Hisuiofthegreen - Clevinger - Tumblr Blog

this is the character dynamic of all time!!!

snippet of my bokuaka fic wip to motivate me to write more

i have been working on this fic since 2020... im 20k words in and not even halfway done yet...

Obvious Blasé

Blasé [blä-ˈzā] adjective; indifferent to or bored with life; unimpressed, as or as if from an excess of worldly pleasures. "Can we start over? Akaashi Keiji, pleased to meet you." Tokyo feels a world and a half away, especially when Koutarou is punching Keiji's phone number into the keypad of a hospital payphone. The whole island of Honshu may as well be spinning out of the Milky Way, his husband with it, when he's met with a full voicemail box and another wet flower petal. "I'd love to. Miya Osamu, at your service."

8808 words (just the beginning) ; bokuaka / osuaka ; tw : drinking + cheating

Keiji loved few things; one was gardening. He spent hours upon hours in the summer with dirt on his knees and under his nails, weeding and digging and planting. Koutarou bought him expensive gardening gloves as a one-year anniversary gift years ago, but Keiji loved using his bare hands, feeling life at his fingertips. Keiji always had the window boxes full, filled with vibrant colors and lush green leaves, even in the dead of winter. Whenever they had guests over, there was always at least one conversation about just how Keiji keeps his begonias coming back every year and keeps them so lush (apparently the neighbors’ begonias are really kicking their asses).

Koutarou learned that Keiji loved gardening by accident. It was summer break—June, to be specific—during Keiji’s second year at Fukurodani. Koutarou had gotten bored at home with nothing to do and attempted to call his friend to ask if they could hang out; when he got a voicemail message in response, he decided to head to Keiji’s home anyway. He knew the way there by heart and could walk it backward and blindfolded.

Outside, Keiji was knee-deep in fertilizer, a bucket of ripped up weeds beside him, as he pruned his camellias. He nearly knocked the bucket over into an adjacent fern when Koutarou yelled his name from behind—he was not expecting any interruptions, not in the middle of summer vacation, and certainly not from a boy in a different year.

Keiji sat back on his haunches and tossed his head over his shoulder to look at his upperclassman. Koutarou stood in the middle of the street, holding his volleyball high above his head and smiling like a fool. Keiji couldn’t help it when a small smile began to tug at his lips; he sighed in defeat and stood up and began to walk towards his friend.

“Akaashi!” Koutarou exclaimed again, bouncing from foot to foot as the other grew closer. “I tried to call, but you didn’t pick up!”

“That’s because I was out here,” Keiji replied, a quarter of Koutarou’s volume. It always struck him how the two were as different as night and day, even down to the way they talked.

“I got bored at home all alone,” Koutarou continued. “I wanted to see if you would hang out with me today!”

“Bokuto-san, I’m very busy,” Keiji sighed, and gestured back to his abandoned gardening tools. “I just bought some—”

“Please, ‘Kaashi? Pretty please?”

Keiji still didn’t know, to this day, if Koutarou was aware of how powerless he was to his pleas. A simple puppy dog look from the third year was enough to melt Keiji’s resolve. A pout would be enough to force Keiji’s hand, no prodding words necessary.

“Fine.”

The local park was only a few blocks away from Keiji’s house, so they set off down the road. It wasn’t a vocal decision; once Keiji agreed to entertain Koutarou for the day, they both just began walking.

“So… what were you so busy with?” Koutarou asked, giving Keiji a lopsided grin as he tilted his head. He was currently tossing the ball back and forth between his hands, catching it with the pads of his fingers.

“Gardening.”

“I didn’t know you were into that!”

A smile cracked across Keiji’s lips. “I was pruning my camellias, actually.” He held up his hand to show Koutarou the dirt on it, stuck in every little wrinkle and crevice. “And weeding, before that.”

“I can’t quite explain it…” Koutarou laughed in his pause, returning his eyes to the road ahead. “It’s very suiting of you, I think. Being a gardener.”

Keiji just looked down, smiling to himself.

“Are camellias your favorite?”

“Yes, I think so. I like the bright color.” Keiji threaded his fingers together behind his back, rubbing at his knuckles. “What’s yours, Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou hummed in thought. He had now taken to tossing the ball in the air to himself, catching it flat in his palms before tossing it high overhead. “Probably hydrangeas.”

And Keiji never forgot it. He learned later on that the man was particular to the blue hydrangeas—another opposite, this time to Keiji’s blush pink camellias.

Because of this fact, Keiji made sure to have hydrangeas included in the centerpieces at the wedding. Neither of them would have a bouquet, and the flower was too big for boutonnieres, so he had the florist put deep sea blue hydrangeas as the central flower on the tables at the reception. It was a little splash of color that only meant something to the newlyweds, a secret only they were in on.

Koutarou didn’t know about the special centerpieces until they arrived at the banquet hall. He spotted the petals amongst the bursts of baby’s breath and ranunculi and delphiniums, encased in glittering silver vases, which all seemed to deepen the color of the hydrangeas. He immediately shot Keiji a look, both accusing and amused, and the raven head held a hand to his mouth to contain his laughter.

“What’s the matter, Bokuto-san?” he asked, trying to stay level, but the words stumbled out of his mouth like a baby deer around his laughter.

“Hey, you can’t call me that now,” Koutarou cooed, hand curling around Keiji’s thin waist. “It’s Akaashi-san, now.”

Keiji’s cheeks burned, accompanied by a warm feeling in his gut, which reappeared at every mention of ‘Akaashi Koutarou.’ While the blush fell out of practice over time, he still felt that rush of giddiness whenever he heard the name, even all these six months later. It felt like yesterday that Koutarou’s name in Keiji’s phone was ‘Bokuto-san.’

The best music to Keiji’s ears, though, was hearing ‘the Akaashi’s.’

And he felt that warmth again at the florist checkout counter, when the lady handed Koutarou back his card with a chipper, “Enjoy your day, Akaashi-san!”

Keiji held an orchid in one hand and a pothos plant in the other, while Koutarou hefted a bag of fertilizer over his shoulder. The plants were for their bedroom, since the snake plant Koutarou had picked out months ago finally kicked the bucket after a week-long vacation. Keiji gently set his plants on the floorboard of the truck, waiting until after the bed stopped shaking from the toss of the fertilizer into it. Soon after, Koutarou slid in behind the wheel and stuffed the key in the ignition, listening as the engine roared to life. They sped out of the parking lot, Koutarou’s hand settling onto Keiji’s thigh after reaching a straight stretch of road.

“I’m pretty hungry,” Koutarou mumbled, rubbing circles into Keiji’s knee as they slowly came to a stop at a red light. “Want to grab something before we head home?”

“Sure, what’s the harm?”

The light flicked to green, and Koutarou lifted his hand away to spin the wheel as he turned left onto a side road. The truck jumped and rattled with the potholes and pebbles, but after only a short moment, they appeared behind a string of small shops. He parked the truck next to a small compact car and flashed a smile at his husband, then turned to hop out.

The gravel crunched under Keiji’s shoes as they rounded the building, coming face to face with a glowing storefront lighting up the dark street. A glowing neon sign depicted an onigiri jumping side to side, with “welcome!” written out below it. A bell chimed over their heads as they walked in, and a capped head popped out from the kitchen at the sound.

“Oi, Bokuto-san!” the man called with a smile, dusting his hands off as he walked up behind the counter. “Back again?”

“You keep forgetting,” Koutarou chided as he held up his left hand, “that it’s Akaashi-san now.” He spared a glance at Keiji, who was studying his hands to try and hide the cherry red blush that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Right, right.” The storekeeper tossed his hand back and forth in the air. He looked over to Keiji, who was now rereading the specials on a blackboard instead of looking at either of the two men.

“Oh, right! You still haven’t met Keiji, have you?” Koutarou wrapped his arm around Keiji’s shoulders and tugged him into his side, smiling when Keiji’s glasses were knocked sideways. “This beauty here is Keiji. Keiji, this is Miya Osamu.”

Keiji raised his hand in a simple greeting, and Osamu did the same. Keiji looked up at his husband with fake annoyance, chiding him with, “It’s rude to introduce me like that, Koutarou.” Koutarou just laughed, and squeezed Keiji closer to his side, knocking the latter’s glasses askew again.

“Well,” Osamu said, clapping his gloved hands together, “what can I getcha?”

“Whatever it is that your brother always gets,” Koutarou beamed, staring down into the glass case of onigiris. Every day before practice, Atsumu brought onigiri from his twin brother’s shop to eat. Koutarou bugged him for weeks to let him try it (“Just a little piece!”) until eventually Atsumu broke the rice ball in half and handed part of it to Koutarou in defeat. Koutarou made Atsumu give him the address to the infamous ‘Onigiri Miya,’ and he found himself passing by it on the way to practice almost every week. It eventually became a little tradition: before games, Koutarou would accompany Atsumu and Kiyoomi to the store and eat there to calm their pre-match nerves.

The game that weekend was no different. This time, though, Keiji accompanied Koutarou to the stop.

Osamu was busy wiping down the counter when the four entered. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya,” he called in his monotone voice, eyes stuck to the tabletop as he made one more wipe across the epoxy. He tossed the rag into a bucket in the corner and looked up, the corner of his mouth poking upward when he saw the ragtag bunch in the doorway.

“I almost forgot that it was game day,” he chuckled, eyelids staying low in amusement, as if he was truly emotionless to the whole ordeal. Osamu was the opposite of Koutarou and Keiji, down to the way they dealt comedy. In ways unlike his husband, though, Keiji felt very similar to Osamu, so when he spotted the cook in the crowd of MSBY fans, it was natural to squirm through the hoard of people to his side.

“Miya-san, was it?” Keiji asked from behind, leveling his glasses to busy his hands.

Osamu looked over his shoulder and was met with sharp blue eyes. His mouth twitched with a half-smile like earlier that day, and he stuck his hands deep in his pockets as he turned to face Keiji.

“Hey, hey,” Osamu replied. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“My husband is playing, after all.”

“As is my idiot brother.”

Keiji didn’t respond, and instead looked out over the crowd. “The seats are probably filling up fast…” he mumbled, looking up at the televisions on the walls that displayed the court just beyond the few sets of double doors. Currently, the teams were warming up on their respective sides. Keiji’s face softened when he saw Koutarou’s stark white hair among the black uniforms, presently chatting with a little redhead near the wall.

Keiji excused himself and wound his way through the throngs of fans, making his way to the front of the stands above his husband. “Ko!” he called, cupping his hand around his mouth in an attempt not to draw too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to be put on the big screen and become the topic of mindless banter of strangers.

Star MSBY Ace Visited By… Husband? Yep, the last thing he wanted.

Koutarou looked up, instantly beaming when he saw Keiji. He waved up at Keiji, arm swinging so wildly that his whole body shook. Keiji folded his hands into a heart and Koutarou mimicked him (although Koutarou’s was much larger), and Keiji mouthed the words “Win for me.”

It was his way of motivating the lump of mood swings since he was no longer by his side on the court to do so. He was used to being very serious and aloof with his teammate in high school, but the years of living together made him like putty in Koutarou’s hands, soft and pliable to his every (usually unconscious) whim. The idea for the hand hearts came to him after Koutarou had enough meltdown at a scrimmage and thought of the words at the training camp in his second year.

“I kept getting shut out!” Koutarou whined, pouting at himself in the mirror. Keiji tried his hardest to ignore him, instead focusing on scrubbing his hands in the sink.

“Everyone gets blocked sometimes, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah, but it’s still irritating!”

“Please just dry off and go to bed.”

“I’m not tired!”

“You need to keep up your strength. We still have three days of camp left.”

Koutarou whined, swiveling his head to watch Keiji shut off the water and reach for the roll of paper towels. “How do you stay so calm all the time?” he asked, taking a step closer to his kohai. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be any more emotional than a small smile or cheering me on for morale.”

Keiji swung his head around, gaping at Koutarou. “I have emotions!” He waded up the paper towel in his hand and stuffed it into an overflowing trash can. “I’m just not as vocal as you are.”

When Keiji turned around, his nose nearly collided with Koutarou’s. He hadn’t realized how close his captain had gotten, and now Keiji stood incredibly too close to him, closer than a school trip warranted. He stared into Koutarou’s gold eyes, which were wide and bright, accentuated by the pink that lit up the bridge of his nose until it resembled camellias.

Keiji licked his lips, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become. “Bokuto-san—”

The door squeaked open, and Koutarou jumped halfway across the room, spinning on his heels to face the open door instead of Keiji’s wide eyes.

“Hey, Konoha!” Koutarou greeted, grinning as if he wasn’t in Keiji’s bubble not even thirty seconds earlier.

“There you guys are!” their teammate said, sounding exasperated. “We’ve been looking for you two everywhere. Do you know what time it is? We have a match at the crack of dawn!”

Keiji and Koutarou were quickly ushered back to Fukurodani’s quarters, where they slept on opposite sides of the room. When he woke up, Keiji was still reeling from having his spiker so close he could almost smell the sweat Koutarou tried to scrub off in the shower.

When the team was stretching to prepare for the beginning of day three, a game against Ubugawa, Keiji approached Koutarou. His back was to the second year, stretching his arms high overhead to pop his back. Keiji lightly tapped him on the shoulder, accompanying it with a small “Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashi!” Koutarou replied as he turned around, eyebrows shooting up like exclamation points.

“Are you still worried about getting past the blockers?” Keiji had noticed the uncharacteristic stiffness of Koutarou’s muscles, his short sentences, and, most notably, his solitary warmup. Keiji knew all too well that what others dubbed Koutarou’s “emo mode” was more than flopped hair and a pout during a game.

Koutarou looked down, then began to crack his knuckles one by one. “Yeah,” he nearly whispered, “I guess I am.”

Keiji felt his heart pang but kept his face stoic. “That was yesterday, this is a whole new game.”

“What’s an ace that can’t power through?” he sighed. He had cracked each of his knuckles and his wrists, then finally looked Keiji in the eyes. His normal puppy dog face was taut and drooped, more so than during a mood swing. It was a look of pure emotionality that he only showed to his vice-captain. “Isn’t rule two to break through any wall?”

Keiji’s face dropped in annoyance. “Are you quoting your t-shirt?”

Koutarou ghosted a smile. “Maybe,” he chuckled.

“Anyway,” Keiji continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I came over here to cheer you up.” He peered up at Koutarou through the fingers on his face. “Just one thing, and then I’ll leave you be.”

Taken aback, Koutarou quickly dropped his smile and stared intently.

“Win today. Win for me.”

Koutarou’s ears reddened. He coughed into his fist a few times and rapidly blinked his eyes, like Keiji had dumped a bucket of dust on his head.

“What?” Koutarou coughed out, voice scratched and squeaky.

Keiji squared his shoulders, looking at his elder down the length of his nose. “You heard me.”

Koutarou, clad in his all-black MSBY uniform, mouthed back the words “I will.” As Keiji began to lower his hands, the redhead from earlier shook his husband’s shoulder and they walked towards the rest of the team, who was huddled together by the coach’s bench.

“A pre-game ritual, I see?”

Keiji spun around in surprise, eyes landing on Osamu’s smirking face. “Oh, it’s only you,” Keiji mumbled, then turned to walk towards the seats.

He heard the slapping of shoes against the wooden floor, then Osamu’s face appeared next to him in his peripheral. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“I don’t care what you do.”

Osamu fell back, following Keiji up towards the top of the stands. Keiji didn’t like being bumped into by the other fans, and the top let him see more of the court at once. Shoes squeaked on the floorboards as the players shuffled towards the net, captains leaving the group to shake. Keiji wrung his hands, the all-too-familiar feel of having to shake hands creeping along his nerve endings; he had hated being captain, and he hated it even more after watching Koutarou be captain. The worst hand to shake was Kenma’s, after all the conversations they had about hating succeeding their eccentric best friends as captain of powerhouses.

~~~~~~~~~

Keiji waited patiently outside of the locker room, watching the fans slowly make their way out the doors and to their cars. He mindlessly fiddled with his hands as he quickly became one of only a handful of people left in the lobby. It was dark outside, the sun having set during the tournament, and he could see a couple of stars through the large glass doors. Taking a glance at the locker room door and deciding that Koutarou wasn’t coming out any time soon, Keiji hesitantly walked towards the doors. The light from the building spilled onto the pavement outside, lighting up the concrete while fireflies took to the air like wild Christmas lights. The stars twinkled above, but all the pollution made it hard to see their light. On the far right, the moon peaked out from behind a dark cloud, like a toddler behind its blanket, ready to sleep.

“Pretty night.”

Keiji looked up to see none other than Miya Osamu, staring at him. The right half of his face, nearly pressed to the glass door, was darkened and reminded Keiji of the moon. His nose sat almost directly on the line between light and dark, like a spaceman wandering a little too close to the dead zone that was the shadow of the moon.

“Hello again, Miya-san.”

“Everyone calls my brother that,” he whined. “Just call me Osamu.”

Keiji looked back outside, eyes fixated on the twinkling fireflies. “Alright then, Osamu-san.”

“Are you waiting for Boku- I mean, Koutarou?”

Keiji nodded. “We rode here together, after all.” Keiji spared a glance at Osamu, who was now gazing at the stars above. “Are you waiting for your brother?”

Osamu snorted. “Hell, no,” he laughed. “That idiot can drive his own ass home, or even walk, for all I care.”

“Then what are you still here for?”

Keiji turned to look at Osamu once more and found him looking back again.

“Well,” he started, voice low, “I’m currently talking with you.”

Keiji quickly looked away. His hand reached for his opposite wrist out of pure habit, massaging the skin there like it may fall off if he let go. “I should start the truck,” Keiji mumbled, beginning to push the door open with his shoulder. “It’s getting cold, and there’s nothing worse than cold leather.”

“I’ll come with,” Osamu chirped, slipping outside in Keiji’s wake. “Keep you company.”

The last thing I want is your company, Keiji thought to himself, but all that came out of his mouth was “okay.” Dear God, he thought, where is Koutarou when you need him?

The truck was towards the back of the lot, alone and away from most of the cars. A single streetlight flickered overhead, with mayflies and moths and other miscellaneous creatures flying around it, as if it wouldn’t burn them when they touched. As if the light was a real, tangible thing, rather than something they could only dream of, something they could never have.

Keiji fumbled with the keys, trying to grab that one with the ugly Toyota symbol on it, and he almost had it, almost, almost, almost… then the keyring slipped between his fingers like ice and dropped onto the cement with a clang.

“God fucking hell,” Keiji mumbled, stooping to pick it up. As his fingers reached out to pick up his mess, another hand appeared by his, bumping against his fingertips, only millimeters above the glinting metal.

Keiji shot his eyes forward, meeting with a dark grey set. His nose nearly collided with the sharp end of Osamu’s, utterly oblivious to the body so close to him. So incredibly close, closer than waiting for his husband warranted. Keiji couldn’t help but think that, under that child-like moon, Osamu's eyes looked as deep blue as hydrangeas.

Keiji shot himself backward, feet flying out from under him. He landed on his hands and butt, rocks digging into the soft skin of his palms, as he used his feet to kick himself away from Osamu—who, for the record, was staring at Keiji like he had spoken to him in Latin.

Osamu blinked, then looped his index finger through the keyring and held it out to Keiji. The gold key with the ugly Toyota symbol swung back and forth, glinting in the starlight, right next to his owl keychain that matched the one on Koutarou’s keyring. Osamu offered a small smile, as if to say something simple like “sorry I bumped into you.”

Keiji reached forward and wrapped his fingers around that smiling plastic owl and yanked the keyring off of Osamu’s hand, and with it, his smile. Keiji pulled himself to his feet, back to the driver’s door, and stuffed his keys into his jacket pocket. “It’s cold,” Keiji said, breaking the silence that felt like a thousand years, although it had only been five minutes at most. “You should head back inside before you get sick.”

“Oh, yeah, probably,” Osamu mumbled. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Keiji didn’t respond. He watched Osamu walk away, peering over the bed of the truck. The head of grey hair bounced down the aisle, almost out of Keiji’s sight. He screwed his mouth up, internally begging Osamu to walk a little faster, get in his car, and hopefully drive far, far, far away. He had Koutarou—Osamu knew that—and he was happy. He certainly did not need this man trying to make a move on him. What if one day, Koutarou saw it? What would Keiji do then?

A hand landed on Keiji’s arm, and he jumped almost high enough to climb into the truck bed. His head whipped around to see that familiar, sharp face of his husband, staring at him in wild confusion.

“Koutarou!” Keiji nearly moaned and threw his arms around the athlete’s neck. “I thought you’d never come out.”

Koutarou hesitantly wrapped his arms around Keiji’s waist. “Why are you out here?” he chuckled. “It’s freezing.”

“I was going to warm up the truck for you,” Keiji mumbled into Koutarou’s shirt. “I didn’t want you climbing into a frigid car after your game.”

Koutarou’s whole body rattled and grumbled as he laughed, deep and low, squeezing Keiji in the ribs. “The truck doesn’t look very warmed up to me.”

“Doesn’t matter now. You’re warmer than the truck would ever be, anyway.” Keiji nuzzled his face into Koutarou’s neck, inhaling the scent of sport deodorant and that distinct smell of Koutarou that Keiji could never place. It was almost like pinecones, like a dry autumn forest. He’d gotten much better at scrubbing out the scent of sweat.

Koutarou laid a hand on Keiji’s cheek and pulled him back, far enough away he could see the black glasses frames but close enough their noses touched. He planted a light kiss on Keiji’s forehead, pushing away the tousled hair with the tip of his nose. Keiji closed his eyes at the innocent touch, leaning into Koutarou’s soft lips.

“Let’s go home,” Koutarou hummed against Keiji’s skin. So Keiji let Koutarou unwrap their arms and he settled into the passenger seat, watching the lights of the city blink and flash overhead as Koutarou drove them home. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, soothed by the constant sounds of the city and Koutarou’s hand, intertwined with his on top of the shifter, lightly squeezing Keiji’s fingers.

~~~~~~~~~

Keiji awoke to the smell of bacon, fruit, and… eggs Benedict.

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand as he sat up, comforter stuck on his shoulder and draping across him like a toga. He picked up his glasses with a yawn, settling them on his ears as the smell grew thicker and thicker. His stomach grumbled under Koutarou’s old shirt, awoken by the smell of breakfast that was definitely not made by Koutarou.

Koutarou was a terrible cook. When he had moved into his apartment in the city for college, Keiji had come to visit, as all good boyfriends do. He hadn’t even stepped into the genkan when the smell of burnt food assaulted his nose.

“Koutarou, what is that stench?” Keiji called as he bent to take off his shoes, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose in a poor attempt to save his nose hairs.

“Breakfast!” Koutarou popped his head around the corner, a smile plastered across his face as if he wasn’t balancing brown eggs on a spatula. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“I’m certainly surprised,” Keiji mumbled as he stepped into the apartment.

He followed Koutarou into the small kitchen, hand flying to his nose when his eyes landed on the plate of crisped eggs and watery oatmeal. Koutarou stood beside them, mouth scrunched to the side from Keiji’s reaction.

“I fucked it up again, didn’t I?”

“How long did you cook those eggs for?” Keiji asked, words muffled from the hand on his mouth. “Are you eating like this every day?”

When Koutarou gave a slow nod, Keiji nearly fell over with how hard he rolled his eyes back. He took a step forward and snatched the spatula from Koutarou’s hand, giving a muffled “Let me show you how to make edible food.”

Keiji stepped out of their shared bedroom and into the living room, bracing his nose for a similar smell of burnt food. Instead, he was greeted by Koutarou’s always overly enthusiastic good morning.

“You’re finally awake!” Koutarou bounced over to where Keiji stood in the doorway, nearly spilling coffee out of the takeout cup in his hand. He planted a kiss against Keiji’s temple, simultaneously wrapping his arm around the raven’s slim waist.

“Good morning to you too, Ko,” Keiji mumbled with a smile, pinching the other’s arm. “What’s that smell—”

A head popped into his view, a golden-haired undercut framed by the collar of a MSBY jacket. A second and third head appeared soon after, a smiling redhead and an emotionless twin.

“We got takeout from that egg place you like!” Shouyou sang, holding up his omelet. “You were still asleep, or we would’ve taken you with.”

Koutarou placed a takeout box in Keiji’s hands. “I know your order, don’t worry,” he chuckled. “You only ever get the same thing.”

Keiji lightly bumped Koutarou’s shoulder with his own, a small bit of PDA that Koutarou always reveled in. “You should have told me you were bringing people over,” he chided. “I’m wearing your ratty shirt.”

"At least you’re wearing some pants this morning,” Koutarou laughed. “You know, usually you just wear my bo—”

“Koutarou!” Keiji hissed and reached up and pinched Koutarou again. Unlike before, this pinch was hard, cutting Koutarou off before he embarrassed both of them. No one else needed to know that Keiji could never tell whose briefs were whose.

They all communed in the kitchen, Shouyou sitting on the counter with Atsumu seated on the floor below him while the other three sat at the cramped table. Keiji decided to make coffee, but the only taker was Osamu, so now, as the three airheads chowed down on various egg dishes, Keiji and Osamu blew at the steam from their mugs. Osamu liked his coffee black. Keiji thought that was gross but said nothing.

“So, why did everyone come over all of a sudden?” Keiji asked once the conversation lulled.

“Your big tool of a husband didn’t know the way to the cafe,” Atsumu laughed. “He called me and asked if I would drive him over.”

“I was already at Atsumu’s place, so I made them take me,” Shouyou added.

“I was trying to have a peaceful breakfast at that godforsaken cafe,” Osamu groaned from beside Keiji. “They saw me and begged me to come along.”

“The more, the merrier!” Koutarou boasted, and Atsumu and Shouyou agreed with him from behind.

“Koutarou was practically crying on the phone,” Atsumu laughed again, tapping on Shouyou’s shoe by his head. “He was blubbering, ‘I can’t cook, ‘Tsumu, I can’t cook! I gotta get Keiji take-out! Where’s that egg place he likes?’”

“Don’t be so mean, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered, but the only person who heard was Keiji.

“Shut up!” Koutarou exclaimed. “I did not!” He attempted to look angry, but the blush that engulfed his whole face betrayed him.

“You did!” Shouyou cackled.

“Oh, oh, and,” Atsumu continued, “when I got here, to pick him up, he was tiptoeing around like he’d accidentally wake you up!”

“Aw,” Keiji whispered to his husband, setting his feet on top of Koutarou’s. “You’re so cute.”

“I just want to spend as much time as possible together before I leave,” Koutarou admitted. He looked up at Keiji with his trademark kicked puppy look.

“We’ll take care of Koutarou for you,” Atsumu said with a smile, clapping a hand onto the aforementioned’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him, man.”

“He should definitely worry if you’re gonna be around,” Osamu interjected. “You’re the walking personification of trouble.” Atsumu smacked the back of Osamu’s head, but the latter only smirked.

“Hey, isn’t that drama you like airing soon?” Shouyou asked, looking down at his watch.

“Oh my God, yeah!” Koutarou jumped out of his seat and planted a haste kiss on Keiji’s lips. “I’ll be back soon, Kei! I’m gonna watch it at Atsumu’s!”

Keiji wrapped his hand behind Koutarou’s neck and pulled him back down for a proper goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Of course!” Koutarou exclaimed, grabbing his track jacket off the back of a chair as he ran to the door, where Shouyou was hanging off Atsumu’s shoulders as they waited for their friend.

“Hey, wait for—”

Koutarou waved at Keiji before walking out, adding a quick, “Don’t miss me too much!” before he was gone.

“—me.”

Keiji looked over to see Osamu with his head in his hand, mouth screwed up to the side. He spared a glance at Keiji.

“He was my ride home.”

“Oh, uh,” Keiji stuttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I could drive you home, of course. Your brother drove, right?”

Osamu’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh, right, the old Toyota. That you were trying to warm up, unsuccessfully.”

Keiji shot him a glare and Osamu backed down. He walked over to the door, snatching his keys off the counter and grabbing a jacket off the coat rack. “Let’s go, then.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Turn here.”

“You live on the same street as your shop?” Keiji spun the wheel to make a sharp right turn, speeding past Onigiri Miya. “Why didn’t you say so? There’s a much shorter way.”

“I enjoy being navigator, I guess,” Osamu chuckled, staring out at the houses. Without warning, he pointed at an apartment building barely a hundred feet ahead. “There.”

Keiji irritatingly slammed on the brakes, trying to contain his smile as Osamu threw his hands onto the dash to keep from bashing his forehead against it.

The apartment building was right on the street front. He and Koutarou considered renting from a complex like this, but ended up going with a skyscraper in the city. Osamu’s building looked like the ones in movies, where the bad boy love interest lived. And probably did heroin, on the couch. He pulled into the lot behind the building, right next to a little compact car.

Keiji pressed the unlock button, and the pin in the door sank down with a click. He gave Osamu an expectant look, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Why can’t this guy get out of the car, Keiji thought, and hopefully out of my life altogether?

“Do you want to come in?” Osamu asked, flashing a bright eye towards Keiji. “Koutarou will be gone all afternoon, knowing ‘Tsumu… you’ll be bored, Keiji-kun.”

Keiji prickled at the name. “I can entertain myself just fine, thank you.”

“Naw, come on,” Osamu prodded. “Don’t you believe in a little fate? Obviously, I was meant to entertain you while he’s gone.”

“What are you even talking about?” Keiji mumbled, but found himself pulling the keys out of the ignition anyway. He slid out of the truck and followed Osamu to the back door, with a sun-bleached sign that said, “Tenants Only.”

He lived on the ground floor, number 012. It had an almost maroon look; the carpet was off white, but the light coming through the dark red curtains made it appear pink. The tiles in the genkan were white, but the steps into the apartment were painted the same dark blush from the colored light. The walls were paneled like it was built in the seventies, but it only reminded Keiji of the soundproof rooms from crime shows.

“Want something to drink?” Osamu asked, peeking his head around the corner at Keiji, who was just beginning to step into the apartment, holding his hands tightly to his chest.

“What do you have?”

Osamu turned around and stuck his head in the fridge. “Orange juice, some soda, half a bottle of white wine—”

“That,” Keiji interrupted, pulling a surprised look from Osamu. “Please,” he added softly.

Keiji set his jacket over the back of an armchair, folding it neatly against the cushion, then took a seat at the island. He watched as Osamu pulled a crystal glass from the cupboard for the wine, a simple glass that had a dull gleam to it, like it was used often. After he slid the alcohol to his guest, he opened a can of cherry Pepsi for himself.

“I wouldn’t have thought you a soda fan,” Keiji chuckled. “Wasn’t that trained out of you at Inarizaki?”

“Kita would love to think so,” Osamu laughed. “He really shaped us up.” Osamu chuckled, smiling into his drink.

They sat in silence, Keiji taking frequent sips of his wine. He wasn’t a big fan of alcohol but did tend to overdrink when provided. Koutarou was always there for him, though, even at his first sip, ready to pull the glass away and rub his back on the way home.

“So… what are you going to do when Koutarou leaves?” Osamu asked, staring down at his drink like it was his muse for the night. “Sounded this morning like you weren’t going with.”

“I’m not,” Keiji responded, taking another swig of wine. “I’ve got too much work to do, I can’t be gone for that long.”

He wanted to go, though, he wanted to so badly. He had never been away from Koutarou that long before, even when they went to university. He wanted to watch his husband play every game, he wanted to follow him around the world like in a cat and mouse game, spectator and athlete. But he was reaching thirty (God, thirty…) and he had artists relying on him, and publishers, and he couldn’t leave for a month to chase Koutarou down to Kyushu for volleyball scrimmages.

“You’re just going to be home alone for all that time, then?” Osamu asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

“I was hoping to hang out with some friends,” Keiji said, bristling. “What does it matter to you, anyway? Didn’t think you would know they were leaving.”

“Of course, I would know!” Osamu said with fake offense. “Atsumu is on the team, after all!”

“Oh, right, Mr. My-Brother-Can-Walk-Home-For-All-I-Care?”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to make conversation, Mr. Overly-Aggressive.”

Keiji’s phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen, one new message from Koutarou. He swiped it open.

Koutarou: hey Kei, I’m gonna be at Atsumu’s place for a little while longer. Hinata brought out a super cool card game!! I’m currently stuck in a round :( see you tonight still?

Keiji sighed, hand pushing under his glasses as he massaged the bridge of his nose. Just more reason for Osamu to convince him to stay.

Keiji: have fun! i’ll see you tonight <3

“What’s going on?”

“Koutarou is staying at your brother’s for the evening.” Keiji raised his glass to his lips, only to get a single drop. He set the glass down with a huff.

“Want some more?” Osamu asked, already standing up and reaching for the fridge.

“Yes,” Keiji groaned. “Might as well, nothing better to do at home.”

So, Keiji drank another glass. And another. And another. Before he knew it, he had drunk the entire bottle, then Osamu—ever the stoker of the fire—brought out a second bottle, which they downed together. Somewhere in the mess, they had migrated to Osamu’s couch, a ratty brown thing that smelled like mothballs.

“Stop making fun of it,” Osamu laughed, patting the cushions lovingly, “I got it from family.” He, unlike Keiji, was still mostly sober, albeit a little tipsy, and held his liquor well.

Keiji was a giggling mess. Yes, he was a giggly drunk.

“I feel like I’m in a closet!” Keiji exclaimed, dropping his head back onto the arm. “Smells like those little… little red balls, you know?” Keiji held up his hand to make a sphere shape, as if Osamu didn’t know what a mothball was.

Keiji shot upright, leaning across the couch towards Osamu. “At least my shirts won’t get holes in them then, right? Miya-san?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that?” Osamu chuckled, deep and grumbling, similar to another laugh Keiji knew like the back of his hand.

“Oh, right, right,” Keiji blabbered, closing his eyes, and tossing his hand through the air. “Last night at the game. After the game, I mean.”

“Yeah, then.”

Keiji pushed closer. “What should I call you, then?”

Osamu coughed into his fist. “Just, uh… My given name, that’s fine. Osamu.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little intimate?” Keiji cocked his head to the side. “We barely know each other.”

“There’s two Miya’s in your life, so it’s not that intimate,” Osamu replied. “It makes sense, so that whenever you’re with both of us—like last night, at games—it doesn’t get confusing.”

Keiji looked as if deep in thought.

“It was awkward last night.”

“You made it awkward! I was simply trying to give you your keys.”

“Yes, but you got too close.”

“You seem fine with closeness now.”

Keiji blinked. Somewhere in the conversation, Keiji had pushed Osamu back, and now the other man’s head was leaning against the arm of the couch. Keiji’s hands were placed on either side of his head, the heels of his hands brushing the collar of Osamu’s thin t-shirt.

He realized then how similar Koutarou and Osamu looked. Both had heart-shaped faces, and upon closer inspection, Osamu’s eyes held a glint of gold—although not nearly as bright as Koutarou’s. The inspection included the blush on Osamu’s face, which was pink like Keiji’s garden.

“You remind me of flowers.”

“How so?”

“Your face.” Keiji reached up with a single finger and touched down onto Osamu’s cheekbone, which made the blush flare brighter. “It’s like camellias.”

He ran his fingertip along Osamu’s warm skin, up towards the hollow beside his eye, almost to his ear before Keiji removed his hand altogether. Osamu let out a breath, shaky and barely controlled, landing right on Keiji’s Adam’s apple. It bobbed as Keiji swallowed harshly, although his mouth was so dry that he nearly swallowed his tongue.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Keiji missing Koutarou, or maybe it was Osamu’s blush that looked like camellias. Not a second more passed before Keiji’s hands were wrapped around Osamu’s cheeks, mouth crashing down. Osamu’s lips were chapped, like he noticed last night—a stark difference to Keiji, who took chapstick very seriously. But right now, Keiji felt that if he let go of Osamu’s mouth, his lips would crinkle and dry up from dehydration.

Osamu ran his hand through Keiji’s short hair, pulling his head closer, closer, infinitely closer, until he thought their teeth may clash. They kept their tongues to themselves, much to Keiji’s dismay as he continually tried to work his way into Osamu’s mouth. The latter kept his lips tight, conscious enough of the gold band on Keiji’s finger to keep from going further, but not enough to pull away. Conscious enough to realize this was his brother’s teammate’s husband, but not enough to contain his attraction.

Keiji ran his hands down Osamu’s jaw to his shoulders, clenching his fingers in Osamu’s shirt. “Kou,” he groaned, making Osamu’s eyes pop open.

“Nope, nope, you’re drunk,” he replied, pushing Keiji away. “Gotta get you home. Now.”

“But I’m having fun,” Keiji whined, holding onto the hand pressed into his shoulders.

“God, I can’t drive you home like this, you think I’m Bokuto,” Osamu muttered to himself. He looked around. “Where’s your phone? Is there someone who can take you home?”

“Mm… Kenma can. He should be home.”

Osamu worked his way out from under Keiji, leaving him in a pile on the couch cushions. He searched around on the kitchen counter, moving dishware and tossing aside papers like the world was ending.

Which, in a way, it was. He wanted to forget this ever happened. He wanted to pass Keiji onto someone else for the night and hope that as the alcohol washed out of Keiji’s liver that tonight would wash out of Osamu’s memories, and they could go back to Keiji being annoyed by his mere presence.

He did not want to remember kissing a married man.

“Aha!” Osamu snatched up the phone from where it sat, tittering on the edge of the tabletop. The lock screen lit up with a picture of Koutarou kissing Keiji’s cheek, which made Osamu’s gut twist.

He searched through the contacts until he got to the K’s and hit the green phone icon under a Kozume Kenma. He lifted the ringing phone to his ear, hand running over his lips repeatedly in anxiety.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Goddammit, I thought you said this guy was home?” Osamu grumbled.

“He should be,” Keiji called back, still laying on the couch. “I’m pretty sure he was streaming tonight.”

A click came from the phone, followed by, “Hey, Keiji! How’s it going?”

“Not Keiji here… Is this Kozume Kenma?”

“... Depends on who’s asking.”

Osamu slumped down onto one of the barstools. “This is Miya Osamu, a…” He paused, taking a glance back at Keiji. “... A sort of friend of the Akaashis’. Uh, could you possibly come pick him up?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. He’s just, ah, drunk.”

Kenma sighed on the other end. “Yeah, I will. What’s your address?”

Osamu gave it to him a little too quickly and had to repeat it over again twice. Kenma arrived in a timely fashion, and Osamu attempted to drag Keiji outside without any more adulterous acts; that proved quite hard, as Keiji was attempting to kiss his neck, and would have succeeded if it weren’t for his stumbling.

“There he is!” Keiji cried when Kenma got out of his car. “The famous Kodzuken, my best friend!”

“God, he’s wasted,” Kenma sighed. “Where’s Koutarou? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Keiji drink without him.”

“My brother’s house,” Osamu replied. “Hanging out with that little redhead… Hinata, I think?”

A smile perked at Kenma’s lips. “Probably dragged them into some card game,” he laughed. “Shouyou has a habit of doing that.”

Kenma reached over and took Keiji, wrapping his arm around the other man’s waist. Keiji’s head fell against the top of Kenma’s, and his arm dangled over the other’s thin shoulders.

It didn’t take long to pack Keiji into Kenma’s car, since he still had enough sense to buckle himself in. Kenma began to pull out and caught Keiji, in the corner of his eye, blowing a kiss to Osamu. Kenma nearly slammed on the brakes then and there, but attempted to keep his cool for the drive back.

It wasn’t the first time Kenma had seen Keiji so drunk he’d probably end up aiming at the wall instead of the toilet bowl. It was always embarrassing, and they had a secret pact not to speak about Keiji when he was drunk.  Usually, Koutarou was there to rub Keiji’s shoulders as he threw up at one in the morning, but that night he threw up alone.

It was oddly reminiscent, in Kenma’s bathroom. It looked exactly like the bathroom at the Nekoma grad party, all those years ago, that he and Koutarou went to. Tetsurou called them not long after the sun had set, obviously drunk, yakking about someone being “the cutest drunk I’ve ever seen!” and trying to commentate an Uno game.

“Man, this isn’t as fun without you!” Tetsurou said, punctuating the compliment with a gargle of a laugh. “I’ll send you the address. You gotta come, Bo. Consider it my going-away gift.”

So, of course, Koutarou went—he was never one to turn down social interaction, especially with his best friend, especially when it’s a party. Keiji went too because, well, what the hell?

By the time they arrived, not long before midnight, Kenma was already passed out and drooling on Tetsurou’s shoulder, and the two other Nekoma grads were playing the infamous Uno game… but, seemingly backward. Before Keiji could take off his coat, the rival ace was up against his side and shoving a Bud Light can into his hand, with the dumbest and most self-indulgent smile he’d ever seen.

After getting sufficiently drunk off of one and a half cans of the cheapest beer a group of high schoolers could get, Koutarou joined in on the Uno game and Keiji curled up in an armchair, chatting with Tetsurou (who still had Kenma laying across his lap like a cat).

“What are you going to do when Bokuto goes off to college?”

Keiji paused. “Same as I always do, right?” he replied hesitantly, as if touching his toes to a stream. “I’ll still see him.”

Tetsurou paused. “Do you ever think about heaven?” he asked, absently running his hand down Kenma’s thin back.

“Not really.”

“What about that past lives stuff, or soulmates?”

“I don’t think about it,” Keiji replied simply. “What, do you? I didn’t think someone from class five would waste thought on it.”

“The idea is so romantic, though!” Tetsurou pouted. “Someone who you’re meant for, a love that literally goes beyond the world… Isn’t that romantic?”

“Hopelessly romantic.”

“Aw, don’t be so depressing,” Tetsurou said as he stuck his tongue out. “You just say that because you’re not still waiting on your soulmate.”

Keiji’s cheeks reddened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tetsurou laughed, the jostle of his hips making Kenma stir slightly. Tetsurou spared a glance at Koutarou, who was yelling as he slapped a card down with his eyebrows drawn in concentration. “It’s so obvious,” Tetsurou said, hushed, with his hand cupping his mouth to keep Koutarou from overhearing. “You and Bo are nearly conjoined twins! You never go anywhere without the other, even though you’re in different years, and you seem to talk in a special language to each other… Akaashi, you have a memorized list of his weaknesses and how to combat every one.”

Keiji huffed. “It’s what comes with being his vice-captain,” he snapped. “I’m more of a babysitter than anything else.”

“You guys are two sides of the same coin,” Tetsurou said. “You know I’m right.”

Keiji woke up, halfway to a decade later, with the same raging headache, one that permeated to the back of his neck and pulsated. He groaned as he rolled over, nearly throwing himself off the loveseat. He blinked to clear the haze from his vision and was met with Kenma staring at him from across the room with an unreadable expression.

“The hell was that last night?” Kenma nearly growled, tapping his fingers on his crossed biceps.

“What do you mean?” Keiji turned to face his friend, trying to put on a look of innocence but instead giving something between pain and confusion. “I got a little drunk, that’s all.”

“You blew a kiss to that Miya dude!” Kenma yelled, throwing his hand in the air. “What the fuck did you do in there that made him call me, a total stranger?”

Keiji blinked. He stared at the wall for a few moments, before rolling onto his back and throwing his hands to his face. “Oh my God,” he muttered. “Oh my God, Kenma, what did I do?”

“You’re married, Kei,” Kenma said, oddly low and measured. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know,” Keiji groaned. He dropped his hands away to stare at the ceiling. “I barely remember what happened.”

“You need to call him,” Kenma tossed Keiji's phone to him, nearly knocking him in the nose. “Find out what the hell happened to you.”

Against his friend’s judgment, Keiji did not call Osamu. Instead, he convinced Kenma to drive him to his truck. When he got to Osamu’s apartment building, he did not go in. He simply got in his truck and drove home. He was hoping Koutarou would be home, to distract him from the guilt eating at his intestines, but he came back to an empty apartment. On the table was a note saying, “went on to practice. I’m sad I missed you. let’s get lunch today– 1:30 sharp! I’m expecting you :) -Kou”

“I don’t have a reason not to now, huh?” Keiji sighed. He looked at the clock on the stove. Not even noon.

Osamu picked up after two rings. “Better Miya brother here, what’s cooking?”

“Do you start every phone call with that?”

He heard some scuffling on the other line. “Keiji? Why are you calling?” The playful tone was dropped from Osamu’s voice.

Keiji sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with his finger. “I don’t remember what I did last night.”

Osamu paused.

“Hello?”

“You seriously don’t remember?”

“No.” Keiji sighed again as he started to get irritated. “Look, this is stupid, if you’re not going to—”

“You, uh, kissed me.”

The glasses slipped from Keiji’s fingers, clanging on the kitchen tile like an exploding bomb. His head was reeling, headache suddenly returning in full force, and he dropped down to his elbows on the counter below him. “What do you mean, I kissed you?”

“What else is there to mean? You kissed me.” Osamu paused, but Keiji stayed silent as a corpse. “I reminded you not to call me Miya-san, you got closer, said I looked like a flower, and then kissed me.”

Keiji groaned. His head dropped like a dead weight onto the counter, shaking every pot and knife and making Koutarou’s note float to the floor.

“If it makes you feel better,” Osamu rushed, “you didn’t say my name. You said Koutarou’s.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to hang up. Please don’t save my number.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Goodbye, Miya-san.”

“...Goodbye, Akaashi-san.”

for k resurrection fest i present my sims 4 version of homra ☆☆☆

i've been working on making a k sims world for yearsss and this one is still lowkey a work in progress as i get more CC (i already have... so much...) anyway happy k anniversary hehe theres more pics of the lot and the individual sims below !!!

im also working on scepter 4 right now and will try to post soon but the headquarters is not ready for public view yet .-.

heres some more pics of the lot, i tried to make the second floor living room as screen accurate as i can but theres not a lot of pictures of it :/ the rest is totally not canon but they needed bedrooms for the game to actually be. playble LMAO

sorry if anything is formatted weird, i havent used posted on tumblr since 2016 :")

“Icemav is canon” I say into the microphone. The crowd boos. I sigh and begin to walk off stage. "She's right" a voice says, I turn and there he is. Val Kilmer.

smoke break

Israel is now carrying out another massive terrorist attack in Lebanon. Similar to the pager attack yesterday, Israel is targeting electronic devices and making them explode all over the country:

Reuters news agency reported, citing both a security source and an eyewitness, that the devices involved in Wednesday’s explosions were portable radios, unlike the pagers that were attacked the previous day. Al-Mayadeen reported that the devices, apparently ICOM V82s, detonated, and “due to the devices containing highly flammable lithium batteries, the explosions were severe.” “The explosions caused massive fires in cars, motorcycles, apartments, and stores all over Lebanon,” the report added.

Several residential buildings and shops are on fire. Nine people have been killed so far, and hundreds more are wounded.

People with family in Lebanon are now receiving texts and calls from their loved ones telling them not to worry if they don't hear from them for a few days, as they're scared their phones might be rigged with explosives.

What do you call this, if not terrorism?

leave the cleaning duties to us!

"LSW - EPILOGUE"

TRANSLATION: NARU-KUN

"Hey, Yata, did you know? Scepter 4 members live in dormitories."

That happened when he was eating with Totsuka at the bar counter. Totsuka suddenly said something as if he had always had an idea.

"What is this all of a sudden? I know... that guy told me."

Yata replied with a loud pout.

One day, half of the luggage suddenly disappeared from the room the two had been living in since the end of high school, and then moved into the Scepter 4 dorm, a statement that made him question his sanity. Was this the trick of the cat ears and earthworms?! He thought afterward as he stomped his feet.

Soon after, Yata also left that room. Every time he went to bed, he would notice the emptiness above his head and couldn’t help but feel nauseous.

"So, since it’s a dorm, does it have a dining room or something?"

"Eh? I don't know..."

"I wonder if he's eating enough food. You know, Fushimi is a picky eater, so I don't think there's much proper set menu in the cafeteria. What do you think, Yata?"

"I don't know! Why do I have to worry about the traitor's food?!"

When Totsuka continued to talk insensitively, Yata got angry and slammed his fist on the counter. The plate bounced off and the cup fell over, flooding the counter with water. Fortunately, Kusanagi wasn't there, so he was saved from punishment.

Totsuka looked surprised and took a step back. Feeling awkward, Yata looked down and pulled both fists, including the spoon in his right hand, out from under the counter.

He kicked the empty loft from below dozens of times above his head and fell headfirst onto his bed, clutching his legs and saying, "It hurts!" He yelled at himself... He just couldn't control his anger. He went crazy for a while, venting his anger outside of himself, but when he felt empty and stopped, something suddenly rose up in his throat and he felt an incomprehensible feeling of regret. Although he said he was sorry, he didn't know exactly what he was sorry for. However, for Yata, it was nothing more than a feeling of regret.

He regretted it. He grabbed a pillow and pressed it hard against his face, gritting his teeth so hard that his mouth cut and regretting it no matter what.

"Ah, if that guy changes his mind and apologizes, and says he wants to go back, we'll bow to Mikoto-san together. He's not the type to bow to anyone, so I'll bow to him, and if Mikoto-san doesn't feel satisfied unless he hit Saruhiko, then he'll hit me along with him."

"Well, if King really hits you, will Yata die?! Are you okay?!"

Totsuka was surprised at how over the top he was, so he flinched and said, "Ugh!" For Yata, coming into contact with Suoh's suspicions is scarier than any ghost story or horror movie.

"I... Still, I'm ready. I won't let Saruhiko get beaten up alone."

His voice was hoarse. However, he clenched his fist tighter, stared at the counter, and finished his sentence.

"Yeah, well, I think it's manly to be prepared for that, but isn't it a little one-sided? I wonder if that's what Fushimi wants."

"...? What do you mean? Don't say things like you already know them..."

He felt strangely angry and glared at him. Totsuka had a calm smile on his face as always.

"This is what King and the Blue King look like."

Then, he suddenly started talking again.

"It's not like they're just fighting each other like you think, Yata. Well, it seems like there's a lot going on in Fushimi's position, and it would be nice if we could talk someday... Even... If I say this now, Yata, you still don't get it, right?"

When he laughed at Yata, who asked indignantly, "Are you making fun of me?" Totsuka raised his hands in surrender and said, "Sorry, sorry."

"Well, remember what I said someday, somewhere. Even if I'm not there at that time."

"Hey, please don't say things like you're going to die someday. That brings bad luck."

When he said that in a particularly grumpy manner, Totsuka simply smiled.

++++++++++

No Blood, No Bone, No Ash!

No Blood, No Bone, No Ash!

No Blood, No Bone, No Ash!

As he excitedly waved his fists in the air, stamped his foot, and raised his voice, his surroundings became warm. Yata looked left and right with teary eyes.

He didn't know where they came from, but before he knew it, sparks were dancing all over the area.

It wasn't that... there was light. All around him, his friends were shaking their fists and chanting the same words in unison, and from each of their bodies light was born, like little lives separating. As if calling out to one another, the light gathered, dyeing the white landscape red as it rose into the sky covered in snow clouds.

"Ah..."

When he looked at his chest, he saw that the mark on his body was also exuding a soft red light.

Another light was born from within him and he let himself be carried away by the light of his companions.

He felt that Suoh's flame still resided deep within the mark that remained on his body. The flame filled his body with a gentle warmth. It was as if the fierce anger that Suoh had held within him as a wild king was dissipating and beginning to crumble.

"Mikoto-san..."

Following the light, Yata raised his tear-soaked face.

"No Blood, No Bone, No Ash! No Blood, No Bone, No Ash...!!"

He held the spot tightly and let out a loud voice as if to let go of the emotions welling up within him.

Looking up from there, he saw a line of armored vehicles with blue markings stopping on the railing of the bridge that connects Gakuenjima and the mainland. He saw a light gently floating above the bridge, moving away from the group of lights of his companions.

Fushimi was holding the same place as Yata with his hand, looking up at the sky with a strange expression on his face, as if he had lost some of his poison.

(Oh, shit...)

Yata cursed in his heart.

Why is he remembering that now? Totsuka-san, did he know he would leave one day? Was he talking about this moment?

Now that he can't do that again, he realized that he should have taken the plunge and asked Suoh what the Blue King meant to him.

He wanted to ask Totsuka what he really meant when he suddenly said something like that and said that Yata still didn't understand, but now that he can't do that again, he realized.

It's annoying for Yata to admit that, but if there's something that can help him, it's...

He's alive. They can still meet as many times as they want, express their doubts and anger, and try to talk.

"No Blood, No Bone, No Ash! No Blood, No... Idiot Monkey! No Ash!"

He doesn't know if he heard the insults mixed with his anger, but Fushimi glared at him.

The two exchanged glances on and off the bridge.

As everyone continued to chant in unison, Yata glared at Fushimi without taking his eyes off. He raised his voice even louder, intending to smash him into the bridge. He kept screaming even when his voice was hoarse, he pounded the ground even when he couldn't feel his legs anymore, and he kept swinging his fists even when he couldn't lift his arms.

ok whos gonna write the k project 9/11 fanfic

for the art request: literally just yata doing anything

yata cooking 🔥🔥🔥 what is he cooking

baby sarumis based on the stage play

Fushimi being morally dubious whereas Yata looks tough but is actually a good boy lives in my head forever.

Back in their HOMRA days it’s like;

“We can’t just kill that guy, Saruhiko!”

“Yes we can. Give me the gun, Misaki.”

And then post ROK it’s like

“Aren’t you a government official now? What does your shitty king think about you killing people?”

“Every time I commit vehicular assault on a high powered strain in front of Captain he claps and cheers like one of the old ladies in the theater.”

K: LOST SMALL WORLD (2014-2016) by ookita yoru

nagare Made uniform 앤솔

Something a little different while I test out brushes

[Click for better quality, reblogs appreciated]