loved!loved!loved!loved!loved!loved!

“Ha! You don’t need school to be successful!”

Yoji scoffs, voice booming loudly on speaker, forgetting that the call can be heard by ten other students who all failed their basic maths.

You swear you could see one kid’s eyes light up at his words.

The students file in one by one, occupying their assigned seats. You can hear the scrapes of wooden chairs on the floor, and light laughter accompanying it, as a few of them bundle closely together, chatting away while the start of class draws near.

“I failed most of my pre-calc and geometry classes but that led to me meeting you, didn’t it? I’d say that's a fair pay-off for getting the hottest and smartest girlfriend in the world!”

You wet your lips, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose at his words— you stop yourself from letting out a deep sigh as your thumb hovers over the speaker on your phone.

“Yoji, please tone your voice down, there are ten other kids here…” you say, exasperated.

“Let them know! There’s other paths other than being a scholar! Sometimes the right path is through the military—“

“Okay, that’s great Yoji, I’ll see you later after work!”

“Wait!—“ you end the call, before he can finish speaking, shoving your phone back into your pocket. Only then do you realise the quiet chatter has died down, leaving your voice to echo through the tiny classroom. Your gaze sweeps across the students, a sea of small eyes looking at you in quiet wonder.

One of the kids raises his hand— Mizuki, displayed on his name tag.

“Miss (F/N), is that your boyfriend?” He asks.

The class erupts in loud “Ohhhhhs”, before breaking into chaos.

“D-does he work in the military?”

“Are you guys gonna get married?”

“Is he strong?”

“Did you meet him at school?”

You get bombarded with a plethora of questions, as their curious gaze falls onto you.

“Can we meet him?!” Is the loud declaration of Mizuki, who states his sentence more as a remark rather than a question.

You laugh lightly at their questions, a small flush on your cheeks. But now’s not the time, you have about four topics you need to go through before finishing your three hour session.

Although it wouldn’t be hard to speed through basic arithmetics, you’re working with students who had failed their math classes at least twice, some even three times in a row. Even if there’s only ten of them, you need to accommodate for each and every student’s weaknesses in the subject.

You promised them (their parents mostly) and yourself that you wouldn’t skimp out on their learning just because you’re doing this for your thesis paper.

These are their formative years! You remember being nine and disregarding fractions, only for it to bite you in the ass back in year eight.

You clap your hands together, sharpening your tone.

“We have a lot of material to go through this time! We’ll all talk about this later, bring out your worksheets!”

The voices quiet down, replaced by small murmurs of disappointment and the rustle of papers being taken out of zipped bags.

You can’t help but smile at their reaction, finding it slightly endearing despite their nosy attitudes.

“Fine. If we finish early today, I’ll let you guys ask him anything you want, does that sound good?”

Excited cheers can be heard from the small group of children.

The elementary you frequent for tutoring was only a few blocks away from your house.

Why Yoji thought it was a good idea to pick you up every shift despite his dojo being on the other side of your quaint town, you don’t know.

His insistence on walking with you as “protection”, in of itself was cute. Although completely unnecessary. You don’t want him to spend the majority of his break time walking you to and from home. He’s already tired from training, the least he can do is get some well needed rest!

You spot the familiar uniform of your boyfriend running excitedly towards you. The bright smile on his face draws your much gentler ones as your eyes soften when they meet his.

He comes to a short stop in front of you, hands already encircling your waist, one slipping onto your lower back, as the other moves to your face.

You share a small peck.

The children behind you erupt in small giggles, and Uruha pulls away quickly, you laugh alongside them at his reaction, motioning behind you to the line of students looking up at both of you in wonder.

“Oh… sorry, was that too much?” He asks, a bit mortified by the audience.

“They wanted to ask you a few questions, I sent you a text earlier, did you see it?” You ask, raising a brow.

You're briefly interrupted by a small hand that tugs at your pant leg.

You look down to see Mizuki staring brightly at Yoji, stars in his eyes, as if he just saw a celebrity.

“You!— you’re…” Mizuki points at him, “Do you work for Mr. Rokuhira?!” He blurts out, voice loud.

The mention of this ‘Mr. Rokuhira’ has Uruha perking up. Childlike wonder mirroring little Mizuki’s. Clearly happy to have heard the name.

“Of course I do!” He straightens his back, puffing up his chest in a proud stance, one hand pressed to his chest.

The sight is equally amusing as it is silly. You guess that sentiment fits Yoji very well.

“I’m his chosen—“ you pinch his cheek before he can continue, he yelps a small ‘ouch!’ as you turn to face the children.

“He’s his chosen apprentice, a very prestigious title indeed. He’s very accomplished!” You finish his words for him, fingers still holding onto his cheek.

You turn towards Yoji, patting the cheek you just squished, worried you might have pinched too hard.

He doesn’t seem to mind, holding onto your arm as he leans in instinctively to your touch. He pulls your hand to his mouth, placing it close to his lips, he pauses— eyeing the group of children behind you, his eyes narrow, settling for having your hand on his cheek instead, making him recheck his stance on PDA.

“Do you have time, Yoji?” You whisper, “It’s okay if you don’t, I told them your time is limited.”

He nods his head, “Yeah, I think I do! We finished training early today, I was going to ask you if we can eat out.”, he answers, beaming at you.

You smile at his words, before rummaging through your pocket, fishing out a folded scrap paper, and unfolding it before him.

“They wrote some questions on this piece of paper, nothing too specific, I checked it after all. They were just curious about you and your job.” You explain.

Uruha takes the paper from your hands, eyeing the contents half-heartedly.

“But,” you raise a finger at him, “No talking about how math is bad, or why they shouldn’t be in school, got it?” You whisper, tone firm as you give him a hard stare.

Uruha hums in reply, placing a hand to his forehead and another behind his back in a mock salute.

You let out a deep breath at the action, although you don’t bother hiding the smile that tugs itself on your lips soon after.

You usher both Uruha and the kids inside the classroom.

The discussion quickly grows lively, questions overlapping each other as Uruha matches their energy, the children become too excited to wait for their turn, asking him questions about his work, his hobbies, and whatever curious thing they feel like asking him about.

You think one of them even asked whether he still had his parents? (He does, you would have clocked it, if it was anything too sensitive)

You don’t expect the kids to ask him anything invasive, you’ve already prepped them on what they can, and can’t ask your boyfriend. Listing out very specific examples, as anything vague can potentially have them break said rules unintentionally.

To be clear you put in place these exact ground rules—

No questions about:

-Fighting or hurting people

-Names of specific people or people that he works with (although Mizuki already broke this by Asking about Mr. Rokuhira)

-Where he works

-Any mentions of weapons

-Anything that might be scary or private

You remember Mizuki raising his hand as you were writing this on the board.

“Miss (F/N), how do we know if something is private?”

You beam at the question, “Good question Mizuki! By private, I mean anything that might make someone feel uncomfortable sharing with the whole class.” You gesture vaguely towards the entire room.

“How would you feel if someone asked you something embarrassing— or scary, or something that puts you on the spot?” You smile encouragingly as you spy his shoulders growing slack at the realisation.

“Remember, we don’t do unto others what we don’t want to be done to ourselves… that applies with Uruha, okay?”

A wave of “yes!” And “okay!”s can be heard loudly booming from behind you.

Your writing for do’s and don’ts can still be seen on the board. Yoji marvels at your handiwork, saying he doesn’t mind them asking him those questions— to which you can only grimace as you explain to him how important confidentiality is in his line of work.

Although, in your attempts to ensure Yoji wouldn’t be uncomfortable as the children asked him questions about his job—there was one question you didn’t take into account for.

Questions about your relationship.

You thought point five covered that already, although you guess you’re partly to blame for not specifying it directly.

One of the quieter kids in your class meekly raises his hand, despite the sea of chatter and questions thrown at Uruha— he seems to notice the shy boy timidly raising his hand, and he acts accordingly, pointing towards him, singling him out of the crowd; his voice is gentle, though it carries the same energetic and welcoming lilt as before.

He offers him an encouraging smile.

“Ah, how about… you! What’d you want to ask?”

Chisei, one of the younger kids in the backrow, seems surprised, eyes widened as he flushes under the attention.

He looks over at you first for permission, to which you only smile softly at him, urging him to continue. He’s always been nervous in class, apparently, he has failed his math and science class— as he favours doing art and reading for the majority of his free time.

He does always seem to have his head in the clouds (something you can sorely relate to), kids have a vast imagination after all, it feels inefficient to categorise them all in one system and expect them to thrive in it.

But you suppose that imagination would lead into a very dangerous line of questioning. One even you and Uruha don’t have an answer to.

“A-are you and miss (name) going to get married?”

The chatter dies down. There’s a brief pause as the question seems to load a bit in everyone’s head.

“…”

And once it does, the classroom erupts into utter chaos.

“Ewwwwww!”

“Isn’t that personal?!”

“Are you gonna marry her Uruha-san!”

“I’d like to be invited!—“

Your mouth hangs agape, whilst Uruha’s eyes widen at the sudden question, mouth turning into a straight line.

You clap your hands sharply, signalling everyone's attention, you give Chisei an apologetic look, ready to turn down the question before it sinks into an embarrassing one.

“Uh, I think that question’s a bit too—“

Your words are cut off by Uruha, who starts laughing lightheartedly, cheeks flushed.

“That’s… a big question you’ve got there—“ he looks over at you, silently asking for his name.

“—Chisei.”

“Chisei-kun,” he parrots, hand coming to scratch at his cheek, giving him a sheepish smile, “It’s a good question though! But it’s just one of those things adults usually figure out over a long time…” he says, eyes trained on the young boy.

“I would like to, but there’s a lot we have to think about before we get married.” His expression takes on a softer one.

One of the young girls— Ai, raises her hand, waving it to garner his attention.

Uruha picks her next with a quick finger-gun gesture.

“How much do weddings cost?” She asks.

“Probably expensive.”

“What type of wedding will you guys have?” Another student, Mei adds.

“I’m not too sure, you have to ask Ms. (F/N) that!”

You feel a sweat roll down your forehead at the line questioning.

Of course, they’re kids. They’re going to be curious about these things. It’ll die down soon enough. You just hope they don't ask about how babies are made.

“—I wanna be a flower girl!”

“Can I be the ring bearer?”

“Can I escort Ms. (F/N) down the aisle?”

“Did you already buy her a ring?”

What is it with these kids and their obsession with marriage? Surely the media isn’t propagandising marriage in the middle of war, right?

The birth rate is low, yes, but marriage isn’t going to fix that!

You clap your hands together, garnering their attention.

“Okay kids, that’s enough questions about—“

“Yeah, I did, actually!”

Comes Uruha’s earnest reply, the same happy go lucky smile on his face.

You whip your head towards him. You don’t know if you should smile or frown at him for encouraging their antics (or if you should be happy he said yes). But you feel warmth spread to your ears anyway— did he actually mean that? He never told you anything about a ring— unless, he was just humouring her question.

(Would it be right for you to get angry at him for lying? Is it okay that you feel relieved that he answered her question? You don’t know— you don’t know. This is getting out of hand!)

“It’s only a promise ring though— nothing too special!”

A small round of “oohs” can be heard.

You slump forward into your desk, covering your face with both your arms as you feel your cheeks burn at his answers.

“Can we see it?” Is Ai’s excited response.

The class erupts in loud chatter once more. Various questions are thrown around seemingly out of air about this mysterious ring, you think you hear someone throw a question about how many kids you guys want to have?

Uruha shakes his head.

“Not even (F/N) has seen it yet, she’ll let you see it when she gets it, kay’?”

You feel a considerable lump in your throat at his confession. You’ve thought about marriage before in passing, embarrassingly enough, you imagined it quite early on into your relationship, actually.

Thoughts of a traditional, or western wedding fills your head— his family seems like the traditional type. Though wearing a lace or even a silk gown sounds quite pleasant.

“Mr. Uruha, have you ever broken a bone in the military?”

The discussion continues as normal, talks of marriage, his work, his favourite colour, and random miscellaneous questions were asked, with Uruha answering each and every single one with the same boyish excitement. The interview comes to a swift end as the first knock on the door is heard.

One of the parents had come to pick-up their kids.

The students all leave the room one by one, waving goodbye at both you and Uruha. Mizuki even pleaded for you to bring him back a second time— you can only chuckle at his request as his parents practically dragged him out of the room.

The classroom grows sparse, leaving only you and Uruha inside it.

Small rays of orange light slip through the classroom as he helps you clean up. Chairs are pushed back to their desks, stray pieces of paper and pencils are placed into neat piles by the teacher’s desk. The comfortable silence only lasts a few moments before you break it with a question of your own.

“How was your training?”

Uruha doesn’t answer, instead, a light laugh escapes him at your query. You stop wiping the board momentarily, shooting him a confused look.

“Sorry, can’t help it— the kids asked me so many questions, I feel like my throat’s parched from talking so much…” his voice is a little hoarse, you scramble towards your bag, fishing out your water bottle for him. He gives a small thanks as he takes it from your hands.

He sits himself on one of the tables, chugging practically all of your water—you don’t mind, he deserves at least this much for entertaining the kids.

“Did I do good today, teach?” He asks, light and teasing. A playful smile making its way across his face.

You smile back at him. It was cute seeing your boyfriend answer their endless questions. It’s a moment you wish you could’ve taken a video, or at least a photo or two of to commemorate it, but you guess having it tucked away in your memories is just as good too.

“You did. In fact, I might just give you a reward,” you quip, voice perfectly leveled, but the faint amusement of your tone tells a different story. Your hand traces along the hard lines of his arm, fleeting, and featherlight—

He chokes on his drink.

Coughing, he bends forward as you pat his back. Telling him to drink slower.

“—Oh?” he blinks, wiping his mouth, a pink tinge spreads across his cheeks.

A cat-like smile plays on your features, “I meant a meal, Yoji.” You clarify, rubbing his back.

He looks away faintly, “I-I knew that!” He says, face now blooming a deeper shade of red.

You laugh as his face flushes even further. Leaning in closer to his seated form, you press a small kiss to his cheek.

“But we can do that too, just a little bit after…”

“Did you actually mean what you said?” You ask, mid-bite from your burger.

Uruha raises his head, swallowing his food before asking.

“Mean what?” He asks, innocently.

“Back then,” you bite the inside of your cheek, lower lip jutting out slightly.

“About the promise ring. Were you saying that just to answer her question, or was it actually true?” You reiterate, taking a sip of your drink as you eye him questioningly.

You can tell the moment the cogs start turning in his head.

“Oh, yeah! It’s true,” he takes another bite of his meal, chewing thoughtfully before letting out a satisfied hum.

“This is so good!—You wanna try?” He offers you a piece of his dumplings.

You sigh, accepting it with the tissue in your hand.

“Uruha.” You say his name, slowly, deliberately. The warning in your tone is evident.

His chewing slows, looking back at you nervously.

“If it’s true, then where’s the ring?”

He swallows his food, wiping his mouth with the tissue. “I left it at home,” he answers honestly.

You look at him incredulously.

“So you bought me a promise ring, then casually tell me you’ve left it at home?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!”

“Then why did you tell Ai-chan?”

“I wasn't gonna, I got too caught up in the moment…”

“Yoji…” you repeat his name once more, this time, in quiet disbelief.

I imagine he's the type to linger a lot in your presence if your together. A natural habit to him, to fall into place by your side whenever your near.

Adding onto his unspoken rizz, I feel like he might say some pretty sappy or downright romantic stuff without realising it, purely because that's what his heart truly believes and he's only articulating them to you (and he's always been good at wearing his heart on his sleeves, so hiding his adoration isn't something he's really good at).

Idkkk if I would consider him 'playful', but he's not opposed to light teasing, as seen with his interactions w/ Sagi and Fuchi.

It depends on your relationship with him and how you two got together, but with intentional flirting, uhhh yes? Maybe? If you're together it's plausible, assuming the feelings are mutual, I don't see why he wouldn't?

As grim as it is, I think he would have killed himm😭😭

Like if he started screaming for help and causing a fuss, I don't think it's out of Jikka’s realm to murk him then and there. He just seems like the type to kill anyone willingly, if needed, and without much remorse.

You were never really good at talking to others.

It’s a problem your preceptors have told you about when you were studying.

You remember pouring hours into writing self-reflective essay after essay-- explaining how you could improve on yourself and your patient care.

In spite of all of that, you don't think you ever got better at it.

But you suppose you didn’t have to. You were never going to graduate anyway.

Not when you’re stuck in a basement, tending to the wounds of your assailant.

Three years of hard work— all of it wasted, just because you offered to help patch up some guy bleeding down the street.

You press a wet cotton ball over the long cut on his shoulder, trying to remove as much debri from the surface of the skin as possible.

Perhaps kindness does kill. It killed your future after all.

He doesn’t move an inch, even as you swipe alcohol over the surrounding area of his wound. The skin is reddened, and dirty. You would have asked him to take shower first if it wasn’t for the unsettling aura emanating of him in waves.

Your hands are bound, with chains linked up together connecting to your cuffs. You scuttle around him carefully. Trying your best to maintain some form of aseptic technique with your wound care despite the sparse medical aids he provided you with.

Your own captor refuses to talk to you as you tend to his wounds. It’s for the best really.

If you had the choice you wouldn’t even be near him right now. But you don’t really have a say on that now, do you?

You’ve watched enough true crimes to understand the extent of cruelness humans are capable of. You weren’t expecting to be a saint, but you thought you could make a difference by pursuing a career in healthcare.

Help those in need of care, provide kindness in spite of the atrocities in the world.

Be a better person, make a difference, even if just a miniscule one.

But that doesn’t matter anymore. None of it does.

If you knew your life was just going to end up like this.

You would have asked him to kill you after he snapped your arm during your scuffle with him all those nights ago.

You finish wrapping up his wounds. Using up the entire rolls of scrap bandages in the box.

“F-finished.” You say, voice small.

He merely stands up, inspecting the bandages before putting on his clothes silently. Not bothering to spare you a glance (to which you feel grateful for).

You keep your head down. Staring at the filthy flooring. Deep stains of brown and black mare the cement.

You swallow down a lump of nerves. Forcing yourself to not think of the implications of it.

“What you like?”

His voice breaks your thoughts. You look up at him confused.

"Huh?"

“Dinner.” He says flatly.

“Um…” you only stare at him confused, the words not processing in your head as it should.

His brows furrow in agitation. Something tells you he won’t be repeating his words. Even if he did, it wouldn’t spell out greatly for you.

So you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Fries..?”

“Fries?” He repeats. Was it intended as a question? Is he asking you if you’re sure? You don’t want to ask him.

“Yes…” you agree solemnly. Avoiding his gaze, hoping, praying he leaves and doesn't do anything to you.

(He hasn't given you an impression that he would take advantage of you, but considering how your practically under his mercy with your hands bound, and how he practically manhandled you onto your back so easily when he took you-- you sway the thoughts away by biting your cheek, feeling iron pool into your mouth.)

He only hums in reply. Eyes lingering on you far longer than you feel comfortable with. He picks up the emergency tool kit from the table, walking towards the exit and slamming the door as he leaves. You hear a click resound from the other side of the door.

You feel yourself slowly deflate into the mattress behind you. Hands shaking from the simple interaction.

You wish to never speak to him ever again.

——-

You wake up again that same day. A small paper bag on your bedside table.

You hesitate to look at its content-- imagination hopping between crude contents of flesh and gore, or possible insects inside the small bag-- you wouldn't be surprised. The lack of scent, or dark splotches say otherwise. Considering there’s really nothing left to lose in your current state, you open it with bated breaths, eyes squinted as you reveal the contents inside.

...

…

…