𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐱𝐱

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

Osamu wasn't worried. You'd said you were cooking dinner tonight, told him to sit his "chef ass" down and let you handle it for once.

Fine, he thought, watching you bustle around his kitchen with surprising confidence. He wasn't gonna get all high and mighty about it. You were cute when you were focused, muttering to yourself and taste-testing sauces with that little furrow in your brow.

Still… he was mentally prepared to pretend it was good no matter how it turned out. That was love, wasn't it?

So when you set the plate down with a simple "Eat," he raised an eyebrow, took a bite—and froze.

Slowly, he looked down at the plate.

Then back up at you.

Then back down.

"…The hell," he mumbled, taking another bite with more urgency this time.

You crossed your arms. "What?"

He pointed his chopsticks at the food. "This is actually… insane. Like, what did you put in this? Crack? Divine blessing? Is this what betrayal tastes like?"

You tried not to laugh. "So you like it?'

"Like it?!" he looked personally offended. "I've been slavin' away in kitchens since I was fifteen, and you just waltz in and out-chef me in my own house?"

You shrugged, enjoying the rare sight of Osamu looking genuinely rattled. "Guess I’m just naturally gifted."

He stared at you for a beat. "I need a moment. Gotta reevaluate my life."

You turned to grab something from the counter and—when your back was turned—he shoved another bite into his mouth with almost angry delight. He hated how good it was. He hated that he loved it more.

When you turned back, he was already halfway through the plate.

"Oi, slow down," you said, smirking.

"I can't. You've ruined me. I'm never cooking again," he declared. "You're in charge of dinner now. I'll stick to emotional support."

You rolled your eyes. "That’s rich coming from the guy who owns a restaurant."

He leaned back in his chair, defeated. "Whatever. My pride's gone. But at least my stomach’s full."

And as he watched you pack away the leftovers with a smug smile, Osamu swore he saw his future—and it smelled a lot like your cooking.

⋆. 𐙚˚- 𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒅 '𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒑 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆' 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒂 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅.

𝐊𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐨, 𝐓𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐞𝐢, 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐓𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐨, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐨𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐞, 𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐮, 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞.

⋆. 𐙚˚-𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐊𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐨

You stood in front of the mirror, rolling up your sleeve just enough to flex your arm—where your slight but earned muscle peeked through. Snap taken.

"Let's see if you'll copy this one."

You sent it to Kageyama, half-expecting radio silence. He wasn't exactly the selfie type.

But a few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

There he was. Serious face. Flexing in front of a mirror in his practice jersey, sleeve pushed up. No caption—just pure Kageyama.

Then, another message followed.

"That's pretty good."

"Mine's still better though."

You could picture the flush on his face as he sent it. Competitive, flustered, and trying so hard not to show he was impressed by your muscles.

𝐓𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐞𝐢

You snapped a mirror pic, flexing just enough to show the definition in your arm—not huge, but definitely there.

"Since you like to act unbothered, let's see you copy this one."

You didn't expect a quick reply. Maybe a sarcastic text. But instead—ding.

Snap: Tsukishima in his room, brows raised, flexing one arm in the most deadpan way possible. The lighting was terrible. He clearly did it just to prove a point.

"Wow. So intimidating."

"Should I call the police?"

But you noticed his subtle smirk, and the fact that he did roll up his sleeve. He saw the muscle. He noticed.

And even if he wouldn't admit it—he was impressed. In his own salty little way.

𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐓𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐨

You struck a mirror pose, flexing your slightly toned bicep with pride. Not massive, but firm enough to show off.

"Let's see if the self-proclaimed king of flexing can top this."

You barely had time to set your phone down before his reply came through.

Snap: Kuroo, already shirtless, striking a classic gym-rat flex in front of the mirror, one brow cocked, hair messier than usual. His bicep definitely looked impressive—but the caption was what got you.

"You rang?"

"Nice try though I'm impressed of your little muscles"

You scoffed. Little muscle?

You fired back a middle-finger emoji, and he immediately sent another snap—same flex, this time blowing a kiss.

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐨𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐞

You took the snap while flexing with just enough pride to show off your slightly defined arm.

"Bet you won't copy this one."

You didn't expect much from Kenma—maybe a "lmao" or a read receipt and nothing else.

But then, surprisingly, ping.

Snap: Kenma, in his hoodie, arm barely pulled out, flexing in the most unimpressed way possible. His face was blank, but his eyes had that subtle challenge.

"This is dumb."

"But I’m stronger than I look."

You zoomed in. Okay, yeah—there was a hint of tone in his arm.

You smirked, texting back:

"Not bad, gamer boy."

He replied:

"I've been carrying the team. What did you expect?"

"Yeah right."

𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐮

You snapped a mirror pic, flexing just enough to show off the light muscle you’d been proud of lately.

"Let's see if the 'Great King' can handle this challenge."

Oikawa's reply came fast—too fast.

Snap: perfect lighting, shirt half-off, arm flexed like he was in a magazine shoot. He angled the camera just right to make his bicep pop. And of course, the expression? Smoldering.

Caption:

"You think I wouldn’t rise to the occasion?"

"Also, your form's cute. 8/10. Needs more sparkle."

You groaned and laughed at the same time.

He followed up with:

"Wanna come compare in person, baby?"

You rolled your eyes. Smooth. Over-the-top. Peak Oikawa.

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢

You sent the snap with a smug grin—arm flexed, muscle just barely showing, but enough to feel proud.

"Let's see if the gym rat can match this."

You figured Iwaizumi would respond—he was too competitive not to. Sure enough, a minute later:

Snap: Iwaizumi in the gym mirror, sweat still fresh, sleeve rolled up as he flexed his very real bicep without even trying. He looked at the camera like he knew he won.

Caption:

"Cute. You've got potential."

"But don't challenge your trainer unless you'are ready to lose."

Your stomach flipped. Okay, that was hot.

You replied with:

"I'll lose if you let me."

And his response?

"No promises."

⋆. 𐙚˚- 𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒅 '𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒑 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆' 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒂 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅.

𝑰𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝒀𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒊, 𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖, 𝑹𝒆𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝑺𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒐, 𝑹𝒊𝒏 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒖 𝑹𝒚𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒆, 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓, 𝑺𝒂𝒆 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

𝑰𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝒀𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒊

It started as a joke.

You sent Yoichi a snap of you in the mirror, flexing a very unimpressive "bicep," captioned, "When he's copying your snaps, so you pulled this move." It was part of that dumb TikTok trend you saw, and honestly? You didn't expect a reply.

But a few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Yoichi had sent back a snap—his serious face in the mirror, mimicking your exact pose, sleeve rolled up, arm flexed. His bicep actually had definition, which made it ten times funnier. You could tell he was trying so hard not to laugh.

Then he messaged:

"You tryna start a flex war?"

"Because I'm winning."

You choked on your water, grinning like an idiot.

Touché, Isagi. Touché.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖

You sent the snap mid-laugh—shirt sleeve tugged up, face exaggeratedly serious, flexing your "bicep" like it was made of steel. The caption read:

"Since you love copying my snaps, here's one to test your loyalty."

A beat passed.

Then your phone lit up with a reply.

It was Bachira, shirt halfway off, in the middle of what looked like the team dorm hallway. He had one eyebrow raised, flexing both arms like a wrestler in a dramatic pose. His caption?

"HA! Is that all you got? I’m FLEXING my LOVE for you."

"Also my muscles. But mostly love."

You burst out laughing. Somewhere in the background of the snap, someone (probably Isagi) was yelling "PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON!"

Bachira just sent another photo of his bicep… with a crudely drawn smiley face on it.

"He says hi."

𝑹𝒆𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒆

You sent the snap, flexing your arm with a teasing grin, trying to match the same playful energy from before.

"Let's see if you can top this one, Reo."

You knew he wouldn't back down from a challenge.

It only took a minute before his response came. Reo, in front of a mirror again, perfecting his pose as usual. His flex was smooth, his bicep clearly defined, and his expression… well, still effortlessly smug.

"Is that your best shot? You'll have to try harder if you want to beat me."

Reo's confidence was something else, and it showed in the way he held his pose like he was born to flex. He wasn't just copying you—he was trying to show you that he was the one setting the bar.

You couldn't help but smile.

𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝑺𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒐

You stretched your arm, flexed in the mirror, and snapped a photo with a wide grin plastered on your face.

"He keeps copying my snaps, so I hit him with this one."

You figured Nagi wouldn't respond. Too much effort. Too lazy. Too… Nagi.

But then—ping.

Snap received. It was Nagi, in bed, half under the covers, one arm sticking out just enough to mirror your pose. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were barely open. But his flex? Still better than yours.

"Ugh. So much work. Did I win?"

The worst part? He probably didn't even try.

And yes—he definitely won. (My heart)

𝑹𝒊𝒏 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

You aimed your camera at the mirror, flexed with all the fake intensity you could muster, and snapped the photo.

"Since you wanna copy my snaps so bad, try this one."

You smirked as you sent it, expecting either no reply or something dripping with passive aggression.

But a few minutes later, Rin's snap popped up.

Same angle. Same flex. His face was unreadable, jaw set, but he’d clearly copied you.

Only difference? His arm actually looked dangerous.

"You done?"

No emojis. No extra words. Just peak Rin.

But you could feel the tiniest bit of effort behind that mirror-perfect pose.

He copied you. And that was basically love, Rin-style. (Headlock when?)

𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒖 𝑹𝒚𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒆

You hit send with a smug grin, flexing your arm dramatically in the mirror.

"Let's see if he copies this one."

Shidou wasn't the type to pass up a challenge—especially if it was stupid.

Sure enough, his snap came fast.

He was shirtless, of course, flexing both arms like he was on a magazine cover, wild grin in full effect. Hair messy. Chaos radiating.

"You tryna turn me on or start a flex-off?"

"Cuz I’m down for both."

You stared at your phone.

Yeah. You walked right into that one.

𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓

You sent the snap with a playful smirk, dramatically flexing in the mirror like you had biceps worthy of worship.

"He keeps copying my snaps, so I hit him with this one."

You weren't sure if Kaiser would even take the bait.

Then—ping.

Snap incoming: Kaiser, shirt slightly pulled up, sleeve pushed back, perfectly copying your pose with annoyingly perfect lighting and annoyingly real muscle.

"Cute. But mine's premium."

Of course he added a smug wink at the end. You could practically hear the ego through the screen.

He copied you, alright. But he still made it all about him.

Very Kaiser of him.

𝑺𝒂𝒆 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

You sent the snap with a casual flex, barely putting in any effort—just enough to make it look like you were playing along.

"Let's see you copy this."

You weren't sure if Sae would humor you, but a few moments later, your phone buzzed.

It was Sae. Of course, he was posing like a model, not even breaking a sweat. His flex was effortless, and his eyes were narrowed like he was sizing you up.

"Pathetic. Try harder next time."

The flex wasn't the only thing on display. He made it clear that he was above the game, even as he played along. But he did copy you.

Sae was always a little extra, and you kind of loved it.

𝑨/𝒏: 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰'𝒎 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕.. 𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚. 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒌𝒚𝒖𝒖 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐?

⋆. 𐙚˚- Gyaru reader who struggled financially and mentally after her mom died because of cancer and her dad leaving her when she was still little. She worked in club Pentagon for money so she could pay off some rent and dept but ended up messing her and joined squid game.

⋆. 𐙚˚- A/n: I know squid game fandom ended but I don't care and I wrote this purely for me because I can't find a single nam-gyu x reader that satisfied me so that's why I made my own.

⋆. 𐙚˚-word count 2.8k,.. Part 1.

You used to be a bright kid. Loud, dramatic, borderline annoying—just the way your mom liked it. You’d dance around in your living room with sticker-covered notebooks and shiny lip gloss you definitely weren't supposed to be wearing in elementary school.

Back then, being called "fake" made you feel powerful.

Fake tan? That's right.

Fake lashes? Better than yours.

Fake smile? At least you could still smile.

Your mom was your whole world. She never judged your style, never told you to "tone it down." She was the one who paid for your first bleach job, even helped tone it so it wouldn't go piss colored yellow.

You wanted to become a nail tech—open your own salon, do nails and makeup for other gyaru girls who just wanted to feel pretty in a world that told them they weren't "decent."

Then cancer hit like a freight train. No warning. No time.

She was gone by the time you turned 19.

Your dad had vanished long before that. Some old flame of a man who hated responsibility and left when the bills got heavy and your mom stopped smiling in pictures.

After the funeral, you tried to go back to beauty school. You tried to smile. You even tried skipping class one day just to be "normal" sad, not shattered.

But the bills piled up. Your part-time at the salon wasn't enough. So you dropped out.

That was your first real fall. It didn't feel like a choice. It felt like gravity.

At first, you told yourself it was temporary. Just until you saved up enough to re-enroll. You worked coat check, then moved to the floor, then started hostessing once you learned how to fake-laugh at men who didn't know your name but loved how short your skirt was.

That's when you met Nam-Gyu, one of the club's main promoters.

You didn't speak often. He wasn't the type. He had the quiet kind of confidence that didn't need to shout. He'd show up with a group of rich customers, flash his phone at the bouncers, and disappear into VIP like he owned the place.

You figured he saw a hundred girls like you. Loud. Flashy. Easy to replace.

But sometimes you'd catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. And sometimes you weren’t sure who felt more exhausted—you, or him.

A year in, the nights started to blur.

You started drinking to stay awake.

Pills to stay skinny.

Cigarettes to keep your hands from shaking.

Coke when a VIP offered it like gum.

You told yourself it was just part of the job. That everyone was doing it.

Eventually, When your ex scammed you out of your savings, you snapped.

You didn't cry. You just stared at your cracked phone screen, smoking outside the club on a Tuesday night, wondering if you had enough in your account to even afford the train ride home.

That's when he showed up—the Salesman.

Pressed suit. Briefcase. That sterile, unreadable smile.

“Would you like to play a game?”

You should've told him to screw off.

But you didn't have anything left to lose.

So you played.

Every time he slapped you, something inside you cracked. And every time you slapped him back, it didn't make you feel better. It just reminded you how far you'd fallen.

He handed you a card when your cheeks were flushed and your throat burned with shame.

"You’re a good player," he said. "Here go to that location to play for money."

You did.

You woke up in a concrete room, still tasting regret.

And there, across the crowd of desperate strangers and broken faces—stood Nam-Gyu.

Same face. Same unreadable eyes.

Except now, you werent just coworkers.

Now, you were players.

The silence shattered when the heavy metal doors creaked open.

All eyes turned.

The man who entered wore a dark, geometric mask—cold and unreadable. Two pink-suited guards flanked him, stiff and wordless like props in a horror show.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you,"

he began, voice smooth but distant.

"Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

Your brain barely registered it. It sounded rehearsed. Like someone reading out a party invite to a funeral.

Then—

"Excuse me,"

a woman near the front barked, arms crossed under her shapeless tracksuit.

"You said I'd be playing games but you partically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?"

"I apologize,"

the masked man replied instantly. No effort, no care. Just protocol.

Yeah okay, you thought, side-eyeing the fluorescent lights. If this is a party, where's the fucking glitter?

That's when someone shouted—

"What's with these shoes? My shoes are limited fucking edition! They're hard to find!"

You turned.

Purple hair. Tattoo. Angry.

You squinted.

Wait.

That guy…

Thanos?

Your stomach twisted a little. You'd seen him before. Back when you worked in that seedy club—the one with sticky floors and too many fake IDs. He came in once, belligerent and slurring something about "VIP crypto booths."

He didn't remember you. Good.

Then came another voice—this time a girl, probably around your age, eyeing her green jumpsuit like it was radioactive.

"These don't fit and the color sucks. Can I just have what you’re wearing instead? I like pink."

You held in a snort.

Me too, you thought, but I doubt they do cute sizes.

Behind the chaos, you spotted Nam-Gyu.

Hands in his pockets. Leaning against the wall. Watching.

Not panicking. Not talking. Just… sizing everything up.

You turned back to the masked man as he continued.

This wasn't a game.

It was a setup.

And you'd signed your name on the dotted line.The rules were laid out.

No one really asked more questions.

Too scared. Too broke. Too tired.

One by one, people lined up to sign their names on the contracts.

It felt official. It felt final.

You hesitated for a second before scribbling yours down—glossy nail clacking the pen.

Then it started.

A voice—way too loud for this sterile room.

"The amazing Myung-Gi from MG Coin? Is that you?"

You turned your head.

Thanos. Purple hair. Already pissed.

A few steps away stood Myung-Gi, arms crossed and eyebrows raised like he was above it all.

"Who are you?"

Myung-Gi replied, all mock-confusion.

"You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin. I was subscribed to your channel. And I lost a shitload of money, asshole."

People paused mid-signature. You could feel the tension crackle in the air.

"So did I," Myung-Gi said coolly. "You've got the wrong person."

"I watched your content all day, every day. Now I even see you in my dreams, motherfucker."

Your eyes flicked to the side as Thanos turned to someone next to him.

"What’s your name again? Namsu?"

"Nam-Gyu," came the calm reply. "From Club Pentagon."

Your heart skipped. You hadn't heard that name in months.

The club where it all spiraled.

Of course Nam-Gyu knew these two. Of course this was happening.

"Right," Thanos nodded darkly. "Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Nam-Gyu here. Because we share the same pain."

"I thought the sons of bitches who made that coin fled to the Philippines with the money," Nam-Gyu said. His voice was low, neutral. But something sharp hid behind it. "So why are you here? Did they cut you loose?"

"What do you want from me?" Myung-Gi snapped.

You exhaled. Loudly.

So much testosterone, you muttered in your head. It's giving man-child meltdown.

Then—

"You’re responsible for the final decision on your investment," Myung-Gi added defensively. "Didn’t you hear me say that at the end? You said you watched every day."

"Hey, calm down," Nam-Gyu warned.

"You asshole!" Thanos barked, lunging.

"Alright now—" Nam-Gyu said holding back Thanos who grabbed myungi by the collar.

"Get off me! Let go of me!" Myung-Gi yelled, getting out of Thanos grip.

"People are watching," Nam-Gyu muttered, firm. "You don't want to be on the news."

"You better do well," Thanos spat, backing off, "because I’m coming to get my money back."

"Come on," Nam-Gyu said, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him off before a pink guard got involved.

You sighed, loud and exaggerated.

Men. Always fighting over money they never had.

And now?

They were all locked in the same broke, desperate nightmare as you.

______

The stairs looked like a kid:s dream—or a gamer’s fever dream.

Candy-colored walls in pink and green. A maze of impossible angles.

It was like someone took a playground, melted a Rubik’s cube on it, and called it a hallway.

You didn't say anything, just followed the pink guards as they led everyone up, down, and around through the staircase purgatory.

Eventually, you were guided into a small booth area—each with a photo machine inside.

Automatic photo booths.

So we're taking passport pics before gambling now?

You scoffed to yourself, flipping your hair.

Then the screaming started.

"I'm Gyeongsu! Big fan! I've been to several of your concerts! Please take a picture with me!"

That voice came from a tall dude with starry eyes practically throwing himself at Thanos.

Here we go, you thought, crossing your arms.

Then it spread like a virus:

"Me too! Me too!"

"Wait, Thanos, take one with me too!"

"I love your music!"

Phones or not, people were treating him like the main event.

"Hang on, guys," came Nam-Gyu’s voice—low but sharp. "Let's make this easier for Thanos and take one picture together."

And of course, people started agreeing.

"Yeah, one big group photo!"

"That’s smart!"

"Let’s do it!"

You sighed.

Loudly.

They're acting like we’re at KCON.

Still, you adjusted your jumpsuit a little and tilted your chin.

At least I look hot today, like usual.

Just as Thanos raised his arm to strike a pose—

A voice cut through the air like a blade.

"You are not allowed to do this,"

a masked man said as he stepped forward, hands clasped calmly behind his back.

Thanos grinned anyway.

> “You wanna be in the picture? Come on.”

"You must take your picture one by one,"

the masked man replied, tone absolute.

Groans erupted.

"Aw come on!"

"You guys took our phones!"

"Can’t we just—?"

"No exceptions," the masked man snapped.

Silence.

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost gave yourself a migraine.

You lost count of how many damn stairs there were.

Bright, twisting staircase that led to more staircase. The place looked like a Candyland prison designed by an evil toddler.

Finally, you spilled out with the others into a blindingly open space that looked like a child's sandbox on steroids.

A massive doll stood far away. Creepy. Motionless. Watching.

Then a smooth, monotone voice echoed overhead:

"Welcome to the first game. Please wait a moment in the field."

The group spread out in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

"All that for this?!"

"My knees are about to give out."

"A whole stairway to hell just to stand here?"

People were already whining, and you were about to tune them out—until you heard a familiar voice again.

Loud. Dramatic.

Of course.

Thanos, guess he really is the main event.

"Hey, Señorita. Don't you know who I am?"

You glanced over.

It was him again, talking to the same girl who'd whined about the pink tracksuit earlier. She raised a brow.

"Do I have to?"

"No, you don't," he grinned. "We can get to know each other. Tell me about yourself."

"Are you hitting on me?" she asked, clearly over it.

Then he struck a pose and launched into something… horrifying.

"In the sea of faces, you caught my eye…"

"My beauty, my flower, blooming among weeds…"

"Red, orange, yellow, green—I'm legend, Thanos…"

"Look at us in this blue-green… now give me the green light."

"I like you!"

Oh god. Was he rapping?

You winced so hard your lip gloss cracked.

Secondhand embarrassment. Terminal stage.

You turned around, needing to get away from whatever mating ritual that was—and ended up bumping straight into someone.

Chest. Firm. Familiar.

You looked up.

Nam-Gyu.

He blinked down at you lazily, hands still in his pockets.

"What," he asked, "did you walk into me just to get away from that?"

His chin subtly nodded toward Thanos's little concert.

You gave him a look.

"Wouldn’t you?"

He smirked slightly. Just for a second.

Then the loudspeaker buzzed again.

"Players, the first game is about to begin."Everyone was already standing in the field. Confused. Chatting. Joking around.

"The next game is probably tag or some baby game."

"They said we’d play six? This’ll be easy."

"Can we get water first? My mouth dry as hell."

No one was taking it seriously.

You stood still beside Nam-Gyu, arms crossed, eyes on the creepy oversized doll in the distance. The silence made your skin itch.

Then—

"Green light!"

The doll's head turned with a loud click.

People around you started walking.

And then:

"Red light!"

Everyone froze.

Except one guy near the front—tall, loud, and way too enthusiastic.

"STAND STILL!! DON'T MOVE!! SHE'S LOOKING!!"

It was some dude screaming like it was life or death.

"Oh my god is that player 456?" someone muttered.

You rolled your eyes. Why's he yelling like we're in a cartoon?

Next to you, Nam-Gyu didn't move a muscle, his hands still buried in his jumpsuit pockets.

Another round passed.

"Green light."

"Red light."

Suddenly—

Bang.

Everyone froze—not from the game, but the sound.

You turned your head slowly.

One of the players had collapsed. The girl from earlier—the one who’d complained about her jumpsuit, the one Thanos was hitting on.

She lay there—blood soaking into the sandy ground.

"She moved," someone whispered.

"A bee landed on her neck."

Panic cracked through the crowd like lightning.

"WHAT THE HELL—"

"RUN!"

"MOVE!!"

They did.

And the guns opened up.

One after another—bodies dropped, people screamed, the doll spun its head like some nightmare music box.

You didn't scream. You didn't move.

You couldn't.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest, but your feet stayed planted.

You glanced sideways.

Nam-Gyu was still beside you.

Silent. Stone-still.

Time warped.

Round after round passed, and somehow—you made it. Your foot hit the line.

Safe.

You gasped softly.

Beside you, Nam-Gyu's breathing was shaky, hands now visibly trembling.

You didn't say anything.

You just stood next to him, quietly.

Because what could you say after watching a girl die of a stupid bee?

"𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉." 𝑷𝒕 𝟏

The first time you talked to Nagi Seishiro, it was because of a stupid school project.

"You're my partner," you said, standing in front of his desk while he half-slouched over it, phone lazily balanced in his hand.

He barely lifted his head. "Hassle..." he muttered.

You didn't care. "We're doing it at your place."

He blinked, slow and disinterested, but didn't argue — it was easier to just let you handle it.

The next afternoon, you followed him home. His apartment was... depressing. Empty walls, barely any furniture, and when he opened his fridge, you swore you felt your heart break a little.

Jelly. Bread. And some half-empty sports drinks.

"Is this... all you eat?" you asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

He shrugged, scratching his head. "S'fine. Easy."

You didn't push him — not then — but something about the way he lived stuck with you all night. It wasn't independence. It was loneliness disguised as laziness.

The next day at lunch, you marched over to him with a packed bento.

He stared at it, suspicious. "What's this?"

"Food," you said flatly, dropping it on his desk. "Real food. You're not surviving on jelly while I'm your partner."

Nagi poked at the box like it might explode. You just crossed your arms and waited.

Slowly, he opened it — rice, a little bit of chicken, some vegetables neatly packed in bright little sections. It smelled good. Warm.

He took a bite without much thought — and paused.

"...Tasty," he mumbled, almost to himself.

You didn't make a big deal out of it. Just grinned and tapped the table. "You're welcome, jelly boy."

After the bento incident, it became a quiet, unspoken thing — you kept showing up.

At first, it was just for the project. Notes spread out on his living room floor, your voice filling the silence as Nagi lazily leaned back and let you do most of the talking. He didn’t mind. Listening to you was easy.

But it changed the day you noticed him struggling.

You caught him in the kitchen, standing in front of the microwave, staring blankly at the buttons. A packet of frozen dumplings drooped sadly in his hand.

"...You don't even know how to use that, do you?" you asked, half exasperated, half amused.

Nagi scratched the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath.

You didn't tease him. You just walked over, took the dumplings from his hand, and showed him step by step — how long to heat them, what buttons to press, even how to set a simple timer on the stove.

"There. Now you won't starve when I'm not here," you said, flashing him a grin.

Nagi leaned against the counter, watching you move so easily in his space. His apartment, once cold and quiet, felt smaller now. Warmer. Like it was made for two.

When the microwave beeped, you grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the bag you'd brought — because of course you'd thought of everything — and handed them to him.

He stared at them, then at you.

No one had ever helped him like this before. Not because they had to. Not because they were paid to. Just... because they wanted to.

"...Thanks," he said, voice low, almost shy.

You smiled again — not bright or loud, just soft, like you didn't even realize how much it meant.

"Anytime, Seishiro."

𝑨/𝒏: 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚... 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝑰'𝒎 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕.

𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒚𝒂𝒑-𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒚𝒂𝒑,

Rin Itoshi wasn't even trying.

That's what made it worse.

He'd walk into the room—earphones in, uniform perfectly ironed, expression unreadable—and somehow your heart would skip like it owed him money.

It started small.

A glance here.

A sigh there.

A "good job" muttered after you passed back his quiz paper in group study.

You weren't even sure he remembered your name at first. But then—

"You forgot your umbrella."

He said it, voice flat, holding it out like it annoyed him to do so. You hadn't even realized he noticed you walked home in the rain yesterday.

Still, you took it with shaky hands and a stupid smile.

"Thanks."

He just nodded and walked away.

From then on, it became routine.

You'd send a "good morning" message through your class group chat, and he’d leave it on seen—but somehow you'd catch him glancing when you yawned through homeroom.

You’d say "let's eat together" during lunch, mostly to your seatmate, but sometimes—just sometimes—Rin would murmur a soft "tss, just eat already" when he passed your table.

You told yourself not to overthink it. But you did. Constantly.

You saved screenshots of his messages.

"okay."

"noted."

"yeah."

He never used emojis. Never dragged out words. But every reply felt like a medal.

And now here you were, lying in bed, rereading that one night when he said:

"rest. don’t stay up too late."

Plain. Cold, even.

But your heart decided it meant: He cares.

God, you were falling.

Dahan-dahan. Bit by bit.

Each sigh. Each glance. Each silent gesture.

You were falling for Rin Itoshi—and he didn't even know.

Or maybe he did.

Maybe he just didn't care.

Or maybe, just maybe… he was falling too. Quietly. Like you.

𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒂'𝒚𝒐.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐭

You were peacefully decorating the little Minecraft house you and Rin built together—he insisted on stone brick walls ("they're stronger, stop trying to use pink wool") while you added flower pots and lanterns when suddenly—

"Hey," Rin said, voice suspiciously soft through your headset. "Come here."

You turned around in-game. He was standing in the corner of the bedroom, next to two red beds—placed one block apart.

"What’s up?" you asked, rearranging item frames.

"…Can we… move the beds closer?"

You blinked.

"Like, next to each other?" you teased, already grinning.

"…Yeah."

You slowly walked over, broke the block between them, and slid yours right next to his. No space. Cozy. Perfect.

Your character jumped in place once. His stayed still—but you knew he was flustered.

"You wanted to sleep next to me?" you said.

"No," Rin muttered. " wanted to save space."

"...We literally have an entire room."

"Shut up," he said, but quieter. "It looks better this way."

You placed a sign at the foot of the beds:

"Rin & Y/N’s Love Nest"

He immediately punched it.

"I will log off."

You giggled, replacing the sign when he wasn’t looking. Rin just stood on his bed, staring down.

"…This means we’re married now," you said casually.

Rin paused.

"...Fine," he said, turning away. "But don’t expect me to wear a tux."

"It's fine, we gonna wear matching shark jumpsuits!" He looks at you dumbfounded.

"What?"

𝑨/𝒏: 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔!!