i think my dan heng favoritism is showing because this is the longest drabble i've written for this event so far,,, i love dan hen hsr,,, THANK U FOR UR REQUEST :**

my 1k event!

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The airport is much too bright for Dan Heng’s taste. The reflectiveness of the linoleum floor tiles and the beaming LED lights make him squint as he guides you towards the baggage terminal. 

“That was fun!” your enthusiasm is almost painful compared to how exhausted Dan Heng feels. There’s no hint of a drag in your steps or a lull in your words as you head towards the carousels, on the lookout for a sky blue and neon green striped suitcase—courtesy of you, of course. You asked Dan Heng for his opinion when you were first buying it, claiming that it would be easy to recognize among the sea of plain, typical suitcases. Truthfully, it was an eyesore, but you looked so happy about it, so he just nodded along. 

“Fun? You’re not tired?” he asks. Your atrocity of a suitcase is, in fact, easily spotted, and Dan Heng goes to pick it up for you. Luckily, his is on the same carousel, and he takes up both in his hands before turning back to you. “It was a long flight. You’ll be jet-lagged for a bit.”

LOVED THIS CONCEPT i hope i did it justice,,, in a perfect world i would write like a million companion pieces to this but this is it FOR NOW… THANK U SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING!!

my 1k event!

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“Do you really have to stay up like that?”

“Yes.”

Ranpo sighs, dropping back down onto the rock-hard bed and knocking the air out of his own chest. Just three feet away from him on the floor, you’re sat against the wall, arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of you. Your gaze is locked on the door of the motel room, which unnerves Ranpo. It feels like you’re a statue in his room, unmoving and cold, and he’d really like to go to bed without worrying about something as mundane as your comfort.

“There’s a couch right over there,” he gestures to the decently-sized sofa just a few paces away from your current position. “You can lay down, you know. Relax a little bit. Our main job is over.”

“This is my main job,” you correct him, breaking eye contact with the door in favor of glancing over at him. He’s turned onto his side now, head resting on top of his folded hands. Having you in his sight is more comforting than it has any right to be. It’s your job to keep him in your sights, but you’re too busy with the possibility of an intruder breaking through the door in front of you or the window behind you.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS REQUSRT you're so sweet ❤️❤️ I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

my 1k event!

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Dan Heng hears you call his name before he even sees your face. His room is completely dark, save for the swirling water patterns of the floor beneath his measly mattress. He lifts a hand up from the confines of his blanket to rub his eyes clean of sleep, blinking himself awake as you come into view. 

“What,” he rasps out, head muddled in his exhaustion and the dread of being woken up. His hand flails out to push your face away. You’re awfully close, laying on your side and facing him, but the proximity is nothing he’s not used to. For as long as he’s known you (which is really a terribly long time), you’ve had a habit of sticking close to him. Like a barnacle grown onto the side of a ship—though he should really find a nicer metaphor to use. 

Your own hand comes up to latch onto his, pulling it away from where he tried swatting your face away. “You were having a nightmare,” you tell him, a lack of judgment or worry in your tone. The indifference is more comforting than being coddled. “Or, maybe not a nightmare. You were just talking to yourself and I got worried.” 

A moment passes before the dwindling memories of his dream float back into his consciousness. Heat builds up the sides of his face and he hopes that the illuminated floor tiles don’t light up the flush of his cheeks. It was— a really nice dream, truthfully, but he’d rather not spill the contents of it to you. And he really hopes that he wasn’t saying anything embarrassing out loud. 

“Oh,” he says in lieu of a real response, eyes fluttering shut in his exhaustion. Your fingers are still curled around his, and he squeezes your hand without really thinking of it. It would be embarrassing if he were any more conscious, but this in-between state of being asleep and being awake is too soothing for him to mess with. 

“So? Was it a nightmare?” 

“Don’t— I don’t know. I don’t remember.” It’s a total lie, and you can pry right through his facade too easily. But you’re kind, kinder than you have any right to be, and you don’t mention it. 

AUGHH THANK U GWEN i lvoed writing ths..... first time writing dr ratio be gentle on my fragile soul

my 1k event!

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When Doctor Veritas Ratio walks into his very-private, very-locked, very-secluded study, he’s greeted with the unfortunate sight of you—sitting on the floor, an easel with a wide canvas set up low to the ground, oil paints sprawled absolutely everywhere. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

A sheepish smile pulls at your face, as if a sweet expression will get you out of the mess you’ve made of Ratio’s personal space. It’s far too late— late? Too early? Regardless. The hour of the night-slash-morning that you’ve decided to paint in his room is not appropriate at all. 

“I can explain,” you say, followed by a complete lack of an explanation as the two of you stew in silence for another half a minute. 

this was so cute i loved this prompt. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! hope u enjoy :*

my 1k event!

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Alma's hand is warm, almost too warm against yours. His fingers are intertwined with yours, scratchy and calloused. The summer heat has gotten to the both of you, and you hope that the sweat collecting in your palm doesn't bother him as he drags you around the park.

It's late, and the sun went down a few hours ago, but the heat of it still lingers on your skin. Your feet are aching and you think if you walk around for any longer, your legs will crumple underneath you like paper. But Alma's so—warm, and kind, and he looks back at you with this stupid beaming smile as he leads you around all the corny games and rides. Your stomach is still swirling from the last rollercoaster you went on, and your pockets are very light from the sheer volume of money you’ve lost to ball-toss games. 

"There's— oh! They're selling takoyaki over there," he points out, attention moving rapidly from you to the food stands to the crowds of people around you. "You know, we tried making takoyaki ourselves once, at the agency with everyone, and it was pretty good! I wish you were there for that."

Wish. He wishes you were there. There's a stirring in your chest at the thought of being wanted by a friend.

Unfortunately, the sight of the long, winding line in front of the takoyaki stand mixed with the darkening sky reminds you that you do have responsibilities. Like the math homework due tomorrow that you've neglected for the whole week, and the dreadful bus that you have to catch at seven tomorrow in order to even make it to school on time.