Touching Kny Men's Frogs By Accident

Just some sketches. I have no clue what that octopus-looking thing is, so don’t ask.😅

I’m kind of new to drawing and still trying to find my art style, so… yeah. Could do better.

kinich refuses to put cake on your face in your wedding day

even before back when you still were just boyfriend, girlfriend, the evening he decided to propose; under a stellar night sky, "look a shooting star! quick, make a wish!" you quickly pointed out to the dark azure stratosphere.

"..."

"..did you wish?"

"yeah."

"well then, what was it!!"

"if i tell it now, it won't come true. isn't that what you said?"

"aww c'mon! i'm curious now!"

the tradition of putting cake onto your partner's face never appealed to him. he thought it was rude. he didn't wanna dirty the face he found the prettiest.

so the best he'd do is the smallest bit of icing on the tip of your nose, then put the rest of it in your mouth and lets you do the same.

he knew tonight was a cold night out as well, and gave you the jacket of his suit.

he knew how long it took to do your makeup, so he didn't wanna ruin it.

the cake tradition i'm taking about here usually refers to how your partner will take care of you, in sickness and in health, but when they smash it, it means they won't. so in the most respectful way possible, he didn't wanna disresepct you!

yeah he did his research, its his partner we're talking about. as much as he is blunt, he's quiet because most of the time he's busy paying attention to your likes.

did you notice how the cake was your favorite? did you notice it was your favorite flowers that he put up at every curtain? did you notice it was mixed with his and your culture when it came to traditions as well?

"you feel any better?" is all he says while watching you admire the scenery from a balcony. the venue was up in a tree, and all you wanted to do was admire what felt like a dream below you.

"can i know what you wished for on that day you proposed to me on?" you look over to your now husband.

"i wished for you to accept my proposal, and spend my life with you."

🤭

They just seem so tired!!!!!

Is it just me or everytime I fantasize I make myself nothing like me?

Sleepy…

How the hashira act when they’re tired?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x fem!reader

(Reader has stretch marks on her thighs in Gyomei’s part)

Sanemi Shinazugawa

In the mornings…

Sanemi wakes up being grumpy and drained rather than rested from a good night’s sleep. His hair is messy and some stubble formed on his face over the night. Also, he doesn’t believe you when you say he snores in his sleep, even though you woke up from him snoring or grunting in his sleep multiple times. You sometimes even heard him mumble something about Genya and ohagi. Your name fell every now and then but you haven’t told him about that yet. He had a huge grin on his was while seemingly dreaming of you, and you didn’t want to hurt his pride even more.

Sanemi is slow in the mornings and needs you to drag him out of bed. If he has nothing to do but train today, so why can’t he just sleep until he needs to train? He’d hunch over the sink and slowly brush his teeth while having his eyes closer again. You once caught him falling asleep in that stance, snoring quietly. While Sanemi is finishing up in the bathroom at a snail’s pace, you take some time to cook up something nice for you two.

Heavy footsteps would stumble down the stairs and Sanemi would drag his heavy body over to you, leaning onto your back and nuzzling his face in your warm neck. He’d groan and squeeze your waist gently.

“You still feel so warm… ugh, I wanna go back to bed…”

In the evenings…

After showering, Sanemi doesn’t really have energy to do anything else after hunting demons all night. He can’t sleep without you though, so he’ll just lay in bed like a log and wait on you to join him. Sometimes, he’d even call out to you to hurry up and cuddle him already.

Once in bed, Sanemi’ll lay his head on your soft chest and close his eyes. His cheek is slightly squished and mouth slightly agape. He’d want you to play with his hair and run your fingers through his white locks. Sometimes, Sanemi would accidentally start drooling onto your skin or shirt, forgetting to swallow his spit. Your massage is just making him forget anything: his worries, fears, train of thought and to swallow his spit.

Of course, Sanemi would be incredibly embarrassed and deny enjoying your craved touch this much. Sometimes, he’d even roll off you and lay on his stomach, pretending that he’s perfectly fine to sleep on his own. You giggling at his flushed face doesn’t help either.

Sanemi does NOT need you to hold him so he can sleep properly and have nice dreams if you act that way!

“Scoot over, I wanna lay down. I don’t need your damn cuddles anymore. You’re just making fun of me, damnit!!”

Kyojuro Rengoku

In the mornings…

Kyojuro’s hair is incredibly messy everytime he wakes up. You can’t resist but to brush through it a couple of times while your husband slept, enjoying the moment of quiet intimacy.

His voice would be raspy and quieter in the mornings in comparison to throughout the day, his smiles smaller and sleepier, yet just as happy and real as usual. Kyojuro would be sleepy in the mornings but would start regaining his energy after having a nutritious breakfast. Usually, he’d make them himself.

Kyojuro would stand by the stove, dressed in either just his nightwear pants or a loose fitting robe. His movements are sluggish and slow, but he still never burnt himself on accident. Sometimes, you would even lean against his muscular back and complain about the tasks ahead of you while Kyojuro quietly listens and cooks breakfast.

“Mh, would you… *yawn*… mind handing me the eggs from over there?”

In the evenings…

Kyojuro still manages to muster up enough energy to keep his vibrant and loud personality, even right before bed. He’s incredibly tired and needs to recharge the whole night to have another successful day of training and slaying demons. The best way to recharge is by holding you close to his chest, letting your head rest on his soft pecks.

Slowly, Kyojuro would start to slip into a sleepier state. His eyes would be droopy and his smile more lovesick while his hand slowly brush over your features. You’re so perfect, do you know that? Sometimes, he might squeeze you a little too hard on accident. It something similar to cuteness aggression, just much more subconscious and softer.

Kyojuro would fall asleep with your imagine in mind and a sleepy smile on his face, his arms wrapped tightly around you, making sure you’re comfortable in his warm arms.

“Hm? Oh, sorry… did I hold you too tightly? Apologies, my love. I missed you the whole day and… forgive me?”

Gyomei Himejima

In the mornings…

Gyomei usually wakes up quite early to go pray, but you keep him in bed for a little longer. You get woken up by the weight on the bed shifting and mumble his name, gently grabbing his forearm and pulling him back onto the bed. He cannot help but obey your wish and lay back down with you. Gyomei is still tired when you pull his head against your chest, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

Tears start falling down his cheeks and onto your shirt as you run your fingers through his messy, short hair. A small smile rested on his face.

His voice is incredibly deep and his chest vibrates against yours as he murmurs quiet prayers to finish his morning routine. Gyomei doesn’t get sleepy very often, but when he does, it’s only in your arms and by your touch.

“You’re a blessing, my pearl…”

In the evenings…

After his endurance training, slaying demons and attending an hashira meeting, even Gyomei gets tired. He would lay right beside you, resting his head on your stomach. His eyes would be closed and arms wrapped around your waist and plush thighs, rubbing gently up and down, feeling your warm skin and stretch marks.

Gyomei would place gentle kisses on your skin and savour your scent. You are absolutely beautiful to him, he doesn’t even need his eyes to see that. While you massage his scalp with your fingers, it feels like the exhaustion is finally catching up to him. With a final sigh, Gyomei finally slipped into something similar to a comatose. Once asleep, only the sound of the cries of a crow can wake him up.

“My love, may I rest with you a little longer? I still haven’t recovered from my last training session… you have a healing effect on me.”

Giyu Tomioka

In the mornings…

He is comparable to a disoriented, deflated balloon. Not that Giyu is bouncing and being happy during the day, it’s just that he’s even more depressed in the mornings. But, on the bright side, Giyu is able to handle your affections better while sleepy. Normally, he’d stiffen up and shortcircuit. But while he’s being tired, you can cup his cheeks and kiss him all over, he’ll just respond with a small whine or groan.

Giyu might become a cuddlebug when you two are in bed and have nothing to do. He’d bury his face in your neck and savour your warmth while he can. Sometimes, he’d bury his face in your even warmer cleavage, falling right back into sleep.

“Mhhrrm… hmm? What did you say?… mhh… didn’t hear..”

In the evenings…

Believe it or not, he becomes even quieter in the evenings. Giyu will silently stare at you, begging at you to just hold him and cradle him to sleep with his eyes. He’d hover around you with eyebags under his eyes, always standing near you until you offer to cuddle him.

His eyebags, glossy eyes and messy hair look him look like a lost puppy, so it was a matter of time until you offered to cuddle in bed. Your soft skin under his calloused hands never felt any nicer.

Giyu would be out in a matter of minutes and fall asleep in an awkward position. One arm would be wrapped around your waist while the other was angled on his side.

“Agh, my shoulder hurts. Did I fall asleep in a weird way?”

💠

I thought of this last night. I have another similar idea about sleepy hairplay and I’m thinking about either writing that idea for the Upper Moons or the hashira, either way, thank you for reading! As mentioned before, I’ll post some asks on the weekend <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

Me looking for yandere content the moment I step foot in any new fandom

I MISSED YOU SO MUCH……………………………………………. OKAERI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! don't go on another 500++ day journey again…..

“Just a friend? Friends don’t jerk off using the panties they pulled from your hamper.” He spat at you, practically vibrating with anger as he gripped your bicep to keep you from walking away. “What the fuck are you even talking about Sanemi?” You flinched away involuntarily, his grip not budging as he stared you down. “Your precious little Tomioka, who you treat like an innocent little lap dog, gets himself off using your worn underwear.” You blinked at him, face morphing into a look of disbelief and disgust. “Maybe you should stop trying to be so different and take the fucking hint. People don’t hang around him for a fucking reason.” It took you a second to find your voice, eyes shifting over to the direction of where everyone was hanging out. “Y-you know what, here’s a better question, Sanemi. How the fuck do you know he does this?”

👋🤐

⟳ 26. INTOXICATED

You and Kaz arrive at the bar a little late, but just in time for the first few waves of shots being passed around. The place hums with energy, with dim lights, heavy bass, unfamiliar bodies pulsing near the DJ booth.

Ven spots you both from the second-floor lounge near the stairs, presumably the couch space he claimed for all of you.

“Over here!” he bellows, trying to cut through the music with bleary eyes. You spot your friends laughing at his theatrics, already nestled into the couch.

You snort. The night’s barely begun and he’s already half gone.

You scan the crowd between you and the stairs. Someone bumps into you in the chaos, jolting you off-balance. You instinctively reach for the nearest thing—

Kaz.

He feels your light tug and immediately turns to steady you, murmuring a quiet, ‘Careful,’ as he catches your arm.

He holds out his hand. “Don’t let go, okay?”

You smile and slip your fingers into his.

You weave through the crowd, hands clasped tightly so you don’t lose each other in the press of bodies.

“[Name]! Kaz! You guys made it!” Ven slurs, stumbling forward to greet you with a hug that lingers a bit too long.

“God, you already reek, and it’s not even ten p.m.,” you groan, hugging him back anyway.

He giggles. “That’s the thing! It is almost ten, and I’m not blacked out yet!”

You roll your eyes but smile. “Happy birthday, you menace.”

“Thank you!” he sings.

“Happy birthday, Ven,” Kaz says with a soft smile. Ven slings an arm around his shoulder.

“Take care of [Name] tonight, yeah?” Ven adds, waggling his eyebrows.

Kaz chuckles and gently removes Ven’s arm, patting his back. “I’ll look out for her.”

“Boo! No fun!” Ven laughs, tottering back to his seat.

You greet your friends, let Lumi pull you into a selfie, and down your first shot without even asking what it is.

Then another.

You slow down after a few more, pleasantly buzzed but still steady. Some of your friends head down to dance, pulled by partners or strangers into the tide of music. You and Kaz linger, watching from above.

“They’re so loud,” you say, amused as you hear their shouting voices above the music.

Kaz chuckles beside you, pouring himself a drink. “I’m surprised you’re not down there with them.”

Sighing, you take the same bottle and pour it into your own glass. “Normally, I would. But… I’m just not feeling it tonight. Not here.”

“The place?”

You simply hum in response, taking a sip of your drink.

“Soda? Really?” you say as you feel the liquid fizzing in your mouth.

“Someone’s gotta stay somewhat sober,” Kaz laughs as he proceeds to take another sip of his drink. “I already took my one shot of vodka and I already feel dizzy. I told you I don’t take alcohol well.”

You down the soda in your glass and fill it up again with the same drink.

“You do know Ven was just joking when he tweeted that,” you say with a breathy chuckle.

“Even so, I need to honor the celebrant’s wish,” he replies with a proud smile.

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink, not replying.

“Do you drink often?” he asks.

“Not recently, no,” you answer.

“Seriously? Even after the whole break-up?”

“Not a break-up,” you mutter, shooting him a look. He smiles amusedly in response. “And no. I didn’t drink then because I firmly believe alcohol doesn’t help with pain.”

And mostly because you didn’t want to end up doing something stupid while drunk.

“So you drinking now means… what? Progress?”

“Maybe?” You shrug. “I don’t know.”

But deep down, you know that’s not entirely true.

You’d be lying if you said you don’t feel anything for him anymore.

You just forced yourself to stop thinking.

No reminiscing, no late-night peeks at his profile, no checking what his ex posted.

You locked him away in your mind and told yourself not to look back.

That one day, time would dull it all.

His face. His voice. His touch.

Your feelings.

And honestly? Kaz helped with that. Willingly.

He knew all of this and was happy to help distract you and guide you through your emotions.

“You’ll get there eventually,” he says.

At one point you started to think the ‘therapist’ joke was becoming real.

You could feel him glance at you longer than usual, and you notice the warmth in his gaze.

And for a second, it feels like something you could want, something you could drown yourself in.

If only you were ready. But you’re still scared.

Maybe in the future.

“Yeah. I will,” you affirm to yourself.

But of course, just when you think the universe might give you peace,

out of nowhere—

Your eyes land on a familiar figure walking through the crowd at the entrance.

You squint to double check that it’s not just the alcohol in your system playing with your mind.

Your stomach drops.

Of course.

Just when you were talking about it.

And at such a vulnerable state, too.

You grip the edge of the couch instinctively, the cold of your glass grounding you.

Kaz sees your shoulder tense. He looks at you, wordlessly asking if you’re okay.

You turn to him. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

His worry slowly dissipates, and nods in understanding.

You make your way downstairs and to the dance floor.

Then you’re spinning around, moving too fast, eyes scanning the crowd until they land on Ven, drunk laughing with your friends, tipping back another shot like it’s juice.

You beeline to him.

“Ven.” You grab his arm and drag him out away from the group and near the bathrooms.

“Wah–? What’s wronggg?” he garbles.

“Why the hell is he here?”

Ven blinks at you, bleary-eyed. “Who?”

“Kuni.”

“Ohhhh,” he drawls, grin crooked. “Ajax asked to invite him. I said yes.”

“You what?” you hiss, louder than intended. “Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Thought it’d be fun.”

You stare at him in disbelief and betrayal. “Even her?”

Ven immediately sobers up. Not in expression, but in tone. “Hell no. I’d never let her near my party.”

“But he can?”

Ven just laughs—shrill, high, unbothered—and walks away with a stupid, ‘Good luck!’

You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or go home.

Or strangle an intoxicated friend.

He’s lucky it’s his birthday.

So instead, you go to the open bar and order a whole bottle, bringing it with you.

You step upstairs and make your way toward the couch area, the bass from downstairs still thumping faintly beneath your shoes.

And there he is.

Sitting with Ajax and Kaz, a glass already in hand. Ajax is next to him, mid-speech, but freezes the moment he sees you, nearly choking on his drink. Kaz is settled across the couch, comfortably distant from them, staring at Kuni as if also not expecting him to be here.

You don’t hesitate. You walk straight to them and slide on the couch beside Kaz. Closer than earlier.

You pour yourself a drink, adding ice from the bucket.

No one says anything.

Not yet.

One shot.

Ajax tries, “[Name], he’s—“

The shot glass clinks on the table as you pour more.

Two shots.

Kaz gives you a subtle glance, like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t.

The tension is thick.

You lean back on the couch, letting your head rest for a moment. You don’t notice Kaz’s arm stretched behind you, resting casually on the top of the couch until you’re already half-leaning into it.

Not touching, but almost.

You don’t mean to look, but you feel it.

The weight of someone’s eyes on you.

He’s staring.

He hasn’t said a word. Just stares intensely at the both of you from across the couch like he’s trying to piece you back together in his head.

It’s like he’s waiting for you to break.

And it infuriates you.

You keep your face blank, but your thoughts spiral.

Why is he even here? Why did he accept Ajax’s invite knowing you’d be here.

Was it to mock you? To check up on you? To make sure you can’t move on properly from him?

You pour another drink, but hesitate this time. Your grip tightens. Your breathing hitches.

“You alright?” you hear Kaz whisper softly in your ear that sends shivers down your spine.

You nod. Barely.

Your surroundings begin to spin and blur. The crowd’s chatter and the music’s blaring beat fade into a distant, drowned-out hum.

You try to concentrate, not giving in to the alcohol. Your head tips against Kaz’s shoulder, resting. He doesn’t move.

You glance up, and sure enough, Kuni is still staring.

Still drinking you in like he has a right to.

But this time, he’s downing a bottle as he keeps his gaze fixated on the two of you.

Memories flood back.

The times when you kept saying to yourself that it’s the last time. That you’d end things with him.

And then Kuni shows up, like he always does, to remind you what you’re trying to leave behind.

You glare at him once. Hard. Daring him to look away.

He doesn’t.

If his expression earlier was somewhat readable, this time it’s impossible to comprehend.

Does he regret it? Or is he just proud of himself?

This pisses you off.

You want a reaction out of him.

He doesn’t just get to let you go and be happy. He can’t just be unaffected by all of this.

You want to show him what he took for granted.

There must be something.

And in a sudden burst of defiance, you grab the half-empty bottle on the table and down most of it.

The liquor burns, but it’s a distraction.

A blur.

Exactly what you need.

You stand up, wobbling as the rush hits your head.

Giggling, you turn to Kaz and grab his hand. “Let’s dance,” you say, voice slurred, eyes glinting with something between chaos and pain.

Kaz looks at you with a pointed expression, reluctant, but eventually follows.

From the couch, Ajax watches with wide eyes. “Hey, man…” he starts, already on alert.

Kuni’s still frozen, but only for a second. He finishes what’s left of his bottle and sets it down with a heavy thud and stands up.

“Don’t,” Ajax says under his breath, placing a hand on Kuni’s chest. “Don’t follow them. You’re drunk.”

Kuni doesn’t answer.

You and Kaz reach the dance floor. Amidst the bass pulsing and the people packed around you, in your mind, you have one clear drunk goal.

You start jumping to the beat, loose and unfiltered, dragging Kaz with you. You spin around and tug him closer, too close.

Arms on his shoulders, hips swaying near his. Kaz, ever steady, moves with you but still keeps a proper distance.

“Why are you doing this?” he mutters lowly, trying to catch your gaze.

You just laugh.

Loud. Drunken. Detached.

You don’t answer.

Kaz sighs. “Come on, let’s go bac–“

He’s about to let go and bring you back upstairs until he glances to the side.

Kuni.

Standing stiff at the edge of the dance floor, watching. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on the space between you and Kaz, like he’s trying to will it away.

Ajax is behind him, trying to pull him back again.

Ah.

Realization hits him.

Kaz sees it now.

He sighs once more.

He knows this isn’t really about him, but he does it anyway.

He lets his hand rest on your waist, pulling your bodies closer. Your arms loop around his neck without thought. Despite being out of it, you can feel the tension between the two of you spike in the air.

Kaz takes it up a notch by slowly inching his face down to yours. You let him.

He doesn’t rush. Instead, he draws it out, lowering his face inch by inch, just enough for your breath to catch. His lips hover dangerously close, not touching, just waiting.

Daring.

And that’s when Kuni shifts.

A flicker of movement.

A reaction.

Ajax tries to hold him back, voice lost in the loud crowd. But Kuni pushes forward.

And before you can process it, a hand wraps around your arm, tugging you firmly, pulling you out of Kaz’s hold.

Your head spins. The crowd blurs. Your heartbeat spikes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kuni confronts.

Kaz harshly shook off Kuni’s grip on you but kept his tone calm. “Maybe don’t grab her like that.”

“Maybe back the fuck off,” Kuni snaps.

“Oh, now you’re acting like this?” Kaz holds his stern gaze, challenging the other.

A few nearby partygoers paused mid-dance, turning their heads toward the commotion, eyes flicking between the raised voices and the tension unfolding. Some backing up to not get involved. Some were too drunk to care.

Ajax stepped between them, hands up. “Okay, cool it. Not the time–”

“Shut up.” Kuni brushes off Ajax and moves to grab your arm again.

You tug your arm back, voice slurred. “Stop it.”

You look at Kuni, eyes glassy. “You don’t… youu don’t have the right to act like this. You have Mona.” You point at his chest weakly, trying to push him away with your finger.

Fuck. The alcohol is really getting to you.

Kuni’s breath caught.

“You don’t understand,” Kuni speaks lowly.

You wobble a little as you take a step towards him, trying to straighten yourself. But the sheer audacity of what he just said sobers your mind up a bit.

“What?” you ask, still inebriated, but angry.

Don’t understand what?

That he can pull you in just to let go the second it gets real? Acting like he cares, only to vanish when it matters? That he can get back with his past while you mourn your one-sided relationship?

You’ve been trying to get well without him—trying to breathe, move on, forget—but he somehow finds a way to remind you of what once was.

So what exactly are you not getting?

“Why are you eve—”

You barely get the words out before everything crashes down at once.

And then,

You feel a pair of lips on yours.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE i’m posting this without proper proofreading lol i’m scared once i finish this smau and go back to read it, i’ll regret writing it sm. anw so let’s just pretend that mc can hold her liqour so well <3 also happy one month advanced birthday venti!

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia @automaticpatroltragedy @mysterypotatoink @zuhahearts @adres-tia @ssetsuka @strwbrrybbpop @sesamemin @blvdmrcnry @aspinny @jiminscarmex @sammybeefangirls @lxkeeeeee @yu-yumii @linasxoxo @quiet-place-for-thoughts @randomhumans-blog @aaudreys @lesbi-snail @jayzioxx @meowpmzai @s-f-rants @cosmic-rainestorm @honey-and-sweetdreams @vincelikestomince @mono-dontidae @simeonmybabygirlicious @gugumioooo [50/50]

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)