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"i'd choose you."

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, xiao, kazuha, al haitham, ayato, heizou, albedo, scaramouche, childe, diluc, kaeya, itto, gorou, thoma, tighnari, cyno

◇ tags ◇ fluff, you and [character] are so in love with each other it’s making me get cavities ouchies, hint of reincarnation!au in zhongli's ;)

◇ a/n ◇ wrote something similar to this in the past for a different fandom, but i love the prompt so much i had to do it again, this time with the genshin men <3

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

❝ 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮; 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐈'𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞

⟣— the chaos of stars ⫘ kiersten white

albedo barely looks fazed at your sudden declaration, and although he gives you his usual calm smile, you can see the warmth in his clear eyes and the way he stares at you as if you’re the loveliest thing in teyvat (which, in his opinion, you are) “𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.”

al haitham chuckles in amusement, as if he finds your words illogical - though you don't miss the redness that floods the tips of his ears that says otherwise. he brings your forehead closer until they touch, piercing greens staring right at your soul, “𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨? 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.”

ayato’s eyebrows quirks up, a soft smile growing on his lips like freshly blooming camellias. he laughs under his breath before reaching out to your hand and intertwining your fingers in a tight, reassuring grip, "𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬.”

childe’s breath hitches - he was not expecting anything like that coming from you when you called his name. caught off guard, pink dusted his cheeks and he gives you a shy grin, a shy laugh, and a shy look as he brings up one of his hands, jutting the last of his fingers, eyes shining with hope, “𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞?”

cyno blinks and falls into a contemplative silence. you can hear the gears turning in his brain as he tries to deduce if he has to read further into your words, but one look at the determination in your eyes makes him break into a gentle smile, his arms pulling you close as he deposits a kiss between your brows, “𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧? 𝐢'𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝?”

diluc thinks he can combust into fire right then and now; it’s a struggle for him to remain composed, as the color of his face gradually shifts to match the color of his hair. in an attempt to preserve his dignity, he brings one hand to your cheek and gives you what he hopes is a suave smile (though from your perspective they look more like a lovesick grin), “𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝.”

gorou’s tail begins to do a 360 at maximum speed, it’s a wonder how he hasn’t flown off the ground by this point. his ears twitch and he shifts on his legs, hopeful green eyes searching for something in yours, “𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲? 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢-𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮! 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫!”

heizou swiftly turns his momentary surprise into his signature teasing smirk. although, if you look closely enough his hands are slightly trembling as he cups your cheeks to plant a kiss onto your nose, “𝐦𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞~”

itto blinks and takes a while to process your words, but when he does, he replies to your confession with a massive grin and determined oni eyes, fangs bared as he flexes his muscles as if it’s something that will help him in his conquest to win your heart first (it probably will), “𝐨𝐡, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧?! 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ‘𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢’𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧!!”

kaeya chokes on his spit, eyes blinking rapidly as he stares at you. my, it seems that you’ve managed to catch him off guard by your sudden confession. the navy blue-haired cavalry captain clears his throat, his eyes gleaming, as he gives you a trembling grin and a laugh, before leaning your foreheads to each other, “𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭…. 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, [𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞].”

kazuha smiles wider and closes his eyes to savor the happiness enveloping his chest. his hand seeks yours to place a loving kiss on the back of your palm, and his voice is just as filled with adoration, if not a tad breathless, “𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝.”

scaramouche rolls his eyes at your cheesy words and crosses his arms in mock irritation; just as he always does whenever you show him the slightest bit of affection at first. but his tone is far too soft and quiet when he replies, and he makes no attempt to move away when you pout and cling to him. “𝐡𝐦𝐩𝐡. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞.” “𝐰𝐡-𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞?! 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞-”

thoma gapes and embarrassingly squeaks, to which he silences by slapping a hand over his mouth. he has to avoid your eyes for a while to collect himself, but even when he finally feels brave enough to properly look at you, he’s still scratching his blushing cheek, a shy smile threatening to break to a silly grin on his lips, “𝐚-𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲? 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬…. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰…”

tighnari tilts his head and cocks one of his eyebrows upwards, tall ears twitching and fluffy tail swishing slowly behind him. somehow you’re the one who’s getting embarrassed now, and he watches in amusement as you start stumbling over your excuses, trying to escape. “𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬…,” with a chuckle, his arms wound around you and he nuzzles his face onto your neck, “… 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜 𝐟𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

xiao gasps audibly and looks away, reds creeping up his neck to fully envelop his whole face. his eyes are glassy when he finds the courage to return your patiently waiting gaze, and though his voice is shaky you can feel the resolve in each and every word, “𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭.”

zhongli’s eyes droop into soft honey full of warmth and joy as he sees the sincerity in your whole being the moment those words leave your lips. as he pulls you into a passionate kiss, you think you hear him replying in a hushed voice - “𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐝, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐨, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.”

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @paintingsofdragonspine | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @clovcly

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THE VANISHING MOON ┊ TSUKISHIMA KEI

tags: GN reader, post timeskip, exes to lovers, fluff, emotional hurt + comfort, reader is a writer, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, getting back together, kisses, weddings, previous ‘mutual’ breakup, happy ending

wc: 4.2K

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

The first time you picked up a pen with the intention to write you’d been looking for a specific someone. To pour love into and be loved by. Conjured from the recesses of your mind, a soft smile from the boy you liked, one prepared to whisk you away from the converging angst that came with your adolescence.

In later years you looked inward, searching for yourself. To satiate your loneliness through self introspection. Ink blotted fingers working arduously at the knots that make up the soul. Knots that were once straight rope, simple and without weak points. And when you failed to love yourself you turned outward, exploring the web that made up the world.

You saw that other people loved stories, too. That there would always be at least one which speaks to them in some way and stays with them. You coveted that reality; to be something another person could love, and look back on with fondness. For your words to strike such a chord that they’d become part of another’s tapestry. To live on. Never again be forgotten, even if it means being an echo of something.

That yearning accompanies you up the cobbled footpath. The crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline. “Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Arms sticky with perspiration, leg muscles tingling in exertion after walking the steep hill.

The reception venue sits on the end of a private road, concealed by threadbare canopy. Under an open sky there lay every shade and stroke of colour. Dappled sunlight casts shadows across the grass and your eyes are drawn to them.

“Wow is right. They’ve done an incredible job,” Sugawara airs his appreciation as he walks at your side. His voice is awed, and his cheeks are red. “I can’t believe they managed it. Karumai Gardens are notoriously stingy for booking events”.

The wedding invitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Remaining some of your closest friends, Kiyoko and Tanaka had already confirmed your attendance long before the formal invites were sent out. You even found yourself on the end of multiple phone calls over the months assisting a panicked Tanaka with writing and rewriting his vows.

Despite that, your stomach roiled at the invitation on your kitchen counter, and your heart crawled up into your throat. Because suddenly it was too real.

Everybody would be there.

Tsukishima would be there.

You’ve been a high strung for most of the day, hyper vigilant to the point of fraying. The ceremony was beautiful. Kiyoko looked ethereal draped in her white lace gown, a delicate veil cascading down her back and rippling down the aisle as she walked. Tanaka was striking in his dark blue suit and embroidered waistcoat. Sitting at the forefront, you remained steadfast in your ignorance of Tsukishima’s scrunity and dabbed at your face as you cried.

You missed having his attention. Missed the subtle stroke of his sharp gold eyes across every part of you as though it were Tsukishima’s hands themselves. A scant, cowardly part of you considered not attending the reception, grateful that he hadn’t approached you yet. If he would at all. Kei could be unbearably prideful about these things. But what do you know?

Nothing. After all this time you probably know nothing at all.

“I think he wants to talk to you,” Sugawara says, drawing your focus to the present. “It’s obvious he’s missed you”.

You edge past the increasingly dense foliage with intent, your fingertips outstretched to brush the near-blooming plants. “Who?” you ask. Sugawara’s grin turns wry and he threads his arm through yours.

“So petty,” he murmurs, patting your bicep. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But he’s single, and has been staring at you all day. I thought I should mention it”.

“Well you’ve mentioned it,” you return without true malice, squeezing him back. Sugawara’s lips parted in a sigh, and for a brief second, you saw a wistful expression beneath the lighthearted veneer. It stirs unease in your chest and you add, “I just don’t want to make a scene”.

“You really think that’s what it’ll come to?”

Memories unearthed from the deep recesses of your mind. Packed away into tight spaces and left to collect dust where they can’t hurt you. They awaken easily, triggered by a simple question, and with such clarity that you wonder if you ever forgot them at all.

Soft, deliberate touches. Long, warm embraces, swallowed up by his large frame. Graceless laughter—the ugly kind that makes your stomach hurt. Languorous kisses, biting kisses, chaste kisses, clumsy kisses. Good morning and good night kisses. Bickering over breakfast. Bickering over dinner. Wandering, calloused hands. Pressure behind two fingers, splitting you like soft fruit. A sharp tongue and sharper words. Holding hands in bed, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid he might float away in the night.

Life became busier than either of you expected. Kei landed an opportunity to play for a division two team in the V league alongside his work at the Sendai city museum. Your publisher's demands increased. Kei’s priorities shifted. Resentment crept in. He started to forget things. Small promises and favours, like getting the grocery’s or making it home for date night. They felt so significant at the time—things you deemed indicative of his commitment to you, without communicating as such.

Fractures formed in your relationship. You ignored them in favour of keeping the peace, hoping to address them when the timing was better. Only with hindsight can you say that was the wrong choice. The fractures contracted, expanded until it grew into a yawning cavity with one of you standing either side of it. A slow decay.

“No. No, it wouldn’t,” you tell Sugawara. Tsukishima has never been a shining paragon of virtue but he wouldn't do anything to disrupt Tanaka’s wedding. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen him since…”

Sugawara hums his acknowledgment. You’re adrift as he guides you into the venue holding the wedding reception, welcomed into a kaleidoscope of colour. Carefully crafted floral arrangements line the hall. Half of the building is a greenhouse conversion, and natural light filters in through the high, arching ceilings, illuminating the dance floor. You take in the surroundings as your senses are enveloped by the pleasant din.

“Look, there’s Yachi and Nishinoya,” Sugawara tugs on your arm and calls out, “Yachi! Noya!”

Nishinoya crowed, leaping forward to gather you and Sugawara into a blistering hug. Barely two extra inches on him yet larger than you remember, skin kissed by the sun and his hair handsomely coiffed. His waistcoat creases awkwardly with the stretch of his body while you sink into his warmth and feel your cheeks ache.

“Man, I feel like I could scale a mountain! It’s so good to see you guys again,” Nishinoya reclines to get a look at you both and firmly takes you by the shoulders. “You have a lot to answer for,” he says with mock seriousness.

“I do?” you laugh, skull knocking side to side as he shakes you.

“I read your book on the plane”.

Your laughter putters out. You grimace and clear your throat, “Oh—really?”

“Most of us have. We wanted to support you properly,” Yachi admits as she steps forward to hug you. She’s smiling when she pulls away, faint laughter lines deepening.

Sugawara nods and pokes at your waist, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It was amazing”.

“It made me cry!” Nishinoya effuses. He sniffs, and to your mortification he looks like he might burst into tears again. “There was this one line—gah, no! I can’t talk about it. Get over here, I need to hug you again”.

“Thank you, Noya-san,” you wheeze at the arms constricting around your midsection, eyes clenched shut to repress the impending sting. You turn your head, nose knocking against his temple as you peer at the others. “Thank you all. I mean it”.

Yachi squirms, her smile quivering. “I’m really happy you made it today,” she says once you’ve been released. The unyielding pressure of Nishinoya’s embrace lingers like two phantom limbs. “You too, Nishinoya-san”.

“It’s amazing you’re upright. I thought for sure the jet lag would get to you,” Sugawara laughs. He utters a quick apology to the server passing with a tray of drinks. “Didn’t you fly in from Barcelona?”

“Yeah. Should’a been heading to Andorra but I wouldn’t miss my bro’s wedding for the world,” Nishinoya’s voice drifts as his eyes follow the alcohol. He plucks a glass in one swift motion and holds it high, “Salut I força al canut!”

Yachi watches him throw back the drink with poorly veiled anxiety. “Ah, speaking of, we should find our seats. It looks like the cake cutting is starting soon”.

“Good call. We’re getting in the way of the preparations. And I think you’ve left Asahi alone for too long,” Sugawara claps Nishinoya on the shoulder. “Looks like he’s been accosted by Saeko-san”.

Nishinoya pivots on his heel, whip-like and buzzing. You’re not sure which name he reacted to more. Asahi or Saeko. “Where?” his gaze locks in on the pair across the room. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit!”

Gone in a blink. “He never slows down,” Sugawara sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Guess that’s my cue,” he says before parting ways. Yachi waves after them.

An idea strikes you then. “Say, Yacchan. You’re next to me, right?” you glance toward the long tables set up around the dance floor and meet her gaze with a suggestive smile. “Would you want to sit next to Yamaguchi instead? I don’t mind swapping”.

Their relationship had blossomed over the past few months. A long, slow burn finally come to fruition, new enough that mention of it usually makes her turn pink. But the light in her eyes dims at your suggestion, and rather than flustered, Yachi looks uncertain.

Her fingers form a loose clasp around your forearm. “Tadashi is seated next to Tsukishima,” she explains gingerly. You feel yourself freeze and the kind motion of her thumb strokes circles along the inside of your wrist.

You let out a shaky exhale. “That’s okay. I don’t mind,” you tell her before the consequences of what you’re offering can really be cemented. Yachi’s eyes widen, her grip tighter on your hand as you squeeze back in an attempt at reassurance, knowing your smile looks brittle. “It’s probably for the best. We haven’t… talked yet”.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure”.

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Hitoka,” you laugh, bumping your shoulders together. “I promise I’ll survive”.

You regret it not two minutes later.

Anticipation fizzes under your skin as you spot him. On approach you give him a cursory look over, the harsh beat of your heart ricocheting in your chest. Tsukishima looks good—he always does, but today, dressed in his dark, double breasted suit, with the golden hour light carding fingers through his neatly styled hair, you think he’s never looked better.

It is disconcerting to see him again and realise that your feelings haven’t changed much in the slightest.

You sit in the chair beside him. You see his spine draw taut in the corner of your eye and feel an oscillating loneliness; so alike those final few weeks together that cold dread seeps between the spaces in your ribs and steals your breath.

“Tsukishima,” you incline your head, impersonal and cautious, hating how foreign his surname is on your tongue.

A beat passes before he repeats your name in greeting, soft as a psalm despite the dour expression on his face. You’re overcome with the urge to poke the uncomfortable crease in his brow. To smooth it out and kiss the skin there, the way you used to do.

You shift in your seat. The arms curve around your midsection and knock against your elbows as you fiddle with the table cloth, “I told Yacchan that Yamaguchi could have my seat so they can sit together. I hope that’s alright”.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” and you know the clipped answer is reflexive by the way his jaw locks in frustration at himself. Bracing for what you’ll say next.

Only, your mouth curls up a little, and you exhale a short laugh through your nose. You haven’t seen him this skittish since your first year of highschool. You consider that maybe you aren’t the only one who’s scared. That things are the same and they are not the same. The thought is bittersweet, but it’s nice, the way his trepidation gives way to muted awe, how he sends you sidelong glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

The music picks up in a grand crescendo as the newlyweds enter the hall and the reception begins with a raucous applause. A rich aroma unfurls as the food is served, the depth of the flavour layering over the already present notes of wildflower and honey. Drinks are handed to the guests. Generously. You swirl the liquid gold around the rim of your glass, luxuriating in the syrupy inebriation of a gently oaked chardonnay.

“So, uh. How’ve you been?”

Tsukishima, to his credit, does not startle at the question. “Fine,” he says, and you think he might leave it at that when he adds, “The museum received another new Crinoid collection last month, so I’ve been preoccupied”.

You grasp at the conversational thread, not wanting him to stop, “Crinoids?”

“Marine animals. They still exist today, though not as common. You might’ve heard of sea lilies and feather stars,” he shrugs halfheartedly, not daring to look away from his deep fried tofu, though it’s clear he can’t help talking about his work with pride. “Ours are from the Triassic period”.

“Just like the, uh—” you click your fingers to conjure the name from thin air “—Gojirasaurus! Your favourite, right?”

Tsukishima pauses. It’s a fleeting thing, but you notice. The corner of his lips curves into a barely-there smile. He seems pleased that you remembered. You busy your hands with repositioning the cutlery a fourth time so maybe, hopefully, you can distract yourself enough not to say something stupid like: “If I visit, will you show it to me?” or “Do you miss me, like I miss you?”

You clear your throat. “I hear the Sendai Frogs have been doing well, too. Congratulations on moving up to division one”.

Those aureate eyes are sliding to you again, bright and searching. Tsukishima arches his brow in a delicate mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was sixteen and even more so now. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

There’s mirth trickling into his voice, giving it a familiar smarmy lilt. A wave of emotion washes over you. Embarrassment and heart-twisting-happiness. You shove some rice into your mouth and chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “No. I read about it in the latest Volleyworld issue,” you reply unconvincingly.

“You don’t read Volleyworld”.

“How would you know that?”

Tsukishima takes a shallow breath and nods. The warm gloam of late afternoon mellows his taut features. “I’ve been reading too,” he says after another sip of wine. “I saw you finally published your book”.

Dread seized the inner workings of your mind and the apology on the tip of your tongue curdles. Time ticks by, one sickening second after another. Your eyes dip low to avoid his gaze—which for some reason, he refused to direct anywhere else.

Your recollection of the break up itself was hazy at best. There had been no raised voices, no desperate movie-esque kiss, no slammed doors. Only grief filling your body like lead, and jumbled, half-hysterical thoughts of ‘Is this it? Are we giving everything up, just like that?’

You remember everything that followed, though. The inability to accept reality. It is said if a writer falls in love, that love can never die. And so you kept writing, and writing, and writing; perceiving love through different lenses, creating different endings; relying on metaphors of natural forces and disasters, of cannibalism and gluttony, of journeys and patience to make sense of it all. Six months after everything fell apart you completed the final draft of ‘The Vanishing Moon’, dedicating a final testimony to him in small print on the first page.

Given the choice, I would’ve rather had you at my side than any one of these words.

Has he seen it? Is that what he’s getting at? Did he read through all eighteen chapters and meticulously pick out the remnants of him you pressed between the pages?

“Noya said it made him cry,” you eventually reply.

Tsukishima signals for another drink. He takes two flutes from the server, handing one to you. You accept it with a soft ‘thanks’, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your fingers. “Nishinoya-san cried when he found out swans can be gay,” he points out.

“You cried at The Land Before Time”.

“What kind of cold hearted bastard doesn’t cry at The Land Before Time?”

Laughter bubbles up in your chest as the initial dread ebbs away and the tension seeps from your shoulders. Tsukishima dips his chin, a small smile as he mutters, “That’s better”.

In the centre of the hall Tanaka cradles Kiyoko in his arms, now surrounded by clusters of their loved ones whirling with their own partners, a hurricane of colour and laughter and love. Tsukishima observes them with a solemn gleam in his eye. That could’ve been us, his heart says in chorus with your own.

“Do you remember that time we danced together in third year, at the summer festival? I tried to kiss you and gave you a nosebleed”.

“I remember”.

Your gaze drops to the bottom of your glass. At the time you had been mortified. Now it’s a story you would share at your own wedding table. The thought cleaves your heart in half.

“Do you remember the song that was playing?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Tsukishima snaps. “Yes, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Happy?”

There’s a surge of something devastating in your chest, like love and heartbreak all at once, strong enough that you feel as if your ribs might splinter just to make room for it. But they don’t—and you don’t, because you’ve felt this before, and your body remembers.

You remember.

Suddenly the room is too hot, and the music is too loud. “Sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” you murmur, pushing your chair back and getting to your feet.

“Wait,” in one short breath there are long, calloused fingers circling your wrist. You do wait. Tsukishima hesitates, the pressure elevates, and as you lean away your palm slips into his, skin kissing skin. Then he’s standing, towering over you. “I’ll come with you. I know a place that’s quiet”.

Tsukishima does not let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of his. He walks a few steps ahead guiding you through the throngs of people. Some familiar heads turn, their attention drawn immediately to the place where your bodies meet, and shooting you various looks of encouragement or confusion. Yamaguchi sees you pass and his mouth splits into a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle.

You’re not sure where it is he’s taking you, only that his promise of finding quiet is true. The cacophony simmers and soon enough the festivities are muffled entirely. Just when you think you’ve wound up at the end of a corridor it curves, leading to a pair of french doors. “Come on,” Tsukishima ushers you out onto a balcony.

What you’re greeted by makes your breath catch. The world as it is around you comes to a standstill, the fabric of reality peeling away. An orange yolk dips below the horizon and the sunset hour drapes across the ostensibly endless meadow hidden behind the Karumai Gardens. Rolls of grass sway in the wind, peppered with wildflowers of every shade.

You move to stand at the balcony’s edge. Tsukishima drops his hand, and your fingers curl into your palm. The shadows grow longer, the air cooler. The evening insects begin to sing. You’re warmed still by the wine thrumming in your bloodstream.

“Hey, Tsukki?”

He comes to stand beside you, folding his arms atop the wall. “Don’t call me that”.

“Oh,” you swallow against the swell in your throat. “Sorry, Tsukishima”.

Tsukishima’s expression twists into a scowl. There’s a blush creeping toward his ears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says. You blink and wait for him to elaborate, which only flusters him further. He stares stubbornly at the border. “Just—call me as you normally would. Anything else sounds wrong in your mouth”.

The name leaves you in an instant. Hushed—not whispered, “…Kei”.

He makes an inquisitive noise, strangled as it is.

“You didn’t say what you thought of it,” you continued. “My book”.

You feel a rush of adrenaline when Kei doesn't answer immediately, unable to read his expression. “Good,” he says, veiled indifference belied by the restless twisting of a cufflink between his forefinger and thumb. “It was good”.

“Well, that’s practically a Pulitzer recommendation coming from you”.

“Shut up,” he huffed, gaze flitting across your face and dropping to your tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile. He wets his lips and glances away. Heartened, both by the alcohol and his reciprocation, you press closer in small increments, and Kei flowers under your gentle persuasion, like he always used to.

“This okay?”

In lieu of a reply you are ensconced by a warm, firm chest and two strong arms around your back that show no sign of withdrawing. The low timbre of his voice vibrates under your cheek, “Who was it for?”

“Hm?”

“The book. You dedicated it to someone”.

You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re glad, in part, that he can’t see the emotion written plainly on your face. “Nobody,” you answer lightly, angling to position your ear right over his beating heart. “Just an ex. You don’t know him”.

“Right,” Kei says, drawing out the ‘l’ the way he does when conceding a point he knows he’s correct about. It sounds so fond that you want to curl up where you’re resting, like some benevolent cat. “Guy must’ve been a dick”.

“I was too. We made a lot of mistakes, I think,” you say. If nothing came of this you would at least be able to revisit it; to pick at the scab and stop the wound from closing over too soon. There’s comfort in that. You crane your head and meet his gaze, nervous but unwavering. “But even if he was kind of a dick, I miss him a lot”.

“Yeah?” his eyes soften, half lidded and dark. “He misses you too”.

“He told you that, did he?” your mouth trembles. Kei dips to bring your foreheads together, and the hard frame of his glasses bumps your eyebrow. You share a shaky exhale of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow pinched with regret. Again, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up”.

You feel your jaw quiver. The familiar burn behind your eyes. Tears so close you can taste them. “We both did. Don’t shoulder the blame on your own”.

“But I made you feel lonely,” he says.

You tuck your chin and whisper, “Yes”.

His fingers splayed across your cheek, pinky tucked beneath your jaw as he cradled your face in his hand, tilting until you’re staring back at the reflection in his pupils. Puffy and damp, eyelashes clumped with tears. What a sight.

Kei strokes his thumb in an arc beneath your eye. A tear beads on his nail, slipping into the crook of his hand. The inexpressible tenderness is overwhelming yet you are underwhelmed by the inaction. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed by the whine in your voice as you ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Demanding as ever. What happened to ‘please’?” he murmurs. And then he kisses you.

It is slow at first, hesitant, leaving room for you to pull away. But with every languid movement of Kei’s lips came a sweet affirmation, that which you took and took until you no longer felt unworthy of receiving it. His hand flutters at your waist. You take a shuddered breath, pressing closer into his embrace and deepening the kiss. In his distraction you take him by the wrist, encouraging him to touch. There’s an immediate, reverent grip at your hip, kneading over your clothes.

This is what you’d been longing for. The feeling you couldn’t transpose; that which people have long tried to capture. The esoteric, giddy anticipation and joy that bubbled between two people on the precipice of something bigger than themselves. Even with an affinity for stringing words together you are scarcely able to describe it. Immense and overwhelming, light and dark, tender and everything in between.

Kei pulls away for breath with a low, vibrating hum, wearing a smile that you thought you’d never see outside of your memories. Almost boyish when he looks at you. The distance is an inch too many but it is just that—an inch. “Eager,” he teases, only to kiss you again, twice as eager.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

But love doesn’t only exist in stories.

You remember that, now.

"you have really long eyelashes"

it catches him off guard. you guys are just laying in your bed scrolling on your own phones. he didn't even feel you staring at him. how long have you been looking?

"thanks?" he replies

"no i mean seriously like drop the lash serum." you joke at him as you continue to observe him.

they're long and thick. the kind of lashes that have a natural curl, unlike yours, that fall straight down and take several minutes to curl to your perfect liking. not to mention the layers of mascara you apply to get them to even remotely look like his.

he turns his head to you and you don't miss his dilated pupils as his eyes bore into yours. you take note of how the lashes perfectly frame his eyes. and you're so jealous.

but then an idea pops into your head, you smile to yourself and he senses it coming.

"can i-"

"no" he cuts you off.

"babe please you don't even know what i was about to say!" you grab onto his shoulder as you plead.

"whatever it is im sure it's going to be bad." he retorts, turning his face away from you and going back on his phone.

"i'll buy you you're favorite food."

and that's how you end up here on his lap with your mascara in your hand. his hair is pushed back as his hands rest on your hips, drawing small circles as he awaits your actions.

you open the bottle with the black liquid and bring the wand close to his eyes. "don't move" you whisper and he listens. mainly because he's scared that you're going to poke his eye out as you bring the wand to the base of his eyelashes and wiggle it slowly before moving it up to coat the length of the lashes. some of the mascara gets on his eyelids. you repeat the actions on the other eye before going back and doing a second coat. you can tell that he might be slightly nervous that you're going to blind him with the way he holds his breath and the grip he has on your hips get ever so slightly tighter.

you move yourself off his lap and he goes to grab his phone so he can see what he looks like.

"wait no not yet, i'm still not done" you say as you go and grab ur q-tips and micellar water.

"still?"

"yes still, i need to clean up the mascara on your eyelids," you say as you place yourself back on his lap. you open the bottle of micellar water and carefully put the clear liquid on the q-tip. you bring the white stick of cotton to his eyes and you tell him to close them. he feels the wet cotton and it's a weird feeling. you watch the q-tip turn darker the more mascara you wipe off.

"okay i'm done!" you say and he opens his eyes and you don't think he's ever looked more majestic. his already long lashes looking even longer and bolder now that he has the mascara to bring them out. you notice that the color of his eyes pop more. "you look so pretty" you smile as lean in to pepper kisses along his face. his cheeks feel warm and he can already tell that they're probably red.

he reaches over to his phone and opens the camera app and switches the camera so he can see himself. and he immediatly notices the stark difference in his eyes with the mascara. he brings his fingers to his lashes to touch them. it feels weird and his eyes kind of feel weighed down. but he has no regrets when he sees you smiling at him so fondly.

"they look nice." he smiles at you, dropping his phone to the side.

"i know right, ugh im so jealous i wish i had your lashes. all my problems would be solved." you say, thinking about the long and excruciating lash routine you perform every morning.

"all of them?"

"yes, all of them."

he chuckles at your words. "alright, but can you take it off now, it feels weird." he says, hands coming to touch his lashes again. you pout as you grab the micellar water you put away and a cotton pad and remove the mascara from his eyelashes, being gentle so that he doesn't lose a few. he appreciates the action. and maybe he would let you put more than just mascara on his face another day.

KAGEYAMA (has the best lashes argue with the wall), suna, tsukishima (genuinely terrified that you're going to make him go blind), OSAMU, kuroo, MATSUKAWA MY LOVE, iwaizumi, OIKAWA (he would eat that shit up), akaashi, kenma, +ur fav.