Tropes: Childhood friends to lovers, Soulmates, Twin Flames, she falls first but he falls harder (or is that the case . . .), you complete me, Tragic past, Dark Fairytale
𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙘
https://pin.it/57WqdWXHE (copy and paste🩷)
�...
Waking up from the morning sun beaming down at my face with its glare, the scent of strong coffee drifts into my nose, awakening my need for caffeine. But that wasn't what was on the forefront of my mind.
It happened again.
The no nightmare thing. When he was around.
Well, I did have one before that, but he wasn't next to me. Maybe it was because my subconscious associated him with safety or protection, which was ridiculous but the two times I was aware that he was next to me were the two times my sleep wasn't riddled with a replay of the past.
Heat rises to my cheeks and a smile forms on my face, but it quickly slips when I remember the embarrassing act I did for him to stay with me. I smack my face into the palms of my hands.
I wasn't asleep when he moved me from the room I slept in prior to the one I was in right now. I wasn't asleep when he tucked me in the sheets. And I wasn't asleep when I grabbed his finger.
It might've been a cowards move and slightly embarrassing, okay extremely embarrassing, if he knew I was pretending to be asleep, but I didn't have it within me to regret my choice of action.
His minty, clean scent still lingered in the sheets and on me from his clothes, resulting in a familiar comforting feel washing over me and I allow myself to take a deep inhale. He probably didn't actually sleep with me because his sleep schedule was worse than mine, but he stayed. He stayed with me and that was all I needed, and I was just thankful that he entertained the idea.
Peeling the comforter off me, I make my way out of the room and towards where the coffee scent lingered stronger in the air.
And then obviously, I see him. He was already dressed perfectly with a crips white dress shirt, his hair styled in that perfect ratio that made it look clean and perfect. Without eyeing the coffee in his right hand, he scrolls through whatever it was he was looking at before taking a graciously elegant sip of that coffee.
This was the thing with the Sakurazuki's, their way of eating and drinking like nobility. Hell it could even be like royalty. Effortless, clean, and elegant. They genuinely made us appear like peasants with no table manners when you eat with them. Sorry, dine with them.
He doesn't even spare me a glance when he greets me with a "sit down," placing his cup and phone down, graciously getting out of his chair to walk over towards the kitchen behind the dinning area.
I obediently sit down on an empty seat opposite to where he was sitting, shamelessly watching him do the things he does in the kitchen.
You couldn't convince me otherwise, men in the kitchen are good looking.
I continue watching him as he swiftly places two bowl of rice, miso soup and grilled fish onto its respective trays before he brings them over. One for me and one for him.
I don't remember when it was the last time I had breakfast with him. Was it when we were twelve or thirteen years old when me and Kaito came over for a sleep over? That was actually our parents getting together and planning some things I can't remember now but it was fun for us kids while the adults pondered and wondered about their next move. Well he may not have, but I did. Anyhow, point was, it was a little awkward having a breakfast with him on a random Wednesday in the middle of who knows where at 25 years old, looking like your typical dirt-poor Cinderella. Overworked, undervalued and a laughingstock.
I shook the thought away, choosing to admire my breakfast.
The breakfast was a simple, traditional Japanese breakfast. I didn't even eat breakfast these days. The thought just seemed like a waste of time, like sleep, I could live without having breakfast every morning. But even with its simplicity, the food looked delicious and nostalgic. If only time machine existed.
"I didn't know you were able to cook," I muse as I watch him settle into his chair like a King would to his throne. "Did Ane-san teach you how to cook? Or did you ask one of the kitchen staff to teach you?" I probe even though I already knew the answer.
His mother, who we call Ane-san in our organization as a term for older sister, was a sweet woman with a heart made of steel. She was also my second mother. More like your only mother. Damn me and these thoughts.
Unlike the Oyabun, his father, who taught him everything through raw experience – both good and bad, Anee-san taught him through experiences that'll last him a lifetime.
"Mum." He replies, confirming the answer I had in mind.
I begin to eat the food, remembering to mutter 'itadakimasu', a phrase that basically thanked those who made the food in Japanese. It was a little weird saying the word that I haven't said in so long, but it also felt right.
The meals goes through in comfortable silence, with me nodding every now and then as I eat the rice because I never realised how Japanese or Asian I was until I have eaten this bowl of rice.
"Weather's nice today. We'll learn to shoot." He says out of the blue and I nod along, still thoroughly enjoying my meal.
Wait, hold up. Shoot? Learn to shoot?
"Wait, go back. What did you say?"
"You'll learn to shoot. I can't leave you vulnerable when situations turn unfavourable." He explains like it was a no brainer before sipping on another cup of coffee. Since when did he get a new full cup?
"So I can have a gun?" I question. Not the most important question and he would probably flip the meaning behind this but oh well.
"No. The only situation you'll be handed a gun is when I can predict situations will go south or when the situation has already turned south. Although the latter is highly unlikely."
"Oh okay."
"Your clothes are in the dryer. Meet me outside." And then he take his own tray with empty bowls and plates along with mine before he goes back into the kitchen, rolling his sleeves to begin washing the dishes.
You would think for a wealthy man who had maids and helpers wouldn't have a clue how to wash dishes but like with the cooking, I assume Ane-san taught him these things too.
Maybe I should have offered to wash instead but I don't like washing and he did indirectly tell me to get ready. . .
So, I made my way to laundry room located downstairs, where there was an unnecessarily large washing machine, a dryer and even space to iron and fold clothes.
The idea of getting out of the clothes I was currently in was for some reason made me hesitant, but such thought was quite stupid on its own, so I chase the thought away and slip into my wide jeans and plain white top.
I breathe in and only smell my body wash, plain and boring. It brought normalcy but nothing more.
