undone, black jeans or trousers, whatever they are. you miss the chest window, but you’re glad he’s dressed because you don’t certainly want to look at the scratches and marks from last night and add more trauma to your life. 

“i told you, i had dysentery,” as if he believes you. the look on his face tells he doesn’t. no one would, you ruin things for yourself. 

as expected, ayato is a goddamn liar. the ‘i was waiting,’ part sounds so fake now that you’re aware of what happened last night. because waiting while fucking someone doesn’t sound like waiting to you. more or less, it sounds like he was devouring his dinner while you were starving in your room. 

“did you not sleep last night?” oh, yeah, of course not. he’s getting there, slowly, but he is getting to the point. you wonder who’s to be blamed for your lack of sleep and the reason why you woke up with only one living and semi-functional brain cell. “ah, is it because of me? was it too loud last night? i was busy.” 

busy? yeah, he was busy working really hard blowing someone’s back or whatever. sounds like a tough job, but that’s none of your business. ( actually, it is ) you don’t want to have this conversation. you don’t know how to look him in the eyes. ayato, your roommate, your crush, he rocked someone else’s world while he knew you were in the apartment, probably hearing everything. for someone who’s rich enough to be featured in crazy rich asians, ayato surely does work a lot, and hard enough, at that. 

you want to murder him. chop off his limbs and also the part he’s probably very proud of. you want to shave his head so that no girl approaches him in the future. 

“oh, you probably don’t know about my work, do you?” no. you don’t want to. you don’t want to hear about the details, you’re not ready for this conversation. “i help my mom with physiotherapy,” 

yes. yes therapy, sounds lovely. everyone needs it, especially him. wait, therapy? what kind of therapy is sex?  well, it is some sort of therapy by the way, it makes you feel at ease— no, you’re swerving away from the topic ! okay, maybe you didn’t hear him correctly. he clearly said psychotherapy and he needs to get his licence revoked for the kind of therapy he is giving. it’s giving rise to more mental patients; you, for example. 

“therapy?” you mutter, you didn’t mean to. you need to learn how to keep your thoughts to yourself, you lack severely in that department of life. 

“yes, therapy for joints and bones? my mother is a physiotherapist and she taught me a thing or two,” oh. oh. physiotherapy. is that why he asked her to bend over? what was the need to put on music, though? you don’t understand ayato. actually, you don’t understand anyone in the kamisato family even though you’ve only met his sister so far. 

now, you feel guilty for thinking about him in that light. apart from the potential visual representations of ayato from last night in your head, you have a very high respect for this man. you feel like you should get on your knees and apologise, offer a hand-written apology letter for thinking of him in such a non-PG-13 manner. 

though, you don’t know how to apologise. you can’t possibly go ‘sorry, ayato, i thought you were busy having the best sex of your life when you were actually providing her therapy.’ that doesn’t even sound right. it makes you look like you need therapy, urgently. but you need to apologise for your sake. maybe, this is just the consequences of your actions or in this case, your imagination. 

“i’m—” you open your mouth to speak, but ayato beats you to it.  

“do you want to go out with me today?” 

wait, what?

do what now?

go out with who?

it’s a question that catches you off guard, pushes off off the cliff, stops your heart. the monkeys in your stomach are alive again even though they suffer from utter embarrassment and guilt for assuming all sorts of things about ayato, and the perfect man he is. 

you want to say yes. of course, no one in their right mind would reject such a golden opportunity to ride in his Bugatti La Voiture Noire that’s worth 18.7 million dollars as of when he purchased it. you remember you have a terminal disease where you spot one toned muscle and sell your conscience to whatever demon is out there. even though you don’t see any toned muscles, you see ayato’s collar bones thanks to those few undone buttons, you see the nerves of his arms thanks to the rolled up sleeves, you see him wearing an apron because he was making breakfast, what a malewife. 

you’re sold, almost.

almost. 

the offer is tempting, but your new apartment is more. you’re an adult and it's a fact even if you don’t want to believe it and want to become a cat who solely lives for aesthetic purposes. you need to earn for yourself and move out of this apartment instead of living in a hell just to fill a void called ayato in your heart. 

“i have to go take a look at how the work at my new apartment is going,” you’re surprised at how sane and normal your response sounds. it’s truly concerning after everything that has happened since last evening and the trash that’s residing in your head. 

you try your best to sound apologetic. you are, you really are, you’re missing out on ayato and his Bugatti La Voiture Noire of $18.7 millions, the one that people ( aka, you ) drool over every time they pass by. it’s an expensive sacrifice, literally and metaphorically, worth more than your life. 

“well, that sucks,” ayato sighs, removing the apron in the most seducing way possible, proceeding to run his fingers through his hairs, looking like a mouth-watering, melt in the mouth, sizzling pork at seven-thirty in the morning. “i had plans for us,” 

and you’re floored. 

us. you like the sound of that. you and ayato, ayato and you, hot. very hot, very sexy, sounds like an eargasm, honestly. for a second, you think it’s a dream. it has to be. if not, then maybe he wants to take you to a shrine or something and have you cleansed from top to bottom for all the r-rated thoughts you’ve been having. but, that’s only possible if ayato has an idea of what’s going on inside your head. there’s no way he knows that, or maybe he does. you look at him like he’s the happy meal and you haven’t eaten in a good five-hundred years or so. 

you’re too lost in your thoughts to focus on ayato until he leans in a bit closer, alerting every single neuron in your body as he shoots you a smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “have fun, pretty.” 

and here lies yn, twenty something, majoring in one of the available majors offered by her university. cause of death: kamisato ayato. 

.

.

.

ayato lets out a desperate cry of help, sliding down the walls of thoma’s living room as soon as he enters thoma’s apartment, scaring the living shit out of his friends.  

“go die somewhere else.” that’s sara again. you can’t blame her, she follows thoma like a pest because he’s a good cook, that’s it. food above everything else. 

thoma walks to the entrance, sighing at the sight of his friend lying on the floor, dejected and lifeless, looking pale, running the beauty of thoma’s luxurious apartment tiled with granite floors. if it weren’t for his morals, he would’ve trashed ayato. 

“i feel like a whore,” sara’s face scrunches up in disgust. maybe, judging from the way ayato talks about you, he is a whore. if not a whore, then something equivalent to it. “never knew i’d have to do this.” 

sara leans against the wall that ayato just slid down out of pure despair. “do what?” 

“seduce yn.” thoma practically pukes out all the water from his mouth at his friend’s words. “what, you both told me to do so!” 

sara doesn’t believe his words. they say love is blind, but in this case it’s also ignorant and incapable of following the wise and helpful instructions provided. “how the fuck have you been seducing her?” 

“um, with my skills?”

“don’t tell me.” the disappointment, in thoma’s voice, is astronomical. who would’ve thought that kamisato ayato, the heir to kamisato estate, excels in the art of idiocy. god really said he can either have looks or brains, and completely missed out on the latter. “ayato, i talked about cooking and cleaning and your homekeeping skills and not about your talents in bed.” 

oh.

that’s right. 

even though all ayato did was fluster you a little this morning— see, he’s disregarding what happened last evening. ayato assumes you’re used to seeing him half naked in his silk robe, with his drenched hair while he smells like primroses and sandalwood and everything else that’s featured in Dior’s men perfume collection. he thinks it’s normal. it’s his apartment, he gets to wear whatever he wants and make himself comfortable. 

he doesn’t know what bed skills tho— wait, bed? skills? talent in bed? what? what? he’s not even marginally close to what thoma is thinking; and ayato is sure that he needs to get new friends before it’s too late. 

“what ‘talents in bed’ are you even talking about?” ayato asks, finally standing up from the floor like the kamisato he is and slumping on the couch. 

thoma deadpans. “do you seriously want me to elaborate?” no, probably not. never. thoma has experience in this field, you see, and ayato, as someone who has never even thought about this, doesn’t want him to explain and give details about every single move and curve— no.  

ayato chooses his sanity over human reproductive knowledge. 

“i— nothing happened, nothing! all i did was ask if she wanted to go out with me and,” he pauses, eyes travelling between thoma and sara simultaneously. the latter raises her eyebrows, gesturing to him to continue his precautionary tale about how to not treat your roommate. “and, and i might’ve flirted with her, a little, yeah.” 

the embarrassment is evident in his voice. 

ayato wants to liquify and evaporate. he wants thoma’s house to break down and kill everyone and him too. he wants the microwave to blast, just anything, anything that could save him from this conversation. now, flirting isn’t that bad in itself. it’s good, it’s fun, ayaka flirts with yoimiya when her inner lesbian unleashes itself. sara flirts with shogun for some goddamn reason and everyone thinks they have a thing or two going on because no one dares to talk to ei. itto flirts with himself in the mirror— it’s normal, completely, absolutely, certainly, normal-er than normal. normal-est.  

ayato, however, doesn’t flirt. he doesn’t know how to flirt. the leisure art of flirting is beyond the luxuries this specific kamisato can afford. the last time he hit on someone was a cat, not even his ex-girlfriend, a cat. a feline. it scratched him. ayato refrains from flirting to avoid all sorts of innuendos—

a pause. the innuendos, the fucking innuendos, oh god. what if, what if you get the wrong idea? well, thoma and sara assumed that he has been trying to get laid with you so it only makes sense for you to assume the same after all that half-naked, bare-chested, sexy-wine-sipping, jazz last evening. 

no no no—

he’s done. he’s done. 

over.

if there’s someone who should move out, it’s him. 

this life ruining emotionally stressing psychologically mortifying realisation makes him want to jump down the nearest window and pass out, then never wake up. he wants to trip on air and die of mesothelioma, wants to overdose on sparkling water and die of negativity in his life. 

if he doesn’t die, he wishes for the earth to explode or something so that everyone else dies and humanity comes to an end. his day has been ruined, his disappointment and shame is immeasurable. kazuha better be ready to have an adopted brother because ayato is damn sure the kamisatos are kicking him out after this. 

ayato doesn’t wait for his friends to say something. he simply walks out of thoma’s apartment, dejected in shame, hoping lighting will strike him in broad daylight on a day with clear skies. you’re not home, that’s great. you won’t be back anytime before evening because you’re out with your friends. no, actually, you’re out with miko and the new transfer students beidou and venti, who you are bound to get drunk and pass out with.  

that’s good, it’s great. a godsent opportunity. there are two possibilities: first, either you come home remembering everything and move out the very next day or second, you forget everything thanks to alcohol. he hopes it’s the second one. alcohol does wonders water could never. those two molecules of hydrogen and one molecule of oxygen don’t do shit when it comes to forgetting memories. alcohol, on the other hand, is capable of doing miracles. 

like the time he got home downright wasted and almost kissed you senseless while you were helping him clean up. he can swear, he saw the blush on your cheeks. but maybe, that was just fatigue since you had to wake up at two to deal with him. 

yeah, alcohol, a godly drink. 

he reaches home, grabs a beer can from the refrigerator and makes himself comfortable on the couch. ayato wants to forget everything, hoping you’d forget it all too. 

.

.

.

“ayato,” you whisper his name, shaking his shoulders gently in an attempt to wake him up. not like you want to, the sight of him sleeping soundly is healing you and washing off your sins. one does not see the kamisato ayato sleeping on the couch with flushed cheeks because of drinks and a shirt that’s almost half-a-way undone everyday.

it’s a godly sight. a scenery. mother nature could never. you genuinely want to thank his parents for the masterpiece they have created. 

you shouldn’t sit next to the couch and gawk at him while he’s sleeping. that’s creepy. what if he wakes up? imagine waking up to your roommate staring at you with the utmost attention. creepy, and moreover, you wouldn’t be able to face him. 

but again, he looks like the man you’d like to have as your boyfriend. scratch that, your husband, if not more. as if, anything more remains, but whatever. you smile, it’s a chuckle. you chuckle. you chuckle out loud, hand flying to your mouth immediately, hoping he doesn’t wake up. 

you reach out for his face, tracing his nose as superficially as possible, a faint gasp escaping your lips as he shifts a little. great. you have woken him up. his eyes flutter open and you quickly compose yourself, leaning away from him as you realise about the close proximity between him and you. 

ayato groans as he turns to his right, eyes landing on you sitting on the floor right next to him, eyes wide open like a deer caught in the headlights. a second passes, you’re okay. the next second, you’re not. 

you’re panicking. 

you’re experiencing all sorts of emotions at once because ayato just woke up and he probably knows you’ve been sitting here, watching him sleep for god knows how long. time is a social construct either way, who the fuck cares— okay, you’re swaying from the topic once again. and not to mention he looks extremely hot with messed up hair and those flushed cheeks. you’re barely composing yourself.  

did you mention that ayato has excellent facial features? he looks even more stunning up close. you know you should get up and walk away. hide yourself inside your room, live in solitary confinement for the rest of your life, or at least till ayato is around. but you don’t, because you’re staring at ayato, and he’s staring back at you. it’s like you’ve frozen in your place, you’re pretty sure you’d forgotten to breathe, if that even makes sense?

“hi,” he mutters, whispers, in his godly, eargasmic voice, and you feel like you’re hearing melodies of careless whisper ringing in your ears. 

no, you’re not sitting on the floor anymore. you stand up, pretending nothing ever happened, as if you didn’t stare at him sleeping and continued to stare for five solid minutes even after he had woken up. a very reliable solution, playing pretend always proves to be useful. 

“you can wash up, i’ll prepare the hangover soup,” you mutter, making your way to the kitchen, hearing him shuffle on the couch as he sits straight. ayato doesn’t remember a lot from the events that happened prior to your arrival, yet, which is fantastic. marvels of alcohol, everyone. 

“don’t go,” he mumbles, and you stop on your way. “don’t move out,” ayato doesn’t think before speaking, he never does. he doesn’t trust himself. he said you’re just a roommate, nothing less, nothing more, but he has been devastated ever since you told him you’ll be moving out. maybe, that was all a lie. maybe, this isn’t just platonical. maybe, you have always been a little more than just a roommate to ayato. 

it’s like the fireworks are going off all around you. you’re still processing his words, wondering if he really means them because in the end, he’s drunk. partially, completely, he is drunk. and you can never trust alcohol and its consequences. 

so, you simply decide to play along, hoping he won't remember this conversation the next day. “is there a reason for me to stay?”

“i am,” another quick reply, and you’re losing your mind. it’s like the ground beneath you is shaking. your heart is accelerating so fast, you’re scared it’ll come out of your chest. it’s not your first time witnessing a drunk ayato who has gone batshit crazy, but it is your first time having him look at you with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. at least not with regards to you. 

he sighs, getting up from the couch before making his way towards you with every step increasing your already racing heartbeat. and before you know it, he’s already standing in front of you, barely a few inches apart as he cups your face, eyes settling on your lips. “please remind me if i forget any of this tomorrow,” 

rest all feels like a dream because ayato, your roommate, the guy you’ve had a crush on ever since he moved in, the man you’d bark for— not literally, maybe, is kissing you. he’s not just kissing you, he’s kissing you, as in literally slotting his lips against yours, pulling you closer with every second that passes. he’s kissing you like the world will end tomorrow and even if it does, you don’t mind. you don’t fucking mind if the house burns to ashes and a truck runs you over the very next day because this is everything you’ve wished for in past two months ( you know, besides having a place with better living conditions to call house )

“ayato—” no he doesn’t let you speak. instead, he nibbles on your lips, soft gasps for air twirling in between as he frames you against the kitchen counter. no, this isn’t your first kiss. you’ve had relationships, but nothing compares to this moment. no other kiss compares to how he’s kissing you and how it feels like you’re on an amusement park ride where the adrenaline gets the best of you and suddenly, you’re drowning between pleasure and thrill. 

that is what kissing ayato is like. 

it’s like going to heaven and back in just the way his hands ghost up your cheeks and slot them against your waist, your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue slightly brushes against your bottom lips, and without a second thought, you let it in. kissing ayato is like gravitating towards a black hole, it’s like lying at the rock bottom and falling even deeper. you’re not sure if you should be doing this right now, especially when he’s drunk, but the taste of alcohol against your tongue inhibits your thought process, allowing your feelings to get the best of you. 

he pulls away, lips brushing against yours as you lean in to capture them in another kiss, only for him to retract. needless to say, it leaves you a little embarrassed. ayato cups your cheeks once again, making you look into his eyes with his warm breath fanning on your face. “i love you,” that’s all he says before navigating his lips to yours once again. 

you’re not sure if you heard him right. of course, you did. you have a good sense of hearing and there’s no way you’re missing such an important detail, but— love, you don’t know how sober that is. you don’t know how much of this kiss, and every sensation that you’re sharing with each other, is genuine. you don’t know how sober ayato is, you don’t know whether this is because of the alcohol or if he actually loves you. so, you put his hands on his chest, pushing him away as he stares at you with an expression ranging between confusion and heartbreak. 

you kiss the inside of his palms, shooting him a sweet smile, before walking into your room. “say that again when you’re sober.”

note two. hello if you made it this far im in love you and sending you all the, uh, things that you like ?? probably ?? yeah. trust me, i never knew i'd end up writing a 10,310 words long fic about ayato and reader simping over each other, in around five hours, two days before my english exam. but this had to be done. i had the rough draft in my keep ever since i made my genshin acc ( hi hi to people who remember my nezlys era ) i had to elaborate. i hope you liked this ?? not the kind of writing you want to see or even write, when this is your first post for a fandom but c'mon. it's about ayato. i had to do this for ayato in silk robe when he's freshly out of shower smelling like primroses and sandalwood and everything else from Dior's men perfume collection

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“I’m not going to be offended if you don’t say it back,” they said softly. “I love you. No pressure. You don’t need to panic about it.”

“It really doesn’t bother you if I don’t say it back yet?” 

“Three words don’t define us. We were happy before I said it, I don’t need anything more from you than what you have already given.”

They kissed them then. Didn’t know if that was love, but maybe that didn’t matter.

a genius 🤯