MIDNIGHT HAZE — Rin Itoshi.

i like him, not you!

synopsis: in which you’ve finally mustered up the courage to express a bashful confession to your best friend and six-year crush…only to accidentally dispatch your heartfelt message to the wrong person.

character/s: albedo, ayato, childe, kazuha, xiao, scaramouche, thoma

a/n: @sohyuki ilysm have a wonderful day queen <3

the first thing you do is run away.

in a way, you have always been good at that. scampering from those undivulged words and imminent encounters that instilled fear in you. it spoke to you almost like a natural instinct, left you with a bitter taste on your tongue, tormented you with a sick sensation twisting your stomach.

because of this, you ran from a lot of things. from your parents whenever they frowned upon a low grade on your report card, from a pompous asshole you later mustered the tiniest courage to shove down during fourth grade, from the unwitting attention of sunbeam-amber eyes meeting yours, and from your best friend whom you’ve practically loved for the longest time.

and you decide the last one is something you’ll finally want to quit running away from.

eight little letters and three simple words, yet for six long years they have meant more than the world to you. he has always meant more than the world to you.

so you attempt to construct it all within proper sentences — desperately trying not to jumble up your phrases while trying to provide the impression that you sure as hell hadn’t been shaking tremendously as you wrote it.

but it’s so difficult to even spare a meek glance at it. so annoying that it pesters thrumming vibrations in the depths of your stupid heart. so fucking frustrating that you don’t actually bother looking at it anymore when your fingers hover over the word ‘send’.

you’ve shut your phone off after that singular moment, and stashed it away in a nearby drawer for safekeeping. and for the entire weekend, you convince yourself that you didn’t really care anymore. six years didn’t matter because you weren’t expecting an answer. just an outlet for these emotions and a burden lifted off your weighted shoulders.

and for the first time in a long while, you acknowledge how liberating it feels to not want to run.

Y/N’S CONTACTS.

him <3 (kaedehara kazuha)

✉ 4:47 am, april 4th (mon).

[ 1 new message! ] : psst. arcade after class today? :)

ah, but who would be an idiot not to fall for him?

you’ve guessed he’s received so many incessant compliments and heartfelt confessions, that despite how frustratingly courteous he was — could never actually bother wasting his time sorting through each and every one of them.

so you figure that you’re in the clear, and he won’t have to burden himself with formulating a sharp answer.

or at least, that’s what you reassure yourself when monday comes around and he greets you with an ever-familiar and warm smile.

and is also perhaps why he pretends like nothing has actually happened…

because if that happened to be the case, he was rather good at acting pretty normal. you knew that if you’d ever received such a confession from somebody, you would have been freaking out a lot more — and depending on whether you reciprocated their emotions, either avoiding or confronting them.

but this…was a little too cold of a reaction.

and yet, at the same time, you were thankful he still kept approaching and talking to you as usual. above all, kazuha was your best friend before he was the person you wanted to be romantically involved with. you could never really bear the thought of losing him as a close confidante.

but it hurt like hell because he was always too kind, always too impossible not to love. always with the 1 am calls and his soft voice when you couldn’t fall asleep. always with the weekend home visits to his place so you could share a meal together. always with the sleepovers or out catching a midnight film. always a shoulder to lean on when the tears were too much. always, always there.

you know he’ll never love you the way you knew just exactly how to love him. and that’s okay.

but if looks and words could have honestly fooled, it almost seemed like he was ridiculously unaware that you had even confessed to him in the first place.

everything stayed the same.

and you can’t help but feel sick at the reality, because a part of you wanted to believe that kazuha was in love with you, at least once in his life and perhaps never again. in sleepless turned drowsy midnight calls, in fleeting glances inside the deserted cinema, in homemade meals and warm smiles, in drowning tears and comforting hugs. in the briefest of seconds when he realized you were always there.

but the thing about love is that it’s blinded you enough to not think about the probability that he might just like you. that he may or may not have been avoiding all other confessions because he only hoped for yours. that he may be hesitating every time you two get closer because he thinks you won’t want him back. that at 1 am while you’re whispering softly through the phone about your day, kazuha’s thinking about all the pragmatic reasons not to blurt out mid-conversation that he’s always been madly in love with you.

you know one thing for sure when you dazedly stare at your phone later that day. love has blinded you enough to not think twice about why kazuha might not be acting any differently than you had initially expected. why he’s so infuriatingly unfazed. why he should have been having a more violent reaction instead of making the same silly jokes with you.

and boy, you’re bewildered when you find two chat notifications waiting in your message box. one from kazuha, inviting you to the nearby arcade after class…except for some absurd reason, there’s no record of an embarrassingly heartfelt confession registered in your shared chat history.

the second from a boy you barely knew but always subconsciously noticed in class, sitting rather ominously in your DMs with the strangest of messages. and it’s only when you begrudgingly open your shared chat, that you clearly feel how your heart stops in one horrifying instant.

because sitting there in the most unexpected of places, lies the culmination of six long years building up to a terribly emotional confession.

but…it’s not for the boy you had hoped would receive it.

that guy in class (xiao)

✉ 11:54 pm, april 2nd (sat).

[ 1 new message! ] : who are you?

xiao wishes there was a guidebook for how to handle all probable awkward situations, in the unfortunate circumstance that he’d ever find himself impossibly lodged in the middle of one.

but there’s none that exist to date. and he thinks not even the internet can help him figure out what to respond to a sudden and random heartfelt confession sitting peacefully in his message inbox.

he hasn’t exactly done anything to be loved or wanted by anyone. and at first, your contact name barely registers anyone he recognizes in his head. so he sends the first question he thinks of as a response, and shuts his phone to close his eyes and rest.

but then sunday morning comes and it clicks. he remembers. he knows who you are. because of that, xiao finds it all absurd.

it wasn’t like he intended to stare at you. he was always prone to dozing off mid-classes, eyes instinctively sweeping across every inch of the classroom, outside the window to greet the blinding light of the morning sun, and then reluctantly retreating back inside…

only to see you. and for you to see him.

so the odd pattern repeats. everyday.

you’d think he have broken out of such a quirky habit of looking. he’d think you’d have stopped meeting his eyes every single time. but you always manage to see each other — and past that, neither of you dare make the effort to talk to one another.

it was some sort of unspoken understanding between you two, momentary peace that isn’t built on a real connection. just that he finds comfort in your eyes, while you’re left breathless at his.

but for you to confess, and oh so suddenly without any particular reason to make you like him.

so he realizes the message presently occupying his DMs (and unconsciously plaguing his thoughts) isn’t truly meant for him.

monday eagerly arrives, and he stares. more often than usual, more often than he’d want to. he wonders if you’ve noticed how you fucked up, because he’s almost certain he knows who your vulnerable confession is intended for.

and it’s late in the afternoon when you shyly pull him aside to talk about it. how embarrassed you were by your clumsy mistake, how deeply you felt apologetic for sending it to him, but most importantly of all —

“i’m really sorry, but i like someone else and not you!”

strange how your first conversation turns out like this. he’s always imagined it would begin very differently. perhaps with you pointing out the fact that he always gazes at you, him asking you in return why you always look back.

and almost on impeccable cue, you suddenly smile and tell him about all the times you recognized him because of how often your eyes met, even though you’ve never talked to each other. you’re sorry for not talking with him sooner.

but xiao thinks nothing is going to change just because you’ve verbally acknowledged each other.

he was sort of wrong. the next time you met glances, you smiled. several more times after you’ve started doing it, he starts to reciprocate with the smallest of smiles too — the kind that makes you feel like its your shared little secret.

and you’ve both changed in certain ways. you talked with each other more often, occupying vacated classrooms during breaks and making a bit more room for each other within your drastically different lives. he even starts to join you during lunch whenever kazuha was too occupied with homework, and lets you drag him along to amusement parks or anime events you presumed kazuha wasn’t too interested in.

but the craziest part about it all was that you admitted to never actually confessing to kazuha after all that’s happened.

perhaps you were left traumatized by your previous opportunity to confess to your best friend. perhaps because of a certain “someone’s” consistent jokes, you were too horrified to ever want to confess to somebody ever again. perhaps you were simply confused about the new boy weaving his way into your life.

one thing’s for sure, xiao feels strangely relieved that you decided not to send the actual message to your crush.

and maybe even a little dirty part of him hopes you’ll eventually forget about confessing to kazuha at the end of it all.

saturday boyfriend (childe)

✉ 9:06 am, april 5th (tues).

[ 1 new message! ] : so you’re the girl who likes xiao?

the thing is, childe could have never actually perceived the day when he’d get a phone call late in the evening from xiao, inquiring about what to say in response to an abrupt confession from a stranger.

his brusque and characteristically quiet best friend — had suddenly gotten some crazy chick to fall for him? with that shitty personality?

oh, the unexpected news gave childe the laughter of a lifetime. and yet, he couldn’t help but feel curious about the idea of it. what kind of interesting person would ever be attracted to someone like that guy? (respectfully, of course.)

fortunately to satiate the whirlwind of questions that night, xiao later sends him a text of your name with a message not to bother you.

and childe’s eyes go wide when he eventually puts a face to the name. you, the weird chick always absently staring over at xiao in classes?

perhaps he should’ve seen it coming. he did think it was weird how he sometimes found you glancing quietly towards his friend. but he sort of assumed you’d have liked kazuha instead — you know, your actual best friend — over some guy you’ve never even talked to in your life.

so with the right determination, he makes it his personal mission the following monday to devote his own precious time for a stakeout. because who’s to say you weren’t secretly some disgusting pervert targeting your uninhibited emotions to an innocent classmate?

childe observes you from afar the whole day. from the moment you found your seat in class that morning, watching you lock eyes with xiao mid-science discussion, routinely tagging along with kazuha for lunch, and even as you’re concentrating on a note-taking phase during the afternoon break.

you haven’t made any explicit moves towards xiao…yet. it’s a rather normal and innocuous day for you.

until afternoon comes — and near the school gates, he watches as you awkwardly tug xiao aside to talk to him briefly. childe pauses in his steps, staring at your huddled silhouettes while attempting to decipher the distinct mood of the conversation. he sees you smile at one point, and how you courteously greet each other goodbye when it’s over.

did xiao accept your feelings then?

that night, he gets your number from a mutual friend, and sends you a harmless text message the next morning. if xiao reciprocated your interest in him that day, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to eventually get to know each other during the long run.

but when he arrives in school, he’s greeted by the sight of you staring at him in surprise and asking if you could spare him a minute of his time to talk. and it’s right then that you explain and attempt to clear up the misunderstanding that transpired between you and his best friend.

it still makes childe laugh at the absurdity of it whenever he thinks about the mistaken confession, and how throughly embarrassed you must have been for unhesitatingly sending it to a complete stranger.

from that fateful day on, you two started to become close friends. and to mark that unforgettably momentous occasion for you — childe would routinely find a way to weave his presence into your saturdays, bringing flowers, chocolates, typical department-store love letters, or text you a long ass cheap excuse of a profession — to remind you of your “beautifully executed confession”. even though really, it’s just a dumb excuse to poke infuriating jokes at you.

those continuous, and admittedly humorous endeavors of his, became some part of the reason why you could never bring yourself to confess to kazuha again…or anyone else for that matter.

and you know, maybe celibacy was the way your life was always destined to be. maybe you weren’t supposed to give out your heart to other guys, because you were solely meant to receive any form of romantic gesture every saturday from a certain ginger-haired bastard. and well, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing to have in the world.

or maybe he’s accidentally caught feelings when he suddenly put more thought than he should have, into picking out a gift on a random saturday.

maybe one average saturday, he’ll unconsciously fall for your smile and the sarcastic words of gratitude you’ll throw back at him.

and maybe, just maybe…on some imminent saturday, he won’t know what more to give other than his real and heartfelt confession to you.

homework hotline (albedo)

✉ 6:15 am, april 7th (thurs).

[ 1 new message! ] : hey, coming over to yours later for that project due next week.

you’ve had close friends come over to your apartment often, but none have ever made you feel as utterly relieved compared to when albedo visits.

it’s always been challenging for you to keep track of homework loads, or stay motivated while reviewing for an upcoming test due the end of the week. and albedo’s presence magically helps you to be productive with exactly all of that.

perhaps you feel more motivated, or somewhat pressured to accomplish tasks in the company of a person who’s actually mastered diligence. whatever it is, for the past few years it’s given you higher grades than you’ve ever expected to receive pitted against your previous academic years.

and ever since then, you’ve made it a point to always partner up together during projects, which he easily obliges to. plus, you’ve succeeded as a team in plenty of tasks for so long, that albedo naturally feels more inclined to work with you.

he also can’t deny that the company is indeed familiar and comfortable, therefore making it the most preferable alternative.

besides, he’s made himself at home in your apartment for a handful of years now, that it’s almost as if he practically lives together with you. an extra toothbrush left in your bathroom cupboard, a similar set of pillows and blankets stashed inside your closet, albedo’s hoodies and clothes folded in a neat pile within a separate drawer — his presence in your home was always just there.

which is why later that evening, as you and albedo are busy preparing dinner before you cram an overnight agenda of finishing several projects in advance, he casually suggests the idea of moving in together instead.

and it’s frankly not that terrible of an idea. the rent would be split between you both so you’d save much more, there would be no more trouble commuting to each other’s places to finish school-related tasks, house chores would be divided amongst the two of you, and albedo could occupy the apartment while you were out on weekly visits or sleepovers in kazuha’s.

so the deed is done. by the following week, you’ve already prepared other necessary accommodations, and albedo comes over with a small duffel bag (since most of his stuff was already left at your place) and a brand new key for your shared abode.

neither of you can really feel like something has changed. if anything, it seems more natural to have him permanently living with you because it makes things more convenient.

and ever since then, you’ve been constantly seen together a lot more frequently inside the university premises (causing some familiar faces grow envious at the sight of it), but the both of you preferred to keep your current home status as a personal secret so as not to fuel too many strange rumors.

you do homework with each other a lot more often. you’re also left in awe by the occasional detailed doodles scrawled across the corner pages of his lecture notebook. one late evening, you were wondering if it was the sleep taking over you, or he actually drew a little portrait of you on one of the tightly folded pages.

everyday, you’d take turns doing certain things during your well-deserved breaks. albedo, on one hand, teaches you how to draw and paint. you’re not exactly the best at artistic endeavors, but he was always patient and supportive, going as far as to provide specific remarks on the things you needed improvement with.

on other days, you’d convince him to sit down with you to binge food while watching your favorite films. he’d initially oblige to appease your kindness and hadn’t realized it at first — but at some later point, he ended up loving all the same movies as you did.

it’s slow but anticipated, the way he falls in love with you. perhaps a part of him has always seen this ending coming — recognized the dangerous path he was treading, and yet took it without any complaint.

even though he saw through your heart and how you wanted someone else. even as he witnessed the romantic gifts you carried back home with a giddy smile. even while he listens to you upsettingly vent about the most impertinent guy who keeps making his way back into your life.

because maybe deep down, he’s always hoped to love someone like this. the sound of your laughter filling his ears while making dinner. films on television illuminating your face in the darkness. yawns you stifle when it’s midnight and you’re almost finished with homework. fluttering eyes in the morning. enchanting smiles quirking across your lips. napping soundly on the study desk even though you kindly insisted on waiting up for him before you both slept. how it feels to talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

it’s natural and innate. foreign yet so familiar. a breath of fresh air. and yet, the feeling of home lingers across his fingertips.

a written, unchangeable, and hopeless destiny for albedo to always fall without constraint. and the saddest truth is — he wouldn’t have wanted this love for any other way.

BLOCKED — 4th grader asshole (scaramouche)

✉ 2:35 pm, april 9th (sat).

[ 1 new message! ] : you’re paying for the next meal dumbass.

scaramouche to you was a lot of things. perhaps the first and most notable one of them all was that he was an impressively pompous asshole.

and you suppose he’s always been like that. the same bitchy bully you’ve regretfully crossed paths with during the fourth grade.

the strangest part is, you’ve never actually done anything to piss the boy off. or at least, none you could still vividly remember. but you were certain that you weren’t too shitty as a kid, and your first interaction with scaramouche wasn’t even close to offensive.

it happened on the elementary playground, when you first caught sight of the little boy eagerly chasing after his friends, before suddenly tripping over a rock and diving straight into the ground. you remember the degrading echoes of his friends’ laughter, how you worriedly walked over to him and asked if he was okay. how you stretched your hand out to the kid on the ground, and how he stared at you with an unreadable gaze. and before you even knew it, past that singular moment, every single day of 4th grade became absolute war.

could anyone blame you for simply being courteous? he had terribly shitty friends and you only wanted to help…which yes, unexpectedly backfired with irreparable consequences. how were you to know in that second that something horrible would happen?

maybe you should never have approached scaramouche that day. or maybe you also would’ve regretted never helping him out.

either way, the thought has always plagued the back of your mind, and you wonder if your life would have changed so drastically had you made a different choice in that playground.

even until today, he still somehow manages to wander into your life oh so effortlessly. in the hallways, ramming into your shoulder without sparing a mere glance or an apology. in the middle of class, absently toying with your free locks of hair while you grumble several coherent insults towards the boy. during gratitude day, him stealing your white blouse scribbled in your friends’ messages and writing some of his own unwanted words on it. in the art room, cornering you with that devilish smirk and a finger against his lips as he warns you not to make a single sound, while the hall monitor angrily screeches his name around the deserted corridors…most likely intending to throw him in detention.

even at the comfort of your own home — he’s the neighbor who (unfortunately) moved around the same time as you did, except he lives in the spacious flat two floors below.

and it infuriates you to the ends of the earth. how he’s always been there. how he somehow still is.

when you aced a major test, he was there with an irritated scoff, reminding you not to get too full of yourself. when he saw how you started to fall for kazuha in the early years, he was there to poke fun of you for wanting a “nice” guy, because nice was just an equivalent for boring. when he saw you standing outside your house beneath the rain — soaked, shivering, and frustrated after a big argument with your parents — he shoved an umbrella in your face and told you how you looked absolutely horrendous.

he’s seen too much of you, both in your happiest and at your worst. not even others like kazuha or close family friends have witnessed or known such dark parts of you. why did it have to be him? this boy who has been constantly tormenting you for several years of your life?

even as you surround yourself with better people, you still think about the insolent asshole roaming around the hallways. still overly conscious about his presence whenever you’re in the same room (more than you would have wanted). still thinking about his umbrella in the rain.

and perhaps that was the most perplexing thing which unknowingly drew you to scaramouche. that you never really knew which side of him you were going to get everyday.

one moment he’s explicitly arguing with you in the middle of plain daylight (which unfortunately, later lands you both in detention) — then all of a sudden, you’re riding a bus at midnight to your apartment alone, and he’s the person coincidentally seated next to you, flinching at your snot as he hurriedly juts a handkerchief towards your teary face.

he’s always headed towards the apartment at the same time you exit the bus coming from the university. and although you two constantly bicker and fight along the way back to the building, he was there to accompany you on the lonely walk home.

he pokes fun about your painfully obvious crush on your best friend, but tones it down on the sunday he sees you with puffy red eyes after confessing and attempting to convince yourself you didn’t care if he didn’t want you back.

even more so when you’re unwillingly forced to share a table with him inside a popular and crowded restaurant during lunch — him insulting you for the way you scarf down your food like a pig, and yet his hand subconsciously reaches out to wipe the sauce smudge on the corner of your lips before casually licking it off his thumb.

you’re staring at him in confusion, grateful yet weirded out at the…generous gesture. but all he does is scoff disapprovingly at your face, because there’s no masking the strange red flush that creeps up your cheeks from the uncharacteristic tension and his sudden physical contact.

and for the first time in the years you’ve known him, you’ve only made yourself presently aware of the reddish tint that sets the tips of his ears aglow.

what you’ll never actually realize is how much effort he’s been constantly making to conceal that singularly instinctive (and frankly, repulsive) action that reminds him of how vulnerable you’ve always made him feel — ever since you gave him your hand back in fourth grade.

it would’ve helped him a lot more if he had never noticed you prior to that. how nice you were to the other kids and teachers. how adorable you looked in those neat pigtails. how you had unknowingly charmed every single person into the palm of your hand, and how you were still so infuriatingly enchanting and oblivious at the effect you had on others…even until today.

he hated feeling vulnerable more than anything else in the world, knowing that he was also one of those idiots helplessly wrapped around your finger. just that unlike the rest of them, he’d never actually stoop down so low with his pride to say it out loud.

and he hated that everyday, you were always making it all the more easier for him to admit it to himself. to scream out to the world that scaramouche hated how much he has somehow, foolishly, and quite impossibly, always been in love with you.

organization hottie (ayato)

✉ 5:23 pm, april 9th (sat).

[ 1 new message! ] : see you on monday.

you tried not to squeal too loudly when you suddenly received the text message. but albedo could see the way you tightly pressed your lips together to stifle back a wide whooping grin.

and why wouldn’t you be thrilled? you had just gotten accepted into your university’s official charity organization! it was certainly the perfect opportunity to expose yourself to more learning experiences and activities past the fields of academics.

obviously, it wasn’t like a super attractive person was currently heading the committee and had just sent you a text saying you got accepted a couple minutes ago…

or…okay.

so maybe there’s a bit of an influence. i mean, was it that bad to find a guy who devotes his time for others insanely charming?

of course, it wasn’t anything serious like the way you felt for kazuha. it was more of a happy crush, if you would call it — someone you have a slight romantic admiration for, but don’t exactly harbor any deep feelings towards them.

admittedly, you had naturally considered the prospect of finding yourself with nothing to do over the course of summer, and you figured applying in the organization wouldn’t do much harm for you anyway…even though you had some reservations about the final decision to sign up for it.

and then, you heard about how ayato was recently elected to oversee the committee activities for the following year. thus, the rest was simply history.

the next week, you’re swamped with exchanging introductions among several new members and almost immediately busying yourself with the upcoming project meeting.

oddly enough, you’ve been assigned in the same team as ayato for your first project. and although you began on a rather rough and awkward start together, he guides you through the transitioning process until you’ve learned at least enough things to handle some separate tasks independently.

you’ve always assumed ayato was an overly formal and aloof person to approach compared to the others — however on the contrary, you were pleasantly surprised to discover that he also beheld a mischievous side conflicting his own outer demeanor.

there were days when even he would occasionally reach out to talk about things past organization-related matters. simple questions such as asking about some input on a certain movie, if you had completed this previously given assignment, or merely checking how your day was going.

and maybe it was just strange for you to suddenly realize how human ayato feels.

sure, he was often distant and burdened under plenty of responsibilities. you’ve heard your fair share of rumors and how he was always seemingly placed on a pedestal above all — perhaps you’d almost forgotten that at the end of the day, he was still just trying to get his own shit together, like everybody else.

he was precisely nothing short of a normal guy. the kind who pokes good fun around and plays chess on breaks. the kind who still asks if you want to accompany him to springtime festivals. the kind who smiles at you when he sees you standing across the hallway. the kind who elbows you subtly when you’ve dozed out in the middle of somebody’s monologue. the kind who feels like you‘re somehow beginning to know him better than you know yourself.

and ayato thinks you’re the kind he wondered what would happen had he met you all those years ago instead. if he had an opportunity to know you better before, than he did today. if he would have liked you any sooner, or always just a little later.

maybe it’s true that ayato could work hard to be a lot of things. after all, he couldn’t have become half the man he was today if he hadn’t convinced himself to put in more effort than anybody else.

but maybe there were also some things ayato could just never bring himself to have, no matter how hard he tried. maybe there were always meant to be some moments and people he wasn’t possibly cut out for.

and maybe he could try all he wanted, but he could never really work hard enough to ever make you notice his own lonesome heart — always patiently waiting.

BONUS CONTACT ! — a short side story.

radio boy (thoma)

✉ 3:07 pm, april 5th (tues).

[ 1 new message! ] : hey y/n! do you mind stopping by the broadcasting room for a bit?

although thoma has always been well-favored among people of all ages, he feels that there’s nobody else he’d rather spend his company with than you.

it’s not that he’s wanted you for ill intentions or in a romantic perspective. just that you were his favorite person who was so invariably easy to talk to.

you first met thoma inside the broadcasting room, randomly paying a visit out of curiosity to ask the title of a particular song played during the morning break. and then the following day, you came back to ask on behalf of your friend about another song.

before either of you knew it, you were making regular yet brief appearances to the little recording area — not just to ask about songs, but also to initiate small talk about how the other’s day was going. it was later on you discovered that thoma was a student from another class in the same university who volunteered to work for the campus radio station.

on most days, you’d bring him pastries or coffee to satiate his empty stomach, since thoma preferred to spend most of his free time in the broadcasting room. sometimes, he’d also be generous enough to let you borrow some of his cd’s or flash-drives of music playlists that he thinks would suit your taste.

during periods when you were too busy to pay a visit, you’d send him a quick text apologizing in advance. but not even five minutes later, a familiar song would suddenly blast through the classroom speakers in response, and you couldn’t do anything to hide the contented smile from quirking across your face.

when thoma begins to fall in love with you, he finds himself secretly dedicating certain songs to you on the campus radio — either playing tracks he knows you love, or music that he thinks reminds him of you.

of course, you’re not really sure when the boy behind the radio started liking somebody. just that all of a sudden on an average weekday, you belatedly noticed how his choice of tunes changed, and never became the same as before.

and every time you’ll teasingly question thoma about his arbitrary selection of songs in hopes of prying him for a name drop, all he does is shrug with a quiet smile — saying that you, out of all people, should know her all too well.

I dont know if you will read this but if you do...

Can you make a plot of person A being turned to stone and person B trying to find a way to bring them back?

"B.... B please stop."

"No I can't, I can't, I need to- I need to find a way-"

"B they're dead-"

"NO, I can help! I can save them, I just need to find the right-"

"B THEY'RE DEAD, STONE, KAPUT, YOU CANT SAVE A ANYMORE SO JUST STOP."

me, with a vague plot idea, 1 (one) character name, and an outline that consists of mostly question marks:

Under His Skin ~ Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.2k

Pairing: Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow (Nolanverse Batman) x F Reader

Warnings: Stalking, gaslighting, coveting, drugging, voyeurism, manipulation, plans to falsely imprison, vandalism.

Your world continues to implode in the wake of Ares' breakdown. What happens with his apartment now that you were added to the lease? What of your wedding plans? And the art gallery...

Jonathan realizes that the League of Shadows gave him the key to a fully-realized fear toxin. But what will they want in return? The only leverage they have to use against him is her so he's running out of time to lock her down...

She knocked softly three times. Right on time. The clock read 12:13 exactly. 

Jonathan didn’t say anything, just opened the door with deliberate calm. 

She smiled faintly as she stepped inside, a takeout bag in hand. “Lunch, love.” Then she froze, and her eyes widened. “I... I'm so sorry. That was habit. I didn’t mean...”

Jonathan tilted his head slightly, just studying her. 

Habit.That word didn’t belong to me. But it will.

She moved past him, setting the food carefully on his desk. She was dressed like she had been in the early days when she'd arrive for Ares with a calm smile and soft conversation, confident in her skin, polished without effort. A tailored coat with a simple blouse tucked into slacks. Her jewelry was understated.

But it wasn’t what she wore that caught his attention. It was the scent of her perfume. He just realized she hadn't worn it in many days, the faint, clean smell of linen and her. 

Jonathan turned slightly as she passed, tracking the air she disturbed as he closed the door.

You’re trying. Putting yourself back together, and keeping the routine intact. Making it look whole again.

But it isn’t. Not anymore.

He looked at her more closely now. The illusion of routine was in place. But the light was gone from her eyes. The easy laughter he’d observed on her first days at Arkham? Absent. The subtle self-assurance in her posture? Faded.The confidence in her voice when she used to tease Ares or distract the staff? Muted.

There was something else now. Strain. She was tired. Not just physically, but beneath the surface. 

I’ve bent something in you. Not enough to break. Just enough to shift the balance.

It would make her easier to guide and shape. Now she'd ask fewer questions. She'd trust him faster, doubt less.

Jonathan should like that. He should want that. But something about it… unsettled him.

She was vibrant when I first saw her. Untouched by decay. Now there’s a shadow.

And I cast it. It works in my favor. But it’s mine. I’ll have to fix it. 

Not to restore her. But to own every piece of her, including her joy and warmth. Not just what was left after the storm... but what he rebuilt from the ruins.

“Well,” she said, trying to recover, “I asked a few of the nurses if they knew what you liked. A couple mentioned this place. I hope it’s okay.” She took her normal seat while he sat in the chair next to her.

Jonathan opened the bag slowly, surprised. Yes, he did like that restaurant. Lean protein, quinoa, a side of steamed vegetables. Not quite his usual order, but remarkably accurate.

You did research.To please me.

He looked up, as she pulled a wrap from her own bag. She was watching him, not expectantly, but hoping.

“Yes,” he said. “This is fine.”

This is perfect.

The meal unfolded quietly, comfortable. Until she asked. “How is Ares today?”

“Stable,” he said gently. “Still nonverbal and disconnected, unfortunately.”

Jonathan didn’t soften the truth because it served the narrative now. He watched her fingers stiffened around the tea cup.

With practiced ease, he continued. “We’ve adjusted his protocol. Low-dose antipsychotics, and a carefully managed sedative taper. I’ve removed all environmental stressors.” He glanced at her briefly. “Limited light. No auditory stimulation. Strict familiar routines. We’re treating it as an acute psychotic break with fear-induced catatonia.”

Let her hear the language. Let it sound official. Make her feel like she’s already in too deep to find clarity on her own.

You see? I’m the only one who can help him. And I’m not done trying. But if he slips too far… you’ll already be anchored somewhere else.

Her eyes dimmed slightly, and he watched it happen with controlled detachment. Jonathan saw sadness and guilt. Dependency. All of it played out across her features like the stages of a test subject adjusting to new sensory inputs.

And when the new toxin is ready, Ares will be its first vessel. If it works the way it should… he’ll never speak your name again.

She took a sip of her tea from the restaurant. Habit? But her shoulders were drawn just slightly inward, like she didn’t realize the shape of her own grief.

Jonathan set down his own water glass and leaned forward, not too far. Just enough to make the moment feel deliberate.

"How's your tea?" he asked.

She made a face, then smiled. "Not the greatest."

"I made tea for you," he said, moving to get it for her. 

She held up a hand to stop him. "I'll get it," she said. 

But he didn’t miss the subtext. She was trying to keep her balance. Trying to reclaim routine. 

Still trying to move freely in a world that belongs to me now. And I let her. Because watching her move is its own kind of control.

Jonathan stayed in his seat, enjoying the lunch she brought him. But he watched her, shoulders drawn back, the loose fall of her blouse shifting with each movement. Her fingers wrapping around the handle of the teapot with familiar confidence. The lines of her body moved like muscle memory. Not quite graceful, too tired for that. But sure and natural. 

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to conceal his body's reaction to her. Her slacks fit her like a second skin, showing off a perfect ass and those long, long legs...

I want everything. Not just her body .Not just the sound she makes when she exhales into my collar or the shape of her mouth when she says my name. I want her gaze, her choices, her routines. I want her to wake up and make my coffee without realizing it’s devotion. I want her to forget that she ever had mornings without me.

She poured the tea carefully, still unaware of how closely he watched her. Still safe in the belief that she was here by choice.

You’re building a new life. And I’m going to be every part of it. Even if I have to burn down everything you knew to make room.

She returned to her chair with the cup in hand.

"You’ve asked about Ares every day,” He said low and steady. “But you never talk about yourself.”

That line of conversation caught her off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed. “I… I’m fine,” she said quickly, but not convincingly.

He tilted his head. “Are you?”

She hesitated. And that tiny gap between instinct and truth? That was his opening.

“You witnessed a deeply traumatic event,” he said softly. “You went into shock. You were attacked when that patient was accidentally freed from his room. Today you returned to the same environment. That’s not ‘fine.’ That’s survival.”

She lowered her gaze, a faint, strained smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Guess I have a talent for being in the wrong place at the worst possible time.”

Jonathan didn’t return the smile or reward the deflection. “It’s not bad luck. It’s trauma. And it’s not something you’re meant to carry alone.”

She didn’t answer right away, just stared down at her tea, fingers wrapped too tightly around the cup. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “I think I’m just… alone.” She didn’t look up. “Ares was my rock. Even when things got hard. He could be stubborn, but he was... he was steady.” Her thumb rubbed anxiously along the porcelain. “My parents are gone, and I don't have siblings. I have an aunt in Boston, but we haven’t seen each other in years. And Lex...” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “She and I own the gallery together. Lexi has enough on her plate. I don’t want to add more.”

Jonathan listened, saying nothing yet. He’d already known all of it, including her reluctance to burdening others. It was all in her messages, her patterns and silences. It was data first.

But now, it was confirmation.

You feel you're drifting, untethered. And you’re telling me that directly. You don’t even realize what you’re giving me.

Every anchor you’ve lost becomes another reason to bind yourself to me.

He leaned forward just slightly. “You don’t have to perform for me,” he added.“Not here.”

Her shoulders loosened, she exhaled. Her fingers curled slightly around the base of the teacup. “I don’t really know how I’m doing,” she admitted finally.

Jonathan nodded, slow. “That’s common. You’re in a state of transition, there's uncertainty. It can cause disorientation, fatigue, even self-blame.”

Finishing his lunch, he asked. “Have you been sleeping?”

She nodded too quickly while he tried not to remember watching her sleep last night. Those red panties...

“Restfully?”

Her silence was the answer.

“Your mind hasn’t accepted the change yet,” he said gently. “It’s still trying to reconcile what happened to Ares with what it wants to believe about the world.” He watched her face closely. “That disconnect is painful, but manageable. With guidance.”

With my guidance.

She looked at him then, vulnerableand tired. But still trying to stand upright in her own shoes. 

He admired that, the way she still tried to hold herself together and meet his eyes without trembling. But it couldn’t last. She was already falling apart at the seams. Held together by routines and the memory of stability, or Ares. 

And now him.

“I’d like to help you with that,” he said finally. “As someone who’s… invested in your well-being.”

That was the softest he’d ever said it. Invested.

She looked at him, really looked. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. Searching his face like she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to see.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she admitted, almost a whisper. “But… thank you. That means more than I know how to say.”

She smiled, grateful. And lost.

Let the line blur, and feel like comfort, not intrusion. Let her reach for it without knowing what she’s touching.

She was quiet now, the kind of quiet that comes after surrender. It wasn't because she wanted to give in, but because she didn’t know how to keep standing on her own. She was exactly where he needed her, and where she'd be safe. 

You won’t have to worry much longer. Very soon, you’ll be somewhere warm, quiet, protected. Safe and sound. Because I’ll put you there.

And no one will ever touch you again.

She glanced at the clock then,startled by how much time had passed.

“I should probably go.” She stood slowly, not rushed, but reluctant. She gathered her things, and stood with a tired, grateful smile.

Jonathan rose with her. “Let me walk you out.”

She hesitated, but nodded. They moved down the corridor together in silence, her footsteps slow beside his.

Jonathan kept his hands folded behind his back, resisting the urge to touch the small of her back. He was so close now. Close enough that if anything happened, she’d reach for him without thinking. She already had. And she would again.

Outside, the afternoon sun filtered through a thin layer of clouds, casting everything in a grayish hue. Her car sat in the visitor lot which was emptier this time of day.

Pausing beside her, he said, “Be mindful when you’re out in Gotham. There’s been a rise in petty crime lately, muggings, break-ins. Especially downtown.”

She looked up, concerned. “Really?”

Jonathan nodded once. “It's been all over the news.”

She swallowed hard. He watched her eyes flicker with unease.

Good.

You won’t have to worry much longer. Soon, you won’t drive yourself to work. You won’t sleep alone. You won’t lie awake wondering if the city outside your window still remembers how to be cruel.

Because I’ll have you. And that will be the end of it.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, unlocking her car.

He didn’t respond, waited. He watched her slide into the driver’s seat, close the door, and glance back once before turning the key.

She didn’t know it yet, but she’d just survived her last solo trip to Arkham.

The gallery had been quiet all day. Almost too quiet. Lexi hadn’t come in, again. Another family issue with another vague apology by text.

You didn’t mind helping. You never did. You loved the gallery. Loved the way it smelled in the mornings, like fresh paint, old wood, and a thousand possibilities. You loved seeing an artist’s face light up when their work found a home. You believed in what you were building, and to you, it was a valuable contribution to the world.

But lately, it felt like the whole weight of it had been dropped into your arms. Every exhibit, email, meeting... The pedestal that cracked mid-install? Yours to fix. The broken lightbulb over the entrance? You replaced it. The delivery that showed up two days early? You made it work.

And Lexi? She was always sorry, overwhelmed, and somewhere else. You understood. She had her problems, and always had.

But Ares was in Arkham right now, fighting for his mind. And Lexi had barely asked about it. Once. Other than that, she hadn’t followed up or offered to help. Nothing.

It wasn’t fair to expect more. But wasn’t it also unfair to expect so little from someone who was supposed to be your friend?

And then there was Jonathan.

You didn’t even realize how much you’d started to depend on him until recently. The way his voice could cut through the noise in your head. Staying calm, you knew, was a big part of his job. Ares had been the same, only when everything was slipping sideways, Ares could help talk you down and couch it in humor and affection. When he decided you were okay, the matter was done. Even if it really hadn't been. Jonathan didn't do what he thought he should until you seemed stable. He saw you. Not only was he taking care of Ares, trying to bring him back to you, but he also took care of you, thought about your needs. 

Without him… I don’t think I could even walk into the gallery right now. What would you do without him? And the scariest part? You didn’t want to find out.

You locked the front door at 8:47 PM and stood in the street a little longer than usual.

Jonathan’s warning crept back into your mind. Be mindful when you’re out.

You made it home fine. You had leftovers for dinner with the tea you always made yourself. But now, it didn't seem nearly as good as what Jonathan made for you. 

Jonathan had been particularly kind today. You hated how much you clung to it. How it filled the space Ares used to take up, and on another level, that felt wrong. 

Ares is still here. Somewhere. You can’t give up on him.

You curled into bed with your phone, scrolling back through your old messages with Ares like you did every night. The casual ones.The late-night ones.The ones he sent on nights he worked late, telling you how much he couldn't wait to see you. Couldn't wait to marry you. You read them slowly, trying to remember the last one where he still sounded like himself.

You missed him. More than that, you needed him. And the ache of that need twisted something in your chest. The only person who seemed to understand that pain…Was the man who’d replaced him.

Jonathan would be Arkham’s new Chief Administrator. It wasn’t official yet, but everyone knew. And you knew what that meant. Even if Ares recovered, if some miracle reversed what had happened to him, he couldn’t go back to that role. That part of his life was over. But he’d still have you. You’d help him rebuild, and start again somewhere. You’d take care of him. You just needed him to come back.

Just come back.

And still, your mind kept drifting to someone else. To the way Jonathan had stood between you and danger. To the quiet way he said your name like he already knew your breaking points.

You trusted him, hard to believe with how he'd treated you when he arrived at Arkham. You hated that the voice that calmed you most was no longer Ares’s.

You just needed time to get through this. And when Ares comes back to you… this will all be something you survived. Together.

But the world kept moving around you. Two emails sat unread at the top of your inbox. The first was from the realtor, the final paperwork for the apartment was ready. Ares had added you to his lease. After six years of loving each other in borrowed spaces and parallel lives, you were finally going to live together. The forms were signed. You hadn't started packing because honestly, you didn't have a lof things to pack.

And now? Now you didn’t know what to do. What happens to his apartment if he doesn't come back? Do you move in without him? Do you cancel the lease? Do you wait… and for how long? And it wasn't like you could afford to keep up both places for long. You’d reached out to his brother, Colin, over the weeked. He’d been kind, but shocked like you. He asked for updates saying he and his wife were planning to come visit soon. They’d meant well.

But you weren’t ready to face anyone who’d ask all the questions. You were barely holding together yourself.

The second email was from the wedding planner. Lexi had found her for you back when things were normal. When there were color palettes and tasting appointments and venues to tour. Now the planner was asking why you hadn’t responded.

“Still waiting on final headcount and floral preferences. Please call me tomorrow!”

Tomorrow.

You closed the app. Let the phone slide onto the pillow beside you. You’d do it tomorrow. You just felt so tired. You fell asleep sometime after midnight.

Jonathan’s eyes remained fixed on the mirrored phone screen. He could picture her in bed, phone cradled in both hands, the way someone might hold a fragile memory. She was scrolling through her old text messages with Ares. She did it every night. Always in the same order, far enough to catch the softness. The in-jokes. The familiar cadence of a man who hadn’t yet come undone.

But tonight, she didn’t go as far. He watched as her scrolling slowed. Her thumb hesitated, and stopped. She had read only half as many messages as last night. And last night had been fewer than the night before.

The threads are fraying. You're unraveling the attachment by accident. Thread by thread. Memory by memory.

You weren’t forgetting Ares. But the ache was dulling.

Jonathan leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the screen. You don’t even know you’re letting go. But I do. And I’ll be there when your hands are empty.

Exhaling through his nose, he rose. He still had a couple of hours until the gallery strike began. He had plenty of time. 

Downstairs, the air in his lab was cool and sterile, just the way he preferred it. Glass glinted under the recessed lights. Notes were neatly ordered in columns on the back wall. Every variable mapped. Every failed attempt annotated.

But tonight, something was different. 

In the small glass vial on the center table, the powdered extract from the Himalayan Blue Poppy shimmered faintly in solution, an iridescent tone that hadn't existed in his earlier trials. Adjusting the syringe, he introduced the compound into the toxin’s latest base, and watched the reaction unfold under the microscope.

And there it was.

The lattice he couldn’t form before, the depth he’d been chasing. The new compound didn’t just amplify the fear response, it personalized it. Jonathan’s pulse rose slightly. Enough that he noticed it, but didn’t stop it. He adjusted the formula, refined the carrier agents, and made detailed notes on dosage calibration. 

He was already thinking ahead to first trials. Ares was the perfect subject with his personal history and emotional significance. And the public explanation? An already unraveling mind. It wouldn’t just work, it would validate everything. And if it worked there would be permanent fear, silence.

He straightened slowly, stretching his spine, the faint ache in his lower back a familiar sign of real progress.

His visitor was right. It was the missing piece. The breakthrough he’d been chasing for months, buried in the petals of a rare flower used for centuries by those who understood that fear was not a symptom but a weapon.

And the man who’d given it to him? Jonathan had since learned his name. Henri Ducard. At least, that was the name he currently used. He wasn’t in any medical or scientific registry. No academic papers or corporate affiliations. But Jonathan had found traces, buried in older intelligence archives, outdated MI6 records, a few declassified CIA fragments. 

Ducard was the kind of man who didn’t exist until it was too late. The kind of man who walked in the shadows of governments, who led the shadows. 

The League of Shadows. A myth to most, but Jonathan didn’t believe in myths. Only patterns, and Ducard had a pattern. He didn’t extend help, he extended control. And now, they had their eyes on Jonathan’s work because it was effective, and aligned with their vision. 

Order through fear. Correction through collapse. Change through control.

He didn't know the full extent of their plans. They want my fear toxin. Mass-produced, scaled, and fully weaponized.

And if I refuse, they’ll tear apart the only variable I haven’t fully locked down yet. Her.

Jonathan sealed the formula sample and entered the compound into a new encrypted file. 

But if he played this right, the League could become his resource, not his threat.

But if they touched her, if they even whispered her name again, he’d find a way to bring all of them down without hesitation.

Checking the time, Jonathan saw that he had thirty minutes until the gallery would be hit, until the silent alarm would trigger. He had scheduled it down to the minute. He had already watched the footage once, looped security camera test runs, trajectory paths, the placement of the crowbar, the sound the first frame would make when it hit the floor. He didn’t plan chaos here. He had engineered precision.

While he waited, he scrolled through the rest of her activity. There were two emails, and he read them quickly. The first was from the realtor about Ares adding her to his apartment lease. 

He meant to live with you. Even while he was drifting from you, even as his mind fractured, he was still trying to claim space beside you.

Jonathan’s thumb hovered over the message, reading the subject line again: RE: Lease Addendum—Co-Occupant Approval Finalized

It had been sent the night of Ares’s collapse.

So close. You almost had a life together. A shared bed, a shared name. Almost.

Jonathan’s gaze sharpened. Now it’s just logistics. The apartment--Ares’s apartment--would be in limbo soon. Jonathan knew how these things worked. If no family stepped in quickly, the property manager would initiate forfeiture. His belongings would be boxed up, returned to his brother or disposed of quietly.

Her name was now on the lease. A late-stage gesture from a man already unraveling, still trying to carve out permanence even as his grip on reality slipped away. She could move in, in theory.

But Jonathan had already done the math. She couldn’t afford it alone. Even if she gave up her own apartment. Not with her gallery barely sustaining itself.

The rent, the utilities—it was impossible unless she drained her savings, if she even had anything left after months of stress and stagnation.

And she wouldn’t let herself ask for help from friends or family. Not even from me…

But she would.

She’d wait until the pressure built just high enough, until it squeezed out the last bit of independence and left her standing in the doorway of that empty apartment, surrounded by boxes she couldn’t lift and a future she couldn’t carry alone.

That’s when she’ll look to me. And I’ll be there.

He wouldn’t push her. He’d just be the solution when everything else fell away.

And when she stepped over that threshold, into his house, into his design, she’d start to see what he already knew.

You don’t need a place of your own. You need a place that keeps you safe. And that place… is me.

His home was large, private, and already secured. Already adapted for the kind of control he needed to maintain equilibrium. All he had to do now was coax her out of her apartment, make it feel like her idea. 

Your world is shrinking. And I am the last structure still standing.

All he had to do was tilt the floor a little more.

It’s mine now. Not just the role he lost. Not just the institution he failed to protect. But the life he left behind. And the place you were supposed to build with him, it will be mine, too.

The second email was from the wedding planner. A brief, cheery nudge. “Still waiting on final headcount and floral preferences. Please call me tomorrow!”

Jonathan didn’t smile. But his breath shifted, steady and possessive.

There will be a wedding. Eventually. Until then, we'll burn the pieces of your old life until there’s nothing left for you to hold onto except me.

Jonathan moved through his house with purpose. The sedative was already prepped, measured precisely, and tucked into the breast pocket of his coat. He moved to the garage, remote-started the car. 

It was time. He tapped once on his phone. The signal was sent.

The hired crew, three of them, masked, gloved, and ready, would be at the gallery in five minutes. The timeline was set. Fourteen minutes inside. No more.

Enough to terrify. Not enough to be caught.

He returned to the mirror feed from her phone, watching her screen come to life.

Gallery motion alert.

Her gallery. Her sanctuary being ripped apart. He had ordered it because she needed to be shaken. Fear clears away confusion, faster than grief, sharper than guilt.

And this? This was the final nudge. The gallery was her last tie to the life before him. The space where she clung to Ares, to Lexi, to independence.The place where she smiled without him.

So I broke it. You only truly run to something when you’ve been stripped of everything else.

She was still in bed, but she'd be awake in a few seconds if she wasn't already. Her hands would shake, move too fast, fumbling with her phone. Trying to refresh the footage, trying to open the app, trying to do something.

Jonathan watched and waited. 

Here it comes. The moment fear overtakes reason. The moment you forget everything except what you’re losing.

Lexi’s texts started coming in fast. 

Lexi: Are you seeing this?

Lexi: Should one of us go down there?

Lexi: Please tell me you’re awake.

Jonathan smiled faintly. Perfect. Now Lexi looked careless. Her so-called friend looked like the kind of person who asks others to risk what she never would.

She started typing. Deleted it. Typed again. 

You don’t know what to say. The only person you want to talk to right now isn't the one texting you.

He picked up his keys. 

Tonight wasn’t just another step in the plan. It will be the moment you finally believe it’s not safe unless I’m near.

Jonathan stood in front of her door in just under ten minutes. Inside, he could hear her steps, frantic and disorganized. The unmistakable sound of keys clattering in a bowl. A coat being shrugged on. The zip of a bag.

She thought she was going to walk into the storm he started.

No. That’s not how this ends.

He knocked once, then softer. The door opened seconds later.

She stood there dressed with shoes on. Her coat was half on, her phone in her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wild, from tears. From fear.

Jonathan looked at her, truly looked, and for just a second, the image froze in his mind like a painting. 

You’re so beautiful like this. Unguarded, spiraling. And reaching for me because there’s no one else left.

Her fear didn’t worry him. It filled him, like a current running through his blood.

It’s not fear of me. It’s fear of everything else, everything I protect you from. And that makes it mine to soothe.

“Jonathan?” The desperation in her voice made him shiver.

“I saw the alert.” He kept his voice was calm, grounding. “I came straight here.”

She just stared at him. “You saw it?”

He nodded once. “Of course.”

Her hand went to her mouth. Her voice cracked. “I was going to go down there... Lexi said someone should...” She broke off, breath hitching. “They’re destroying everything.”

Jonathan stepped forward gently and took her by the shoulders. His touch was firm, but careful. Just enough to make her still. She was trembling under his hands.

“You're not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “The police are already on-site. There’s nothing you can do there except get hurt.”

Her face crumpled. Not into sobs, but into that quiet, collapsed panic. The kind where the body hasn’t caught up to the fear yet, and the tears are already too late.

He stepped inside without asking, closing the door behind him. 

This is where you need to be. Not out there. Not with them. You freeze in place when the world unravels, and I can hold you steady.

You just need to be reminded. Who gets to decide where you go... and when.

She let him lead her back toward the couch, no resistance at all. She sat numbly on the edge, still holding her phone with shaking hands. She wasn’t texting anymore, just staring at the camera feed like maybe, somehow, if she looked hard enough, she could undo the damage.

Jonathan crouched in front of her, not too close. He kept his expression neutral, his voice gentle.

“You need to breathe,” he said quietly. “You’re safe. But I need you to sit still for just a moment.”

She didn't speak, just nodded, her eyes still locked on the screen.

He walked calmly into the kitchen, pulling one of her tall water glasses from the glass-front cabinet where she kept them. The filtered pitcher was right where it always was, cold and half-full. His hand reached for the sedative inside his coat pocket, practiced and precise. Two drops. That was all. The compound was odorless, tasteless, and fast-acting. Short duration, but enough to still the tremor in her hands. To slow her pulse, weaken resistance.

It’s not sedation. It’s protection. You won’t remember the moment you stopped panicking. You’ll just feel better… because I'm near now.

He brought the water to her, offering it without a word. She pulled her gaze from the screen and accepted it. Her fingers brushed his. She didn't drink all of it, but enough.

Jonathan sat beside her, not touching her, but close. Within minutes, her shoulders began to ease, and her breathing slowed. The screen dimmed in her hand, and the shaking stopped.

That’s it. You’re winding down, and you think it’s you. You think your mind is calming itself.

She set the glass down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch with a quiet exhale. Her eyes fluttered shut for just a second. That’s all it took.

You won’t be leaving tonight, or waking up in a panic. I'm here. And soon, you’ll want me to be. Every night.

Not sleep, not yet. But close. Jonathan shifted slightly beside her, and she leaned without realizing it, dropping her head to his shoulder. Her breath slowed. The adrenaline was gone now, flushed from her system with chemical assistance. Now she was perfectly calm, and he didn't move.

You’re still holding onto the idea that you’re okay on your own. But tonight proved otherwise.

A few minutes passed like that, with soft breathing and the occasional twitch of her fingers. She’d curled slightly toward him, instinctively.

Jonathan eased her gently down, sliding his arm away and lowering her onto the couch. She murmured something, but didn’t wake. He found a soft blanket in the hall closet and draped it over her. Her breathing had deepened now, rhythmic and even.

Jonathan moved silently to the chair next to the couch, sitting just out of her reach, where he could observe and think.

Her phone buzzed, then again. He moved instantly, catching the phone from where she’d left it on the arm of the couch. The screen lit up with her name.

Lexi

Jonathan stared at it.

You had your chance, Lexi. You sent her toward danger. I pulled her back. You don’t get to disrupt that now.

He unlocked her phone easily. There was no biometric set up on her phone. No PIN. That made him pause, just briefly.

You trust too easily.

With one smooth swipe, he declined the call. Then he toggled her phone into Do Not Disturb, silencing the noise that didn’t belong to him. He put her phone where she'd remember it last.

Returning to the chair, he watched the soft rise and fall of her chest. 

Let Lexi panic, and wonder why you’re not responding. Let her guilt swell.

Jonathan was staying right here tonight. She was too shaken to be alone. Lexi had failed her, and Ares was gone. He was the only one who clearly saw what she needed and delivered it without being asked.

You were mine to protect, even before you knew it. Tonight, I kept you here. Tomorrow, you’ll thank me for it.

And someday soon…you’ll wonder how you ever slept without me close by.

Jonathan didn’t close his eyes. He watched her sleep.

The sharp, hard knock startled you out of a dead sleep. You jolted upright on the couch, your heart hammering. The blanket slid off your shoulders, and you blinked into the gray light filtering through the blinds. It was dawn, and the next knock was even louder. 

You were already on your feet, stumbling towards the door with sleep-stiff limbs and a racing pulse. You weren't alone, which made you pause. Jonathan was there in the chair by the window, completely still. Asleep, somehow. He looked exactly the way you remembered from the previous night, calm, arms folded lightly, as if he'd kept watch until he couldn’t anymore.

But there wasn’t time to process that.

You opened the door, and there was Lexi. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looked pale and furious, with dark circles under her eyes and exhaustion hanging off her like a second coat.

“Are you serious right now?” she snapped.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“I texted you, I called you, and I went down to the goddamn gallery myself at four in the morning. Did you know that?”

You were still half-fogged, still wearing the same clothes.

“Lexi, I—”

“My son is home sick, I was running on two hours of sleep, and you—” She jabbed a finger towards your chest. “You didn’t answer anything. You didn’t go. You didn’t even let me know you were okay.”

You felt panic clawing at your insides. Your throat tightened, and shame washed over you in a single wave.

"I just..." Your voice cracked, and you glanced over your shoulder. Jonathan hadn’t moved. You didn’t even know if he was awake yet. "I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

Lexi’s jaw clenched. Her expression shifted slightly, but the lines of anger carved in her face didn’t soften.

“The gallery’s wrecked. No one got caught. They took pieces. Vandalized the whole front.” She exhaled sharply. “We’re insured, but still. We built that place.”

You looked down, your fingers curled around the edge of the door. You didn’t know what to say. But she was right. Last night you couldn’t breathe. You didn’t call Lexi, or anyone else. And Jonathan arrived...

You felt small standing there in the doorway with Lexi in front of you, furious and tired. You swallowed hard, trying to find words that would make any of this okay.

“I didn’t mean to worry you or let you down,” you said quietly.“I was watching the cameras when it happened. I panicked.” You shook your head, your eyes starting to sting. “I called the police and then..."

Lexi crossed her arms. She wasn’t yelling anymore, but the hurt was still there, flickering behind her exhaustion. “I get that you’re going through a lot,” she said, more clipped now. “But I needed you. The gallery needed you.”

“I know,” you whispered.“I just…”

You felt backed into a wall, still shaking from the night before, and the weight of guilt was already pressing hard against your ribs.

You felt him before you saw him. Behind you, Jonathan rose from the chair, his footsteps light. He moved to your side, pinning Lexi with a glare. As you watched, he pulled off his glasses. 

“Lexi, isn’t it?” Jonathan’s voice was low.

Lexi blinked. “Excuse me, who the fu—”

But Jonathan didn’t let her finish. “I’m sorry about the gallery. I truly am.” He said it like he meant it. “But tell me, what kind of friend asks someone to walk into an active break-in?”

Lexi’s mouth parted slightly. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” he continued. “You suggested she go alone to a crime in progress.”

You froze.

Lexi turned to you, flustered. “Is this guy serious?”

Jonathan didn’t let you answer. “Ares is in Arkham. His mind is—” he gave the smallest pause, “hanging by a thread.”

He looked back at you, briefly, softening just enough to make you feel seen, and then returned to Lexi.

“She’s been carrying your gallery alone while trying to survive the collapse of her personal life. Where have you been? You pushed the weight onto her and expected her to keep moving without rest or reason.”

Lexi recoiled slightly. She wasn’t used to being challenged. But she was used to being right, and Jonathan’s words hit like facts on paper. 

“I made the call last night not to let her walk into danger. You might want to consider the emotional impact before demanding more from someone who’s already depleted.”

Lexi crossed her arms, but didn’t speak.

Jonathan’s tone didn’t change. “You’ll hear from her when she’s in a better place. But that won’t be today.”

Lexi opened her mouth, then closed it.

Something about the way he stood, utterly immovable, unnerved her. Jonathan then literally shut the door in her face.

And you stood there, stunned. Your heart still pounding. 

He didn’t just protect you. He dismantled her. With words so quiet, they left an echo.

You stood there, frozen. Still holding the edge of the door like it might steady you. Your heart was still racing, but now it wasn’t just from the confrontation, it was from the way he had handled it. Handled Lexi. You'd never seen that before.

You slowly turned back toward him.

Jonathan stood a few feet away, his hands loosely at his sides, like he hadn’t just flattened one of your oldest friendships in under two minutes. And he just stood there, watching you calmly, waiting. You weren’t used to anyone stepping in like that. Not since your world cracked down the middle. Lexi had been your friend for years. She could be difficult, sure, but she’d been there when you were still finding your way in the art world. She’d come up with the idea for the gallery, and you'd done everything to help see it realized. Now the gallery was gone, and Lexi likely was too. Ares never liked her, maybe now you understood why.

Jonathan sent her off. And the terrifying part was that you couldn't bring yourself to be that angry. Relief at having her dealt with outweighed everything else right now. 

Lexi came at you with demands and judgment. Jonathan came with boundaries and protection. 

And it felt good. Especially at a time when one more thing would break me.

You didn’t know what that said about you, but you were too tired to unpack it right now. You let your back rest against the door, the tension in your shoulders slowly giving way to something else. Something heavier.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Jonathan inclined his head once, just slightly. 

You shifted your weight against the door and glanced at him. “What you said to her…” Your voice trailed off, your throat still tight. “Do you really think I’m depleted?”

Jonathan moved closer, but not in an imposing way. “I think,” he said gently, “you’ve been through more in the last week than most people survive in a year.”

You didn’t look away, but you felt the heat behind your eyes again.

He stopped just in front of you, lowering his voice. “You’re not weak. You’re exhausted... There’s a difference.”

He wasn't wrong.

Dropping your gaze, your voice was barely audible. “I didn’t know what to say to her.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said quietly.

And somehow that helped. That shouldn’t have helped, but it did. He gently gestured toward the couch.

“You don’t need to move right now. Not unless you want to.” Another pause, warmer now. “But if you do, let me take you to the gallery. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

You nodded slowly, but didn’t move. “Just a few minutes,” you murmured. “Then I’ll go.”

But it wasn’t the gallery that had you frozen in place. It was the fact that he would be the one taking you. He offered without being asked, without expectation. Like it was natural. Like it was his responsibility.

And maybe it was. You couldn’t go alone. Not after last night. The thought of walking into that ruined space made your chest feel tight. Lexi’s words still echoed somewhere behind your eyes, but Jonathan’s voice had stayed with you longer. 

I made the call last night not to let her walk into danger.

At the time, it had unsettled you how confidently he said it. But now? Now it felt like an anchor. 

He’s going to take me. He’s going to be there.

And for the first time since the texts, since the camera feed, since the break-in... that felt like enough.

He nodded. “Take your time.”

For the first time in days, you felt something close to stillness. Jonathan didn’t hover or push you. He just stepped away, quiet again, and let you feel whatever you needed to feel. Maybe that was what made it work.

She hadn’t looked at him like that before. Not even after the patient, not after Ares.

This time it was different. There had been fear, yes, but not of him. She'd given herself to dependence, but not desperation. Something shifted behind her eyes when she said thank you.

Relief. The most dangerous kind of loyalty, something given willingly. Standing by the window, he kept his hands behind his back. The early light spilled across her living room floor.

Lexi was gone, and she wouldn't be a problem now. Not after what he’d shown her. 

You don’t belong in her life anymore. And soon, she’ll realize that too.

Behind him, he heard her moving quietly. She hadn’t gone to her bedroom, or left him just yet. And that was enough. 

You needed someone to speak for you. You needed someone to protect you. Now you need someone to guide you. 

And I will.

Soon, he would get her out of this apartment. He'd get her away from all the people who kept pulling her back into a life that no longer fit. She’d outgrown it.

Or rather, he’d taken a scalpel to it until it no longer fit her anymore.

All that remained now was him.

And soon, she would see that too.

hi! if you’re not busy could you do some royalxroyal prompts? i have a princess oc i’m working on and i want to be able to give options for role plays besides them just mEeTiNg aT a bAlL oNe nIgHT

Of course!

Royal x Royal OTP Prompts

Prompts

A’s and B’s kingdoms often have meetings to discuss negotiations. As the kings and queens work out all the official stuff, A and B just sit there, bored out of their minds. They bond over how awful these frequent meetings are, and find creative ways to make the meetings more interesting.

A and B’s siblings are arranged to be married in the wedding of the century. The two kingdoms come together to make the wedding happen, and A and B are left with a fair amount of the planning.

A war has broken out in A’s kingdom and A is sent away to live with B for their protection.

Oneliners

“The only royal you are, is a royal pain in the ass”

“It’s awful that you live so far away, as it means I can only express my love through letters. And, as you know, I’m more talented with my mouth than with my pen”

“I would destroy my entire kingdom if it meant I got to be with you” “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“I’ve never seen you at any balls” “I’m not the most sociable”

“Can’t we just fall in love without having to worry about politics?”

Also see:

Modern royalty prompts and oneliners

everyone who reads this post will get some big spicy joy within 24 large minutes (hours)

affectionate prompts

“  i’m happy when you’re around.  ”

“  i like having you here.  ”

“  i’m glad you came.  ”

“  just tell me what you need.  let me give it to you?  ”

“  why are you smiling at me like that?  ”

“  i trust you with parts of myself i’m afraid to show anyone else.  ”

“  you have a good heart.  ”

“  your eyes look so beautiful in this lighting.  ”

“  i’m all yours.  not going anywhere.  ”

“  you have my full attention.  ”  

“  i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now.  ”

“  follow me,  i have a surprise for you.  ”

“  you make me feel brave.  ”

“  come walk with me.  let’s get some air.  ”

“  c’mere.  sit down.  tell me what’s going on.  ”

“  i want you around.  if i didn’t,  i wouldn’t be here would i?  ”

“  it’s okay,  you can sit here with me for as long as you’d like.  ”  

“  here,  take my hand.  ”

“  stay still—  i’m trying to hug you.  ”

“  do you like my new dress?  ”

“  do you like my new suit?  ”

“  could you hug me again?  i think i need it.  ”

“  i like hearing your heart beating when i put my head on your chest.  ”  

“  i like watching you work.  ”  

“  just sit there.  i’m going to make you something to eat.  ” 

“  why don’t you tell me what i can do to make your day better?  ”

“  what’s on your mind?  i want to listen.  ”

“  i sure you hope you don’t think you’re walking out that door without giving me a kiss first.  ”

“  i know i need to go but—  one more kiss.  ”

“  here,  take my jacket.  you look like you need it more.  ”

“  keep the jacket,  looks better on you.  ”

“  you just make me feel good when you’re here.  i feel better any time you’re around.  ”

“  i don’t feel whole unless i’m touching you.  ”

[ GRIN ]  for one muse to reach out and playfully push the other’s cheeks up to make their lips curve into smile. 

[ PRESS ]  for one muse to poke either side of the other’s cheeks where smile dimples would be. 

[ BOOP ]  for one muse to playfully tap the other’s nose with their finger. 

[ LIGHT ]  for one muse to kiss the other’s cheek. 

[ WARM ]  for one muse to take off their jacket and drape it around the other who is cold. 

[ COMFORT ] for one muse to place a jacket or blanket around the other’s shoulders because they’re upset. 

[ TEASE ]  for one muse to squish the other’s face between their hands. 

[ SCOLD ]  for one muse to gently pinch the other’s cheek in response to something they said. 

[ REST ] for one muse to rest their head against the other’s shoulder while they talk. 

[ REASSURE ]  for one muse to place their hand on the other’s back as a subtle comforting gesture. 

[ SAFE ]  for one muse to wrap their arm around the other’s shoulders and kiss their temple. 

[ LEAP ] for one muse to run and jump into the other’s arms because they’re excited to see them. 

[ SEEK ] for one muse to track down the other at a crowded function because they noticed they slipped away. 

[ COMPANY ] for muses to sit on a balcony or roof together sharing a drink/food/joint etc. 

[ HELD ]  for one muse to offer their hand out to the other to hold to comfort them.

[ REACH ] for one muse to reach out and take the other’s hand to comfort them.  

[ LACE ]  for one muse to hook their arm around the other’s while they walk. 

[ INTERTWINE ]  for one muse to offer their arm to the other while they walk. 

[ DIRECT ] for one muse to pull the other into that kind of hug where their hand rests against their head and they tuck them under their chin. 

[ SLEEP ]  one muse discovers the other napping and simply joins them. 

[ EQUAL ]  for a taller muse to pick up the other and place them sitting on a counter/table so they can be eye level. 

[ URGE ] for one muse to move their arm to be around the other’s shoulder or over the back of a chair so the one sitting next to them can scoot closer. 

The Beauty Within || fifteen

The Beauty Within || Jung Jaehyun

Badboy!Jaehyun AU x Reader

Social Media AU

Masterlist

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Summary: you never passed up the chance to get in the good books of all your teachers. So when the opportunity arised to possibly make your chemistry teacher actually like you, seeing as he was the only one that seemed to have it in for you, you couldn’t say no. Only problem? You had to tutor the bad boy.

x : MORE :*+ﾟ

in which: rin's not happy with your decision to sleep on the couch.

warnings: cliché lol, 1.1k, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, unedited + ooc!rin towards the end, a lot of metaphors but hey one cliché leads to another.

a/n: this is practice for me to a) get back into writing and b) remind u guys that i am still writing luls, enjoy!! reblogs r vv appreciated, but this quality is actually so ass.

“are you sure you want to sleep out here tonight?” rin’s voice asks from the hallway entrance, slight concern laced in his tone as he watches your backside set up on the couch, fidgeting with the pillows and blankets.

“yeah, i’m positive,” you answer, not turning around to look at him; something rin frowns at. 

“oh…” he mutters, leaning awkwardly on the wall as he scours his brain to try and find something to say. “really?”

“yes, really.”

“won’t you be uncomfortable?”

“i’ll be fine. it’s not that bad here.”

“if you’re sure.”

silence cuts the conversation with a cold knife, leaving the two of you in the suffocating quiet, one that stops rin from instigating further conversation despite how badly he wanted to continue. because if he shuts up then that means he has to leave, but he doesn’t want to leave you alone. he wants you to come to bed so the two of you can sleep peacefully together and not (what feels like) eons apart where he can’t hold you.

“are you going to go to bed? it’s getting late,” you ask, no hint of hostility at all in your tone as you shuffle under the covers, disappearing from rin’s view completely. 

he bites the inside of his cheek, disheartened at your eagerness to see him go. “oh, right. goodnight.”

he lingers for a second longer, waiting for a ‘goodnight’ back, or even better, an ‘i love you’, but neither comes and rin feels his chest contract. 

rin didn’t mean for the argument to escalate, he didn’t mean to sharpen his words and pierce you with them, he didn’t mean to hurt you to the point that you didn’t want to sleep beside him.

as he slowly makes his way to your shared bedroom, your absence on your side of the bed hits him even harder. it’s cold. it’s empty. it’s void. rin loathes it.

you’re not faring much better, replaying the argument in your head over and over again as the small, coffee table lamp illuminates the room with a warm yellow. each replay of the memory just twists the knife further and causes a new batch of tears to wet your eyes. 

you hate this. you hate feeling weary around rin, you hate feeling like you need to walk on egg shells around him from now on, you hate feeling like he doesn’t value you the same way you do with him, you hate these new revelations coming to your brain as you reflect on your relationship-

“you’re still awake?” a voice comes from the hallway.

leaning up onto your elbows, you blink in shock at the new figure making itself known. thanks to the lamp, you can see rin from where he stands, and you can see the confusion in his eyes.

“uh… yeah,” you say.

“why are you still up?”

“i was thinking. why are you still up?”

“i…” rin hesitates for a second, “i wanted to check up on you.”

your heart flutters at his shy confession. “i’m fine, thank you.”

“you sure?”

“yeah.”

“why, are you not fine?”

no, he’s not. he wants you to come back to bed, he wants you to reassure him that the two of you will still be okay, he wants you.

“no,” lies rin. “i’m okay.”

the soccer player regrets his words instantly. 

“that’s good. i’m gonna sleep now and you should too, you have a big day tomorrow.”

but rin can’t sleep. not without you beside him because otherwise, the bed is too vacant and too chilly and reminds him of the life he used to live too much.

and he’s scared that he’ll have to go back to living like that if you’re not there beside him, petrified that you’ll leave in the middle of the night because you’ve realised that he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you. 

instead of confessing that, the dark-haired merely sighs, the words lodging themselves in his throat. “okay. i’m off.”

you reach over to turn off the lamp, engulfing the room in darkness with a single click. “goodnight, rin.”

“i love you,” rin confesses, but it’s too quiet and too breathy for you to hear, so there’s no response. he hopes you know.

so, he retreats back into the barren wasteland that is your shared bedroom. he misses you. he reaches over to your side in hopes of being to feel some remnants of comfort.

30 minutes later, rin wakes again after weaving in and out of consciousness and he’s sick of it. it’s 1:10am and he only has five hours until he needs to get up. decisively, he throws the cover off of him and makes his way to the living room, intent on this trip being his last one. 

it’s dark in the living room and rin can’t find it in him to turn on a light and disturb your slumber, so after adjusting to the dark and mindlessly patting around, he eventually threads his arms underneath you. he lifts you up so effortlessly, driven by determination and love as he walks to familiar path back to your shared bedroom.

he settles you down gently and the last thing rin remembers before drifting off is the warming feeling of content as he pulls you into his arms. 

the following morning, you rouse to the sound of a blaring alarm; the one rin always uses because otherwise gentle alarms won’t coax him successfully. your lover shuffles beside you, shutting the clock off with a groan before wrapping an arm around you again, pulling you into his warmth.

wait.

you raise yourself up onto your elbows, dazed and confused. weren’t you meant to be on the couch?

“don’t go,” rin murmurs, snaking his arm up to wrap your shoulders instead, gently guiding you down to the mattress, “sleep.”

“how did i get here?” you ask and rin stiffens before pulling you in to his chest. “rin, i’m being serious.”

“you were always here.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“i’m not lying, so let’s sleep.”

you’re sick of his shit. “itoshi rin, i swear to-”

“i carried you back here, now shut up. i only have 10 minutes before i have to get up and get ready.” 

“i think i’ll go back to the couch, actually,” you say jokingly.

“not funny.”

“i think it’s plenty funny.”

he frowns, wrapping himself around you even tighter. you don’t hug him back, but you’re here and that’s all that matters to rin. you didn’t leave like he thought you would. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, “for last night. i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“it’s okay, rin, we can talk about it later.” 

“we’re okay right?” 

“of course.”

“you… you won’t leave. right?”

“i would never. why would you think i would?” 

“just being stupid, i guess.”

“better you than me.”

he huffs, letting the conversation die to silence.

you speak up again, “i love you.” 

rin feels a weight lift off his shoulders. he can breathe again.

“i love you more.” 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

speak now or forever hold your peace

summary: it’s your special day and you’re ready to tie the knot with the love of your life. but a certain letter ends up on your doorstep telling you to ‘don’t say yes’ and runaway with him now. hey, what’s a wedding without the drama? (in other words, a modern au about a special someone desperately wanting you to marry him instead. but this begs the question of who?)

→ pairings: diluc, & ayato

→ warnings: slight swearing. angst. fluff (if you squint), mentions of drinking and alcohol, gender neutral reader. 

→ author’s note: i was listening to speak now (taylor please release the album) and this idea popped in my head. i might write a part two with more characters if i feel like writing more aaaaa. there might be present tense issues since this hasn’t been beta read,, anyway, i hope you enjoy!

long post ahead!

feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful!  i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

the prologue.

“you dropped this.” ganyu says, handing a white envelope with gold engraving.

“a letter?” you ask, confused.

“earlier, you carried the bouquet and it slipped out.”

curiosity beckons you to rip the seal off the letter and pull out a card. the gold print catches your eyes while you repeat the words to your companions.

if second thoughts plague your mind, meet me at the back entrance of the church. i’ll see you soon.

“this has to be the worst time to be admitting to a fiancé steal-and-run,” keqing muses.

a joke, this has to be a joke. your thoughts sing. your wedding is in an hour. you should be preparing to walk down the aisle without a worry in the world.

instead, the notion of an objection to your marriage as you recite your vows makes your heart race— in the worst way possible. yet, the thought of who could have done this pops in your mind.

“any idea of who wrote it?” ayaka wonders, as if reading your thoughts.

the timing? the medium? the words? who else can it be?

“just a hunch.”

diluc: the first love

the first meeting with the heir to the ragnvindr corporation begins on the wrong foot.

hell, it begins terribly— you cringe each time the memory resurfaces.

a week before meeting diluc you meet his brother, kaeya—long story short, your father works for the ragnvindrs and wants you to befriend the brothers as they (crepus and papa) are good friends— and he tells you they are going to throw a surprise party for hothead’s eighth birthday.

one problem. he never explains what he looks like.

so on the day of the party, you lounge outside waiting for the birthday boy. and once a redhead arrives, it confuses you.

the invites practically say enter through the back entrance.

gosh, did he not read the invite? what if diluc saw! the party would be ruined!

thinking about it now, you wonder how distracted you were to assume a good looking boy with the rich-kid aura wasn’t diluc.

anyway, you rush towards him and hiss “what are you doing here?” while gripping his hand gently. “the party entrance is at the back door!”

he winces at your sudden friendly contact (or because you bluntly ruined the surprise, he is a smart kid. of course, he knows what you’re talking about. yet he couldn’t help but ask the question to rouse a reaction out of you) “party?”

“for diluc! his party?” you huff.

at the time, you think this kid has to be the dumbest monkey bun for being too slow to understand the vibe.

while to diluc, he thinks you are the pettiest pipsqueak to ever have lived— he assumes you knew who he is. but wanted to ruin the surprise anyway.

so when kaeya magically whisks through the front door with a smirk saying, “what took you so long, brother?” diluc reasons you’re in cahoots with the he-devil and instantaneously hates you a thousand-fold.

you being a smart kid, feels the resentment. and embarrassment fills up your whole consciousness.

yes. you spoiled the party. great job. and you feel so bad.

as you sincerely apologize, diluc cuts you off with a “save it,” and runs up the stairs to his house.

rude!

but you did ruin his surprise party (kids are petty like that.)

no worries, you do get to apologize properly.

well, after diluc accidentally pushes you causing you to land face first into his birthday cake— okay, to his defense, it wasn’t premediated. someone left a bowl on the floor, near the table, he trips, and forces his weight onto your back, causing the whole issue.

though, diluc feels terrible.

yes, he still dislikes you for ruining the surprise (again, children are petty) but not to the point that he would intentionally hurt you.

so he genuinely apologizes.

you truthfully admit you had no idea he was diluc, while saying sorry.

and you become friends.

you both promise to let bygones be bygones.

still, each year on diluc’s birthday, you unsurprisingly get a cake slam onto your face (candles excluded!) and he gets messages of “don’t forget to bring the cake to diluc’s birthday bash at 6:00 o'clock sharp!“ on random days before his actual day.

pretty much, you become the best of friends.

need someone to beat up bullies who laugh because you can’t afford new school shoes? he’s your kid! he’ll pay for the hospital fees and buys two pairs of the shiniest shoes without letting you know it was him.

when bringing it up, he always plays dumb. “shoes? what shoes?”

and that’s what you love about him, he never seems to claim the credit.

need a study buddy for high school entrance exams? he’s your man! he will not stop until you master each and every subject matter, eyes closed.

and even if you do get failing marks, he never chastises you for it.

he simply encourages and promises he’ll keep in touch.

just because you both go to different schools doesn’t mean you’ll lose your close friendship, you try to console yourself.

so imagine your surprise on the first day of class, seeing his red locks passing through the door. once your eyes meet, a small smile forms on his mouth. “surprised? don’t think you’ll be getting rid of me anytime soon.”

and you’re ecstatic. the chaotic duo together in high school! imagine all the fun trips, and school events you can attend together!

what are best friends for? obviously to have fun!

some days are particularly bad. like when you’re sobbing your lungs out at three a.m. because someone manages to break your heart into a thousand pieces.

he’s there too. always there.

imagine his surprise, hearing your heart-wrenching sobs over the phone. his soul breaks hearing you cry and his hands clench in anger; how could anyone hurt someone as wonderful as you?

he absolutely loathes your boyfriend.

ex-boyfriend, he corrects. by the way things are going he won’t accept anything less than stranger with a target on his head.

minutes later, he’s inside your house with your favorite drink in hand, rubbing soothing circles behind your back with the other.

you apologize for wasting his time (you both have tests later in the afternoon) and listlessly laugh, “you’ll eventually get worn out. my drama’s a witch.”

“really?” he hums. “i could never get tired of you.”

more under the cut!

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