In a world brimming with soulmates, where destiny intertwined with love, it was no wonder that the concept held such fascination for everyone.
Even Dekisugii, known by his peers for his pragmatic and logical nature, couldn't help but find a certain allure in the notion. It was a fact that often surprised those who didn't truly know him, that behind the critical, cruel, and calculating mathematician—Suneo's words, not his—lay the heart of a starry-eyed romantic.
Shizuka had been the first one to find out about his penchant for the romantic. She had witnessed countless of her precious romance novels mysteriously disappearing, only to be discovered neatly tucked within Dekisugi's bag. It was an irksome habit that she always commented on, and Dekisugi would find himself on the receiving end of a dramatic eye-roll accompanied by exasperated mutterings.
"A hopeless romantic," Shizuka would declare, her voice tinged with a mix of amusement and exasperation. She'd shake her head like a fond mother, and chastise him on his inability to o express his feelings openly, and more often than not, plead for the return of her cherished book, lamenting, "Give me my book back, Dekisugi! I'm not done with it yet! I just reached the good part."
(To which Dekisugi would smirk shake his head and proceed to give her fake spoilers, while she ran after him covering her ears.)
So, Dekisugi might be a bit of a hopeless romantic, sue him. He can't help but be enamored by the concept of intertwined souls. How it was described to be this dance amidst the delicate, invisible threads, the connection adorned with ethereal grace, captivating every sense, only to be touched by the transient nature of existence. Like fragile petals, he reads how their love blooms, casting an enchanting spell that captures the hearts, only to wilt and crumble into delicate embers of crimson hue.
He knows how the story goes: the journey that soulmates go through always unfolds with both awe and trepidation. Destiny weaves its intricate design, intertwining two souls in a dance of cosmic significance. Their meeting is like a fleeting moment of serendipity, an intoxicating blend of recognition and familiarity that stirs the deepest recesses of the heart.
And then the characters realize the inherent fragility of the connection. Like gossamer wings, love is delicate, susceptible to the tempests of life that threaten to tear them apart. Dreams once held high are shattered, and sorrows left unspoken cast a melancholic shadow upon their intertwined souls.
But then they realize that amidst the bittersweet residue of shattered dreams, a profound beauty still lingers. Their souls may have wandered paths divergent and hearts may have known temporary ache, but the essence of their connection remains. It transcends the limitations of time and space, leaving an indelible mark upon their beings.
The ending is always the same: they realize that the journey is not without its trials. They traverse the depths of joy and the heights of despair, their souls entwined like celestial constellations, forever tethered by an invisible thread. And though their love may wither and crumble like delicate petals, it leaves an imprint upon their souls, a reminder of the profound beauty that once bloomed.
In the garden of fragile hearts, love is said to triumph over all.
It's funny, honestly, that despite the stories going through the same plots, like unchanging rituals, he still finds himself enchanted. Finds himself rubbing the mark on his wrist, hoping for a day to meet his own soulmate. Even if the petals would fall and the embers faded, he would cherish them.
Funny, how a hopeless romantic carries the most of hope.
However, despite being literally mesmerized and spending every waking minute thinking about soulmates, he does hold different expectations.
While people envisioned explosive fireworks and vibrant bursts of rainbow-colored grenades, he stood apart. While others fantasized about the spectacle of their soulmate encounter, he longed for something different, something more profound, on an emotional level.
The thing is, every day, he finds himself returning to an empty house, the hollowness echoing within the walls. There was no 'Welcome back, Degisuki' or 'You're home, son!' Instead, he found himself whispering into an abandoned house.
Ever since he had found out about soulmates, he couldn't help but believe, with unwavering certainty, that meeting his soulmate would be like finally coming home.
To him, the notion of soulmates wasn't about grand displays of color and noise; it was about finding a person, a home from where you belonged. It was about finding that one person who would see beyond his golden boy facade, who would embrace his scars and cherish his imperfections.
It would be something that transcended fireworks and rainbows. He envisioned a quiet connection, a meeting of souls that felt like the gentlest of breezes whispering through his hair, like the warmth of sunlight caressing his skin. It would be a moment that enveloped him, drawing him into an embrace of unspoken affection and uncharted familiarity.
He dreamed of a love that would feel like slipping home into a cozy home after a long, tiring journey, a love that would wrap around him like a soft, warm blanket on a chilly night. He yearned for that soul-stirring connection, where he could share his deepest secrets and unspoken dreams, where he could be his truest self without fear of judgment.
And as he carried on with his daily routine, treading the path to the empty house, Degisuki held onto the belief that one day, his soulmate would step into his life, bringing with them the sense of home he had been longing for.
It did, in the form of a cautious Nobita Nobi.
He'd heard of Nobita; people in school had gossiped to him about how lazy, cowardly, impatient, and dependent, the boy was.
He hadn't contributed to the conversation, had felt sympathy for the faceless child but hadn't thought too much into it. It wasn't until he had been put into the same class as the boy that he was finally able to put a face to the infamous name, and he had fallen hard.
Because, godamn, Nobita Nobi was a portrait of endearing charm and innocence that Degisuki was itching to paint. His round doe-like eyes held an enchanting glimmer as if they held the secrets of a thousand galaxies. They were framed by thick, dark lashes that fluttered like the wings of a delicate butterfly, casting gentle shadows on his rosy cheeks.
Nobita's mop of unruly black hair seemed to have a life of its own, forming a chaotic halo around his head. It defied gravity, refusing to be tamed. There was an undeniable sweetness to the way his hair fell in disarray as if it were nature's way of mirroring his carefree spirit.
His petite frame was like that of a cherub, with rounded cheeks begging for pinches and a slight plumpness that made him look all the more huggable. His mannerisms were filled with an innocent clumsiness as if he was forever caught in a perpetual state of childhood wonder.
He was a precious treasure, deserving of all the love and adoration the world had to offer, and Degisuki had known without hesitation that this was his soulmate when Nobita had smiled.
Because Nobita's smile, oh that smile, could light up the darkest of rooms. It was a genuine, infectious grin that revealed a row of slightly crooked pearly white teeth. His lips, soft and slightly pink, curved upwards with a mischievous hint, as if he held a secret joke that only he knew. It was a beautiful smile, but it was a smile that Degisuki had never got.
Because, it seemed, that for the first time in his life, he wasn't able to charm somebody.
Look, he isn't arrogant, he knows it's not possible for everybody to like him, even if he desperately wishes for it to be so. But, even his proclaimed 'rivals' who mocked him and belittled him, liked him to a certain level. He had even melted the most cold-hearted teacher in their school for god's sake.
At this point in time, Nobita should be adorned in flowing robes of silk, placed on a pedestal, and admired like a priceless work of art. He should be tucked carefully in Degisuki's arms. Degisuki's own little adorable lucky charm.
And yet, Nobita looked like he would rather die in a ditch than breathe the same air as Degisuki.
Degisuki had tried everything to impress the boy, answering every question in class, finishing even the most arduous homework without any preamble, and whilst he never boasted of his accomplishments, he had made extra sure to never accidentally show off. He had even read 'How To Become A Gentleman 101' a million times just to make sure he doesn't fuck up.
Nobita had remained unphased, if not irritated.
Alright, academics were off the table, moving on to the next option: sports. He never really played all that much, but that year? He became the most athletic person. He trained every day determined to make Nobita look at him, even if it was with curiosity. His training had paid off in a materialistic way. He had improved his batting in Baseball, and dribbling in Soccer, and had increased his agility and endurance in Tracks by about 27%. His report card had been glowing. He had gotten more praise than he had ever gotten before, heck, even his father had smiled at him.
But the person he wanted to notice. To smile, to say congratulations, hadn't. Nobita had looked at him rolled his eyes so hard Degisuki was afraid he'd damage them, and had scoffed.
So sports were off the table.
That was fine, he had so many more things he could impress Nobita in. He wasn't about to give up. He knew Nobita was fond of Shizuka the most out of his little group of friends, something Degisuki had been slightly jealous of (Nobita looked at Shizuka like she had hung the moon and the stars). He was rather decent at painting, especially realism so he painted a portrait of Shizuka, analyzing it for hours, before deeming it adequate and bringing it to school the next day.
He had been praised to the high heavens by his peers and had even gotten a request from his teacher, but Nobita had yet again, looked annoyed and...sad? He had crumpled the piece of paper that he had been sketching something on and had thrown it in the dustbin.
Okay, so painting was off the table, too. Next option: cooking.
He had made professional-looking bento boxes. Desperately skimming through recipe books to make the best dishes. And yet, again, everyone was amazed, despite the one person he wanted to notice. Nobita had looked at the food, scowled, and stomped away with his own lunch.
Cooking was out, magic was next. Surely, that would work?
Failure. He had won a gold medal but had gotten an unimpressed raised eyebrow from Nobita. Degisuki wanted to rip his hair out, there was only one thing left on the list.
Looking at the statistics, how Nobita seemed to be even more irritated whenever someone brought up painting or anything else, Degisuki could only assume he wasn't a frivolous person. Maybe Nobita was more of a common-sense person, someone, who believed in scientific explanations. It didn't exactly fit with Nobita's characteristics, but something was better than nothing, right?
So, when he came across a conversation between Nobita and Suneo about superstitions he had done his best. Nobita had looked exasperated by the superstition that Suneo was spouting, Degisuki had seen his shot and swooped him, desperate to make Nobita like him.
He had been slightly too harsh in his explanations, and in his nervousness had accidentally said something along the lines of 'people who believe in superstitions have no sense of rationality and reasoning' - which had made Suneo burst into tears and run away. He had felt terrible but had felt even worse when Nobita had looked at him, his eyes displaying the raging inferno within, magnified by his glasses, and had said, "Can't you display your intelligence in a way that doesn't hurt others? Just because you're great at everything doesn't mean that you have to make everybody else feel inferior."
Degisuki's heart had never sunk faster. Panic surged through him as he searched for the right words to rectify the situation.
"Nobita, I didn't mean it that way," Degisuki stammered, his voice laced with remorse. "I... I was just..." Godamn it, where had his voice gone?
"Just what? Just trying to remind me that I have no common sense or intelligence?" Nobita's words were as biting as the cold wind. "Well, then reminder received. Though you really don't have to bring Suneo down with me. And anyway, the rest of the world already does your job for you."
"No, no, that's not what I had meant. I didn't know that superstitions meant so much to you, if I had I wouldn't have said that." Judging by the look in Nobita's eye, that had been the wrong thing to say.
"It's not about the bloody superstitions, you idiot!" Nobita screamed and under different circumstances, Degisuki would have reveled in the fact that Nobita was talking to him. But as it was, he had never felt more small. "It's about common decency, something which for all your supposed greatness you don't have! It's about understanding and respecting each other's perspectives. We may have different views, but that doesn't mean we should dismiss or ridicule them."
"I know, I didn't mean—"
"No," Nobita cut him off, his voice as sharp as a blade. "You don't know. You're constantly shoving your achievements in everyone's face. You're good at a lot of things, good for you! That doesn't mean you make everybody else feel bad! You're always looking at me after every single thing you do as if you're mocking me. And maybe you aren't," Nobita added, seeing the look on Degisuki's face, "But it sure as hell feels like you are, and I know for sure that I'm not the only one who feels that way. You're so concerned with playing it safe and making sure that everybody likes you that you don't realize how much of a doormat you are. You never stand up for people or offer to help them."
There was a long silence before Nobita spoke again. This time his voice was tired and weary. "I'd tell you to apologize to Suneo, but I'm not so foolish to believe that you'd actually break your routine and do it. Your homework is far more important than Suneo's tears, after all, aren't they? Now, if you excuse me, your royal highness, I'm going to go be a decent human being and comfort the person who you hurt, whilst you go ahead and pretend this never happened."
And with that, Nobita was gone like the fleeting wind.
Well, fuck, he had messed up, hadn't he?
He had apologized to Suneo, the other boy pretending that he hadn't cried and that Degisuki was simply mistaken, but Nobita was acting like Degisuki didn't exist. He hadn't known how expressive the boy had been to him until he saw how Nobita's eyes passed over him like he wasn't even there.
It hurt.
He had tried to reconcile by telling Nobita that he had apologized to Suneo but the other boy had given him a withering look and had said: "Okay, what am I supposed to do? Give you a golden medal? Newsflash, you don't get awards for becoming a decent person, that's probably why you've never tried."
He had tried to make it up to Nobita by buying the boy chocolates and comic books but Nobita had been furious at that, he had screamed at Degisuki, and said: "Do you really think I'm that shallow that my forgiveness and respect can be bought? Screw you, Degisuki."
After that, Degisuki put his head down. He needed to think of something. Nobita's words had cut, deeply. Because it was true that Degisuki tried to play it safe and get all A's, it's what he was taught ever since he was a child. He never noticed how his peers treated him. They were nice to him, sure. But they didn't like him. They treated him like a stranger. He was never privy to their inside jokes. He was never trusted with any information. The only reason they treated him as they did was because they were afraid he'd tell on them.
He felt sick. It was something that had kept him awake at night. Had made him toss and turn in his bedsheets feeling pathetic as the curtain edges grew light. He didn't feel hungry anymore and didn't feel the motivation to do anything at all.
It was the 9th day when something changed.
He had been sitting in the courtyard, reading his book under the shade of the banyan tree at the center of the courtyard, looking at Nobita every once in a while (or the entire time, honestly), desperately praying to every god that Nobita would even look at his direction but the boy didn't even notice him.
He sighed and went back to his book, actually reading this time. When he looked up again, he was visited by the sight of Nobita glaring at Gariben. He found himself walking towards them, shoving past the group of people surrounding them before he even knew what he was doing. Nobita was standing in front of a tearful Suneo, an angry look on his face.
"Say that again," Nobita spat out, his teeth gritting together.
"What that he's a fox-faced crybaby who can't do anything right? Or the fact that the genetics clearly didn't run down to him. He doesn't even have the minimum decent qualities of his parents. Not even the looks transferred over!" Gariben sneered.
"Oh," Nobita mocked. "Like they did for you? Please, you look like something I drew with my left hand."
Gariben flushed, his face reddening before he scowled. "You're one to talk! You're so ugly that people dress up like you for Halloween!"
"Yeah? Well, you're so ugly that when you look in a mirror it says 'Viewer Discretion Advised.' Maybe that's why nobody wants to be friends with you!"
"That's because I don't want friends," Gariben snapped. "But if I did, at least I have something to offer them. What do you bring to the friend group? That you're so dumb that you make everybody look good? God, I feel sympathy for your soulmate. I mean, who would want you?"
He doesn't know what he's doing until he hears the gasp of "Degisuki" and turns around to see Nobita gaping at him, his eyes fixed on—oh, his bruised hand. The pain throbs through his veins, pulsating like stormy waves crashing against the shore, and a strange sensation of satisfaction washes over him. It's an unfamiliar feeling, one that he can't help but relish in.
His gaze drifts downward, and there on the ground lies Gariben, sprawled and whimpering in a pitiful state. The sight of the swelling skin, the drops of blood trickling from his now broken nose like fallen rose petals, ignites a sense of twisted satisfaction within him. Gariben's narrowed slits of eyes widen with a mix of shock and fear, his disorientation palpable.
A dark thought dances across Degisuki's mind, whispering its approval. For far too long, Gariben had strutted around, believing himself to be untouchable, a golden bullet of invincibility.
The absence of guilt should send a shiver down his spine, and swallow him whole with remorse, but instead, it leaves him frozen, suspended in a moment of startling revelation. The truth hangs heavy in the air. He doesn't feel bad. Not at all. In fact, as he gazes upon Gariben's crumpled form, a profound sense of disgust rises within him, but for the first time, it's not directed inward.
He wants to punch Gariben again, to unleash his anger and crush him, to watch him burn until nothing remains but ashes for others to mourn. It's a startling revelation of his own capacity for darkness, a side of himself that he never thought existed.
A side that he's already starting to love.
He scans the courtyard, his eyes met with a sea of stunned faces. The silence hangs heavy, broken only by the exuberant voice of Suneo, who beams at Degisuki with literal heart-shaped eyes. "That was so cool!" he proclaims, his excitement overflowing. "You were like 'bam!' and he fell down, and it was so cool!"
Degisuki can't help but feel like he's looking at an over-excited toddler, a ball of unpredictable and uncontainable energy. It's endearing, really, especially when Suneo turns to Nobita, his eyes still sparkling with admiration, and invites him over for snacks and to show him his newest comic.
As for Nobita, he remains frozen in his spot, his eyes locked on Degisuki, his expression caught between disbelief and a flicker of something else. It's as if he's questioning whether he has stumbled into a parallel universe.
And when Degisuki turns back from where Shizuka is dragging him toward the medical room, he catches a glimpse of a look in Nobita's eyes that he can't quite decipher. But there's a subtle shift, a glimmer of something different, and it fills Degisuki with hope that perhaps, just perhaps, something has changed—for the better this time.
His feeling was right.
For when he steps out of the medical room, finally free from the woman's fussing and motherly care, and as he enters the empty classroom, his eyes are drawn to his desk. There, placed delicately, lies a stunning origami crane, its vibrant hues catching the dim light. Nestled beside it is a small chocolate bar, his favorite brand, he notes.
And then his gaze falls upon a note, the words written in the familiar handwriting that has become imprinted in his heart. The lazy drawl of the letters warms his stomach, creating a gentle flutter of anticipation.
"Thanks," the note reads, its words carrying an unexpected tenderness, "for punching him in the face, even if you didn't have to. Maybe, I was wrong about you. You were really brave. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings that day, it wasn't my intention. I don't hate you, so stop looking like a kicked puppy, and get some goddamn sleep, the circles under your eyes rival the moon craters. - Nobita."
He traces the words gently, his fingertips caressing the inked curves, inherently wishing that it was Nobita's palms instead. With a mix of wonder and disbelief, he carefully lifts the origami crane from the table. Origami has never been his strong suit, he's never had the patience for it, frustrating him with its intricate folds. The fact that Nobita took the time and patience to create this delicate gift fills him with a sense of warmth, a feeling of being cherished.
He looks out the window beside his desk, looking out into the ground where chaos reigned supreme. His eyes find Nobita instantly, acting like his own GPS. Nobita is caught in the clutches of a still-beaming Suneo. Sensing Degisuki's gaze, Nobita looks up, their eyes meeting in a silent connection. Not wanting to appear odd, Degisuki offers a small smile, mouthing a silent "thank you."
He's not expecting anything, having grown accustomed to Nobita's cool responses. Yet, to his surprise (and delight), Nobita's face softens, and a smile graces his lips. it's a small smile, delicate and hesitant, akin to the intricate strands of a spider's web.
It's the prettiest smile Degisuki has ever seen.
In that fleeting moment, beneath the watchful gaze of the sun, something shifts. A hope begins to bloom in his chest, tentative and fragile, like the delicate petals of a blooming flower. Because Degisuki knows that he has witnessed something extraordinary—the first smile Nobita has ever bestowed upon him.
It is a smile that transcends words, a smile that kindles a warmth deep within Degisuki's soul. It's a smile that shall be recorded in the hymns of history, a smile that he will replay in his head before he goes to bed.
A smile, that is the starting of many more to come, Degisuki will make sure of it.
A subtle shift permeates the air, altering the delicate dance of their dynamic—okay, so Degisuki might have dragged a bewildered Shizuka romance novel shopping, and he needs to prepare for this next stage, it just so happens to be that the books are poetic, sue him.
Observers would notice that Nobita's piercing glares have softened, replaced by a gaze that holds a mix of fondness and exasperation. The once frequent scoffs have dwindled, making room for an occasional eye-roll that carries a hint of endearment. It's a transformation that might go unnoticed by others, but not by Degisuki. It's a shift that stirs a restless energy within him, an insatiable hunger for more.
But despite this shift, the progress feels like building a rocket destined for distant planets. It's a step forward, but the destination still remains distant and uncertain.
And while Degisuki prides himself on his patience—it's his best trait—it seems to turn off whenever he's around Nobita, or when he thinks of Nobita in general. Because at this moment, he can't help but feel an undeniable restlessness. The yearning to have Nobita in his arms has never felt stronger. He wants to experience the warmth of Nobita's banter, to experience the depth of his concern and care that only Nobita can give.
If this was a romance novel, then it would be filled with shy glances and even shyer smiles. It would be filled with blushing and giggling and so, so, so, much more. But Degisuki has understood that life, the bitch that it was, would never allow such a thing, as such, the entire week, silence lingers between them.
Nobita is busy, consumed by his newfound role as the head of the art club, a position thrust upon him by a bright-eyed, toothy-grin, overzealous underclassman. And, god, does Degisuki yearn to join the club, to have a legitimate reason to be near Nobita, as the hours spent together in class prove insufficient amidst the ceaseless demands of their tireless teachers.
(It's ironic how he used to despise idle days, considering them a waste of time, only to now yearn for them, to seize the opportunity to converse with Nobita. An opportunity that doesn't arise thanks to his godamn over-eager teachers.)
But he refrains from joining the art club, fearing that their fragile connection might shatter under the strain of forced proximity. Besides, time is a luxury he can ill afford amidst his own commitments. And so, when he spots Nobita alone in the classroom, engrossed in a task that furrows his brows with concentration, Degisuki seizes the moment.
With cautious steps, he approaches, the anticipation thrumming through his veins. His heart beats a little faster as he watches Nobita, affection flooding through his veins. He feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips a reflection of the warmth that blossoms within him, but he bites down to stop himself from grinning like a loon.
Nobita still hasn't noticed him. He stands there for a moment or two but the other boy still doesn't notice him, lost in a world of his own. Realizing that he's going to have to say something at the risk of Nobita looking up and mistaking him for a creepy stalker, he breaks the silence, desperately trying to keep his voice gentle.
"Hey, Nobita," he murmurs, his tone a fragile thread weaving through the stillness. Nobita startles, looking so much like a scared cat that Degisuki fights the urge to coo lest he offend the other boy. Nobita's gaze lifts, his eyes wide with bewilderment, only to relax when he sees him. It makes something warm unfurl in Degisuki's chest.
"Hey," Nobita whispers, his voice a mixture of surprise and anticipation. "What's up?"
"Nothing much," Degisuki responds instantly, before realizing if he's going to make progress with Nobita he'll have to engage in small talk. "It's just that it's Games period, and the overcrowding becomes overwhelming, you know?"
"Yeah," Nobita agrees, to his surprise, a shared sentiment reflected in his gaze. "I get what you mean. It's exhausting to be surrounded by them. They're like a swarm of well-dressed piranhas, always craving attention. The constant noise and chaos can be quite draining."
Degisuki finds himself imitating a bobblehead toy with how hard he nods his head. It's the first time (besides when Nobita had yelled at him) that the boy was responding with more than two words. Level up, plain and simple. It takes all his willpower not to pump his fist in triumph. Instead, he adopts his best posh accent and responds, his tone dripping with exaggerated solemnity, "Indeed, good sir. I concur wholeheartedly. They are nothing but uncivilized hooligans."
Nobita's eyes widen in surprise, but it's the peal of laughter that escapes his lips that truly catches Degisuki off guard. The sound is like music, an enchanting melody that dances through the air, filling the space between them. "You sound absolutely ridiculous," Nobita manages to utter between gasps of mirth.
Feigning offense, Degisuki gasps in mock indignation. "How dare you! I'll have you know that the blue blood coursing through my veins is more noble than any aristocrat's." He lifts his chin, adopting a haughty pose. "You, my friend, are but an uncultured swine in comparison."
"Oh, woe is me," Nobita retorts, his voice dripping with playful melodrama. A mischievous grin tugs at his lips. "I shall lament my poor, red blood like a mere peasant."
Degisuki's manic grin matches the mischievousness in Nobita's expression. "Indeed, that you shall," he replies with equal dramatic flair.
There is silence for a bit—the good kind, mind you—when Nobita raises an eyebrow, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. "So," he begins, his voice laden with intrigue. "What brings your majesty to such a desolate place?"
Degisuki takes a moment to study the depths of Nobita's gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. "I was..." he trails off, before deciding that the truth wouldn't hurt. "I was looking for you."
A flicker of surprise and contemplation passes over Nobita's features, his gaze locked with Degisuki's. "Oh," he breathes, his voice a soft whisper. "You were, why?"
"I, um," his voice wavers but he forces himself to hold Nobita's gaze. "I just—I never see you around the ground in this period. I wanted to see what you did during this time."
Nobita's expression shifts, a blend of surprise and warmth illuminating his features. "Ah," he responds, a hint of sheepishness coloring his tone. "I use this time to work on my own comic. It's my way of relaxation, you know?"
"Yeah," Degisuki breathes, remembering the countless portraits of Nobita that decorated his room. He had spent countless hours making sure they looked right. "I get that. There's nothing quite like putting your thoughts on something physical, finally getting them out of your head is the best feeling."
"Tell me about it," Nobita says, he looks fond.
"Do you..." Degisuki trails off before deciding if he's come this far he might as well go for it. "Do you mind if I see your comic?"
The silence that follows his question is defeating. It makes Degisuki regret asking. He's on the edge of sinking down to his knees and begging for forgiveness when Nobita shrugs and says, "Okay."
"Okay," Degisuki goggles at him. "Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Nobita's smile is as soft as a marshmallow. "I trust you with it. You won't laugh or rip it up."
"I absolutely won't! Scout's honor." The way Degisuki nods his head is nothing short of comical, and if the way Nobita bites his bottom lip as though to prevent a smile from blooming is any intention, he thinks so too.
"You're not even a scout," Nobita points out dryly, but he hands over the sheets of paper.
"It's the intention that counts!"
"Wow." It's an understatement. It doesn't even begin to define the wonder that he feels as he leafs through the pages; a world of imagination unfolded before his eyes, showing a fragment of what was going on in Nobita's mind. Each stroke of the pen breathes life into vivid characters and enchanting landscapes.
He knows Nobita is talented in the creative realm. He's quite innovative, and obviously, he has to have talents if he became the head of the art club, but whatever Degisuki had thought of, paled in comparison to the real thing. He remembers the paper that Nobita had crumpled when Degisuki had showcased his portrait of Shizuka. He wondered if he had made Nobita insecure about his art. He wanted to travel back in time and wring his past self's neck.
Because Nobita's drawings were nothing short of extraordinary. The lines danced across the paper with graceful precision, forming intricate details that seemed to leap off the page. Every character possessed a distinct personality, their expressions exquisitely captured with delicate ink strokes. Dekisugi could practically feel the emotions emanating from their eyes—the twinkle of joy, the weight of sorrow, the spark of determination.
The backgrounds in Nobita's illustrations were equally captivating. From bustling cityscapes to serene countryside vistas, each setting was meticulously crafted, every brick, blade of grass, and shimmering river rendered with utmost care. He found himself lost in these imaginative landscapes as if he could reach out and touch the very essence of these fictional worlds.
It was as though Nobita was trying to kill him because he couldn't seem to just sit with this bloody artistic brilliance (Degisuki will murder anybody who dares to argue), of course not, that would be too easy—no, Nobita also had the ability to weave enthralling and enchanting takes from out of nothing. Each page was rich to the brim, filled with depth and emotion. Nobita had a talent for blending adventure, comedy, and heart-wrenching moments, leaving Degisuki gaping at the end of it.
But, for all that, the story tugged at his heartstrings, the hesitant, fragile smile Nobita gave him when he was done squeezed his heart like an over-eager kid making lemonade. "I love it," he whispers. I love you, he doesn't say.
Watching Nobita's eyes light up, Degisuki thinks the best decision of his life has to be walking into this classroom, and the only regret he has is not doing this sooner. It's humorous, honestly, how regret is formed not because of the things one has done, but because of the things one does not do.
The chessboard lies between them, an arena of black and white squares that mirrored the contrasting and conflicting emotions consuming Degisuki's heart.
His fingers hover hesitantly over the intricately carved pieces, it was Nobita's chess set, 'an old family heirloom,' Nobita had said when Degisuki had jokingly asked why the pieces were so detailed. It made him feel nervous, he didn't want to break them. Nobita had smiled amused when he had brought up his concerns, muttering something along the lines of 'Doraemon' and 'the wondrous things that gadgets can do.'
It still made him feel nervous.
Nevertheless, he still had to play the game. His eyes darted back and forth, calculating the possibilities. He was determined to impress Nobita, to make a light of awe appear in the other boy's eyes. The sweetness of the note still carried on, like liquid gold. The crane had been carefully kept on his table, not a single scratch on it, and there never would be.
Chess was usually a calm game for him, it was something he played when he felt especially easy. He never really had to stop and think, the answers practically being delivered to him by his opponents' facial expressions.
Of course, at this point, he should have realized that Nobita lived to break the status quo.
Because as his mind raced, his focus intensified with each move. He tried to anticipate Nobita's strategy, to decipher the patterns hidden within his eyes. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, Nobita remained an enigma, his expression calm and unbothered, as if he knew the outcome before the game even began.
Degisuki really shouldn't find it as hot as he does.
His desperation to impress mingled with the growing admiration that he felt for the boy sitting across from him. Which each effortless move, Nobita seemed to exude a magnetic charm that drew Degisuki even deeper into his orbit. It was infuriating and captivating all at once, a paradox that left Degisuki teetering on the edge of frustration and infatuation.
As the final moves played out, his defeat became glaringly inevitable. Each and every one of his true and tried, carefully calculated strategies, crumbled against Nobita's unwavering composure. And with a final checkmate, the game came to an end, sealing his defeat.
A mixture of outrage and awe swirled within Degisuki's chest. The instinctual response being to protest, to challenge the outcome. But the awe and adoration he felt for this boy overwhelmed him, and before he knew it, the corners of his lips were twitching, betraying a smile.
"Seriously?" Degisuki huffed, his tone feigning indignation. "You're too good at this. Are you secretly a grandmaster in disguise?"
Nobita chuckled, his smile bashful, and his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Don't be ridiculous, Degisuki. Luck was just on my side today."
Degisuki's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name, spoken with such ease and familiarity. It was a small gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth cascading through his veins. H leaned back in his chair, his tone a mixture of playful annoyance and affection. "You got lucky this time. But mark my words, I'll defeat you next time. Just you wait."
Nobita rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond. "Sure, I'll be looking forward to it. But not now, I'm feeling peckish. You wanna come with me and grab some snacks? My treat."
If it had felt like flying before, he felt like he soaring now. Nobita had invited him. Him! Had even offered to pay! Degisuki did a mental victory dance in his head. He was sure that his smile was maniacal, with how wide it was. But if it was scary, then Nobita didn't say anything, simply shook his head fondly and tugged Degisuki out of the room by his T-shirt sleeve.
He was so recording this in his diary.
(He would realize, later on, that he had been so close to making skin-to-skin contact for the first time. He could have had Nobita's name etched on his skin.)
It's a Friday when Nobita comes over to his house.
And, of course, it's the day his immune system decides not to work. If it were anyone else, he would have just canceled the study session, but this is Nobita. Nobita, who at first, was uncomfortable with the very thought of study sessions, muttering something about having bad tutors. And Degisuki had taken that as an unspoken challenge, desperate to prove that he could be better.
It had worked, and as the days passed, Nobita actually enjoyed the sessions. Asking questions or generally just joking around. Degisuki knew he had broken through when Nobita had turned down Shizuka's offer for getting sweets because he was hanging out with Degisuki in the library.
So, his predicament really sucked.
The rain pelted against the windowpane, creating a symphony of soft taps that echoed through the room. He was sitting on the couch, bundled up in the coziest blanket he owned. He had seen his face in the mirror and had winced at his pale and weary reflection. A persistent cough rattled through his chest, causing him to hunch over, trying to seek comfort from the soreness and Nobita's unimpressed gaze.
"Don't look at me like that!" Degisuki tried to protest, but his voice came out raspy. He swallowed. Hard. "It's not that bad, it's just a little cold, I'll be fine."
Nobita stared at him, a deadpan look on his face, and then very pointedly looked at the crumpled tissues beside him. "I'm sure," He said, voice oozing with sarcasm.
Degisuki forced a weak smile. "Really."
"Dude, you look like one of those paisley porcelain dolls or those wax ones," Nobita said, ignoring Degisuki's spluttering. "You know, one of those scary ones from a haunted house. Yeah, you're obviously not okay. You need rest."
"I can't afford to rest now," Degisuki protested, all attempts of pretending out the window. "The exams are just around the corner. I have to study."
Nobita sighed, looking far older than he should. The dark circles under his eyes told unspoken tales of sleepless nights. He looked willing to argue but instead nodded his head. "Alright, then, I'll go make you some tea."
"What?" Is all that came out of Degisuki's mouth. How articulate.
"Tea, Degisuki, tea. Is your condition that bad? I'm making you a cup of tea, it'll help soothe your throat."
And before he can say another word, Nobita is already moving toward the kitchen. The protest dances on his lips, exhaustion consuming him. The sound of clinking utensils and the familiar whistle of the kettle filled the air, and Degisuki felt a fluttering warmth settle in his chest. It felt nice to be cared for.
With hesitant steps, Nobita re-entered the room, carefully holding a steaming mug in his hands. He handed it to Degisuki, their fingers missing contact by mere millimeters (though perhaps that was for the better, he didn't think he could explain the soulmate thing while coughing his lungs out), the warmth of the mug radiated through his hands, like a balm on an ache, soothing him.
Degisuki took a tentative sip, allowing the soothing liquid to caress his parched throat. The taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The blend of tea, infused with Nobita's care (yes, that was an ingredient, no he wasn't being sentimental), created a symphony of flavors that danced on his palate. It was the taste of love, pure and simple. As the warm elixir flowed through his body, Degisuki felt a sense of solace, as if each sip mended the cracks of his weariness. It was a familiar feeling, something he hadn't felt in a while, he couldn't put his finger on it.
And then, Nobita smiles at him, hesitant and hopeful, like a child with their first drawing, and then it hits him.
It reminded him of his childhood.
The moment that thought clicks, it feels like all the pieces have fallen into place. Being with Nobita feels like living through the freedom of childhood once again. A mixture of sweet, innocent flavors that evoke a sense of nostalgia and comfort. It reminds him of warm chocolate chip cookies fresh from his grandmother's oven, gooey melted chocolate chips dotting them like stars.
It reminds him of sugary cereal that turns the milk into a rainbow of colors. Of juicy watermelon on a hot summer day, or the crispness of a freshly picked apple. It brings forth memories of warm, creamy macaroni and cheese, or the flowing mayonnaise of his first burger.
Nobita feels like simpler days, carefree days filled with laughter and joy under crisp autumn skies. Nobita makes him feel younger, makes him relish his youth, and makes him feel alive. It's a revelation.
That's the problem with revelations, their significance so often exceeds comprehension. Understood only after, always after. He's only glad that it isn't too late.
He looks at Nobita, desperately hoping to convert his love. "This," He whispers, making no attempt to mask the awe in his voice. "This is the best tea I've ever tasted."
For a second he thinks he's screwed up because Nobita looks like he's about to scowl and snap back. But, then he pauses for a moment, and then he seems to have actually heard what Degisuki says, because a faint smile graces his lips, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and tenderness. He shakes his head fondly and takes the now-empty mug out of Degisuki's hands. "Sleep," Is all he says before walking out of the room.
And miraculously, despite not being able to for hours beforehand, Degisuki does.
He wakes up to someone gently calling his name. It's a far cry better than his screaming alarm clock. He wishes he could be woken up like this every day.
"Hey there, sleepyhead," Nobita says, his voice warm and comforting. Degisuki's heart jumps at the fondness. "C'mon, now, you gotta eat something."
He lets out a whine at that. He doesn't want to eat. There's nothing in his house except bland stuff, and the thought of it makes his stomach churn.
"Hey, now, now of that," Nobita says, his voice chiding. "You're not looking too golden there, golden boy. You need to eat."
Before he can protest again, a plate is being pushed in front of his face. He looks up to see Nobita flustered, red cheeks and all. "Here," Nobita says, voice slightly shaky. "I made Doracakes for you. Doraemon feels better when he eats them, so maybe they'll help you too."
He means to say thank you, he really does but all that comes out of his mouth is, "Doraemon can get sick?"
It's apparently the wrong thing to say because Nobita's eyes go flinty. "Yes," he says, previous anxiety vanishing. "He's a living thing too, you know. Just because he's a robot doesn't mean he can't get hurt."
"Of course not," Degisuki says, desperately trying to fix the situation. "I was just...surprised."
Nobita looks at him for a second before seemingly accepting whatever Degisuki had said as the truth. "Okay, sorry for lashing out at you. I just get...a lot of people..."
"Think he isn't," Degisuki finishes the statement, voice soft.
"Exactly!" Nobita says, his voice full of previous rage. "It's not fair, you know? He helps everybody but everybody just treats him like a disposable object. They don't realize his worth!"
Just like how they treat you, Degisuki wants to say, but he holds his tongue. Instead, he says, "You both have a great bond."
"Yeah," Nobita breathes. "He makes me happy."
"That's the kind of happiness I want with my soulmate," Degisuki blurts out, his mouth filter malfunctioning. "I wanna be happy like that with them."
Nobita's face shutters, as though someone had pulled down the blinds. "Oh," he says.
For a couple of minutes, neither of them talks. Degisuki savors each and every bite of the sweet and fluffy cakes, but his gaze never leaves Nobita. Nobita, who seemed to be lost in thought, stared blankly at the plate, watching how the Doracakes disappeared one by one.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Nobita speaks. "Learn to be happy alone," Nobita said softly, his voice as soft as the wind, but still holding its bite. "Because nobody stays with anybody forever."
In a lot of the romance novels Degisuki has read, there was a lot of talk about the heart flower.
It was described to be a living embodiment of emotion, a delicate fusion of ethereal beauty and raw sentiment. Their petals would shimmer like opalescent silk, adorned with hues that shift and blend like a painter's palette. Writers wrote heavy descriptions about how the soft pastel pinks, deep velvety reds, and gentle shades of blue would intertwine in a mesmerizing dance, echoing the myriad emotions the person who gives them holds within.
Degisuki had loved the idea of them, had dreamed of being gifted these flowers one day, and wished to every god that they would exist. That they wouldn't be confined to paper pages and mere words. It came to a point where every other flower seemed to dim in existence.
Degisuki looks at the origami flowers Nobita had gifted him. They're made out of newspapers because only Nobita would view its black-and-white typography as a canvas for creativity. With each precise fold, the paper transforms into petals that come alive. The edges are crinkled and softened, turning sharp ink lines into gentle curves. It's real life metamorphosis, as the paper seems to take on a life of its own, bending and shaping into exquisite floral shapes.
The delicate petals come together, one after another. Each flower emerges with its unique personality, its forms as diverse as the stories they once carried as news. Some unfurl like roses, revealing layers of intricate patterns, while others mimic daisies, their simplicity exuding charm.
The colors of the newsprint add a nostalgic charm to the blooms. The faded ink brings a vintage appeal as if the flowers themselves hold tales of the past. The ink-stained edges remind him of Nobita'a authenticity. A 'Get Well Soon' card penned in Nobita'a lazy drawl.
They weren't heart flowers, they were better.
It's raining when things finally change.
They've been friends for six sold months now, and it's been literal heaven. Nobita's improved confidence helped him excel in things he had previously thought himself incapable of. He seemed happier now, lighter. People noticed him more too, now. Circling around him like looming vultures.
Degisuki thought it was shallow how they only hung out with Nobita when he started to get popular, but Nobita never said anything, so he kept his mouth shut. Besides, Nobita still spent most of his time, if not all of his time, with Degisuki now. Lighting up like a Christmas tree whenever he was around Degisuki, so as long as this didn't change, Degisuki wouldn't step in directly.
As for him, he had relaxed a bit and had stopped being so uptight about everything. Gariben's nose cast had served as a reminder for everyone that he wasn't a doormat and that he wouldn't take shit lying down. Especially, if it was about Nobita. He felt happier, freer than he had in years.
Just not at the moment.
Dark, rainy Monday mornings always managed to make Degisuki want to quit school and live under a bridge, where he could embrace the comfort of eternal sleep, shielded from the harsh reality of the world. The dreary atmosphere weighed heavily on his shoulders, casting a shadow over his already somber mood.
His steps into the desolate world, are the definition of reluctant. The raindrops fell like a melancholic symphony, each one a tiny reminder of the gloom that surrounded him. The sky hung low, its once vibrant hues muted by a blanket of ashen clouds. The air was heavy with moisture, and it clings to his skin, seeping into his bones and accentuating the bone-chilling coldness that lingers in the atmosphere.
The streets, usually bustling with life and energy, are eerily quiet as if even the city itself mourns the loss of sunshine and cheer. Puddles gather on the pavement, reflecting the dullness of the surroundings like fractured mirrors, distorting the world's image into a distorted reflection of melancholy. The trees, stripped bare of their foliage, stand as skeletal sentinels, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers, beckoning him towards a desolate path.
With every step he takes, the dampness seeps into his shoes, chilling his feet, a constant reminder of the discomfort that accompanies these dreary mornings. The sound of his footsteps echoes through the empty streets, an isolated rhythm that seems to resonate with his own melancholic heartbeat.
(Okay, so he may have watched a tragic love story last night, still, the dramatics were needed, alright?)
He's just about to shift the umbrella to his other hand, his right hand feels numb when he hears Nobita's voice. He turns around to see Nobita running towards him, holding a big box. It's not raining heavily, but Nobita's shirt seems to be completely dry.
Obviously, it's one of Doraemon's gadgets, but Degisuki can't stop himself from pulling Nobita towards him. Nobita smiles at him, dimples and all, and Degisuki feels the roaring flame of his love for this boy roaring up again.
"Happy Birthday!" Nobita says, his smile wide and infectious. "I made a cake for you!"
Degisuki blinks for a second, before he remembers, that, oh right, it was his birthday. Huh. But then his brain processes the second part of Nobita's statement. "What?"
"Uh-huh, you said you had never had a birthday cake before so I decided to make you one!" Nobita says, his smile not even faltering a little bit.
Degisuki blinks before it hits him. Months ago, when he had been sick, Nobita had made him Doracakes, and he had offhandedly mentioned that nobody had made him a cake before and that he didn't even get one on his birthday. Figures Nobita would take that as a personal offense.
Before he can stop it, tears flow down his cheeks. A sob forces its way out of his throat, his throat feels tight. Nobita looks at him bewildered. "What happened? Did you not want a cake? Shit, I'm sorry, I should have—"
"No, you idiot," Degisuki laughs. "These are happy tears."
Nobita looks at him and sighs. "You sentimental fool," he says, but his voice is fond and impossibly full of warmth. "Always so emotional."
And then before he can realize what's happening, Nobita is holding the box in one hand, the other hand wiping the tears off and then his hand jerks back like he's been burned, and Degisuki can't even blame him because there's burning on his own wrist, and he knows what they mean, knows that the name has finally been written.
Nobita looks lost for a moment before it seems to hit him, then he hurriedly takes something out of his pocket. It's a tube-like thing, and there's a red button that Nobita clicks, he attaches the tube thing to the box, and the box floats, hovering beside them. Before Degisuki can say anything, Nobita is pulling at his sleeve harshly, his movements frantic. The sleeve of his yellow hoodie pulls up, and he hears the sharp intake of breath because there—
The soulmark on Nobita's wrist is a constellation of stars, scattering across his wrist like a celestial map. He's confused because he doesn't understand how it can represent him, but his name emboldened in golden letters shakes away the doubt.
His confusion seems to be palpable because Nobita starts talking. "It suits you perfectly. The stars twinkle with a brilliant radiance, their silver, and sapphire glow capturing the mystery and intelligence that define you. The constellations are intricate patterns and represent your analytical mind and your insatiable thirst for knowledge to a T. Each star here holds a unique significance, it tells tales about your intellectual prowess, curiosity, and your stupidly unwavering determination. I just can't believe—" He chokes on a sob.
Degisuki gets him though. The same thought echoes in his mind. He speaks it out loud. "I can't believe you're mine," He had known that Nobita was his soulmate, but there had been doubts, there had been moments when he had stared up at the blank ceiling of his bedroom and wondered if he had been mistaken. If Nobita belonged to someone else.
"Is mine..." Nobita trails off, but he can grasp the unspoken question. Is mine on your wrist?
He hands the umbrella to Nobita, who takes it with shaking hands, and then he tugs up his own sleeve. Showcasing the mark that had been his focus for years, the mark that he had traced every night before falling asleep. The mark on his wrist is a delicate, intricately designed flower blooming with vibrant colors. The petals unfurl gracefully, displaying shades of soft pink and lavender, while hints of golden hues add a touch of warmth.
"The flower symbolizes your gentle and compassionate nature," Degisuki starts softly, when all Nobita goes is stare like he can't believe the name that has embedded itself on Degisuki's skin. "It represents your ability to bring beauty into everything. Every petal holds a hidden meaning. It embodies your kind-heartedness, loyalty, and resilience," he has an entire notebook dedicated to how the flower symbolizes Nobita. He's prepared for this.
Nobita lets out a noise in his throat that Degisuki can't discern, but he doesn't have to, because the next thing he knows, Nobita pulls his collar and drags him into a long overdue kiss.
In that surreal moment, time seems to slow down as Degisuki feels the world around him fade into a blurry haze, leaving only him and Nobita locked in an intimate embrace. The soft, warm touch of Nobita's fingers against his collar sends a jolt of electricity through Degisuki's body, igniting a fire within him that he never knew existed. Their bodies are pressed together, and Degisuki can feel the steady thump of his own heart echoing in his chest, matching the rhythm of the universe that seems to bend around them. The air crackles charged with the energy of unspoken desires and hidden emotions finally surfacing.
They kiss with a gentle urgency, a longing that has been pent up for far too long. The kiss is like a slow dance, a symphony of tenderness and passion as if they are exploring the secrets of each other's souls with every touch. Degisuki's senses are overwhelmed, the taste of Nobita on his lips, the intoxicating scent of his hair, and the warmth of his body against his own, all swirling together in a sensory whirlwind.
It's a kiss that tells a thousand stories, a kiss that mends the wounds of the past and promises a future of togetherness. All the walls that they've built around their hearts crumble.
As the kiss deepens, Degisuki feels a sense of completion that he's always dreamed of, as if he has finally found the missing piece of himself. It's like coming home after a long and arduous journey, a sense of belonging and acceptance that washes over him like a gentle wave.
It's far more beautiful than he's dreamed of. For a moment, he forgets about the world outside, about the judgments and expectations that have haunted him for so long, and all that matters is the person in front of him, the one who has the power to make him feel whole.
When the kiss finally breaks, and they pull away, their eyes meet, and in that shared gaze, they find understanding and acceptance. No words are needed to express the depth of what they've just experienced, for the language of their hearts speaks volumes.
It's their first kiss, but it sure as hell won't be the last. Degisuki will make sure of it.
This time, when Degisuki's gaze falls upon Nobita Nobi, the boy is safely cocooned in his arms, sitting in his lap and reading one of the romance novels Shizuka had recommended. As always, his heart skips a beat, captivated by the sheer adorableness that radiates from his beloved. His earlier observation still holds, up - with his round doe-like eyes, he still resembled a cherub plucked straight from the heavens, sent to grace the world with his charm.
His eyes are still wide and expressive, they still twinkle with mischief and curiosity. Only this time, he gets to gaze into them, gets to see them up close. Nobita's eyes are the color of warm honey, constantly drawing Degisuki in with their magnetic allure. Framed by thick, dark lashes that flutter like delicate butterfly wings and that Shizuka often whines about, complaining about how it wasn't fair.
His hair falls into soft waves that frame his angelic face, as if carefully tousled by invisible hands. Each strand seems to possess a playful personality of its own, defying gravity and adding to the overall enchantment of his appearance.
His cheeks are still rosy and soft, and this time, he can finally squeeze them being his boyfriend and all. They are the perfect canvas for a painter, with a hint of a blush that deepens with every shy smile. His button-like nose sits playfully in the center of his face.
And his lips, oh his lips, those plush pink lips that are always curved up in a perpetual pout. Those very lips part to reveal mischievous grins or to form the sweetest of words. Those very lips that Degisuki has kissed, multiple times.
Just as the day Degisuki saw him, Nobita still was a vision of pure adorableness, a cherub sent to brighten his world. He can't help but imagine him donning a pair of tiny wings and gracing the grandest of occasions, stealing the hearts of all who lay eyes upon him. His boyfriend is a treasure to behold, and Dekisugi will see to it that he has the world served on a silver platter.
"He was literally gone for an hour," Shizuka deadpans from where she's taking the 568th photo of them. That had not been his plan when he had gotten her a Polaroid camera, because she never stopped.
Dekisugi finally looks up, he raises an eyebrow at her. "It was more than an hour, you heathen."
Shizuka looks unimpressed, her eyes black holes of judgment, lips pressed thin. "It was literally fifteen minutes! That's no reason to sing poetry about him. What are you, William Shakespeare."
"You're running our moment," Dekisugi says, glaring.
"Moment, he says," Shizuka mocks, rolling her eyes dramatically. "When is something not a moment for you? Absolutely ridiculous, can't even go an hour without combusting, how pathetic do you have to be—"
[author's note]
This took ages. Like literal ages, every time I'd think it was done it would get longer. I actually had more ideas for this fic but had to cut it out 'cause it was stressing me out, maybe I'll write a separate fic for those ideas.
The pacing is a little inconsistent, I'm sorry, I just didn't have any ideas to bridge it. Hopefully, this didn't turn out too terrible. Thank you for reading! English isn't my first language so if you find any errors, please don't hesitate to tell me!
Take Care Of Yourselves!
Hugs and Cuddles.
Sincerely, Me.