Put A Ring On It.

put a ring on it.

premise. snippets of daily life between a humble servant and an increasingly clingy master.

word count. 5.2k

note. reader full of snark + dumbass in love ayato = gratuitous amount of banter. i have to say that ayato never goes out of line though, and you're not actually bothered by his advances; you're just a massive tsundere.

“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”

“Is that so?”

The noncommittal response pointedly marks the end of his acknowledgement as Ayato makes no effort to sit up, remaining slumped against your frame. His head rests upon your shoulder, a ticklish sensation blooming where the junction between your neck and chin meet. Pale blue hair trail prickling heat where it grazes your skin, an itch you can't quite scratch away.

Even so, the discomfort doesn't reflect on your face, frigid expression carefully layered with blankness. His sinking weight fails to impede your immaculate posture, refined poise a great disparity from his leisurely disposition. It paints an odd picture, the ordinarily faultless heir lacking decorum. Though granted the freedom to do as he wishes in the private confines of his room, it is a mystery why a servant such as you is... graciously permitted to bask in his exclusive company. In the private confines of his room. You feel the need to emphasize that detail.

In his hands lays a scroll concerning governmental affairs, urgent matters that demand his attention, so you can't begin to comprehend why he insists on using this time to harass reward a lowly servant with his valuable presence when there is business to attend to.

He leans more of his weight to your side, and he—you nearly sputter indignantly—mimics an action that can almost be described as nuzzling. “Mhm. This is convenient for me, since I've hardly found the time to rest today. Do you find it intolerable?”

Ignoring the last bit, you advise, “Perhaps it would be more effective if you were to rest in your chambers. I will come call when the Kanjou Commission asks for you.”

He pretends to consider it for a moment, the silence filled with the quiet jingle of wind chimes. Predictably, the corners of his mouth hook up to a smile. “I would prefer to stay, if you don't mind?”

Resigned to your fate, you can only say, “Of course not, my lord.”

For reasons you cannot fathom, the head of the Kamisato household harbors a strong attachment to you.

In normal circumstances, this fact would be taken as great news; presently, you are little more than puzzled and unfeeling. Rather than delight, dread stirs in your stomach whenever he calls your name in a volume louder than necessary—a conscious decision, you presume, since he seems to interact with other servants just fine. Curt and polite, keeping his words concise, preventing further delay from addressing his responsibilities.

Had you not known better, you wouldn't be able to identify him as the same man who indulges in trivialities when he invites you to share snacks, engaging in frivolous chatter over tea and pastries. With increasing frequency nonetheless, and with varying refreshments each time to boot, ranging from an assortment of wagashi. Strawberry daifuku on one tea break, mizu-yokan on the next, sakura mochi on the day after that... You've been serving him for a considerable amount of time, but he's never been much of a sweet tooth until as of late.

Ayato hums thoughtfully, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. “The mild flavor is pleasant. I believe it might be to your liking.”

He offers you a cup, steam curling above the warm brew. The pink beverage glistens beneath the sunlight, rippling with movement when you take it into your hands. It doesn't require much thinking to conclude the tea leaves must've cost a fortune, but it leaves you plenty of questions just as well. Why would a benefactor give you a taste of luxury?

But you would be a fool not to appreciate it while it lasts, so you lift the cup for a sip.

The flavor of spring bursts in your mouth, fragrant and tasting of sweet nectar. Your frosty guise wavers under the bribery, bliss crossing your face before your lips quirk up to a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Deeming your elated reaction satisfactory, Ayato nudges the plate of confections towards your side of the table. “Eat. They pair well with the tea.”

Who are you to say no to your lord? Therefore, the correct choice must be to gratefully accept his gifts!

(Distracted by desserts, you fail to see his amusement in the way you stuff your cheeks full adorably like a chipmunk.

But he's aware it's not the right time yet, so he suppresses the urge to pinch your face.)

Kamisato Ayato is often praised for his intellect and cunning mind, but sometimes you wonder if he'd finally gone stupid after all that overthinking.

“My hand feels cold,” he laments, as if he hadn't chucked away his gloves ten seconds prior. “Can I hold yours for a moment?”

Ayaka, for her part, looks ashamed on her brother's behalf. With a graceful flick of her wrist, her fan snaps open and obscures the mortified expression on her face. Thoma's bottom lip quivers, valiantly repressing his bubbling laughter though he turns quite ugly in the process.

Sending a prayer to the heavens, you hope your face looks as unreadable as you think it to be. “...I'll fetch you a pair of gloves,” you say, side-stepping the pair he just abandoned on the floor.

“Mhm. That won't be necessary,” he counters, tugging on the edge of your sleeve. “You see, I heard those granted Pyro Visions have warmer body temperature...”

That is undoubtedly a lie he conjures up on the spot.

“...So I was hoping to sate my curiosity today,” he finishes, looking far too pleased with himself. Ayaka avoids your gaze when your eyes sweep past her (she absolutely knows it's an idiotic idea because going by that logic, she should have a colder temperature... but that is obviously not the case), and Thoma is blatantly ignoring your requests for assistance, whistling an awkward tune.

You have half a mind to shift the duty to another retainer similarly bearing a Pyro Vision, who is currently trying his hardest to stifle his pained grunts when you pinch his forearm admonishingly, but there's really no way out of this. Ayato would undoubtedly craft another bullshit reason to coax you anyway. (A part of you thinks it might be fun to keep up the charade just to hear what he'd say next.)

“Right.” You hold up your hand, and Ayato's eyes flicker with mischief. His slender fingers wrap around your wrist, brushing over the jut of your bone. He marvels at the size of it, dwarfed by his large hands, and he curls his fingers tighter.

...He doesn't seem to be assessing your temperature.

But you are mindful of his, a searing heat devouring your senses. His light touches settle heavily on your skin, a prominent warmth amidst the cold gale. Where his fingers rest leave imprints of fire, trails of scorched ash in his wake.

Experimentally, his thumb rubs circles on your palm, tracing over the lines. He rolls the soft flesh, staring at the small cuts and calluses with an attentive eye. Burning the image into his mind. Fiddling with the shape of your fingers. Then, following a brief hitch of his breath, he fits his own in the spaces between yours.

His hand is soft, you think to yourself. Without the presence of leather, it is fully bare, pale and dusted with pink. His knuckles are pronounced, palm surprisingly unscarred in spite of vigorous sword practice, but a writer's callus lay on his ring finger. It is easy to imagine his frame hunched over his desk, pen between his fingers, ink running dry from writing back to missives and signing endless contracts.

(And responding to engagement offers. You would know. They clutter his workspace, scented letters branded by wax seals of a distinguished family's emblem.

He barely throws a cursory glance at them before giving his never changing answer.)

When he gives your hand a squeeze, you finally ask, “Is it warm?”

“Yes.” He sounds somewhat strangled, there, less confident than he was before he took your hand. “Very warm.”

He reluctantly parts with it, stepping back to reduce your close proximity. Ayaka fans herself as she scrutinizes his reddening complexion, and Thoma—partial to the lord, you see, even though he wasn't very eager to lend you a hand before—makes some excuse about a meeting he has to attend to (some beetle fight with Itto, most likely) and if you'd kindly excuse their presence.

“...Please pardon my brother's strange behavior,” Ayaka murmurs when only the both of you remain in the room. “He could be quite straightforward when his curiosity is piqued. He doesn't have weird intentions, really.”

She doesn't appear to believe it herself, but you appreciate her attempts to clean up Ayato's mess.

“It's no trouble, milady.” You flash a placating smile for good measure, reaching down to collect the discarded gloves Thoma nearly tripped on in his way out. “But I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave now as well...”

“Yes, of course! You may go.”

Following her affirmation, you scramble to take a duster and retreat to clean the library.

Mercifully, she doesn't comment on your flushed cheeks and colored ears. (There's only so much composure you can exhaust within one day.)

For all that you (privately) complain about the extensive list of chores to tackle in the Kamisato Estate, you find tending to the garden fairly enjoyable. Alas, you can't exactly spend the whole day pruning the shrubbery; the smile on your face drops immediately when you're sent to go on a shopping trip. Worse still, with no one to assist you in carrying the groceries. Thoma had already promised to accompany Ayaka for a mission, and everyone else is busy preparing for the Kamisato head's upcoming business trip.

Said Kamisato head is apparently “free” and “has the spare time to help” despite being the one who should be busy holing himself up in his office.

Regardless of your protests, Ayato insisted on tagging along to the market. Which brings you to your current situation, your employer dutifully carrying bundles of cloth and a basket of radishes and carrots with an easygoing smile, while your hands remain empty. He is... considerate, if you were to speak in flowery words. He is stubborn, if you were to be blunt.

However, he is relatively obedient, save for the handful of times he rushes off to chase something that caught his eye. As a result, he keeps purchasing cheap trinkets he'll probably have no use for and his pocket is brimming of candy he sometimes stuffs your mouth with when you have something to scold him for. (To be fair, it's very effective for shutting you up.)

“Please don't interrupt me from speaking,” your words are partly muffled, mouth still chewing on the confection. Ayato smiles innocently, pressing another piece of sugar to your lips.

“Where are we headed next?” He questions, looking around the bustling streets as he tucks the jar of konpeito in his sleeve. “Do you still have vegetables you need to buy?”

You shake your head. “No, the cook said he's only missing radishes and carrots in particular. I've also gotten the materials needed to mend clothes Thoma asked for.”

He deflates at that, disappointment painting his expression. “I suppose we're returning, then?”

You purse your lips, considering your options. It wasn't like you were told to come back an appointed time, and you could always blame Ayato for your tardiness... “Does my lord wish to visit anywhere specifically?”

The river of stars in his eyes twinkle ever so slightly, flashing a thinly-veiled childish gleam. “Not anything I could think of at the top of my head. Do you have any recommendations in mind?”

“Recommendations?”

“Places you like to visit.”

During your free time, you usually look around to shop for clothing or accessories... but they're nowhere near the quality befitting of nobles. The yukata isn't tailored to your size, made from cheaper cloth of cotton, and aren't as decorative to what your lord is used to; it's what makes it affordable. Whereas Ayato is often dressed in luxurious silks, embellished with golden thread and customized to his liking.

“It's no harm to bring you there... I guess.” you scratch your cheek. “Though I can't guarantee you'll like it.”

“Nonsense.” He smiles amicably. He reaches for the basket before you can grab it, gesturing for you to start walking. “I'm sure I'll have a good time regardless where it is.”

And... he does. He marvels at the extravagant brocades displayed at boutiques, wondering how one could possibly wear so many heavy layers. Though he doesn't buy clothes for himself, he decides to buy a cute purse he thinks his sister would appreciate.

Ayato expresses interest in ornaments and cosmetics as well, to which the shop owner proceeds to happily introduce her entire catalogue for a man she knows has deep pockets. He doesn't disappoint.

“You don't want anything?” He asks when you only answer his questions pertaining to Ayaka's preferences, two steps behind, never taking the opportunity to roam and search for potential additions in your wardrobe.

It's not that you haven't seen anything you'd like to take home, per se. More like everything is too expensive for your pocket money in this high-end portion of town. “No,” you say instead, because it's easier to explain that way.

He tilts his head inquisitively, but doesn't push the topic. “Help me choose a hair pin then. You know what fits Ayaka best.”

He leads you to the display case housing rows of hair ornaments, each one more remarkable than the next. The last one, undoubtedly the most costly whose price would make you weep, teeters on the edge of gaudy. Adorned with silver butterflies, tear drop sapphires, gems delicately shaped like dewy petals and white pearls sitting atop carved gold, they almost blind your eyes.

“...She'd look beautiful in everything,” is the conclusion you come to, because you speak nothing but the truth. “But please don't buy everything. She will get mad at you.”

“I know,” he sighs. “That's why I needed your help picking one.”

You almost drill holes to the items with how hard you're staring at them, but you eventually point at the pin with pink blossoms. “This would contrast nicely with her hair.”

“Mhm. If you say so,” he hums approvingly, tracing the sculpted leaves.

“Then if that's all, I'll go pay...”

“Ah, which reminds me.” He spins on his heel to face you, lips shaped into an apologetic smile. “I'm nearly running out of parchment paper. Could you stop by the stationery store up front? I'll handle things from here and meet you by the entrance.”

“Of course, my lord.”

On your way outside, you resolutely do not allow your curious gaze to steer towards the tables of sparkling jewelry.

--

The trip back to the estate is uneventful, and the rest of the afternoon passes like any other.

Perhaps the only inconsistency in your repetitive days is the accidental nap you fall into, blanketed in warm rays of sunshine and caressed by the refreshing breeze slipping past ajar doors, your cheek resting on the surface of the table you were supposed to be cleaning. How uncouth of me, you think as you wipe your mouth to check for signs of drool. Your only respite is not having anyone witness you in such a state, otherwise you would've long been rudely awakened and received an earful of chastising.

...Is what you think, until you spot a foreign ring you definitely do not recall putting on.

It curls around your finger, dotted with crystals in a hue of blue you're all too familiar with. You see it everyday, gleaming in mischief, darkening with intrigue. Framed by long, long lashes, crinkling at the corners when filled with mirth. Crashing waves turned to frost at the slighest hint of displeasure, yet inexplicably gentle the moment it meets your eyes.

(You wonder if this is why he insisted on touching your hands so much, just to roughly measure your ring size.)

“I hope you fare well during my absence. Fear not, I will do my best not to prolong my leave.”

The way his words sound so self-assured and full of conviction doesn't sit well with you, and the genuine pity reflected in his irises almost makes your eyebrow twitch. You hadn't even spoken a word before he began his theatrics.

“Take as long as you need,” you reassure him. “My lord mustn't rush his work.”

He wilts, but he perks right back up, “No need to put up a front. I'll come back for you.”

Incorrigible.

“Then I await your safe return.” You bow deeply as you swallow back a sigh of defeat, the other servants lined up on either side of the street moving accordingly.

“Please be careful,” Ayaka bids when she walks in front of him. “I've heard of bandits intercepting carriages to steal... I don't mean to undermine your abilities, but you should still be vigilant of trouble.”

Ayato laughs at that. “You don't have to worry, Ayaka. They'll sooner surrender before they lay a single scratch on me.” Glancing at the luggage being loaded on his carriage, he grimaces. “I better get going. I'll see you all in three weeks.”

He climbs to the interior, giving you a final smile before closing the door. You stare at the carriage until it fully disappears, the trotting of horses out of earshot. When Thoma begins to walk back to the estate, you fall into step with him, matching his strides.

“The lord hasn't left for this long in a while,” he comments, to which you hum in agreement. “Think you'll miss him?”

“Three weeks is hardly a long time,” you retort back, complacent for the rare period of peace to follow the next month. “He'll return in no time, as if he'd never been gone in the first place.”

Thoma eyes you strangely at that, but says no more. “If you say so.”

--

The first day is bliss. No disruptions in your work, no unwanted conversation partner as a distraction, no midnight snacks needed to be prepared for the clan head a weird mix between workaholic and slacker.

The second day proves to be the same. No incessant chatter in your ear as you sweep the floor, no complaints for a stack of paperwork to be done within the day, no sudden requests of a shoulder massage for a job well done deserving of a reward.

The third day, you feel like your schedule is lacking, blank spots of free time sprinkled in between.

Ah, right. The tea breaks.

You tell yourself you only miss the fragrant tea, the selection of treats given to you by the young master's generosity. Not his thoughtful commentary for the taste, the chuckles spilling from his lips when you respond to his quips, the brief moments of eye contact before you resume your respective duties.

The fourth day, you're sent to hang the laundry. You tell yourself you don't miss a certain someone's abrupt appearance, poking a head through the sheets to startle you, huffing bright peals of laughter when he attains his desired reaction.

The fifth day, the cook requests your help to prep dinner. My lord doesn't like this dish, the sentence almost leaves your tongue as your eyes track down the recipe when you remember right, he's not here, and milady likes this dish, so it's one of the few chances she gets to eat it.

The sixth day, you clean his office. You organize the account books, restock his collection of pens and paper, and shuffle through his mail to sort them by category (definitely not noting down the number of letters asking for his hand in marriage). Your face flushes slightly when an unassuming bookmark falls out of a book you pick up from the floor, familiar flowers pressed thinly to fit between the pages. (You had only given those flowers on a whim, plucking fresh blossoms from plants you grew outside the Kamisato's garden. You didn't think he'd keep it around; they're not nearly as fancy as what his family owns.)

By the seventh day, you check the calendar and determine time is a social construct. There is no way it's only been seven days.

--

“How do I look?”

“Positively charming,” you say dryly.

“You're not looking.”

Your eyes flit to Thoma's attire. “I am.”

He shakes his head, taking off the robes he'd been trying on. “You're always daydreaming nowadays. What are you thinking about?”

Reminiscing the last time you visited this clothing store, which is when you brought the young master in your shopping trip. But he doesn't need to know that. “It's nothing. Are you buying it?”

“Since you kindly gave an approving opinion, sure.” His tone drips with sarcasm as he takes out his money pouch, paying for the clothes. “I think I don't need the answer from you, actually. I'm confident I have an accurate guess.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Who else would linger in your mind?” Thoma sighs in dramatic fashion, stepping out of the premises with you not far behind. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.”

Bristling, you vehemently refute, “I'm not thinking inappropriately of the lord, if that's what you're implying.”

“I didn't mention any names.”

“But you clearly meant him.”

He holds up his hands. “If that's what you want to believe, suit yourself.”

His gaze drops to the ring wrapped around your finger. The ring had been a topic of interest for the gossip mongers within the estate, wondering who you could've received it from; what other implications can wearing a ring have? Your cold exterior is no secret, your heart guarded with thorns, so who was able to sweep you off your feet in the end?

Thoma only needed one look at the shade of blue to make a correct guess.

“...I'm sure at this point, you know of his intentions,” Thoma says slowly. “And I have plenty of reasons to believe his affections aren't entirely unrequited.”

If they were, you would have brushed off Ayato already, just like you always do with the others. He may be persistent, but he knows how to back off. Yet the most you do is sigh and spoil him, albeit in (fond) exasperation.

“Even if they aren't...” you fidget with the hem of your shirt, averting your gaze from his blazing eyes, “...it doesn't mean we'll work. I'm certain he has better prospects for a spouse, anyway.”

“You mean those daughters from noble families?” He snorts. “He'd barely give them the time of day before running back to you. You should know that by now. Don't you remember when he faked being sick in that lunch meeting so you could take care of him?”

Of course you do. He had pretended to be in a dizzy spell, collapsing on your shoulder and making furtive hand signals asking for your help to get the lovesick maiden off his back. There really is no way to reject people like her without offending his business associate, so he tended to evade confrontations in roundabout ways.

You could excuse his clingy behavior out of necessity; it would be disgraceful to collapse on the floor, after all. The problem lies with the aftermath where you had already steered clear of the trouble but he insists on requiring treatment, body calculatively feeble as he gives you woeful pleas.

In another world, perhaps this would've been a heart-rending experience: a cold man who didn't share his burdens with others asking help from you specifically, because you were special and he trusted you the most.

In this world though, the act is only deserving of a derisive snort. He'd pulled off this plot for who knows how many times. How would holding your hand help with his throbbing headache anyway?

(You ignore the fact you indulge him each time regardless.)

“In any case, the lord is returning in a week. Not much time left for you to mope,” he laughs, even as you elbow his side.

A week.

(That is one week too long.)

--

When Ayato returns five days short of three weeks, you aren't there to greet him.

Instead, you are sick in bed, bundled in a pile of blankets, and suffering from a stuffy nose.

Ah, and delirious from fever. Very much so.

So when Ayato miraculously appears in your bedroom earlier than scheduled, you only sniffed in response and brushed him off as a hallucination.

But of course, your dismissive attitude isn't enough to discourage him from pestering you and running his mouth. He hovers by your bedside, noting with glee that you keep his ring on a nightstand closeby. “This is rare. I don't think I've ever seen you ill.”

But you've seen him plenty, frail and weak after days straight of sleepless nights. He doesn't look too pretty in such a mood, quick-tempered and sharp-tongued at the slightest annoyance. He only ever softens when your expression flits to dismay for a fraction of a second before offering him prescribed medicine from the family's physician.

“How are you this annoying even in my dreams...”

As it turns out, you're even more of a worse case than he is.

“Mhm. Your filter is completely shut down when you're sick, huh.” Ayato laughs, amused at the surprising revelation. He doesn't get to be the receiving end of your blunt words very often. “Alright. How bad do you feel right now?”

“Terrible, since it's the ass crack of dawn.”

It is not the ass crack of dawn, but you wouldn't know any better with the curtains drawn. “Do you have an appetite? I'll have a servant bring a meal.” Then, he slyly adds, “I can feed you, if you want me to.”

He doesn't know which part of that statement appeals to you the most but you sit up straight, attentive.

Interesting.

Though Ayato had meant it in jest, he has no complaints scooping spoonfuls of porridge to bring to your lips. He patiently coaxes you into drinking the bitter medicine after, quickly soothing you with bite-sized cut fruit to wash away the acrid taste.

“Good job,” he compliments, chuckling when you glow at the praise. Your lips are shiny with juice, trickling from the corner of your mouth.

Absent-mindedly, his hand lifts to caress your cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping it away. You jolt, a startled sound escaping you, and you hasten to clamp a hand over his mouth.

He blinks at you owlishly, dumbfounded.

“Don't,” you speak, your face decorated with a lovely pink. “You'll... you'll get sick.”

Ayato takes an embarrassing amount of time to process what that means. However, when he does, you can feel him grin beneath your fingers. He takes your hand, his huff of laughter tickling your palm.

“I thought we were in a dream? You don't get sick from kisses in dreams,” he teases, pressing a light kiss to your wrist. Your heart stutters in bewilderment but you make no move to pull away, only twitching when he kisses your fingertips.

“It's better to be careful...” your brows knit together, and he kisses the crease away too.

“Okay. Let's do it next time then, when you're truly awake.” He gently pushes you to your back, fluffing up the pillows for your comfort and tucking you in the blankets. Then, indulgently, he presses a final kiss to the crown of your head. “Rest well so I can get that kiss sooner, hm?”

“That's a stupid reason to recover...” you murmur defiantly, stubbornly blinking your drooping eyes open.

In the end, you fall asleep to the sound of his laughter, the fingers combing through your hair, and the rhythmic beat in his chest.

--

When you wake up, you admonish yourself for having such a shameless subconscious, but you acknowledge that you had a good dream.

Then your eyes land on a pair of discarded gloves on your nightstand, one that you remember Ayato putting away before he began to spoonfeed you your meal.

...Fuck.

“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”

A thoughtful hum answers you, preceded by a curious glance at your expression. Your legs are folded underneath you, back straight and eyes overlooking the garden instead of the weight resting on your lap. You can feel him shift, turning over where he faces against the porch, his robes wrinkling where it lay below.

“Are you suddenly becoming shy because a maidservant passed by?” He places down the novel in his hands on the wooden floorboards, watching your face burn in embarrassment. “I doubt this is the first time she's seen us, though.”

“My apologies. I'm not as thick-skinned as you are.”

“I'd prefer the term 'proud,'” he pokes the sash around your waist, smiling cheekily. “Who wouldn't want to show off their lover?”

He feels you stiffen, sees the flush of pink crawling outwards to the tips of your ears. “It's inappropriate. We're in a public setting.”

“That's only because you refuse to enter my chambers,” Ayato sighs and you look positively mortified. “I wouldn't ravage you, if that's what you're worried about?”

“My lord, please be reasonable. Whether you do or not, I will still be seen as your bed warmer. Did milady not advise us to be discreet? Inazuma would be in an uproar if they learned you were... you were...” you purse your lips, unable to spit the last word.

“Wedded.”

“I'm afraid we haven't gone that far, my lord,” you deadpan.

“So will you consider it?”

“My lord.”

“What?”

You give him a look, and he sighs in acquiescence. But he turns to face the opposite direction, expression hidden fron view. You can practically hear the pout in his voice, “I see. [Name] only sees me as a fling. My heart breaks to know this bliss is short-lived, but I will cherish our remaining time together.”

He's begun his theatrics again, you think tiredly, accustomed to his stunts. “In any case, we must be careful. We never know who has loose lips around here...”

He's still not facing you, resolutely looking away.

...Is he sulking for real? Was that a genuine marriage proposal?

“My lord?” You call out softly, in a lover's tender voice. He doesn't respond. Quieter, you whisper to his ear, “Ayato?” yet that doesn't earn a reaction either.

You start to panic, wondering if you were acting too indifferently. The change in your relationship had been a recent one, and you're still settling in a period of adjustment; even if you wanted to properly flirt with him like normal lovers do, bickering came more naturally to you.

You reach for his shoulder, hoping to turn him over and see his face. But then he catches your wrist, and you only have a second to catch a glimpse of his triumphant smirk before he captures your lips in a chaste kiss.

“Mhm, I see. So you're more considerate towards me when we're dating,” he cheerfully notes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as if he can't see the way your shocked gaze morphs into a cold glare. “I truly am privileged.”

“Incorrigible.” The word drips with poison, but he laughs and kisses you again, thumbing at the ring around your finger.

“Too bad you're stuck with me forever, huh?”

cupid’s troubles?

when playing wing-mate for a generously paying classmate turns out more differently than you’d expect.

character/s: albedo, childe, diluc, kaedehara kazuha, thoma, scaramouche, xiao

“so…since when have you enjoyed playing cupid?”

you almost choke on your saliva at the girl’s direct statement. “me? playing…cupid? huh, what decides to give you that impression?”

“were you not?” ganyu clarifies with a strange look on her face. “i mean, i’m not entirely sure, but lately it feels like he knows me really well, and i get the sense that you’ve also been pushing me towards…”

“isn’t that just by coincidence though?” you question with scrunched features of confusion. “maybe he just ends up wandering in the same places we do. maybe he’s just generally nice to you.” you shrug. “and clearly he’s liked you for quite a while if he knows you well enough, to see what kinds of gifts you like.”

you don’t miss the blush that settles across her face. “but anyway, shouldn’t you be happier since you’re the one who likes him?”

“i am,” she hastily argues with a flustered expression. “it’s just, i feel like you have something to do with this too.”

“other than being a really supportive friend?” you snicker, elbowing her in a teasing manner. “it’s the course of fate, and i’m happy that you’re happy. does that convince you enough?”

“sure,” ganyu defeatedly smiles, lazily waving a hand in the air in hopes of letting the topic go.

“whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n.”

xiao, the boy asking you to play wing-mate.

him suddenly approaching you for help, was quite frankly the least situation you expected transpiring within the school year.

“you…almost got caught again, didn’t you?” “i—well, does it matter? she said she liked it.”

and him requesting you to play wing-mate for your shy friend? twice the astonishment.

“…you know i’m going to have to deduct the price again because of this—” “ugh, that’s the third time already—and don’t you dare say it’s because i suck at being discreet! you’re the one who came to me!”

but some part of you couldn’t exactly…pin the blame on the guy for developing some sort of secret crush on her.

sure, ganyu always preferred to keep to herself rather than stand out in a crowd…however, it was also an unequivocal fact that she was happened to be the reserved version of every guy’s ideal type.

and you supposed…it suited someone like xiao as well.

so there was the gist of possibly making your well-deserving friend happy, and then there was even an extra bonus of getting paid generously for your provided aid? you didn’t even bat an eye to hurriedly agree with the proposition.

(and yes, you ended up on the receiving end of his judgmental stare in that awkward moment…but you knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to do it too, were he offered the same deal.)

which is why you’ve been diligently working your ass off for the past five months, slowly but surely doing your best to get those two together!

albeit you’ll have to admit, it’s rather arduous and…perhaps even a bit embarrassing to constantly put yourself out there, and act as a middleman for the both of them. there were even instances when you pushed yourself as far as to go shopping with xiao, in an effort of pursuit for the gifts your friend considered nice and thoughtful — or circumstances where you and him would practice on how to handle “certain” moments — such and such were given much attention and detail, that part of you started to wonder at some point if it would ever be enough to get the two of them together.

but the fruits of your labor have sprouted for blossoming, and it’s all you can bask in while you slowly watch as ganyu begins to fall in love with the green-haired boy as well.

as for xiao himself…perhaps it’s nothing other than a figment of your imagination, but for the past month you’ve noticed how the boy seemed to act a bit more…unconstrained around you. almost as if he was getting used to feeling comfortable with your presence.

which is what you’ve expected in the long run together, of course. after all, you were the person he would turn to for inquiries about gifts, mindful choices of flowers, movies that you both later on discovered had a similar taste in, together planning as occasional lunch-mates when ganyu would be accomplishing other school-related priorities, fraternizing with unexpected enjoyment in arcades over the weekend (respectfully, as friends!)…

okay. so maybe the list grows longer (and slightly deviates from your initial relationship) day by day. so maybe he sneaks in a pale-red carnation or two for you, even though you’re almost certain you’ve only gushed about your love for the pretty blossom to the boy behind the counter of the flower shop. so maybe he even makes jokes and smiles at you now — none of this clearly has anything to do with such gestures past borderline friendship!

this is just xiao learning how to open up, xiao beginning to enjoy himself in your (sort of) long-time company, xiao showing his gratitude in little actions rather than brave words,

and maybe even xiao absentmindedly drowning in your eyes, while realizing that you playing wing-mate for him was clearly one hell of a shitty mistake.

thoma, his best friend.

contrary to the green-haired boy you (surprisingly) began to “work” for within your senior year, his later introduced best friend is so unexpectedly and infuriatingly,

“good morning, y/n! is that a new skirt? that looks really pretty on you today!” “oh…thoma, good morning! i’m…surprised you’ve noticed, thanks for the compliment!”

nice.

you met the blonde during the first few weeks of playing wing-mate for xiao, some time around the period where his words remained brusque and the boy preferred to be indifferent towards you. so it came as evidently shocking news, when you soon realized that his best friend was just somehow the complete and exact opposite of him.

thoma was sociable — or rather, the highly sociable one among them, considering there was always a flock of people who would follow him around hallways, and there were far too great numbers of heads turned with his mere presence and warming smile.

but how could you blame anyone for being so mesmerized by him? he was, by far, perhaps the most charming boy you’ve met all year without consciously even knowing it — and, he was such a freaking gentleman to every one of his professors and classmates! god knows who raised him, but they sure as hell did it right.

and since you were naturally required to spend more time with xiao, it also paved the way for more timely opportunities to run into the courteous blonde. (so maybe working for xiao was not all that bad…)

when he finds you dawdling by the school gates to wait for his best friend during dismissal, he pretty much had a rough estimate of how long it takes for xiao to finish up his other priorities — so he takes these chances by proposing to buy you something to eat in a nearby restaurant, instead of pitifully standing outside with nothing else to do.

you enjoy taking him up on his offers, because it gives you more freedom and time to get to know him better as a friend! and he’s (unsurprisingly) cordial with the store owners, so anytime you would both decide to share snacks and a hotpot together, you either received a generous discount for the food, or the meals were simply on the house.

sometimes, he even makes spontaneous appearances during weekends with xiao, whether for shopping or heading to arcades and cinemas, depending on what was planned for the day.

he, more or less…also understands what exactly is going on between you and the green-haired boy, so he’s not exactly skeptical with how close the both of you have gotten after some time. in fact, he happened to be one of the people who actually encouraged him to pursue other means of capturing ganyu’s attention, and still remains supportive with the idea of it.

which you later on found a bit weird…after eventually discovering from xiao that thoma specifically recommended you to act as his wing-mate, out of all the other people in school. but you are her best friend, so it sort of makes a lot more sense when placed in such context.

still…you’ve never expected somebody like thoma to notice, since you were never really the popular type in school. it’s almost flattering, if you were being candid about it.

but what the blonde never really admits about the bigger reason for mentioning you to xiao was that…he’s always noticed you. and frankly, it was too difficult for him not to, because you were always just there. if anything, he thought you were the one who never actually noticed him since…he was only someone who liked you from afar.

so when the astonishing opportunity soon came up with xiao’s wing-mate, thoma thoughtlessly took it with a giddy smile, wondering how he became so fortunate to have somehow hit both birds with one stone.

or at least…that’s what he thought. before he noticed the lingering glances. before he saw the occasional flowers in your hand. before he realized how much more you smiled when you were with him. before he understood that you were cautiously falling for somebody else,

only that person was not him.

(and maybe it never really was.)

kaedehara kazuha, the boy you’ve always had a crush on.

playing wing-mate for xiao was bound to attract some unwanted attention from onlookers.

“so, what’s been going on with you and xiao lately?” “uh, what do you mean?”

for instance, it’s worked rather wonderfully to capture the curiosity of the boy you’ve always liked from afar.

“i mean, in the sense that the both of you have looked awfully friendly lately? since when did you two get so close?” “oh…that! well…”

sure, you and kazuha were good friends. you’ve known each other since elementary, and managed to get along well throughout the years. it just so happened that halfway through your tightly-knot friendship, you’ve slowly realized that you were beginning to like him a lot…only in a different and somewhat more passionate manner.

so…those feelings aged well.

but this, this accusation with xiao was frankly off the point and a completely irrelevant matter! and you had honestly hoped he would be the last person to hear and question you about it…

although you were fairly certain you had no other choice but to fish for a convincing excuse rather than the embarrassing truth. after all, xiao stipulated very clearly in your initial stages of agreement, that you were absolutely prohibited to disclose to anyone else regarding the matter of you playing wing-mate for him, and therefore sworn to utmost secrecy (hence, the generous payment to keep your mouth practically sewed shut).

shrugging worked well. saying you wanted to get to know him worked even better. yet the suspicious gaze in his eyes meant to convey that it didn’t sound good enough. after all, why would you be fraternizing with someone, clearly all your close friends had some sort of slight inkling that ganyu liked…

oh. maybe that’s why.

“it’s not like that.” you fumble around with your words in a hurry. “no, wait — you know i would never do that.”

“i know.” he grins, elbowing you lightly. “i was kidding. i think it’s nice that you’re getting to know more people too.”

other than ganyu, the person you would spend most of your time with was kazuha. since he lived in the same neighborhood, the two of you would be frequently seen by other classmates walking home together in your later years…which originally sparked rumors at first, but eventually died down with the truth and your bitter smile.

he also had a habit of accompanying you out to the nearby park on weekends — sitting on the half-dilapidated swings you both used to enjoy as young adolescents, dazedly nibbling on ice cream cones as vanilla trickles down each of your fingers, bouncing in excitement as you talk about everything and nothing, while watching the sun set for perhaps the thousandth time together.

well…except now, even his role has been replaced by that taciturn man — the one who slowly consumed much of your time during the long weekends, the one who discreetly slid you pretty carnations while kazuha quietly witnessed the expression of shock and the smile that eventually followed across your face, the boy who unconsciously began looking your way with an inexplicable fondness in his lonely amber eyes.

you did nothing but behold, as kazuha grew to love and have his heart broken through the last few years. and now, kazuha wonders how long these intimate emotions have breathed and fostered in the tightness of his chest, as he stands aside to watch how you carefully fall the same way he did (for you) all those years ago.

albedo, the quiet boy who’s always liked you.

it came as a startling revelation for ganyu when you directly admitted to her that kaedehara kazuha was not actually the first boy you loved.

“hi,” you whisper, almost breathlessly after you accidentally run into the boy, stunned at how his crystal blue eyes have never changed despite how long it had been since you last felt lost in them.

“hi.” he murmurs back softly, and that’s all it takes for you to be thrusted back into that distant morning of december — bitter snow gnawing on your vulnerable and ice-bitten fingertips, your skin raw and red and his eyes as beautiful as ever.

albedo has always been born brilliant. even as a little boy, professors have sang the highest praises for his intellect and astonishingly adept knowledge in the field of science. the precocious child — that was what all the adults preferred to call him, because perhaps they believed that was the only valuable aspect worth knowing about him.

but unlike the rest of them, you found something past albedo’s giftedness. you saw a boy unafraid of charcoal fingertips and pigmented colors dancing across his pale complexion. you saw a boy who had an adorable habit of pushing up his loose glasses, and how he had the most special dream of all. you saw a boy who was isolated because he was too perfect that he became different, someone who had forgotten (or perhaps was always unaware) how it felt to love and be loved.

you saw a boy with crystal blue eyes on that wintry morning, how they matched the shade of the blue rubber band that always dangled from your wrist, the blue of your freshly painted nails carefully tucked beneath your thick black coat, and the blue of the woolen gloves that he courteously offered for your inadequately capped hands.

you saw all of albedo, and how you loved him on that frosty day.

so when no one was looking, you stood on your tiptoes and puckered your lips to plant an innocent kiss on the young boy, his mouth soft and dusted with blue sugar crystals from the warm cookies given by your shared homeroom teacher.

and despite his initial astonishment at the unforeseen gesture, albedo kissed you back.

from that day, you dreamt of blue eyes and blue gloves and first kiss lips dusted with sugar blue crystals.

but alas, the universe mercilessly continued to push him towards something else, something far greater and worth more than the stolen kiss beneath snow covered cherry blossoms.

so. that was that. and the day after, the boy you knew never came back.

or, maybe you liked to think he was still there, masked behind lackluster eyes and the never ending enumeration of priorities that practically secured the direction of his successful future.

you almost never ran into albedo anymore — and it was perhaps around the same timeframe you began to befriend other people like kazuha.

and even during your senior year, while you mindlessly scurry around the entire campus running school errands together with xiao, as you busily discuss plans over the movie you were both interested in seeing over the weekend, you only catch the solitary blonde buried in textbooks and advanced homework, and sometimes find him doing tasks accompanied by a shy-looking green haired girl. so maybe…maybe things were better for the both of you this way.

but he hasn’t forgotten you, not one bit ever since that day which grew as old as time. he remembers your skin, bruised and raw from the numbing cold. he remembers your lips, soft and hesitant as you tenderly pressed your mouth against his. he remembers your warmth, your gloved hands finding his face and his wandering to your waist. and then he remembers how much he cried the following day, and the day after that, and then for every single day he saw you and wondered how much would have changed if he chose you instead.

and when he closes his eyes, he still sees blue rubber bands and blue nails and first kiss lips dusted with sugar blue crystals.

childe, the jackass friend for dating troubles.

when xiao first came to you with his daunting request, you were puzzled as to why he would decide to approach someone who knew absolutely nothing about the world of dating.

“oh my god, i can’t believe that fucking worked.” you remark with a bewildered expression, almost losing your balance as the branches of the bushes scrape lightly against your face.

and thus, it was only right that you’d make the effort to learn how to play wing-mate better with someone more…knowledgeable in such a perplexing field.

“see,” you hear the boy crouching beside you snicker, clasping your arm softly so that you don’t founder from behind the leaves, and interrupt the passionate moment gingerly brewing between your best friend and xiao. “have some more faith in my experience, y/n.”

childe was someone you’ve only had the privilege of meeting and getting close with, during the period of first year in high school.

yes, it was infuriating to agree that he was attractive back then (even until now), and frankly even more humiliating to admit that you used to have a crush on him for his pretty looks. but that was all before you got to know him better as an overall person, and…needless to say, his initial appeal towards you had drastically plummeted by then. now, it almost sickens you to recall why you used to like him in the first place.

he was brazen and shamelessly audacious — and while you normally despised that sort of behavior brewing in a guy, other girls seemed to develop a profound liking towards it.

so, there you had it. you had a jerk for a friend who was somehow more proficient in the language of mutual attraction than most decent boys.

and now, he was finally putting that fucking mastery of his to use.

during the period where you accepted xiao’s deal and was relatively new to the situation, the ginger-haired boy agreed to help you out with some preliminary training. apparently, he claimed that before you could properly play your role well, you needed to place yourself in the same situation as the person, to better understand how to take the next steps of action forward. in other words…

“i’d rather not have us put ourselves in their shoes, and have you pretend that you’re secretly pining for me,” you shudder, recoiling in disgust at the mere thought of it.

it’s a stupid philosophy, but it makes so much sense despite how abhorring it could be. besides, you’ve never really thought of bouncing the absurd idea to xiao, more or less actually executing it with someone like childe. still, you promised you’d do your best — and if this is the only way to succeed, then so be it.

he was actually the one who planted the idea of sending bouquets of flowers in your head, when he once bought you a posy of daises and gifted it to you during the early morning (which you dazedly accepted…but later on admitted to him that you had a stronger preference for a different blossom). allegedly, he even claimed to know a friend who worked in a nearby flower shop, and thus suggested that it would work as a pleasant gift.

regrettably, you’ve also become a victim to his flirty remarks and horribly cheesy winks (for ‘courting inspiration’, he says). and while the past you would have cluelessly fallen for his charm, you only began to feel nauseated the more you stared at him.

childe does it to tease you at first. after all, he kept finding much amusement in your repulsed gaze and creased eyebrows. a part of him even thinks your confused expression is a bit adorable — but then again, it’s done purely for the purpose of satiating his twisted entertainment.

then a few weeks pass, and it feels so…normal to flirt with you, because even you decided to become bolder and jokingly flirt back with him. it was like the gesture had been ingrained in the back of his mind ever since he met you. like it was the only way he’s ever spoken with you, after all this time. like he has always looked at you in a different light, except that he’s never chosen to acknowledge the recurring butterflies in his stomach until today.

he refuses to admit it until you’re finally finished with his ‘training’, and you’ve put your shamelessly newfound skills to use with xiao. and childe realizes he doesn’t want to see you flirt or turn red with anyone else but him.

so. he was fucked.

scaramouche, the boy who works in the flower shop.

you met him during the first few times you went shopping with xiao for a bouquet of flowers.

“tch, you again.” “oh…it’s your shift.”

the only issue was that during the days you came back alone to peruse the pale-red carnations tucked inside the quaint flower boutique, they also coincidentally happened to be the hours that he was on his shift.

“um, did you want me to leave…?” “…there’s a fresh delivery of those flowers right at the back. and come inside already you idiot, it’s fucking freezing out there.”

well, he doesn’t really bother you that much unless you approach him first. which…clearly doesn’t settle great with him when you did so to ask about the blossoms, so you choose to avoid the boy during your stay instead.

on some days he looks rightfully pissed, and others where he seems unfazed — but then again! you’re not exactly in the best position to question his mood swings or changes in demeanor.

and there are some days where you actually come inside bearing little gifts for him (despite the fact that he probably hates you for always coming in to peruse, but never actually purchase flowers). once, it was a warm cup of black coffee, and on another you brought him a chocolate croissant. it’s weird and clearly out of line as strangers…and yet it still manages to do the trick, because you notice he doesn’t tend to glare at you as much as before.

saturdays inside the shop were understatedly your favorites of the week. the batches of carnations always seemed to be delivered fresh during this day, and you’d make it a point to come extra early on the weekend to shamelessly admire them and…occasionally share a civil conversation with the boy on shift.

you appreciate the rare moments when you can just…talk to him, no matter how strange that sounds. because the more you talk to him, the more you realize that he’s not even as horrible of a person as you remembered. (and he slowly begins to think the same of you as well.)

on days when xiao tagged along with you to the boutique however, that was a different story. he’d end up acting cold and, sometimes going as far to be a bit rude if you were being honest. it felt like you were back to square one and hating the boy you were beginning to know, all over again.

and then the time eventually came when you wandered inside the shop, perhaps in an endeavor of adoring your favorite blossoms again…except this time, you would be clutching at least one or two of them with a giddy smile on your face.

“you finally have them.” he commented with a scoff from behind the counter, raising an eyebrow to scrutinize your seemingly thrilled expression. “so you can probably stop your broke ass from coming back here, and continue gawking at them from the confines of your home.”

“then it wouldn’t be the same, you asshole.” you roll your eyes, sliding a neatly packaged chocolate chip cookie over the counter towards him. “it’s not like i would have a pissed boy with me at home.”

“you only ever come for the flowers anyway.” he mutters in a low breath, a foreign tone laced in his words as he glares down at the steamed pastry. “why are you still here?”

“because,” you shrug with a mere smile, before leisurely retreating to the rear shelves of the cozy boutique you’ve grown heavily accustomed to. “i like the company.”

and he’s beginning find it difficult to deny that he likes it too.

diluc, the boy who knows your secret.

never, in those five extensive and troublesome months of working behind the shadows, did you ever expect for somebody to figure out what the hell was actually going on between you and xiao.

“you’re two minutes late.” “the um, coffee line today was a bit long…”

and yet, here the unfazed man sat anyway, cocking his head to the side as he stares at the coffee you’ve jutted towards his chest with a tinge of disappointment.

“hmm, i’ve been wondering…are you not that desperate for me to keep your secret?”

that fucking menace of a ragnvindr! if only he hadn’t caught you mumbling how long it would take for ganyu to accept xiao! why did he have to be there past dismissal? why did he have to be so fucking smart?!

and how the hell did you end up multitasking for two people at once?!

while diluc was someone you had originally looked up to, for his natural-born prowess and how he had easily acquired the title of student body president — now, he was nothing more than an atrocious personality you’ve had the misfortune of ever getting involved with.

you remembered shamefully pleading to him that day, swearing that you would do anything — anything for him to pretend like he hadn’t heard what you had just admitted. that you have been working under xiao for the past five months, and that you didn’t want ganyu to realize what you’ve been doing behind her back.

and now, in the span of a single day, you were forced to leave your friends or xiao during random periods or points of discussion, with the soft yet threatening buzz of your phone.

his commands usually varied on a day-to-day basis. sometimes he’d ask for the coffee close to the school, and others you were forced to sprint to the takoyaki shop on the third neighboring street. so to say you were suffering was a bit of an understatement — it was almost like pure torture when his crimson eyes beheld mischief and mirth, and you just knew what exactly would come next.

but the weirdest aspect of your coerced relationship was when he would occasionally order something extra that you knew he couldn’t finish by himself. maybe an extra cup of coffee, or twice the savory snacks from the restaurant thoma introduced you to — whatever seemed to make your baggage heavier, you presumed in spite.

except, it’s the exact opposite of what you maliciously assumed, because he actually offers the food to…you.

“you want…me to eat this?” you stutter, perplexed by his uncharacteristic generosity and the meal pushed towards you.

“you’ve been running around all day,” diluc says, casually taking a sip of coffee while reviewing some documents at hand. “you should have some before you leave. you look like you’re about to faint.”

and when you take a cautious seat expecting him to play it off as some twisted joke, he doesn’t even mind the vigilant gesture, clearly engrossed in his own papers.

thus, you began to spend some days with diluc like this. sharing food and the infrequent small talk, before it soon shifted into a comfortable silence — and some part of you thinks you prefer him better this way. when he’s not fiendish and diabolical with his demands, when he’s not subtly threatening with what he has over you — when he’s quiet, and easy to share a conversation with after a long day.

so you stay. (and he hopes you do, for longer and then.)

— i love you’s & i love you not

IN WHICH YOU, a local florist, unwittingly garner the attention of many while tending to your flowers that seem to be causing you more trouble than you initially bargained for (it’s not too late to leave your work to your helpers, right…?)

OR, you’re just living life with your flowers and helpers when people from varying tropes strut into your quaint shop

INCLUDES : albedo ; ayato ; dainsleif ; diluc ; thoma ; venti ; zhongli

A/N : i have spent a week staring at this draft and trying to write this godforsaken thinhgd reader is gender neutral + no use of pronouns !!

likes & REBLOGS are appreciated if u enjoyed this !! <33

if you were asked to describe your life, you would say it’s something akin to a constant loop:

every morning you wake up; begrudgingly roll off your bed and prepare breakfast; get yourself ready and mentally prepare for the day ahead; open the shop; deal with the mundane passings of life as you attend to the occasional customer seeking out a message in the “language of flowers” (whatever the hell that means. you don’t speak “flower” other than the random pieces of trivia, stemmed from your father’s constant rambling); close the shop and get ready for the night; repeat.

you don’t quite remember when it all first started, but it’s not like it really matters — at the end of the day, you’re a florist. it’s as simple as that. there’s no what if’s, however’s, maybe’s, or anything else that may slot itself somewhere in between; it’s just how it is and how it always will be.

and that routine didn’t change when aether and lumine stumbled into your life a year ago, looking for work experience in a local business that fits the criteria needed in order for them to complete their course. a simple come-and-go, no strings attached.

pretty straightforward, wouldn’t you think? well, that’s certainly what they had.

but what they thought would be a quick two months helping out a (money-grubber) florist here and there turned into one year of part-time employment, and they’re still here helping you out with no signs of stopping.

and you’re fine with that; content, even. they make your dull, repetitive days just a bit more spontaneous — a bit more fun and bearable. especially when it’s during the days where customers roll in much slower, leaving the three of you free to play music that’s out of place in the quaint flower shop, or stuff yourselves with food from local bakeries and takeaways.

(though, you choose to ignore their increasing levels of exasperation directed towards you as each day passes.)

but even so, you’ve never stopped to think about settling down with someone, nor has the idea of even going on a date crossed your mind. you’re simply too preoccupied with your blissfully normal life that you find no reason to worry about potential love affairs. no unnecessary hassles, no one other than yourself to worry about, and certainly no extra mouths to feed — your life had always been simple.

well. until it wasn’t, that is.

— venti : a self-proclaimed busker who’s basically your roommate

you could perfectly describe the busker in one or two words: a menace. he’s a menace to both you and society. but mostly to you.

(aether and lumine can attest to this.)

the first time you met venti was outside your shop in the most literal sense possible.

you were out on a shopping run to buy daily necessities and ingredients for dinner after closing the shop for the day. you don’t really know what you were expecting to come back home to, but someone slumped against the door, shivering and half asleep, was most definitely not it. and, well, you couldn’t ignore him. you had to get through the door somehow, after all, and you weren’t particularly fond of the thought of someone laying half-dead at the shop’s doorstep keeping you up at night.

so, like the good-natured person you are, you allowed him to stay the night on the condition he takes a much needed shower and doesn’t sleep in the same space as you. you have no issue sharing spaces with others, but it just means you have extra work to carry out while running your business.

and when you had the pleasant conversation of:

“are you homeless?”

“why, i am a wanderer! a wanderer of the lands, the air, the streets—”

“so you’re homeless.”

“ehe…”

you ended up letting him stay until he found himself a place of his own.

now. one would think that since you’re providing him a place to stay, free of charge, he would be rather chill and compliant towards you, right?

wrong.

not a single day goes by where you wake up in peace anymore. either late in the night or just before your scheduled awakening happens, he’s always up and bright-eyed singing. continuously. non-stop. not only is he a shower singer (which admittedly you don’t mind since the bathroom acoustics make his voice even more pleasant to the ear), but he’s an everywhere singer. literally. there’s not a single spot in the city his voice hasn’t touched, and your home happens to be the most frequented spot.

he also has a tendency to drink a lot, but you’re not all that bothered either (the barista next door sometimes helps you get venti back on his feet after a particularly long day).

yes, sometimes you may be annoyed at him, but it’s not like you ever mean it. it’s nice to have some change for once, and at that point he’d been living with you for a little over four months (just a couple months before the arrival of the twins).

you don’t think you’ve ever done anything to the point he leaves without notice. or, so you thought.

venti, on the other hand, had felt guilty. guilty for suddenly springing his appearance onto you, guilty for not being able to pay you back, guilty for being a burden (though you would vehemently deny such a thing if he were to bring it up). ever since he saw that red-haired bartender helping you quite frequently, he started to think: perhaps you would be better off without him. and ultimately, he made the decision to leave for a bit to try and clear his head.

so when he comes back to you pacing back and forth in front of the door, he isn’t sure what to do — even more so when you rush over to him in a rush of panic upon setting your sights on him.

“where have you been!? were you safe?! why didn’t you tell me beforehand you would leave for three weeks?!”

he only blinks, unable to process your words. it isn’t until he feels you plop your head on his shoulder, a breathy sigh escaping you, that he snaps out of his stupor.

“do you know how worried i was when i couldn’t find you…”

ah, he thinks, is this what coming back to a home feels like?

(the flowers seemed to smell sweeter than he remembered on that particular night.)

Keep reading

I just wanna share the idea of yandere!Ayato Kamisato having a childhood friend he was in love with but couldnt pursue either cuz his parents couldnt get darling’s prents to agree or there was too big of a difference in status or darling simply didnt love him that way and rejected him the first time he proposed. Either way, he’s pining and overprotective/posessive and darling is uncomfortably aware why (as is the rest of Inazuma- after all, no one could forget how lovestruck Ayato was as a child and even as an adult he orders ridiculous amounts of presents for the simple reason of pleasing you) so Darling plans to take a trip abroad. Unfortunately for her, the Kamisato parents die and Ayato and Ayaka terribly need that support and stability so she stays.

Everyone believes she’s officially Ayato’s woman now. Too many people call her Lady Kamisato even aftrr her many attempts to correct them. Heck, even the Shogun called her “Yashiro Commission’s Lady” in front of the nation that one time she gave a public address and you just so happened to have been tasked with handing her the ordinances. No matter what you cant escape Ayato, and he’s not even really doing anything that’s forcing you by his side- everyone else is! Its maddening. Especially when he plays innocent as if he didnt have a hand in orchestrating it all as he asks how your day went during the private dinner the servants prepared for just you two in his private quarters.

Darling gets desperate and hears of an interesting rumor. The fatui. A plot ? Of some sort? To turn Inazuma into a land of solitude? Cut off communication with the outside world....? Darling doesnt really understand and she KNOWS she should report this to someone but... why should she? When everyone’s been practically forcing her to Ayato’s side against her will? But its still her home...

But her mind is made up the moment she returns to the kamisato estate and hears the servants gossiping, gossiping about Lord Ayato purchasing the best gemstones straight from Liyue itself and the services of the best jeweler in Inazuma to craft a special gift for her. A ring.

And Darling feels the dread explode and she turns heel and runs to her room to cry. Awful, so damn awful. Then once all the tears have dried, she plots. She becomes more... accepting. She’s slightly warmer to Ayato’s advances which brings him so much joy that he overlooks too many of the strange ongoings in Inazuma. She asks him for small things, a nice brocade of silk for a kimono there, a pretty hairpin there, some exquisite writing utensils...

It’s on Ayato’s next business trip away from Narukami and after kissing him farewell in the morning she sets off to visit Ritou to procure her escape route. By nightfall, she is long gone with only the clothes on her back and a handful of jeweled adornments in her pack as she’s off to Liyue. She sells everything, then changes her name and clothes and travels as far as she can.

Ayato’s business trip ends in two weeks.

The Sakokou Decree is announced the next day, and she can’t believe how good her timing was to be able to escape Ayato and how he’s now trapped in the Land of Eternity without her.

She builds a life for herself in Liyue from the ground up. It’s humbling work after years of being pampered by Ayato, but its honest and its invigorating. Once delicately soft hands are now roughened by days of hard labor and soon you’re a part of the community that once looked at you as an oddity. You got to witness some amazing things too, like Lantern Rite, the Rite of Descension, you even travelled to Mondstadt so you could experience the Windblume festival! You brought home trinkets and smiled and shared with the kids who always were enraptured by your stories.

But... who knew the God of Eternity would ever rescind a decision she’s made? Only a year after its been decreed Inazuma reopens its borders.

And Ayato appears at the doorstep of your home, a placid smile that does not reach his infuriated eyes as he asks how you’ve been, a satchel in his grip before he dumps out all the jewels he gave you and you sold at the beginning of your freedom from him.

Anon!!!! :O This idea is an entire feast aaaaa!!

I SHOULD'VE BOUGHT YOU FLOWERS ( all the things i should've done, i don't want to love you from afar. ).

— genre : headcanons. angst to fluff. — cw : breakups, swearing, parties, alcohol. — characters : childe, kaeya, albedo, xiao, thoma.

childe ; the childhood friend that grew apart and drifted away.

you remember when you and childe were still neighbours and best friends and so clearly two youngsters crushing on each other. what a trope for a promising pair that ended up as strangers.

he used to approach you with that shit - eating smile, clearly hiding something behind his back ( he's terrible at surprises ), his voice quite literally two octaves higher as he shoves yet another gift in your face. rich boys, you guess. his mom would smile fondly in the background, waving at you from the doorway of his house. you'd jump into his arms and he'd catch you just in time, strong arms holding you up against his chest.

it's all just platonic, he'd tell everyone. we're just friends. oh how he regrets saying that so confidently now.

childe really likes you. did he ever tell you that? he likes how you always accepted him for who he was and not everything he had. not how rich his parents were, not how good he was at sports, not how many girls swooned over him at parties. you liked him because he was ... him, whatever that meant to you.

it meant a lot to you.

but now childe is different. he's popular, not to say you aren't, but he's POPULAR popular. he plays beer pong on friday nights and winks at girls in the hallways and always has tons of fans cheering for him at those swim meets and hockey games. and he doesn't pay attention to you. you're way out of his league and you got the hint a long time ago.

and you act like you don't know him at all, but he knows it's really his fault. his fault for acting like he was better than you all for the attention of others, acting like you weren't worth his time once he became popular, ditching you to hang out with the cool kids. you act like you can't tell when he's upset, blue eyes too easy to read after all these years. you act like his smile doesn't remind you of when you were still young.

he misses you. he misses how you'd come to his hockey games with his jersey on, always catching your eye in the crowd. he misses how you feel clinging to his back like a koala as he piggybacks you around the neighbourhood. he misses walking home with you every single day, conversation flowing so naturally, words that cannot be exchanged anymore.

so when he's arriving home at an ungodly hour of the morning still a little tipsy, and sees your sleep - deprived form in an oversized hoodie, he quickly jogs after you.

"hey." he breathes, the scent of alcohol on his breath and a forced smile on his face — and yours. "hey." you mumble back, pressing pause on the music blasting through your headphones. he hesitates before speaking again, softly. "you shouldn't go alone. it's dangerous."

you laugh incredulously and childe is taken aback by your disdain for his genuine concern. "i've been doing this for years since we stopped hanging out. i'm fine." you turn around to continue walking, and make no effort to tell him to stop, so he follows you down the street to the convenience store.

he opens the door before you can, buying you your favourite drink from the fridge before you can reach for it yourself. you widen your eyes at his memory. you assumed he'd forgotten all about you, after all. and as if he can sense your thoughts, childe gently holds your palms in his as you stand awkwardly outside in the parking lot.

"i didn't forget about you, you know." he smiles sheepishly. "even if i act like a dick sometimes."

you look up at him expectantly, eyebrow raised in response. maybe it's because he's still a little drunk or maybe it's because it's 3:30 in the morning, but he figures this is the right time to tell you how he's always felt, even with tears stinging the back of his eyes — and he doesn't know why. "i ... miss hanging out with you, i guess. and it's my fault that i let you go, haha. i'm sorry. i miss you. i'm -"

ah, you still remember how to shut him up by squeezing his hands gently when he starts rambling. when he gets insecure. when he looks like he's about to cry, because no matter how much time you spend apart, you'd never want to see him break.

kaeya ; the ex who realises you're happier without him.

there's no denying kaeya alberich isn't the easiest person to get along with or get to know. but it's hard to resist getting tied up in all his fun and games when he's so goddamn attractive.

after your breakup, you realised how much you hated him. hated the way he would lie and pretend things were fine. hated the way he acted like he told you anything, just for you to find out from someone else yet another secret he had been keeping. hated the way it always felt like a game of push and pull, chasing after him even after you were already his. hated how you could never decipher that twinkle in his eyes when you asked him if he truly loved you.

but at the same time, being apart from him from even a day made you realise how much you missed his presence. even if he was so incredibly unbearable. you missed his silky voice, speaking up for you in that authoritative tone of his when you were about to get pushed over once again, because he knew how afraid you were to stand up for yourself. missed his hands that would touch you gingerly, knowing all the right places to land before finally swooping you into a perfect kiss. missed the way you knew him best, you knew just from the way he looked at you, despite all the secrets he refused to spill until the very end.

you think kaeya didn't miss you, not after the way he walked off without looking back that night, glittering eyes turned cold and dull, not even sparing well wishes. he hasn't texted you since, notifications empty since you've changed his contact name ( but for some reason you can't delete his number yet ). it's like he's disappeared from your life, and you think it's because he despises you so much he wants to get you out of his sight.

on the contrary, he removes himself from anything related to you so no one will have to see him break. he can't bear to hear your voice anymore, calling him by his name in a tone full of contempt when previously you would call out a cute pet name with a bright smile on your face. he can't bear to watch you laugh at someone else's jokes or make an exclusive handshake with some other guy, as stupid as it sounds. he hates knowing that you go out with someone else on friday nights now, that you have someone else to go to when you're upset, that someone else is getting to know you possibly better than he ever has, and that's his fault. and he thought it would be better to avoid you, because if he doesn't see all this happening with his own eyes, perhaps he can pretend it wasn't true.

mutual misguided impressions of wanting nothing to do with each other, and of course you tried to get on with life in every way possible. it's safe to say you went through the generic post - breakup glow up revival whatever they called it. you even started talking to someone else. a part of you was upset that kaeya never noticed, but why? was it because you wanted him to see that you were better off, wanted him to feel worse about himself — or was it because deep down inside, you hoped he'd get jealous and try to re - appear in your life once more?

it's at the party when he first sees you. he wasn't expecting to see you here, knowing that you two had gotten used to staying at home on saturdays for date nights instead of going out with other people. it appears things have changed, and he shouldn't really be surprised. he sees the way you giggle, the way you look so fucking good in that outfit ... not that you don't look good in anything, though. he sees how other people take an undeniable interest in you, and he just can't help himself but intervene.

because shit, you're so hard to get over it hurts.

"hey sweetheart, fancy meeting you here." kaeya cringes internally at his own words, knowing you're not some stranger he couldn't care less about. this is YOU, why would he say such a stupid thing, meeting you for the first time after the breakup?

"you know this guy?" the person next to you looks him up and down, but kaeya knows ( due to his big ego, of course ) that there's really nothing terrible that can be said about him — on the outside, at least. so he flashes his widest grin, swinging an arm around your shoulder. before you can speak, he interjects. "yeah. we know each other quite well, wouldn't you say so, darling?"

his overuse of pet names isn't a surprise to you, especially when you can practically smell the scent of alcohol on his breath. it's not uncharacteristic of him, but after months of not speaking or even seeing each other it would be a lie to say you weren't shocked. similarly, kaeya is pleasantly surprised when you nod and plaster on a smile, nodding in consent when he makes a motion to lead you towards the quieter balcony.

kaeya lets his hand trail over your cheekbones, touch so featherlight it makes your heart leap out of your chest. he knows all the ways to break you, so why is he doing everything right now that you aren't his anymore? "hi." he whispers, the expression on his face full of a raw longing. "missed you."

"you're drunk", you reply matter - of - factly. "don't say things you wouldn't say if you were sober." your voice quivers when you speak, and you don't know why ( actually, you do, but you just don't want to admit that you still have feelings for him after all this time ) .

albedo ; the brilliant student who had greater things to achieve.

oh, dear albedo. named after a scientific phenomenon and he follows in its footsteps too. as the two highest achieving students in your year, he's always been your ( friendly ) rival.

albedo may have a one - track mind, consistently focused on his academics and academics only, but he seems to still make time for others. albeit aloof and socially somewhat blunt and inadequate, he is a generous and gentle person — never turning down requests for help and always being able to handle it all whilst still doing incredibly well.

he's a gifted kid and yet he still has other things he's amazing at. painting, for example. everyone always talks of his oil paintings and charcoal sketches but one day you walk into the art room as he's painting watercolour on the balcony and you swear you've never seen something more beautiful. um, the artwork, of course. not albedo, that's for sure, haha. but there's no use denying that he's just breathtakingly gorgeous.

but what truly captivates you about him is how thoughtful he is. always has an extra pen for you, black gel ink in 0.5 thickness just the way you like it in case you lose one or forget it when coming to a lab. he remembers your favourite flower, pink camellias, and it just so happens he grows them on his balcony at home. whenever you have to work on a project together in the mornings ( because of course you're always only each other's partner ), there is always a coffee, ordered perfectly to your preferences sitting on the table along with a new pastry he insists you try.

despite all the good in him, he's so ... unreachable. there seems to be so much to albedo, yet it's impossible for anyone to figure out what exactly is beneath the surface. because he doesn't want to show anyone what that is, and you know that. you know it all too well from the way you've tried to do activities other than academic projects and he always refuses. from the way your text conversations always run dry when you try to change the subject. from the way you only ever see him when you're at school or studying for something important. "i have no time for that," he would say nonchalantly.

and all the while, albedo is yearning to tell you why he feels as if he has to push you away. he's always been told he's too ambitious to be around — he makes people feel bad because he achieves so much more than they do, his busy schedule is too much for them to handle, the lack of quality time he has to spare means getting to know him better isn't worth it at all. albedo wishes he didn't have to watch your face fall when he gives you a small smile instead of a smooth remark like the other boys do, or control himself from hugging you just a few seconds longer when you look upset. if what they say is true, and it seems to be because so many people have repeated the same thing to him his whole life, then he doesn't want to ever put someone as wonderful as you through the inconveniences of being close with someone like him.

you had since graduated high school, let the memory of the genius boy slip from the forefront of your mind. you definitely didn't expect to meet him again four years down the road, accidentally bumping into him on the street on a cool spring day.

oh, he's still as pretty as ever.

a gaze of diamond blue collides with yours and you can't help but get lost in his eyes, his curious, captivating, and yet cautious stare so familiar and foreign at the same time. blond hair falls in front of his face, framing his delicate features perfectly, rosy cheeks flushed from the breeze.

"long time no see." he grins lopsidedly, his smile almost flirtatious in the morning sun. "long time no see," you respond, unable to contain the joy that spreads across your face. "so what are you doing here?" albedo sighs a little, and that's when you notice the pad of watercolour paper under his arm. "oh, i don't know. just finding fulfilling ways to pass the time."

you're taken aback — not due to his attention to detail or inquisitive nature of all that he sees and experiences, but because for once, he's not rushing somewhere or on the way to someplace greater. you swear you see a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes when he finally asks you whether you'd like to join him for the rest of the day. where to? he's not too sure yet either. but it should go perfectly fine with good company, no?

xiao ; the quiet boy at the back of the class who's always had a crush on you.

didn't you realise xiao has always noticed you?

maybe it's because he sits at the back of the class, his eyes glued to the front of the room — not at the whiteboard, no, at the back of your head, most of the time. involuntarily.

xiao tries to focus in class but it's only when you're not at school ( unfortunately ) that he can actually get any decent notes down. he makes sure to send them to you at the end of the day. you always reply with that cute little smiling emoji. it reminds him of how happy you always are compared to him.

or maybe it's because he doesn't talk much, preferring to stay quiet when the rest of the boys are rowdy and talk back to the teacher. when the rest of them go out to parties and try to hook up with some random girls they don't know, he's at home on the couch playing wii or mario kart with his younger siblings. when the rest of them ask him who he likes, he answers with a simple "no one. i'm not interested in people here."

but he knows he's lying to himself, because xiao knows the way butterflies flutter around in his stomach when you flash him a smile from across the room. he knows the way words get stuck in his throat when he wants to ask you a question, and the way his hands shake when he wants to tap you on the shoulder to get your attention. he knows the way his heart races every time you brush against him or accidentally come crashing into his chest in the hallways ( because you're always rushing somewhere for some strange reason he doesn't understand ).

he thinks you never notice him despite all the space you take up in his mind. he's wrong, though — you've always noticed him too, lonely yet beautiful amber eyes that catch your stare every time, gentle touches to manoeuvre you back in the right direction so you won't be late for class, a soft, low voice that asks if you're alright, thoughtful texts updating you about what the teacher said when you're home for one reason or another.

you noticed how he thinks he's sly when he slides a bracelet made of daisies onto your desk, accompanied by a sticky note with a smiley face so uncharacteristic of his cold personality. how he never talks to you in person but can stay up texting you all night. how he pauses his valorant matches for you because you watch him stream and every so often when you respond to his messages, he would let himself die in - game to reply — you swear it isn't on purpose. how he stutters when you interact at school, unable to do anything except nod or shake his head.

god, he's so cute.

so one day you decide to ask him out on a date. in letter form, of course, because no one ever said you were any more bold than he was when it comes to things like love.

it's 7:45 in the morning when you rush into the math classroom, putting a brown paper envelope face down on xiao's desk, sealed with a little sticker shaped in a heart.

it's 8:02 in the morning when xiao walks into class late, drenched from the early rainstorm. someone snickers at the way he shivers and his hair plasters across his forehead. you pointedly give them one of your best death stares.

it's 8:10 in the morning when xiao finally opens the envelope, hiding it behind one of his books. he's thankful you sit in front of him, because heavens forbid you see the way he can't resist a stupid smile when he realises this is you're handwriting, YOU are asking him to meet tonight, it's you, it's always been you.

it's 3:10 in the afternoon when you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you spin around, finally meeting eyes with him for more than five seconds for once. he opens his mouth and then shuts it, fumbling with the envelope in his hand, clearly extremely flustered at the attempted interaction. "hi."

"hey. uh -" he holds up the letter awkwardly. "if this is real, then ... yes."

"it's real!" you proclaim excitedly, probably a little over - the - top due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "see you tonight then right?" you smile sweetly and he thinks he'll combust at how inexplicably adorable you look right now. a blush creeps across his cheeks and he hates how he grows even redder when you reach out to hold his trembling hands. "hey ... don't be nervous, okay?"

fuck, you're so thoughtful it makes his heart want to beat out of his chest. "okay." he breathes, secretly wishing he could keep holding your hands for a little longer. "see you tonight."

thoma ; the best friend that watched you fall for someone else.

your best friend has always been one of the prettiest, most gorgeous people you have ever met.

emerald eyes that glitter in the golden sunlight, strawberry blond hair tousled over his constantly - smiling face, cheeks flushed with the excitement of wherever you're going together this time ...

"you're like a brother to me", you've always told him, and he has always been okay with it for as long as he can remember. he doesn't know when it all changed — when he internally grimaced at your platonic words of reference, felt his heart sink whenever you introduced him as your best friend and nothing more. even with all the time you spend together, all the friends who ship you two together and all the precious moments you've shared, he knows that there is a boundary he won't ever dare to cross in fear of changing the wonderful thing you two have fostered.

thoma thinks it's unfair. unfair how you're falling in love with someone who doesn't even love you, someone who has the audacity to lie to your face about how much they care. he thinks it's unfair how you can believe in their pretty deceitful lies and all the sugarcoated bullshit used to lure you into their toxic embrace. he thinks it's unfair how he's been there for you all this time, been so genuine and pure and kind and considerate towards everything YOU. and yet you seem to pay no mind to his efforts and instead have your eyes fixed on someone else.

but at the same time, he can't blame you, because he knows how attractive those others are compared to him. they're good at everything, have lots of friends, go to parties instead of being homebodies, and in general just know how to get you on the edge of your seat — something that a soft, gentle, shy guy like him could never do. he could never fluster you with a one - liner or make you blush at first sight. he's not that kind of person, and he knows it. and when he was still the one you were closest to in life, when you still listened to him and cared about him, he didn't mind so much. but now he's been thrown aside, sometimes he wishes he was someone else.

you've had this conversation far too many times. thoma tells you he's just caring for you out of the goodness of his heart, and you angrily push back, saying you know what's best for you. but there's a little voice of conscience inside that nags at the back of your mind, a constant reminder that you tend to be too blind to see what's in front of you while it's still there. a reminder that you often don't think things through, that since the beginning of time thoma has been there to help you solve problems in a calm way, to get you out of sticky situations, so stand up for you no matter how much he gets shamed or bashed for it. and yet, you still are indignant that you know better.

"this isn't healthy ..." he's tired of receiving your late night calls, not because he doesn't want to hear your voice or talk to you but because it's always on the topic of you stupid ex, one who keeps playing you over and over like a game that's just for entertainment. he's tired of it, hearing your broken cries and begs for his comfort, feeling his own heart shatter at your sobs and wishing he could get to your house faster. even if being harsh with you would be more effective, he could never bring himself to do so, always dampening his own emotions and practicing his patience to simply be the good listening ear he's always been.

you shake your head, opening your mouth to protest. "but -" "but he's just no good for you!" thoma raises his voice to interject for the first time, eyes blurring with unshed tears as you angrily wipe away your own. "why can't you see that?"

"god, why can't you just GET OUT of my personal shit, thoma? do you hate me or something?" as soon as you speak, you realise your mistake. he would never hate you, and it hits you as soon as you lock eyes with the sadness that fills his. "do i make you feel like i hate you?" his voice is quiet and timid, like an animal retracting back into its shell. "i'm really sorry."

regret instantly rushes into every inch and crevice of your soul and it engulfs you whole, arms instinctively reaching out to pull him into a hesitant hug as he sobs silently into your shoulder. "no, i'm sorry," you whisper, running your hand through his hair. "i know you're right. you always have been."

understanding, forgiving eyes meet yours and you wonder why you've never seen your best friend in a different light before. why you've never considered the fact that you feel so safe, so comfortable, so happy and carefree around him — you feel so much better in your own skin. and you know that no matter what you do, he will always be there to catch you when you fall.

love at first bite.

premise: most customers visit your cafe for the delicious bread and good coffee, but he comes for the cute barista behind the counter.

info: your parents run a bakery-slash-cafe and as their child, you're naturally expected to help around the shop. unknowingly, you attract attention in the process.

characters: kazuha, thoma, xiao, childe, albedo, scaramouche & ayato !

kazuha, a part-time employee at the bakery

when your grandmother grew too frail to work at the cafe due to old age and had to retire, the shop had a shortage of helping hands thus needing someone to work her shift. enter kazuha kaedehara, a sweet boy in the neighborhood who's always been in good terms with your older brother. having his eyes on a particular game console at the time, he was happy to help while earning some pocket money for himself.

but even after successfully purchasing the item he saved up for, he continued to work at the cafe. it was certainly something your family appreciated, since kazuha was pleasant company and he was skilled in the kitchen. remarkably more efficient than you for the job, actually, despite the fact you're the one who'll receive the business in the future.

“you won't be so troubled if he were to run the business with you,” your mother stated in what you hoped to be in jest, not subtle in the slightest with her thoughts of kazuha being a suitable son-in-law after he so sweetly prepared a cake for your surprise birthday party. your face burned while kazuha only laughed in cheer, perhaps missing the hidden insinuations. (why else would he smile at that?)

time passed in the blink of an eye and he eventually became a face you often saw first thing in the morning, cheeks dusted with flour and hands gripping a tray of baked goods fresh from the oven. rays of shimmering gold bathed him in an otherworldly glow, smile brightening when he catches sight of your figure by the door.

then you'll grab a towel and rub off the dirt on kazuha's face, missing the way his eyes crinkle in mirth. missing the way your older brother rolls his eyes at the action very much alike pda. missing how you've been doing this for the past three years and not once stopped to think about why he had flour on his face all the time, and if he'd been doing it on purpose just to see you in this proximity. an unceasing part of routine that came as naturally as going to sleep at night and waking at morning.

you see him a lot more in the summer when you both share shifts at the same time, you working at the counter and him at the kitchen preparing treats that already sold out. (he reasoned he preferred it that way to avoid getting flirted with.)

“could i get another order?” the customer you noticed have been staring strangely at you for the entire duration of his stay suddenly went up to ask. you paste on a flawless customer service smile regardless of your discomfort, thinking he hadn't done anything wrong yet. “of cou-”

“[name], there's something odd about the hand mixer,” kazuha cuts in, peeking through the door and knocking on the wood to gain your attention. “could you check it for me? i'll switch with you.”

your expression drifts to one of genuine distress, not picking up on the excuse he provided for an easy way out. you rush to the kitchen and kazuha takes your place, much to the customer's disappointment. this does not not escape his attention and kazuha smiles, “what can i get for you?”

one half-hearted order later, the customer finally leaves. the smile on kazuha's face drops as he picks up the piece of tissue the man left on the counter, scrawled with a set of numbers in dark ink.

“it worked just fine?” you return after checking on the fully functional hand mixer, confusion apparent on your expression. kazuha breezily slips on a smile, crumpling the tissue in his hand and shoving it inside his pocket.

“really? that's great.”

thoma, your childhood friend

once upon a time at the tender age of seven, you had a timid disposition and had few names you could confidently proclaim as your friend. however, thoma was an intelligent child who figured out being friends with a person who owned a bakery entailed sharing snacks with each other at breaks.

lured by the mouthwatering scent of your lunchbox, he approached your desk and initiated a conversation. his friendly demeanor had managed to break you out from your shy shell, and from there on, you began to spend time together, him oh-so-generously offering to walk you home so he could stop by the bakery. his efforts were rewarded when your parents were delighted seeing a new friend of yours, shoving a packet of chocolate cornets in his hands.

...well, that's how it started, but it wasn't like all he wanted from you was free food. he wormed his way into your life, growing close not only to you but also your family; your grandfather was especially fond of him. he even became an unofficial employee of sorts, tidying the bakery when the opportunity arose. your parents spoiled him rotten with sweets in return, them often being the cause of thoma's cavities before you grew up...

speaking of growing up, you long left primary school and now attended different schools, but thoma made it a habit to pick you up and walk home together just as you did often before, leading to misunderstandings of your classmates thinking he was your boyfriend. which couldn't be any more wrong.

but it was true that he was the sole receiver of your valentine's chocolate for a long, long time, something that he prided over. which is also weird, considering he received more than enough chocolate to fill his bag close to bursting each year. (it's special, you remember him telling you once. as to why, he wasn't very keen on informing you, maybe even a little shy about it. is it because you're good at baking? it surpassed other people's attempts at homemade chocolate? it had more meaning compared to storebought chocolate? you can only guess.)

so really, he's astonished when he spots another box of brownies stuffed in your belongings, peculiarly wrapped in a more elaborate manner compared to his bland plastic packaging. heart-patterned in a pale pink, topped with a delicate ribbon trimmed with white lace.

he narrows his eyes, fingers ghosting over the box. “who's this for?”

he gets a whiff of a pleasant scent on you, some perfume your aunt had given you on a holiday. you styled your hair differently that day, too, not a single imperfect crease seen on your clothes, lips glossy with a sheen of tint thoma remembered gifting you as a present before.

your cheeks flush in a rosy color, stuttering out an excuse. an excuse that doesn't register in thoma's head because of the buzzing in his ears, but he doesn't really need to hear it to understand; he'd be a fool not to guess this was for a special someone.

a special someone that isn't him, clearly.

xiao, the classmate you've been crushing on

contrary to popular belief, your infatuation with xiao hadn't been established from the start. you belonged in the same class but you weren't especially interested in him at first glance, staying far, far away from classmates fighting over the seats beside him. he had a pretty face, that much was obvious, and maybe you did stare at him a little longer than you had to... but that was the extent of it, an appreciation for things you found pleasing to the eye.

“the inside matters more than the outside” is a phrase as good as horse shit, empty words used to placate the ugly community. even with unread love letters trashed in garbage bins, succinct replies to heartfelt confessions, and other actions that might be considered rude if it was a less attractive man doing them, xiao remained a desirable prospect as a lover. the world just worked that way. you didn't feel particularly envious of him, but you didn't see him in a positive light either.

and his opinion of you... well. it was less than ideal when he saw you at the supermarket going grocery shopping once; he had only vaguely recognized you as his classmate when the moment you laid eyes on him, you gasped “salt!” and ran towards the aisles containing spice.

(to be fair, he was reminded he needed to buy a comb after seeing your messy hair.)

though as the seasons changed with flowers blooming in warm spring and wilting in bleak winter, underneath all that grouch xiao was pretty nice. it was a matter of his apprehension melting away and your presence growing ever more familiar as days passed. his cold exterior warmed into something sweeter, something far less bitter compared to how he appeared at the beginning.

if it were five months ago, if you were to get yourself injured by accident while preparing a meal in home economics class, he would've frowned and said “did you cut your finger?” “yes.” “don't let your blood mix with the soup.”

if it were in the present, he'd frown all the same but the furrow in his brow would suggest visible concern rather than slight annoyance, taking out teddy bear-patterned bandaids he pretends he doesn't carry all the time for exact situations like these because you weren't good with knives. (baking is different from cooking, damn it.) his hands would be frustratingly gentle as he wraps your cut finger, and the soft tenderness that always graced his actions towards people he cared about was more than enough to make you fall hard.

then you remembered your mother's teachings. “the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

the thing is, nobody at your school knew your family ran a bakery. it wasn't something you actively tried to hide, it just never came up at conversations. if you were to act as a romantic “secret admirer” and send baked goods to test xiao's reaction before confessing, you'd at least get an estimation of your chance at success of snagging a hot boyfriend. that has to earn you extra points for bribery creativity, right?

so. that's how xiao came to receive colorful bite-sized macarons, cream puffs piped with custard, glazed cinnamon rolls, and anything of the sort packaged neatly in boxes sent anonymously every few days. the notes greeting him good morning or wishing him luck for a test later that day are all printed, hence not giving away the sender's identity by their handwriting.

as much as xiao appreciates the gesture, however, he also looks guilty. when you ask him why, heart pounding in your chest, he flushes red at your eager expression and quietly admits, “i already have someone i like.”

childe, a troublesome customer

from your numerous years working at the cafe, you've seen a lot of things: the anticipation and nervousness in blind dates, the endearing awkwardness of first dates, the sweet thoughtfulness of friends and family buying snacks for a certain someone, and —

the entire shop broke into collective gasps as the cup of coffee was thrusted towards across the table, splashing the boy seated in that direction. he seemed astonished, pristine white shirt soaked in a muddy brown, and the girl accompanying him made a point to place the now empty glass loudly against the table. “you're the absolute worst!” she seethed, tears rolling down her cheeks. she left in fury, leaving without waiting for a response.

...break ups. not the most common, but they definitely happen. they're mostly not this dramatic though.

the boy left behind attempted a smile. albeit strained, it was enough to stop the other patrons from looking at the spectacle. kazuha seemed hesitant to deal with it, so it was up to you to approach him with a towel. he looked a bit pitiful cleaning his face with tissues. “are you... okay?” you winced at your own question and amended with, “do you have anything else you need?”

he laughed. “i'll have to trouble you to mop this mess on the floor, but i'm alright. thanks.”

you nodded. not one to pry or meddle in someone else's relationship, you only went to do what you had to, mopping the coffee staining the ground. before the boy left, you noticed he left a generous tip.

you couldn't help thinking of him as that one guy who got dumped each time he visited the cafe though. but he never went with his (ex-)girlfriend ever again, only sometimes bringing along what you presumed were his younger siblings. he spoiled them, too, unrestrained as he pulled out his wallet and paid for a large amount of treats his brother and sister wanted to try.

and because he's a treasured benefactor, you thought it would be nice if you showed your appreciation somehow. you handed him a bag of pastries he hadn't asked for, to which he tilted his head in question.

“they're on the house,” you said. “new products. we're experimenting and haven't sold them yet. it would be helpful if you gave your opinion for them.”

he peeked at the contents, seeing they were muffins amongst other things. “thank you. i'll make sure to tell you my thoughts, though i'm already certain they'll be as delicious as everything else here.” he smiled.

it was simple as that. no entanglements that linked you in a personal level, but he found himself gravitating towards the cafe whenever he had free time to be idle. he didn't even eat what he bought most of the time, giving them away to his friends, aside from the time you personally gave him that bag of pastries yourself. he didn't even let his siblings touch them.

and maybe it didn't have to be so complicated. he was striving to find love all this time, only for each relationship to run dry quickly. it was always him not being enough, not paying his lovers enough attention, not giving them enough affection. what he thought was love didn't last for very long.

but maybe this could be. keeping it secret in his heart, quiet appreciation for the dazzling person behind the counter, nurturing the small crush that would only remain small if he didn't act upon it.

“could you try this for me?” you request, offering him a batch of brownies. you seem... shy. bashful. it's a new look. childe certainly have never seen you blush before.

he takes a bite and it's exquisite. “it tastes good. are you going to sell this too?”

“ah, no.” the tips of your ears redden further. “i'm... making them for someone.”

it is then when childe remembers valentine's day is approaching. it is then that he realizes, his heart sinking in disappointment. “oh. okay.”

albedo, the eye-candy regular

people-watching is a habit you pick up on when the clock is beyond hectic morning hours, the cafe that once bustled with cranky swarms of patrons demanding their daily dose of coffee emptying to something that lets you breathe more freely, frenzied atmosphere gradually settling into calm.

in the moments of respite, you find yourself fanning your face, having enough leisure to rest instead of frantically memorizing orders. that's when your gaze steers to the customers residing by the tables, enjoying snacks and sipping on their beverages. one specific customer catches your eye, and surely you aren't the only one who's unwittingly beckoned over by his charms.

beams of sunshine blanket around him in a soft glow, light brown hair almost gold in the bright rays. teal eyes are glued to the paper in front of him, hands smoothing over the surface as the pencil in his deft fingers glide in elegant strokes. his pink lips part when he brings the cup of cappuccino to his mouth, taking small sips and his tongue darts out to catch the foam-

...or so the girl near his table types furiously on her laptop, perhaps taking him as inspiration for a novel she's writing. good for her.

in any case, the face is a familiar one. you have no name to attach to his face, so you began dubbing him as “jeff”. for no particular reason. it's quite inconvenient to refer to him as “handsome window seat dude” all the time. unfortunately, the cafe has coaster pagers and there isn't any need to ask for customers' names so his name remains a mystery. jeff it is.

so “jeff” frequents the cafe during late morning, always bringing a new book with him or a sketchbook to while away the time. not that you see anything he draws. the most you see is other customers interrupting him in the middle of it, either to flirt with him or straightforwardly ask for his number. for politeness's sake, he makes an effort to not let his irritation show, but seeing the subtle shifts in his expressions over the course of several months has allowed you to notice the minute changes in his mood. (were you really staring that hard? or it's just a talent. you can't take xiao's words at face-value because he's a goddamned tsundere so now you've honed a talent for reading people.)

so it comes off as a shock when he strolls to the cafe visibly cross, exasperation rolling off him in waves. dark circles line his eyes, a crinkle in his brows hinting displeasure. fatigue emanates from his very being, and in spite of his impeccable appearance in the past in comparison to the zombies you have as customers before they get their desired caffeine, he doesn't look too different now.

even worse, when he finds his pockets empty without his wallet and he only manages a few coins in the deepest corners of his bag to afford the most bland item in the menu, he looks vaguely murderous.

you cough, driven to help since his expression makes you think your days are numbered if he doesn't get his coffee soon. “i can pay for you this time,” you offer. he stiffens, grateful but tentative. “it's no big deal.” you even slip in a plate of waffles as extra, topped with generous swirls of whipped cream and cut fruit.

“thanks, i'm... not myself today. stayed up all night,” he mumbles, adjusting his backpack strap where it's falling off his shoulders, heavy with textbooks he has to study. “i'll pay you back tomorrow... but i don't need the waffles, really.”

a couple bucks isn't much of a loss and you're not that much of a cheapskate. “it's alright. the waffles aren't even on the menu, it's just breakfast i made.”

“oh.” he seems mildly surprised at that. “...thanks.”

you push the brewed coffee in his direction when it's done, grinning at him. “have a good morning then, jeff.”

he gives you a weird look. “my name is albedo.”

“it's a trick. i wanted to find out your name.”

he blinks, still processing what you said. then for the first time that morning, albedo smiles.

(much much later when kazuha's cleaning the cafe, he finds a worn notebook placed on one of the empty tables. he doesn't like poking his nose into things he doesn't own, but in the hopes of finding the owner's name somewhere, he peruses through the pages of scrawls and doodles and sketches of scenery. he stops at a sketch of a face he knows by heart, surrounded by an embarrassing amount of flowers.)

(kazuha somehow dislikes how he instantly knows who it belongs to.)

scaramouche, a stray looking for shelter

scaramouche despises the rain.

especially when his partner for his project bails on him 30 minutes after their agreed meeting time (by text, no less! without a single apology!), and he wasted half an hour in the campus library for absolutely nothing. then 5 minutes after his departure, the sudden downpour takes him by surprise and further sours his sullen mood.

he rushes under the nearest roof he finds for shelter, the rain refusing to let up and only getting stronger by the second. cold winds nip at his skin, causing him to shiver in his partly drenched clothes. he follows the warm yellow light illuminating what he thinks is a coffee shop of sorts, the bell's chime announcing his entrance when he swings the door open.

the place is empty with the exception of one person behind the counter, storing the leftover baskets of pastries in the fridge. you blink, not expecting anyone else to arrive, and you assume you forgot to flip the “open” sign to “closed” again.

you don't have the heart to correct the customer though; he looks remarkably similar to a stray cat caught up in the rain, wet purple hair plastered on his forehead and cheeks and drenched jacket most likely not enough to give him warmth. his sharp eyes narrow and he's scowling, irritated at his stupid partner and this stupid rain and-

“you're closing?” he notices, and you nod. he clicks his tongue, obviously displeased.

“if you're only here for shelter, i can stay until the rain stops?” you suggest. “i closed early because i had to study, but i can study here since i have my textbooks anyway.”

“that...” scaramouche pauses, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed for coming off as rude. “if you're fine with it, then that would be nice... thank you.”

you nod again, ducking behind the storeroom to take care of other equipment, so scaramouche takes it as his cue to sit at one of the tables, brushing back his wet hair from sticking all over his face. when you return, a towel rests in your grip and you offer it to him kindly.

warmth settles in his chest, gratitude filling his heart. it strengthens when you wordlessly push a cup of hot chocolate in his direction before seating in another table, sheets of paper and numerous books haphazardly littered about. the only noise he can hear is the gentle pitter-patter of rain outside and the mindless taps of your fingers against the table as you practice test questions. the intermittent loud flicking of pages in workbooks and constant clicks of your pen should peeve him, bad habits in the library he finds annoying when he's trying to focus on reading, but it's strangely comforting in the otherwise silence shrouding the pair of you.

(he finds himself sneaking glances, unwittingly stealing a peek at the way your nose scrunches up adorably when you come across a tricky question. the way you worry your bottom lip, eyes sweeping over the contents of the workbook. the way a defeated sigh parts your lips, inevitably switching to another question to answer.)

(then he catches himself being a creep so he pinches his thigh to wake himself up.)

less than half an hour later, the drizzle reduces to gray clouds pierced by rays of sunlight. scaramouche prepares to leave, followed by you scrambling to pack your things. in your haste, your bag tips over, revealing a small umbrella. that prompts a prick of guilt to seep in his skin, knowing you could've left much earlier if he didn't hold you back.

“thank you, again,” he can't help but say. you wave him off, insisting it's not a bother.

the next time he visits, it's a week later. an umbrella is tucked by his side, this time, and the rainy season has discouraged people from coming so you're closing early except you don't have anything to shield from precipitation. you lent kazuha your umbrella when he ended his shift because you thought the rain would come to pass after an hour or so, and it... hadn't.

scaramouche peers inside, the sign still displaying “open” but you're storing away things just like last time. the cursory “sorry, we're already closing for the day” sticks to your throat when you realize who arrives.

“are you staying because of the rain?” you comment, sympathetic. he shakes his head.

“no, but...” scaramouche coughs awkwardly. “i could help walk you to the bus station... or wherever you're going, really. to return the favor.”

his courage exhausted, he's barely able to find the bravery to check your reaction. he stills when you smile at him so brightly.

it was worth his dignity then.

ayato, the friend of a friend

it starts horribly, a stain on your first impression that you can never redeem.

in your defense, it isn't intentional, except it kind of is — you didn't notice the boy with pale blue hair trailing after thoma when they arrived at the bakery, so you engage in your usual light-hearted banter while he walks away to wait at the table. shame was never felt between two friends who've seen both the best and worst of each other, so crass jokes and ill-timed quips are the norm.

hence why you unabashedly draw dicks on thoma's coffee cup sleeve when he pisses you off with some offhand comment followed by a stinging pinch to your cheek, unafraid of the consequences from the small payback.

except it isn't thoma's coffee after all, and ayato is understandbly confused when he spots phallic doodles on his coffee cup.

he should be affronted, angry and disturbed by the childish display and utter lack of professionalism from staff, but instead he laughs good-naturedly as you explain the situation in ashamed stutters heavily sprinkled with apologies.

so yes. you have positively fucked up your first impression in front of a scholarly young man by behaving in the most disgraceful of manners. he must've thought you an idiot lacking all sense of propriety... and a loser who still thinks drawing dicks is funny.

as it turns out, ayato hails from a stinking rich family who isn't quite in touch with a normal person's lifestyle. his life has always been a constant stream of studies and networking, his future laid out for him. he had little time for leisure and friends outside of allies and business partners, and his story of bonding with thoma would be a lot more moving if you weren't anxiously looking at the inappropriate phallic figures artfully drawn on ayato's cup sleeve that he still hasn't removed. it is a jarring sight to see a boy with a regal disposition fitting for royalty holding such a thing in a way that would make you think he was drinking aged fine wine from a treasured goblet.

part of you thinks he might be doing it on purpose, if only to amuse himself peering at your expressions of panic. he likes to pose himself as innocent but as time ticks by the longer you spend time with him, the more you think he may not necessarily be as much of a goody-two-shoes he acts to be. the sadistic streak is worrying and you're beginning to remember thoma's earlier complaints about a certain mischievous friend of his who likes to play tricks on him.

anyway, the point is: he's stinking rich, he's a sheltered young master, and he's trying out new things he has never experienced before. one of them is trying “peasant food”.

“our humble business doesn't have a single michelin star so i fear we won't be able to satisfy your palate,” you say, looking at ayato who's poking at the egg tart experimentally. “...maybe it would do you good to eat somewhere else?”

“he was impressed by the existence of instant noodles,” thoma supplies. “i don't think he's very picky.”

“the price tag doesn't guarantee tasteful flavors,” ayato chuckles. “but i liked the sweets thoma gave to me the other day. what were they called?”

“petit fours?”

“you gave him those petit fours i was still experimenting with for valentine's day?!” you whisper-shout in disbelief. thoma holds up his hands in surrender.

“they were very enjoyable. i'm sure other customers would like them as well,” ayato confesses honestly.

flattery won't get you anywhere, you want to say. but the conversation escalates in that direction. time passes by too quickly and before you realize it, the sun is already setting and they've been chatting with you on the counter the entire time.

ayato tells you he best return home for the day, if only a little unwilling to go. “though i am hoping what i find on the cup sleeve in my next visit would be different,” he teases.

you're actually not supposed to write anything on the cup in normal circumstances, but you decide to humor him. treasured benefactor and all. you know he has deep pockets. “...such as?” you cock up an eyebrow in question.

“something that will help us grow closer, perhaps.” he leaves with those cryptic words, thoma not far behind.

??? something that will help you grow closer??? he wants to be friends??? what kind of thing does he want you to write?

(the next time, to his satisfaction, he finds your number written on his cup sleeve.)

(it's unfortunate you misunderstood his intentions. ayato would hardly be this forward if he just wanted a friend.)