GANGSTA.

It's Mushishi Monday

Move over Marco it’s whitebeard pirates christmas one shot time

I think that more fanfiction should be written with the aim to tackle the original meaning of hanahaki. Because when the concept of hanahaki disease was originally created, it was intended to be a metaphor for suppressing one’s feelings.

Your feelings are this beautiful garden of flora inside of your chest. When you express how you feel honestly, you allow for it to grow freely. But when you hide how you feel out of fear of rejection, and try to make it smaller and smaller, the flowers become cramped inside of you, until you choke on your own feelings. Every flower you cough up is something you’ve felt, but refused to say.

The whole “dying” thing is intended to be more symbolic especially. You’re killing off bits and pieces of yourself and how you feel, because you’re afraid to express yourself.

It’s not really supposed to be, “The one I love doesn’t love me back, and I’m dying from it.” Rather, it’s more along the lines of, “Repressing your emotions is bad for you, and it’s better and healthier to express them freely, even when it’s scary.”

Which is to say that, one, the cure for the disease should be telling the person that you are in love with how you feel. How the other person feels about the person afflicted should have nothing to do with it, as the trope is meant to be about feeling your emotions unapologetically.

And that, two, it’s not an inherently romantic trope. Obviously, it has romantic applications, but it can be written for any situation where a character is hiding how they truly feel. This can include a refusal to address a specific trauma, a desire to indulge in something that they’re ashamed of, and even really practical things, like wanting to ask one’s boss for a higher position.

Although (as an aromantic person myself) I don’t agree with this conclusion about the trope, this application would also avoid people calling it arophobic. When the thing killing the character is a refusal to be honest with themselves, rather than an unrequited love, it’s on nobody’s hands but their own to save their life.

There are a ton of ways that this interpretation of the hanahaki disease could be applied in new and interesting ways in fanfiction, and I’d love to read what things people could come up with!

Some toy pokemon doodles I worked on a while ago (including the rough draft of my slinky shinx I uploaded earlier this year)

Sure, Aizawa. "UA" is taking her in.

🐸🍝

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

What am i doing here i dont even work at this mcdonalds

“Once you've been loved once and have loved once, you cannot forget it.” ― Natsume Takashi, Natsume Yuujinchou

Hello and welcome to my blog!

This is a place for me to interact with other writers I read and post miscellaneous works (mostly reader-insert)! No promises that I'll remain consistent in my posts since I have school, but I'm just here to have fun and contribute to the fandoms. I hope you'll enjoy as well!

See the masterlist!

What shows I'm a fan of:

Natsume Yuujinchou

Mushishi

Boku no Hero Academia

Buddy Daddies

GANGSTA.

And more!

Where else you can find me:

OC blog: @the-resting-grounds

AO3: Elise_Wing

“I don’t have much power and I’m trying to get stronger. But I’m not afraid of sharing my heart.” – Natsume Takashi

“If you throw your life away, you won’t even have the capacity to feel regret.” – Ginko

“The sun rises today and sets again. A flower that bloomed in the morning, falls from its stem. The sun sets today and rises again. Flowers bloom to fill the land, but not the flowers of yesterday.” – Ginko

Omg this is so good I love it

Could I request Kazuki and Rei with a female doctor reader who specializes in making medicine and poisons?

Kazuki & Rei + Doctor reader

The bell over the door to Kyutaro’s shop chimed as you walked in. Seeing the owner behind the bar, as usual, greeting you with a soft smile. “Good evening [Y/N]-san.”

“Good evening Kyutaro-kun,” you reply back. “Where are they?”

“In the back.” His head ticked over toward the kitchens where usually no one was allowed. “I couldn’t have them bleeding all over the place in case real customers came in.”

“That’s fair.”

You head towards the back with your bag and open the door to find Kazuki & Rei sitting there on boxes of produce. “Good Lord, what happened to you two.”

“Job went south.” Rei muttered. What looked like a frozen bag of peas nestled against his face.

“It got a little off track.” Kazuki corrected. Trying to put his usual positive spin on things, even if his head was bleeding and he was clearly going to have a shiner in the morning. “The job was fine. Our exit was the part that went array. We fell out a window.”

“You fell out a window. I got pulled down with you.” Rei’s turn to correct the story of events.

You let out a sigh and open up your bag. “Well, at least your both still alive I suppose.” You start removing your instruments and supplies out of the bag on Kyutaro’s prep table before turning to ask, “who wants to go first?”

Kazuki volunteers. Like a usual good sport. His head wound was mostly superficial. They just tend to bleed a lot. He chatted all through his stitches and gladly offered up his arms when you when to deal with his cuts.

Rei on the other hand…..

“You really gonna fight me on this?”

“I’m fine.” He muttered as he sat motionless on his produce box seat.

“You have a busted shoulder.” You tell him. As if he didn’t know. “I can tell you have a partial dislocated shoulder. And your favoring your left side when you lean, so I take your ribs are cracked too. Plus your bleeding.” Rei glared at you, while Kazuki muttered ‘that’s amazing’ behind you. “Come on Rei. This will go a lot easier if you just let me do it.”

He seemed to want to protest further, but then relaxed. Or as much as Rei could relax; particularly in his injured state. You shuffle forward on your knees and wrap your arms around him. “Deep breath now.” You whispered in his ear. Feeling his chest expand & exhale before you wretched his shoulder back in.

It’s a very painful process. But the only sound that Rei  made was a choked sort of noise in his chest in response. You pull back and take a look at his face. “Want me to wrap your ribs now?” Rei didn’t say anything, but started to slowly remove his suit jacket and shirt to give you access.

“It’s always incredible how you do that.” Kazuki said behind you. Getting your attention. “He never lets anyone do this for him. Not even me sometimes. Really speaks to how good of a doctor you are, [Y/N]-chan.”

You smile at Kazuki before turning back to your current patient. “It’s about trust.” You look up at Rei and catch his gaze. Unmoving and unwavering, but also not unsympathetic to what you just said.

You carefully wrap some bandages around his ribs and let him put his shirt back on. “Ok. I’ll call you guys in a few days to see how it’s going. If you feel any discomfort or abnormal symptoms, call me.” You keep your instructions clear as you pack up your bag. “You might feel fine now, but when the adrenaline full wears off you’ll be in a world of hurt. Let me give you something to take the edge off so you can sleep.”

The syringe in your hand glinted in the light and Rei turned even paler than usual. You would have thought he was instantly cured with the way he bolted out of the kitchen, and potentially out of the bar. “Still hates needles, eh?”

“He’s a weird guy.”

Kazuki took his shot like a champ, and was cheeky enough to ask for a lollipop. “Try not to kill yourself next time.” Your offer as a consolation prize of advice, and finish packing up.

You wave goodbye to Kyutaro on your way out, telling him to send your pay to the usual place, before you head home. Though you liked seeing the boys, you hoped you didn’t have to see them for a very long time.