TITLE: faith, trust, & pixie dust
GENRE: romance, drama, angst(?) but not rly tbh
WORD COUNT: 4278 or something along those lines
NOTE: shorter chapter bc im d ying
i love twgok but i may never be okay w/ the ending w o w
this is just an awk love affair so much drama
i am still doing what a bIRDSONG sorry omfg
THIS STORY TAKES FOREVER TO WRITE BYE I CAN'T EVEN
"— why… are you here?"
.
.
faith&trust w/ a dash of—
.
.
PIXIE
dust / / / /
.
.
(part ii.)
.
.
i. long nights in by the city lights
He yanks her hand along, and the guy behind her reluctantly lets go of her shoulder, his fingertips tracing against her skin. Tenri shudders, her eyes glazed over curiously; he looks almost faintly amused, and Keima feels like scowling.
In games, this idiot would just be a shady side character without a name—
"— WHAT'D YOU SAY?!" he roars.
Goddammit, Keima curses. He has got to stop saying things out loud.
.
.
When the guy lurches forward to punch Keima, his fists clenched, he tenses and closes his eyes tightly shut and he—
... he feels nothing.
Instead, he hears the telltale sound of somebody falling to the ground, and his heart stops and he's thinking she's so, so stupid.
When he opens his eyes, she's lying there, her hair splayed around her, her eyes fluttering, and she's so, so pale.
"Better you than me," she croaks as he kneels quickly down to her level, and with a giggle she adds, "Oh Mr. Savior of Our World."
"We have to get you to the hospital," he mutters urgently as he ignores her, his mind racing as he fishes for his cellphone; he can feel the panic thrumming through his veins as Tenri hums lightly, a gentle trickle of blood running past her cracked lips and down her chin.
This is nothing like a game, because she's in pain and there's no undo button and there's a dangerous, dangerous guy in the background.
"I'm fine, Keima-kun," she insists vaguely, her eyes wide and vacant and he realizes he's hurt her more than anybody else.
The other guy— the bastard that punched her— quickly gets subjected to a series of vicious insults from the other just as drunk visitors in the bar; Keima sees red as he flees. He stands abruptly, his brow furrowed, his fists clenched tightly.
She grabs at him suddenly, her fingers pulling desperately at his sleeves, her fingers pulling him desperately back down to her level. "It's okay, Keima-kun," she whispers soothingly, a smile tracing her lips. "Thank you."
His eyes ask the question.
.
.
"You look far worse off than I do," she remarks wryly.
.
.
"You're an idiot," he mutters in reply, his head down as he cradles her. Keima has half a mind to scream at her, the anger rising in his throat, but he sees her cheek swell and the glazed look in her eye, and he deflates.
Tenri laughs clearly in reply, and it makes him wonder if she's really drunk.
She reaches up carefully, her cheeks flushed either from the punch or from the alcohol or really, from both, and she caresses his face gently.
.
.
"... why'd you do it?"
.
.
Tenri smiles like it's obvious.
"It's because it's you, Keima-kun."
ii. kiss me promises, darling
He carries her out the door, the bartender nodding wearily in his wake.
"— and I'll love you through the night, and though the years may tell, I've never let you go," she sings gently in his ear. "Tell me darling, how to love a dream, tell me darling, how to love the sun, tell... me darling..."
Her legs are swung through his arms, her hands curled gently into his shirt, and he feels her soft singing through his ear.
"... promise you won't do that again."
.
.
"Do what?" she asks with a slight tilt in her voice. Keima frowns at her, and she giggles absentmindedly in reply.
"Run out," he says seriously. "Don't... run away like that again without saying anything."
"Mmm," she hums in reply, her forehead crinkling as she attempts to even think.
Keima's grip tightens. "Promise, Tenri."
.
.
"Nobody keeps promises," she remarks easily with a laugh, the swoon of her voice dipping and cracking.
He can hear the meaning between the lines— it's something about four and a half years ago and a ten year long ordeal for a girl much too young.
He falls silent as she swings her feet, her stilettos clacking against her heels, her cheek resting against his shoulder carefully. His feet fall heavily against the stairs, his hand falling and curling desperately around the handle of the door as it clicks open.
The apartment door swings closed behind them.
.
.
He grabs at her hand suddenly, his fingers squeezing around her slim ones until it almost hurts, and she blinks drowsily at him.
"Please, Tenri."
.
.
He sets her down carefully, her feet grazing the carpet as she lands clumsily. Her fingers dig into his shoulders as she stares into his eyes; for a minute, he forgets that she's tipsy, that he's broken her heart, and it's like they're both seventeen again and he has no idea of what's to come.
Suddenly, Tenri's fingers— freezing, ice-cold— grab at his face. They trace their way down his cheek, against the rim of his glasses, and she tilts her head. Tenri yanks at his face until they're just inches apart.
She searches his face for a few seconds, her head tilted, her cheek swollen, and her eyes sincere even through the daze of alcohol.
"... okay," she eventually agrees, her eyelids fluttering faintly.
.
.
"That's not promising, Tenri," he mutters almost childishly under his breath.
She tinkles a laugh into his ear at his slight disapproving tone as she falls asleep on his shoulder.
"Nobody keeps promises," she reminds him, and all it ever sounds like is bitterness.
iii. vodka veins
Her gaze blurs, she sees the eyes she always drowns in, and she never forgets even when she's suffocating in alcohol.
He makes it hard to forget.
iv. wilting daisies
Keima tucks her in, her hair neatly splayed across the pillows, and she blinks blearily up at him for a second. She's more damn trouble than she's worth sometimes.
Tenri offers a wan smile, and—
.
.
"I love you."
.
.
He stops for a second, his movements completely frozen at everything she says, everything she does. Tenri's eyes stare back sleepily, her eyelids already drooping, and he— he can't track her route anymore.
Tenri's somehow gotten away from her orderly route, and she's run away and messed up the process, and he can't— he doesn't— he won't understand.
The game's gone haywire, and he's not sure how to stop it.
He needs to tell her the truth. He needs to reject her, to say he doesn't love her back, because he doesn't— not yet.
He wants to blame it on the alcohol buzzing in her veins (because he can clearly hear the slur in her speech), and that she doesn't know what she's saying, that it's all lies, but—
.
.
"... do you want to?"
.
.
(Tenri's parameter has always been that of a truthful drunk.)
.
.
She giggles, her words slurred together as she grazes her fingertip against his nose carefully. Her answer balances on the tip of her tongue as she blows him a kiss.
"I don't have much of a decision in the matter," she says sweetly as she taps gently at her heart, and she falls asleep seconds later, snoring all the while.
iv. it's midnight and two minutes too late
"... you shouldn't love me, stupid. It's an awful idea."
She snores softly in reply, a small smile curving on her face, and he snorts.
Keima's eyes darken as he glances at her cheek, the swelling harsh even in the darkness.
He clenches his fist.
.
.
For a second, he lowers himself down. For a second, he lets himself see her again as a seventeen year old who just loves, loves, loves unconditionally— and for a second, he pretends he can love, love, love her back.
Tenri smiles in her sleep, slow and steady, and he exhales, his fingers running through his hair as he frowns.
It's almost funny how much it isn't pretend.
v. don't hug me it's dark inside
"... mm… where am I?" she murmurs, her head a little wobbly. It's like four o'clock in the morning and she kind of wants to die. She can already feel her jelly legs, and she can tell even through the thick haze of being pretty smashed that this hangover should be hell.
"Your apartment, in your bed. Where you would have been if you hadn't run out," he mutters rather strictly.
"... be quiet," she hushes a little petulantly, none of his words processing, her eyebrows furrowed as she burrows herself back into the covers. "It's cold," she mumbles, and she grabs at him sleepily, her arms curling around him.
He— "what are you doing?" and she laughs almost deliriously back.
"It's always so cold with you around."
.
.
"... and what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're a bit of an asshole, duh."
.
.
"You speak quite... candidly when drunk sometimes, hm?"
Tenri's fingers clench deeper into his sweater as she rolls her eyes and burrows into his neck.
"S'your fault."
His eyes darken for a second, and suddenly, he carefully wraps his arms around her awkwardly and reluctantly. Tenri feels the warmth seep deep into her bones, and her eyelids flutter at the strangely unfamiliar feeling. She opens her mouth to protest, but he gives her a single look as he tightens his arms around her.
For a second, Tenri forgets. She forgets about the rejection pounding through her veins, about ten years, and about all her regret.
He makes her heart pound like a seventeen year old still in love; maybe she's never forgotten the feeling.
She can't even breathe.
.
.
"I know."
vi. we're just a book full of mistakes with a shitty editor
"... sorry, that... was mean of me."
vii. like a word without a definition
"What are we doing?"
He doesn't take his gaze off the PFP, but he can feel her shift onto her side, her arms still curled around him. Tenri almost laughs as the serene sounds of his game fill the room.
The bed creaks as Keima replies. "What d'you mean?"
Tenri's eyes intimidate him.
"This," she gestures, "makes me feel like... like I'm cheating, or something."
"... we haven't done anything."
"Mm, we haven't, have we?"
She smiles almost ruefully as her arms slip away back to her side, and his neck feels unbearably cold. He clicks a few buttons, the on his PFP for a moment, and she watches him carefully— they lay there in silence, and the only sounds are music from his PFP.
Her eyes crawl up his face carefully, as if memorizing every stroke of his face, every curve of his cheek and nose.
"Ne, Keima-kun... what's she like?"
"... who?"
She arches a brow, her eyes misty, her smile faintly amused.
.
.
"Who else?"
.
.
"... she was fucking awful. Didn't follow predictions or directions, completely unpredictable, untraceable, fickle, skipped over my carefully constructed routes, and was much too... too..."
She listens carefully as he trails off, clearly struggling with his words; her eyes wonder at how red he is, and all the words echo and bounce around in her head. Half of her feels so much gratitude to the person who can bring out such a side in a boy who was practically impossible to conquer— she's so grateful that he can feel, that his heart can beat, and that there's a person who can make him do all of the above.
The ugly side of her hates it all.
Tenri tries to smile widely until her cheeks hurt, until it all grazes through the pain, and her teeth glisten in the darkness.
Parts of her wish she could just brush him of after so many years of waiting.
Her heart hurts, just a little; she blames it on the alcohol.
.
.
"Sounds like love."
.
.
Tenri feels like she's suffocating.
viii. we're a ticking time bomb
He stiffens.
The room goes pitch black when he suddenly powers off his PFP, and Tenri flinches at the abruptness.
"Why're you asking, all of a sudden?" Keima asks tensely, his eyes dark.
The fact that he changes the subject doesn't go unnoticed.
Tenri hums under her breath, the last threads of alcohol still making their way through her system.
Because I want you to realize it, she hisses internally. You shouldn't be here.
.
.
You shouldn't be next to me, she thinks desperately, because in the end, I'll be played the fool, and you'll leave me, and I'll still—
"Goddammit," she murmurs under her breath.
Goddammit, because she can't say it. Goddammit, because if she does, he'll leave her again. Goddammit, because she's not sure what she'll do when— because it will— it happens again.
Goddammit.
"Hmm? You say something?"
.
.
She closes her eyes.
"Because I've always been curious about it— her," she corrects herself, "... but I don't want to remember a thing in the morning," she suddenly answers breezily, raising her voice just a bit louder as she smiles sheepishly. She allows the alcohol to slip back into her voice.
He stares her down, and Keima's always been awfully good at her detecting lies.
Tenri's eyes flash almost indignantly for a second, and she turns away towards the wall, her brows furrowed as she closes her eyes again tightly.
.
.
"Not a single thing."
ix. lovebirds
When Keima shakes her back awake forty minutes later, her eyes are bleary and her head is hurting— this hangover will be hell, and she grimaces; she sees his eyes much, much too close to hers, and she nearly falls off the bed.
Keima grabs at her shoulders.
.
.
"I don't want you to forget though."
.
.
"... huh?"
He stares her down, his eyes serious and full of purpose and all too calculating. Tenri stares back, her gaze doubtful, and the wheels aren't turning properly.
"Let me tell you... about a girl."
.
.
Perhaps it's the alcohol still thrumming gently through her veins that makes her brave.
"How forward," she says wryly, her fingertips grazing his cheek gently, "and how cruel."
Keima looks at her intently.
"Hear me out."
.
.
"... please."
x. thus we are and how far we go
Keima tells Tenri a story about a paper girl, and a freezing paper town, three letters, and a story about love and something more.
He tells her about mistakes, and how he's coming back for a girl who's probably long forgotten him.
— he never looks away from Tenri's face.
She hardly listens to the words— all she sees is his eyes, and it breaks her heart all, all, all over again.
.
.
"... but, I'm not... good enough for her."
xi. a therapist and her clipboard— they called it a pitiful story
"So... why are you here?"
His eyes meet hers, and she offers a lilting smile; it tilts softly on her face, and it's the same reassuring, gentle tone that reminds him of three and a half years ago.
Perhaps it's always been that smile and that voice that beats some sense into him in the end.
"... I'm not going to say you're a good guy, Keima-kun," and she laughs halfheartedly at his offended expression, "you're not exactly the best, and you've made mistakes, but she— we all were— was... ready for that."
Tenri's eyes almost mist over, and her hand trembles as she raises her hand to his cheek again. "She'll accept you beyond everything else, because you deserve that, because she knows you, because she knows your intentions."
"... really?"
Tenri sighs. "You can only be dealt with for so long before you become pretty predictable," she remarks lightly, her voice lilting at the edges, her fingertips curling into the blankets.
The bed creaks.
"And besides... you love her, right?"
.
.
"... she's— she's important to me."
.
.
Her smile is almost triumphant, but somehow completely defeated, and it's... it's over (again).
"Then you should go back now, Keima-kun," she says softly. Tenri realizes, suddenly, her ever present role in his story and what she's always represented.
Tenri's always been the support pillar, the reassuring one, and the girl who'll see him through when he needs her— but never till the end (because he'll always have somebody better for that job).
Her story is ending again— and Tenri knows she never even wanted it to end the first time.
"— i-if all this time all you needed was advice, you should've told me from the beginning!" she says, her voice shaking delicately, "I w-would've definitely helped anyway, and..."
Tenri swallows suddenly, the feeling thick in her throat and regret. "— a-and we... should just stop… this."
She stares down at the comforter while he gives her an odd, almost frustrated look; she doesn't even have the time to process it when Keima suddenly grips her shoulders. Tenri blinks and tries to turn away, her eyes towards the wall and away from him and don't you dare cry, don't you dare cry...
.
.
"I don't want to."
She can hardly breathe.
.
.
"Tenri, I'm... going to kiss you."
xii. my pretty black heart
She blinks blankly three times, flustered.
"What are you— mmph!"
.
.
Tenri can't even protest— part of her is so, so bitter, because maybe she's always wanted this.
Keima just pulls on her shoulders, and for the second time in her life, she kisses a boy obsessed with games and with chapped lips and, and, and—
— it's all sorts of warm and awful and sweet and bitter and it's just a simple little kiss, but her heart is racing, and her hands hang limply at her sides while his burn deep into her shoulders, and it's somewhere between the lines of beautiful and so, so breakable.
Her stomach does three flips, and their teeth clack because she doesn't know what to do, and Tenri needs to push him away, but she can't because she never could in the first place.
Tenri lays there, eyes wide and shocked and surprised and everything else she ever was nearly four and a half years ago on a mast in the middle of the ocean.
.
.
In a few seconds, Tenri realizes this— whatever this is— won't happen again. She takes an unsteady breath against his lips, her fingers shaking as she finally clutches at his shirt almost desperately.
She needs to push him away, she needs to, but there's something almost needy about how his lips brush against hers with a sort of heady, yet gentle pressure, and more than anything else, it's all she's ever, ever wanted— she finds that she can't even push him away if she wanted to. It makes her heart roar in her chest, her head swim, and all he does is kiss, kiss, kiss her.
.
.
— and so, for half a second, she lets herself give in. For half a second, Tenri lets her eyelids slip closed, lets her eyelashes brush softly against his cheek, and she kisses him back like there's been fourteen and a half years in between them.
.
.
Even so, she trembles as she finally pushes him back firmly, and she almost smiles but can't quite do it.
"... thank you, Keima-kun."
.
.
Because after all these years, all she's ever wanted to do is kiss him back.
xiii. fortune seekers (for we are)
When he moves back, the bed creaking as he shifts, she's blinking incessantly, the tears clinging to her eyelashes delicately as she bites her bottom lip.
.
.
"You're not going to ask why?" he prods her.
Tenri shakes her head repeatedly, her hair swinging as she stares down at the crumpled sheets between them. Keima makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat as he grabs at her wrist.
"Tenri, you're messing up the flag event," he tells her strictly, his eyes clearly disapproving.
.
.
"— why?" she murmurs as she gives in to him (as always), and she sounds so tired, yet almost faintly amused.
Keima smiles crookedly.
.
.
"It's because it's you, Tenri."
.
.
She pauses, her eyes wide and frozen, and then she suddenly flushes a bright red— the color spreads firmly from her neck to her cheeks to her ears, and, and—
— Keima almost smirks.
"W— what?" she stammers out.
.
.
He repeats himself slowly as he edges her backwards.
"It's because it's you, Tenri," he says softly, and Tenri feels herself being launched back into his stupid, stupid, stupid conquest days.
Now she gets the feeling of being chased after.
.
.
She searches his eyes for a second, her gaze nearly critical and disapproving. He doesn't back away, and neither does she.
Tenri suddenly allows a small smile across her face because of the stupid, stupid person in front of her; the warmth spreads quickly from her lips to her toes as he grabs at her fingertips. Stupid, stupid, stupid Keima.
"... how ironic," she finally remarks as she burrows herself back into her pillow, her ears still a flaming scarlet. Keima almost smirks at her embarrassment— he's still got it.
.
.
How charmingly ironic.
xiv. the dawn of a new tomorrow
The problem isn't resolved, she reluctantly thinks as sleep takes over her like a drug. This isn't over, and the situation is still the same, she realizes.
He needs to leave her again— Tenri's eyes flutter closed tightly, her fingers clenching.
Even so, there's a sudden, almost oddly familiar warmth at her back, and her fingers are nestled gently between his, and her heart hammers against her chest unsteadily all the while.
.
.
She's such an awful person, she thinks miserably.
Tenri closes her eyes and takes three breaths.
.
.
— it... can all wait until tomorrow.
xv. hit me baby
Tenri breathes slowly and steadily, the time slowly edging away as the sun rises, and Keima sighs. Although he wants to wake her (again) and clear things up— because he's tired of all their damn ambiguity— she's been drunk and kissed and talked into circles and she probably won't remember a thing.
"Knowing you, you probably still don't get what I meant earlier either," he mutters under his breath. "Chihiro was in the past tense, and, and you were too damn drunk, and..."
"— I pretty much kissed you for a reason, stupid."
Tenri scrunches her nose in her sleep as she turns towards him, her eyes halfway open as she slurs drowsily. Keima rolls his eyes.
"— dun call me shtupid," she mumbles as she slides her arms around him, her trembling fingers at the back of his neck, "... s'upid."
Keima sighs in defeat.
.
.
"... 're you g'nna leave me again?" she asks in a small voice.
.
.
Keima winces slightly at the "again." He fidgets, and his neck grows hot under her fingertips. He props himself up onto his arm and stares at her properly, his brow twitching slightly in irritation and calm consideration.
"... you should be selfish for once, Tenri."
.
.
Her eyes, still glazed with sleep and clearly still dreaming, stare at him in confusion. "... wha's that s'pose to mean?"
His voice gets more embarrassed, and holy hell, he is so lucky she's not going to remember this when she wakes up.
"Well, I mean— do you want me to go again?"
.
.
The silence is deafening.
xvi. our civil war
"... you're so s'upid, Keima-kun," she murmurs with a slim smile on her lips, and she burrows her head into the crook of his neck and sighs as she falls asleep again. Her arms fold comfortably against his chest, and he feels a strange sense of embarrassment and warmth and real girls and their damn feelings are so—
(— annoying, is what his mind says snidely, but his thumping heart carries another story; he grimaces.)
Keima exhales exasperatedly as he slips his arms around her vaguely, his fingers tangling into her heart loosely.
This girl may be the death of him, he thinks almost sleepily, but hell if she'll ever know it.
.
.
Keima yawns when he blinks his eyes open hours later only to face wide, dark blue ones. Tenri flushes red as she stammers out excuses suddenly, but she doesn't move away from him— some deep part of him feels strangely satisfied.
"— hangover?" he interrupts softly.
Tenri jumps.
.
.
"I— no," she murmurs shyly back. "I-I'm fine."
She continues to stare at him, her brow furrowed, and he looks at her expectantly, his face straight, his glasses settled atop his nose delicately.
.
.
"What?"
Tenri shakes her head suddenly, a small smile on her face.
"It's nothing, really..."
.
.
"— b-but, I guess I just feel like I had a really... a really wonderful sort of dream."
TBC.
HAH I BET NOBODY WAS EXPECTING ME TO UPDATE & i don't blame you tbh haha
this chapter was kinda awful but um— wow dat climactic but somehow anticlimactic climax amirite
BTW i always felt like tenri would be a really moody, fluctuating and emotional drunk, and at the end, when she talks funny, she's half asleep
like a sleep talker
i speak from experience LOL no seriously this happens irl
also tenri would beat ass if you wake her up
BTW if keima is totes magotes ooc don't sue me k
sorry what a birdsong is just— it'll come when it comes
hope u enjoY lol
tbh it's been done for awhile but holy edits and holy lazy and im a bed potato
either one or two or three chaps left they come slow so damn long srry
tanks 4 reading heart heart
xxx.
