『 R E Q U E S T S , C L O S E D 』AnimeCharacters x Reader

49. Ayato Sakamaki x Reader | Quiver Dance

》character: Ayato Sakamaki | Diabolik Lovers

》requested by: SUCHanOtaku

》10302017

》To make something, you must destroy another. Through lost bills and empty minds, through the streets tinged with fog and season-flavored oxygen, things have been made. He was odd, and no matter what flavor oxygen he breathed, he always exhaled it out in a laugh

[a/n]: after another 82 years it's december now and i've got too many requests to catch up to. the fics succeeding this one is going to be just as short because i'm so out of it i've forgotten how to write haha.

i hope this was okay :/  (can be interpreted as a continuation to "just lovey-dovey-mwah-mwah couple things)

xx

He sits all away across, keeping his elbows bent and his jacket worn, asking for a glass of orange juice like he's never drunk a day in his life.

"I've always pegged you as an apple juice kind of guy," you say, lifting your own glass as if it makes your point. He rolls his eyes, not really knowing what to do with them.

"Orange is good, too." He tells you, looking over his shoulder for a second, turning back just as abruptly, "Sometimes. If you know what kinda food's good with it." He adds, as if you were still paying attention.

(You were.)

He complains instead, about everything. About the heat piercing the windows, that he can feel quite uncomfortably on the jacketed arm that's turned to the said window; about the rough leather  he's sitting on; about the time between his curt order and the arrival of his coveted glass of orange juice; about the music that doesn't fit his taste; about the purpose of a class field trip, when he's sure he's seen all that has been offered on the unforgettable Friday nights he always forgets to tell you about.

He complains, and complains, but you like the way his voice sounds.

You count the seconds just as slowly as the orange juice recedes: down, down, down, until the ice cubes pull each other down until they're all at the bitter bottom. A bird flies by the window; you're lucky enough to catch a glimpse; you take a sip, and guess with all your lucky stars what Ayato Sakamaki is complaining about now.

xx

Your toes cramp up underneath your shoes and you flex them outwards until the nail hits the leather. "It's a wonder that you've still got something to complain about."

Ice water and orange juice mix at the bottom of the glass; there's a similar chilliness in the way he raises his eyebrow. "I've made it into a game, you know. I set a new personal record time!"

"Wee," you say, unenthusiastically. Your feet are placed carefully on the floor, aftershocks of the mini-cramps keeping you guarded. "Do you do this every time?"

"Just when people are here to listen." He says, complacent. He looks as if he's considering a refill.

You laugh, and he looks at you. He's against the light, his pale skin is tight to the bone, and his candles are a little over half a century- but the way he pouts, the way he hoists his legs up to the rest of the seat and announces deafeningly to any passerby that it's his- it's so childish.

"I'm sleepy," you tell him, resting your head on the table, arms around your head and hair away from the sweat of your neck.

The table is the color of your coffee, and everything else is just as muted and earthly; but it's homely. Ayato's hair stands out an extra few inches above the seat, and it's the first thing you see if you really try to look. "Go make some new friends or something," you tell him, without remorse.

Ayato's grumbles sound like singing, and you don't try to hide the shake of your shoulders from your mocking laughter. You send yourself slowly to the land of the sleeping- but first, a peek. When you try to look, you see him looking at you too.

Emerald green, the color of festive garlands, looking like they've planned out the next two months.

xx

"Wake up," he says, and you do. He shakes your shoulder, snatches a string of your hair and twirls it for all of two seconds.

He tells you that the class has arrived, and you're groggy as he tugs you out of the train. The last of the train music is chords on the ukelele that never seem to change, and humming.

xx

"I've been here before," he says, unenthusiastic. You roll your eyes, because you haven't been here before, and the weather is nice enough that you can look at the sky without squinting.

The sunlight bounces off of him, and the growls between his lips sours everything. "Don't be like that," you say. "I might have a look around by myself."

"Oh?" he says, as if it's a challenge. Students and strangers are one big crowd, and the hums and clicks are nothing like the picture of summer months.

Suddenly, you crave for orange juice, and a ticket back to home.

"If you're going to go by yourself, then be careful. It's busy enough that you could get frightened and lost real easily," Ayato says.

"Awful strange that you're concerned."

He raises his eyebrows this time, both of them. "I could also step on you until you're part of the pavement."

He steps towards you, putting an arm around your back, not quite reaching your shoulder. He hums something low and private ("Seriously, be careful.") before he keeps his hands deep in the pockets of his jackets, shrugging away until he's far enough to reach out to.

Alas, you part, becoming one with the crowd with a sweep and a tantrum of footsteps. The clouds part, and the sweet heart that Ayato's bared to you is warm and honest in your hands.