drunk and dog !

bakugo katsuki x gn!reader.

you fucking hate drinking. you’re scared of it, in a way- the overwhelming feeling of not knowing, of not controlling your body parts is so terrifying to you. yet it is also your biggest comfort. it’s something you look towards to, the way a dog waits for its bone. maybe it is because you attract what you’re afraid of, that you find yourself far from sober on a saturday night, giggles slipping past your lips easily.

you fucking hate drinking, but when your vision is blurred at the edges and you don’t actually know what you’re doing, you feel a little euphoric. you like this balance that you found, between tipsy (you’re way past that point, but you’ll never admit that to yourself) and black out drunk. it’s fun, and easy, and for once you do not feel as if the whole world is depending on you.

this is the real meaning of plus ultra. to go beyond your alcohol consumption limits, and try to reach your dorms without making too much noise.

it’s one in the morning when you all decide to head back, kaminari looking dumber than usual, kirishima stepping on all the wrong floorboards while a tipsy mina tries to get him to move faster, sero trying to ask mina as she is actively multitasking her thoughts on kirishima, and bakugo looking like a fucking grump.

he always looks like a fucking grump, like someone pissed in his cereal and he found out the hard way. you don’t even know why he’s here, and you can tell by the nasty looks he’s giving that he knows he’s superior than all of you, for not participating in an illegal activity. you’re not complaining about his presence, obviously, just wondering, and in your drunken state of mind you can only assume he’s here because deep down, he didn’t want to get FOMO.

even though he looks displeased to have to breathe in your direction, you know bakugo cares. it’s present in the way he yanks your pyjama shirt when you’re about to lose balance on the last step, in the way he accompanies you to your door and tucks you in your bed, right after making sure you don’t need anything (ie: a bassin to puke in).

« would you still like me if i was a horse. » you ask, and you see the way bakugo hesitates for a second as he pulls the blanket up to your neck.

« the fuck ? i dont even like you in your human form » he says, and you snort.

« don’t fucking snort at me » he adds, but you can see the way his lips quirk upwards, because he likes it when he makes you laugh.

bakugo is used to having people (read: that fucking nerd deku) flinch at his aggressive attempts at humor. but you don’t look at him like he was dropped on his head as a baby, and he likes that.

« next its going to be dont breathe in my direction. relax princess, you arent gonna get alcohol poisoning from my breath. » you mumble back, your words making absolutely no sense to anyone but you.

bakugo grins and grimaces at the same time, making a stupid face he hopes you don’t see. but you are looking straight at him, yet you do not react. your eyes are as wide as the plushies on your bed, as if imitating their bulging stare. you just look at him, blanket covering the half of your face which makes the situation creepier.

« okay, what the hell is wrong ? » bakugo asks. he knows he should not care, he shouldn’t even be here- he’s tired and hungry and he doesn’t even know why he stayed in your dorm or even through the whole ordeal in the common room but you’re just really beautiful like this and bakugo isn’t sure if he actually wants to leave.

« did you mean it ? » you ask, and he pauses again.

« mean what ? the fuck ? » he adds a little curse word at the end to try and appear nonchalant- he cannot let you know he cares. he cannot let you know he wants to get in bed with you and hold you till his body becomes one with the soil and the bugs start gnawing at his bones.

« that you don’t even like me right now. »

bakugo clenches his teeth  « whatever. » he answers. he thinks that he might be more inebriated than you are right now, drunk on the thought of you. if the bugs were to feed on his soul all they would taste would be you.

« okay, ‘cause i have a secret » you say as you suddenly sit up, all of bakugo’s efforts of tucking you into bed gone.

« i dont care. go to sleep. » he answers, even though he does care. he wants to know every thought that passes through your brain, wants to hear every breath you take and every beat your heart makes with his head against your chest.

and you notice the way he makes no move to leave, so you call his name. he wants to tell you not to call him that. to call him katsuki. even worse, he wants to call you bakugo.

but instead, « what ? » is what slips past his lips, devoid of any hostile emotion his words usually carry.

« i think i have a crush on you. » you whisper, « thats my secret. »

you really do hate drinking. if you were sober, you would’ve never said what you said. but you’re too tired and hazy to register your words as they fall off your tongue. if you were sober, you would’ve caught the way bakugo went bright red in the face and stumbled back a few steps. if you were sober, you would’ve remembered the way he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers before (affectionately ? kind of) flicking you on the forehead and muttering a « good. i like you too. » with the nonchalance of a dog when it’s master returns from work. if you were sober, you would’ve talked about it. but you were drunk and half asleep.

and bakugo is a coward. (and he also has the emotional depth of a window frame). so he just waits again, until saturday rolls around again and the two of you are left to the same ministrations and declarations again. he waits, like a dog at the door.

hyposelenia

17/100

scott street !

kaedehara kazuha x fem!reader.

Your friendship with kaedehara kazuha started with a sold sign, a red bike, a couple of hair ties which progressed into post it notes stuck to the side of your desk and stolen cigarettes until it eventually vanished into nothing at all. just a laugh you could vaguely recognise and a smile you could map out with your eyes closed. 

you were seven and waddling in your sneakers that were a size too big when someone stepped on your sand cake in the neighbourhood playground. you remember having no parents to run crying to- not that you would’ve anyways, you were a big kid now- seeing as they had been too busy walking through the maze of moving boxes littering the floor of your brand new house and trying to rebuild your ikea bunk bed for the nth time. You remember how that kid that had run over your art stopped his bike, red like the slide you had managed to climb backwards in your old town, and looked at you. His gaze shifted to your trembling lip and ruined whatever it was that you were making, and he had laughed. laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever experienced in his eight miserable years of life. and to make matters worse, he had attracted the attention of all the kids around. with so many pairs of rounded eyes on you and no one on your side, it was only natural to let a tear slip down your eye. except for everyone else, a seven year old girl crying over a pile of wet sand could only be seen as humorous. 

you had been quick to disregard your unfinished (and now ruined) work to run away and hide from their prying stares and mocking smiles under the slide. This one was blue and chipped away at the corners, and even though it was ugly, you thought it a perfect place to sob your sorrow away. But then another boy showed up, except this one had kindness pouring out of his irises and a tissue extended out towards you.

“hello” he had said, a soft expression sitting atop his face. “I'm kazuha. What's your name ?”

you grabbed the tissue without complaint, rubbing your face in it so hard kazuha was surprised your skin hadn’t burned away. You pocketed it wordlessly before wiping away the remaining tears with the top of your hand. “I'm (name). I'm seven and a half and I wasn't crying by the way. if you think i was then you need to go see the eye doctor. I'm too old to cry. I even came to this playground by myself. I bet you didn’t, so I'm more cooler than you.”

wide eyed kazuha chuckled a little at your confession. “Okay. Then why are you hiding under the slide ?"

“I'm not hiding.” 

“Then what are you doing ?” he asked again, tentatively. 

you bit your lip, eyes cast downwards and in a last attempt to save your dignity, you had ushered the following words “i’m counting to one million. but i couldn’t because red bike ruined everything so now i have to start at zero again.” you tilted your head again to meet his line of sight, the boastfulness in your tone evident. seven year old you had internally bet that he couldn’t count to one million. But jealousy never took over his features like you had expected. Kazuha had smiled softly at you, with another tissue in his hand for you to take for your nose. you knew that he knew you were lying, but instead of pointing it out, he had simply spoken “that’s cool”, the words barely above a whisper. 

that’s when you decided, with the feeling of dirt stuck under your fingernails and the soft sound of various chatters behind, that you liked kazuha, even if you did not fully understand the concept of liking someone. You knew that you wanted to chase him and only him if you ever were to play tag and that you wanted him here, with you, underneath the ugly slide of the worst playground you’d ever been too, even if you were crying. because you knew kazuha would not laugh, and he’d have a tissue or two ready, just for you. 

Eventually, after a moment, he sat himself down right next to you with his legs criss crossed and his knee pressing into yours. “Are you new here ?” he had asked, the tiniest hint of discomfort present in his tone, as if this was something he was unfamiliar with. Noticing the effort he was putting into continuing the conversation, you had happily indulged him, a small smile that had been absent all afternoon slowly latching itself onto your lips. “yeah, i just moved.”

his expression had mirrored yours, and if you can recall properly, he had inched himself closer. “Really ? Do you like it here ?”

“I dunno. I miss my friends. and my old room. it was super cool, i was allowed to draw on my walls before we left, because we had to take off the wallpaper thingy.”

“That's cool.” “I know, I’m the coolest.” you muttered, and he chuckled. you remember thinking that kazuha’s laugh sounded sweet, and how it reminded you of something good, like opening a brand new pack of cereal and collecting the toy inside. You smiled brightly then, your fingers running up your face to push back your hair. “you laugh nice”, you exclaimed, although with a hint of shyness, and kazuha cleared his throat, a tinge of pink crawling up his cheeks. “thank you”, he had whispered, so soft, words to be lost to the wind. 

“so, uhm, what were you doing in the sand pit earlier ?”

 “Oh, well, I was making my friends so I wouldn't be alone because everyone here is mean. except you. but especially red bike.” 

Kazuha hummed, but not in a bashful way like he had previously, because he knew he wasn’t mean. He prided himself on it. “His name is Billy, he isn’t very nice.”

“not very nice ? ha” you laughed, your tears fully dissipated now. “he looks like his mom needs to stop giving him dessert.” 

“Huh ? why’s that ?” he asked, and you happily obliged him: “well one, because he’s ugly. My mommy says you become ugly when you eat too much cake. you get pimples and stuff. and two, because he’s a bully. He needs to be grounded.”

“why should he not eat dessert if he’s grounded ?” Kazuha asked again, while you stared incredulously at him. Had he not been grounded before ? Was he a child or some sort of angel ? Despite that, you answered again. “because that’s what parents do. they’re evil, so when you do something bad, they take away something you love. and clearly Billy loves cake.”

“I’m confused, what do you mean ?” 

“ because he's ugly. how do you not know this ?” you answer, and as you expected, he says that he’s never grounded. “never ever ?” you pry, and he shakes his head no in response. “wow”, you exclaim, “i think my mom and dad would love to adopt you. this slide is ugly by the way. we should use the paint on Billy's bike to repaint it red.”

Kazuha laughs at that, with that laugh you consider nice, and you grin. It's comforting to know that not only is kazuha nice, but he also thinks you’re funny. you always believed yourself to be hilarious, but no one ever seemed to like your jokes. So the conversation goes on, continuing endlessly under the ugly slide and the sounds of Billy's red bike’s tires scraping the sand, until it is time to go home. you tell kazuha that you are now friends, and he assures you you are, with a promise to come back tomorrow. 

Kazuha does, in fact, keep his promise, which leads to a string of playdates during the summer, playdates that continue even through the rest of primary school. You’re in the same class fortunately, a classroom that grows into a solidifying point in your friendship. You always sit next to Kazuha, finger painting and coloring and ‘reading’ the days away. Yet, strangely enough, you find yourself behind him as you sit on his bed, flipping through the pages of a book filled with words you don’t understand.

“You know, I've been thinking lately.” you say when the silence and the blur of adult words has become too much for your brain to handle. Kazuha hums, the way he always does, a sound similar to the crash of a soft breeze against pretty windchimes. Contrary to you, he has not set his book down, a book that looks even worse than the one you were occupied with, because it was devoid of pictures. You grimace at it as you peep over his shoulder to glance at the sea of words blending together. 

“It didn’t make sense how you’re a boy yet you’re super duper nice and not stupid and don’t have cooties. I thought you were an alien at first and that you came from the moon but my mommy said they don’t exist. That's sad, I would've loved to know about the moon from one of its locals. then i thought you were a girl, but that’s a bit silly cause you told me you’re a boy and i think you know better than i do. But now i know, it’s because your hair is so long the universe thought you were a girl so they made you not nasty and they let your brain learn about how to wash your hands so you don’t get cooties. And now, since I've had to do all this hard thinking, I think I should braid your hair.” You say, almost all in one breath, surprising Kazuha. He looks at you quizzically, but not in a judgemental way, never judgemental. He could have chosen to be offended by what you said, calling him an alien of some sorts, yet he replies, calmly and politely the way he always does. “Do you even know how to braid hair ?”

His question makes you think for a little, because obviously, you cannot braid hair. You can’t even reach certain cupboards or touch the oven yet, which are daily essentials, so you can’t imagine how hard it must be to do something so out of the ordinary. Yet, boastful as ever, you exclaim with little hesitation that of course you can, and when your statement does nothing to ease his skepticism, you continue “I've seen Miss Avery do it for Talia. You basically do this and then this and this. see ? super duper easy. Now let me try !”

And even though Kazuha looks like he’s afraid he could lose half his hair, he lets you try again and again till your frustration takes over and you give up. “hey kazu, do you think I should be in detective movies ?” “I think you need to stop watching so many.”

That’s one of the many things you like about Kazuha. It’s probably the thing you like most about him- his patience. The way he stays calm even faced with your boisterous and loud and carefree and way too prideful personality that kids in your grade seem to hate. 

And Kazuha stays patient. He stays waiting for you, all the way to middle school even when your schedules don’t align and he has to wait an hour for you to finish class so you can walk home together. He stays observant too, giving you granola bars in the hallway when you seem tired or one of those chocolate coffees from the overpriced vending machines. He stays smart and grows into it, never hesitating to help you with your homework when you ask for it. Because Kazuha knows. He knows you and how you hate walking alone, how prideful you are and how much courage it takes for you to even ask for help, or how the results of this pride lead to a terrible sleep schedule because you’d rather stay up all night than ask your parents or your teachers to explain the classwork. And he knows that you’re not a morning person, that you’d rather trade in eating breakfast for several more minutes in bed. Because he’s your best friend. 

You pride yourself in the fact, really. You love bathing in the golden rays of his affection, because even though he doesn’t really say it out loud much, he shows he cares through all these little acts. And although he isn’t a really vocal person, he likes to leave little notes that express his feelings. Little words and phrases that look so perfectly curated together. It’s on a particularly rough Thursday that you’re blessed with a coffee (and extra packs of sugar, because Kazuha knows of your distaste for bitter things) with a pink post-it note stuck to it. You suppose he must have been in an exceptional mood today, because the note is almost as teeth-rottingly sweet as your coffee, and it makes you grin to yourself. Your classmate and your deskmate Hina seems to notice, because she’s all over you five seconds later, gushing about how you have a secret admirer. You laugh at that and answer that no, it’s not an admirer. You know who it’s from. 

But that only fuels Hina’s excitement more, as she exclaims “Oh! Is it from your boyfriend then ?” and you can’t help the blood rushing to your cheeks at the idea of Kazuha being your boyfriend. You shake your head vehemently, “No! No, it’s nothing like that! It’s just from Kazuha, that's all.” you answer, embarrassed and suddenly feeling as if the classroom’s radiator has turned on. It’s hot, and cramped, and your stomach can’t stop making this thing where it flips all over itself. “Kazuha ?!” Hina exclaims, recognition laced in her voice, “That cute guy from the other class ? I didn't know you liked him!” 

She continues on and on, your previous attempts at denying completely forgotten. But you can’t find it in yourself to retort, because it doesn’t feel right. You mull your interaction with Hina over for the rest of the day, and it is only when the final bell rings and you’re making your way to the spot where Kazuha waits for you so you two can walk home together that you come to the horrifying conclusion that maybe, you possibly have the teeniest tiniest crush on your best friend. 

Who wouldn’t ? He’s pretty and he laughs nice and he’s kind and patient and smart and you really want to hold his hand and oh! You feel terrible thinking these things about Kazuha, especially when he’s right next to you, looking you straight in the eyes with worry. The tips of your ears feel impossibly hot as he asks “Are you alright ?” and you nod furiously, not even daring to look at his face. “Are you sure ? Did something happen ?” he asks again, and you feel horrible for lying to him when you say “Yeah, don’t worry ! You write really well, you know. You should join the poetry club.” 

You don’t really feel bittersweet when you graduate middle school. You’re afraid of what awaits but at the same time you’re relieved, a feeling that is accentuated when Kazuha tells you that he will be attending the same High School as you. You’re ecstatic, really, because for a while you believed you’d be separated for the first time in forever. Kazuha tells you all about it, how he fought (read: debated with the calmness of a sleeping baby) with his moms to get to attend your school, because Kazuha, being the genius he is, got accepted into a super fancy private high school about an hour from your city. You did not. You never even applied. You feel a little giddy about how he chose to stay, because even though you decided it was for the best to forget and bury your crush on him, it’s still there, faint but etched into your heart the way his features are probably carved into your eyelids. He says he wants to stay because the commute is too long, because the public high school has better clubs, and also because of you. He says that he likes it better when you’re around, but you know he thinks that you need him his help, and he’s not wrong. You think you want to kiss him. 

Kazuha spends the hot summer days that follow with you, giving in to your demands and whims with a contempt smile on his face. His hair has grown longer now, the ends reaching the tip of his shoulder blades. He puts it up when the heat gets to him, in order to keep his nape unobstructed, most of the time asking you to braid it for him. The braid never holds long though, often dissipating when he moves around too much because his hair is straight as a pin and weirdly layered. He still looks pretty though. He always has. You’re swinging back and forth on the swings, the playground devoid of children because of the sun setting in the distance when you tell him a secret. Hesitantly, you pull out a cigarette from your pocket, and it’s bent and crooked because of the time it has spent cramped between the fabric of your shorts, but it signifies a passage into adulthood, of sorts. It’s a bit scary, the punishment that awaits you if you are ever found out but it’s exhilarating too, this freedom that it provides. And even though you can tell Kazuha is hesitant, he nods along.

You decide that the first time you tried cigarettes will also be your last. The smoke stings the back of your throat, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and the smell of burnt ashes cling to your fingers and clothes. Kazuha makes a face, too. It’s not good in the slightest, but it’s cool. And you guys are about to become high schoolers. You can’t just sit around on the swings anymore. You could always stay home, pretend you’re too nonchalant to make a public appearance, but you want to keep seeing Kazuha. So you continue, stealing cigarette after cigarette from your mom’s pack that she keeps in her nightstand, lighting them but never consuming the tobacco inside. You keep seeing Kazuha every day, lit cigarettes between your fingers as you admire the way his eyes shine when he faces the sun. 

Obviously, the act that you two put on is enough to garner the attention of other soon to be high schoolers, which leads to Billy finally walking up to you one evening in August. You see the way he shies under your gaze as he approaches you, the same look on his face when you caught him staring at you across the playground. Kazuha is sitting on the grass today, his back against the tree to provide a little shade. He seems a little amused, you note, as Billy swallows and says “You guys are really cool.” 

You raise a brow at him, internally happy that the foul stench of burnt and bad decisions is finally serving its purpose. Met with silence, Billy adds “Do you think- Could I maybe borrow a cigarette ?”

You know that that is not what he meant to say, and this is a pathetic ploy at trying to be friends. You smile, and Kazuha looks up at you expectantly. “Cigarettes are bad for rats. It kills them. I can't have a homicide charge on my resume billy, if i do i’ll end up futureless like you.” You answer, and Billy leaves with tears forming on his waterline after a second or so of shock. Kazuha purses his lips, but you know he’s trying not to giggle as you mutter something about payback. Maybe your parents are right, you are a bad influence on that boy, stripping him of his kindness and patience. But god, he may be even worse, his laugh twice as intoxicating as any drug, encouraging you to draw it out more often. Sometimes, you wonder if you love him. 

Sometimes you wonder if Kazuha knows. If he enjoys taunting you, seeing your pupils dilate and your voice stammer. He seems so naive, sitting in front of you on your bed as you debrief your first week of high school. He had said ‘I joined the poetry club’, and you had exclaimed ‘Good! You’re really talented.’ and the bastard had replied ‘I’m glad you think so. I’d hope you wouldn't change your mind.” and you were all confused, and then he had the audacity to add ‘I joined because you told me I should’. You replay his words one last time for good measure in your head, checking for any subtle sign that he’s playing along because he knows you like him but no matter how hard you try, you cannot seem to find any malicious intent in his speech. 

True to his words, Kazuha joins the poetry club. And then the student council. And then several AP classes, leaving you behind. It’s to be expected, really, with brains like his. It’s also expected when he makes new friends, because Kazuha is nothing short of a saint. It’s not like you care. It just means you walk home alone twice a week and sometimes have to eat alone on mondays, but it’s no biggie. It’s not a problem either when you move to a larger table in the cafeteria so some of Kazuha’s friends can join you. It should be a problem when the liveliness and calls for his attention at the table become so distracting to him that he sometimes barely talks to you during lunch, but it isn’t. Because he’s still next to you, sitting close enough that your elbows meet in an unpleasant way when you eat because of how cramped the table has become, and you think that even though he doesn’t talk to you, his acknowledgement is enough. You think just his presence is enough, too. 

But it does start to bother you when Kazuha picks up tutoring during his free time and doesn’t tell you, leaving you to stand in front of the school gate for at least twenty minutes. When his responses to your texts start taking a little too much time. It’s fine, you have to remind yourself. He’s busy. Too busy to bring you little post it notes and coffees during breaks, or too busy to offer to help you with homework. You feel awful at how upset you are, because Kazuha doesn’t technically owe you anything. If anything, you’re a bad friend for not supporting him but god do you miss him. You miss it when it was just the two of you and your face was the only thing Kazuha would look at. 

You reach your breaking point sometime along the start of the second semester. You have not seen Kazuha over your break, too afraid of your texts being unanswered. At this point, you walk home alone every day, the feeling of Kazuha walking alongside you nothing but a memory. You were eager to see Kazuha, to claim your rightful spot next to him at the cafeteria table, only to find that spot occupied by an ashy blonde guy, laughing along with Kazuha as he exclaims that Kazuha is his ‘best friend’. You feel a little sick as you watch the scene, and you hate how no one notices. No one notices you a few feet ahead above the ruckus lunchtime usually brings. Not even Kazuha. 

People grow apart, it’s only natural. But for some reason, you’d never thought it’d happen to you and Kazuha. You liked to believe that you’d stay friends forever, even if it meant swallowing your feelings and forcing yourself to watch him through the prism of friendship. Maybe Kazuha did know. Maybe he felt weirded out and decided it was for the best that he stopped talking to you. You realise, in that moment, that you’d spent what was left of your serotonin to chew on your cheeks and stare at the moon, cigarette half consumed by the wind in the summer between middle school and high school. Kazuha is no longer Kazuha anymore. He’s hollowed out, still kind and patient and incredibly handsome but he is no longer your Kazuha. Today, he is Kazuha with long flowy hair and a timid laugh who tutors whoever needs it, and his best friend is Tomo, but just recently, he was Kazuha with decomposing braids and bubbly laughter who reached out to those who needed help but didn’t want to ask. Kazuha, who smelled faintly of cigarettes, who did not understand the concept of the lack of dessert as punishment and who wrote the gratitude he could not express onto little post it notes. And he was your best friend. 

It’s a bit hard to make friends during the second semester of your first year of high school, especially when you have known all these people for a while and just never tried. You think you’ve been humiliated enough, so to save yourself the embarrassment, start eating lunch in the empty classroom. In truth, not much has changed. You sit alone in class the way you always have and walk home alone the way you always have have been doing recently. Your parents do not ask when Kazuha doesn’t come over on the weekends anymore, or when you fall behind schoolwork. They say “You can talk about it with us” instead, but you can’t. Because that would be so unfair to Kazuha, who has only been kind to you. You were the one who messed it up, by liking him. He does not deserve your hate, the way you do not deserve his pity. 

You know you don’t deserve it, but it still hurts to open your front door at ten in the morning once your first year has finally ended and you are starting your summer break to find Kazuha, with a slight apologetic look on his face. He doesn’t feel bad about your predicament, your lack of friends. You wonder if he has even noticed. But he does not owe you anything. You owe him everything and more though, but you will never admit it. “Hi,” he says, a boyish grin on his face so different from the sincere smiles you were used to. His eyes still crinkle the same way, but this feels entirely different for some reason. “Sorry I haven’t been around much,” he adds, “I’m glad summer break is here so we can hang out again.”

You want to scream at him. Kazuha has been around. He’s been lurking in every corner of your mind and always at arms length in the hallways. He just hasn’t noticed you. There are many things you want to say, such as ‘How’s Tomo ?’ or ‘Did you miss me ?’ or ‘Did you notice when I left ?’ or even ‘Did I do something wrong ?’ but instead, you settle on “You left me”, the accusation leaving your lips before you really have the time to mull it over. 

It sounds wrong, when it’s out like this. Truth is, if Kazuha were a waiting room, you’d never see the doctor. You’d sit there with your first aid kit and bleed. It sounds like you’re mad at him, when you’re not. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’d give him every inch of your being if he so much as asked, because you are in love. During your months apart, you have come to terms with the fact that you’re stupidly in love with Kazuha. 

But he is patient. Patient with your heart as he breaks it, patient with his words as he says “What are you talking about ?”. He is too patient, giving up too much of himself to people that aren’t you. You know you shouldn't be mad, but you can’t help it, this frustration that bubbles inside you. Just like his hair, Kazuha is straightforward, slipping out of your grasp. Tears are forming now you realise, as the slightly salted teardrop lodges itself between your lips. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong ?”, he asks, slightly more alert now because never, in your several years of friendship, has he seen you cry, “Please, tell me what’s wrong. I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.”

That seems to do it for you, because as far as you’re concerned, you don’t have any friends. Kazuha furrows his brows, and he looks angry. This is your first time seeing him angry. You realise you must've said what was on your mind out loud, to cause this unfamiliar expression on his face. “What ?..” He mumbles, and you can’t help but feel as if he’s putting on an act, similar to the one you used to practice before entering High School (which had only worked for one of you, visibly). You’re full on angry now, and once again, before you can think properly, you slam the door on him. 

“Who was that sweetie ?” Your mother calls out from her spot on the couch as you make your way back to your room, head bent down to avoid having her witness your tears. “No one,” you say, “just a stupid salesman”. 

You think it’s your right to be angry. You didn’t think that three minutes earlier, but after seeing Kazuha and speaking to him for the first time in months, you think it’s your right. You don’t have any friends anymore. You sit alone and work alone and walk alone and light cigarettes on your own. You never smoke them, but the smell brings comfort. It reminds you of summer nights and maple eyes and a boy too busy to even send a small text. It reminds you of a laugh you can hardly recognise anymore and a smile you could map out with your eyes closed. 

Kazuha doesn’t show up at your door again. He disappears from the hallways, and you don’t even go near the cafeteria anymore, afraid of what you’ll see. It stays that way throughout high school, even though sometimes you hear his voice when your new (and better) friends call out your name. It’s odd. You think you still love him, especially when he appears in your dreams or when you see a blink of red. But you can’t remember his laugh anymore. Hell, you can’t even recall his last name. 

You hated him then, cursing his name and swearing that he could never hold the hand of somebody who loved him more. But high school is almost over now, and your resentment is growing smaller. You don’t steal cigarettes anymore and let them burn. 

Often, you wonder if Kazuha feels ashamed when he hears your name. If he says ‘Oh, I know her, we used to be really close’ and thinks back bitterly on the time you spent together. It’s mostly regret that sits in your stomach now. Regret that you let him go, that you didn’t fight back. Regret about how you didn’t matter enough for him to hold on to the sliver of what was left of your friendship. Regret about how you never tried to fix it. Often, you also wonder if you’ll still feel this way in twenty years, if when you get married you’ll close your eyes and pretend it’s Kazuha you are giving the rest of your life to. 

Lately, the realization of high school’s end has been dawning on you. You feel like throwing up. Not only will you be a real grown up now, but you’ll truly never see Kazuha again. There will be no more chances to accidentally catch sight of him anymore. It really is sad, especially when you would have married him had he stayed around. 

You’re sitting on your front porch, winter coat discarded even though the sun is set to go down soon, because may doesn’t bite fingers quite like march does. It’s Friday today, and you officially have a couple weeks left until it’s over. You sigh, detaching your knees from your chest, ready to head in when you spot an all too familiar yet completely unknown sight. Kazuha is jogging over to your house, to you, uniform still on and hair and tie tousled. Your breath hitches, your voice stuck in your throat, and you have to pinch yourself to remember this is real. It’s only when he is catching his breath, hands on his knees in front of you that you let the skin of your forearm lodged between your fingers go. Kazuha is here, and god, he looks prettier than ever, now that you actually have the opportunity to properly look. 

“Hi” he says tentatively, and “Hi” you answer, because you’re not too sure of what the fuck is happening. 

He hands you a bag you didn’t notice he had been carrying around, and you accept it, a quizzical look on your face. “Um, my moms mentioned your parents were out for the weekend, so I, uh, they made some things for you. To eat.” He adds, and you really aren’t sure if this is a dream or not anymore. “Thanks” you say, and you’re painfully aware of how ridiculous you must look right now, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly agape. It’s even worse when Kazuha looks painstakingly beautiful, a slight flush spread over his cheeks. 

“Hey, um I just wanted to say I’m sorry” he says, and now it’s your turn to feel heat creeping up your spine to the tips of your ears. “I didn’t really understand what you meant to say back then. And I’m sorry I never reached out after. At first, I wanted to give you space, and also I was quite frustrated. But now I understand. And I feel stupid, even more so when I realised how angry you must be and held myself back from reaching out.” he adds, and you feel light tears slip from your eyes and into your mouth, the taste frequent ever since you thought you would never speak to Kazuha again. “And high school’s almost over, and I just- I didn’t like the thought of graduating with you being angry at me.” 

You’re full on sobbing now, because in truth, this is still the same Kazuha you used to know. He’s still kind and caring and patient, as he awkwardly places his arms around your shoulders, a hand sneaking to your back to rub slow circles in, letting you cry on his pristine uniform. You hug him back so tightly you think he might explode if you just tighten your hold, but Kazuha shows no sign of reluctance, he doesn’t budge. Instead, he laughs and it feels so odd to hear it again after being deprived of it for so long.

 “So, we’re cool, right ?” He asks and you smile, nodding into his shoulder. “Yeah.” you add when you’re unsure of if he understood or not, because you could never stay mad at him, not when he laughs this sweet after apologising and hands you a tissue the same way he did when you were seven years old, because you’re madly (and probably unrequitedly) in love with him. He smiles too, and says “You and your friends should eat with us during lunch.” You want to kiss him till your breath runs out. 

Soon enough, graduation comes. You’re all teary eyed, ruining your makeup but you can not bring yourself to care as Kazuha, who has recently regained the title of ‘best friend’ steps up on the stage to give his valedictorian speech. 

“Principal, faculty, families, and the graduating class of 2026; They gave me five minutes up here. I'll try not to waste them.” He starts, and you hear him clear his throat. Pride swells in your chest at the sight of him, platinum blonde hair amateurly braided. And all that pride just explodes when you hear your name, and all of a sudden multiple, if not all eyes are on you, as Kazuha makes public your fallout without going into the details and the way you made up. Tears keep flowing and your lips crinkle upwards. Kazuha keeps going.

“The people who know you, who really know you, who were there before you had anything to prove or when you were seven years old, those people are rare. They are not replaceable. And they are worth the terrifying, humbling work of saying ‘I missed you. I'm sorry. Can we try again?’ 

Four years of high school teach you calculus and essay structure and how to survive on insufficient hours of sleep. But they also, if you're paying attention, teach you who you are when things fall apart. And who stays.”

He calls your name again, looking straight to you as he slowly reciprocates your smile, “If you'll let me embarrass you for the last time as a fellow student; thank you. For coming back and for letting me come back. For reminding me that some things are worth more than pride.

To the class of 2026: go build something great. Be brave about the big things.

And be braver about the small ones.

Congratulations.” 

The crowd erupts into cheers as Kazuha steps back and makes his way back to your seat. And although he sits far away from where you’re seated, he still passes on a tissue. 

It’s only after the whole ceremony and a large amount of pictures your parents insist on taking that you find yourself face to face with Kazuha again. He smiles and cups your cheek, slowly wiping off a mascara smudge on your face with his thumb. You lunge yourself at him once he’s done, engulfing him in a hug that renders him breathless, and, just to reassure yourself you aren’t dreaming, mumble “We’re cool right?”

Kazuha chuckles, but he says “Yeah” anyways. He pries himself from you, takes a good look at your face, and pulls you into his arms again with so much tenderness it forms a lump in your throat. It's second nature for you now to press your face against his chest, to let your forehead rest against his shoulder and your hands clench around the edge of his robe, fingers tangled with the impressive numbers of strings he carries. And, pressed together like this, you're struck with the feeling as if no time had passed at all, as if you were still seven years old crying under a slide or as if you’d forever, systematically, grow apart to make up on your porch again. 

‘I love you’, you want to say, to scream at him, but instead, the words that escape you are “I missed you”, as if you hadn’t spent the last month glued to his side, having to make even more space on the lunch table now that your few friends had also joined you. “Me too,” he says. 

When you pull back, you realise how truly breathtaking he is, maple eyes and matching streak in his hair, lips slightly parted and you can’t help the way your lips slot against his, almost instinctively. Much like missing him or thinking of him, kissing him is something you do without thinking. He reciprocates, kissing you softly but with a firmness that says he doesn’t want to let you go, never again. You don’t care about the way people are watching, or the way your parents snap a picture, the only thing crossing your mind is that this is an action you should have done a long time ago. 

And when distance is finally created between the two of you, you tell him. You tell him how you love him and he repeats your words, sincere and earnest. “You mean it ?” you ask, and he nods. 

“Who else if not you ?” He answers, and you let tears slip again, similar to the ones on your front porch. Akin to the way a caterpillar turns into a butterfly, your friendship with kaedehara kazuha started with a sold sign, a red bike, a couple of hair ties which progressed into post it notes stuck to the side of your desk and stolen cigarettes until it eventually vanished into nothing at all, and you went from being his ‘best friend’ to his lover. 

mother posted

being a kid and hearing adults say stuff like "woah 2011 was 4 years ago haha" didn't really convey the fucking horror of a youtube video crossing my recommended labelled "9 years ago" and it's from 2017. that's not true. 9 years ago is 2010 or something. don't lie.

dont even joke lad

top 3 hobbies for young adults:

1. borrowing misery from future

2. carrying grief of the past

3. agonizing over the present

Face of a nymph like the most beautiful poison

this is so beautiful 🥹

Strike a pose!

13 1/2 hourdrawing ! like my stuff?? i have commissions open >> here!

Clingy-ass dog 🙄