𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 | 𝑫𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒆 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳Perfectly Messed Up

This week had been going fast—too fast. Between last-minute shopping, wrapping, and running errands, you hadn't even had time to process half of what was going on.

And now, with Christmas creeping closer, you found yourself in the back of a community kitchen, apron tied tight around your waist, helping with Curly's volunteer gig.

The room was a whirlwind of activity: pots clanging, the warm scent of cinnamon and roasted turkey filling the air, and volunteers moving in every direction.

It was cozy chaos, the kind of atmosphere that usually put you at ease.

But as you stepped into the back room, your pulse quickened.

"Alright, team, huddle up!"
Curly's voice rang out cheerfully, cutting through the din.
The group gathered around, and you caught sight of familiar faces—Anya, with her effortless energy; Swansea, already sneaking tastes of whatever was in the nearest bowl; and... him.

Daisuke.

Your stomach dropped, and you immediately looked down, pretending to adjust the hem of your sweater.
He was standing near the counter, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

Normally, he'd be the first to crack a joke, to lighten the mood, but today he was unusually quiet. Way too quiet.

'Great,'
you thought, swallowing hard.
So we're both just going to ignore it.

The confession from a few nights ago replayed in your mind, uninvited.
The way his words had slurred slightly from the alcohol, but not enough to hide the weight behind them.

Curly begins to continue his mini-speech.

"My wife put this whole thing together, and even though she can't be here today—she's busy with the kids—
she's super grateful for all of you showing up,"
Curly said, their grin infectious.

"This is about making Christmas special for families who need it, so let's bring our A-game, alright?"

You nodded along with the group, though your thoughts were far from the task at hand.
Tomorrow was the Secret Santa exchange, and you'd been building with anticipation for weeks.

But now, all you could think about was Daisuke and the growing tension between you.

"Alright, you're on desserts,"
Curly directed, pointing to you and—of course—Daisuke.

You forced a smile and nodded, but inside, your chest tightened.
Being paired with him felt like some kind of cosmic joke given what happened yesterday.

The two of you worked side by side in silence, the only sounds coming from the clatter of bowls and the hum of the oven.
You could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Normally, Daisuke would have cracked some sarcastic comment by now, or teased you for the way you always managed to get flour on your face.

But today?

Nothing.

At one point, you stole a glance at him. He was focused on mixing dough, his brows furrowed in concentration.
His jaw tightened slightly, and his lips pressed into a thin line, like he was holding something back.