#semi writing
༶•┈┈ semi eita x gn!reader | light angst, eventual fluff
༶•┈┈general m.list
warnings/tags: childhood best friends to lovers, this bad boy can fit so much pining in it, in this fic semi plays the guitar and the piano and also sings, i looped sorry for writing all the songs about you by clara mae while writing this and it shows
word count: 2k
a/n: a repost from my old account!! re-reading this made me realize how much my writing has changed :””) i hope yall enjoy this!!
summary: All of his songs are about you. Eita doesn’t know how to write anything else.
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Eita’s had many favourite singers. He doesn’t remember them all, because there are too many, but there’s an interview he’d watched once, back in his first year of middle school that sticks with him.
Find a muse, he remembers the singer saying - he doesn’t remember their name anymore, but he knows these words by heart - find a muse, and write them into your music.
(It’ll be the most painful thing you’ve ever sung, but it will be the most beautiful.
He hadn’t understood what the singer had meant, then.)
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“Semi-semi!” You shout gleefully as you throw open the doors to the gym. Catching Tendou’s eye, you shoot him finger-guns, smiling even as your best friend storms towards you, the volleyball in his hand flying against the side of Tendou’s head.
“Out,” he says gruffly, catching you by the back of your collar, and you wave a jaunty salute at the rest of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team as Eita hauls you out of the gym.
“That was mean,” you pout, turning when he finally lets go of you, “and after I came allthe way here to pass you your math homework.” You drawl the word all, and delight in the tick in Eita’s brow.
Your best friend sighs, massaging his temple in a way that has no business looking that all-suffering, “I never should have let you meet Tendou.”
Laughing, you hand him the worksheet he’d left under his table. “We would have met anyway,” you point out, “seeing as he had a puppy crush on me back in first year.”
Eita stiffens, and the hand taking his worksheet from you crumbles into itself.
“You’re crumpling the worksheet,” you say, “what, are you jealous?” You wink, your tone just shy of flirtation.
(You wish you were brave enough to just ask.)
He laughs, voice cracking, and the sound grates more than it should.
“Of course not,” he says, free hand smoothing out the wrinkles until it’s like they were never there, “I just wouldn’t wish you on anyone.”
“Right,” you agree easily, “says Semi-I’ve-been-single-my-entire-high-school-career-Eita.”
Your best friend scowls at that. “There’s still a few months,” he argues, and you brush off the rest of his statement by pushing him back into the gym.
“Yeah, yeah,” you say, grinning, “I bet you’re a real heartbreaker, Eita.”
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The first song Eita writes that’s worth mentioning is about you.
