Happy Easter, everyone!
Hitsukarin Week is upon us once again, and of course I had to participate. But we'll see how lazy I get uggg
Head's up that this prompt is totally nsfw—enough for me to actually up the rating on this fic. I wrote it weeks ago and didn't make the connection that this prompt fell on Easter...whoops! *laughs nervously* Anyway, it's inspired by "Two Weeks" by FKA twigs, an amazing song that you should listen to right now, before/while you read.
Prompt: Coachella
Rating: E
Day 1
He's seen her around before.
There have been many weekend nights where he's come home to their shitty apartment building, climbed up the steps, and seen her lounging on her porch, smoking what definitely didn't smell like a cigarette. Sometimes she would nod politely at him, would raise her beer in greeting. Most times, she merely stared over the railing, watching all the drunk college students pass through their alley, possibly coming home, possibly just headed out—the girls, toddling in their too-tall heels, the guys laughing like hyenas, and more than a few people vomiting on the gravel. And Toshiro would continue up the steps to his own floor, to his own apartment.
Tonight, however, her eyes flicker over to him while she takes a slow drag on her not-cigarette, and she frowns as she exhales. "Hey."
He clears his throat, but his voice still sounds raw when he responds. "Hey."
Her frown deepens, and she pushes herself out of her chair. "You want a beer? You look like you need a beer."
He has the dismissal on the tip of his tongue, but then she's already back in her apartment. He walks over and sits in the chair opposite hers, because what the fuck does it matter anyway.
She comes back out, carrying two beers and illuminated by porchlight. "Here," she says, handing him a bottle and sliding back into her seat. She takes another hit from her joint, holds the smoke in her lungs. Wordlessly offers it to him. When he shakes his head, she stamps it out. "I'm Karin, by the way."
"Toshiro," he supplies hollowly. Takes a sip of his beer and watches as two guys practically drag their friend home.
He expects Karin to question him, to babble nonsensical things—to be annoying, essentially. Instead, she says nothing, and they watch the people pass in silence.
When his bottle is empty, he stands. His lips part. "I just walked in on my girlfriend in bed with her professor."
He's not sure what makes him say it. It sure as hell doesn't make the pressure in his chest go away, the rolling of his stomach settle. It only makes his voice crack again, only intensifies the burning behind his eyes.
She looks at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gaze still somehow piercing. "Shit." Her bottom lip disappears into her mouth before reappearing seconds later. She seems to see through him. "You know, I'd put you first."
He isn't sure what to say, to this girl that he's only seen in passing, that he's only now sort of talking to, despite living above her for months. So he doesn't say anything, merely watches as she practically glides to her feet, picks up the empty bottles and tosses them in the recycling. Opens her apartment door and looks at him over her shoulder. "I can fuck you better than her," she says as nonchalantly as if she had said goodbye.
Closes the door behind her before he can react.
Day 2
A loud burst of laughter makes him glance out his window and he sees her, stumbling down the alley with a group of girlfriends, wearing tall heels and a dress short enough to make her legs appear endless.
She disappears from view, and Toshiro finds himself opening his door and standing on his own landing, watching her say goodbye to her friends.
When she starts up the stairs, he can't see her anymore. He waits until he hears her open her door before he heads back inside.
Day 5
"I didn't know you worked here," he tells her, though it is a lie. He never really noticed, true, but in the recesses of his mind he remembers seeing his neighbor behind the help desk at the library before.
"Yup," she says airily, looking up from her textbook. A quick glance, and he identifies it as high-level chemistry. He's impressed. "Four days a week. Work study."
It occurs to him that she is probably as financially stable as he is—which is not at all. Especially for her to live in the same dumpy apartment building.
She's looking at him, long and hard. "What do you want?" she asks, but it is not harsh or demanding. The inflection is different, is instead genuine and curious.
He swallows, not sure what to say. She keeps looking, so he looks back. It's the first time he truly looks at her—notices her dark hair cropped sensibly at the chin, her slim, athletic figure, the light smattering of freckles across her nose, the way her mouth tilts on one side as she inspects him.
"She wasn't even sorry." The words tumble from his mouth, and he inwardly curses her dark eyes' apparent ability to drag the truth out of him. "We grew up together, and we've been together for years, but when I caught them together, there was no remorse."
Her eyebrows furrow, and her head tilts sympathetically. "What do you want?" she repeats lowly.
He still doesn't know the answer, so he exhales slowly through his nose heads toward his favorite study table.
Day 7
It is definite déjà vu, watching her stumble home through his window, her heels and hemline impossibly high. He feels like a creep, but he still can't make himself stop, eyes intently drinking in her expression as she smiles, whole face lighting up as she laughs.
And then she's gone, undoubtedly headed to her apartment, out of his field of view.
For a few minutes, he stares at the spot she vacated, heart nestling into his throat. Then, with an unsettled sigh, he grabs his keys and heads down one floor.
When she opens the door, she is visibly surprised to see him, though the look passes quickly. She has changed into a tank top and cotton shorts, short hair gathered into a messy nub of a ponytail, and is still wearing tonight's makeup, her eyelashes exceptionally long. And, based on the way he can see her nipples pucker in the night breeze, she isn't wearing a bra.
He clears his throat.
Wordlessly, she steps aside, allowing him into the apartment. It mirrors his, kitchen filtering into a living area with a bedroom and bathroom down a hallway, though she has slightly more furniture than he does. He sits at the kitchen table, observing as she takes out a small pack of leaves and packs a multicolored glass object with some of it. Then, putting the bowl between her lips, she runs a lighter over the leaves and inhales deeply.
Still silent, she offers him the bowl, and this time, he takes it. Self-consciously, he places it between his lips, and when she leans over to light it for him, he can't help but see the swelling curve of her cleavage.
"Hold the smoke in," she instructs softly, and he coughs instead, making her smile. At this point, he is blatantly staring. And she's not stopping him.
It isn't until they both take another hit—one he holds in this time—that Karin turns to him, her expression serious again. "Toshiro." A shiver goes down his spine at the sound of his name on her tongue. "What do you want?"
He's never smoked anything before, but he finds this muted, tingly feeling to be nice, relaxing. His tongue feels funny in his mouth, kind of heavy. "I want you to sit on my face." Apparently loosened.
It takes a second, but surprise makes an appearance in her expression for the second time that night. She laughs. And as he holds her gaze, something else lurks under her visage. Something that makes him shift in his seat.
"That can be arranged," she says slowly.
He reaches for her, uninhibited, fingers toying with the naked skin between her shirt and pants, amazed at the goosebumps that rise in their wake. He slides her shorts down her ass and her breath hitches; met with nothing but her dark curls, his own breath stops in his throat. After a moment of admiration, he places an open-mouth kiss on her hipbone, humming in appreciation as her fingers wind through his hair.
Minutes later, when they're in bed and she's slowly grinding against his inexperienced tongue, whispering encouragements—minutes later, he breathes for the first time in days.
Day 10
She pants into his mouth, a high-pitched whine escaping her throat as he swivels his hips at a slightly different angle. In the bookcase he leans her against, books rattle with each stroke.
"Be quiet," he admonishes lowly, smiling against her tongue. "You don't want to get fired, do you?" She has the night shift, and there aren't that many people in the library at eleven on a Thursday, but they still need to keep their voices down.
Scowling, she reaches her hands underneath his shirt and twists a nipple, making him groan. "You be quiet." But then he hits something in her, something that makes her eyes flutter shut, makes her grab his ass in an effort to pull him further in and keep him there. She sucks on his neck and he swears, his balls tightening in warning, and then they're no longer in tandem. She starts furiously rubbing her clitoris, and he's done—his strokes fast and hard and arhythmic, a book falling over. He sees her bite her lip—hard—and then he doesn't see anything, every nerve in him firing, the bookshelf they're leaning against the only thing keeping them both upright.
Day 14
"I have to pee," she says, setting her menu on the table and scooting out of the booth. "I'll be right back."
He nods his head, ignoring his own menu in favor of watching her until she's out of sight. It's when he scans the restaurant that he sees Momo.
It takes a second to place her face—which is strange, seeing as he's been looking at it for years, ever since they were young. Also strange, it's been a while since he thought of her directly. Still, when he sees her at the front desk, picking up takeout, it feels as if he's been suckerpunched, all of the air stolen from him.
Karin slides back into her seat, effectively blocking his view of her. She frowns at the look on his face. "Is everything okay?"
Suffocating, he leans over the table. Captures her lips with his. Feels his heart rate slow. Breathes.
"No," he says honestly, leaning his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes. Breathing. "But it will be."