Promise- I. Midoriya

Izuku’s got your heart, but he’s still too afraid to give you his.

Notes- quirkless au, late teens/early twenties, mentions of of sex, mentions of drinking, angst, hurt no comfort

In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have met Izuku Midoriya at all.

That’s what you tell yourself, wrapped in the soft covers on your bed for the umpteenth night, crying your eyes out

You wish you never met him.

You wish he never looked at you the way he did, like you were something rare, something special. You wish he never kissed you like a promise he never intended to keep. You wish he never held you on those sleepless nights, whispering secrets he swore he never told anyone else.

You wish you never went to that stupid fucking party.

Almost a year ago now, your coworker, Ochako had invited you to a housewarming party for the new apartment she’d gotten with her girlfriend. A casual night, board games, chatter, charcuterie, and the most beautiful pair of green eyes you’d ever seen.

You felt captivated by him, he was beautiful, and so respectful in a way that had you swooning.

You wish you were casual about it. You should have looked away. You should have smiled politely and kept your distance. You should have let him come to you.

But you didn’t. You went to him. That was your first mistake.

You introduced yourself, and he said your name like he was tasting it, like he wanted to remember the way it felt on his tongue. And you let yourself believe—for just a moment—that maybe this was something more than just a fleeting connection at a friend’s party.

Izuku was magnetic, but not in the way you were used to. He wasn’t the loudest person in the room, didn’t demand attention with arrogance or charm. No, he drew you in with his quiet intensity, the way he listened like your words meant something, like you meant something.

And God, you fell so fast.

He asked for your number st the end of the night. You’d giggled about it with Toga and Ochako for hours after the party ended, replaying the moment over and over in your head. The way he had smiled—shy but certain—the way his fingers brushed against yours when he took your phone.

Maybe he’d text you. Maybe he wouldn’t.

But God, you really, really hoped that he would.

He texted you the next afternoon.

Hey, I had a great time talking to you last night. Hope you got home safe—though I wouldn’t mind an excuse to see you again soon.

It wasn’t too much, not overly confident or pushy. But it was enough to make your stomach flip, enough to have you rereading it a few times before finally typing out a response.

From there, it was easy. Conversations that stretched late into the night, playful teasing that made your cheeks warm, moments where he’d say something just suggestive enough to make your heart race—only to follow it up with something sweet that left you wondering if you were imagining it.

Texting turned into lunch, lunch turned into dinner, dinner turned into something more.

Late-night drives, parked somewhere far from the noise of the city, R&B humming through the speakers as you lay side by side beneath the stars.

You remember it vividly—wrapped in blankets, the cool night air nipping at your skin, but the warmth between you keeping the chill at bay. Lingering glances, soft touches, murmured compliments that made your breath hitch. The way his fingers traced idle patterns on your wrist, like he was memorizing the feel of you.

And then—the brush of his lips against yours.

It had been slow, tentative, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. And when he finally kissed you—fully, deeply—it felt like the beginning of something.

You told him things you’d never told anyone else. You trusted him.

God, you loved him.

And you knew—you just knew—that he loved you, too. He had to… right?

So you told yourself to be patient.

Because he had told you things too. About his childhood, about nights spent listening to his mother’s quiet sniffles when she thought he was asleep. About how much she had sacrificed, how hard she had worked. He spoke of her with nothing but admiration, and it made you beam, knowing how deeply he loved her.

But you also knew what he didn’t say outright.

He had never seen love done right. Not between parents. Not between partners.

You couldn’t blame him for that.

Maybe he was scared.

Maybe if you waited long enough, if you were soft enough, patient enough—he would see what was right in front of him.

Maybe he would finally choose you.

He never made you question if he wanted you—not at first. He was attentive, thoughtful in a way that made your chest ache. He remembered things you mentioned in passing, sent you pictures of things that reminded him of you. When you were together, he looked at you like you were important.

And maybe that’s why you ignored the signs.

The way he deflected whenever your friends teased about you being his girlfriend. The way he never posted you, never introduced you as anything more than a friend.

The way he kissed you like you were his, but never actually said you were.

And now, almost a year later, you were still just something to him. Never nothing, but never quite enough.

You should have walked away months ago.

But you didn’t. And that was your second mistake.

Still, you let it slide. Again and again.

Because when it was just the two of you, it was easy to believe.Easy to believe that the way he looked at you meant something.

Easy to believe that the soft way he said your name, the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the way he pulled you close when he thought no one was looking—meant something.

The thousands of pictures of you on his phone. The little heart next to your contact. The way he touched you—gentle, reverent—like you were something precious. The way he whispered in your ear, soft and low, moaning your name like a prayer, pressing kisses to your skin between murmured praises. It had to mean something.

Didn’t it?

And then one night, it all came crashing down. A party, a few drinks, a conversation you weren’t supposed to overhear.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he had laughed, voice light, casual, unbothered. “We’re just… y’know. It’s nothing serious.”

Nothing.

You had stood frozen in place, stomach twisting, head spinning. And that was the moment you finally understood.

He was never scared.. even if he was

He just never planned on choosing you.

All those nights, all those moments—had they only meant something to you?

You wanted to storm out, to scream, to demand an answer. Instead, you turned on your heel and slipped away before anyone could see the way your hands trembled.

You ignored his texts that night. Ignored the calls. Ignored the way your heart clenched every time his name lit up your phone.

But the worst part? You knew it wouldn’t last.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you wanted to walk away—

You weren’t ready to let him go.

You kept telling yourself you would stop responding, that you wouldn’t let him back in. You deleted his texts, turned off your notifications, even scrolled past his name when it popped up. But every time, your finger hovered, your heart betraying you, like it always did.

And when you finally caved—when you answered his call a few days later, voice shaky, but determined to be calm—he acted like nothing had happened.

“Hey, you okay? I’ve been thinking about you. Sorry if I was distant the other night. Just been dealing with some stuff, you know?”

Dealing with some stuff?

You wanted to scream. You wanted to ask him how he could say that, how he could act like he hadn’t shattered something inside you with that one offhand comment. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let out a long, shaky breath and said, “Yeah, I’m fine.” And he believed you, of course he did.

You hated yourself for it, but you let him believe it.

Because when he looked at you with those wide, earnest eyes, when he pulled you close like you were everything he needed in that moment, it was impossible to remember why you should walk away.

You were so tired of trying to be strong.

It wasn’t fair. You had given him everything. Your trust, your heart, your time—and all he’d given you in return were moments of fleeting affection. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop loving him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And maybe that was your biggest mistake of all.

A few more weeks passed, and you fell back into the same rhythm, the same cycle. You’d push away, only to let him pull you back in with a soft text or an unexpected visit. Each time, the same promises without words—those lingering glances, those half-smiles, those gentle touches that said you matter to me but never I want you.

It was always on his terms, always when it suited him. He’d reach out when he was bored, when he was lonely, when he needed someone to listen, someone to be there without asking questions. But when it was time to take things further, when it was time for him to actually decide, he pulled away.

It was late one evening when it hit you the hardest. You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, both of you talking about nothing in particular—just the usual casual chatter you’d gotten used to. Then, out of nowhere, he paused, his fingers grazing the back of your hand. “You know,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him, “I really don’t know what I’d do without you around. You’re like… my safe place.”

His words should have made you feel warm, should have been the affirmation you’d been desperately searching for. But instead, it felt like a dagger to your chest.

A safe place.

Your heart sank. You wanted to ask him why—why you couldn’t be more than just that, why he didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you didn’t. You never did.

Instead, you swallowed your pain, gave him a tight smile, and muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

That night, you left his place earlier than usual, the familiar weight of disappointment pressing against your chest. You wanted to tell yourself that you were strong enough to let him go, that you deserved more, but each time you thought about it, you felt the pull of him—his warmth, his laugh, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

But the truth was undeniable: He wasn’t ready for what you wanted. And you weren’t going to keep sacrificing yourself for a version of him that didn’t exist.

So you stayed away. You tried to.

falling back into the rhythm was easier than you’d care to admit, the way he whispered your name, the way his touch still felt like home despite everything. You kept convincing yourself that this time would be different—that he would change, that he would see you, really see you, the way you’d always wanted him to.

But the cracks were still there, even if you ignored them.

The empty promises were still there, buried underneath the soft kisses and late-night conversations. He would kiss you with the same urgency, whispering things in your ear that made your heart race, but when it came time for something more—something real, something lasting—he pulled away. You could feel it in the way he hesitated, the way he’d get distant when things felt too serious.

It wasn’t fair. You knew it. You were supposed to be stronger than this. But each time he came around, you let him back in.

You were lying in his bed, tangled in sheets, and even the quiet stillness between you felt heavy—like it was all just too much to ignore anymore. His fingers traced patterns on your skin, but his touch felt distant, almost absent. You could feel it, like a cold draft in the air, the way something unspoken was hanging between you two.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, though you could hear the edge of uncertainty in his voice. He was waiting for you to tell him everything was fine. You knew he was.

“No,” you said quietly. “I’m not okay.” “I think we should stop this. You keep doing this, Izuku. You keep pulling me in and then pushing me away, and I’m done pretending like it’s okay.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. You weren’t going to let him hide behind his words this time.

“11 months. 11 months of this… this back-and-forth, this whatever we’re doing,” you continued, your voice growing stronger, fueled by the hurt and the anger you had buried for so long. “You tell me you want me, you kiss me like I’m the only one, you act like I’m the most important thing in the world—and then you disappear. You tell people it’s not serious, like I don’t matter. Like I’m just temporary.”

His mouth opened and closes then he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he repeated, as though trying to convince both of you.

“11 months, Izuku,” you spat, voice trembling with both anger and hurt. “11 months of back-and-forth, of you acting like you wanted me. I trusted you. I gave you everything, and you’ve just kept me at arm’s length like I’m some kind of… option. Like I’m just here when it’s convenient for you.”

Izuku’s face fell, guilt flickering in his eyes, but you were too far gone now. Too far from the illusion of him ever being the person you needed him to be.

“Y/n I swear I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion, reaching out to you. His hand hovered near your arm, but you pulled away. “You have to know that. I care about you so much. I really do.”

“You care? You never gave me anything more than sweet words and empty promises. You kissed me like you loved me, like you needed me, but then when it came time for something real, you’d pull away. Every time.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip soft but firm, desperate. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you. I just… I don’t know how to be the person you need me to be. I don’t—”

“What the hell does that even mean? You don’t know how? I’ve been here, trying to be patient, trying to show you that I care. I’ve been fighting for us and for something real, while you’ve been pretending you don’t want it.” Your voice cracked, but you held back the tears. “I gave you everything, and you couldn’t even give me one thing in return.”

He flinched at your words, but you didn’t stop. The dam had broken, and you had no intention of holding back anymore.

Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, refusing to break down in front of him. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, voice raw. “I can’t keep being your safety net, the person you turn to when you feel like it. I deserve more than this. I deserve someone who doesn’t just talk about wanting me, but shows me.”

“Maybe I’ve been stupid. Maybe I’ve been trying to make something out of nothing because I thought you might change. But I’m done. I’m done letting you play with my feelings.”

You stood up, grabbing your clothes, your hands shaking as you tried to keep it together. “I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

Izuku sat up, clearly struggling to find the words to fix it, but you couldn’t stay. Not anymore. You gave him one last look, shaking your head. “Goodbye, Izuku.”

And this time, you walked out, not looking back.

You wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

A/n- I just wanted to write for Izuku differently.. I like to think that boy knows nothing about love and its foolish tendencies! he does not have positive examples of romantic love! No I’m not projecting a personal experience! Shut up!

Tags— @poemeater @beebunsx @beabamboo @superlegend216 @mimzyu

More Posts from Pyonpurin and Others

pyonpurin

3 weeks ago

katsuki is trying really hard to maintain his nonchalant act throughout the day.

as soon as it hits 12am, he frowns at being woken up by texts from many of his friends wishing him happy birthday.

in the morning, his parents video call him to show the embarrassing childhood pictures they've kept. "congrats brat, you're old. let's have a proper celebration during the weekend," mitsuki grins. katsuki flips her off before ending the call.

walking through the halls, he hears "happy birthday, senpai!" "happy birthday, bakugou!" every few seconds. he merely grunts in response.

in the afternoon, he's stopped by all might, who asks to eat with him. they spend their lunch talking about katsuki's progress and well-being. "i'm very proud of you, bakugou-shounen. i wish you a wonderful birthday," all might utters softly. katsuki nods and excuses himself first.

he's the first to stand up when class ends, about to leave when he suddenly feels someone ruffle his hair. "happy birthday, problem child," aizawa sighs. "take better care of yourself, huh?"

when he reaches the dorms, he's surprised by confetti and cheers from class 2A, 2B, some students from shiketsu, and some of his alumni. they bring out a big cake and sing really loudly on purpose to embarrass him. everyone comes up to him and thanks him for all he's done and how much they've inspired him. katsuki leaves barely an hour into the party.

he rushes to his room and locks the door, ignoring denki's complaints of him being a 'party pooper'. he turns around and jumps at seeing izuku sitting by his bed with a present.

"oh," izuku blinks in surprise. "hi! i didn't expect you to be up here so early."

"izuku," katsuki jolts. "what the hell are you doing here? weren't you just downstairs?"

"well, i wanted to give you my gift personally," izuku laughs, "and your room seemed like my only chance of finding you alone." he walks up to katsuki, gives him the box, and envelops him into a tight hug. "happy birthday, kacchan. we've been through a lot together, haven't we?"

katsuki pauses before hugging back just as tightly, his vision clouding. "a bit overwhelming," he mumbles.

both of them know immediately what he's referring to: the genuine attention, affection, and admiration he's getting today. in the past, the wishes he'd get would be along the lines of 'you're going to grow into someone with the strongest quirk,' only ever noticing his capabilities and future potential, but never him.

this was his first birthday after the war, and also one of the first birthdays in a while where he's around people who truly care about him.

"everyone's just happy they could spend kacchan's birthday together like this," izuku hums, closing his eyes with a grateful sigh as he rubs katsuki's back soothingly. "me too. i'm really, really happy."

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pyonpurin

2 months ago

Izuku being obsessed with you hcs

Genre: Fluff

This is around 3rd year of UA and he has had a crush on you since 1st year. Who knew everything there was to know about you.

Your favorite color, animal, food. What you were allergic to, your favorite movie. The cafe you went to once a week. The years he spent writing about heroes, being able to pick up the littlest of details from afar, has helped in this moment.

Ochaco thinks it’s cute, Tenya thinks it’s extremely efficient, and Bakugo thinks it’s downright creepy.

Izuku understands that you would probably agree with Bakugo, but he can’t help it. He just wants to know everything there is to know about you. So that, eventually, when he does confesses, everything will go well

He had a 6 step plan on how to ask you out and contingency plans just in case, though thankfully he didn’t need them.

Everyone thought his…tendencies will calm down once you guys get together.

Oh how they were wrong, so, so wrong.

In fact he gets worse. Always wants to be around you, but as long as you are okay with it. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, possibly ruin the relationship.

Literally, he’s the first thing you see when you wake up. When he walks you down for breakfast to the cafeteria because he just so happens to be around right when you open the door. He is the last thing you see when he walks to your door and gives you kiss on your cheek goodnight.

Obviously, he wasn’t at all subtle about his crush on you, not that he was hiding it either though. You knew that he was getting all the information on you long before he confessed. Honestly, it made you feel seen in a weird way. To know that someone was so in love with you, so obsessed with you, that they memorized everything about you.

And that was Izuku Midoriya for you, your obsessed boyfriend

Banner by @saradika-graphics

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pyonpurin

1 month ago

Teacher!izuku coming home from work upset

You were sitting at the table working on your laptop and totally not playing games. You hear shuffling and a loud sigh as soon as your front door swings open along with the rustling sound of shoes and clothes being shed.

You turn to see your husband. His coily green hair tied back apart from the few strands that fall gracefully on the sides of his head.

“ rough day?”

You hum to your partner standing and meeting him before he makes it fully through the hallway. You kiss his cheeks softly, peppering many kisses along his freckled face. He groans slightly in your hands his face scrunching as you kiss him.

He looks down at you with his brows furrowed and a small pout on his face. He was still adorable even as he ages. He huffs out before he finally finds his words.

“ it's just...the kids were only out of school for a month- a month! and it already seems like everything they've learned has slipped their minds!”

You hum and hold his shoulders tilting your head to the couch. He understands exactly what you're talking about and quickly shuffles towards your sofa. He plops down still upset and still rambling on about his day and the kids.

He shuts his eyes yammering on and on, he doesn't even see you slowly get onto your knees. You reach your hands up onto his thigh rubbing it softly as you hum along to his words letting him know you're listening. Your hands trail up to his visible tint and gently touches it. You can feel the thick meat twitch at your subtle touches.

You're unbuckling his belt as he switched the topic to how people seem to not respect him anymore. It honestly saddens you, but you won't let him tread light onto sad topics for long; unbuckling his belt while pulling his cock out of his boxers and allowing it to spring free.

He winces at the feeling of the cold air brushing against the top of his cock. It jolts and begs you to be warmed in your mouth. You place small kisses to his cock and he hums deeply. He inhales keeping himself level minded as he continues to rant.

“ and, like I was saying; it seems like they don't respect me anymore. like no one does, ’ts not fair. I used to be a great hero and I get treated like trash.”

You sink the tip of his cock into your mouth humming around it and nodding as well, its more of a bobbing motion as you glide your mouth up and down on his cock. The vibrations making him groan loudly and place his hand on top of your head. His heavy palm not applying much of any pressure; just lying there.

“ don't deserve that, zu.”

You speak momentarily before slurping his cock right back onto your mouth. You hollow your cheeks to help him feel almost a resemblance of your walls tightening around him. The feeling of velvet pillow like walls snuggling his cock I'm between.

His breaths are changing as his brows knit together and his hips buck into your mouth. You relax the back of your throat to the best of your advantage for every time he thrusts up into your mouth. You didn't want to ruin this moment for him so you did your best not to gag.

“ you... you get it honey, ngh. fuck..”

He lets his head roll back against the couch as you use your hands to stroke the base of his cock that you couldn't fit all the way in your mouth. His thick cock littered with a vein on the side, you let your tongue rub underneath his cock and swirl around the tip of his head licking the slit and sucking harshly around it.

His eyes are fluttering to the back of his head as he tries his damndest to remember whatever it was that he was talking about. Mumbling and struggling to find his words.

“ fuck... I uh.. like I was saying, shit— what...what was I saying..?”

You smile to yourself knowing he's forgotten about what's troubling him. You use your other hand to run his thighs, flexing and tensing underneath your touch and mind numbing head.

He thrusts his hips up a couple of times before a shaky groan leaves him his eyes squeezing shut as he cums down your throat. You cough around his cock trying not to gag at how thick his cum is, the spurts hitting the back of your throat all too quickly.

You finally lift off of him and swallow as much of his cum as you could before being sprayed in the face with more. These were the consequences of not giving him head and failing to swallow it all. You continue to stroke all of his cum out of his cock, milking it all out of him.

His breaths were shaky and he was trying not to whine from the overstimulation, but he didn't dare stop you. You brought a couple of kisses to his cock before letting it lie against his thigh, almost looking like a third leg with the length and intense girth of it.

His eyes were shut and his breaths were heavy, you use this time to quickly grab a towel to wipe your face and his thighs. Izuku needed this moment to relax and catch his breath. You decide to make him a snack before heading to bed, maybe he'd need more from you once he'd gained more of his strength and composure.

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pyonpurin

4 months ago

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pyonpurin

3 weeks ago

HELLO! This is my first time requesting so my apologies if I didn't do it right

(｡>﹏<)

(Katsuki x insomniac!reader)

I love your writing style smm, so I was hoping you could write one where the reader is like an insomniac, staying up late to be chronically online and stuff and Katsuki tries to help her ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

I struggle with insomnia quite a bit, and I just stay up, scrolling through my phone or computer even if I don't have anything to do on there. And it's not like a one time thing either, it's like every night, and the only way I actually go to sleep is holding my plushies or listening to ASMR/or calming music, but it still takes quite a long time for it to kick in.

So I would love it if you could convey that in one of your oneshots!!

If you don't wish to go through with my request for any reason, no worries and I hope you have a good rest of your evening! (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

I wish you tons of love and good times all around, thank you for listening (∩˃o˂∩)♡

katsuki trying to help his insomniac partner

HELLO! This Is My First Time Requesting So My Apologies If I Didn't Do It Right

katsuki was writing down what was on the board, listening to what mister aizawa was teaching when he turned his head to see you nodding off. he glared, and checked to see when the teacher wasn’t looking, then reached over to push your shoulder.

you slowly turned toward him and pouted, quietly grumbling, “what?”

“pay attention. you’re not failing this test, idiot.” he scoffed, changing his attention to his paper and trying to solve the equation in front of him.

after a few minutes, he heard a loud thump to his left, and he sighed once he saw what happened, your hair was splayed out everywhere, your head lay on the desk, and your arms wrapped around your head, protecting it in some sort of way. he reached his arm out, not caring about the equation anymore, and wrapped his hand around your bicep, squeezing it, and small explosions landed on your arm, causing there to be a black mark on your uniform.

you swatted his hand away, seemingly wide awake when he whispered, “we’re talking after class.”

you retorted and laughed, “no shit, katsuki, we always talk after class.”

he rolled his eyes and scoffed, done with your antics. but when the time came, and the class was done, school was officially over for the day, he dragged you by your hand into your dorm.

once you set your bags down and yawned, he asked, crossing his arms after he took his clothes off and changed, “why the hell are you always so tired during the day? do you not sleep or some stupid shit like that?”

you shook your head and then nodded, a little confused about how to explain it with just signals. you spoke, “i have insomnia.”

his eyes widened. well, now he felt like an asshole.

he mumbled, “first off, you need to sleep quicker and easier. what do you think makes you calmer and more sleepy?”

“i think being around people i like makes me sleepy because i feel relaxed around them, like a comfort person. then i like listening to asmr, i love listening to soft taps and crunchy sounds! it’s so cool!” you exclaimed.

he rolled his eyes. he didn’t know what the fuck asmr was, but he assumed it helped, so he spoke, “sleep with me tonight, and we’ll put that asmr thing on.”

“really?” you asked, eyes shining with admiration. all he was worrying about was your phone, as you managed to check it around a hundred times a day, even when you weren’t supposed to. who knew what you would be like at night?

so when it came to be around eight at night, you found yourself in katsuki’s dim room, with his large television screen opened up to the youtube app. you complained, “why are we here so early, kats?”

he answered, “because i’m guessing you take a long time to sleep. put on your favorite channel and get in bed.”

he stripped off his shirt as you took control of the remote, typing in the letters of your favorite asmr channel before clicking on a video. you climbed into bed with katsuki and crawled closer to him, wanting to feel his warmth.

after a couple of minutes, you reached over to the nightstand to grab your phone when katsuki forced your hand down. he argued, “no phones past eight.”

you immediately tried to argue as well, “but—“

“go the hell to bed. no phones.” he kept his word, and eventually your eyes started to feel heavy.

you mumbled, digging your face deeper into his side, and around two hours later, after conversations, and switching through multiple videos, he finally felt your breathing evening, and he sighed.

although you had to wake up early in the morning, two hours preparing to sleep was better than many more hours. he smirked to himself, katsuki had to make this part of your nightly routine.

hi i hope this was realistic enough! i’m so glad you love my writing, you have no idea how much this affects me

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pyonpurin

4 months ago

They never go out of style ✨

4K notes View Post

pyonpurin

2 months ago

@screampied diamond boy made me feel things

Canon version here

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pyonpurin

5 months ago

partners 💙🧡

9K notes View Post

pyonpurin

3 weeks ago

sth sth roomates... sth sth rest of our lives...

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pyonpurin

3 months ago

Take Me Back

hinata shouyou x reader words; 1345 synopsis; breaking up and making up with the one that he couldn't let get away from him.

“Take me back to that summer in Brazil playing beach volleyball.” 4 missed calls.

In a language he doesn't call his own but feels like home he leaves voicemails for her. He clears his throat, and says his piece. He knows he should be loving his girlfriend here in Japan, but he's too addicted to the taste of brigadeiros and pavé in her mouth. Brazil warmed his senses up to a new style of play and a new way to love.

He looks at the clock on his wall, it’s a perfect 12 hour time difference. He’s going to bed, she just had lunch. She never calls him back though. She only texts through Whatsapp when she has the time to properly respond, around midnight her time and lunchtime for him.

“I know it's been a while and I haven’t reached out.” 12 missed calls.

She showed him around Rio when no one else could. She was the one who ended up having to endure him when he underwent his first really bad sunburn. He remembers the way she laughed at him for forgetting sunscreen, “tão burro” she kept repeating while rubbing aloe vera on his shoulders. He remembers whining so much that she poked him in the forehead before putting her hands on her hips and chastising him in her Portuguese that was just way too fast for him to catch any of the words.

He had to meekly apologize with a pout, and she forgave him with a kiss.

Maybe that’s why he still sometimes forgot to put on sunscreen when he was playing volleyball.

“Thought I’d regret you like a teenage tattoo but I miss you, baby what can I do?” 14 missed calls.

In Brazil Hinata only got good at swimming because she loved to swim. And because she wore the best swimsuits, but that’s not his only sole reason for getting into swimming. She could swim circles around him, but he still had fun treading the water.

Sometimes, she liked to duck down into the water and tug on his legs. The first time she did that, Hinata thought he would die and that the tug was a result of a shark. The way she just curled into herself and giggled when she popped out of the water and observed his reaction was unparalleled by any other prank he’d gone through. Her joy at his pain was unusual but also intriguing.

Those little games, sometimes back and forth, but mostly her playing them on him was something he missed when he got back to Japan. When he got back, he went into his apartment expecting her to be dancing samba in the living room to afrobeat music. When she wasn’t there, a pang of melancholy strung at his heart. His home here was less alive.

“Why do I shiver thinking about you?” 17 missed calls.

No matter how much his friends and family compared him to the sun, he still thought that he paled in comparison to her. Bright, loud, and glad to be doing her own thing.

There’s always the possibility that he developed some sort of codependency on her. Despite her free-spirit and slightly loner dependencies, Hinata stuck to her like glue. When she would try and slink off into the night to go clubbing, he would bring her in and make traditional Japanese dishes for her to try. Hinata introduced Oikawa to her, which may have been a problem, but she didn’t seem to enjoy Oikawa’s overwhelming embrace of machismo culture. She liked Hinata’s gentle and silent strength over a boastful, loud power.

A guiding hand on her waist rather than pulling her along by the hand. A kiss to the shoulder instead of tearing her away from her conversations for a breathless kiss. Early morning texts to say good morning instead of late night, ‘you up?’ messages. Hinata was everything she wanted, or so Hinata thought.

Apparently, going on three dates in a row wasn’t considered an exclusive relationship to her. So when Hinata saw her with a different guy on the beach, using his towel that she always lent him, tucking her hair behind her ear the way he was supposed to, Hinata didn’t know how else to react.

Throwing a volleyball at the back of the guy’s head was probably not the right move to make, but it was the move he made. The other man just rubbed the back of his head, saying that ‘estrangeiros’ were always a little too obsessed with fine Brazilian women. She just smacked Hinata upside the head, but when he looked at her with sad eyes and with his bottom lip just a little jutted out, she ran a hand through his hair and brought him into an open mouth kiss.

He did have to apologize to her other date, and he ended the conversation by saying that she was still off limits.

“You're still the one I’m thinking about.” 20 missed calls.

Hinata was tired now. It was one in the morning and he was leaving her messages while he laid in bed waiting for sleep to finally take him. Was he desperate? Likely and affirmatively yes.

She told Hinata that long-distance wouldn’t work out, and that he should enjoy finding other people to date back at his home country. He wanted to argue with her, but she said it was final.

She was just there for a while, embracing him in his time in Brazil, and then since he was leaving, she would become merely a part of his memories. Her ease of farewells ripped his heart out. He wished she would’ve fought for them more, fought for him more. But you can’t ask people to stay who don’t want to stay of their own will. So he left, and she said good luck.

When he went back to Japan, he was worried about her. So he did ask Oikawa to check in on her and make sure she was doing okay. Then when Oikawa would send occasional pictures of them at the beach, with their tongues sticking out and hair wet from the ocean water, Hinata wanted nothing more than to be back in Brazil enjoying life. Oikawa would send other photos too, with her permission, ones where Oikawa caught her surfing a wave with practiced skill and ease of enjoyment for the activity, or when she was just laying on the sand stretching in the warmth of the sky.

They were friendly, sending messages frequently during the weeks of his initial return. Then as the months went on, there was less connecting the two, she didn’t respond to messages that quickly. She didn’t update him on life back in Brazil, and he stopped giving her play-by plays of all the games he participated in and who he had met up with.

He got a Japanese girlfriend, and she was nice. But she wasn’t the girl he wanted to go home to everynight.

“Maybe I still want something about you?” 26 missed calls.

There was a saying, from some American poet, someone he learned about but entirely forgot. The saying talked about the influence of yearning. It is the worst poison, best medicine, and key to so many doors.

He was out and about, looking for some lunch now. His sleep was restless. Maybe a fruit sando would be the best solution to the hunger pangs in his stomach. Exchanging cash for the food, he sits outside on the patio, unwrapping the foil and taking a bite.

She finally responded when the time neared midnight in her timezone, texting him. She asked if he knew what he was doing. She asked if he was inebriated last night. She asked if he was still dating his girlfriend. She said that if he was still dating her then he wasn’t being nice. She said she would never date someone who cheats. Hinata screenshots his text exchange with his newly ex-girlfriend.

She sends an eye roll emoji.

He smiles.

Midnight in Brazil. 0 missed calls. One incoming call.

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