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quillpunk: screenshot of Judith (she's blushing to a flowering, rosy background) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (judith2)
[personal profile] quillpunk
Fandom: Bleach
Characters/Relationships: Grimmjow/Urahara Kisuke
Category: M/M
Rating: Teen
Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Developing Relationship
Wordcount: 5092
Chapters: 1/1
Status: Complete
Published: 2023-10-19
Archived on: AO3, SQWA

Summary: In which Grimmjow somehow utterly misses the fact that he’s doing a time-travel fix-it. It’s cool, though. Kisuke can pick up the slack.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, and make no money off this.

Author's Note: rarepair time XD

Fic )
quillpunk: screenshot of Luca (making a disgusted, scheming expression) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (luca1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters/Relationships: Ronon Dex/Rodney McKay
Category: M/M
Rating: Teen
Additional Tags: AU - Canon Divergence
Wordcount: 1635
Chapters: 1/1
Status: Complete
Published: 2023-10-22
Archived on: AO3, SQWA

Summary: "I would offer my help," Ronon says, voice gruff and head tilted. "If I thought it'd be accepted."

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis and am making no money off this.

Author's Note: it's been too long since i last watched SGA. i should fix that :D also realized in the middle of writing this i'm not actually sure who's taller than who in SGA, but decided to just roll with it, lol

Fic )
quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (anya1)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Chapter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: 盗墓笔记重启 | The Lost Tomb Reboot (TV)
  • Relationship: Umino Iruka & Original Character(s), Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto, Momochi Zabuza/Umino Iruka
  • Characters: Umino Iruka, Original Characters, Original Child Character(s), Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Orochimaru (Naruto), Uchiha Shisui, Momochi Zabuza, Haku (Naruto), Sai (Naruto), ANBU Root
  • Additional Tags:Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Kidfic, Fix-It, Worldbuilding, Pre-Canon
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 5/?
  • Total Wordcount: 15057
  • Published on AO3: 2018-12-31 — Last Updated: 2020-03-14

Notes:

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

C1C2C3C4C5 † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

During Iruka's first year teaching — on his own, because apparently there is a severe lack of teachers — he loses his curriculum, gets into a low-key fight with Shimura Danzo and accidentally creates an army. To be fair, none of this was planned.

quillpunk: screenshot of adam's face in full costume from SK8 (adam)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Chapter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei, Zuko & Iroh
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei, Iroh
  • Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Secret Identity, Identity Porn, Dorks in Love, Fluff
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 4/25
  • Total Wordcount: 20064
  • Published on AO3: 2020-06-04 — Last Updated: 2020-08-01

Notes:

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

C1C2C3C4 † [C5] † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

In retrospect, breaking into the Earth King's palace was perhaps a mistake.

quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (brave10)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Chapter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
  • Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Characters: Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Additional Tags: POV Draco Malfoy, Slow Romance, Crack Treated Seriously, Rare Pairings, Slow To Update, Work In Progress, Angst with a Happy Ending, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Dubious Morality, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Developing Relationship, Worldbuilding, Fix-It of Sorts, Slow Burn, Power Imbalance, Falling In Love, Age Difference
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 2/?
  • Total Wordcount: 6268
  • Published on AO3: 2021-12-31 — Last Updated: 2022-01-04

Notes: Rewrite of If Only We Could Smile

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

C1C2 † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

During the final battle at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy dies. Luckily, there's a phoenix there that has taken a shine to him. Not so luckily, it sends him back to the summer before his fourth year at Hogwarts, when everything really started to go downhill.

quillpunk: screenshot of Rue (blushing and happy)from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (rue1)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Chapter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: 盗墓笔记重启 | The Lost Tomb Reboot (TV)
  • Relationship: Liu Sang/Wu Xie/Zhang Qiling,Wu Xie/Zhang Qiling, Wang Pangzi & Wu Xie & Zhang Qiling
  • Characters: Wang Pangzi, Wu Xie, Zhang Qiling, Liu Sang
  • Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Rumors, Threesome - M/M/M
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 1/35
  • Wordcount: 2016
  • Published on AO3: 2022-03-21

Notes: this fic exists for one (1) reason

the idea of wu erbai spending years hearing rumors about his nephew and this Random Person™ being super in love is hilarious to me. even more hilarious; wu erbai hasn't been able to confirm it one way or another because liu sang always pretends to misunderstand, or like he's listening to vital information and thus "sorry, I missed what you said"'s him every time. and wu xie? wu xie won't talk to him about his love life!

so wu erbai goes years with these rumors, and then, finally, he sees wu xie and liu sang in the same room together! time to catch liu sang in his lies (bc he never really believed them, it's not like he doesn't know wu xie is smitten with xhang qiling, okay). and then. then.

wu xie. stares like an idiot. and just—is so fucking obviously in love with liu sang.

the second wu erbai is out that tent, he's texting wu xie's parents.

they can finally use their Wedding Plan™!

Disclaimer: I do not own 盗墓笔记重启 or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

C1 † [C2] † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

Liu Sang is alone. He has no backup, no connections, no safety net. And in the tomb raiding business, that's never a good thing. So in order to buy himself a somewhat safe position, where he won't be seen as expendable, he begins a rumor that he's dating Wu Xie.

Wu Xie, after all, is the perfect person for the role; he's from a wealthy and influential family, is legendary in the business, and is close friends with Liu Sang's idol. More importantly, he's famously distanced himself from tomb raiding and likely won't ever hear of the rumor. This means that for years, while Liu Sang builds up his own connections and reputation, he has some measure of safety.

And then he shows up at a tomb raid, hired by Wu Erbai (already a risk in itself, but the man has never said anything about the rumor) to find that Wu Xie (and Liu Sang's idol) is there.

...Shit.

quillpunk: screenshot of Rue (blushing and happy)from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (rue1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Naruto
  • Relationship: Mizuki & Uchiha Sasuke
  • Characters: Mizuki, Uchiha Sasuke
  • Additional Tags: Kidfic, Accidental Found Family, Manipulation, Destroying Military Dictatorships for Fun and Profit!, Worldbuilding, Politics, Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, AU - Canon Divergence
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 1/?
  • Total Wordcount: 1852
  • Published on AO3: 2022-08-18

Notes: hi. i tripped and fell back into the naruto fandom.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

† [C1] † [C2] † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

Mizuki has a mile-long grudge against Konoha—and is now within speaking distance with Uchiha Sasuke.

Things can only go downhill from here.

quillpunk: Yuri from Spy X Family is making a scared but determined expression (yuri1)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Cahpter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
  • Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Characters: Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Additional Tags: Scheming, Emotional Manipulation, POV Draco Malfoy, Smart Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Sane Voldemort, Possessive Voldemort, Not So Evil Voldemort, Smitten Tom Riddle, Fluff and Humor, Falling In Love, Developing Relationship, Accidental Relationship, Work In Progress, Crack, Age Difference, Power Imbalance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 1/?
  • Total Wordcount: 3032
  • Published on AO3: 2023-03-20

Notes: this is a WIP. it is not finished and may never be finished. read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

† [C1] † [C2] † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] †

Summary

Draco Malfoy is smart in the sense that he knows his limits and is really good at working within them, which is to say that he realizes the best chance to survive Voldemort's new war is to make himself indispensable. By convincing everybody that Lord Voldemort is in love with him, obviously.

In Draco's opinion, it's going swimmingly.

quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (Default)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Solo Leveling - Chu-Gong
  • Relationship: Sung Jin-Woo/God Statue
  • Characters: Sung Jin-Woo, God Statue
  • Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship, AU - Canon Divergence, Trapped, BAMF Sung Jin-Woo, Interspecies Romance, Canon-Typical Violence
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 13943
  • Published on AO3: 2021-11-17

Notes: This fic is currently being rewritten. This is the old version. This is 3 chapters that I smushed into one post, because I can't be bothered with it ;) Also AO3 has categorized this as Sung Jin-Woo/The Architect. This is incorrect. I've not read the whole novel, so maybe I'm wrong, but at least in this fic, the god statue is sentient with its own consciousness. So the pairing really is SJW/that really huge and terrifying god statue with the horrifying smile. Just so you know.

Disclaimer: I do not own Solo Leveling or any associated trademarks.

Summary: In which Sung Jin-Woo doesn't get out of that first Double Dungeon.


C1

Sung Jin-Woo awoke to darkness. A suffocating darkness, the kind that smothered you as you tried to fall asleep and gave you nightmares. Surrounding him as securely as the covers he slept under, it crept below his skin and made a home there.

He shivered where he laid, debating internally whether he should open his eyes or not.

It was cold; a shudder traveled through his whole body as he attempted to push himself into a sitting position while his eyes blearily looked around, unable to see anything but inky blackness. His entire body ached, all the way down to his bones, and for a moment he didn't know where he was or how he got there.

It was dark and cold and he was shivering. For some reason, when the toes on both of his feet moved, he was struck by a feeling of strangeness. And while sitting up was not painful exactly, it left him grimacing at the stiffness of his joints and the pain as he moved them.

He cracked his neck as he moved, his hand resting on it and giving it a gentle squeeze. His legs curled up below him as his fingers poked at the harsh surface he'd been lying on, trying to determine where he was. He wasn't hurt, he didn't think; certainly, he wasn't in any pain. But he could swear that there was something he was supposed to know, something that should have been obvious to him.

His fingers continued to poke at the uneven surface of the stone, the coldness from it seeping into his bones. ...The cold stone. Cold. Stone.

Ah, yes, he remembered now.

The Double Dungeon.

"Fuck," Sung Jin-Woo spit out.

His arm snapped back, his breaths loud in the darkness as he attempted to hear anything. With a barely muttered curse, his fingers fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a flashlight seemingly too battered to still be functional; but it was an object made for Dungeons. Though it looked like it would fall apart at the drop of a hat, it still flickered on when he pressed the button. The light slowly and weakly punched back the darkness, giving a narrow view of his surroundings.

Sung Jin-Woo saw it all clearly—the blood on the floor, the statues standing at the walls, the altar he was sitting on. But—there were no bodies. Almost the entire party had been decimated, yet there was not a single human body part that he could see.

He slowly changed his position until he was sitting on his knees, stretching out his back as he tried to make himself taller, and gazed out. He wasn't sure what would happen if he left the altar. No matter which direction he turned the flashlight in, the result remained the same. No bodies. Only blood, blood, and some more blood.

Sung Jin-Woo was still here.

Alone.

"Does this mean they got out?" he mumbled to himself.

It had to. The missing bodies should mean that Hunters had gone through and collected the bodies for their families. It should mean that the Dungeon had been defeated, the Boss should be dead and it should no longer pose a threat to society.

That didn't explain why Jin-Woo was still here.

If they'd collected the bodies, then they should have collected his as well. Even if they thought he was dead, he should have been dragged out with the others. Unless the Dungeon had started to close while they'd working and there simply hadn't been time? That was the only real reason he could think of.

So. Sung Jin-Woo was trapped in a Dungeon. One that likely had been closed and defeated and no longer had access to the human world. And he was alone. On his own. With only the few things he'd had on his person still with him. The fact that his leg had magically been healed wasn't even good news. It only meant that he might die here with an intact corpse. Assuming that the statues didn't come to life and kill him again.

Right. Because they had done that.

Killed him, that was.

His energy left him. Collapsing back down on the altar that was still covered in his blood, his fingers curled into tight fists as his breathing sped up. The flashlight dropped from his shaking fingers and slipped to the floor, colliding loudly with the stonework in the otherwise silent chamber. It echoed, the sound causing him to flinch.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

(He didn't want to die.)

Jin-Woo closed his eyes and tried to calm his rapid heartbeat down, the beat pulsing through his veins like an ominous metronome. There was no way that he could succeed, but he made a valiant attempt. His hand pressing down harshly on his chest, his fingers bunched up the bloody shirt he was still wearing that hung in tatters around him, torn up from the attacks he had suffered. It seemed like it might break apart in his hand—both his heart and his clothes.

He forced his trembling legs up and hugged his knees to his chest, shoving his head down between them and just—breathing. Breathing was good. He should keep doing it.

A snort escaped him, his eyes beginning to water. He sniffled, his nose stuffy and blocked as he breathed in through his mouth. The shaking held his body trapped, his hands hurting from how tightly he squeezed them.

None of this made any sense. The bodies were gone and he was still here and that—that could be explained. He could force it to make sense, he could force himself to understand it. But the rest—a leg healed so well that his fingers clawing at the skin where the pants had been cut off couldn't even feel a scar? There was a cut right through his shirt and his jacket where he'd been stabbed cleaned through by. A spear. Or a sword, he didn't remember. Regardless, it had cut through him like a knife cutting through butter.

He should be dead. He should have been cleaved in half. He should have been nothing but a rotting corpse his sister would cry and weep over. This should not... he shouldn't be awake. Alive. Breathing, and healed, and whole.

He didn't know how long he spent, sitting there in the darkness, hugging his knees and desperately keeping his eyes closed. Forcing his breathing to be slow and steady, and not the hitched breaths they would be if he allowed himself to cry. The pressure on his chest only increased as time passed, a hollow kind of pain that left him shuddering.

Maybe he was hoping that it was all a dream. Maybe he hoped that when he opened his eyes again, he'd be in some hospital somewhere, with his sister once again scolding him for getting hurt. Maybe he hoped that if he only waited, someone would come back for him.

Opening his eyes again, he was still here. In the Dungeon.

(Alone.)

Though he'd carelessly dropped it, the flashlight still lit weakly. How far did it go? Four meters max, the lighting just petered out. Not even enough to see a single statue. Stupid of him really; sight was important. If he could see his enemies, he could hide from them. Figure out how to beat them without getting into a direct fight—those, he could hardly ever win. But at least the flashlight was still on, letting its faint light stare out into the darkness.

Maybe he should just turn off the light and wait for his eyes to adjust to the pitch-black darkness. To do that, all he had to do was leave the altar. Just... uncurl his legs and set them down over the edge and then they'd touch the floor and he—no. No, he couldn't do it yet. First, he should do something about the floating, transparent message in front of him. It'd been there ever since he woke up, after all, and showed no sign of disappearing. He'd probably just hit his head—but to heal his body and not his head?

So, then. To deal with the floating box and text. That moved when he moved his field of vision and always stayed right in front of his eyes. Because that made sense.

Messages, it said. Unread.

Like the video games that Jin-Ah enjoyed playing.

His hand went right through the screen when he tried to touch it. Floating softly in front of him, the box was blue and taunted him with its text. There was no button to press anyway, but he tried regardless. Nothing he did had any effect on it. Finally, he muttered, "Open."

It flickered. Blinked. And then new text was written on it.

Two message titles. One about a player and another about a daily quest. Both marked as 'unread'. Both moving to always stay right in front of his gaze, no matter which direction he looked at. Both just sitting there, silently. Jin-Woo wasn't sure he even wanted to know what was happening anymore—not that he'd ever had any idea in the first place. Nobody did, really. The whole business with Dungeons and Hunters and Awakened was a mystery that still went unsolved.

But this. He thought that this was far more mysterious than anything that'd ever happened to him.

Three more screens burst to life before him and stared him straight in the face. 'Notice' was written on the top of each one and they all carried different messages. That "Player" thing again. And the System. It was mentioned in two different messages, so it had to be important. A penalty. That meant... punishment. If he didn't comply with the System (which was presumably the thing shoving transparent screens in his face) then he'd be punished? And lastly, a reward.

His gaze flickered from the Notices and back to the Message screen. Jin-Woo was fairly certain that this had something to do with that thing he'd seen right before he'd died. Something about a secret quest and becoming a player.

"Open," he said and new information was displayed on the screen. The daily quest: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and 10 kilometers of running. This was apparently training to "become a formidable combatant". And because good things never happened to be him without a catch, there was a caution note at the bottom. A punishment for failing to meet the goal. And a clock, slowly ticking away.

As a last resort, Jin-Woo rubbed his drooping eyes.

Nothing changed.

"Fuck," he swore again.

(This was... a little too elaborate to be a hallucination of his. Why would he even hallucinate something like this? He hadn't played a single video games in years.)

In his haste to reach the flashlight, he hung his arms over the edge and stretched them as far as he could, until more of him was hanging over the edge of the altar than was still on it. His fingers reached and reached and reached, until finally, the tips of his nails scratched the flashlight. Grunting from effort, he slowly managed to squeeze out another inch and grab ahold of it.

Exhaling softly, he scooted back and sat upright again, holding the flashlight close to his chest. His head was still full of the images of what the statues had done to those who disobeyed the rules. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that if he stepped off the altar, if his foot touched the floor, he would be torn in half, like so many of the others.

Pressing his hand over his eyes and clenching them shut, his breath hitching in his throat, he waited until his breathing was somewhat steady again before he used the flashlight.

Gazing out into the abyss, the flashlight barely showed a fraction of the same nightmare-inducing chamber he remembered. Statues that he couldn't even see with this flimsy light, cracked stonework with moss and weeds peeking through them, and of course—blood. So much blood.

He gulped and bit down on his bottom lip, curling his body tighter together, feeling his shivering starting up again. (Like it had ever really stopped.)

He couldn't stay on this stone altar forever. If he tried, it simply meant that he'd starve to death here. Or die of dehydration. (God, did he even have any water?) He was screwed no matter what he did, no matter where he went. And besides, the altar... the altar couldn't actually protect him, that had already been proven. Hadn't he been on the altar when he got stabbed? He wasn't safe here. Even if he stayed put and didn't move a muscle, he wasn't safe.

(He was tired. Exhausted. It felt like he'd only been awake minutes at most, and yet. And yet, he had to fight to stay awake. His eyes drooped, his legs so weak they surely wouldn't hold his weight. But he couldn't fall asleep. He couldn't be unconscious here. He couldn't.)

Biting his lip, he looked at the quest info again. It was still staring at him. Just sitting there without doing anything, the clock still ticking down. Moving without regard for his feelings.

How long had he been unconscious? How long had it been since the Dungeon had been cleared and the others left? How long had he slept here? How long had he been unsafe?

He pulled on his hair until the pain made him gasp. Letting go, Jin-Woo forced himself to think. He didn't want to die. He hadn't wanted to die then, enough to accept this "player" thing, and he didn't want to die now. And sure, he was presumably trapped in a Dungeon, but there must be a way to survive in here. Or there wouldn't be any monsters. There had to be food and water and, and something to make fire out of. Survival had to be possible, or this made even less sense than anybody had ever suspected.

It was just... well, this wasn't an ordinary Dungeon, was it?

Smacking his lips together, Jin-Woo slowly rearranged his body on the altar again, wincing at the stiffness that still plagued him. His trembling limbs were weak and flimsy and his skin stung where it met the cold stone.

He looked out into the darkness again. Then, inch by painful inch, he lowered his feet to the floor. Flinching when the tips of his toes made contact with the floor, he waited with bated breath and shaking legs for something to happen, staring wide-eyed at the stone floor.

Nothing did. So he carefully scooted over the last bit of the edge and then he was standing on the floor, on two shaky legs, one of which was only partly clothed. Jin-Woo breathed out a shuddering breath and stopped in his tracks. He shone the flashlight around with a deathtrap on it, trying to spot anything moving. But the light didn't reach far enough. He couldn't see anything.

Straining his ears, he did his best to listen; he'd always had very good hearing ever since his Awakening. But it was—silent. Quiet. Not so much as a peep to be heard.

He gulped again, swallowing a whole mouthful of saliva. There wasn't even much of it, his mouth was incredibly dry. Rubbing his eyes, he licked his lips and took his first uncertain step. Then his second. Third. Fourth. Fifth.

Tenth.

Still, nothing was happening. He could hear nothing. No statues were moving. So he partly turned toward the large doors into the room and stared at them with tired eyes. There were statues there that he'd seen kill those who got too close. Would they kill him too? If they were simply inactive now, would they activate if he stepped too close?

(What did monsters do, when their Dungeons weren't open?)

But they weren't moving. Nothing was moving. So it... it should be fine. There was nothing in this room that could help him survive anyway; no food or water or even wood to fuel a fire. He couldn't survive long in here. So he had to leave. He had to take the chance.

And anyway, everything he'd seen indicated that the statues killed quickly; they crushed you under their feet or split you in half with their weapons. Those were much quicker deaths than starving and dehydration.

He couldn't wait for a rescue. He couldn't stay here and starve. With those options out, he didn't exactly have any choices left, did he?

So Sung Jin-Woo, the weakest hunter of all mankind, took a deep, shuddering breath.

And then he ran.

The wind whistled at the speed he was going, beating against his body like a wall. His feet slapped against the ground, one shoeless and the other in a shoe on the edge of falling apart. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, his eyes veering wildly around him, trying to spot any oncoming statues in the hope he would be able to avoid them.

He picked up speed the further he went and then he was just. There. At the doors. And the statues next to them hadn't moved.

And of course... of course... the doors didn't open.

Of course.

(That would have been too easy, wouldn't it?)

His fist fell on the door, the sound echoing loudly. Again and again, he hit it. It didn't make a dent in the door, and as time went on, his vision grew hazier and hazier as his eyes watered. His nose clogged up, his breath hiccuping in his throat. He kicked the door, and it didn't even shake. He threw his whole body-weight against it and it felt like breaking a bone. He leaned his head on it and felt his tears dripping from his eyes, down his cheeks, and falling on the ground.

His fist continued to beat against it, his eyes so hazy he could see nothing, his nose so stuffed that even sniffling accomplished nothing, his heartbeat so loud that he could hear nothing else. It was just him, and the door.

Eventually, he had no energy left. His tears dried out and his strength left him and he collapsed to the floor against the door. Listlessly he gazed out, his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and the gloom.

Now, he could see the statues standing still along the walls, the god statue sitting proud on its massive throne.

His stared at the god statue, his body limp against the door. It was a giant, dwarfing every other statue effortlessly. Jin-Woo shuddered at the memory of its face, at that hideous grin. Its eyes shooting fire and the gleeful look on its face when people died. At the way that it had stepped on a human being for worshipping another god. And now it sat there, back on that throne, motionless. Waiting for something that Jin-Woo couldn't divine.

He looked at it for lack of anything else to do. Everything... everything was over.

And then—it stared back.

"Shi—!"

Jin-Woo swerved his gaze away and counted his deafening breaths. It did nothing for him, so he gave that up and settled for holding his breath. His quivering hand over his mouth, his painfully wide eyes stared at the floor. He didn't want to look back. He didn't want to see that horrifying expression again; it would already be stuck in his nightmares forever (if he ever managed to fall asleep again). He didn't want to see.

If he just closed his eyes and refused to acknowledge what his senses were telling him, it might all go away. It might all disappear.

But... It did not. Reality didn't work like that. Jin-Woo's reality didn't work like that. Instead, Jin-Woo's gaze slowly inched its way back across the distance, because curiosity had always been a vice of his. Raising his eyes that last bit of distance, he held his breath for so long that his chest burned **from lack of air.

He stared up into the abyss and the abyss gazed steadily back at him. And grinned.

His heart stopped in his chest.

It jump-started and then beat a mile a minute. Thudding loudly in his ears, all that he could hear was the sound of himself—muffled breathing behind his hand, his heartbeat, his chattering teeth. His eyelids trembled as they begged him to close his eyes. He should. He should. He should not be seeing this. He should close his eyes and it would all go away.

It took him a disturbingly long time to realize that that loud peeping sound was his own keening. He held his breath again—it only made the pain in his chest grow.

The god statue stared at him, its giant eyes pinning him in place like a fly on the wall. (Could he hold his breath until he passed out? It felt like he was on the edge of passing out.) The eyes were huge and intense and staring straight at him and he could vividly remember how the fire had shot out of them and murdered people.

It was not... This was not... He couldn't... breathe. He had to breathe.

Jin-Woo managed to take another shuddering breath and it felt like the air would freeze in his lungs. The statue was just staring at him. But, somehow, that was worse than when it'd been smiling so horrifically. Its emotionless face frowning down on him was beautiful—too beautiful. It should not look like that when he knew that it was a murderous god that demanded praise, and obedience, and worship. It should not be pretty. It should be horrifying.

It was not.

(He'd thought that when he first entered this room too, however long ago it was. The god statue sitting on the throne had the kind of serene beauty he was used to seeing in paintings. But it should not exist in real life, and it should not be killing things with a grin so ugly and murderous and horrifying that he half wanted to gauge out his own eyes.)

Jin-Woo couldn't keep holding his breath, despite his persistent attempts. Eventually, he had to let his mouth go and frantically breathe in huge gulps of air as he attempted to stay awake. He couldn't fall unconscious here. He had no idea what the statues would do to him if he did. There were too many what-ifs. Too many risks. So he had to breathe, no matter how painful it was.

And he had to... he had to stand up and search for anything that could help him survive. Food, water, just. Something to light a fire with. He had lighter, but it wouldn't do a lot of good without something to fuel the flames. And the chamber, was it airtight? Was there only a finite amount of oxygen in here? If so, he couldn't risk lighting a fire.

He shivered. His hand gripped his bare foot under him and he felt it tremble in his grip. The god statue was still staring at him, but he couldn't afford to wait for it to stop. He had to stand up.

He had to walk. He had to.

Jin-Woo managed to push himself into a standing position, still leaning against the door. His legs trembled beneath him, his hands clammy and shaking where they pressed against the door. He forced himself to take breath after breath and to pull his gaze away from the god statue. He couldn't look at it; it was like it took over his every thought when he did. It distracted him, the thoughts of what it could do to him on a simple whim.

On shaky legs that barely managed to bear his weight, Jin-Woo made his way back out into the chamber. His throat was so dry it hurt, and his knees ached from how much they'd shaken today. The flashlight was gone from his grip, lying somewhere uselessly on the stone floor. His breath shuddered in his lungs, and he was biting his bottom lip so hard that he was surprised he didn't taste blood.

He felt unsteady, unmoored.

There were still transparent screens in front of him. Floating quietly, a clock that was still counting down. Should he... do something about those? That thing about a punishment, it made his skin itch. It was probably just a hallucination or an illusion, but if it came from the god statue then... he would definitely be punished if he didn't complete the 'quest'. And 'punishment' would likely mean death.

And it wasn't like he was a stranger to exercise. He trained regularly so that he would at least be strong enough to bash at a monster with a club. And he had to be fast enough to run away. Sure, he didn't run 10 km when training, but he was still pretty good at sprinting short distances. Or he wouldn't have survived half the Dungeons he'd been in.

"Should I do them now?" he asked himself, the sound echoing in the chamber, just to hear something other then his breathing.

He peeked back at the god statue out of the corner of his eye and saw the still way it stared at him. ...Yes, he probably should, before the time elapsed and it killed him.

How in the hell the god statue had the power to do this to him, he didn't know. He didn't particularly care. Maybe it really was a god, in whatever world it came from. Maybe the sacrifice on the altar had done this. Maybe this was all a game to it, amusement until the next time unprepared Hunters found their way to this Dungeon.

His brain was tired, exhausted from all the thinking it had been forced to do lately. The stress made him restless and listless and filled him with a need to do something to relieve it. And searching this place for survival tools wasn't likely to accomplish anything, not from what he'd seen before and not from what he could see now. So perhaps he should deal with the 'quest' first and hopefully, the exercise would clear his mind.

A hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and running... It should clear his mind nicely. Letting all his worries go because he'd be so sore and exhausted from the training that he wouldn't be able to think anymore seemed like just about the sanest thing he could do right now.

So Jin-Woo retreated to a corner where there was no statue looming over him threateningly. He was achingly aware of the gaze of the god statue on him (it felt like a fire was lit where the gaze was) and he couldn't stop himself from looking over every few seconds, to make sure that the statue wasn't grinning. If it grinned, he thought, that probably meant it would kill him. Or he would have to bow to it and sing its praises or something. But it would be horrible and humiliating and there wouldn't be a way out of it.

Soon though, even the persistent gaze of the terrifying god statue left his mind. The exercise did what he'd hoped; emptied his mind of all superfluous thought. Huffing and puffing and sweating so much he would be worrying about the loss of water if his mind wasn't preoccupied with "hurts, hurts, hurts, did it always hurt this much?!" as he forced himself to complete the last kilometer of running.

Even though he'd stopped feeling his legs a while back and was pretty sure that if he stopped running, he'd collapse and be unable to get up for a whole week. Or a month. A long time, anyway.

His mind was blissfully blank though, despite the way his body hurt. He was fine with this; he could worry about survival once he was sure that the imminent threat of death was gone. And as he'd so desperately hoped (and dreaded) once he'd finished the last bit of training, the quest info changed.

But at that point, he had already passed out.

Jin-Woo woke up shuddering. Curled into a tight ball, he was shivering on the cold stone floor. It took him a moment, wherein he blinked blearily into the darkness pressing down on him, before he remembered what had happened.

He stumbled to his feet.

His eyes had, at some point, grown accustomed to the darkness. Staring around himself, he felt his heart slowly start to pick up speed. There was a pressure to the air that he associated with Dungeons, the pressure of an environment positively covered by mana. Involuntarily, he took a step back.

Jin-Woo gripped the torn shirt over his heart, feeling the beating heart below the skin. His eyes swiveled around and he tried to get a clear picture of where he had collapsed. He remembered running, remembered his muscles straining, remembered the pain of putting his body through training beyond what it could withstand. His legs had almost felt like they were tearing to pieces under him before he'd lost feeling in them entirely.

But—he was feeling fine.

He had no memory of finishing his training, no memory of how he had fallen to the floor. No memory beyond the agony that coursed through his veins as he forced himself to keep going, the unknown of what would happen to him if he stopped forcing his feet forward. There had been a desperation to his every thought, his every movement.

He should hurt too much to move. He shouldn't be able to stand, not after training that intense when he'd already been halfway to collapsing from shock and horror and grief. His legs should be jelly, his thoughts useless. But he was standing on two perfectly fine legs. There was not a cramp to be felt. His muscles felt fine*—more* than fine, even. He felt refreshed like he'd even showered before going to bed.

His body was stiff, yes, but it was the stiffness that came from sleeping on literal stone. It wasn't the agony his body should be in after what little he could remember of the workout he'd endured on pain of actual death.

He took a tiny step, staring at his foot the entire time, just to test his legs. Just to see if they still worked. But like everything else here, he couldn't explain how they seemed perfectly alright.

The transparent screens were still there, right in front of him. Jin-Woo licked his dry lips and wondered at his hunger—his lack of it. Oh, his stomach was empty and he certainly wanted to eat something. But it wasn't the deliberating hunger that he should be feeling. It had been days since he'd eaten; maybe even more. Who knew how long he'd been unconscious after he was killed. So he should be starving. His stomach should feel like it was trying to eat itself out. Something in him should recognize that feeling of acute hunger, of not having eaten for too long. Yet, here it seemed, there was a but.

But he wasn't hungry. But he felt well-rested, even though he'd had nightmares that sent his pulse racing. But he wasn't hurt, even though he literally ran himself into the ground yesterday. The only thing that was even the slightest bit abnormal was his dry lips and the thirst he could feel in the back of his throat.

Yet, even that wasn't at the level he would have expected.

(Should he take this as a blessing? Should he give praise to the gods? Should he think a miracle had occurred? Should he go down on his knees and pray?)

Jin-Woo dragged his focus away from the screen in front of his face and refocused back on what was happening here and now. He couldn't afford to think of such things right now, no matter how much his fear curiosity ate at him. He had to focus, concentrate, on what needed he to do to ensure his survival.

After all, he had a sister to return to. A sister that depended on him. A sister that he refused to leave alone in the world, with only a comatose mother to accompany her as she became an adult.

He turned around yet again, walking over to a wall in the large chamber. Now, not burdened by panic and heart-stopping fear, Jin-Woo noticed that it was even larger than he remembered. Not that weird when he thought about it; the statues (not to mention the god statue) were gigantic. In order for them to be able to swing humungous weapons around unimpeded, there had to be plenty of room for them to move.

When he reached the wall, he put his vulnerable back to it. The fact that he was surrounded by enemies was the kind of knowledge that ate away at him. The fact that he couldn't leave the chamber, that he was trapped here forever until he could break out made his throat clog up. He curled his hands into tight fists, his fingernails harshly cutting into his skin.

Pushing back the feelings threatening to drown him, he very carefully didn't look at the god statue as he checked what possessions were on his person. Not the flashlight, he'd lost that at some point. But he had a pocketknife, a knife sheathed on his back, a small bottle of water in a pocket.

Looking at it, it was truly tiny. His fingers could curl effortlessly around the bottle and it wasn't even full. There couldn't be more than two deciliters of water in there.

His eyebrows slowly furrowed, the further he got into the search.

Finally, he was looking down on the truly pitiful collection laid out by his feet. He crouched down and tried to spread them apart, so it would look like he had more possessions. It didn't help.

He buried his head in his hands and muttered, "What am I going to do?"

It was a question that he had no answer to. It was a question that made him want to lay back down on the floor and curl into a ball again. He wanted to close his eyes and ignore everything; he desperately wanted this all to be a nightmare. Just a bad dream. He wanted to wake up in his bed and have Jin-Ah laugh at him for his silliness—because who gets trapped in a closed Dungeon?

Jin-Woo slapped himself. Hard. His head rang with the impact, his mind blanking and splitting apart at the seams. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears automatically pooling in his eyes.

He couldn't delude himself like that. It was a trap; a trap he wasn't strong enough to pull himself out of. If he started thinking of this as "just a bad dream" he'd stop fighting and then he'd die. He couldn't do that. He couldn't leave Jin-Ah and his mother. He couldn't abandon them like that. He had to find a way to survive; he had to shove his fears aside and push forward. There was nowhere else to go.

"Fuck," he groaned. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and ignored the fact that it was fluffy as if he'd just cleaned it. Instead, he focused on more important things. Like the fact that he needed to find more water.

(This was a chamber made entirely of stone, what the hell was he hoping for? An underground river? God, he was so tired.)

There was no way that he could ignore it anymore. Frankly, he didn't understand how he'd ignored it in the first place, the feeling was too... claustrophobic, almost. His skin crawled below it, his hands shuddered as he tried to not remember the things he'd seen, his legs trembled trying to support his weight.

The god statue was staring at him.

It had ever since he woke up. Since he took that first trembling step. Since he pulled out all his possessions and laid them bare on the floor. Since he hurt himself to keep from spiraling. (Jin-Ah would scold him if she knew. So many things already hurt him every time he entered a Dungeon, he couldn't afford to add to that count himself.)

The god statue continued stared at him, its gaze unrelenting and cold as ice.

Jin-Woo gulped. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to force his shivers under control. Clenching his hands by his sides, he took another breath and looked up at the god statue.

It was truly almost too big to comprehend. It had to be as big as the Statue of Liberty. Standing down here on the floor, he felt like an ant, felt like a speck of dust about to be brushed away. That the thing existed was nearly unfathomable.

The god statue's eyes shone. The light was harsh and unwelcoming, a glittering coming from within it. Sun Jin-Woo dropped to the floor instantly, bending over and kneeling just before the statue could incinerate him. The heat wave passed right over him and a breath escaped his tense lips. He held his breath as he waited, his forehead resting on the floor, for the statue to condemn him.

Nothing happened. The tension in the pit of his stomach didn't ease; on the contrary, it tightened.

His nails scraped against the stone floor while his eyes veered wildly behind his closed eyelids.

What were the commandments? Kneel, like they had two life-times ago. Praise the Lord, like they had done four life-times ago. Prove thy faith, like he had done a death ago.

He was kneeling. And praising... how could he praise the god? None of the statues had reacted no matter how much he'd run yesterday. He needed music, a song, an instrument. But he couldn't play any instruments, and though his voice was passable, he knew no songs that wouldn't get him killed. It would have to praise this god, the song. This murderous, horrific god.

Was he going to have to write a song, himself? How did one even do that? Just... sing a rhyme to a tune? Jin-Woo didn't know, but he should do something soon because the pressure on him was increasing the more time passed.

"The Lord is wise," he mumbled into the floor, less singing and more begging, trying to think of something to rhyme it with. Licking his lips, he rose his head slightly and took a deep breath. "The Lord is made of bones and dust, stars that have come undone. The Lord will have our heads tonight, when we return in victorious might."

His eyebrows furrowed while his mind worked a thousand kilometers a minute, desperate to keep the words coming. "The Lord will judge our worthiness, to sit at its feet and adore. The Lord will decide who is to come, and who is to die. The Lord is just, and the Lord is cruel, for cruelty is justice pure. The Lord is made of bones and dust, stars that come undone."

He took a deep breath, wearily watching the god statue. He'd picked up something that resembling a tune now, "The Lord is might, the Lord is right, the Lord is salvation. The Lord shall choose who spare, and who to throw to damnation. Oh Lord of mine, whom I so adore, I beg to sit at your feet. Oh Lord of mine, made of stars undone, I beg to sing your name to the skies. Of Lord of mine, I beg of you, let me grovel for your light."

The chamber returned to silence.

Jin-Woo's eyes strained to see the god statue, to discern its mood. He couldn't, of course he couldn't. It was a statue, a god, an unholy combination of both. There was nothing there for him to discern. Nothing there for him to connect with.

He moved into a sitting position, his bones so stiff they should be breaking when he moved them. Licking his lips again, he swallowed the saliva suddenly pooling in his mouth. Hunger was starting to make itself known, his empty stomach a hollow space below his ribs. He pressed a hand to it, frowning heavily.

His eyes were still stuck on the god statue. But it wasn't doing anything. And Jin-Woo still had mysteries to solve.

"Open messages," he croaked out. His tongue was ungainly in his mouth, a thick weight that didn't move as it should. He brushed his hand through his hair, and the message screen popped up in front of his eyes.

"Daily quest," he said. The screen changed. The information for the daily quest appeared. Finally, he took his eyes off the statue, instead focusing on what was right in front of him.

The daily quest for yesterday was listed as completed. Rewards were mentioned on the bottom, an offer for him to accept or refuse. (...What would happen if he said no?) His finger went right through the screen and he blushed, muttering a quiet, "Open."

The rewards were now listed on the screen. The 'Full Recovery' option showed as already used. His eyes narrowed. That must be why he had woken up feeling refreshed of all things. Even now, aside from the hunger and thirst, he felt fine.

(It was disgusting.)

There was also 'Stat Points' and a 'Mystery Box'. Jin-Woo's eyes glared at them. Stat points implied the existence of a certain something else. A mystery box... could either be really useful or really useless.

Biting down on his lip, he moved so that he sat crosslegged. Then he ordered his own profile to show itself. Then he opened his stat page. Then he felt his stomach swoop and his eyes water. Then he put the all three available stat points in 'stamina'.

It'd been years since he'd played games so he didn't really know what the different stats did. But what he needed now was endurance. Strength, too, but if he couldn't endure until he got stronger, it'd be worthless. So the points went to stamina, and that number alone stood out amongst the others.

He rubbed his eyes. He wasn't done yet.

Pressing his hands over his eyes harshly, he choked down on the sob that wanted to escape. "Accept 'Mystery Box'," he mumbled into his hands, flinching when there immediately came the sound of something hitting stone. The first sound in two full days that he hadn't made. His head snapped up, and he stared wild-eyed at the innocuous cardboard box now sitting in front of him.

"Seriously?" he questioned, his pulse picking up.

His fingers itched, and he scooted closer. Picking it up, he turned it this way and that, frowning at it. He could see no indications that it'd ever been opened, and so with a burst of courage, he opened it himself.

A water-bottle laid within.

His eyes widening, he grabbed it and held it before his eyes. It was a water-battle, one that was full to the brim. A big one, too, easily over a liter. And the text floating above it, when his eyes drifted to it, told him frankly that it was "an ordinary bottle carrying two liters of water that could be stored in his inventory".

"Water," he whispered. His eyes widened again. "Water," he repeated.

His back struck the floor as his bones stopped working. Staring up at the ceiling, he laughed quietly, hugging the full bottle to his chest. It was so cold that it stung his skin through the torn shirt.

Water.

Huffing and puffing, Jin-Woo pressed on through the last kilometer of running. His legs were heavy like lead, unsteady and trembling below him. If he stopped now, he knew, he wouldn't be able to start again. And so he ran with all his might, begging himself to please just cross the distance already. A tired eye glanced at the screen before him, keeping watch of the distance he'd run.

Nine of out of ten, nine out of ten, nine out of ten...

Ten out of ten.

"Yes," he muttered and fell to the floor, flat on his face. The skin on his nose tore open on the stones, but he could not care less. He splayed out like a starfish on the floor, his heart beating so fast he half-feared it would bounce out of his chest. The sound echoed through his ears, snot building up in his nose as he tried to get his breathing in order.

He huffed, puffing deep breaths until his chest stopped feeling like it was trying to smother him. Weakly pushing himself up on shaking arms, he glared at the screen and quietly wheezed out, "Rewards."

Relief filled him. Good. It was the same as yesterday. 'Full Recovery', which he made instant use of and so in the blink of an eye stopped feeling like he was on death's doorstep. Stat points, which he added to strength this time, thus evening out stamina and strength. Tomorrow, he'd add the three points to stamina again.

And then there was the 'Mystery Box'.

Licking his lips, he watched as it tumbled out of thin air in front of him. He dragged it to him and opened, not even bothering to check it over this time. He'd gotten water out of the last box and now he needed... he needed—

Crackers?

"Crackers?" he asked himself, taking out the full box. He rattled it in his hands. It was just... an ordinary box, like those that could be found in stores. Nothing special about it. He turned it around in his hands, quickly reading the text on the backside, but there was really nothing of note.

And he was hungry. He was so incredibly hungry. He'd manage to save most of the water he'd gotten from the last box, earlier today, by drinking the last of the water that he'd walked into this Dungeon with in the first place. And then he'd ignored his thirst in favor of completing the daily quest as quickly as possible. But his hunger was another beast, one that even full recovery apparently couldn't sate.

He summoned his water bottle from the inventory, and opened the box of crackers. It was a big box, at least.

Crunching down on them, he nibbled his way slowly through four crackers, barely making a dent in his hunger but at least easing it somewhat. Making it more bearable. He took small, periodic sips of the water, and forced himself not to waste it all instantly. It needed to last until tomorrow, until the clock for the daily quest would reset and he could complete it again. (If it gave him what he needed to survive then. Then water should be first on the list.)

The 'Mystery Box' was his only means of survival right now, so he had exercise restraint. Even though it hurt all the way down to his soul. Even though his mouth salivated when he looked at the crackers left. Even though his stomach was so miserably empty.

"This sucks," he muttered, frowning down at the box. He shook it a little, watching passively as the crackers inside danced. He could barely restrain the urge to hug the box to his chest like a teddy bear.

Shaking his head somewhat and sighing, he put away the box and bottle into his inventory, climbing to his feet. It was time for him to start actually doing something now, time for him to stop sitting in a corner and feeling sorry for himself. That wouldn't help him survive.

The chamber he was in was ridiculously huge, easily several full-scale soccer arenas with a ceiling so high he couldn't even see it. The memories he had of it were so distant they seemed more like a dream than anything, though he remembered the fires casting light everywhere and the horror when the statues had started killing them. There were no torches lit now, though, which meant that he had to rely on his own human vision to look around. And he couldn't even use the flashlight because it would simply cancel out the way his vision had by now grown accustomed to the darkness.

It wasn't great, but it was better then the little he could see with the flashlight.

He walked to the altar first. It was just like he'd left it, his own blood still staining it. Dried though it was, he imagined that he could smell the scent of it when he was this close. His eyes shut and his eyebrows furrowed when he remembered the events that had transpired here, the betrayal he'd suffered as a thanks for saving the others.

Never again, he thought.

(Well, it wasn't like he would be getting out of here anytime soon so it was kind of a moot point. But still.

Never again.)

Placing his hand on the stone, he stroked it carefully, feeling the ridges and dips in the work. Some of it had cracked, small fissures forming in the stone that nobody had bothered to fix. Moss was growing up the sides of it and—wait, could he eat the moss?

He glanced at the god statue. It was sitting on the throne expressionlessly, it's large eyes gazing down on him. But it wasn't doing anything. It was just... looking. Large eyes gazing steadily at him, silent but endlessly watchful. Like he was an amusing show, something to keep the boredom away. ...Could gods even get bored? Could Dungeon monsters get bored?

Jin-Woo gulped. He bent down and tore out a large strip of moss from the stone, clenching his hand around it. There was no screen that popped up with it, presumably because it didn't come from a 'Mystery Box'. So there was no way for him to tell if it was safe to eat or not.

He held it up to his face and tore off a small piece that didn't have any dirt on it. Then, frowning, he cautiously placed it on his tongue.

The taste was an odd combination of sugary sweet and unpleasant. Maybe it was a totally normal taste for moss, he'd never eaten any before. But it was so sweet that it stung his tongue, and he scowled as he chewed on it. It was not something he would eat if he had any other option, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was a lot of moss in this chamber, even in just the fraction of the space he'd been running in. It would at least help relieve some of the burden on the 'Mystery Box', especially since the box had so far only given him one object at a time.

He swallowed the moss and took another bite of it. While he ate, he continued to walk and examine the immediate area. There wasn't a lot he could do without some more tools, but he knocked on the walls and scuffed his feet on the floor, making sure it was secure. He wasn't going far from the little corner he'd designated as his; the place where he intended to continue sleeping at, essentially.

Jin-Woo stopped in front of the statues. The smaller ones, though no less terrifying, with the weapons that had hunted them so effectively. It stood still before him, merely unmoving stone. There was no reaction to his presence, not even when he tapped on it with a finger.

He swallowed another batch of moss and grimaced, the taste clinching to the inside of his mouth.

But he was still hungry. So he continued to eat, despite the punishing taste and the even worse aftertaste. He ate until he finally felt full, and the relief of not being hungry was so great that his eyes watered, and he sniffled quietly.

Clapping his hands to get rid of the dirt, he returned to his claimed corner of the chamber. He sat down, letting his back make contact with the stone wall, and breathed calmly as he tried to sort out his thoughts. For the first time in days, he felt somewhat normal, and like he might be able to approach his current... situation, logically.

So. He laid out all the facts he knew.

First, he was trapped in a Dungeon with no way out. But then, he hadn't explored the whole chamber, so who knew, there might be another door somewhere. He should look through the whole place, when he felt a little better. Tomorrow, maybe.

Two, he had been bound to some kind of video game system, presumably the action of the god statue that still demanded worship, though so far he at least hadn't had to prove his faith again. That would not be fun. His singing seemed like it was about to get lots of practice, if the god statue demanded praise as often as he suspected. He might be heading onto the path of becoming a songwriter, if a pretty mediocre one.

Three, he had extremely limited resources. So far the moss hadn't made him sick, so though it tasted horribly, it would at least feed him. But at the moment, he was depending on the 'Mystery Box' to provide food and water, so he needed to make sure he always finished the daily quest, no exceptions. It was too soon for him to know if the stat points made any real difference, but hopefully, those weren't useless.

And he had noticed that he was currently 'Level 1'. Which implied that he might be able to level up. And if he got to a high enough level, possibly... he might possibly be strong enough to force the chamber doors' open.

Hopefully.

It was a plan, at least. A tiny, barely useful, plan. But it was a course of action he could follow, and that was worth its weight in gold to him right now. It was a life-line, a map of his future that would allow his mind the relief of not panicking constantly from uncertainty.

"I'm not screwed," he mumbled. He wasn't. He could make his way back to his family, back to his sister and mother. He wouldn't be trapped here forever. This place wouldn't kill him.

His hands clenched harshly by his sides and he looked up, making eye-contact with the god statue.

Grinning, Jin-Woo announced, "I'm not screwed."

C2

As soon as midnight struck and the daily quest reset, Jin-Woo was up and moving. He began with the squats, his breathing getting harsher and harsher from effort and his muscles beginning to quake. He pushed through, knowing that whatever the mystery box would give him, he needed it.

He'd fallen asleep not long after eating all that moss, and he'd slept for hours. It was an unsettled sleep, yes, one where he'd woken up multiple times, dazed and confused, but it was still sleeping. It still eased his mind and took away some of the exhaustion that so furiously dogged his footsteps, allowed him to attack the daily quest with renewed vigor.

Sleeping for so long, when he'd woken up, he'd naturally felt better than he had in days. His mind was the clearest it'd been since entering the Dungeon, and he was sure he was ready now.

Ready for the tremendous effort it'd take to escape this place.

He raced through the rest of the daily quest and when he was done, he flopped, boneless, to the floor. His mind was blissfully blank as he laid there and stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving with painful breaths. He hadn't dared to test yet what counted as running or how slow he could really go, because there was no energy that could be spared toward it, which meant that he'd run as fast as he could the whole way, albeit at least at a steady pace.

"Rewards," he ordered when his breathing had calmed down and his mouth worked again. Despite the fact that it was deceivingly simple, this training was far more straining than any other training he'd ever done. And as an E-rank, he'd had to train a lot just to be able to beat the weakest monsters. Ambushes could only do so much.

(It was probably the lack of food and water. But there was nothing he could do about that.)

'Full Recovery' kicked in first. All three points were dropped on the stamina stat again, and tomorrow he'd drop the next ones on strength. And then came the 'Mystery Box', the sole reason for his continued to survival.

Jin-Woo watched anxiously as it materialized. He grunted as he shoved himself into a sitting position, dragging himself to the box. Next to it, he flicked it open and stared down.

It was a key.

A golden key with floating text above it. It was a 'key to Hapjeong Subway Station's Instance Dungeon' could roughly be understood from the text on the screen. Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed and he gulped as he grabbed the key, his gaze sliding toward the chamber's doors. Saliva pooled in his mouth. The mystery box... wouldn't give him this key if he couldn't use it, would it? No, it would give him other stuff, like food and water, in that case. Which meant...

His head swiveled to the god statue. "Did you do this?" he demanded, realizing a second too late that it was monumentally stupid of him to talk to it like that.

He was right, of course. The god statue's eyes began to glow and Jin-Woo moved to his knees instantly, bowing down so fast that his forehead hit the floor with a loud thud. He cursed himself in his head while out loud, he said, "Please forgive this foolish one, my Lord, I simply meant to ask if this is a gift from this one's great and mighty Lord."

Nothing happened—the fire that spewed from the statues eyes didn't come. Peeking up, Jin-Woo exhaled softly when he saw that the glow in the statue's eyes had been reduced back to the normal low-level light. He waited another few seconds before he began to sit up again.

His eyes fell on the key once more. Swallowing a batch of saliva, he picked it up and turned it around and around, studying it. Aside from the fact that it was made of gold and comically large, it seemed like just a normal key. It wasn't even that heavy, the metal warm in his hands and the text above it following it's motions.

His hand clenched around it. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his torn pants as he did so. He was holding the key so tightly that it hurt, but he couldn't even imagine letting go. What if he lost it? What if he could never get it back? No, no, better keep a tight grip.

Glancing at the chamber doors, his breath caught in his throat.

And he ran.

How could he do anything else? The key was the only hope he'd had since he woke up here, forgotten and left behind. So what if it didn't work—he needed to try. Just try. He could cry later when nothing happened but for now, he reached the door and nearly slammed into it. His hand shook around the key and he looked desperately for a keyhole.

He found one. And he put the key in. And the key turned.

His eyes so wide they were watering, he slowly, slowly pressed the door open. And outside... outside was Hapjeong Station.

But it was abandoned.

He didn't look back when he walked through the doorway, heading out into the unknown without the slightest bit of hesitation. His feet beat on the ground as stepped further in, the silence echoing around him. It was bigger than he'd ever seen it be, the lack of people distortion his sense of reality.

Jin-Woo stopped in the middle of the empty station, breathing in the musky air. Smiling, he approached one of the storefronts and looked through the window, squinting as he tried to make out any details. It appeared empty from this side, nothing on the other side of the glass. The rest of the station seemed just as empty from his limited viewpoint.

The air was dank and stale, all the lights turned off. There were no traces of people, layers of dust on every surface. In one of the stores, he found an old coat-hanger laying abandoned on the floor. He picked it up, weighing it in his hands. He probably couldn't get a lot of force from this, but it was better than nothing.

Especially because he'd found animal tracks.

He breathed deeply through his nose, forcing his thoughts to stay slow and calm. It was a Dungeon, the key's information had said, and it'd been stupid of him to go in expecting anything other than a fight for his life. Previous evidence suggested that he wouldn't get the key if there wasn't something here that he needed, something that would help him—though that evidence was only two previous mystery boxes. Perhaps that was too little data to draw a conclusion from.

With the coat-hanger in his hands, Jin-Woo exited the empty store he'd been in. He squared his shoulder back, moving into a ready position so he could defend him more easily. Vigilantly, he moved ahead.

He needed to find the exit. He didn't know from kind of doorway he'd really come out of, but it wasn't the station's proper exit. If he could find it! If it worked! Then he could escape the Double Dungeon!

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he looked into the darkness surrounding him. Concentrate. He needed to concentrate. If he let his guard down, that would be it; it would really be Game Over. No more Sung Jin-Woo, no more chances for him to return to his sister. He'd be lost to a Dungeon, just like his father.

He nodded to himself. He kept going.

When the first wolf attacked, Jin-Woo was ready. He swung the coat-hanger, banging it into the wolf's head and stunning it temporarily. It was stunned long enough for him to get in another swing and after that—it was a mindless fight for survival.

There was no room for error, no room for anything other instincts. Jin-Woo had no proper weapons, and the road back was cut off. All he could do was forge ahead, forsaking his health for the chance to come out the other side of this fight, the next fight, the fight after that, still breathing. No room for thinking. No room for anything other than pain.

He leveled up. And when the last wolf died, Jin-Woo leveled up again. Glaring at the screen, he huffed as his body once again fully recovered from all the strain he'd put it through. But it was good to know. Good to know that when he advanced a level, his body would automatically fully recover. And good to know that all his stats went up by one point with every level up.

Even though he'd almost died a few times, the information was worth it.

Jin-Woo huffed and wiped the blood from his face. He glared down at the corpses by his feet, kicking the closest wolf lightly. It didn't budge. He almost wondered if he could take the corpse with him back to the Dungeon, if he could eat the meat of these things.

He'd keep going, find the exit first, but if it didn't pan out... he'd investigate the possibly of taking the meat, if not just the whole corpse. ...Could he put the corpse into his inventory?

He scuffed his foot on the floor and glanced at the shining tooth in the wolf's mouth. It'd been shining for a while now and his curiosity ate at him. Would it keep shining if he took it? Could he collect shining teeth and use them as torches in the Dungeon? That would actually be kind of cool, if maybe somewhat tasteless.

The screen was still displaying the same message, too. Did he want to collect the loot?

Yes. Yes, he did.

With a ping, all the loot was collected. The screen informed him that it was now all in his inventory. Ten wolf fangs (though unfortunately, they appeared to no longer be shining) and a bunch of levels gained.

The stat points alone... he could feel his strength increasing while he was fighting. It became easier and easier to beat the wolves, his punches more and more powerful. This place—this place could make him stronger far faster than the daily quest. If he remembered right, leveling up was the easiest as a newbie. Which meant that he might never have a chance like this again, a chance to become significantly stronger in just one Dungeon.

Right then. There wasn't really another option.

Time to go hunting.

It took hours, making his way up and down the two floors (that he dared to go through, there was another level that made shivers travel down his spine), just hunting down the wolves and other monsters that attacked him again and again. They even respawned, like this really was a video game.

"What a joke," he muttered, flicking the blood off his hands. He rubbed his eyes, glancing over his stat screen. His level had gone up again, at least, fully recovering him from all the fighting. But he didn't think another trip through the next floor would result in a new level; it had taken him much too long just to reach this level. At this point, he had probably reached the cap of what (what was it called?) grinding could get him.

He shook his head and cracked his neck, narrowing his eyes. He summoned one of the wolf fangs from his inventory and weighed it in his hands. The system told him that he could sell it, but he was on the fence about it. Some, maybe, but the fangs were the only thing even resembling weapons that he had.

He should at least see if they were useful before he got rid of them.

In front of the entrance to the lowest level in the subway station, he stopped. Frowning, he bit down on his lip and worried it, his tongue poking at it distractedly. The sensation he got from down there wasn't anywhere near as overwhelming as in the Double Dungeon and the horror of the god statue, but it was undoubtedly stronger than anything else he'd met here.

Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to risk his life, go down there and fight whatever horrible beast that was responsible for this heavy pressure? Was he really going to take his chances on this weird system?

"Let's do this," he said, trying to sound determined and brave. He gripped the wolf fang tightly and descended down the stairs.

The air got heavier, the dark blacker, the silence quieter. Here, it seemed, all life had been pulled from the paint, from the floor, from the very air itself. Jin-Woo continued on, forcing his feet to keep going, because this was the last step. If he killed this thing, leveled up again, then maybe even if there wasn't a way out through this station, he could still escape the Double Dungeon. Maybe he would be strong enough to force the doors open on his own.

The train tracks were covered by water, like a river had formed in its place. Barely a second after he'd stepped up to it, he was attacked by some kind of snake-eel thing.

The text above its head was red.

The following fight was the worst one yet. Jin-Woo's fang broke when it struck the beast's neck and he had to summon another. His reflexes, honed through hundreds (thousands) of life-and-death fights was the only thing to save him, but even that didn't protect him entirely. His body was pushed to its breaking point as he viciously fought the creature, eventually—somehow—managing to stab two wolf fangs into its eyes. It died not long after that.

He came out the other side of this Instance Dungeon with a new title (Wolf Assassin), a new weapon (Kasaka's Poison Dagger) a new level (he was level seventeen now) and two new skills, one passive (Dark Vision level one) and the other active (Dash level one).

Gaining the new level enabled the effect 'Full Recovery' so as he trudged through the station looking for the exit, he was at least in one piece.

If covered in more blood than he'd thought a human body could hold.

No monsters had respawned this time. He assumed that that was due to the death of the Boss. If this was a normal Dungeon, the death of the Boss would cause it to close. But so far there had been no quakes signifying the Dungeon was about to close, just an utter stillness as the abandoned station was abruptly empty of all life except for him.

It was unsettling. Jin-Woo held his new dagger in steady hands and made his way up the floors. He followed the crumbling signs to the exit and then he was looking out at Seoul, nighttime. Dozens of people were walking on the streets, walking down into Hapjeong Station and disappearing as they crossed an invisible divide.

They couldn't hear him screaming. They couldn't see him waving his hands in front of them. They couldn't cross the divide. They couldn't interact with the Dungeon.

And Jin-Woo couldn't get out.

He banged on the line, on the divide, on the invisible wall he'd quite literally run into. His muscles strained as he pushed against the ground, trying to get leverage to force his way through. But his weight did nothing to it.

It was just another type of lock. Just another way he was trapped.

And while he pushed and pushed and pushed, the Dungeon around him began to fall apart. It disintegrated into air, section after section simply ceasing to exist.

"No, no, no," he muttered under his breath, desperately trying. He ignored the system messages that popped up, ignored the muscles aching from the effort, ignored the heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. His chest heaved, his lungs constricting and his eyes watering. He bit through his lip, blood staining his tongue.

It was not enough. None of it was enough. The Dungeon was collapsing and he couldn't get out this way. He couldn't escape. All that was left... all that was left was returning to the Double Dungeon.

"Fuck you," he spat at the system screen. It didn't react, just sitting there and warning him that he had to leave the Dungeon before it disappeared. Taunting him, almost.

(His hands bled from hard he'd hit the divide.)

He took a step back. Another. Finally, he began to run back the way he'd come, his feet slapping the floor and echoing in the silence. His heart raced in his chest, anger burning through his veins as he was forced to return to his prison.

The worst thing about the space he was in disintegrating was the fact that it did so silently, without a single noise. It just vanished, with no evidence that it had ever existed in the first place. Where there had once been something there was now only nothingness, an absence so keen that it hurt to look at it. It was like a piece of the universe had been deleted, someone mistyping and then removing it.

"Fuck you," he swore again when he reached the Double Dungeon's entrance, standing wide open and waiting for him.

Yeah. Fuck it all.


The Double Dungeon's chamber was just as he'd left it. His things from a lifetime ago had been left in his corner, still laying there untouched.

His hands ached, the wounds on them pulsing. His shook them, cursing below his breath as he wondered whether he needed to clean them or not. If they got infected, it should be fixed the next time his body fully recovered, so there was no real reason to waste precious water on them.

Even if they stung.

He scowled as he sat down. As soon as he'd entered the chamber again, the unrelenting focus of the god statue's gaze had fallen on him, the awareness of the eyes staring at him enough to make his stomach queasy and his hands tremble. Forcefully, Jin-Woo shut down all his emotions and restrained the instinct to duck his head and pray the monster didn't notice him, knowing it was already far too late.

His tiny corner in the chamber was barely a fraction of the entire room. It was too big for him to even really comprehend, and though his vision had gotten better (he suspected the skill 'Dark Vision' was at fault for that) he still couldn't see the end of it from here. It was so big that it seemed to defy reality itself.

He summoned the box of crackers from his inventory, munching down on one mulishly. His scowl only deepened as he ate, the crackers doing nothing for his hunger. To properly convey his dissatisfaction in a way that wouldn't get him killed by a murderous god, he bit down with far more force then was necessary on the cracker.

It didn't really help, but it made him feel a bit better. His cheeks puffed out as he ate, careful to not eat too many even in his anger. He couldn't afford to lose them all yet.

No, in order to actually sate his hunger completely, he ate moss again.

When he was done, he swallowed a few sips of water, smacking his lips and sighing. He put the bottle back in his inventory before he gave in to temptation and drank the rest. It really seemed like dehydration was what was going to kill him if he couldn't manage to find a way to get water from anything other than mystery boxes.

Speaking of mystery boxes. The rewards for clearing the Instance Dungeon was the same normal rewards for completing the daily quest. Which meant; three stat points, full recovery, and a mystery box.

"Accept all," he said. The mystery box immediately appeared in front of him. He hummed when he looked at it. From the outside, it didn't look any different from any other misery box he'd gotten so far. He peeked at the god statue before he picked it up, but the statue was still just expressionlessly staring at him. No help there.

Jin-Woo opened the box. His eyes widened. A smile lit up his face. His hands itched. Exhilaration filled him.

The box dematerialized as soon as it was opened, leaving only a large jug of water behind. It was one of those gigantic ones that you bought in case you ever went days without water. And the text above it confirmed his suspicions. There was fifty liters of water in it.

His face ached from how wide he was smiling, his heart vaulting in his chest, his stomach full of butterflies. This was... this was. It just was.

He put it in his inventory before temptation would get to him. Licking his lips, he laughed quietly to himself. Then he faced the god statue and bowed, his voice clear and loud as he said, "Thank you for allowing this one to live, my Lord."

He didn't have any evidence that the god statue was responsible for the system, or the rewards he received for completing missions. There was nothing to point to the god statue's involvement, and there was no reason to suspect it was at fault for all of this. But there was also no reason why it couldn't be the responsible party. There was no evidence either way and Jin-Woo was trapped with this thing and so, he chose to err on the side of caution.

He would assume that the god statue was the system's creator until proven otherwise. Lest it might kill him for not showing his gratefulness and properly worshiping it.

Should he try singing something again? He couldn't remember what he'd sang yesterday, the entire event a blur to his memory. Making up lyrics... was not his strong points. Making up lyrics where he praised and worshipped a murderous god even less so.

Still. It would probably kill him if he didn't.

Puffing out his cheeks, he tried to think of a way to start. "The night..." his eyebrows furrowed. "is an ember lighting the way. The dark is a vision of things to come, the Lord whose presence us will grace. When things are light, the shadows will rise. There is nothing to fear when the monster's on your side."

He took a deep breath and continued, "Worry not, for the Lord is wise. Our mighty strength will never fade, and our dreams will never die. The Lord sees all, knows that which is unknown. Worry not, for the Lord is wise and will never die."

Falling silent, Jin-Woo waited to see how the statue would react. He was not disappointed—the statue was looking right at him, the gaze no longer so oppressing. Oh, it was overwhelming, the eyes itching on his skin. But it was not the unrelenting force of nature that it'd been when it had risen from its seat and stomped on the ants that had displeased it. It was not the murderous gaze spelling out Jin-Woo's painful and inevitable doom.

His breath shuddering, he broke eye contact first. Instead, he rose to his feet. Despite the fact that he'd just spent hours in an Instance Dungeon fighting for his life (right after the daily quest, too), his body felt refreshed and light. He added the stat points to his agility stat while he moved, understanding what it did now after he'd been in actual fights.

He was going to explore some more of the chamber. So far, he'd contained himself to one very specific corner of the chamber, one that was basically as close to the door and as far away from the god statue that he could get. It was right in the corner, so he had walls on two sides, thereby limiting the directions that attacks could come from.

It was frightening, to leave the small corner of familiarity that he had in here. Even though the rest of the chamber would probably look pretty much the same, it was unnerving. Jin-Woo's steps were small and hesitant as he walked further in, glancing at the god statue from time to time to make sure he wasn't going to get incinerated. He walked around the altar, going further in then he ever had before.

Like he'd suspected, there wasn't a lot to see. The majority of the chamber was empty, save for the statues, with his voice echoing eerily when he said something. The ceiling was too high, the walls too far apart, the floor too even.

He couldn't help but wonder who had built this place. What kind of civilization had made the statues?

(What came first, the god or the worshippers?)

Lowering his gaze, he looked ahead. There was no fabric of any kind anywhere, and floor was the same height the entire area he'd walked. Never any stairs, or even any inclines. Just the same flat ground. But when he approached the walls, he saw something that he'd never noticed before.

There were drawings on the walls. Specifically, carvings. They were high, so high that Jin-Woo couldn't see the top of them, but there were thousands. Moss was growing in some of them, other had cracks and fissures running through them, but they were still breathtaking in their simplicity.

What they were meant to represent, Jin-Woo couldn't know. But there were so many of them, one after another, that it almost made him dizzy.

There was no way for him to track time in here. No daylight, no watch. The only way he knew a day had gone by was when the daily quest reset. Thanks to that, he could at least keep track of how long he'd been here, of how long he'd left his sister alone. He was simultaneously grateful and furious about it.

He got tired, eventually. Sleepily, he returned to his own corner and laid down. He curled into a ball, cursing the fact that he didn't have a blanket or at least a pillow. If it wasn't for 'Full Recovery' he didn't doubt that he'd be having some serious neck problems.

Maybe one day that shop thing would open and he'd be able to buy small stuff like that. It shouldn't be too expensive, right?

C3

Things didn't really change after the Instance Dungeon. Every one of Jin-Woo's stats had jumped up with at least sixteen points as a result of his level rising so much, but that was really it. Aside from that, everything was the same. Jin-Woo woke up, completed the daily quest, got something from the mystery box that he needed (a lunchbox, a bag of chips, a hoodie, a deck of cards, a book, a bag of candies—among others), explored the chamber, bowed to the god statue and fumbled through more songs than he wanted to count.

The routine of it all was the most terrifying part. Somehow, while Jin-Woo wasn't paying attention, it had all become so mundane. Everything had it's place, everything happened in order. There was no variation. It felt like he was in a time loop, all the days blending into each other.

What was there to do here? He was grateful for the card deck, it at least kept his mind occupied. With time, completing the daily quest became easier and easier, and he had more and more free time with nothing to occupy his mind. It was kind of bewildering, that the mystery box had recognized the need for mental stimulation.

The boredom was always slow and agonizing when it came.

But—there was nothing he could do about it.

"Go fish," he told the god statue, who didn't move a muscle in response. Jin-Woo was almost starting to think that it had been frozen like that, that it could no longer move now when the Dungeon had closed. Maybe it had all been his imagination, from the very beginning.

But also, he was bored out of his mind.

He stretched out and took a card to place on the pile that belonged to the god statue. Then he looked at his own cards, frowning. "Do you have any eights?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He deepened his voice as he answered himself, "Go fish, peasant."

It felt like something a murderous god would say. Or maybe it would say, "Go fish, ant." Yeah, that seemed to fit better.

He went fishing. He found an eight! Then it was the god statue's turn; "I demand your kings, ant."

Honestly, if it wasn't for his boredom blanketing him like a shield, he probably would have died from embarrassment two days ago, when he got the card deck and started doing this. The god statue was still staring, after all, ever watchful. Even though he was all the way back in his little corner, every time he glanced up, he would see those eyes just looking.


A/N: And that's where I stopped! We'll see if I ever finish that rewrite XD

quillpunk: literally nothing. something went wrong and now it's literally nothing. (thingy)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Tight-rope (Manga)
  • Relationship: Oohara Ryuunosuke/Satoya Naoki
  • Characters: Oohara Ryuunosuke, Satoya Naoki
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1314
  • Published on AO3: 2023-05-24

Notes: For Small Fandom Fest 33, Prompt: Tight-Rope (manga/OVA), Ryuunosuke/Naoki, the members of the Oohara group/assorted yakuza having a quiet (or not) delighted, relieved party when Naoki agrees (demands) to stay with Ryuunosuke ('the next boss' impulse control swore an oath to stay forever! WOO!')

Disclaimer: I do not own Tight-rope or any associated trademarks.


Because Ryuunosuke is actually fairly predictable, he clings onto Naoki as they walk through the hallway, resting nearly his whole weight on Naoki's shoulders. Naoki, with the grace of somebody who's long since gotten used to things exactly like this, continues to walk on entirely uninterrupted. The crew of about fifty people discreetly following them step-by-step observe their every move, whispering between each other while Naoki ignores everything they say. This, too, he is fairly used to.

To put it kindly, they're not very subtle.

Naoki supposes that it makes sense; Ryuunosuke is a product of his upbringing, after all, and he must have gotten his utter lack of shame and inability to hide his feelings from somewhere. They're a lot alike, in that way—Ryuunosuke's feeling are just as loud as his dozens of 'brothers'.

As they turn a corner, there's a stampede behind them, followed by the sounds of multiple people falling on the floor and getting crushed beneath the weight of their compatriots. Naoki pinches the bridge of his nose for the briefest of seconds, his veneer of apathy momentarily breaking. Ryuunosuke tries to kiss his cheek, as they've stopped moving, and Naoki plants his hand on Ryuu's face and pushes him back. "Naoooo~" Ryuu whines in his ear, and when Naoki deigns to give him a spare moments attention, Ryuu lights up like a Christmas tree.

Naoki sighs again. "Not now," he says as somebody snaps a photo, the sound loud in the hallway, which is then followed by multiple people swearing and shushing each other. Naoki's eyebrow twitches and Ryuu blushes while giving the guys behind them a thumbs up.

They walk off again, and every single person they pass literally throws themselves out of their paths. Naoki has developed a pretty substantial eye-twitch by the time they reach a room that could be described as a common room. It's a hangout place, more than anything, and for once it's entirely devoid of people. Naoki glances at every nook and cranny but there really is nobody here and it's odd enough he murmurs, "Where is everybody, do you think?" to Ryuu.

Ryuu hums, hugging him tightly. They sit plastered together because Ryuu is still full of emotions and Naoki has learned which battles are worth fighting. "Naooo~" Ryuu lies down with his head on Naoki's lap, and Naoki brushes his fingers through the soft strands of hair. Ryuu's eyes shut, hie expression smoothing out into something resembling peace and against his wishes Naoki's heart skips a beat. It's really rather unfair, he thinks, how handsome Ryuu is. Even when he's blushing like a schoolgirl, when he's in the middle of a fight, when he's furious or when he's filled with so much joy he's bursting at the seams, he's always handsome. Unbearably so.

Sometimes, Naoki can hardly stand looking at him.

Somebody tries to sneak into the room while they're distracted, crawling along the floor until they get to a long line of cupboards along one of the walls. Naoki whistles, even though he objectively isn't any good it, to overpower the noises behind him so he can pretend that nothing is happening. His eyebrow twitches when something hits the floor, a clattering noise ringing out through the room and disturbing Ryuu's rest. Naoki closes Ryuu's eyes with his free hand, then pinches Ryuu's cheek just because he can. Ryuu pouts, but he's handsome even then so Naoki doesn't let go.

When the other noises in the room stop and the door has been shut again, Naoki exhales. He looks down at his... Ryuu. He looks down at his Ryuu and watches the eyelashes trembling, the long shadows they cast over Ryuu's cheeks, the gentle light washing over him from above. Gazes at the pink lips for a disconcertingly long moment, the movement of the eyelashes, eyes the hair falling over Ryuu's forehead.

"Nao?" Ryuu opens his eyes, gazing up at him, expression so open and trusting that Naoki aches. Down to his bones, reaching into his lungs, and he can't help but lean down and press a soft kiss to Ryuu's lips. He feels Ryuu's smile, a large hand land on his nape and pull him down further, tilting his head until the kiss is distinctly dirtier than Naoki had intended. In cold-blooded revenge, he thusly pinches Ryuu's side.

"Meanie!" Ryuu ends the kiss and pouts at him, bottom lip jutting out. It shouldn't be adorable, damn it.

Naoki says, "We should find your brothers before they do something stupid."

Ryuu rolls his eyes, pout diminishing when Naoki isn't paying him single-minded attention. "I guess," he drawls, eyebrows furrowing. But he tellingly doesn't move a muscle to get up, so Naoki rolls his eyes and pinches Ryuu's side again. This time, Ryuu does actually get up—amidst much grumbling.

"They're just throwing a party," Ryuu mutters as they head out, Naoki holding out his hand. Ryuu grins, then, grabbing it and squeezing it so tightly his bones scrape together. Naoki hides his grimace and continue to lead the way. He doesn't need to guess where the party is; there's a designated party room for all celebrations and, as expected, there's a guard on the look out who straightens when he spots them coming. He runs up to them. "Godaime!" he calls, trying to stand in their way to stall their progress.

Ryuu completely ignores him, pushing him out of the way. Naoki waves at him behind Ryuu's back, but the guy follows them all the way to the entrance. The preparations are almost done, Naoki notes. The banners are up, the alcohol is out, the cookies and cakes have been placed on a long table.

One of the guys hanging up the last banner—CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MARRIAGE—spots them and falls off the ladder, pointing at them like they're ghosts. It is, in Naoki's humble opinion, a rather severe overreaction.

"Son," Ryuu's father pops out of nowhere, putting a hand on Ryuu's shoulder. "I'm proud of you," he says, voice grave.

"Thanks," Ryuu chirps and walks off, dragging Naoki along to the cakes. Naoki tries to bow to Ryuu's dad as he goes but it's a little difficult and admittedly he doesn't try very hard. He spots his uncle while Ryuu's feeding him red velvet cake, and his uncle gives him a teary thumbs up. Naoki stares at him with the most expressionless face he can muster but sadly his uncle actually knows him and so all he does is pull out a professional-grade camera and start snapping pictures. Naoki ignores it after a moment, attention caught by Ryuu's hand as he gets another piece of cake on the sparkling spoon.

There's movement around them and for a moment he's entirely too distracted by Ryuu to pay it any attention whatsoever, but on the third bite of cake he finally tears his gaze off Ryuu and looks at the crowd. He recognizes every single person; he's know most of them for years. There's always someone in the background when he's with Ryuu and it's only recently that they've distanced themselves more when they're in public.

"Congratulations!" someone calls, the voice lost in the cacophony of cheers around them, about four cameras recording their every move. Ryuu's father is standing by Naoki's uncle, talking quietly while Ryuu's mother hovers in the background, a glowing smile on her pretty face. Naoki even spots his mother trying to sneak into the room—and utterly failing as multiple people greet her and show off the pictures they've taken, proud smiles all around. Somebody sets off party poppers, and someone else turns on deafeningly loud music, disco ball mysteriously appearing on the ceiling.

In the end, Naoki supposes that he brought this upon himself—he is the one that drank the wine first.

And it's a bond stronger than marriage, after all.

quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (Default)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Bleach (Anime/Manga)
  • Relationship: Urahara Kisuke/Kurosaki Ichigo
  • Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Kurosaki Ichigo
  • Additional Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Non-Linear Narrative, Dorks in Love, Accidental Relationship, Didn't Know They Were Dating
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 3574
  • Published on AO3: 2020-05-27

Notes: For UraIchi Week 2020 Day 5 — Accidental Dating

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any associated trademarks.


(The kiss was soft. Ichigo closed his eyes and felt the warmth on his lips. He breathed in through his nose and his hands gripped Kisuke's hair and hip. Slowly, the kiss turned even softer and chaster, until they were just standing still. Leaning back, Ichigo scowled at Kisuke, "You almost made me drop my cup."

"I caught it," Kisuke murmured back. Kisuke pressed his face into Ichigo's neck and breathed out. The gust of air made Ichigo shiver and he let out a quiet breath of laughter.

"Next time, give me a warning," Ichigo mumbled back.

"Oh, so there'll be a next time?" Kisuke pressed his lips to Ichigo's neck and bit down gently. Ichigo smiled, and didn't answer.

There was no need to.)

The sound of soft music filled the air. Ichigo blinked when he stepped through the door to the Shoten, a furrow to his brow as he looked around curiously. There was nobody in the front half of the store, and Ichigo softly moved through, surprised to find that he recognized the music. A song his mother had loved, one that she had played on repeat so many times that he could still hum along. When he reached the door to the rest of the house, he toed off his shoes and switched to the indoor ones he had left behind a while ago. He couldn't remember when, but it didn't matter.

Slowly he moved toward the source of the music. He stepped lightly on the floorboards, his finger trailing along the walls as nostalgia gripped him. He could almost see his mother dancing, twirling around in front of him, a happy smile on her face.

Blinking, he twisted around the corner, stepping into the light of the kitchen.

"Ichigo-kun!" Kisuke smiled up at him and rose from his seat by the table. "What do you think?" he asked, pointing to the... thing on the table.

Ururu smiled cautiously at Ichigo from the other side, a spoon in her hands half-way up to her mouth. Ichigo smiled back at her and stepped forward, settling himself down next to Kisuke by the table. "It looks poisonous."

"Wha—? How could you, after I put in all that effort to make it from scratch, just to celebrate your birthday?!" Kisuke dramatically swiped away fake tears from his cheeks and sniffled exaggeratedly.

Ichigo shrugged and gripped the cake-knife. He carefully took a piece of the cake, figuring that it couldn't possibly be any worse than Inoue's creations. They hadn't killed him yet, so he doubted this would. Besides, Kisuke wouldn't serve it to the kids if it weren't safe.

He put his plate with his piece of cake down in front of him on the table and picked up a spoon. Sniffing it, he took a bite and ate it, heedless of the funny faces Ururu was making at him.

It wasn't as bad as he had feared.

He hummed, "Good."

Then he ate another piece and ignored Kisuke wailing next to him about not letting him prepare enough. Ichigo let it go in one ear and out the other, grateful that he didn't have to spend his first birthday since losing his powers alone. It was bad enough on a normal day, his father exhaustingly focused on not mentioning anything having to do with shinigami and tiptoeing around him. Karin, running off to train at every chance and his friends all leaving him behind.

With the spoon in his mouth, he watched as Kisuke rose to his feet and barreled out of the kitchen. He looked, confused, at Ururu and she simply stared guilelessly back at him. Rising an eyebrow, Ichigo pulled out the spoon and drank a deep gulp of tea, grimacing at the sticky taste it left in his mouth.

"Did he make this?" Ichigo asked Ururu.

She shyly nodded.

Ichigo took another sip of tea, needing something to wash the dry cake down his throat with. "Where are the others? I didn't see them coming in," he remarked and looked around the kitchen again, as if they would magically appear.

"There's a Hollow," Ururu squeaked out and sank back in her seat, trying to make herself smaller.

Ichigo looked down at the table and carefully put the plate and spoon down. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind that insisted he was being left behind. Battling Hollows had nothing to do with him now, now that he had no powers to do so with. But he couldn't' shake the feeling if only someone tried, he could be useful. He had fought so many of them, so many powerful ones, surely that knowledge would be useful to somebody.

But nobody had ever asked.

He opened his eyes again and did his best to smile kindly at Ururu, even though he thought it probably went badly, and said, "I hope they're safe."

He could hear the sound of Kisuke's footsteps coming back toward the kitchen. Ichigo sat up straight and picked up the cake again, cutting a careful piece with his spoon and shoving it back into his mouth just as Kisuke rounded the corner into the kitchen. Kisuke stood still for a moment, his eyes drifting over the whole room, before he focused on Ichigo and skipped over, sitting down right next to him and holding out a gift-wrapped present.

"Here!" Kisuke waved it in front of Ichigo's face and Ichigo popped the spoon out of his mouth.

He grabbed the gift and murmured, "Thank you."

Then he put it down on the table and sipped his tea again.

Ichigo ignored the way that Kisuke almost immediately started to pout and sulk, his body slumping down next to Ichigo and leaning over to get a piece of cake for himself. He ignored the way that Ururu stared at them, as if there was some great puzzle she was trying to solve. He ignored the warmth and the touch that he had found himself getting increasingly used to since the disaster that was that last fight against Aizen.

Instead he finished eating his cake and not until after he had drunk the last of the tea did he finally pick up the present again. He turned it over in his hands, shaking it softly to see if he could hear any loose bits.

It was small, about the size of his palm, the square box hard in his grip. The bright neon pink wrapping paper and the golden bow sitting on the top of the box were both crooked and scratched, obviously not wrapped by a store employee. Ichigo turned it over again in his grip and pretended as if Kisuke wasn't staring at him in anticipation of his reaction. He gently took off the bow that had simply been glued to the paper and put it down on the table, careful not to damage it. Then he started unwrapping the box.

When he finally managed to untangle the four layers of paper the box was entangled in, Ichigo was left with a simple, classy black box about the hight of an inch. He pulled the lid off and stared down at the gift.

It was a necklace. A simple silver chain, with no additions of any kind.

Carefully, Ichigo pulled it out and held it up in the air in front of him. It wasn't very long, he doubted that it would hang very far. It was thin, the chain hardly weighing anything at all. Ichigo moved it over in his hands until his fingers touched upon the clasp, and then he pulled it open. He knew how these things worked, his sisters had never gone to their father with issues like this.

Pulling the chain around his neck, he clasped it back together behind his head.

"Thank you," he said and smiled at Kisuke.

("Did you know?" Kisuke asked one evening. Ichigo looked over at him, the stars and the moon shining down on them where they sat on the porch, their legs dangling over the edge.

"Know what?"

"That you would lose your powers."

Ichigo looked back up at the sky, the stars twinkling back at him. He took a deep breath, the scent of fresh air surrounding him, before he looked back at Kisuke. Kisuke, who's hat shadowed his face so that Ichigo couldn't see his eyes. Kisuke, who had a harsh grip on his fan in his lap. Kisuke, whose body was angled away from Ichigo.

"...It doesn't matter.")

His friends never talked to him anymore. They were too busy, they had Hollows to fight. They had people to protect. He understood, but it itched at him, that he was one of those people who depended on their protection. It hurt, that they could leave him behind so easily. His family never spoke about anything that had happened and after the third time his father ran away yelling "lalalala!" when he tried to broach the subject, Ichigo stopped talking about it too.

The only one who was still there, who hadn't walked away from him, was Kisuke and to a lesser extent, the other's at the Urahara Shoten. But it was Kisuke that Ichigo spent time with, when the absence of his powers and zanpakutou and even his Hollow was just too much.

It was Kisuke that Ichigo went to, when he couldn't sleep because of his nightmares.

When he felt like he couldn't breathe.

When he was unable to focus on anything.

It was Kisuke who was there for him, when Ichigo needed someone to lean on.

Therefore, when Kisuke wanted to go to the cinema and watch a shitty Hollywood movie that even from the trailer wasn't very good... Ichigo went with him. Kisuke paid for the tickets and Ichigo took care of the snacks, and then they entered the theater together. The lights were still on when they entered so they quickly found their seats and settled down in the middle of the room.

The lights dimmed not long after they sat down and Ichigo scooted around in his seat until he sat comfortably. He had a bucket of popcorn in his right hand and a coke in the other. By his left side sat Kisuke who was busy crunching on his own popcorn. As the lights dimmed even further again, the large screen (projector?) turned on and commercials started running. While they waited for the actual movie to start, Ichigo fished out his phone and made sure his sisters knew where he was in case they needed him.

They wouldn't, but it made him feel better.

His hand squeezed around the phone before he slowly relaxed it again and carefully turned it off. He put it back in his pocket and leaned back on his chair again.

"Problem?" Kisuke asked, only to immediately start sucking on his own straw.

Ichigo frowned. "No..."

Ichigo popped a popcorn into his mouth and bit down on it, hearing it crunch loudly. His eyes stayed on the front of the room as the logos of the movie's makers appeared on screen and he forced his mind to focus on it. It was fine. His sisters were growing up, this was a good thing. They would be able to protect themselves.

That was all he wanted. For them to be safe.

The movie started and the title flashed on screen. Ichigo resolved that he was being petty and he should feel happy for them. He wasn't going to think about it anymore.

"Oooh, I love this director," Kisuke mumbled around his straw, and when Ichigo glanced over, he saw his eyes were big with delight. His hat was on his lap instead of on his hat and Ichigo couldn't stop himself from taking another look. It was such a rare thing to see. It was almost a shock and Ichigo's eyes strayed over Kisuke's face, from his floppy hair to his straight nose to his lips down to his stubble.

Ichigo's eyes stayed there a moment too long before the loud sound of someone talking made him shift his attention to the screen again. The camera was focused on a crying dark-haired woman and Ichigo wondered what had happened to lead up to that point.

Belatedly, he answered Kisuke, "I've never seen anything by this director before."

"Mou, Ichigo-kun, that's just sad."

He could feel the warmth of Kisuke's body against his arm as Kisuke leaned closer to him and pressed their arms together. Ichigo pretended as if he didn't notice, as if he didn't know why Kisuke would do that — Kisuke played at being touchy-feely, but he never actually got close to anyone. Ichigo guessed that it must be an attempt to comfort him, just like going to the theater was.

But that didn't meant that Ichigo was going to deny the comfort and ease that Kisuke brought with him every time that they met. When he wasn't getting paid to participate in club's, Ichigo spent most of his time at the Shoten, content to just be in Kisuke's presence.

They rarely did anything more complicated than playing cards together — going to the cinema was an anomaly — but it was that simplicity that Ichigo craved so much.

After everything that had gone down with Aizen, everything that had happened both before and after, he needed to do normal things. More importantly, he needed to do normal things with a person that didn't flat out deny that those abnormal things had happened and was a reality. Kisuke left him alone when Ichigo came over, and they only talked about it when Ichigo brought it up, but they did talk about. And slowly, as more time passed and he got more used to Kisuke's presence, they had started to talk about it more. About Ulquiorra and Starrk and Grimmjow.

Kisuke listened. And Ichigo was self-aware to realize that he needed that.

Somebody who listened to him.

On the screen, someone ran desperately after a car. Ichigo was once again lost on how they reached this point, but he paid attention anyway. By his side, Kisuke let out a muffled laugh when the car chaser fell down. Ichigo's lips twitched into a small smile and he pressed his arm back slightly at Kisuke's.

("Have you ever wished upon a shooting star?" Kisuke asked out of the blue. They were playing a round of Go Fish in the early morning. Ichigo had woken up an hour ago from nightmares, unable to go back to sleep, and he had been joined shortly thereafter by Kisuke. He didn't know if this meant that Kisuke had woken up in order to keep him company of if Kisuke had already been awake, but regardless, he appreciated the company.

The sun had just risen over the horizon, they had seen it reach in through the kitchen window, and the silence of the new morning was calming. Ichigo pretended like he didn't notice the way that Kisuke periodically looked over him, as if to make sure he was okay and wasn't about to have a breakdown.

Ichigo had already had his breakdown.

"Yeah," he answered. "Why?"

"Nothing. Just wondered." Kisuke responded. Then he grinned cheekily at Ichigo and said, "Sixes?"

"...Here.")

It was a beautiful day for a picnic. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and the grass was green. Ururu and Jinta were both delighted to be out of the store, running around the park like it was going to disappear any minute now. Tessai sat stoically on the picnic blanket next to the basket half-full of food, reading a romance novel. Kisuke was in the middle of playing a game on his phone while Ichigo sat back with his back against a tree, resting with his eyes closed.

He could hear Tessai turn the pages of his book, the laughter of children, the sound of Kisuke swearing as his character died in the game yet again. Ichigo kept his eyes shut, the warmth of the sunlight unmistakeable on his skin. A leaf fell on his hand and he curled it around it, his fingers gently feeling along the edges of it. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the half-crushed red leaf in his palm. He frowned and let it go. It drifted gently with the wind, curling around in the air and settling on a root of the tree he was leaning against. Ichigo sighed and directed his gaze to Kisuke, watching his hands frantically moving over the phone.

"Almost, almost, almost, almost—" Kisuke kept repeating. "I've almost got—I'm dead."

Kisuke put the phone down on his lap and looked down on it, a pout on his lips he would probably deny till his death. Ichigo couldn't quite contain his amusement and he turned his face away so that Kisuke wouldn't see him laughing at him. Ichigo would never hear the end of it.

Ururu ran after Jinta with a broom after his football hit her in the head, and Jinta was running away screaming. The other people at the park either looked at them as if they were an eyesore for disturbing the peace, or indulgently because they were kids. Ichigo watched them run around the playground, across the sandbox and over a collection of rocks. He titled his head back so the sunlight drifted over his face, closing his eyes. The shadow of the tree moved over the ground as the sun rose higher.

Heeling the warmth of it on his skin, he listened to the sound of Kisuke moving. He felt Kisuke settle down next to him on his right side, leaning against the wide trunk of the tree next to him. Ichigo opened his eyes and saw Kisuke leaning back his head, his hat sitting over half his face, shadowing it.

After thinking it over for a scant few seconds, Ichigo scooted over the ground, until he was sitting right next to Kisuke. Their sides were touching and the contact of another person—moreover, a person that he liked—made something hot burn in his stomach. He shifted until he leaned his whole weight on Kisuke instead of the tree, and felt an answering arm weave over his shoulders and hug him tightly. Ichigo felt Kisuke breathing under him, an action that was simulated by the gigai. Nonetheless, it was comforting.

Kisuke was here with him.

Kisuke was alive.

It didn't shame him to admit that a lot of his nightmares consisted of things that hadn't happened. Fear superimposed on his memories, the sight of Kisuke or his sisters disintegrating like Ulquiorra had. Aizen managing what he had promised, Ichigo failing to save anyone at all. He knew it wasn't true, but in his dreams, it felt so real. And the loss of his zanpakuto, of his Hollow, didn't help. When he woke in the night from a nightmare, he always felt so alone.

But right now, Kisuke was right next to him. Right now, he wasn't alone.

Ichigo fell asleep like that.

By the time that he awoke, the sun was on its way down. Ichigo blinked up and rustled Kisuke as he slowly sat up. Kisuke removed his arms around him and helped Ichigo sit up. Cracking his neck, aching stretched his body, finding it stiff and uncomfortable. When he looked up at the sky, he saw that dark clouds had started to move. It was only a matter of time before a storm came.

Ichigo climbed to his feet and Kisuke rose as well. Together they started walking in the direction of the Shoten. "Where is everyone?" Ichigo asked when he saw no sign of their presence.

"They went back almost two hours ago," Kisuke answered.

Ichigo scowled. They exited the park and walked along the sidewalks towards the Shoten. With the clouds covering the sky, the sun was impossible to see. Nonetheless, it was warm out, the middle of summer. They stepped leisurely over the road to the other side of the street, turning a corner for a shortcut with less people.

Kisuke walked at a slow pace, and Ichigo slowed down to match it. Glancing over, he saw that Kisuke was staring at him, and he abruptly turned his head away. He scowled on reflex.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"You," Kisuke answered easily. He smiled a small, gentle smile at Ichigo and Ichgio quirked his lips slightly in response. This too, was a reflex at this point.

When they got back to the Shoten, Ururu was outside sweeping. Ichigo smiled at her when they passed, Kisuke leading the way inside. Stepping out of his shoes, he followed Kisuke inside. The familiar scent of the Shot an made him involuntarily relax, so used was he to it.

Kisuke waved him in further and like always, Ichigo followed.

(It was raining. Ichigo was sitting by the river, a flower held loosely in his hand. He tilted his head back and got a face full of water as a reward. By his side, Kisuke shifted and finally offered, "...You could leave the country. If you need to get away."

"No," Ichigo snapped. "I'm not leaving my sisters."

I'm not leaving you, went unsaid.

He felt Kisuke's hand curl around his own, the one not holding a flower. Ichigo squeezed it, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold of the rainwater.)

quillpunk: screenshot of langa from SK8, with a joyful expression (langa7)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, AU - Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Character Study, AU - Canon Divergence
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 4000
  • Published on AO3: 2020-07-11

Notes: This was supposed to be PWP. That did not pan out :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Staring up at Zuko’s face, twisted in pain and self-hatred, Kuei felt something in his chest go cold. He lowered the hands that were on the way toward Zuko and instead, he tried his best to smile. ”You don’t really believe that, do you?” he asked, but even as he did so, he knew the truth.

Zuko was a bad liar. And Kuei had spent far too much time studying him not to pick up on his tells.

Feeling the coldness spreading, he rose from his seat on the bed and took a step closer toward Zuko. Zuko didn’t flinch, but from the look on his face, Kuei thought that it might have been better if he had.

He knew. He knew that this wasn’t Zuko had wanted. That this wasn’t something that Zuko ever would have chosen for himself. He knew that he was not enough, that he wasn’t worthy, that he wasn’t what Zuko deserved. But this was the answer he and his court had been working on, ever since the Avatar broke the news of the war to Kuei and allowed no-one to forget about it. Zuko didn’t want to be here, but Kuei had hoped…

Well, he’d hoped for a lot things, once.

He stopped. Took a breath and tried to smile again. He held out a hand toward Zuko and said, ”I am honored to have married you.”

”Don’t lie,” Zuko snapped out. He took a step away from Kuei almost instantly, only to immediately step forward again. Kuei saw how Zuko squared his shoulders, straightened his back and pressed his jaw tightly shut. The young man stalked over to Kuei and stared him straight in the eyes.

Kuei swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, keeping his eyes from straying to the best of his ability. Still, he couldn’t quite stop them from peeking at the scar on Zuko’s face.

He saw the moment when Zuko realized what he was looking at. Zuko’s face shuttered, and before Kuei could say anything—what, he didn’t know—Zuko had already shut him out. Kuei lowered his gaze to the floor, his hands clenching tightly by his sides, and the words were out before he could stop himself: ”We don’t have to do this.”

”Yes, we do,” Zuko sneered out, his scar stretching with the motion.

Kuei itched to touch it. He wanted to know what it felt like. But Zuko bristled every time that Kuei even looked at it, and Kuei was not so insensitive as to force touch on a place it was not wanted.

But in some cases, even he had no options.

”My father wants proof,” Zuko ruthlessly acknowledged what Kuei had been consciously not thinking about, ”that we’ve consummated our marriage.”

Kuei’s hand wandered up to his braid, his fingers intwining with the end of his hair. He gulped, his eyes flickering to the wall behind Zuko, a sense of unfairness having settled over him. It was petty, he decided. It was petty of him to feel like this. This was obviously not something that Zuko wanted in any way, yet Kuei found himself hurt to be so easily disregarded.

Pettiness. That was what it was. This desire in him, to be wanted.

He sat back down on the soft bed. The sheets were made of silk, the green a comforting color to Kuei, but undoubtedly just another reminder of what was happening for Zuko. The mattress was so soft that it should be illegal, moulding to his weight expertly. The many, many pillows were scattered all over the bed. The only thing that lit up the room were a smattering of candles on the bedside tables and torches on the walls. The shadows stretched far across their wedding chambers.

Zuko stared at Kuei, his face lined with determination, his gold eyes hard and unforgiving. It felt like they could see right through Kuei, every nook and cranny naked on display for the younger man. Kuei’s hand fiddled with the fabric over his lap, the edges of his sweeping sleeves and the robes he was wearing. He was the first one to break eye-contact, his gaze moving down to his feet resting bare on the carpet. He wiggled his toes a little.

The dull thud of clothes hitting the ground made him look up again. Zuko was in the middle of pulling off his outer layers. ”Wait—” Kuei’s throat closed up around the other words.

With the outer layers gone, he could see Zuko’s muscular form more clearly. As Kuei watched, entranced, Zuko picked up the clothes from the floor and folded them before putting them on the table along one of the walls. Then his pale hands moved to the top of his head and removed the headpiece attached to the topknot. Zuko pulled the topknot apart at the same time as he removed the headpiece.

Kuei licked his lips as the long hair fell over Zuko’s shoulders. But even while Kuei watched, unable to make his eyes look in any other direction, Zuko continued to disrobe. Until finally, he was standing there in only his underwear.

”Well,” Zuko said when he turned around and faced Kuei again, ”Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

Kuei stood up on his feet at once. Guiltily, he stared down at the floor while he mechanically pulled off his clothes, one layer at a time. When he was down to his underwear, he picked up the clothes he had been piling up on the bed and moved toward the table where Zuko had placed his. Once he had carefully placed them on the table, he took a deep breath and turned to look at Zuko.

Zuko, who was in the middle of climbing onto the bed.

Kuei felt his heart stutter to a stop in his chest for a terrifying moment before his ability to breathe returned to him. When it did, he forced himself to take shuddering breath and walked back over to the bed, stopping before it and swaying on his feet.

For all the lectures that he had been given on how male-on-male sex worked, nobody had actually told him how one began. Was he just supposed to climb onto the bed and what, attack Zuko?

Zuko had settled himself onto the middle of the bed, surrounded by a virtual army of pillows, his knees folded under him, and was sitting with his back straight while Kuei had his moment of severe doubt. Inching his feet toward the bed slowly, Kuei sat down on the edge as soon as he was close enough and moved his body so that he was crawling forward. The bed was easily three meters wide, a size that he had never before seen, but he was now grateful for. Kuei bit down on his lip and removed his glasses, putting them gently down on the bedside table.

”Ehm…” he sat down on his hunches and wrung his hands on his lap. The completely unimpressed look that Zuko gave him made Kuei hunch in on himself involuntarily. The silence was so all-encompassing that he found it impossible to say anything.

It was suffocating.

Finally, it was Zuko that made the first move.

Zuko’s warm hand settled on Kuei’s thigh, below the edge of his underwear. For a second, his mind was blank and all he could do was stare at that pale hand. It was scorching against his bare skin, and Kuei stared down at it. He didn’t take a breath until his lungs constructed so tightly in his chest that it was painful. Then, his eyes rose back up and he examined Zuko’s face.

Zuko was frowning. His eyes were staring down at his own hand, and his lips were dragged downward in an expression Kuei didn’t know how to decipher. But he knew one thing.

They were married.

The ceremony had been distinctly Earth Kingdom in nature, a blow he suspected had done more damage to Zuko than perhaps any other thing tonight, but it had been legally binding in both the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation. As of four hours ago, Kuei and Zuko were married.

And Fire Lord Ozai expected to see proof of their consummation in the morning. Something that he had gone out of his way to mention first in the aftermath of the wedding, when they were in the middle of celebrations. And as soon as he had, Zuko had stiffened by Kuei’s side, his hands clenching so hard that Kuei was surprised that he hadn’t pierced his skin.

It was petty of Kuei. That he made Zuko be the one to take the first step. That he forced Zuko, through his own inaction, to be the one to move toward him.

Taking a steadying breath, Kuei dropped one of his hands to rest on Zuko’s where it still laid, unmoving, on Kuei’s leg. He would not force Zuko to be the one taking the first step. He would not force Zuko to reach out to him.

Kuei leaned his upper body forward, and he kissed Zuko.

Chastely, it was a simple peck on the lips. Shortly, he moved his head back a handful of centimeters and stared breathlessly at Zuko’s face. He saw Zuko’s eyelids flutter, his mouth pulling taunt only to relax again. His heart thumped so loudly in his ears that Kuei thought he would go deaf, yet the sound of his own breaths were overwhelming.

He saw the muscles in Zuko’s neck flex, and he knew the instant when Zuko had made up his mind. Kuei curled his hand around Zuko’s, entwining their fingers together and squeezing his hand gently. His other hand he rose up to Zuko’s face, and waited until Zuko nodded before he touched.

Kuei’s hand drifted in the air along the edges of Zuko’s face, his fingers skimming the dark hair hanging loosely around it, and when he finally settled his hand on Zuko’s cheek, it felt like lightning was racing up his arm.

He swallowed a lump of air and scooted a little closer to Zuko. Under his hand, Zuko’s skin was warm, and so soft that Kuei had to take a moment to just acknowledge what he was doing. He was about to have sex with Zuko. Zuko, former Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and Kuei’s new husband. Kuei was about to consummate his marriage, about to be able to proudly claim that he was the husband of the most beautiful man in the world.

Trailing his thumb under Zuko’s eye, his hand cupping Zuko’s cheek, Kuei felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Without noticing it, he leaned even closer to Zuko, his breath ghosting over Zuko’s skin. He felt, in his heart, a heaviness that made it hard to breathe, a pressure on his chest that had him feeling like he was suffocating. He forced himself to drag in a ragged breath, his body shaking as the hand on Zuko’s cheek wandered higher, pulling Zuko’s hair behind his ear and drifting shortly across his neck. Kuei’s eyes followed the motion of his hand, powerless to stop himself from shifting forward.

Gently, he pressed his mouth against that smooth cheek. He felt Zuko shiver against him, and Kuei closed his eyes, staying like that for a breathtaking moment.

”Tell me if I hurt you,” he pleaded against the skin.

Zuko twitched. He moved his head back until their eyes met, gold facing green, and then Zuko nodded. He looked away first, his hand squeezing Kuei’s so hard that Kuei feared his blood wouldn’t be able to reach his fingers. Kuei’s other hand danced along the contours of Zuko’s head, his fingers sweeping through the fine hair.

”I’ll be gentle,” Kuei promised, like this was something that he had done before. Like he knew what gentle meant in this context.

Zuko nodded once, a hacking motion that made his hair sway, and Kuei could no longer stop himself. He moved forward, his hand moving to the back of Zuko’s head, and pressed their lips against each other.

The softness was what made his breath catch in his throat. The warmth was what made him sigh into it. He tilted his head to the side so that their noses didn’t clash, even as he pressed his mouth harder against Zuko’s. Kuei breathed in through his nose, a harsh breath that made his chest shudder, and his fingers clenched down on Zuko’s hair.

On his lap, Zuko’s hand hugged Kuei’s tightly.

For a minute, Kuei simply pressed their lips together. He got lost in the sensation, the warmth that was building in his chest, the butterflies bursting to life in his stomach. He pulled in another ragged, hacking breath, and squeezed Zuko’s hand in return.

Angling Zuko’s head for a more comfortable position, Kuei lifted the hand attached to Zuko’s, feeling Zuko startle against him. Kuei broke the kiss to nuzzle his nose against Zuko’s, mumbling, ”It’s okay,” under his breath. Zuko’s hand spasmed in his grip before he slowly let go, and Kuei settled the now free hand against Zuko’s hip.

He felt Zuko’s hand settle on his shoulder, and the warmth of it shot straight to his stomach. There was no way that he would be able to go back now, back to a life where he didn’t have this.

The hand on Zuko’s hip moved slowly across Zuko’s back, until Kuei had his hand squarely on Zuko’s back, pressed against his spine. He gently dragged the hand over the warm skin while he kissed Zuko harder, trying to distract him from what was about to happen. His fingers trailed along the spine, and Zuko shivered against him; Kuei could feel the goosebumps at the bottom of his back. His other hand massaged the back of Zuko’s head, and Kuei did his best to ease Zuko’s obvious tension. He had been told repeatedly that the more relaxed one was, the less painful it would be.

Releasing Zuko’s lips, Kuei moved his head back slightly, and faced with those half-lidded golden eyes, his lips quirked and he asked, ”Alright?”

Zuko nodded. Kuei was pleased to notice that it was not an as abrupt movement as earlier. Kuei’s smile grew and he leaned forward to press their lips together again, this time gathering his courage and deepening the kiss.

When his tongue swept over Zuko’s lip, he could swear that he stopped breathing. when Zuko let Kuei’s tongue into his mouth, Kuei wasn’t even sure he was alive anymore. But it was fine. If he died kissing Zuko, that was perfectly fine. His eyes slipped closed, and a low groan slipped from him. The embarrassment didn’t last long though, not when his tongue was met with Zuko’s.

Actually, Kuei pulled his tongue back. He broke the kiss and this time he was gratified to see that Zuko’s eyes were closed, his eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks. Kuei hugged Zuko tighter, moved his legs so that they splayed out on both sides of Zuko.

Zuko’s face was distressingly open. It was not expressionless like it had been all through their ceremony, it was not that hard look like he had been wearing during the celebrations. Kuei licked his lips, and felt his face heat up when he encounter the saliva he was sure was not his. His chest heaved and he was startled to realize he felt winded.

”Is this okay?” he asked again. He had to know. He needed to be sure that this was not… that he was not a monster, that this was not a nightmare to Zuko. He needed to ensure that Zuko knew that Kuei would stop, if he asked. If Zuko truly didn’t want him. Suddenly, it was of the gravest matter, that Zuko know this. Kuei babbled out, ”I don’t care what Ozai said, I’m sure there are ways to fake this. We don’t need to do this.”

For a heart-stopping moment, Zuko didn’t say anything. He opened his eyes and he stared straight at Kuei, meeting his eyes and holding steady. Then he shook his head, once, a small movement that Kuei almost didn’t catch. ”No,” Zuko said, his voice so lacking in emotion Kuei wondered if he was even here. ”It will be seen as an insult, if we don’t do it. A lack of respect. That you don’t take the treaty seriously.”

”But—”

”No.” Zuko shook his head again. He frowned, and his hand on Kuei’s shoulder squeezed painfully tight.

Kuei lowered his gaze to Zuko’s knees. He felt his braid swinging with the motion before it laid still over it his back. He said, ”It doesn’t have to be you, though. I could do it.”

Zuko’s hand spasmed on his Kuei’s shoulder, and Kuei looked up again. Zuko had a look of focus, concentration, on his face. He was staring straight at Kuei, looking for something in his expression. Kuei didn’t know what, but he stayed still and let Zuko look. Eventually, Zuko hook his head and said, ”It’s fine.”

It was very obviously not.

Kuei frowned and he shifted his hand so that it was cupping Zuko’s smooth cheek again. His other hand let go of Zuko’s back to rise to Zuko’s other cheek, the one scarred so heavily that Kuei almost flinched when he first saw it. It was unbelievable to him, that Zuko would be allowed to be hurt like this, very clearly damaged by fire to such an extent that the scarring reached from his eye and down his cheek, back over his ear and along his neck. It looked painful. He wondered, again, if Zuko could see out of that eye.

”It’s not fine,” Kuei insisted. He knew that it wasn’t. Why they were dancing around the fact was suddenly lost to him. It was important, that Zuko knew that he had a choice. He could say no. ”You don’t want this,” Kuei said.

Zuko opened his mouth, about to say something, but Kuei was not interested in hearing more empty platitudes. ”Don’t lie to me,” Kuei said, his hands resting on Zuko’s face lightly. He eyed them, and continued, ”You don’t want this. But you feel like you have to. You think your father will break the treaty if you don’t. You think the treaty depends on this.”

Kuei leaned forward, and nuzzled his nose against his Zuko’s neck, breathing in that scent of firewood and smoke that always followed the younger man. ”It doesn’t,” Kuei whispered against the skin. ”The Earth Kingdom is not that weak. And your father is not that powerful.”

He felt it, when Zuko sagged against him. He felt Zuko’s hands curl around his back and squeeze tightly. He felt Zuko’s head press against his hair, Kuei’s hands slipping over Zuko’s shoulders with the motion. He felt Zuko’s chest shudder with the force of his breaths, saw the all the torches and candlelights’ flames spark in the same rhythm. He felt Zuko’s nails digging into his back and he could hear the sound of his pulse in his throat.

Again, Kuei whispered, ”We don’t have to do this.”

Zuko pulled in a ragged breath and shook his head, messing up Kuei’s hair in the process. ”But my father—”

”Is going to have a talk with me, first thing tomorrow,” Kuei interrupted.

Zuko’s hands relaxed and he leaned back. Obediently, Kuei let go of Zuko as well and moved a little, giving Zuko the space he desired. Zuko was frowning, more heavily than Kuei had ever seen him do before. His eyebrows were drawn together, his mouth bent downward and he was looking at the duvet like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Kuei rearranged his legs so that he was sitting crosslegged. He waited for Zuko to say something, to make a decision. This was not something that he could choose for him. Still, his hands clenched in his lap and he licked his lips, vividly remembering what it was like, kissing Zuko.

Kuei was a petty man. Even now, he hoped that Zuko would choose—would let Kuei have sex with him, let him consummate their marriage.

He wanted it. He wanted Zuko.

But he would not do that to him.

He counted minutes passing before Zuko said something again. When he did, Kuei had almost fallen into a meditative trance, and he started.

”If…” Zuko licked his lips and squared his shoulders, his gold eyes staring straight at Kuei. ”If we do not… would it… really not affect the treaty?”

”No,” Kuei said and shook his head.

”Then… if I don’t…” Zuko scowled, his hands moving on his lap like he was looking for a weapon.

Kuei knew what he meant. He shook his head, ”If we don’t, it will not hurt anything. If you don’t want to, we simply won’t. We’re still married.” He ducked his head, but he couldn’t be dishonest about this. ”I would like to. But if you never want to, that’s okay. I would never force you.”

”Kissing you was… not horrible,” Zuko said and Kuei’s head snapped up.

A trembling smile spread on Kuei’s lips and he bent his head down, staring at his naked lap. He held out his hand toward Zuko, determinedly not looking up at him. After a heart-stopping moment, Zuko placed his hand in Kuei’s and Kuei—felt something in him relax. He gripped Zuko’s hand tightly, bending his head forward and pressing their hands against his forehead.

”Thank you,” Kuei mumbled. He took another steadying breath and continued, ”If I ever hurt you, tell me?”

”Yeah,” Zuko muttered.

Kuei brought their hands down and sat up straight again. He spent a minute just staring at the younger man sitting across from him. His pale skin, his well-developed muscles, his golden eyes… Kuei couldn’t believe that he had married this perfect man.

In the days leading up to the wedding, he had done all the research that he could on Fire Nation marriages, on Zuko as a person, on what would be expected of him. But the time from the signing of the treaty to the actually wedding had gone by surpassingly fast and he was sure that he hadn’t managed to learn all that he should have. Doubtlessly he didn’t know enough about the Fire Nation or its inner workings. And he didn’t know enough about Zuko to truly say that he loved him either, though he suspected that he was close.

He reluctantly let go of Zuko’s warm hand and crawled to the top of the bed. There, he had to throw about twenty pillows off the bed in order to find the top of the covers and start pulling them down.

”It’s been a long and trying day,” Kuei said. He tried to smile reassuringly at Zuko. ”Why don’t we go to sleep and deal with the rest of this in the morning?”

Zuko’s eyes were like flames in the candlelight; glittering gold and shining with an inner light. Kuei thought he had never seen a gem or jewel able to rival them in beauty.

Zuko shrugged. He moved up to the top of the bed and clambered beneath the covers in quick movements. Kuei looked at him, laying under the sheets and staring intently at the ceiling. When Kuei rolled under the covers as well, Zuko showed no reaction at all.

With his heart in his throat, Kuei placed his arm in the space between them and held his hand out. He waited patiently for Zuko to either reject or accept his offer.

Just when he was on the verge of falling asleep, he felt a hand curl around his own. Warm, with callouses that Kuei associated with swordsmanship, and Kuei selfishly hoped that he wouldn’t let go. He curled his fingers around Zuko’s hand, and felt hope blossom to life in his chest.

Kuei fell asleep with a smile.

quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (Default)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
  • Relationship: Jean-Jacques Leroy/Yuri Plisetsky
  • Characters: Jean-Jacques Leroy/Yuri Plisetsky
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Character Study, Established Relationship
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 607
  • Published on AO3: 2020-10-16

Notes: For RandomJJDay on a YOI discord server I don't remember the name of.

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


It's not even really that complicated. Truly, in hindsight, JJ can pinpoint about fifty different reasons why it all went the way it did. None of them are earth-shaking ones, and none of them are nearly as scandalous as the press seems to think. It was just... a combination of a million little things.

Sometimes, it's the little cracks that make the house fall down.

But it's not complicated, no matter what anyone else says. His marriage fell apart — that's all anyone really needs to know. It fell apart because he didn't compromise enough, because Bella made too many compromises, because they didn't talk about things — the things that truly mattered. It fell apart, and they got divorced, and then the world found out.

So yes, in hindsight, he knows where things started going wrong. He can just about put his finger on it and point it out whenever anyone is insensitive enough to ask.

Not that he tells them, because it's not any of their business and he's not going to do that to Bella.

But he knows why. And he's trying not to make the same mistakes again.

Yuri turns over on the bed next to him, his eyes fluttering like he's on the edge of waking up. JJ's eyes follow along the edge of his eyes down the line of his nose, past his soft mouth, and down to the length of his neck and the marks that he placed there. Yuri is going to be furious in the morning. He'll sulk and be petty and won't talk to JJ for an hour — but he'll say what he thinks and won't shy away from his unhappiness in fear of making JJ unhappy.

JJ isn't going to make the same mistakes again, because he likes to think that he can learn from them. He knows that sometimes it doesn't seem like it, and he knows the media is currently having the time of their lives; dissecting his every interaction with Yuri and trying to find out when things progressed to a romantic relationship. He knows that the accusations of cheating and other horrible things will only get worse — and he knows Yuri isn't going to run away. Yuri will claw and tear and frown and glare and make full use of his status to lord their relationship over the media's head.

Yuri will let him hold his hand in public, and he won't mind when JJ wants to kiss in front of the cameras, because Yuri has always liked to flaunt the things he's proud of. And it always makes JJ's heartbeat speed up in his chest, when he remembers that Yuri is happy with their relationship.

Bella wasn't, in the end. Neither of them were.

JJ can't explain and he isn't going to try to. He's not going to talk about the quiet nights when Yuri just sits with him on the couch and they make fun of crappy movies. He's not going to talk about the many times their dates are simply them going out and getting coffee and taking a walk together. Yuri wouldn't want him to and JJ wants to keep something of theirs to themselves.

He won't make the same mistakes.

Yuri turns on the bed again. The covers slip down further over him. It doesn't take a lot of work for JJ to grip Yuri's hand, and his own heart skips a beat when Yuri grips JJ's hand back on reflex. He closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, they have a lot of things to face. A lot of explanations to give. But really, in the end, it's not that complicated.

quillpunk: screenshot of judith (making a exhaused, horrified expression) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (judith1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, AU - Vampires
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1206
  • Published on AO3: 2020-10-18

Notes: For Monthly KuZu Mini-Prompts 2020 October: Vampires

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Zuko walked through the hallway with his hands held out in front of him. He wouldn't be caught by surprise if a trap sprung. Just the fact that he had been forced to run into this ancient palace was a humiliation. The fact that his uncle had followed after him made something chafe in his chest. He didn't want to be the reason that his uncle was thrown out — exiled from the organization that he'd been born into.

The palace was old. It rose high above his head when he'd forced his way inside. Zuko had no idea whose palace this was, but from prior experience, it had to be the home of a vampire.

The scent of death and decay hung in the air.

His fists sparked flame as he used the light of his own fire to guide his path. The place was quiet — far too quiet. It made his shoulders tense and his eyes glance wearily around him. He knew that there was something there, something waiting in the darkness. Something that his training told him to kill.

He came upon a big pair of doors, after wandering the palace uninterrupted for nearly an hour. Big, gaudy, and covered in dust and grime, as neglected as the rest of this palace. The doors were heavy too; he had to put his entire weight on them in order to get them to budge. But eventually, they did. They creaked when they slowly opened, Zuko's fire casting shadows into the large room revealed.

The first he saw was scrolls. On the dusty floor, on high bookshelves — yellowing scrolls with fading ink on the edge of falling apart. Out of curiosity, he picked one up and uncurled it in his hands. He was no stranger to old scrolls, his family was proud of their legacy and had kept everything they possibly could. This one had to be even older than their most ancient ones though. It almost felt like it would fall apart in his hands. Zuko carefully put it back where he found it, his fire receding until they weren't at risk of making this whole archive (because it must be an archive) go up in flames.

He could hear something. Zuko's fire went out with naught but a thought. He crept between the high shelves and slowly approached the origin of the sound. The closer he got to it, the more he could make out what it was. It nearly sounded like... muttering? But that couldn't be right.

No, it could be. If it was a vampire.

Zuko's eyes narrowed. His vision in the damaged one wasn't the best, and in the darkness, he could hardly see out of it. A weakness. One that the heir of the best vampire-hunting organization in the world couldn't have, nevermind that it was his father that—

He took a deep breath. Held it in until the count of ten. Let it out.

There was a vampire somewhere. He needed to focus.

He turned the last corner. Vaguely, he could make out f humanoid figure in the dark. His eyes had started adjusting and he could just about make out their general shape. Humanoid, likely male, with a very bulky body. A mess of fabric covered them. Slowly, one of Zuko's hand shifted to the sheath of his swords.

The vampire looked up. They fumbled with their scroll. It fell to the floor with a clatter and Zuko automatically winced at the loud sound in the otherwise death silent location.

"Hello!" The vampire clambered up to their feet. They dusted off their robes at the same time as Zuko's fire lit up the space around them again. He had already been discovered, there was no reason to submit himself to bad vision. That would be a disadvantage in a fight that he might not afford. The vampire blinked rapidly at the sudden light, their bright green eyes glowing from the light.

Zuko was already in a ready to fight position when the vampire took a step closer to him. "Don't move," Zuko ordered.

The vampire stumbled to a stop. They licked their lips, fangs peeking out between them. In the light, Zuko could tell that they were male-presenting. The vampire's eyes looked over Zuko, the gaze examining every part of him. When he moved to take another step, his foot hit one of the scrolls on the floor around the vampire. Gasping, the vampire immediately bent down and started picking up the scrolls. When he stood back up again, he had over a dozen scrolls collected in his bosom.

"Did you come here for something?" the vampire asked as he started to slowly walk over to a nearby table. Why he had been reading on the floor when there was a table right next to him, Zuko didn't understand. Intermittently, scrolls would threaten to fall out of the vampire's grip and the vampire would frantically try to catch them.

Zuko looked at his fire. Then he looked at the sword he held in his other hand. Then he looked at the vampire's back as they gently put the scrolls down on the table.

"I am a vampire hunter," he said. The vampire whipped around and stared with wide eyes at Zuko. They lit up and the vampire smiled at him.

"I have lots of scrolls about vampire-hunting!" the vampire announced.

Zuko blinked again. He furrowed his eyebrows. "Aren't you a vampire?"

"Yes," the vampire nodded. "I am Kuei, former king of the Earth Kingdom! Nowadays I just maintain my archive though. It's been a while since I've added anything to it..." the vampire frowned and looked at Zuko with a pleading expression, "You wouldn't have any books with you?"

"I'm sure my uncle has some," Zuko said after a second of silence. Putting his sword away in the sheath again was stupid of him. Coming to this palace in the first place was stupid. Getting split up from his uncle because he got distracted by a mural was stupid of him. Yet, Zuko's hands moved before his mind caught up with them. Yet, he had entered this palace because it seemed like the better alternative to getting killed by his sister. Yet, he had wandered deeper and deeper into the palace instead of retracing his steps and tracking down his uncle.

Zuko was a fool.

"Hmm. I think the most recent vampire-hunting scrolls are over..." Zuko followed behind Kuei as the vampire lead the way through the gigantic archive. As he walked, he could hear his sister's voice chiding him in his head. He should be attacking the vampire. He should be doing what he had been raised to do. He shouldn't be following behind it, letting it lead him to potential traps.

But his sister had just tried to kill. His father had banished him until he could kill a mythical vampire that hadn't been seen in over a hundred years. His uncle had gone into exile with him. Zuko had had to enter this palace in order to escape troops from the organization he had been born into.

In comparison with everything else, maybe it wouldn't be that bad, if Kuei led him into a trap.

quillpunk: screenshot of Rue (blushing and happy)from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (rue1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Amnesia, Fluff
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1150
  • Published on AO3: 2020-10-20

Notes: For Monthly KuZu Mini-Prompts 2020 September: Temporary Amnesia

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Kuei stumbled to a stop. He had no idea where he was. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he surreptitiously glanced around; he was in the middle of a street full of people who looked haggard and tired. Most of them had scars too, and he even saw a few without the ideal number of limbs. Licking his lips, he moved to the side of the street so that he wasn't in the way.

He couldn't remember how he got here.

He could only remember the confusion and the sense that he needed to go somewhere; before that his memory was empty. He had no idea where he was, who he was (he had vague memories of a boy with an arrow painted on his skin calling him 'Kuei' but could he really trust that?) or what he was supposed to be doing here. Yet here he was. The people around him gave him odd looks and wary glances and when he looked down, he saw that there was a clear difference in the clothes he was wearing. The quality was much better, and the color was such a stark green that it stood out seamlessly.

His fingers started worrying the edges of his long, sweeping sleeves almost on reflex, and he moved out of the way of the people on the street. The sky was blue and the buildings around him were all various shades of brown. There wasn't a plant or tree as far as his eyes could see.

Kuei swayed a little on his feet; should he stay put and wait for somebody to find him? He was dressed so nicely, surely there must be someone out there looking for him. And it made sense, if he wanted to be found, he should stay in one location. But did he want to be found? Probably, there was no reason not to. Still, waiting by the side of the road didn't seem very productive. And he was taking up space, and interrupting the flow of the street goers, and surely there was the threat of being mugged, wasn't there? So he should go inside and wait.

Nodding to himself, Kuei looked around, craning his neck to see as far as he could. His eyes lit up when they landed on a nicely lit up place not far. The people exiting it looked pleased, so it couldn't be all that bad, even if the rest of the street was kind of iffy. No, it was rude of him to call it iffy, perhaps downtrodden was a better word? He grimaced. Was he a person that cared what things looked like?

He held his robes up as he walked over the street so as to not get mud on it, so, likely. Kuei hurried across the street and toward the entrance he had spotted. What little he could see through the windows seemed nice enough. And the glow from inside said that it would be warm; if he had to wait hours to be found he didn't want to freeze. The robes were thick, yes, but he didn't know how cold it would get during the night. And come to think of it, what season was it? He hoped summer; he didn't want to get trapped out in the snow.

Kuei let his robes go once he stepped inside the shop. He blinked at the light, his eyes shifting over the people sitting at the numerous wooden tables. There was a bar to the side behind which stood an old man with a long grey beard who was making tea. The atmosphere was lively; the sound of chatter and laughter filled the room.

A young man in an apron approached Kuei. "Pick a table," he said, frowning at Kuei. The motion made his scar drag, though it was still stiff and unmoving. The thought occurred to Kuei that there had to be a lot of nerve damage with such severe scarring. Where the knowledge had come from, he didn't know. The short, dark hair was ruffled and fell around his face, making Kuei's gaze focus on his eyes. They were the most startling shade of gold; the kind of gold that was brighter than the gold on Kuei's robes.

Kuei nodded and sat down at the closest empty one.

The young man followed him, his gold eyes glinting in the light. Clearly a server of some kind, he asked Kuei, "What do you want?"

"Oh," Kuei furrowed his eyebrows. He searched his memory but couldn't come up with anything that would help him in figuring out what was served here and what he might like. In the first place, what kind of ship was this? He cleared his throat and his fingers gripped his robe on his lap. "What would you recommend?"

The server shrugged. "Jasmine tea," he said and wrote it down on his notepad before Kuei could say anything.

Well, it would probably be fine.

Kuei couldn't help but stare at the server. The young man had to be the prettiest person that Kuei had ever seen. His gold eyes only shone brighter when he smiled, and his crooked half-smile made something squirm in Kuei's stomach. As the server relayed the order to the man behind the counter, Kuei brought his hand up to his face and tried to feel if he was blushing. It didn't give him any answers.

His fingers fiddled with the edge of his robe again as he sat still. When the server came back with the smoking tea, Kuei felt his stomach jump. It tingled as he watched the server put the teacup down on the table in front of him. Kuei licked his lips and said, "Uhm... your name— ah, what's your name?"

"Li," the dark-haired young man answered. His skin was pale, so pale compared to everyone else that Kuei wondered if he was ill. And the clothes were in so poor quality that Kuei could see the outline of his body; he was very clearly well-trained. He walked like he knew how to fight, too.

And he was warm.

Something about his presence made Kuei feel as if he was standing in sunlight.

Kuei picked up the tea. "Thank you," he said. He took a sip and found, to his pleasure, that he liked the taste just fine.

Li smiled at him, the movement quick. It disappeared quickly from his face, but Kuei had already been lost. There was just... he was so... Kuei couldn't...

The beauty was too much for him! His heart couldn't handle this! Somebody, find him soon! He had to figure out how people courted! Ah, but he had seen a dismal-looking flower stall on the way here. Surely, that was a safe bet? Nodding, Kuei downed the rest of his tea, dropped some of the coins on the table, and left to purchase some flowers.

quillpunk: screenshot of Judith (she's blushing to a flowering, rosy background) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (judith2)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, AU - Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Dorks in Love, AU - Role Reversal
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1059
  • Published on AO3: 2021-02-04

Notes: For Monthly KuZu Mini-Prompts 2021, January: Arranged Marriage & February: Dorks in Love

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


The sound of something falling brought him out of his reverie and Zuko blinked, startled. He turned around and asked his fiance, "What's wrong?"

"Ah, I just slipped," Kuei answered, worrying his bottom lip and looking forlornly down at the mess by his feet. In his defense, the glass floor they were walking on was absurdly slippery, and he was a little bewildered that such a part of Wan Shi Tong's infamous library had such flooring. It meant they had to walk at a weirdly slow pace, but Zuko could already see the end of the hallway coming up. Soon, they'd be back on common flooring.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to take his fiance on a journey to Wan Shi Tong's library; it hadn't been easy reaching it, after all. Going incognito had made it even harder, and the constant threat of escalating battles now that the Avatar had been found had only made it more dangerous. But looking at the enraptured expression on Kuei's face every time the teenager got to look at yet another new scroll ages-old, Zuko found there was no regret in him. Instead, he was filled with a strange feeling of pride—pride, that he had been the one to make Kuei have that expression. It made his chest go tight, and he had to look away before he did something foolish.

This wasn't what anyone had intended, he knew, when he had been engaged to the Earth King. They had used it as a way to get him out of the running for the throne, for no Fire Lord could be married to a non-firebender, much less a man. It had been a way to send him into exile without having to phrase it that. They had surely expected the teenage king to annoy him, for him to find it all a humiliation.

But Kuei was sweet.

That was the first thing about his new fiance that struck him—Kuei was incredibly sweet. He was young and naïve and yes, downright ignorant of the world. He'd been painfully shy at times, and yet shamelessly forward at others. And Zuko could still vividly remember how excited Kuei had been when he discovered that Zuko didn't mind spending hours in silence with him in the ridiculously huge library.

To his father, this was all a farce. But to Zuko, it was a gift.

They reached the end of the glass corridor and the doors before them opened automatically, without anyone having to touch them. He heard Kuei gasp, and had to force himself not to look over. It would be fine—he'd have a thousand more chances to see the wonder on Kuei's face.

Maybe it was strange, how quickly he'd gotten attached. But he'd been trapped on a ship for over a decade, banished in all but name. He'd sailed every corner of the Fire Nation, never settling down anywhere for fear of sparking his father's rage, and then when he was finally shipped off to a place and told it would be his home... well, Zuko wasn't a statue. It was inevitable, that the warmth Kuei so thoughtlessly provided would draw him in.

Wan Shi Tong's library was gigantic, too gigantic for mortal minds to really comprehend. It bent in on itself, and after only two hours in this place, Zuko was already lost. The fact that Wan Shi Tong had even let them in was already beyond his imagination, and letting them traverse it like this was beyond hope.

"Come, come," Kuei snagged his hand as he flew by, dragging Zuko along as he pointed at the shelf ahead of them. Zuko didn't know what he'd seen, but he curled his fingers around Kuei's hand and soaked up the sensation. He allowed himself to be led by a boy nigh eight years his junior and didn't protest as his arms were immediately loaded up with books once they arrived.

While Kuei continued to look through them, Zuko looked around, spotted a corner that looked nice enough, and carted the books off to it. He gently put them down, not wanting to know what Wan Shi Tong's reaction would be if they damaged the books—it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. Done with that, he wandered back to Kuei's side, tracing his eyes over the books in search of something interesting as he went.

He heard Kuei exclaim over something, and saw the teenager shoot off for the corner Zuko had already prepared. Zuko let him go, content in the knowledge that Kuei would call for him if he needed something.

Meanwhile, he found some things he himself was interested in.

It was hours later, the candlelight rapidly depleting, that Zuko looked up and found his young fiance nearly asleep by his side. Zuko blinked, exhaustion having started weighing him down as well, and he moved closer to his fiance, scooting over on the floor to his side. "Kuei," Zuko said, falling to silence as he tried to think of what to say. Kuei looked over at him, his eyes on the edge of closing, and hummed quietly in response.

"You need to sleep," was what Zuko ended up settling on.

Kuei blearily gazed at him, in the end only nodding. He yawned, not bothering to cover it up, and scooted close enough to Zuko to lean on him. Zuko's arm curled over his back and hugged him tightly, feeling the slight trembling Kuei was trying to suppress.

He hoped this journey had helped settle Kuei's heart. After Zuko told him what was really going on with the world, Kuei had retreated into himself a little bit. Not visibly—but when they were alone, he would sometimes fall silent, trapped in his own thoughts. So Zuko hoped this journey had soothed him, that getting to see for himself what life was like outside Ba Sing Se had settled something in him. It seemed like it, sometimes.

Zuko repositioned them on the floor, pulling out the sleeping gear as he went, and laid down on it with Kuei. Like always when they slept together, Kuei clung to Zuko; seeking the warmth his body always provided. Zuko treasured it—coveted it, almost.

It was warm under the blanket with another body laying next to him.

He fell asleep within minutes.

quillpunk: screenshot of adam's face in full costume from SK8 (adam)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: 天官赐福 - 墨香铜臭 | Tiān Guān Cì Fú - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
  • * Pairing:* Huā Chéng/Xiè Lián
  • Characters: Huā Chéng, Xiè Lián
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Amnesia, Established Relationship, Fluff
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1077
  • Published on AO3: 2021-03-16

Notes: Xie Lian and Hua Cheng might not know who they are, but they know they’re in love.

Disclaimer: I do not own 天官赐福 or any associated trademarks.


Hua Cheng wakes up and—something is missing. There is a gap, a hole, a chasm spread over his heart. His body is on fire, his soul colder than ice, his heart caught in a cascade of emotions too complicated for him to name. Something inside him cries. Something else laughs victoriously. There is a—jaggedness to his feelings when he tries to examine them.

He doesn’t know where he is.

This is the second thing he realizes. The first is that he doesn’t know who he is but that’s of lesser importance. He—needs to find something. There is something missing and he needs to find it, and in the wake of that unrelenting need… some lost memories really isn’t that big of a deal.

He climbs to his feet. He’s in a forest somewhere; he doesn’t recognize a thing around him. That’s fine. He’s looking for something; something that is everything to him.

Hua Cheng knows his name. This is a thought that occurs to him while he’s looking through comically overgrown trees for—what he’s searching for. He knows his name. It’s Hua Cheng. Why he knows his name and nothing else, he doesn’t care to think about.

The searching is important. He can’t stop until he finds—

Somebody.

Yes, it’s a somebody. Not a something, but a person. He needs to find them and until then, every question he has will just have to go unanswered.

It’s morning, the sun in the middle of rising, when his search reaches its end.

There are footsteps up ahead, a voice on the wind he doesn’t recognize—but his dead heart speeds up at the sound of it. His feet tramples on the uneven ground, his eyes growing wider as he gets closer. There; between the trees, around that bend, beyond that rock, near that river… is a god.

An actual god, Hua Cheng isn’t just being dramatic. He can feel it; this man is a god. He’s a god and Hua Cheng is a ghost, long since dead. He can feel this too.

”Is somebody there?” the actual god asks, sounding fretfully uncertain. This is not okay.

Hua Cheng bursts out from the woods onto the riverbank.

The actual god blinks at him, looking him over, and then he—smiles. Softly. His eyes brightening to an unfair degree. He stands up from the river and turns fully to Hua Cheng, taking a hesitant step closer. He’s clothed cheaply, a straw hat on his head, and he smiles, smiles, smiles.

Hua Cheng thinks he might have died again. But if so—it’s worth it.

A burst of warmth is worming its way out of his chest, pooling in his stomach; his throat; his arms and his legs and his lungs and more body parts than he thought he possessed. There is—something inside him that begs to be released.

”Hello,” he croaks out. His voice rasps, the vocal cords abruptly deciding to stop working.

The actual god takes another step toward him and says, ”Hi.”

Heart attacks feel like this, huh. He clenches a hand over his heart, feeling it beating erratically. That’s fine, he doesn’t need it to live. Let it beat out of his chest and display itself at the feet of this god; Hua Cheng will support its ambitions.

”Do I know you?” The actual god tilts his head and smiles beatifically at him.

Hua Cheng says, ”I don’t remember. But…” he lets the sentence hang in the air between them, uncertain of what to say. They must know each other—it wouldn’t feel as it his very soul was quivering otherwise. But he can’t think of a way to say that without sounding like a maniac.

”Ah, it’s just…” the god scratches his cheek and laughs. ”I’m fairly certain I’m in love with you.”

Hua Cheng has died. For like the fourteenth time. This is—not real; not unreal.

The god is still talking— ”…my heart is pounding when I look at you, and I feel the need to hug you and I want to tell you about the things I saw coming here. Did you know that there are very peculiar wolves living in this forest? And I wonder if might be interested in having a meal with me?”

”Yes,” Hua Cheng says. He’s not entirely certain what he’s saying yes to, but that doesn’t matter. Anything this god says, anything this god wants, anything—Hua Cheng will give.

”I’m Hua Cheng,” he tacks on while the god is floundering at his speedy response.

The god smiles softer (how is it possible?) and he says, ”My name is Xie Lian. I appear to have lost my memory, and have no idea where I am.”

He does not sound concerned about this.

”We match, then,” Hua Cheng says.

He crosses the final bit of distance between them and holds out his arm. He does not know why he does it, but when the god intertwines their arms, he thinks he understand.

This is an actual god. How did Hua Cheng fall in love with a god?

Surely, a person like this is too good for him.

With their arms connected, the warmth within him spirals out of control. He feels—like he’s going to combust. His eyes water, for some reason. There is a beat in his chest spelling out joy; endless, agonizing joy. The kind that takes him over and makes him smile and he grins and he leans forward and he says, ”Shall we solve this mystery together, my dear?”

And something in him breaks. It shatters into a thousand little pieces, the puzzle of his identity lost to the knowledge he acquires. Hua Cheng is love with this person. With Xie Lian.

He loves him.

Xie Lian’s answering smile is bright and shining and for a moment it blinds him; ”Of course,” he says, and he crosses the last bit of distance between them and presses a quick kiss to Hua Cheng’s cheek.

It’s warm and soft and gentle and a part of him sits up and takes notice—who cares about the malicious intentions surrounding them? Who cares about the bloodlust he can feel gathering around them? Who cares about the interrupted ritual spilling its discontent in the air? Who cares about the weapons and the anger and the pain?

Hua Cheng is in love with this man. He wonders how much it costs to hold a wedding.

quillpunk: screenshot of langa from SK8, with a joyful expression (langa7)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Classroom of the Elite (Light Novel/Anime)
  • Relationship: Ayanokouji Kiyotaka/Ryuuen Kakeru
  • Characters: Ayanokouji Kiyotaka, Ryuuen Kakeru
  • Additional Tags: Time Loop, Pre-Slash, Developing Relationship, Early in Canon
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 7221
  • Published on AO3: 2021-04-22

Notes: IT'S NOT 10K, SCREW YOU, BRAIN, I WON

Disclaimer: I do not own Classroom of the Elite or any associated trademarks.


Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

Or, well, it would be. If things were normal, that would be the end of the story. But he dies and—wakes up.

Shakes himself awake, really. Like falling in your dreams, waking up when you hit the ground. He's dying, dying, dead. And now he's awake, alive and well. When he pats himself down, there's not a wound on him; not a hint of the damage caused by a piano falling on top of him. Crushing him to death.

He doesn't think it's normal, to get crushed by a piano and wake up whole and well. It seems like something people would talk about, if it were. Like "Oh yeah, make sure you don't get hit by a piano, it's a pain to get covered by insurance" or something. Surely, that kind thing would be a known issue to avoid. Or maybe it was just this piano, maybe it was special of some kind?

It's not like this is exactly a problem though, so he doesn't spare it any mind. It's possible it was all just an incredibly vivid dream, and he shouldn't make any judgments before he has all the facts.

Kiyotaka mechanically goes through the process of getting, doing the same things he always does in the morning. It's important to have a routine, he thinks. It means you don't have to guess what happens next. So getting ready is easy and familiar and he exits his room at the same time he always does.

He's only been at this school—Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School—for about two weeks now, and he thinks he's starting to settle into a routine. It's a Monday today, so he heads straight for the classroom. There won't be any actual studying, based on prior experience, but he's a student so he should still attend class. It's the normal thing to do.

A truant student is more noticeable than the student who sits quietly at the back of the class doing nothing, after all. So he's going to class, the day after he was summarily crushed by a piano, because that's the normal thing to do.

For being a school day, there are surprisingly few students walking the grounds.

Nobody pays any attention to him. He crosses the first part of the grounds easily enough, and he veers off the path to check out the location he died at yesterday.

It's a sunny day today; just like yesterday. The wind quietly whines through the foliage, the early morning light casting long shadows on the ground. Kiyotaka walks undisturbed, and the silence unsettles him. Because it's Monday, and there should be students frantically rushing to class right now. Kiyotaka always makes certain to arrive just before class starts, so he's not that person who arrives early before everyone else, or a person known for their lateness.

He's got the timing down to perfection. He knows the students who he usually sees on these mornings, the way they rush past him like it's a matter of life and death. Usually upperclassmen, but it's mostly the same people. He walks this path for a reason, after all.

There's nothing special about the place he died.

He thoroughly searches the ground, but can't find any trace of blood or other splatter that would occur when a person is crushed by something that heavy. There are no traces of the damage from the window the piano fell out of the either, and the surroundings are completely undamaged. Not so. much as a wooden splinter to be found.

He founds it doubtful that even a school such as this would be able to completely erase the traces so quickly. Or maybe they could, but there should still be some kind of effort to keep it contained and uncontaminated in case an investigation needs to be made. But there's nothing, and that's most unsettling of all.

Kiyotaka finally determines that no more evidence can be found here and continues on to his classroom. There are less and less students around the closer he comes and his watch tells him he's still early. There should still be people rushing around him. But—eventually there's nobody.

Eventually, he stands in front of his classroom and the door is locked. Eventually, he looks through the windows and discovers there's not a person in there. Eventually, he turns on his phone and checks the date.

Eventually, he discovers it's Sunday—again.

There's not really a lot he can do after that. He returns to his room, settles down on the bed and tries to organize his thoughts. He even contacts Horikita, but there's no evidence to suggest that it should be Monday.

Once all the evidence has been collected, it would be foolishness to deny the truth. It's Sunday. Being crushed by a piano never happened. The only assumption left is that he had a particularly memorable dream—such things are possible. But now that the facts have been determined, he dismisses the rest of the happenings.

He goes through the rest of the day much like he remembers from his dream. It's not odd; he's done pretty much the exact same things every weekend here so far. And dreams take their images and content from your memories, so there's really nothing strange about it.

Kiyotaka spends some time reading in the library, goes to the park and jogs, reads some nice magazines in one of the shops, eats lunch, plays some games on his phone, eats dinner, walks back to his dorm, takes the elevator—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

But, no, because he dies, dies, dies, and then he—wakes up.

He startles awake really, his heart pounding as his eyes flash open. Like falling in a dream, jumping awake the moment you hit the ground. His hand reaches out for his phone, grabbing it from the bedside table. He brings it up to his face, frowning when he sees the date and time.

It's Sunday. It's morning; the weather is sunny with mild winds and no projected rain. He rubs his eyes and blinks at the sunlight streaming in through the windows. A suspicion grows inside of him and he curls his hand around the phone, his eyebrows furrowing.

It's strange.

He quickly changes into his uniform, his frown growing large the more time he takes. Every time he checks his phone or watch, the time is unchanged. It's still Sunday. It's still morning. Nothing changes.

Kiyotaka stalks out into the hallway. He steps up to the elevator, glancing around it. There's nobody else in the corridor; it's only six-thirty in the morning on a Sunday so most people are probably still asleep. It means he's undisturbed when he walks into the elevator and investigates it, checking over every inch of it.

But there's no sign of it having fallen. There's no sign of his death in here.

Kiyotaka frowns again. Once is a coincidence but twice? It looks disturbingly enough like the beginning of a pattern.

He doesn't think this is normal. He doesn't think people usually die and wake up at the start of the day. It seems like the kind of thing people would be warned against, like something people would talk about it. No, if something this extraordinary was normal, he would know.

So it's not normal. But there's no way to tell if it's supposed to be an attack against him, if it's something deliberate done by a human. He doesn't have much faith left over for supernatural beings, but he doesn't think he's nearly interesting enough for something like that to go messing with him, if they do exist.

After all, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka is perfectly normal.

The elevator doesn't reveal anything, as does none of the probing on any of the people he knows. They're not allowed to have contact outside of the school, so he can't exactly easily search for similar instances such as this. Thus, after eating a healthy breakfast, Kiyotaka heads to the library to do some research.

When it comes to dangerous things such as this, knowledge is the number one priority. He's gone over every inch of his skin, categorized every memory he has of the last few days, and he's fairly confident that this is neither a dream nor a delusion. That leaves outside influences as the only possible reason for this strange occurrence, which means—research. And lots of it.

He arrives at the library. Nodding to the librarian on duty, he makes his way through—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

Except, not really. Because he dies, dies, dies, and then he—wakes up.

He bounces on the bed, his eyes flying open. Like when you fall in a dream and wake up the instant you hit the ground; he bounces, and his eyes stare up at the ceiling, and he frowns.

This is officially a pattern. It's happened three times in a row and the evidence all suggests that it will happen again unless he figures out how to stop it. He will have to return to the library, as he didn't have time to start researching before the bookcases fell on him and he was returned to this moment in time.

Kiyotaka sighs as he sits up. He checks the phone, but it's the same as always; exactly the same. It's even the precisely same time down to the minute.

He rubs his neck, scratches slightly on his nose. Changing position so he's leaning against the wall, he browses through his contact list. He's not going to ask for help, because this is too bizarre and he doesn't know anyone who could assist with this. Horikita is too material, too condescending. She would assume it was a joke and put him down for it; he thinks that he might be able to convince others that it's for a game or something and get them to help with research, but he doesn't trust anyone enough for that.

Horikita is really the only person he can count as a friend, so it's sad that she isn't actually one. He thinks this is the kind of special circumstance where outside perspective would be good.

Sometimes, when you get stuck on a problem, the solution is to verbalize it. Speak it out loud and organize your thoughts as you go. You might even say something that you hadn't even consciously thought and have a realization. So Kiyotaka says into the darkness of his room, "I'm stuck in a loop. A time loop."

No realizations are made.

He cocks his head to the side and hums. His plan earlier was correct; he needs information.

Kiyotaka goes through the motions of getting ready. It's still early, and this is evidenced by the fact that he hardly runs into anyone as he crosses the grounds. The library is just as he remember it and enters with a wary eye on the shelves. So far he hasn't died from the same thing twice—riding the elevator has been fine—but a little caution is never wrong.

This time, the library doesn't kill him. He spends close to four hours in there searching through book after book. Non-fiction doesn't give him what he wants, aside from a few theoretical physics books that aren't really helpful at all, so he turns no fiction books soon enough.

He comes closer, but still doesn't have any concrete information. It bugs him, an itch beneath his skin he can't quite manage to scratch. The idea that he can't figure out why this is happening is annoying; it's not a feeling he enjoys.

Kiyotaka leaves the library feeling empty and with a nearly imperceptible frown on his face.

He goes to the cafeteria for lunch. It's afternoon and far more students are up and about now—being the weekend, they're bright and cheery as they take a break from school. Kiyotaka catches sight of a few students from his class as he walks; Sudou is bouncing a basketball by his side as he talks with some people Kiyotaka doesn't know. Kushida is in the middle of a congestion of students who are all smiling brightly. Horikita walks alone with her head held high and a convenience store bag hanging on her arm.

He doesn't know what to do now. It's a strange feeling and it both excites and worries him. There's no frame of reference here, no prior example he can use to figure out the do's and don'ts. His own experience in mystical events such as this is negligent and can't help; he doesn't know anyone who could possibly be useful in this situation either.

It's a conundrum.

The loop suggests that he has time. If he always wakes up at the same time and place, then it stands to reason that he can realistically use the method of elimination. He doesn't know how to fix this, but he has time and—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

There's a pressure in his lungs when he wakes up, a scream lodged in his throat. He was dying, dying, dead. His eyes fly open as awareness abruptly returns to him, as suddenly as when you're falling in your dream and returns to consciousness when you hit the ground. He blinks, and he wakes, and his heart is beating again.

He sits up. Crosses the room and blankly dresses in his uniform, half-heartedly brushing his teeth as he goes. The habit is too ingrained in him for him to ignore it now.

He doesn't go to the library this time. He thinks he will, another time. But for now, there are other avenues to examine.

The first step is telling someone about his circumstance. It doesn't matter who, he just needs to know if someone elseknowing about it has an effect. He strides out of the apartment building and out onto the grounds outside.

It's early, still. It's always early. The sun is shining, birds are chirping and the winds are pleasantly cool. The leaves gently tremble on the trees, the foliage giving the grounds a much more relaxed atmosphere. Kiyotaka crosses them unhindered, taking the long way around the statue that recently crushed him, spying a student not far ahead. He's seen him around; this is the person who so effortlessly controls Class C.

Kiyotaka catches up to Ryuuen; a student who stands out so much isn't hard to remember. He sees the way Ryuuen tilts his head and shoots him an annoyed glance, and decides that he might as well take the opportunity; "I'm stuck in a time loop," Kiyotaka flatly says.

Ryuuen stops dead in his tracks..

Kiyotaka stops as well. He eyes the harsh glare on Ryuuen's face, the way it twists his features. "Hah?" Ryuuen demands, his fists curling by his sides. "Are you messing with me?"

"No." He waits for Ryuuen to do something. He wonders, does he only go back in time if he dies in an accident, or does it also work if he deliberately dies?

Something to think about.

Ryuuen eyes him, something calculating in his eyes. His expression shifts and his shoulders ease back from the tension they'd held as the other teenager turns to face him head on. He sneers, "I don't have time to bother with your games. Buzz off."

Kiyotaka tilts his head. He considers the boy before him and what he knows of him. Ryuuen is smart, and he already has an iron grip on his class. As soon as the point system was revealed, Ryuuen immediately started investigating it amongst the upperclassmen and using his class authority to keep the others in his class from wasting their points.

Kiyotaka doesn't know what's happening. He doesn't know how to stop it, why it's happening, or how to even figure out a plan to deal with it. This is the kind of thing that plainly isn't made for logic, and his mind fails at coming up for plans about it.

Outside perspective is useful, despite what some of his teachers claimed. It does help, to have another way of looking at the problem.

And he's always been told to take advantage of whatever he can to succeed.

"It's not a game," he says to Ryuuen. He rocks a little on his heels, trying to project honesty. Ryuuen's sneer only grows, so he doesn't think he's doing very well. He continues, "Aren't you curious, if it could be true?"

Ryuuen laughs, the sound mocking. Kiyotaka didn't think a person could sound that mocking while laughing, and makes a note of it. He's not certain what use the ability has, but maybe it's an intimidation thing?

"Alright then," Ryuuen says, a cruel glint in his eyes. The sun catches on his hair, lighting it up from behind. Objectively, Kiyotaka thinks, Ryuuen is probably a good-looking person. "I'll play your game," Ryuuen says. He sweeps his hands out and declares, "I'll tell you a secret. On your next loop, find me and let me know what I told you, and I'll believe you."

It's a better response than Kiyotaka was expecting. He nods, memorizing what Ryuuen tells him. He's not entirely sure what kind of expertise Ryuuen brings to the table, but Kiyotaka has none at—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

His eyes blearily blink open, his eyelids heavy as he stare out at the room before him. His heartbeat is pounding, his breathing quick as he forces his body to calm down. He lays there for a moment, the shock of waking so abruptly still making him uneasy. Like falling in a dream; waking the instant you the ground.

He has a plan now though, and he doesn't waste any time putting it into motion. First off, he needs to find out if anything has changed, if telling Ryuuen about his circumstances changed the game.

It's still the same time he always wakes up. When he texts Horikita, he gets the same scathing remark in response as usual. He checks the temperature and keeps an eye out as he walks across the school ground toward where he last met Ryuuen. Nothing has changed. It doesn't seem (at first glance, at least) like revealing the truth made any difference.

That does, however, mean that there's nothing holding him back.

Ryuuen is precisely where he lasts saw him.

He speeds up, his feet thumping loudly on the ground to announce his presence. Ryuuen turns his head and glances over his shoulder when Kiyotaka gets closer, scowl already on his face.

He appreciates the fact that Ryuuen so quickly gave him a practical solution last time. It saves him time and effort that are better spent on other avenues.

Reaching Ryuuen, he wastes no time, "I'm stuck in a time loop. Last loop, you gave me a secret and told me tell it to you and you'd believe me. The secret is: You think pandas are super cute but if I tell anyone else, you'll have me disposed of."

Ryuuen's eyes widens. He snags a hold of Kiyotaka's shirt and pulls him close. "Shut the fuck up," he snarls in Kiyotaka's face, shaking him a little. Kiyotaka lets the man move him, hanging still as a rag doll. It's interesting; everything so far has been interesting. He doesn't know what's happening, and that only makes it all the more fascinating.

Ryuuen starts dragging him along without saying a word. Kiyotaka goes along with it, because there's not a reason not to. He gets dragged to an apartment building, gets dragged into an elevator, dragged onto another floor, dragged into a dorm room that is surprisingly clean for a teenage boy.

He gets dropped onto the bed and furiously glared at when he tries to rise from it, so he simply stays sitting.

Ryuuen paces around the room, his steps steady in a way that says he knows everything his body is capable of. Kiyotaka thinks he must have fighting experience, to move like that. It's the kind of slow, relaxed gait of somebody who knows intimately how to move each body part. Training isn't enough for that, real fighting experience is needed.

"Explain everything that's happened so far," Ryuuen declares, turning to face him. He sits down on the desk chair and stares intently at him.

Kiyotaka dutifully recounts every single thing that's happened so far, knowing how vital the tiniest clue could be. He tells the other teenager of his research and his assumptions, and his minor experiment last time. It feels nice to get everything off his chest and it does help to organize his thoughts, when he has to vocalize everything and put it into words.

It doesn't lead to any sudden realizations, but it makes him feel more settled. He hadn't realized how chaotic the last few days have been until he actually had to explain it.

Ryuuen looks thoughtful when Kiyotaka is done. He falls into silence and waits for Ryuuen's reaction, paying attention to his body language. He's not entirely sure what reaction he's expecting, but he's pleasantly surprised when Ryuuen says, "Fine, I'll help you."

It seems too easy.

All of Kiyotaka's prior experience tells him that it can't possibly be this easy. There should be negotiation and tactics involved. He should have to first investigate the target and then form a plan to approach them; categorize things that can go wrong and how to deal with them. But Ryuuen blows past all that like it doesn't even matter.

It does, of course. That's the point. But Ryuuen seems to think that he's good enough at adjusting things as he goes that he can just ignore it and it'll still work out.

"Alright, then. Let's make a plan," Ryuuen grins wildly, the expression causing something like excitement to stir within Kiyotaka.

Interesting. This has all been very interesting.

They spend the next hour cooking together a plan. It goes far more smoothly than Kiyotaka had imagined planning together with someone else would. It's enjoyable, even. Ryuuen is smart, tactical and has the kind of practicality in his planning that'll take him far. He picks up on the pieces Kiyotaka lays down and builds on it without any trouble.

It's nice, surpassingly. Kiyotaka didn't think it would be, for some reason.

Though he's fairly sure he's going to die soon, he still needs to eat. The human brain needs sustenance to operate at peak capacity, which is what he needs right now, so he's not going to ignore that need just because it's not absolutely necessary right this second. And there is a chance, however small it might be, that he won't die and then he'll suffer tomorrow for not having eaten.

He heads over to the cafeteria, having left Ryuuen to stew alone in his room, and eats a nice, pleasant meal on his lonesome. When he's done, he—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

He shoots up on the bed, his hands clammy as they clench on the mattress. It feels like falling, like hitting the ground and waking up so quickly that it's a shock to his system. His heart is racing, his mouth dry as he stares at the wall. Sunlight is streaming in through the window, the curtain hanging calmly in front of it.

He presses a hand to his chest and breathes to the count of ten, feeling the beat of his heart slowly calm down. It's fine. Everything is fine.

It's mechanical, getting ready to leave. He's done it so many times before he's fairly confident he could do it in his sleep. Familiar, easy, relaxing. When he's ready, he leaves the apartment building to initiate Phase 1 of the plan.

So far, everything that's killed him has been the result of an accident. Mostly things falling and crushing him, and he doesn't precisely think that that's a coincidence, but it could just be that it's an easy accident to fabricate. Assuming that there is some kind of conscious force guiding this game along.

Because he doesn't think now, that this could be happenstance. Outside, conscious, interference is the only thing that could do this, and whether it's a god or a human it's still a matter of the same thing. Somebody is doing this, which means that there's an objective.

That objective might be amusement, a test, torture, or something else. But it's there, undoubtedly.

If Kiyotaka can find it, he can figure out how to end this.

It's simple, really. All he needs to do is use the method of elimination and the answer will eventually reveal itself. And the first thing to eliminate is—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

Except, not really. Instead, he lurches up on his bed, hunching in on himself as he tries to calm his frantically beating heart. Like falling in a dream, he thinks, and waking up the instant you hit the ground.

Some part of him recognizes the fact that he's shaking, but a bigger part is preoccupied with how quickly he died the last time around. He wonders, is it the fact that he has a plan? Was putting the plan together and actually moving to execute it something that caused his death this time? Did it make the perpetuator behind this scheme nervous?

It's never good to panic. Staying calm so you can assess all the parts is a necessary component to scheming.

He goes through the bare minimum motions of getting ready, hurrying out the door as soon as he can. The morning sun is heavy on his eyes as he goes, looking for that place where he knows Ryuuen will be. He slows down as he goes, his thoughts organizing into clearly named boxes and he knows what needs to be done.

The first elimination has succeeded, and now it's on to the next thing. It's really not something that requires a lot of effort or planning put into it; all he has to do is methodically go through each option until only one remains. In the meantime, this is the perfect time to get some other, less important but still useful, stuff done.

Ryuuen trods along on the path toward him, his gait slow and predatory. His face is expressionless as he walks, and Kiyotaka finds himself wondering what the other teenager is thinking about. He looks relaxed where he walks alone, his pace steady and unhurried, hands in his pockets as he slowly stalks over the ground. Then he sees Kiyotaka and tension bleeds into his shoulders, a glare in his eyes and a sneer on his lips. Kiyotaka waits and sure enough, Ryuuen keeps walking toward him.

The predatory gait to his steps, the way that danger is folded over him like a cloak, makes something in Kiyotaka sit up and take notice. He eyes the clear musculature under his clothes and the strong lines of his body and wonders if this man would be a challenge.

When Ryuuen is close enough, Kiyotaka says, "You think pandas are super cute but if I tell anyone else, you'll have me disposed of."

Ryuuen stops in his tracks. His eyes are intelligent and calculating as he looks at Kiyotaka and he doesn't say a word for a moment. In the silence, Kiyotaka starts wondering if he should maybe have started with something else; eased into it. Interactions are still hard for him, because despite the fact that he's been here for two weeks now he still haven't had a lot of chances to practice.

But Ryuuen looks at him, his mind clearly whirling away and Kiyotaka can almost convince himself he sees the moment Ryuuen comes to a conclusion, and it's the correct one. "How many times?" he asks, and Kiyotaka has a bewildering moment where he's not sure what the question refers to.

"You told me four loops ago," he settles on and hopes that that's the correct answer.

"So how's the plan going?" Ryuuen asks, his eyes beginning to sparkle.

Kiyotaka shrugs and says, "The process of elimination will take some time."

"Naturally," Ryuuen nods. He starts walking and says, "You can tell me everything over breakfast."

Kiyotaka sees no reason to refuse. He follows the teenager all the way to the cafeteria where Ryuuen claims a large table for them and splays out, ignoring the annoyed looks of the other people also awake at this early hour. They eat the breakfast in silence, despite what Ryuuen said, and then when all the food is gone, Kiyotaka goes on to explain what's been happening so far.

"If they're panicking because you're working on a solution, you'll probably die again soon," Ryuuen says. He doesn't sound particularly bothered by it, his tone more contemplating in nature.

"Yes," Kiyotaka agrees, because the books say you're supposed to keep the conversation going.

Ryuuen grins. It makes him look wilder, his energy almost blazing off him. If this was an anime, Kiyotaka imagines he would be surrounded by light and the music would be swelling. As it is, that thing inside him perks up and he feels himself sitting straighter in his seat in response.

He wonders if this is what making friends feel like. If this lightness spreading inside him, if this excitement building within him, is what normal people feel in these situations. He wonders if he might be on his way to succeeding in one of his own self-appointed goals, if he might succeed with Ryuuen where he failed with Horikita.

But he doesn't rush the answers. It's important to not push too harshly, he knows. Friendships will form naturally when people have things in common and so all—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

He's wheezing as he wakes up, his breath rattling in his chest. He feels startled, confused. Like he was falling in his dream and woke up the instant he hit the ground.

He forces his body back under his control and waits until the shaking has stopped. Then he swings his legs over the edge and stands up, walking toward the window. He glances outside, down toward the ground. After a second, he opens the window—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

His mouth feel full of cotton as he returns to the waking world, his heart still beating a mile a minute. He's confused for the barest of seconds before he recalled how he ended up here, how he shook himself awake. It felt like he was falling in a dream, and he woke up when he hit the ground.

It's interesting, though. Interesting that he can't kill himself, that when he was on the edge of trying, he was instead crushed by his bookcase before he could go through with it. And he doesn't think a single bookcase should have been able to to kill him so easily either, but this loop clearly isn't governed by logic.

As soon as he's wearing proper clothes (he doesn't want to cause a commotion by going out in his sleepwear) Kiyotaka is out the door. It will take quite a lot of loops for his process to give him some answers and in the meanwhile, he's decided to take shameless advantage of this situation. He's overheard the guys in his class talking, and he's under the impression that it's what anyone normal—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

His eyes snap open, awareness rushing back to him in an uncomfortable instant. It's like falling in a dream and waking up when you hit the ground, he thinks. So sudden it's jarring and for a second, he doesn't know what's happening.

The knowledge returns him in one piece instead of scattered pieces and it's appreciated. He stands—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

It feels like his heart is in his throat as he trashes to wakefulness, his eyes already searching for a threat. Like falling, he thinks, and waking up the instant you hit the ground. He forces his breaths under control, forces himself to calm down and take stock of the situation. It's important—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

Blinking blearily up at the ceiling, his hand shoots out for his phone. His heartbeat is still racing in his chest, the sensation not unlike falling in a dream, only to wake up the instant you hit the ground. It's an unnerving feeling and when he checks the clock, nothing's—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

The waking is too sudden, the rush of awareness too raw. He feels like he was falling in a dream, only to wake up the instant—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

His heart hammers in his chest as he breathes himself alive, his blood rushing in his ears. Like falling, he thinks, and waking—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

He blinks himself awake, lying still for a moment before he reaches out for his phone. It felt like he was falling—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

The room is uncomfortably bright when he squints his eyes open. His heart is beating—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

He stares up at the ceiling as he waits for his breaths—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

There's a heaviness in his chest—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

His head is spinning—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

For a moment—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

He feels—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

It's—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's—

Kiyotaka dies, and—

Kiyotaka dies—

Kiyotaka—

Kiyo—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

Or, well, it would be. If things were normal, that would be the end of the story. But he dies, dies, dies, and—wakes up.

Shakes himself awake, really. His heartbeat is thundering in his ears as he blinks up at the ceiling, the sunlight hitting his eyes causing him to frown. He lays still for a moment, simply waiting. When nothing immediate happens, he heaves himself up and out of the bed.

Brushing a hand through his hair, he hums. So far, he thinks the progress has been steady and more than good enough. He's eliminated enough options that he's fairly certain at this point what the answer is. It's a relief, having a more concrete resolution to this problem. It makes his shoulders lighter, the weight of not having a solution leaving him.

He goes through the motions of getting ready, pulls on his school uniform and leaves his room. He takes the elevator down to the ground level and heads outside, raising a hand to protect himself from the sun's rays.

Ryuuen is right where he expects him to be, slowly stalking down the road. Kiyotaka speeds up slightly, catching up soon enough. As soon as he's within hearing range, he says, "You think pandas are super cute but if I tell anyone else, you'll have me disposed of."

Ryuuen spins on his heel and demands, "Don't say another word."

Kiyotaka doesn't. He simply waits for Ryuuen to go through all the options and narrow down the possibilities of what's happening, waits for him to say something.

Like always, Ryuuen doesn't disappoint.

"One of these days, I'll take that as a threat and punch you," Ryuuen declares, but he's already moving into step with him.

Kiyotaka only says, "You haven't so far."

Ryuuen clicks his tongue. He doesn't say anything else and they go to the cafeteria in a comfortable silence. They hardly meet any other students on the road and once in the cafeteria, Ryuuen lays claim to a table without regards for the other early risers who were on their way to it. Kiyotaka follows and sits down with his meal.

"You know what's up yet?" Ryuuen asks when they've finished eating.

"Yes," Kiyotaka says. "Surviving the whole day should do the trick. It's not enough to survive until night, so I think it's twenty-four hours."

Ryuuen nods. The fact that he accepts all this without any hint of hesitation is always something that makes Kiyotaka stop in his tracks in every loop. Ryuuen is too smart and he's too calculating and too good at finding the answers. The way he catches every hint Kiyotaka lays out, the way he finds the answers to questions Kiyotaka never voices... this is a very dangerous man.

Out of everyone at this school, Kiyotaka is now certain that Ryuuen is the most dangerous. It's Ryuuen he'll need to look out for when the school starts their testing. It's Ryuuen he'll have to be careful of.

Others too, of course. But Ryuuen is the one that thinks most like Kiyotaka, that can follow Kiyotaka's line of thinking the easiest. Thus, he is the greatest threat.

"My place or yours?" Ryuuen asks, like it's a forgone conclusion.

"Yours."

They go back to Ryuuen's place, just barely managing to avoid the falling statue and the slippery stairs, and the falling flowerpots. Kiyotaka knows what to do look out for, knows how to keep his perceptions open for danger. But it still takes a toll, the constant—

Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.

He shoots out of the bed as quickly as he can, ignoring his heartbeat slowing down. He rushes through the motions of getting ready and hurries down the stairs, sliding around corners quicker than is safe. He reaches the spot where he always meets Ryuuen and it's empty. Checking his phone, he breathes out in relief and waits.

Ryuuen comes along on the road soon enough. Kiyotaka has a plan now, and so he walks right up to the other teenager, says, "You think pandas are super cute but if I tell anyone else, you'll have me disposed of," and grabs ahold of Ryuuen's hand, already pulling him back to the dorms.

The fact that Ryuuen just lets him pull him along, follows without saying a word, makes Kiyotaka's stomach tingle. It feels a little like bugs are crawling inside it, trying to force their way up his throat. It's an unsettling feeling, but it doesn't feel bad exactly.

"You have a plan?" Ryuuen asks as they're making their way up the stairs.

"Yes," Kiyotaka answers, still holding onto that hand. It's what saves him when the handrail rips out of its sockets and almost takes him with it, so he congratulates himself for his great decision-making skills.

They're in front of Ryuuen's door when Ryuuen says, "If this is a prank, I'll ruin you."

"Not a prank."

Ryuuen locks the door behind them, and Kiyotaka walks further into the room. He looks around and decides that yes, his plan will probably work. The lamp isn't over the empty patch of nothing in the middle of the room either, so that works out really well. There are no furniture that can crush him if he's there, either.

So Kiyotaka walks into the middle of the room and sits down on the carpet.

After a second, Ryuuen joins him on the floor. He crosses his legs and stares at Kiyotaka with a gaze that he can't unravel. "Do you plan to just sit here?" Ryuuen asks after a while, still staring. He's frowning slightly, his eyebrows furrowed as his mind works.

"Yes," Kiyotaka answers, because he does.

If all he has to do is just survive twenty-four hours, then this is a good a place as any to wait for the clock to tick down. He's thrown away his phone so there's no chance of getting electrocuted, and now it's just a matter of waiting.

"Alright," Ryuuen says.

After about half-an-hour of staring at Kiyotaka, Ryuuen leaves. He comes back with food but Kiyotaka declines it so that he can't choke on it (he did that already, but he's not taking any chances now). Ryuuen only shrugs and eats his own meal in silence. When it's gone, he takes out the trash and then returns again.

"Want a book?" Ryuuen asks eventually.

Kiyotaka shakes his head. "Paper-cuts," he says in response at the questioning look he gets.

Ryuuen goes back to staring again. Kiyotaka doesn't know what he's looking for or what he's finding, but he finds that he doesn't mind it. Ryuuen's gaze is... intense and overwhelming but somehow in a good way. It makes the tingling in his stomach worse, but it never crosses the line into painful.

The hours pass agonizingly slowly, now that he's finally on the cusp of a solution.

Kiyotaka lets his mind flow, lets it wander wherever it will. He makes no effort to control it, no effort to steer its path. It makes the time go slightly faster, if his mind is already running full-steam ahead and veering into paths unknown.

After a while, Ryuuen switches so that he's sitting beside Kiyotaka. He has a textbook in his hands and is slowly going through it with a pencil, writing notes in the margins.

It's quiet and it's peaceful and it's exactly what Kiyotaka wanted when he made the decision to come to this school.

He eyes the other teenager; the way he sits with his back straight and his legs splayed out wildly, with no regards for others. The way his eyes narrow as he concentrates, the way he writes notes that are barely more than scribbles and yet succinctly sums up the information. Ryuuen is handsome, too, the kind of handsome that makes him look kind of like a dick.

The hours wile away slowly, but they do pass and eventually it's night again. The rooms are soundproof enough that he can't hear what's going on outside, and it's all the better.

Ryuuen looks at the clock and rises to his feet, asking, "Going to sleep?" while he's digging through the closet.

"No," answers Kiyotaka. It's better if he doesn't. It's better if he stays here.

"Okay." Ryuuen says, "Wake me up if you're still alive tomorrow."

Kiyotaka nods. He watches as Ryuuen gets ready for bed, as he changes into sleepwear. He was right, Ryuuen is very clearly well-trained and in good shape. He disappears for a bit into the bathroom but comes back soon enough, and then crawls under the covers while yawning. He turns off the lights, and Kiyotaka looks away from the lump on the bed.

And then he waits.

Waits, waits, waits.

The clock ticks. Moonlight seeps through the windows. Furniture rattles like it's trying to fall, but never does. It wouldn't reach him anyway and he suspects that whoever's behind this knows that. Clouds block the moonlight for a while but soon enough it's back. Kiyotaka stays sitting, waiting quietly in the darkness.

The sun slowly rises over the horizon. Light seeps in through the window, the curtains utterly failing at blocking it. He doesn't move. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

It's nearly cruel, how leisurely time passes.

But he waits, and eventually...

Eventually, it's seven in the morning on a Monday, more than twenty-four hours after he woke up this morning. His stomach is grumbling, having been devoid of food for too long. His mouth is dry—he hadn't drunk anything yesterday to ensure he wouldn't drown.

Ryuuen's alarm rattles alive on the bedside table, and the other teenager grumbles on the bed. An arm pokes out of the lump and waves in the air until it finds the alarm clock and crashes down onto it with extreme prejudice.

It's Monday, and Kiyotaka is still alive.

quillpunk: literally nothing. something went wrong and now it's literally nothing. (thingy)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Dragons
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 555
  • Published on AO3: 2021-05-19

Notes: For Monthly KuZu Mini-Prompts

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


The dragon is made of gold. Or no, Kuei realizes a breathless moment later. It's gold, the color shining in the evening sunlight, but it's not made of it. It sparkles too much, the light catching the scales and bouncing off, but it only looks to be made of gold. It is, though, an actual flesh and bone dragon. And it's right outside his window.

Kuei licks his lips. "Hello," he offers, his voice sounding weak and trembling even to his own ears.

The dragon snorts, smoke coming from its large nostrils. Kuei never thought he'd ever see nostrils so big, but they're unexpectedly beautiful. "Hello," the dragon answers in a deep rumbling voice and Keui sits up straighter on the windowsill, delight coursing through him.

It's a dragon! How can he not be mesmerized?

"I'm Kuei," he says, leaning his head forward to see more of the dragon. The window is too small, and it limits his sight too much.

He's not entirely certain how he came to be in a room with a dragon—he was having dinner with Long Feng, and that's where his memory stops. But Long Feng must have been the one to bring him here; the Dai Li wouldn't let anything happen to him. So surely, the dragon is a good person. Otherwise, Long Feng wouldn't have left him here.

After a moment, the dragon shakes his head and says, "I'm Zuko."

Kuei beams, sunlight unfurling in his stomach. "It's very nice to meet you, Zuko! I hope you don't think me rude, but were you here when I was brought here? And do you happen to know if any of my scrolls made the journey with me? For that matter, do you know where we are?"

A lazy eye blinks at him, the skin around it burned. Kuei wonders what can possibly burn hot enough to cause that kind of damage in a dragon, but he knows enough of the Fire Nation's dragon purges to know he shouldn't ask. It's probably a painful subject, and he doesn't want to scare off his new friend. Kuei has so little of them; they always vanish eventually, no matter how tightly he tries to hold on.

"I was here," Zuko the dragon finally says. Smoke curls from its mouth as it speaks, the voice nearly burning in its roughness. "A cart made the journey with you, I know not of any scrolls. And I do not know where we are."

"Thank you," Kuei says. He switches position so that he sits with his legs crossed and facing the dragon. It's a shame the sun is setting, it means that he can't see the entirety of the gloriousness in front of him.

The dragon is big. Not as big as he's read they can grow, but still undeniably a giant. It keeps him from seeing the view and trying to determine his location by landmarks, but he doesn't much care about that anyway. How could he, when there's an actual, live dragon right in front of him. In the light of that, it doesn't much matter that he made no plans to come here, doesn't know where he is, or where Long Feng went.

Those are questions that can be answered later. Right now, he just wants to know more about Zuko.

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fanfiction by hoodwinked

November 2023

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