Eleven Pm.

eleven pm.

kenji sato. (+ female reader)

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watched ultraman: rising and now I'm here (help).

p.s. this is unedited and unserious. also, this isn't, like, an intense romance story? (oops). it's kind of a slowburn? any feedback is appreciated!

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“Hold still.”

It’s eleven in the evening, and, unfortunately, you’re still on the job. Since the season’s just kicked off, you’re in for a ride. Practices to monitor as early as five in the morning, check-ins to do with each player in the afternoon, paperwork to fill out, coaches and doctors to meet with, and now, apparently, on-call work. How many hours has it been since you had a cup of coffee? Or even a real meal? Regardless, the caffeine’s definitely worn off now. 

You sigh as you rummage through your backpack of supplies. As your tired eyes search for what you need, another pair follows your every move. Your patient sits in front of you on his large couch as you examine his injured shoulder. In pain and restricted to sitting still, his only option is to watch you work. 

He didn’t mean to call you here, especially so late. After the Kaiju attack, as Mina diagnosed, his rotator cuff was in bad shape. Although he insisted he was okay, Mina was quick to suggest calling for help. You have a game tomorrow, Ken. Although I can diagnose you, my robotic arms can only do so much. I’ll call the physical therapist. Ken protested to no end, and continued to, until you arrived, standing on his doorstep, ready to help. 

As he opened his door, he prepared himself to politely refuse your help. It’s a mistake, he’d said. One of my buddies was just playing a prank, he nervously laughed. As if. After hearing his obvious lies, you gave him a curt bow and agreed to assist him as quickly as possible before asking him to lead the way. Out of options, Kenji opened his door and led you to his living room. 

Now, you’re here. After finding what you need, you carefully apply ointment to his shoulder. Your touch is soft, cautious. Not rough, not inappropriate. Careful. Caring. He almost falls asleep right there. Unlike Mina, you’re warm to the touch. It’s weird. 

You feel his eyes on you as you spread the ointment on his shoulder. It’s a little pressuring. Ken Sato, the newest member of the Giants team, a world renowned baseball prodigy, in all of his glory, sits still, quiet, under your hands. It’s different from how he was when you first met--a flashy smile and a confident laugh. He was a talented, self-assured man. He never bothered himself with others, not even his teammates. You’ve never spoken to him properly, despite being his physical therapist, up until this point. Even if you were called here, you don’t think he really remembers your name. 

His house is quiet. All you can hear is his slow breathing and your concentrated breaths. The lights in his living room remain low, and you can see the moonlight reflecting off of the floor. It’s quiet, it’s intimidating, it’s oddly…intimate.

You finish applying the ointment over the injured area, and move to work on bandaging it up. As you begin to wrap his shoulder, you see his brows furrow in pain before he moves to hang his head to the side. 

“...Sorry. It’ll be a minute,” you mumble, wincing internally at the sight of his pain.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says,”I’m good.” He whispers the last part, a little strained. 

You continue to wrap his shoulder with the bandage, tight enough to be secure, but not enough to be uncomfortable. When you’re finished, you feel him let out a breath. Without thinking, you pat the bandaged area softly,”All done. I’ll get your compression sleeve on and then you can rest.”

At that, Kenji lifts his head to look at you.

For the first time, you look at each other properly. Your eyes widen slightly at the sudden eye contact, but Kenji doesn’t waver. His eyes, lidded and tired, stare up into yours with odd intensity. You’re still holding onto his shoulder when you realize that you’re almost nose to nose with him. You pull back slightly, slipping your hand off of his shoulder, and almost tumble backwards. But before you think of falling, Kenji grabs your wrist and pulls you back into place. He doesn’t linger, removing his hand as soon as you’re safe. 

You look at him, he looks at you. You look away, he doesn’t. 

You gather yourself as quickly as you can, lightly clearing your throat, before you look through your bag for the compression sleeve. You feel a little uncomfortable, but there’s something else. It’s probably the lighting or the silence or the proximity at which you sit from each other. A strange feeling creeps up on you, but you can’t identify it. 

You’ve found the compression sleeve, tucked towards the bottom of the bag. While you bring it out, the short silence between you breaks.

“I’m…sorry.” 

Immediately, you lock eyes with Kenji, confused. 

“What for?”

He looks to the side and falters before saying,”For calling you out here. It’s really late.”

Your confused expression doesn’t leave your face. Instead, it deepens. Was he that worried about bothering you? That’s a surprise. If anything, you thought he was annoyed with you for being here. And, anyhow, regardless of how irritated you may have been when you first arrived, you know it’s a part of your job. It’s your job to take care of the team, overtime pay or not. 

“Don’t be sorry, Sato. If I seemed irritated, I apologize. It’s my job. You have a game tomorrow, so I understand.”

You then try to brighten the mood, just a little. “Besides, Shimura will have my head if you’re not fixed in time. I already don’t get paid much as is.”

You can see some of the guilt leave his eyes as his eyes twinkle in slight amusement. You smile slightly, lopsided. You resume your task, fitting the compression sleeve onto Kenji’s shoulder, securing it tight against his frame. 

“Take these painkillers and ice the area when you feel discomfort. Try not to sleep on your injured side, and let me know if something comes up,” you say, as you pack your things back into your bag, preparing to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you check your watch,”in about, uh, six hours anyway. Any questions?” You feel bad about the little time he has to rest.

Kenji slips his shirt back on, careful not to move his shoulder too much, before giving you a small smile. “No questions. Thanks…uh…”

He pauses to look at you, a questioning expression, before you realize. You look to the side in slight disbelief, although you kind of already expected this. He doesn’t remember your name. In slight exasperation, you tell him your name, softly, followed by your title, with a little more confidence. 

“If you can’t remember, just call me ‘physical therapist’. Or PT. For short, I guess.” You try to give a small laugh, even though you feel weirdly hurt by the suggestion (despite making it yourself). 

“No, no. I’ve got it. I’m sorry for not remembering.” Kenji purses his lips and gives you a serious look. For some reason, you believe him. You hold on to his unofficial promise, and you give him a small smile. 

“Alright, then. Since you’re good, I’m off. I’ll see you.”

You stand up, backpack in tow, and make your way to the front door. Although his house is impossibly large, it’s not hard to miss the enormous front door that’s a few steps past the living room. As you slip on your shoes and grab the door to leave, Kenji calls your name. 

Surprised, you turn to face him. “Yes, Sato?”

One hand scratches the back of his neck, while another’s tucked into his pocket. He looks at you with an expression you can’t read. 

“I’ll see you later.” He bids you farewell, your name hanging off his tongue. It’s tender, the way he says it. It’s not overly affectionate, but not formal either. You smile at him one last time and head out. 

You hear the door close behind you, and you let out a breath. It’s well past one, you’re exhausted, but, you think, the drive home won’t be that bad. 

---

I was so confused as to why wilson's big stupid puppy dog eyes looked familiar. and then it finally hit me

he got two for the price of one lol

a winning bet. ( robert chase x reader )

It was apparent to those who paid enough attention that Chase had feelings for you. Whenever he was distracted or particularly quiet during a diagnosis House would tease him about the 'sexy trauma surgeon,' and Chase would refrain from saying anything while Cameron and Foreman snickered. Neither could believe that you would ever date him.

Two months ago, neither did he, but here you were, enjoying lunch at a restaurant a short distance from the hospital. You covered your mouth as you laughed, placing your glass on the table.

Chase shook his head, "I'm serious! It's constant. I'm sick and tired of hearing about how we would never work out."

You took his hand, smiling softly. "We're working out great, aren't we? Who cares what other people think?"

Chase smiled slowly, "Well, yes, but - don't you think we should, you know? Tell people? It's been two months."

"Then they'll be cracking jokes and making innuendoes." You told him.

Chase moved his hand away, and you sighed when he sat straighter in his chair. "You don't want to tell them."

"Of course I do - "

"Then what's the problem?" He leaned forward, arms resting on the table.

"What if things don't work out? What if we let the world affect this little bubble, it bursts, and we hate each other? I don't want to hate you. I love you."

His eyes widened, a smile forming on his lips. It was the first time you had ever said I love you. And although he felt the same, he was worried that you wouldn't. House had a habit of getting into his head at the worst of times, and lately, he was living there rent-free.

"I love you too." He said, holding your hand. "And I want to be able to show it without the sneaking around."

You smiled bashfully, "I thought you were ashamed of me or something. I didn't want to lose this."

Chase looked at you seriously, "I would never be ashamed of you. And it was nice. Just us. But I want more." He squeezed your hand, and you smiled.

"Me too."

The following Monday, you entered the hospital, hand in hand, and you smiled when he kissed your hand, feeling your grip tighten due to the stares. "I'll see you at lunch." He told you. You smiled when he kissed your cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." You headed in opposite directions, knowing that everyone would be gossiping about you and Chase within the hour. But as you changed into scrubs, you realized there was an even greater thrill in outing your relationship than hiding it. You knew every nurse who gawked over him daily was envious of you, but you knew they only cared about his looks. Chase saved everything else for you.

You looked up from your paperwork, your smile turning into a confused frown when House took your pudding. "I lost fifty bucks because of you."

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking at Chase for answers when he appeared. "They made bets on whether we got together or not."

You nodded, looking at House with a grin. "Only fifty?"

He glared at you, though you knew he was amused as he walked away. Chase shook his head as he sat down. "Do you want to go for dinner? It's on me." He held up at least a hundred and fifty in bills, a smirk on his lips.

"You bet on us too?"

"Yeah. After we got together." He said, making you laugh.

Chase smiled, pocketing the money and taking your hands across the table. "How about dinner, wine, and a movie?"

You smiled, "Perfect." You told him.

"Just like you."

"Cheeseball." You smiled when he kissed your hand, smiling fondly as you tried to remember what you had been so worried about before.

HE'S SO CUTE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

blossoming adoration. (xiangli yao x rover!reader)

xiangli yao doesn’t pride himself on his intelligence. in fact, he doesn’t like it when other people treat him differently because of it. he’s the principal investigator of huaxu academy, that much is obvious, but he never demands any kind of special treatment for it. always so humble and gentle with everything he does, it's no wonder a lot of his colleagues admire him.

outside of his duties at the academy, xiangli yao is also the caretaker of the moontree lodge during the moon-chasing festival. however, he doesn’t want to take the credit for his own hardwork either. the smiles he gets to witness and the laughs that he’s fortunate to hear whenever he's able to fulfill someone’s wish are enough for him, he says. luckily, nobody else (aside from you) knows about this side hustle of his. most people have seen xiang-lee and patty but never him.

yes, he’s content with that. content with working behind the scenes.

so why is it different with you?

why does he get this sudden urge to show off his prowess in front of you?

when he showed you one of xiang-lee’s features, you immediately patted the floating robot’s head, much to his surprise. feeling flustered by the idea of you patting his head, he splutters. you manage to catch the ever so composed xiangli yao by surprise, what a feat.

“sorry, i couldn’t help it…” you chuckle awkwardly as you apologize, unsure if you offended him or not.

“ahem, it’s fine.” coughing into his hand, he feels his cheeks heat up. out of all the things he expects you to do, he didn't expect that one.

internally chastising himself, he finally regains his composure. xiangli yao looks at the screen in front of him while your radiant self looks back at him (well, at xiang-lee actually) with a smile, waiting for further instructions from his end. something about you draws him in. maybe it's your kindness? your humility? or maybe it's something else entirely. he can't draw concrete conclusions for now.

similar to the countless scientific theses he has studied, each individual is a complex enigma to him, you included. he wants to unravel the mystery that is you, but there's also something within his chest that threatens to swallow him whole. it's much more foreign than anything he has felt before.

the value of human connection has never been lost on him, and so he welcomes it.

even though he's hesitant to act on these newfound feelings of his (for now), he can’t help but stare at you for a few more seconds nonetheless. your eyes are captivating; your eyelashes accentuating them even more, he notes.

he thinks he can look at you forever.

he shakes off the thought hastily.

“hello? sol-3 to xiangli yao? are you there?” you wave your hand in front of xiang-lee.

“oh! yes, i am. the connection was unstable for a bit so i fixed it. i apologize if i worried you.” a little white lie here and there never hurt anybody sometimes, right? you don’t need to know how he’s acting like a school boy with a crush over you. not now, at least.

“good, i thought i lost you there for a moment.” you breath a sigh of relief.

maybe the next time you and him meet up again he should put a petal or a leaf on his head. will you remove it and pat his head the way that you did with xiang-lee then?

somehow, he finds himself entertaining that thought, fondly smiling to himself unknowingly.

note: HES SO CUTE GUYS.......... i love he.................. xiangli yao the shoujo man that you are........ while im not really much of a writer, i just had to whip up something short and sweet for him!!! ive already read his leaked stories and voicelines so i hope he wasnt too ooc in this lol if he is pls spare my feelings and look away /j

Secret Notes and Misunderstandings - Sugawara Kōshi x Reader

Pairing: Sugawara Kōshi x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 3 420 Warnings: Use of y/n, Tanaka and Noya Summary: You receive secret notes from someone. If only they were from your crush Suga A/N: I’m not really happy with the style of this one…

Masterlist

It had to be every schoolgirl’s dream, receiving cute notes written by a secret admirer, pushed into her locker every morning. And the notes were cute, they really were. Never creepy or offensive, just sweet.

It had started almost a month ago. One morning you had opened your locker, only to find a small note fluttering out. Not recognizing it, you had unfolded the paper that seemed to have been ripped from a Kanji exercise book. In an unfamiliar handwriting, using what seemed like a fine 0.3mm black ink pen, a few words had been scribbled down, making a smile pull at your lips.

“I’m too shy to tell you this in person, but your presentation on the United Nations yesterday was crazy good.”

You had folded the note back together, and placed it in your pencil case, where it made you smile every time you glanced at it.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Sugawara, your classmate, had grinned when he had passed you during lunch break on this way to the sink.

You had shrugged, your heart beating faster when you had realized that Suga had addressed you. The feeling that ran through your body at every interaction with him was so different from the feelings the note had sparked, so much better.

The notes had started that day, and there had not been one day of school since then, that there hadn’t been one shoved into your locker in the morning. Over time they had gotten more personal, leaving less and less doubt about the author’s attraction to you. He (and you knew it was a guy by the words he used), was never offensive or creepy, just plainly sweet, complimenting the hair clip you had worn the other day, or sometimes even admitting how he wished he would be brave enough to talk to you normally, without these notes.

And the more he revealed his own thoughts, his own insecurities and wishes, the more he revealed of his heart, the worse you felt. The notes were cute, sweet, and normally you would have been dying to know who went through all the effort just for your sake. Maybe you would have been trying to find out who it was and asked them out, just because you felt like after all the effort he had made, he deserved you take a risk too.

But no matter how much you wanted to feel excited and honoured by these notes, there was still Suga. Suga who was in the same class as you and your mysterious admirer, Suga who was working hard in every subject, who helped the other students when they struggled, who laughed loud and unashamedly in the breaks, who’s smile was warm like summer sun beams, even when it was only late February. So really it was Sugawara’s fault, you thought to yourself, that you couldn’t reciprocate the feelings these notes conveyed. If it weren’t for your stupid, stupid, unrequited crush on him, you’d have tried to get into contact with the author of these notes weeks ago. But your heart was hopelessly hung up on someone else, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to let these feelings go.

So, when you stared down on what had to be the boldest note yet, you felt a little sick.

"I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you to sit with me for lunch for weeks now, but every time I think about getting up and asking you, I get so nervous that I can't even think properly anymore. Maybe I’ll ask you tomorrow. I want to make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. What do you think?"

The nervousness of the author as he had written these words and then pushed the note into your locker was basically seeping out of the paper into your hands, pleading you to be as nervous about him as he was about you. But instead, you knew he was just setting himself up for heartbreak. This had to stop. Now. You had allowed this boy to bring up his hopes for far too long now. You had to end this. Even if it would hurt him. Even when you would feel awful for breaking his heart.  But it was better to end this now than to have him work up the courage to face you and then tell it into his face.

Although he did deserve a gentle let down, he didn’t deserve to torture himself before it. So, after your last class, you ripped out a page of your notebook and grabbed one of your pens. During class, between paying attention to the teachers’ words and the way Suga was bouncing his leg under the table on the other side of the classroom, you had mentally prepared what you wanted to write.

“Dear friend, thank you very much for all the notes over the past weeks. I have enjoyed reading them, but I’m sorry to tell you that I can’t reciprocate your feelings. I already have someone I like, and it wouldn’t be fair to let you keep hoping I will return your feelings. In fact, I should have told you this a lot sooner, and I’m sorry for the pain I’m causing you now. Let this be the last exchange.”

You had been tempted to add words of reassurance or comfort, but you were worried they might make him hope against hope that you would eventually return his feelings. When the last class was over, you used a thin strip of washi-tape and stuck the note to your locker so it was blocking the little gap in the door. This way the note couldn’t possibly go unnoticed by whoever had sent you the others.

The next morning rolled around, and you were almost nervous, when you took off your shoes and placed them in the rack, going to your locker to grab your books for the day. The note you had stuck to its door the day prior was gone, and you already feared someone else might have removed it, but when you opened the locker, no new note came sailing out. You were almost a little disappointed. But you had asked him to stop writing, so you had gotte what you wanted. This was for the best. Let him be disappointed or maybe even a little heartbroken, and by next week he would have moved on.

When you entered the classroom, you found, much to your surprise, that yesterday’s note hadn’t been the last. Instead, someone had placed two wrapped onigiri on your table, and a note underneath. Up until now, the paper had always been torn neatly out of notebooks, the signs evenly paced and written with precision. This time, even though it was the by now familiar handwriting, the page seemed to have been ripped out in haste, the words smeared over the paper, smudging the ink.

“I already made these, and I thought you should have them. If you don’t want them, leave them on the desk during lunch break and I’ll take them back. This is my last note. Thanks for your honesty.”

You bit your lip, staring down at the paper. You could tell his hand had shaken when he had written this note. While nervousness had seeped out of the other notes, this one seemed to ooze pain. He’ll get over it, you thought to yourself, over me.

Quickly you crumbled the note in your hand, pushing the onigiris to the edge of the table, not intending to eat them. With a few steps you made your way to the paper basked, discarding the final note of your secret admirer. On your way back to your desk, your eyes skipped over to where Suga was sitting, as always when you got the chance.

He sat backsided on a chair, arms crossed over the backrest, chin propped on his lower arm. He had taken off his jacket, leaving him in the short sleeved, white button-up of the uniform. Warm spring sunlight flitted in through the window, catching in his silver hair and making it gleam like star light. He looked angelic, you thought to yourself. Even though Daichi was telling him something, and laughing at his side, Suga barely seemed to listen, his gaze absentmindedly directed into the distance. He looked pale, you realized, pale and tired. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sick in the last weeks of the school year.

Suddenly his gaze drew away from wherever he had stared of to, and directed itself to you instead. You felt like your heart almost stopped at the way his coffee brown eyes bore into you, and feeling your cheeks heat up, you lifted your hand to wave at him with a smile. Instead of returning the gesture, he only seemed to tense, before tearing his eyes away from you and sitting up, saying something to Daichi instead.

Confused at his unusual reaction, you walked back to your seat, sitting down. The onigiri in front of you seemed to mock you, and far more frequent than usually your gaze flickered over to Suga during the day. His mood didn’t seem to better though, and in fact it grew only grimmer when he caught you staring at him once.

You were not the only one who seemed to pick up on his unusual behaviour, because as the bell rang for lunch break, you overheard Daichi ask him if everything was okay. Suga only answered he was fine, even though he sounded upset and annoyed, but the rest of the conversation got drowned out by the voices of other students.

Like every day, you left the classroom at the beginning of lunchbreak to refill your bottle at the water fountain in the hallway. Today you made sure to take an extra few minutes; hopefully giving the author of the notes you had received enough time to retrieve the onigiri from your desk. And sure enough, by the time you returned to the classroom, they were gone.

The rest of the day went by without any other incidents, unless one counted Suga’s terrible mood. Even across the classroom it seemed to rub off on you. Originally you had wanted to pay closer attention to the other boys, trying to see if anyone’s behaviour differed from usually which might give them away as the author of the messages, but instead your focus was entirely on Suga and what you could do to cheer him up.

When the last class ended, and you still hadn’t thought of anything useful to say to Suga, you just opted for a wave and a smile, as you usually did, bidding him goodbye before heading off to your club. But unlike all the other days, he ignored you completely, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and your heart heavy.

It was already growing dark outside when you hasted through the corridors of the school again. Your club had finished only a few minutes ago, when you had remembered there was a book you needed for homework, so you were on your way back to the lockers. You had almost reached them, when suddenly the voices of two students made you stop.

“He explicitly said not to get involved,” the one nagged.

“But have you seen him? Can you really just stand by and watch him suffer like that,” the other voice replied.

Carefully you snuck around the last corner, finding two boys standing in front of your locker. Even in the dim light you could make out the one’s buzzcut and the other’s unruly hair. They were both in the year below you, you realized, and members of the volleyball team, teammates of Suga’s. The one with the unruly hair was trying to push a piece of paper through the gap below the door into your locker.

You were about to ask them what they were up to. After all, neither of them couldn’t have been the one writing the notes you had received; that person was in your class. You knew that from the references to your classwork he had been making.

“You know, he’s gonna hate you when he finds out you got involved.”

“So what, let him hate me! As long as he gets his girl! (Y/n) just has to give him a second chance!”

“Who am I supposed to give a second chance,” you asked out loud, stepping out from behind the corner.

The two boys jumped in surprise as your presence, the one with the unruly hair, quickly hiding a piece of paper behind his back.

“Well, you see, the thing is our set-,” he started, immediately receiving a harsh nudge from his friend.

“And what were you trying to push into my locker,” you added. Usually you were not very intimidating, but being a year older than them had its perks: they had to respect you. Demanding, you held out your hand.

The boy with the blond streak in this dishevelled hair shot his friend a side glance before stepping forward and dropping the paper into your outstretched hand.

“Have you been the ones putting notes into my locker,” you asked.

“Yes, well, no. Maybe. Sometimes,” the boy with the buzzcut answered. Tanaka, you remembered.

“What is it now. Have you or have you not?”

“Sometimes,” the other one – Nuka? Nayo? Noya? Oh yes, Noya was his name – answered. “Sometimes we delivered them for our friend, when you had club late and there was the chance of you running into Su-“

He got interrupted by another shove between his ribs. He coughed.

Biting your lip, you twirled the paper between your fingers. You could find out who had sent you all these notes, you realized. You just had to ask now. Tanaka would probably be quiet, but Noya seemed eager to make you like whoever had sent them to deliver them. But did you want to know? Did you really want to go to class tomorrow, look at the person who had written these notes and pretend you didn’t know?

“Please,” Tanaka interrupted your thoughts. “Can’t you give our friend a chance? We know you like someone else, but you’ll forget about that guy in no time, I promise! Our friend is like- he’s the best guy there is really. He’s smart, and patient, and funny-”

“Charming, good-looking, athletic,” Noya continued. “A little chaotic sometimes maybe, but he has like the biggest heart-”

You shook your head. “Listen guys, Tanaka-kun, Noya-kun. I appreciate your effort and I know you just want to see your friend happy, but as I already wrote him: there is someone else I like, and it wouldn’t be right to let your friend hope that my feelings will change eventually. That’s just not fair.”

“But you should’ve seen him today during practice,” Noya continued. “He was not himself! He was devastated! And Suga’s ready to let you walk away because he respects you, but I- we think-”

“Wait, wait,” you lifted your hands in the air, signalling him to stop talking. Your heart was racing. “Say that again.”

“He respects you and-”

“No, you said his name,” you disagreed.

The boys exchanged glances.

“He’ll kill you,” Tanaka mumbled to Noya.

“Did you say Suga,” you asked.

Their silence was answer enough.

All this time you had wanted Suga to notice you and all this time it had been him who had sent you these notes? And then you had rejected him? Was that why he had been so pale today, why he hadn’t smiled at you today? Because you had rejected him, not even knowing who you had rejected? Your heart dropped and the floor felt like it was giving way beneath your feet. You had to fix that. Somehow you had to fix this stupid, stupid situation.

“Do you have a pen?”

Tanaka rummaged around in his pocket, before handing you a blunt pencil. You took it anyway. Unfolding the paper you had taken from Noya, you placed it against the closest locker, flipping it to its empty side.

“What’s Suga’s favourite onigiri filling,” you asked, glancing at Tanaka and Noya from over your shoulder.

“Salmon,” they answered at the same time without hesitation.

You furrowed your brows. “Are you sure?”

“We talked about it just the other day,” Tanaka assured you.

“He said, he likes them because you like them,” Noya added. You exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh. This sounded so much like something Suga would say.

Putting the pen down, you began writing.

“Noya and Tanaka ranted you out. Don’t be mad at them, I made them tell me. Let’s eat lunch together. I’ll make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. We can eat outside under the plum tree. The blossoms are your favourite, aren’t they?”

Quickly, before you could change your mind, you folded the paper, and pushed it into Suga’s locker, making the two boys exchange wide eyed glances.

“What did you write,” they asked excitedly as you returned to your locker to retrieve the book you had come here for.

“Are you giving him a second chance?”

“You’ll see,” you answered with a smile.

The next morning, Suga was already sitting in the classroom when you entered, like he did every morning. When he saw you sitting down behind your own desk, he quickly exchanged a few words with Daichi, before walking over.

Pink was dusting his cheeks, the colour almost matching that of the plum blossoms outside. He was nervous, you could tell, fiddling around with a piece of paper between his fingers. Watching him walk over, your own pulse spiked. Yesterday you had been filled with confidence when you had written the note, but today it all seemed unreal. That was until he dropped the small piece of paper on the desk in front of you, leaning against the table.

For a moment you looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes nervous but also filled with warmth as he glanced down to you, then you reached for the paper. He had rolled it into a tight scroll, probably an act of nervosity while he had waited for you. For the first time the note didn’t contain any words, only a doodled Smilie. The smile on your face was instantaneous, and quickly you looked back up to Suga, who was full on blushing now.

“I know, I said I’d stop it with the notes, but…” he shrugged bashfully, making you laugh quietly.

“No, that’s okay,” you let him know.

“I do gotta ask though- not that I’m complaining, just curious – what changed your mind?”

He’s still smiling, but you could hear the insecurity in his voice as well.

Inhaling deeply, you settled for the truth. “Turned out the guy I rejected was actually the guy I was rejecting him for.”

Suga just furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What I mean is,” you shuffled in your seat a little, wondering if the words would come any easier if you sat differently or if Suga weren’t nailing you to the chair with the intensity with which he was considering you now. “You’re the guy I was talking about in that note, the person I like. I didn’t know you were also the person sending me these notes.”

Finally, the last bit of hesitation seemed to melt away from Suga. “Lucky then, that I like you, too,” he teased, making your heart stutter and his cheeks tint an even deeper pink. “Sooo, are we eating lunch together?"

You nodded. “I made onigiri, like promised. Is salmon really your favourite filling?”

Suga laughed. “Yeah, it is. Always has been, since I was little.”

He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by the teacher, calling the beginning of the class.

Quickly he pushed away from your desk, winking at you mischievously. This Suga was so very different from the disappointed, heartbroken Suga from yesterday. You knew exactly which one you preferred. He turned around and hurried back to his desk, but not before dropping another note to your table, this one folded several times.

As the teacher began the class, you quickly unfolded the paper under your desk, reading the few words Suga had written down. This time they were a lot neater than the note he had left with the rejected onigiri the day prior.

“I mean it. I really like you too.”

And underneath he had drawn a tiny, almost hesitant doodle of a heart.

spring thief — xiangli yao x f!rover

(listen to this song while you're reading)

Peach blossoms usually sprout small buds.

A tiny, fragile thing. In spring when the tree blooms, its petals are perched on its branches, enclosed like hands in prayer. Sometimes they stay there, sometimes they fall onto the ground. When they do, awaiting hands always catch them, careful not to break them open.

While others believe its fragility is its downfall, only a few know of its true essence; waiting for the season when its pretty petals would open, the sweet smell dancing in the air. Xiangli Yao is no stranger to such occurrences, being a genius not only in the automotive field, but also in the nature of things. Watching a particular thing, glancing at sleepy eyes under the shade.

Like the peach blossom buds, somehow, you were there, too—waiting.

In the afternoon haze, a golden hour shade over the Academy, Xiangli Yao notices your sleeping figure.

Buried in the heaps of scrolls and papers, your head rested on your arms as you tried to nap. Albeit your workspace is plastered by the window overlooking the ocean, the blooming peach blossom as your source of shade—a good place for productivity, you claimed, being in touch with nature and your workplace—a few rays of sunshine still caresses your cheeks.

In hindsight, you looked like you were working hard with your head down. But between the Principal Investigator and you, the esteemed Rover of Jinzhou, you both knew it was far from that—a lazy weekday afternoon away from the pressure.

“I don't think you're faring any better,” Xiangli Yao chuckles at your nth attempt to block out the sun with the heaps of paperwork, “Shouldn't you move to another place, maybe, away from this?”

Fluttering your eyes open slowly, you pouted as you watch him lean to your predicament. “No...I don't want Baizhi to examine me again.”

“So you resorted to doing my paperwork.”

“Mhm...”

“...to which you tried to sleep on it.”

“Sorry!” You scrambled to sit up, tired eyes fighting to close again, “I promise I didn't drool over them.”

But Xiangli Yao gently places his hand over your head, lightly lowering it down back to the desk. “Honestly I don't mind, even if you drooled over them. Go back and take a nap.”

Helplessly, you followed his instruction, allowing yourself to relax in his hold. By the time your head had completely nestled back in your arms, you watched Xiangli Yao mimic your actions in the opposite direction. Resting his head on his robotic one, he tilts his head to meet your eyes.

“...Huh?”

Purple eyes glint in amusement. “I figured I'd share Mortefi's rage with you.”

You burst into fits of giggles. “Really? I thought you hated being scolded by Mortefi.”

Reflecting your joy, his smile makes his eyes close. “There are far more important things other than this paperwork.”

Using his free hand, he boops your nose. “Your sleep, for example.”

A comforting conversation between good friends. That was what you were to each other; despite the science of the unknown being in the way, Xiangli Yao guides you through it all, while you were there to be his muse in finding answers.

“I can't recall my sleep being as important as your paperwork.”

“Didn't you say Doctor Baizhi is preparing to examine you again?”

“I do, but I really just want a small break for now,” a small whine escapes your lips, “It hasn't been a week since the Moon-chasing festival.”

“True,” He hums, “Oh, it wasn't enough for you?”

Shifting your position so your chin is rested on your propped arm, you shake your head. “Of course not. I had so much fun...”

Your mind fondly remembers the event—bright lights, the moon, loud laughter, and the warmth of a familiar hand. Trailing to meet the same purple eyes in your memory, ones that looked at you, mirroring you.

At some point, before you could even say anything else, there was an irregular knock behind you. Looking back, you watched the peach blossoms sway with the wind as they fall to the ground, the flurry of flowers turns into a storm. Bracing yourself from the impact, you quickly try to shield the both of you, but a warm hand stops you.

“Oh, it must be time.” Xiangli Yao speaks as if this occurrence was something natural.

Looking back at him, you said, “Are you sure this isn't a storm?”

“It's pretty normal, to me at least.” He shrugs, “If you think about it, was there anything normal in Solaris-3 at this point?”

He makes sense. Relaxing in his hold, you mutter, “But still, it's so new to me.”

“I've always seen it happen whenever it's almost summer.” Xiangli Yao stands up and approaches the window. The flurry of flowers is still there. “It means that it's coming.”

Opening the window, the fresh scent of the tree almost drowns you. A few small petals and buds enter through the opening, landing on your lap and hands. Watching the man in front of you catch a few flowers in his robotic hand, a fond look in his gaze.

“Have you ever heard of the story of how trees, even as old as this one, can still bloom despite the years?”

Gently taking the buds in your hand, you glanced at the man, “No, what was it about?”

“Jinzhou may be young, but the trees have long been around even before its birth. And they only knew of our ancestors' love, a love that resonated so long, that it echoes even until now.”

Some buds and petals litter your hand. There was a tiny one, resting not too far from your pinky finger, so you pick it up. “And...?”

“My mother tells me that the reason why the peach trees here still continue to bloom,” He sighs, before a smile graces his lips, “It's because of love.”

The buds in your lap, as if listening to Xiangli Yao's words, slowly bloom in your touch. In awe, you continue to touch the blossoming buds, the tacet mark in your hand slightly glowing, “My mother believes that the resonator who can make the flowers bloom is a 'spring thief'.”

All of the buds in your lap have fully bloomed. Yet, the tiniest one in your hand hasn't. You triy to touch it, in every angle, but still, it hasn't. You look up to see Xiangli Yao's tacet mark in his robotic arm glow. The words are clear to you.

“The harbinger of summer. But they should also be driven with the same motivation for it to happen.”

Purple eyes find yours when he turns on his back. Walking toward you, Xiangli Yao kneels in front of you, reaching out for the one in your hand.

“The 'Spring Thief' has to be in love, too.”

With your combined touch, the tiniest bud blooms, with the sweetest smell and being the prettiest among them all. And Xiangli Yao, like that night, looks at you—fondly, softly, and only you.

Have you ever looked at Xiangli Yao this way? Have you ever noticed how pretty he was, drenched in the golden hour glow, the flurry of blossoms dancing outside? The sun's rays mimic a tacet cord, haloing over his head, capturing his face like an angel. Perhaps he is an angel, having spent his mortal days walking on Earth. And his words, honey and true, have long been clear to you.

“I-” The words choke you, but still you can't look away.

“I'm not asking for your immediate answer, [Y/N].” He brightly muses, “In any case, I'm sure that summer is coming.”

Taking your hand in his, bringing it to his sweet lips, he whispers, “The 'Spring Thief' has come to bring summer once more.”

Peach Blossoms have the sweetest bloom this season.

I'm down bad for this man, I love him

COME HOME OKAY??? I LOVE YOU XIANGLI YAO

p.s. I had a dream of my potential crush so this scenery was the inspo

— starry