hi i’m lotus !⠀⠀♡, 🦭⠀⠀ she⠀/⠀her.

( multi⠀──⠀fandom .) ᜆ mainly bllk

accepting requests⠀܃⠀⠀🇯🇲 & 17

the apartment door swings open, and you step inside with the afternoon trailing behind you. sun-warmed skin, the faint scent of vanilla on your clothes, your smile soft and easy as you set your purse and shopping bag down. your baby pink cardigan slips from your shoulder as you bend to slip off your shoes, and the white cropped tank underneath catches the golden light streaming through the open curtains.

toji feels it before he sees you. that shift in the air, the way the apartment suddenly feels smaller, warmer. he glances up from his phone—some show playing, barely registering—and the device goes slack in his hand. to his right, his protein shake sits forgotten, condensation dripping down the glass.

"hey, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and easy, but his eyes are already tracking you. from your lips to the line of your neck, the way your shirt clings. he's not even trying to hide it.

you near him, shutting the door gently behind you, and he leans back against the counter with the posture of someone entirely unbothered. it's a lie. everything about the way his attention snaps to you is evidence of that.

"how was your day?" he asks, but he's not really waiting for the answer. his focus stays where it's moved—the curve of your hips, the way you're looking at him like you have no idea what you're doing to him. when you lean into his chest, the scent of you is immediate and intoxicating. vanilla, warmth, summer. his hands find your back without thinking, sliding lower, testing the feel of you against him. it's unfair how easily you unmake him. how just having you close like this makes him want to keep you there, makes him possessive in a way that feels dangerous.

"…and i got my nails done with atsuko after work. look how cute they are!" you pull back slightly to show him, bouncing on your toes as you flex your hands in front of him.

he takes one of your hands without asking, turning it over in his. his thumb traces the design slowly—deliberate, possessive. "cute," he says, and his eyes lift to yours. "but not as cute as you."

heat blooms across your cheeks. "stop," you mutter, pulling your hand back with a smile you can't quite hide.

"anyway," you say, already reaching for the plastic bag. "look what my coworker got me. she found these limited edition spicy noodles when she was out of town." you pull out two ramen cups, and even from across the counter, toji can see the bold letters: '5X THE SPICE'.

his expression shifts slightly—a almost imperceptible tightening at the corners of his mouth. he's known since the day he met you that spicy food is your thing. extreme spice. the kind that makes most people's eyes water and tongue swell. but toji has never been most people, and he'd never refuse you anything. if this is what you wanted, he'd eat it. even if it destroyed his stomach for the next two days.

"that's certainly a thoughtful gift," he says, his voice dry. there's sarcasm layered underneath, but you miss it entirely, already caught up in the excitement of having two cups of presumably painful noodles sitting in front of you.

"why don't we make it a contest?" you suggest, your eyes already lighting up with the idea. "since there's two of them. winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want."

he makes a face—the expression of someone mentally calculating how much his stomach will suffer. "that bad, huh?"

"oh come on," you say, a whine creeping into your voice when you realize he's hesitating. "i thought you liked spicy food. are you saying you don't want to?"

he pulls you toward him, his hands settling on your waist. "i never said that." his voice is low, amused. he's already decided he'll do it. he'll do anything you ask. "five times the spice is a lot though, princess. you sure you can handle it?"

"of course i can," you say with the kind of confidence that's going to bite you in the ass in about ten minutes. "i do it all the time."

he knows that's a lie. he watches you cook with spice he knows you can barely tolerate, only to push through because you love it. it's one of the things he finds most frustrating about you—and most appealing.

"the winner gets to command the loser to do whatever they want," you continue, warming to the idea. "but nothing too extreme, obviously."

"obviously." he's already thinking about what he'd ask for, if he wins. the thought alone makes him feel possessive.

"so you'll do it?" you ask, searching his face.

"yeah," he says simply. "let's do it."

you spend a few minutes preparing—boiling water, mixing spice packets, getting everything perfectly calibrated. when you finally set both bowls in front of you and toji, the steam rises in thick waves. you place glasses of water on either side of the table. he waves his hand dismissively when he sees them, but you leave them anyway.

he settles into his seat with his chopsticks in hand, moving the noodles around lazily. the kitchen is quiet except for the distant hum of the bedroom fan and the occasional chirp of cicadas outside. it's hot. stagnant. perfect for making you both regret this decision.

"you sure about this?" you ask, leaning closer to him. there's a teasing lilt to your voice. "you're not getting any younger, baby. i heard spicy food is rough on aging stomachs."

he glances at you slowly, deliberately, his half-lidded eyes moving from your lips down to your tank top. he's not even trying to be subtle about it. "i'm fine," he says quietly. "you worried about me?"

"someone has to be," you mutter, but you're smiling.

he leans in closer—far closer than necessary—until his shoulder brushes yours. "you sure you can handle this, princess?" his voice drops low, meant only for you. "that's a lot of spice."

you push against his chest, but he doesn't move. he never does. "of course i can. i've had spicy food before."

"not like this," he says, and there's something in his tone that suggests he's not entirely talking about the noodles anymore. but then he pulls back, and the moment shifts. he's already reaching for his phone to set the timer, muscles tightening under his shirt as he moves.

"three," he counts down, "two, one. go."

you both dive in.

toji eats slowly, methodically. each bite is controlled, deliberate. he's not even breaking a sweat. but you—you're crumbling in real-time. it starts subtle. the tightness around your eyes. your breathing picks up. your shoulders tense. he watches it all unfold, catching every micro-expression like he's studying a work of art.

you keep going though, stubbornly pushing through despite the growing heat blooming in your stomach. by the two-minute mark, your nose is crinkling. you're sniffling constantly, desperate to keep it from running. your eyes are starting to glisten with unshed tears. the way your hair is sticking to your skin from sweat. the light sheen on your forehead. you look absolutely fucking beautiful like that. broken. undone. his.

that's when the switch flips.

toji sets aside his careful pace. his eating speeds up—still controlled, still composed, but now deliberate. his eyes go dark as he continues, efficient and calculated. his mind flashes back to all those nights alone, imagining what you'd look like exactly like this—with your pretty little lips wrapped around him instead. struggling just like this. desperate. fucked-out.

he needs to win this. he's going to win this.

you don't notice at first. you're too caught up in your own suffering. by the three-minute mark, your movements are slowing. you're taking smaller bites, trying to pace yourself, but it's not working. the spice is relentless. your chest heaves with each breath. your knuckles are white where you're gripping the counter.

then you glance over and see it—his bowl is almost empty. he's been eating steadily while you've been struggling, and he's already winning.

panic shoots through you. you try to speed up, try to shove more noodles in your mouth, but your body won't cooperate. your tongue is too raw. your throat is screaming fire. every swallow feels like agony. you're muttering curses under your breath—regret, desperation, promises to never do this again.

around the four-minute mark, you can't fight anymore. your hand smacks the counter hard—defeat. surrender. your body folds onto the table, your cheek pressing against the cool countertop as you gasp for air, tears streaming down your face.

"i... i can't," you breathe out, your voice hoarse and broken.

toji swallows his last bite calmly, sets his chopsticks down with deliberate slowness. he's won. and now he gets his prize.

"so what's your dare?" you ask, tongue still out as you reach for the glass of water beside you.

he's faster. his hand wraps around the glass before you can touch it, pulling it just out of reach. "what do you need this for?" his voice is low, teasing on the surface, but there's something darker underneath—something that makes your pulse quicken.

"toji, my mouth is on fire," you whine, pouting as you stick your tongue out further, trying to cool it down. you duck your head slightly, and your expression—caught between desperation and something almost innocent—nearly undoes him. the way your tongue pokes out. the furrow of your brows. the fact that you're looking at him so helplessly despite being an absolute mess. his dick is already hard, and now it's getting harder.

"just wait," he says, his voice rough in a way that makes you look up at him. he doesn't give you a chance to protest before he's walking toward the freezer. he pulls the door open, rummages for a moment, and produces exactly what he was looking for.

"oh my god, you have popsicles!" your face lights up. "you're a lifesaver, toji." you watch him pull out a blue raspberry one, and you can already taste it—cool, sweet relief. you need it desperately. anything to extinguish the hellfire on your tongue.

he walks toward you slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation build. when he finally stops in front of you at the counter, he just stands there. looking down at you with a grin that makes your stomach flip. you reach out to take it, but he pulls it away, dangling the wrapper between his fingers like a tease.

"what—why are you doing this?" you ask, frustration creeping into your voice.

"my dare," he says, his eyes locked directly on yours, "is for you to eat this popsicle."

you stare at him in disbelief. "that's your dare? you're just going to watch me eat a popsicle?"

he steps closer, leaning against the counter beside you. "no," he says quietly. "i want you to eat it off my hand."

heat floods your face. "you're so weird, toji."

"rules are rules though, right?" he holds it steady, waiting for you to make a decision you're not sure you can undo.

you swallow hard. he's standing so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. his dark eyes are watching you with an intensity that makes your thighs clench. your tongue pokes out instinctively as you lean forward, gripping the edge of the counter for stability.

he stands directly in front of you, methodically unwrapping the clear plastic that clings to the blue popsicle. you notice the flush creeping up his neck first—his ears are lightly flushed, his cheeks stained with color. a thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead in concentration as he finally tears the wrapper away.

it's already melting. by the time he positions it on his fingertips, a small rivulet of sticky liquid drips down his hand toward his wrist. he glances down at the streak, then—without breaking eye contact with you—brings his forearm up to his mouth and licks it clean. slow. deliberate. purposeful.

your breath catches. your thighs clench involuntarily with a need you didn't know you had.

he positions the popsicle to your mouth, and the cold sweetness is immediate—a relief and a torment against your sensitive, spice-burned lips. but it's not the cold that makes your breath hitch. it's his touch. his padded fingertips ghost across your cheek as he tilts your face upward, looking down at you with an expression that shifts between tenderness and something much darker.

"open up, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, gruff register that pools heat in your belly. his eyes flicker to your lips without shame. "and stick out that tongue for me. just like you did when you were eating those noodles. or maybe… like you did last week when you were sucking my—"

"toji!" you cut him off, face burning as you look away. but you obey anyway.

you stick your tongue out, and he responds by tapping the popsicle against it gently—once, twice, three times—before finally settling it properly inside your mouth. the raspberry flavor floods your senses, and you suck down on it slowly, savoring the icy relief. it's cool. it's sweet. it's perfect.

you look up at him through your lashes, and his breathing shifts. his hand cradles your cheek with surprising tenderness while the other guides the popsicle in slow, deliberate strokes. in and out of your mouth. in and out.

for a moment, it's almost innocent. almost sweet.

then something in him snaps.

you can feel it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his breathing becomes heavier. he can't contain himself anymore when you make those faces, when your lips—now tinted blue—wrap around the popsicle with that innocent sensuality. the sticky residue smudged on the corner of your mouth only makes it worse. makes you look more mesmerizing. more undone. more his.

his hand tightens on your cheek. his movements become less controlled, more insistent. his eyes consume you whole, and you watch the exact moment his control starts to fray.

"that's enough for you, don't ya think?" he pulls the popsicle out. a thin string of saliva stretches for a moment before breaking.

your lips feel swollen and cool, tingling. you blink yourself back to reality, surfacing from the daze. "huh? oh… yeah," you say, suddenly aware of how fucked out you probably look.

but the way you're looking at him—so dazed, so unguarded—is absolutely heart-stopping. you're too tempting, and he's reached his limit.

his gaze locks onto the absent-minded softness in your eyes, the innocent curve of your lips. it's devastating. but then his eyes drop lower, and his entire expression shifts.

it's the popsicle residue. the sticky blue liquid trickling down your chin, staining your shirt, sneaking past your collarbone and into the delicate crevice of your breasts. he watches it like it's the most erotic thing he's ever seen.

he slides a palm down his face and lets out a low, frustrated groan that makes your stomach clench. "fuck, you don't know what you do to me," he mutters, his voice rough and strained.

then he drops his head low, his dark hair falling forward as he looks up at you through the strands. the soft sound of rustling fabric fills the quiet kitchen as his hand moves down to palm himself through his sweats, trying—and failing—to find relief from the ache building there. his cheeks are flushed a deep pink, his breathing heavy.

he looks at you with an intensity so raw, so full of want and need, that it steals your breath. there's no playfulness left. no teasing. just pure, unfiltered desire.

"you ready for what comes next, sweetheart?" his voice drops to something dangerous and promising. his hand doesn't stop moving, and he makes no attempt to hide it anymore.

a couple weeks living by yourself made you forget how chaotic mornings with shidou could be.

you flutter your eyes open only to find his face inches from yours, pink eyes boring into your soul. 

“mornin’, angel,” he drawled, a lazy grin spreading across his face like he’d been waiting for you to wake up just so he could personally annoy you. 

you startled, groaning. “holy shit, shidou.”

“yeah, that’s me,” he replied, laughing, clearly unbothered by your morning confusion. 

you buried your face back into the soft pillow. “why are you staring at me like that?”

“cause you’re cute when you sleep,” he said instantly, with no hesitation or shame. his tone softened for just a second “didn’t wanna wake you.”

you peeked at him through your lashes, suspicious. “since when do you care about not waking people up?”

“ever since i met you,” he said, voice dipping into something too honest. 

you ignored the flutter in your chest, sitting up and rubbing your temples. he looked so normal right now–hair sticking up, shirt wrinkled, and a lazy tugging at his lips. but something about him felt different. softer. the same eyes that burned with worry last night were quieter now–-steady, almost gentle. it was like he’d dialed down his usual chaos just for you, traded wildness for warmth, even if only for the morning.

you both got up, wordlessly falling back into the morning routine that you once shared. the morning moved slow, familiar, the soft rustle of clothes, the quiet shuffle of feet against the floor, the faint buzz of the toothbrushes as you brushed side by side–your tired faces reflected in the bathroom mirror. it almost felt domestic, almost right.

but it was bittersweet, too. because you knew it wouldn't last. 

you had your own dorm now. your own bed. your own bathroom. your own toothbrush holder. 

and your own loneliness—one that didn’t have room for him anymore. and that, right there was what made the moment sting. the sweetness curdled into something sour, something you wanted to hold on to even though it was already slipping away. 

so far, he hadn’t mentioned anything from last night. 

not you being embarrassingly drunk, or your mental breakdown in front of him. 

he acted like it never happened–like you hadn’t cried into his chest or slurred out half-coherent words between hiccups. but you remembered. god, you remembered. and the shame sat heavy in your chest, hot and sour. 

“shidou,” you murmured, your voice small as you stared down at your hands. he glanced over his shoulder, still rummaging through his drawer for something. “hm?” 

“about last night—” 

“dont worry about it.”

“but—”

“i said it’s fine, yn.”

you hesitated, chewing on your lip. “but, i… i acted really stupid in front of you. i just wanted to apologize. you didn’t have to take care of me like that. i must’ve been a total mess, and i ruined your night—”

he turned around fully this time. his expression unreadable, though, his eyes flickered with something warm. he crossed the room in a few strides and leaned down so he was at your level. 

“if i had to take care of you like that a thousand times over, i would.” he said simply. “you need to stop apologizing all the time for being human.”

you blinked up at him, the words catching you off guard. his tone wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smug–just real. grounding. 

your mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out. you weren’t used to kindness from him–not like this. besides reo and nagi, no one really went out of their way to care for you. not when you were vulnerable. not when you were messy either. 

and yet… here he was.

saying things that made your chest ache in ways you didn't know were possible. 

you dropped your gaze to your hands again, fingers fidgeting. why? you thought. why does he care this much?

you weren’t even the best. not the smartest. not the strongest. always a little too much or not enough at all. 

so why did someone like him–the most unpredictable and chaotic person you knew–treat you like you actually mattered? 

“thank you, shidou,” you said quietly, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “ i...  really mean it.” his eyes softened again, almost imperceptibly. 

“thank you for being such a good friend to me. it’s… rare to find people like you.”

for a second, the air went still. his lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a frown either. just something unreadable. 

“friend, huh..” he muttered under his breath, low enough that you almost missed it. then, with a small scoff, he straightened up and reached for his keys on the nightstand. 

“you hungry?” he asked casually, like the tension hadn’t just filled the room seconds ago. 

you blinked, his sudden shift catching you off guard again. “uh—yeah. kinda.”

he grinned over his shoulder, the chaos back in his expression. “good. ‘cause i’m starving.”

—

before taking you out, shidou dropped you off to your dorm to change. patiently waiting outside of your dorm. since he was still in his pajamas, you opted for the same. sweatpants and an oversized hoodie to shield yourself from the cool morning breeze. your hair was messy, his was worse, yet the world outside felt so impossibly soft that it didn’t matter.

the air outside was cool, morning dew clinging to the grass like tiny diamonds. the sun had just begun to rise–soft, golden light spilling over the quiet campus. it was around 7:30, too early for anyone sane to be awake on a weekend. the stillness was comforting. the kind of quiet that pressed against your ribs and slowed your heartbeat, a rare antidote to the chaos that usually lived inside you. 

he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh in rhythm with some low song on the radio. every now and then, he glanced over at you—hood pulled over your head, cheek pressed to the window, half-asleep. 

📍 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 & 𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐄

the diner sat tucked on the corner of an old street, the sign flickering faintly in the early light. Rosa’s Breakfast & Coffee. the kind of place that had probably looked exactly the same for forty years–cracked red booths, chrome trim, and the faint buzz of an old jukebox. 

you slid into a booth while shidou ordered at the counter. pancakes and sausages for him, waffles and coffee for you. the waitress smiled like she’d seen a hundred versions of this same morning before.

he watched you from across the booth, your hands cupped around your coffee like it was something sacred. you had a habit of staring out the window when you thought too hard—eyes glassy, lips parted, as if the sunlight might magically answer your questions for you. 

he thought about last night, about how small you’d looked when you cried, and how despite everything you kept pushing through—all with a smile on your face. no matter how tired, no matter how heavy the world felt. 

you worked hard—not in a loud way, but in that quiet, unrelenting kind of way that made people want to look after you. 

he’d never say it out loud, but it made something ache in him.

not in a romantic way—at least, that’s what he told himself—but in that i want to be someone who doesn’t let her down kind of way.

“you gonna eat that?” you asked, pointing at his untouched pancakes.

he blinked. “oh—yeah. yeah, i was just thinking.”

“about what?”

he smirked, fork slicing through the thick stacks of  pancakes dripping with syrup. the golden light from the diner window caught on his lashes, on the curve of his grin.  “about how much better you’d look in one of my hoodies.” he said, tone lazy, teasing. 

you roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out before you can stop it—soft and tired, still strained with the morning. 

 “you’re ridiculous shidou.”

“maybe,” he says, taking another bite, syrup clinging to his fork. “but i’m right.”

you shake your head, trying to hide the warmth rising in your chest. the diner hums quietly around you—the clatter of plates, the faint crackle of an old song playing from the jukebox. the whole place feels suspended in amber.

you pour syrup onto your waffles covered with whipped cream and strawberries, watching the syrup melt into the cream. the diner’s old neon sign flickered in the reflection of the window, buzzing faintly–only heard if you listen closely. outside, the world was slow–muted. the sky was painted a lazy gold, like it too, didn’t want to fully wake and brighten up the world today. 

shidou sat across from you, elbows on the table, chin propped in his palm. his eyes trailed over your face like he was trying to memorize it all—the faint puffiness under your eyes, the way your hair caught the light, the quiet curve of a smile you didn’t even realize you had. 

he admired all of it.

he didn’t know what it was about you—what drew him in–maybe it was your persistence. you still managed to wear a smile, even when your world was titled sideways. most people only ever saw the aftermath, the smirk, the teasing edge. but he saw the cracks, the softness underneath. the girl who apologized for being tired. the girl who still found ways to laugh even when her heart felt too heavy.

and that.

that killed him in ways he couldn’t name.

“you’ve got a little something right here.” he murmured suddenly, pointing to his cheek as a demonstration. 

you blinked, wiping at your cheek with a napkin. “better?”

“not really,” he grinned, leaning across the table to wipe the mark away. his hand slid under your chin, fingers warm and steady as he tilted your head just enough for your breath to catch. his thumb brushed the side of your cheek, swiping away the tiny splotch of whipped cream.

time seemed to hiccup.

his touch lingered—too long to be casual, too soft to be anything but intentional. you swore you could feel his pulse through the pad of his thumb, steady, deliberate, like he wanted you to notice. 

“got it,” he murmured, voice low, his thumb dragging away slowly before he leaned back in his seat again—like nothing happened. 

you stared at him, heartbeat fluttering traitorously in your chest  “thanks, but you could’ve just told me where it was…” you muttered. 

he smirked, tongue peeking out to lick the cream off his thumb. “yeah, but i wasn’t gonna waste the excuse to touch you.”

“you’re so annoying,” you murmur, but your voice comes out quieter, almost fond.

when the bill finally came, you both stepped out into the soft gold of the morning. the energy between you both was different in ways neither of you could name—it tethered on the start of something new, something quiet, unnamed, and terrifyingly tender. 

—

shidou dropped you off at your dorm, walking you all the way to your door, giving you a small smile and a lazy wave as he walked off. from the looks of it, he seemed like he was going back to sleep for another couple of hours before actually getting started with his day. you watched him leave until he turned the corner, pink hair catching the early sunlight. a tiny, involuntary smile tugged at your lips before you shook your head and went inside. 

your dorm felt unusually quiet, the kind of silence that makes your thoughts echo. you kicked off your shoes, tossed your purse onto your desk, and collapsed onto your bed without even attempting to turn on the lights. 

you were halfway to dozing off when your phone buzzed beside you. it was reo. 

you sighed, swiping to answer. “hey.”

“hey yourself,” his familiar voice replied, warm and teasing like always. “shidou just texted me that you made it back to your dorm. how’re you feeling?”

you groaned softly, pressing your palm to your forehead. “a little less like shit. wait—since when did you have shidou’s number?”

reo chucked, the sound low and amused. “he gave it to me before you both left last night. me and nagi were really worried about you, you know. i told him to keep us updated, but i didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

you blinked, your heart stuttering. “wait…what?”

“yeah,” reo said. “dude was giving us hourly reports. where you were, if you ate, if you were sleeping–he even texted this morning saying you looked better.”

you stared at the ceiling, your voice coming out smaller than you meant it to. “really..?”

“yup. that boy really cares about you.”

you laughed softly, the sound half-hearted. “i think he just felt bad for me.”

reo hummed. “nuh-uh. he definitely doesn't look at you like that.”

you froze, mouth opening but no words coming out. the silence stretched, filled only by the faint whir of your dorm’s air vent.

“reo,” you said quietly. 

“hm?”

“thank you. for checking in. for…everything.”

“anytime,” he replied easily. “you know me and nagi have your back, y/n. no matter how messy things get, we’ll drag you back to us if we have to.”

you smiled faintly, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “yeah. i know.”

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the early sun spilled across your bed, warm and golden. you exhaled slowly, tracing patterns on your blanket as your mind wandered—to shidou’s grin, to his soft voice in the bathroom, to the toothbrush still sitting beside his.

you didn’t know what to make of it all yet. 

but for the first time in a while, the uncertainty didn’t scare you.

you let your eyes close, the line between exhaustion and comfort blurring. and when sleep finally tugged you under, it smelled faintly of vanilla, syrup, and the faintest trace of his cologne. 

taglist: @a3fv , @x3nafix , @bestboileeknow , @rottingvxmpire , @niku-senpai

gojo satoru is utterly and completely obsessed with you. no one knows that the world’s strongest bows down before you, like a devoted believer. willing to kiss the ground you walk on—do absolutely anything you ask for.

he looks at you feverishly, besotted with desire. his hands slide up and down your body. cupping your face, brushing over your plush lips. then lower, squeezing your breasts—before finally spreading your thighs apart.

“god…” he whispers, “you’re so beautiful, baby.” his lips gently kiss your inner thigh, nipping and biting the plushness of your skin, leaving angry red marks that’ll turn into shades of purple later.

he places his last kiss on your inner thigh before hovering over your aching heat, already slick and wet. “so wet f’me baby,” he murmurs before sticking his tongue inside your sopping wet cunt. you arch your back into his touch, fingers tightly gripping the strands of his hair. “fuckk toru~”

he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you in scrutinizing detail. every twitch of your body, every gasp, every tear that trickles down your cheek—he engraves it all into his mind like a scripture.

he has to.

to keep proof that his goddess is real. proof that divinity moans for him. your taste is so sweet it feels like a sin, and satoru thinks: if this had been the fruit in eden, no one could ever blame adam and eve for biting.

he keeps licking and sucking, like it’s his last meal—his ocean blue eyes never leaving you. smirking against your cunt at each sound you make. “taste so good…” he groans, “so glad i’m yours, my goddess.”

he’s absolutely drunk off your pussy, licking and slurping up as much of your juices as he can. then, without warning, he slides one finger between your folds before adding another, stretching you open as he pumps your slick pussy at a relentless speed. his mouth never leaving your cunt. you feel so full of him—even if it was only two fingers. “toru—!fuck—“ you moan, grinding your slick warmth further into his mouth.

“that’s it baby, grind your sweet pussy into me. can’t get enough of this.” he whispers, pumping even faster, hitting that sweet spot he knows you like so much. his thumb rubs over your clit, sending jolts down your spine.

“m gonna—ohmygosh—“ you sobbed, hot tears trickling down your face. his voice followed, rough and almost pleading “come f’me baby—please—all over my face.” less of a command, and more like a prayer; your pleasure was his penance.

“fuckk” you mewl, spasming beneath him. soaking the sheets and his face with your fluids.

you slowly lift yourself to get a better look at satoru—his face is flushed, lips glossed with your juices, and hair clung to his forehead.

after a week swamped with classwork and far too many lunches spent enduring the insufferable michael kaiser—friday finally came. friday also being the day of reo’s party.

as the clock crept toward eight, you give yourself one last once-over in the bathroom mirror. the finishing touches were simple: a quick touch to your eyeliner, a tug to fix your hair and a deep breath. you opted to wear a dark red laced tank top and a black mini skirt. a little bit out of your comfort zone, but there was no way you’d underdress for one of reo’s infamous parties.

after spraying some of your vanilla perfume you enter the kitchen, slipping your digital camera in your mini purse, along with your wallet and other small necessities.

sitting to tug on your last shoe, you nearly jolted when you heard a knock at the door. grabbing your purse, you open the door only to be met with shidou ryusei’s smug grin.

his eyes widen slightly as they trailed over you, hands casually stuffed into his pockets.  “damn,” he drawled, leaning against your doorframe “you look gorgeous, princess.”

you bit your lip, fighting the smile threatening to surface. “you don’t look too bad yourself, shidou.”

locking the door behind you, you let him lead you downstairs toward his car. just as you reached for the passenger side handle, he stepped in, chest brushing lightly against your back.  “nuh-uh. that’s my job, pretty lady.” he swung the door open smoothly, bowing his head as if mocking chivalry. 

you slid into the seat, purse resting on your lap. “thank you, shidou.”  he shut the door gently with a smirk, circling to the driver’s side. the interior of his car was so him—a little messy (a crumpled hoodie in the backseat, water bottles scattered near the floorboards), but the faint scent of citrus cologne and air freshener lingered in the air. 

shidou backed out of the student parking lot, one arm resting on the console as he reversed. he cracked the windows just slightly, letting the cool night air in, your hair tugging gently by the breeze.

streetlights blurred as the car glided past familiar corners, the city coming alive the closer you got to reo’s party.

“i’m surprised that you actually came out,” shidou mused, eyes on the road but a grin playing at his lips. “you don’t really strike me as the party type.”

you shrugged. ”well, yea. you’re not wrong. i don’t really like parties that much. but my friend’s hosting this one and basically begged me to come—so i couldn’t just say no.” 

shidou glanced at you. “wait—you’re friends with that super rich dude, reo? the one with the oddly purple hair?” 

you chuckle, “yeah. we’re childhood friends.”

the closer you got, the louder the music thumped—even from down the street. cars lined up on both sides of the road, kids already spilling onto the sidewalk as they made their way inside.

“…wow.” you murmured under your breath. “that’s…a lot of people.”

“don’t worry, princess.” shidou grinned, putting the car into park. “just stick with me and you’ll be fine.”

“i told you not to call me that.”

—

you both weave through the crowd of intoxicated and flirtatious teenagers, but the tide of bodies kept pushing you farther from shidou. he stops mid-step when he notices the gap between you two, eyes flicking around until they land on you.

“don’t get lost now,” he drawls with his trademark smirk before closing the space in one stride. his hand snakes around your wrist, warm and unrelenting. “there. now there’s no way we’ll lose each other.” 

a playful tug, and he’s pulling you along again—like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your cheeks heat up for a reason you refuse to admit; you don’t think you’ll ever get used to shidou’s constant, easy affection.

when you finally spill out into the backyard, the air feels cooler—fresher. string lights droop lazily between trees, glowing golden over the scattered lounge chairs and half-empty cups. music from inside thumps faintly through the walls, muffled compared to the laughter and voices outside. 

and there they are—the familiar group ahead already camped out around a patio table, empty red solo cups scattered across it.

shidou drags you over with zero hesitation, wrist still caged in his grip until he plops down in an empty seat, tugging you to the one beside him.

otoya is the first to speak, his grin boyish and teasing. “finally. thought you ditched us. everyone was hoping you’d show up tonight.” 

to his right, oliver leans back in the plastic chair, arms folded lazily behind his head. his gaze drags over you, smirk curling slow and practiced. “yeah, i’m glad you came, yn. gotta say though…you look good tonight—easily the prettiest girl i’ve seen all night.”

heat blooms to your cheeks before you roll your eyes, already used to oliver’s never ending attempts at charm.

“back off you perv, she’s mine!” shidou snaps, looping his arms around your shoulders and yanking you into his chest like a territorial cat. 

“she won’t be yours for long.” oliver fires back without missing a beat, his tone deliberately taunting, a casual way to rile shidou up. predictably, the two launch into bickering, their voices overlapping. 

with shidou distracted, karasu’s dark gaze flicks to you. this time, it wasn’t guarded or calculating—his expression softens. “hey.” his voice is casual, but gentler than you’ve ever heard from him. 

“hey,” you reply, smiling lightly. 

across from you, yukimiya offers his usual polite charm. “good to see you, y/n.”

“likewise,” you say, nodding and giving him a small smile. 

then there’s michael. he barely glances up from his phone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “wow. look who finally decided to grace us with their presence.” 

before you can even roll your eyes at him, sae lifts his gaze from the deck of cards in his hands. his eyes trail over you—slow. deliberate, like he’s cataloguing every detail of you before flicking away, his attention snapping back to shuffling. no words spoken at all. 

apparently otoya had suggested the group should play a card game. yukimiya turns to you, his expression polite. “do you want to play?”

you nod. “sure.”

that one word is all it takes to set shidou off. he practically bounces in his seat, eyes lighting up like a kid on christmas. “hell yeah! i’m gonna destroy all of you.”

“you wish,” otoya shoots back, leaning forward as if already planning his strategy. “i’m taking you down first.”

the game starts with a chaotic rhythm—cards slapping, insults flying, oliver occasionally throwing in sly commentary just to get under everyone’s skin. shidou keeps shouting dramatic victory speeches despite losing half his turns, and karasu… karasu plays quietly, but you catch him glancing at you every so often, almost like he’s enjoying your reactions more than the game itself.

“uno.”

the calm voice cuts through all the noise. everyone turns to see sae, laying down his last card without even blinking.

a beat of silence.

then:

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” otoya groans, dropping his hand of cards.

“what the hell, bastard!” shidou shouts, pointing dramatically like he’s been robbed. “you cheated! i know it!”

michael throws his cards down with a scowl. “i did not just lose to a bunch of losers...”

the circle explodes into bickering, otoya and shidou teaming up to accuse sae of sneaky tactics while oliver stirs the pot with commentary like, “kinda hot how effortless that was, though.”

you’re just about to laugh when your phone buzzes in your pocket. sliding it out, you glance at the screen—

you tuck your phone away, rising from your seat. “i think i’m gonna go guys. one of my friends is looking for me.”

“aww, already?” shidou groans, tugging at your wrist lightly, like he doesn’t want to let go. for once, there’s no joke in his voice, just genuine disappointment.

you smile softly at him, lightly ruffling his hair. “relax, i’ll be back. just need to say hi and stuff.”

he lets you go, reluctantly, watching you slip back inside.

the house air is thicker than before. the scent of alcohol and weed clings to the walls, the sour tang of vomit stinging your nose. music thrums through the floorboards—loud enough to be a second heart beat—couples pressed into corners, hands wandering over each other without an inch of shame. you quickly avert your eyes, pushing further into the crowd until you spot reo’s purple hair. nagi, isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, and rin surround the table scattered with alcohol bottles and plastic cups. hiori and kurona are off to the side conversing with each other. 

“well, well look who finally decided to show up,” reo grins, setting his cup down on the table.

bachira doesn’t wait when he spots you—he sweeps you into a hug, rocking you side to side. “y/n! finally!” his eyes are sparkling at the sight of seeing you. you smile back, returning the hug before letting go. 

nagi makes his way towards you, leaning on you like usual, he lazily drops his head on your shoulder. (he always uses the analogy that shorter people are more comfortable to lean on as an excuse to pop your personal bubble—a habit of his he hasn’t broke since you two were kids.) “i thought you bailed.” 

“you know i’d never do that to you guys.”

he hums, satisfied, before pulling back. the rest of the group greets you—isagi and kunigami warm as always, chigiri immediately complimenting your outfit. rin…just stares. you smile at him anyway. 

“hey, rin”

his ears pinken before he mutters back, “h…hi,” the word shakier than either of you expected. 

“we were just about to start playing a drinking game, do you wanna join?” reo says with his iconic grin.

you hesitated, biting your lip. your weren’t exactly an avid drinker, but everyone around the table was buzzing with laughter and flushed faces, the energy was infectious. bachira was already half way leaned across the counter to snatch a bottle of alcohol, nagi yawned but still kept his cup held like it was sacred and kunigami was dramatically complaining about being dared to do a push up with chigiri on his back.

so you joined in too.

at first it was fun—refreshing even. light dares, dumb truths, bachira was laughing so hard he nearly fell on the floor. you were smiling at the scene, the warm glow of the room wrapping around you like a blanket—until your phone started to buzz.

your heart dropped at the sight of the caller id.

“i’ll be back. just need to take this call.” you say, slipping out of the circle and heading down the hall. luckily one of the bathrooms weren’t occupied. you shut the door behind you, making sure to lock it before holding your phone up to your ear. 

“hello?”

your mother’s voice came through the line—sharp and distant as always.

“how’s school going? you’re not slacking off now, are you?”

you swallowed hard. “it’s fine, mom. i’m still in the top three percent of the academic division—“

“top three isn’t enough. you should be first. the only reason why you’re not is because you’re lazy. you aren’t pushing yourself hard enough.”

your chest tightened, nails biting into your palm. “i am trying. i stay up until three some nights finishing my work. i—“

she cut you off. “don’t make excuses, y/n. if you cared as much as you say you do, you’d be number one.”

in the background, faint music pulsed through the door—the bass, the chatter, the laughter. your stomach lurched.

“where are you?” your mother’s voice sharpened.

you panicked, choking up a quick lie to please her. “i—i’m at home.”

there was a beat of silence. then a scoff.

“i know you’re at a party. see what i mean? you’re never serious about anything. you’ll never amount to anything if this is how you waste your time.”

“mom, please, i—”

“you’re hopeless. a failure, y/n.”

click. the line went dead.

your hand fell to your side, your phone felt as heavy as a brick. suddenly it feels like the air thins, the walls inching closer, crushing you in a silent invisible vice. you can't breathe. you can't think. just when the bubbling panic attack threatens to boil over—

a knock. 

“hello? sorry, i really need to use the washroom…” 

the voice pulls you out of spiral. you blink, unlock the door with shaky fingers, and slip out. the girl shuffles past you, oblivious to the panic attack you nearly had or the harsh words you received over the phone. you stand in the hallway, sucking in air like it’s your first breath all night.

you plaster on a smile and head back toward the kitchen, trying to swallow the sour taste of worthlessness lodged deep in your gut. 

“you’re finally back, i missed you~” bachira singsongs,wobbling just enough to make his hug a little heavier than usual. he tucks you against his side, warmth seeping in where you didn’t even realize you were cold. you cling to it for a second too long, unwilling to let go.

“ready to play?” reo nudges with his usual mischievous smirk.

you nod stiffly, clutching your red cup like it’s a lifeline. nagi gives you a lazy salute when you take it back–he’d been babysitting it while you were gone. the game resumes, cards drawn, dares shouted, laughter ricocheting against the walls. 

but your strategy shifts. this time, you purposely mess up. every fumble means another shot. and another. and another. until the warmth turns dizzy, until your chest feels less heavy, until your brain quiets. 

you don’t want to feel. not the disappointment. not the pressure. not the endless chase for enough. tonight, you just want numb. 

at first, it’s fine–everyone laughs with you. but then you’re too loud, spilling facts about chemistry no one asked for, rambling about constellations, giggling at your own jokes. it’s…not like you. and they notice.

“no more drinking for you tonight, missy.” reo, swipes the bottle from your hands like a dad. 

“whaat whyyy,”  you whine, arms crossing over your chest like a sulky child. “i‘m just havin’ fun, reo…” 

“well, for starters you're completely drunk.” 

“i am not!!” 

he gives you that look. you roll your eyes dramatically, stumbling to your feet. “whateverr. im gonna use the washroom.” 

“y/n, are you sure you wanna go alone?” kunigami asks, polite as always. 

“yeah, yeah, ‘m sure, thanks though, gami~” you beam, your toothy grin clumsy but sincere.

kunigami freezes, ears tinting pink at the nickname. “y-yeah…” he stutters, caught off guard. 

–

the hallway stretches for what feels like an eternity, doors blurring together. you’re positive the bathroom’s near the stairs, but each turn just makes you dizzer. then–

a hand clamps on your shoulder. too hard.

“hey. what’s a cutie like you doin’ alone?”

 you flinch, turning to see a brunette stranger leaning in. too close. too eager. 

“m not interested, mister. just looking for the bathroom” you mutter, attempting to turn around and retreat from the conversation. 

but he blocks you, irritation flashing before his smirk returns. “c’mon. dont play hard to get. you're gorgeous and i just cant stop thinking about all the things we could do together...” his hand creeps to your waist, pulling you closer, voice low against your ear. 

your stomach turns. you press your back into the wall, wishing you could melt into it, wishing the alcohol didn’t make you too weak to shove him away.

“i–i’m–”

“it doesn't look like she likes that too much, sir.”

the voice is venom.

the voice is shidou’s.

his glare could kill. in one brutal shove, the guy stumbles back, pale and stammering. 

“didn’t know she was yours, man—”

“she’s not mine,” shidou cuts in, tone razor-sharp. “but she sure as hell aint yours. come near her again, i’ll fucking kill you.”

for once there was no joke or tease to his voice. 

the guy bolts down the hallway.

and then shidou’s gaze drops to you. the snarl vanishes, replaced by something softer, something careful.

“hey…you okay, princess?” his voice dips low, quiet. almost gentle. “you look like you drank a lot.”

the concern in his eyes, the steady weight of his voice–it unravels you. tears gush before you can stop them, your chest tightening like it’ll split open.

“wha–huh? why’re you crying?!” shidou panics, brows furrowed. “did that bastard touch you worse before i got here? tell me, i’ll–”

“n-no…” you hiccup, wiping at your cheeks uselessly. “it’s not that. thank you, shidou…” 

your voice cracks, words tumbling clumsily. you don’t spill everything–don’t tell him about the phone call, the “failure, the suffocating weight. but little bits slip through, babbled between sobs. “i just…everything’s too much sometimes…it’s like no matter what i do, it’s never good enough.”

shidou doesnt interrupt. doesnt tease. he just stands there, arms steady when your knees buckle, letting you cry messy and real against his chest.

“alright,” he finally murmurs, decisive. “you’re not staying here. let’s go home.”

he guides you through the house, an arm snug around your waist. reo spots you instantly, concern painting his features. 

“y/n? is she okay?”

“no,” shidou admits bluntly, not sugarcoating. “but i’ll make her feel better.”

reo steps closer, lowering his voice. “just…make sure nothing bad happens to her, alright? she’s important to me.”

shidou flashes a grin, but it’s different—sharper, protective. “relax, rich boy. i’ve got her.”

then you’re outside, the night air a cool balm against your flushed cheeks. shidou scoops you up bridal style without a second thought, carrying you to his car and driving you back to his place.

–

his dorm is the same as you remembered–dim but warm, cluttered in that careless way that screamed him. a pair of sneakers kicked into the corner, a half-finished protein shake on the counter, his game console wires tangled like spiderwebs. but beneath it all, there was a strange sense of familiarity. like walking into a place you’d once called home.

he nudged the door shut with his heel, still carrying you bridal style. he gently set you down on the bed, pushing stray pieces of hair away from your face. “stay,” he said, almost like he was talking to a cat, before rummaging through his dresser. he tossed an oversized black shirt your way, the fabric smelt faintly of his cologne–sharp, sweet, undeniably shidou.

“go on, change,” he didn't even look your way, head turned deliberately to the side, one leg bouncing with restless energy. for once, there was no sly smirk, no teasing comment. just pure patience.

it took you longer than it should’ve–your fingers fumbled with the fabric of your outfit, your balance wobbly as the alcohol still sloshed in your veins. by the time you tugged his shirt on, it draped past your thighs, sleeves dangling at your elbows instead of your shoulders. you cleared your throat, hugging yourself. “okay. you can look now.” 

he turned his head. his eyes swept over you quickly, then softened in a way you weren’t used to seeing. “fits better on you than me,” he muttered, almost too quiet.

heat rushed to your cheeks but you didn’t get the chance to comment. the next second, he was pushing himself up, moving toward you with purpose. “c’mon. you still look wrecked. let’s wash your face before you knock out.”

you blinked. “i can do it myself.”

“yeah, sure you can,” he said dryly, catching your elbow before you could wobble into the nightstand. “quit acting tough, princess.”

he guided you toward the bathroom, one arm steady around your waist. the mirror reflected the two of you–your cheeks flushed, your eyelids heavy, his expression uncharacteristically serious. he twisted the faucet on, wetting a cloth and pressed it gently against your skin. 

the cool water made you flinch, but his touch was surprisingly careful, wiping away the smudged makeup under your eyes, the faint stickiness of the party lingering on your cheeks.

“you’re…really soft with this,” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly.

“don’t get used to it,” he shot back, but his tone was warm, his thumb brushing lightly at your temple before he dropped the cloth.

just as you were about to ask for a spare toothbrush, you froze. your old one from when you lived with shidou was still standing in the holder. right next to his.

your stomach flipped for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol.

“you kept it,” you whispered before you could even stop yourself.

shidou glanced at the holder, then at you. he didn’t flinch, didn’t explain. just shrugged like it was obvious. “why wouldn’t i?”

you throat tightened, and you gripped the sink for balance. “i moved out weeks ago…” 

“so? doesn’t mean i wanted it gone,” he said simply, pressing the toothbrush into your hand. “now brush before you pass out on me.”

you tried. really did. but your hand shook too much, the bristles clumsily hitting your lip instead of your teeth. a little huff escaped you. “it’s harder than i thought…”

“move,” he said with a sigh, taking the brush from your hand. “you’re hopeless.”

he angled it carefully, brushing your teeth for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. his knuckles brushed against your lips, his focus sharp, his movements gentle. it was the kind of attentiveness you’d never expect from him–quiet, almost reverent.

when he finally pulled back, rinsing the brush, you blinked at him hazily. “you’d…make a really good nurse,” you teased weakly. (a/n; he would absolutely not)

he smirked at that, but his eyes still lingered on you, soft. “only for you.”

he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed now that the toothbrush was rinsed and slotted back into the holder. his eyes didn’t leave you though, not for a second.

you stared at your reflection, water still dripping down your chin from where he’d wiped you clean earlier. you looked exhausted, cheeks blotchy, eyes glassy–but beside you, shidou’s reflection looked steady, almost grounding. 

it was so unlike him.

“what?” he asked, raising a brow when he caught your gaze through the mirror.

“nothing,” you said far too quickly, though your lips curled into a faint, tipsy smile. “just…you usually don't take care of people like this.”

his smirked twitched. “you’re not ‘people.’ you’re you, y/n.”

your heart skipped. the words felt heavy even if he said them like they were nothing. 

you leaned against the sink, trying to steady the swirl of alcohol and emotions. “...you kept my toothbrush,” you murmured again, softer this time. like you couldn’t let it go.

he tilted his head, blond strands falling into his eyes. “didn’t feel right throwing it away.” a pause. his voice dropped. “didn’t feel right when you were gone, either.”

the bathroom felt even smaller than before. your chest ached in a different way now, warm and aching all at once. 

“...you’re not making sense,” you whispered, though deep down you knew he was.

shidou leaned in, his hand bracing on the counter near yours. his grin was still there, faint, but it was the kind that didn’t reach his eyes–the kind that was hiding something raw. “i never do. but you still get me, don’t you?”

you swallowed hard, breath caught in your throat. your fingers twitched against the porcelain sink, wanting to reach for him but too scared to.

he noticed. he always noticed. his pinky brushed against yours, subtle but intentional.

“you’re warm tonight,” you blurted, desperate to deflect, your words slightly slurred. 

“you’re drunk,” he countered, voice softer now, like he was humouring you. 

silence stretched broken only by the running faucet he hadn’t bothered to shut off. the hum of the water filled the space between you, heavy with things neither of you dared to say.

you found yourself staring at his lips. close. too close.

he tilted his head, closing that space inch by inch. his voice dropped to a whisper, the air brushing against your cheek. “you don’t know how hard it is not to–”

your stomach lurched violently.

you gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth. “shidou–i think i’m gonna–”

his eyes widened before snapping back into focus. without hesitation, he scooped you up, half-carrying, half-guiding you to the toilet, already pulling your hair back as you doubled over.

“it’s okay princess. i got you.” he murmured, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back, the other steadying you. his tone was so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him at all.

through the burn in your throat, you felt it–that unshakable attentiveness he never showed anyone else.

–

after throwing your literal guts up, your body was weak, trembling. shidou wiped your face with a towel, thumb brushing your cheek without even thinking about it. he you carried into his room, gently laying you on the bed, tucking you into the sheets, like you might shatter if he didn’t.

this time, he didn’t sit at the edge. he climbed in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. your curled instinctively toward him, the smell of his shirt wrapping around you. 

“better?” he asked softly.

“mm.” your voice was muffled against his chest. and then, without meaning to, you smiled. because despite everything–the party, the phone call, the ache–this felt familiar. safe. like old times.

he exhaled slowly, his chin resting atop your head. the words he almost said lingered heavy in the air, but neither of you spoke them.

you just fell asleep like that, breathing in sync, hearts a little too close.

YOU STORMED out of the classroom before the period even ended, too pissed to sit there and swallow whatever bullshit your teacher was spewing. she’d called you out in front of the whole class, voice sharp, condescending—like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“are you sure you’re really ready for class looking like that, y/n?” she said, eyes raking over your messy hair, wrinkled uniform and the faint smell of smoke clinging to you.

the class snickered on cue.

of course they did.

and mari—with her little pack of knockoff barbies—took the chance to pile on, throwing out comments about how you “never tried” and “barely counted as a student anyway.”

it was always the same. everyone so quick to criticize, never bothering to actually know you.

so you did what you do best. what you’d always done.

you ran.

bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, you shoved through the school doors and straight into the bite of winter. the cold wind slapped your face, the sky hanging heavy and grey, and the trees shook loose little flurries of snow that sank into the already slushy ground.

you sighed, brows knitted tight, turning the corner toward the back of the building. and there he was—unsurprising, almost inevitable. a mop of white hair, back pressed against the brick wall, smoke curling lazily from his lips like it belonged there.

for a split second, the corner of your mouth twitched upward. almost a smile. but it slipped away just as fast, replaced with the anger you carried out of class.

wordlessly, you laid against the wall beside him, head tipping back with another sigh. your hands rummaged through your school bag—a few curses muttered from under your breath when you couldn’t find what you needed.

“you look upset today,” nagi murmured, voice slow and heavy, as if even speaking was a chore. his half-lidded eyes slid your way, posture slouched against the wall like he was melting into it.

“get used to it. you’ll never see me be happy when i have to go to this hellhole everyday. not when i’m stuck dealing with teachers who think they’re gods of wisdom and teenagers who peaked at seventeen.” your voice dripped with irritation, the furrow in your brow deepening.

to your surprise, a small grin tugged at his lips. he shifted lazily, turning his body so that his right shoulder now rested against the wall, his full attention on you. bringing the blunt back to his lips, he inhales slowly, before exhaling a ribbon of smoke that swirled upward, curling into the bleak winter sky.

“you’re right,” he said simply. “i get it.”

the corner of your mouth lifted into a smirk, sharp but warm. “guess you’re not as insufferable as the rest of the kids here. i like you.”

“i try not to be.” he drawled, the ghost of a chuckle under his breath.

you finally dig out your pack of cigarettes, eyes glimmering like you’ve just found treasure. finally—finally—you’d be able to release all the pent-up anger festering from earlier this morning. but your heart drops when you flip the box open.

it’s empty.

“are you fucking kidding me?!” you curse. you chuck the pack of cigarettes on the ground and stomp on it like it personally wronged you, muttering curses with each stomp.

beside you, nagi presses his lips together, shoulders shaking. he’s clearly trying to smother the laugh that’s threatening to escape his throat, but a quiet snort betrays him. the sight of you this worked up is…oddly, cute.

“just my luck.” you groan, sliding down the brick wall to take a seat. you rest your head back against the cold brick, exhaling like the whole world’s out to get you. yeah… your day was officially ruined.

“relax. you can hit mine.” nagi murmurs, voice low and lazy, eyes still red and droopy from his own drag.

“are you sure?” you glance up at him, anticipation flicking in your (e/c) eyes, like a kid caught between hope and hesitation.

“mm. yeah,” he says simply, passing the rolled blunt your way. his fingers brush yours during the exchange, fleeting but enough to send a shiver through the otherwise frozen air.

he takes another lean against the wall, haze drifting lazily toward the clouded sky instead of you. “…and if you want, we can go to the arcade near here after. they’ve got free games and discounted snacks during lunch. it’s always better playing games when you’re fried.”

your eyes soften. no one really went out of their way to invite you into their orbit, not like this. even if it was a small, casual offer, it meant more to you than you’d ever admit.

“…sure. that would be nice.” the words come out with a smile. a full smile. a genuine one. it looks good on you, nagi thinks. so good.

yn’s & nagi’s twt profiles :3

THE SKY was covered in a soft grey, cold but gentle, like a heavy blanket that wrapped around the world. everything felt still. muted.

your shoes scraped against the slushy concrete as you make your way to the back of the school for the umpteenth time this week—an unhealthy habit you picked up the moment you stepped into high school. your cheeks were flushed from the cold breeze that nipped at your skin.

turning the corner, you spot nagi slouched against the wall, smoking as usual. the sight gave you deja vu to the first time you’d seen him here. the faint glow from his blunt was the only thing that felt alive, a spot of color on winter’s muted canvas.

a part of you wanted to skip just to get out of school. another part wanted to come back here—back to him. seems he didn’t skip as much as you, though. only showing up behind the school a few times a week.

you take your pack of cigarettes out, balancing one between your index and middle finger, the other hand flickering your lighter. again. nothing.

what’s wrong with these damn lighters? maybe you need to start going to a different convenience store—those guys are definitely scamming you.

“got a light?” you asked, trying to be as casual as possible, but knew it was just an excuse to get closer.

his eyes flickered to you slowly, and just like last time, he lit your cigarette with his lighter—this time standing closer.

his tall frame leaned down slightly, tilting his head to get a better angle of the cigarette. he stared at it with quiet focus before retreating back to his original spot. the warmth that he provided was gone in an instant—bringing you back to your senses—reminding you that winter is ever so present.

he settled against the wall, taking a small puff from his blunt before exhaling—smoke curling into the air like a whispered secret.

“skipping again?” his voice was low, bored, like he wasn’t really asking but couldn’t help himself.

you sighed, twisting the cigarette between your fingers. “yup. like always.”

a faint smile tugged at his lips, amused but quiet. “you’re persistent.”

you both smoked together in the stillness of the winter. your cigarette has long burnt out, now, you leaned against the brick wall, arms tucked deep in your jacket pockets like they were a hidden haven.

a shaky breath escaped from your lips, fog trailing into the cold air.

nagi watched quietly, eyes drifting to the sky before pulling the blunt from his lips and holding it out—an unspoken offer.

“you wanna hit?” his tone was casual, like it didn’t matter what you said, but his gaze lingered, quietly taking you in.

you nodded, brushing your fingers against his as you took the blunt. bringing it to your lips, you inhaled it deeply, then passed it back after a cough and a shy glance.

“thanks,” you muttered.

he hummed in reply, drawling another slow drag.

the afternoon stretched on, wrapped in lazy clouds of smoke and silence.

a/n: hii i hope you guys enjoy the fic so far!! i just wanted to let you all know that this is a short story so the chapters will be relatively short. (for now….i think…)

thank you for all the support!!!! its really given me motivation to continue writing. feel free to drop requests in my inbox! —lo🪷

THE SNOW wasn’t gone, but it was slowly getting there.

patches of grey slush sank into the dirt, leaving the kind of wet that clung to the bottom of your shoes. the air still had teeth in it, though— cold enough to bite at your nose but warm enough to make you think that spring might show up if it felt like it.

you leaned against the wall behind the school, bricks rough even through your coat. you skipped class again. the third time this week? you didn’t remember. you balanced a cigarette between your fingers, your other hand flicking your lighter.

click. nothing.

click. nothing.

a faint spark, then dead.

figures. you usually kept a backup, but your bag was a mess, and patience wasn’t your thing.

the air shifted —faint, sharp, sweet in a way that made your lungs ache before they loosened.

you glanced sideways.

nagi seishiro.

leaning in a half-slouch, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. smoke curled lazily from his lips, drifting upward like it was in no rush to leave. a blunt hanging between his fingers, the ember glowing warm in the muted light.

you’d seen him around before. same classes here and there, sometimes passing by each other in the hall. never really spoke. he always looked like he was somewhere else—not in the daydreamy “thinking hard” way, but in the “thinking nothing at all” way.

you pushed yourself off the wall, closing the gap between him and you.

“got a light?”

his eyes slid to yours, slow, like it took him a second to decide if answering was worth the effort. “…yeah.”

he didn’t hand you the lighter. instead, he stepped closer, the faint scent of weed curling into the cold air between you both. he flicked it once, flame sparking to life, and waited until you leaned in. the warmth tickled your face; for a second, your fingers almost brushed his.

the cigarette lit with a quiet hiss. you pulled back, inhaled, exhaled. “thanks.”

nagi only hummed, leaning against the wall again, gaze drifting back to the grey winter sky.

both of you smoked in a comfortable silence, basking in the serene chill of winter’s last days.

lighter lovers !

when y/n’s lighter dies behind the school, she borrows one from nagi seishiro — the boy who always looks like he’s somewhere else. one shared light turns into a quiet routine of smoke breaks, lazy banter, and something warm that grows between winter’s chill and summer’s heat.

status: ongoing — short story

cw: mentions/use of cigarettes, weed, smoking (frequent) , occasional strong language , implied substance use , mild angst, emotional vulnerability (tags are bound to change as story progresses)

01: a spark

02: persistent skipper

03: empty pack, full blunt

it’s time to say goodbye.

you’re officially moving out of your shared dorm with shidou after 3 chaotic and overstimulating weeks.

shidou’s sulking. his bottom lip juts out in a pout, eyes glassy like he’s watching a tragic drama unfold.

he dramatically wipes away the prickles of crocodile tears forming at the edges of his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. devastated by your departure as if you don’t literally have class with him tomorrow.

“don’t forget me princess~ you know i’m hard to replace.” he teases, giving you a big bear hug.

you snort, hugging him back tightly. “i’ll try not to miss your laundry pile on the bathroom floor. or the way you snore like a dying lawn mower.”

he gasps. “heartless!”

then he smiles—- wide, toothy, goofy. he holds out his pinky.

“swear you’ll still keep in contact,” he says.

you hook your pinky around his, pinkies locking like a signed deal. intentional. quietly sacred.

“swear,” you say, softer than usual.

and just like that—you’re out the door, a tower of boxes in your arms and a soft ache in your chest.

you glance one last time.

he’s still standing there in the doorway, hand half-lifted in a wave, smile a little smaller than usual.

you smile, one that says you’ll survive, and he nods like he already knew that.

the hallway air is cooler now. you press the elevator button, adjusting your grip on your box, one corner digging into your grip. you hum something under your breath to fill the silence.

the elevator rings.

the door slides open. you expect emptiness. instead—sae itoshi steps in.

he doesn’t speak—just gives you a once over. not judgmental. just…observing. his hair is damp, as if he just came from practice. the ends of his red locks cling to his temples. a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds still in.

he takes a few steps in and stands silently beside you. just far enough for space, but not so far that it feels like he’s avoiding you.

you both stand in silence. not awkward. not comfortable either. just neutral.

the elevator hums softly between floors.

when it finally stops, you realize he’s getting off on the same floor as you.

huh?

you didn’t know he lived on this floor too.

you fumble a bit trying to balance your box and dig out your key. the hallway stretches on—sterile lights, muted walls, and the faint smell of lemon cleaner.

you manage to unlock the door, placing the box at the entrance. you turn to grab the rest.

but then—he’s there.

sae stands a few feet away, holding the other boxes you left behind.

without a word, he sets them down beside the first, movements fluid, effortless. then turns to walk away like it was nothing.

“…t-thank you!” you call out, voice lifting in surprise.

he pauses—just slightly.

he turns halfway, meeting your eyes. and with a barely-there nod, he disappears down the hallway, the same silence trailing after him like smoke.

—

your dorm was nearly identical to the one you shared with shidou—polished hardwood floors, a small kitchenette, marble counters.

except this time, theres a balcony.

you slide the glass door open, just for a second. the air is cooler up here. quiet. you wonder what kind of plants you’ll put out there. maybe string lights. maybe nothing. you don’t know yet.

you place your boxes in the corner of your new bedroom. a desk sits snug beneath the window, still smelling like linen sheets and fresh wood polish.

your camera gear is placed beside the desk—lined up with care. a quiet altar to sanity.

you start unpacking. hours pass. clothes folded. books shelved. little pieces of yourself finding new corners to belong in.

this is your first official week on your own.

no more shidou tossing clothes everywhere. no more midnight snack raids.

no more dramatic karaoke sessions in the bathroom.

it’s just you now.

you should be thrilled. you should feel free.

so why does it feel like something’s missing?

you push the thought away and delve into your nightly routine. wash up. tie your hair. set your alarm.

but when you crawl into bed, the quiet is sharp.

you used to fall asleep to shidou’s ridiculous snores. to his sleep talk. to his warmth spilling over into your half of the bed.

you hated it.

…right?

the sheets are cold. the silence is colder.

you roll over, hug your pillow like it might hum back.

but all it does is remind you:

he’s not here.

and you miss him.

just a little.

maybe a lot.

—

you were up before your alarm ever dared to ring. you kept tousling and turning all night—trying anything to get your body to shut down into slumber, and before you knew it, the sun had already risen.

it had to be the new dorm. that’s why you couldn’t sleep.

…right?

you yawn quietly and slowly slipped out of bed, silently missing the warmth you just left behind. paddling into the bathroom, you go through the motions—each movement soft, slow and muted.

though it was strange.

mornings without shidou are quiet.

too quiet.

there’s no banging on the doors. no obnoxiously loud singing. no chaos.

just the swiss of your toothbrush and the soft buzz of fluorescent lights.

you didn’t realize how much shidou distracted you from the loneliness you’ve always carried.

it was like a ghost—never seen, never touched, but always there.

and now without him, you’re starting to feel it again.

lingering. clinging. creeping.

a quiet curse you can never quite outrun.

—

lunch creeps in like a cat at your heels—quiet, sudden, and mildly inconvenient.

the school buzzes with its usual midday energy. loud chatter bouncing off the high walls, trays clattering in the cafeteria, students crowding halls like bees in a hive.

you, however, are on a mission.

yukimiya had politely requested (read: assigned) you and michael kaiser to reorganize the ancient stack of student council files that apparently hadn’t been touched since… ever

you were expected to work on it every day during half of your lunch until it’s done.

so much for prestige.

you slide open the council room.

it’s empty.

typical.

you sigh and step in, dropping your bag near the table before starting on the pile solo. the files smell of dust and regret.

you aren’t particularly excited to see michael. you didn’t know him well— and what you did know is that he was cocky and overconfident. he carried a smirk that felt like it could see through clothes and test scores. you’ve always kept your distance. unfortunately, fate has never respected your boundaries.

after fifteen minutes of working, the door creaks open behind you. you don’t need to turn to know who it is.

michael strolls in, tie loosened, posture relaxed, like he’s walking into a photoshoot.

he takes one look at you elbow deep in paperwork and grins.

“aw. you started without me?”

you glance over your shoulder, unimpressed. “you’re late.”

“at least i’m here now.”

“barely. get to work.”

he shrugs and grabs a folder lazily, flipping through the pages with all the enthusiasm of a cat forced into a bath.

“jeez, you’re bossy. i thought you were the shy, quiet type.”

your brow twitches.

“i’m quiet. not a pushover.”

he raises an eyebrow at your reply, mildly entertained. like you’ve passed an unspoken test.

“noted.”

you try to focus on the papers in front of you, but he keeps sneaking glances like he’s trying to study you more than the files.

“you’re top 3% in the academic division, right?” he asks casually.

you pause. “…what?”

“yukimiya said you’re smart. like, really smart. that true?”

you blink, surprised he remembered—or even cared.

“i guess.”

“cool.” he leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head.

“then you can do all the hard ones.”

you throw a pen at him.

it hits him square in the forehead.

he bursts out laughing.

his laugh is loud, reckless. it bounces off the walls and tugs at something in you you’ve worked hard to bury.

and for a second—just a second—he’s not as intimidating as you once thought.

—

plastic trays clatter. the scent of soy-glazed chicken and mystery noodles wafts through the air.

over at the usual corner table, the basketball team looks unusually somber. slumped shoulders. blank stares. zero chaos.

yukimiya blinks, settling down his water.

“what’s wrong with you guys?” his brow furrows. “you seem all down in the dumps today.”

shidou sighs like the world’s ending, stabbing a piece of carrot with the passion of a soap opera villain.

“we’re cooked.”

“so cooked,” otoya echoes, mirroring the same dramatic gloom as he slides his tray away like it personally offended him.

oliver chugs half his orange soda, lets out a sigh of defeat, then leans forward on his elbows. “coach all pulled us aside during practice yesterday. said the school sent a letter. if we don’t hit a 50% average soon—we’re off the team.”

“AND thrown in remedial classes.” otoya adds with a shutter.

yukimiya raises an eyebrow. “you’re joking, right?”

“we wish…” they groan in unison.

karasu—cool and unaffected—leans back with a slight smirk, one that he knows absolutely pisses otoya off. he pops a grape in his mouth before adding, “correction: they’re failing. i’m not dumb enough to get suspended over basic algebra.”

“hey!” shidou scowls. “i’m not dumb! i just…learn in a more passionate way!“

“oh, we know.” oliver snickers. “you passionately failed that chemistry quiz.”

“anyways,” otoya cuts in, giving yukimiya his best imitation of puppy eyes. “you think you could maybe help tutor us? you’re, like, good at school stuff, right?”

yukimiya pauses, expression tight. he’s too polite to groan, but you can see his internal grimace.

“i would love to,” he says, smile taut, “but between council, modeling, basketball, and actually passing my own classes… i don’t think i can fit one more thing on my plate…”

the boys deflate all at once.

but yukimiya perks up, thoughtful.

“…but i do know someone.”

every head snaps toward him.

“who?!” they shout in unison. (aside from karasu, of course.)

he chuckles softly.

“y/n. she’s in the top 3% of the academic division. if anyone could save you from flunking, it’s her.”

shidou perks up instantly, eyes wide.

“wait, wait—top 3%?! why didn’t she tell me earlier?”

oliver nearly chokes on his soda. “i knew she was smart, but not that smart. that’s, like… scary impressive.”

“explains why she always looks so tired.” karasu mutters, half-teasing.

yukimiya nods. “if you’re serious about staying on the team, i’d suggest asking her soon.”

there’s a long pause, then:

oliver squints.

“okay but wait. my question is how is shidou maintaining a higher average than me?”

shidou gasps, offended. “i take that as a compliment and an insult.”

—

after some bickering, michael throwing papers at you, and a few too many flirtatious remarks, your council duty for the first half of lunch was finally over. you both mutter half-hearted goodbyes and go your separate ways.

your legs carry you up the stairwell to the rooftop. there’s barely a breeze today, just sunlight pooling across the concrete and the quiet hum of campus below.

you kind of hope he’s there.

you peak through the metal door and there he is.

rin itoshi—headphones on, back hunched as he glares at the open workbook in his lap like it personally wronged him. his fingers rake through his hair, frustrated. his pencil tip snaps.

you hesitate, then close the metal door behind you.

he looks up—barely—and his eyes soften, just a fraction.

“hey,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges.

“hey,” you smile, sliding down beside him and placing your bento on your lap.

there’s a long pause. no small talk. just the clink of your chopsticks and the scratch of his pencil across paper. a scribble. another sigh.

you glance over.

and oh god. his math is…appalling.

you chew slowly. consider staying quiet. then:

“…you know.” you say casually, placing your bento back in your bag, “the reason you keep getting the answer wrong is ‘cause you wrote the formula backwards.”

“i knew that,” he mumbles, too fast.

you snort. “sure you did.”

he doesn’t look at you, but his ears turn pink. you try not to laugh.

you shuffle a bit closer, peeking again. he doesn’t stop you.

“you slope is flipped,” you say, pointing. “and you forgot to divide here. that’s why the answer’s off.”

rin’s quiet for a beat. then he erases it—just like you said—and rewrites it properly.

this time? it’s correct.

you shoot him a smug grin. “see? told you.”

he huffs, cheeks puffed a little like a sulky cat. but you can tell he’s not mad.

“…thanks,” he says avoiding your eye contact

he flips to the next page, mumbling something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like the correct formula this time.

you lean back on your hands, tilting your face to the sun. it’s nice up here. quiet.

not the kind of quiet that echoes—this one feels full somehow.

there’s a pause before rin speaks again—barely above a whisper.

“…do you always eat up here now?”

you blink, surprised.

that’s not really a question. not the way he says it.

you glance sideways and catch the way his eyes flick down—like he’s trying not to look eager. like he’s trying not to look at you at all.

you smile, slow. “dunno. maybe.”

his pencil doesn’t move, but his hand relaxes just a little.

you zip up your bag and stand, brushing crumbs from your skirt.

“see you around, rin.”

he gives a short nod—doesn’t look up.

but as you open the door, you hear him say

“…you can come back tomorrow.”

It’s soft. barely a beat louder than the breeze.

you don’t look back.

but you’re smiling as you step inside.

you don’t know if it’s the sun or his presence, but the loneliness doesn’t feel so sharp today.

—

the afternoon sun spills through the sky casting a golden glow on campus. classes are done for the day, but being on council never gave you the opportunity to ever leave school early.

you had a photo shoot with the volleyball club today, and you’re pretty excited. nagi and reo are on the team along with kurona and hiori—some of your favourites.

camera slung around your shoulder, you breathe in the scent of freshly cut grass as you make your way across campus. a few lingering students chatter behind you, their laughter echoing faintly in the breeze.

the gymnasium doors are cool against your fingertips as you slide them open. the scent inside hits you instantly—rubber soles, pine floors, and the faint tang of sweat.

immediately, you spot nagi sprawled dramatically across the polished court, limbs splayed like a cat in a sunbeam. reo’s tugging at his arm with zero success.

“nagi, get up. we’re not doing this again.”

nagi groans. “why stand when lying down exists…?”

“come on, nagi. the coach is literally glaring at us. i can literally feel his disappointment vibrating through the ground.”

you suppress a laugh, stepping further into the gymnasium. kurona and hiori are mid-debate near the benches, their voices low but intense. something about final fantasy. you hear snippets—“turn-based is superior, you’re just impatient,” “bro, you skipped the cutscenes, your opinion doesn’t count.”

near the net, two unfamiliar players warm up. one’s got fluffy hair covering his eyes (how can he see anything?), and the other wears a white headband, spiking with laser focus.

reo spots you first. his gaze sharpens before easing into something brighter—relieved, almost. he crosses the court in a few easy strides.

“y/n,” he says, tone warm. “finally.”

“where were you at lunch? i saved you a seat and everything,” he huffs, dramatic as ever. “i had to sit there all lunch listening to bachira and isagi debate on whether the chicken or the egg came first…”

“sorry,” you say with a small grin. “council duty,” you add, patting your camera. “but i came to take pictures. you better not be slacking.”

“please. i was born camera-ready.”

“hey.” nagi appears behind him suddenly, wrapping you in a half-hearted hug that smells faintly of fabric softener and energy drinks. “you still owe me co-op time.”

you blink. “huh?”

“genshin,?” he says lifting his phone like it’s a sacred artifact. “you said you’d help me level up before next week’s event. you promised.”

you squint at him. “that was under duress. i was cornered. there were bribes involved.”

“so you do remember,” nagi murmurs, smug.

reo shakes his head, sipping from his water bottle. “you two are actually unhinged.”

“you love it,” you reply, already adjusting the lens cap off your camera.

“now get in formation before i start taking candid shots of your worst angles.”

“jokes on you,” reo says, walking backwards towards the court. “i don’t have any bad angles.”

you raise a brow. “we’ll see about that.”

—

the sun’s golden fingers spill through the gymnasium windows, slicing through the court in strips of molten light. swear glistens, sneakers squeak, and the thud of volleyballs hitting palms echoes like a heartbeat through the open space.

“alright, everyone on the court! let’s get practice started!” the coach calls, clipboard tucked beneath his arm.

you step aside instinctively, slinging your camera strap over your shoulder as players shuffle into their formation.

you’re not just snapping pics anymore—you’re feeling them.

the rhythm, the sweat, the snap of motion mid-air—there’s something kind of magical about it. you’re not even thinking anymore. you’re just… moving. framing. capturing. seeing.

you track nagi mid-jump—lanky and loose-limbed, yet his hand collides with the ball like gravity doesn’t apply to him. lazy precision, somehow. kurona’s quick, almost sly in his footwork, while hiori’s soft-spoken demeanor disappears when he’s locked into play—his eyes sharp, posture tight, focus like a sniper.

reo commands the court with ease, voice ringing out cleanly like a conductor cueing a symphony. his eyes flick to you every few minutes, maybe to make sure you’re catching his “best angles” (you did threaten him earlier), but it only makes you roll your eyes and snap a few blurry candids just to spite him.

the boy with hair covering his face, who introduced himself to you as niko surprises you—fast and ghostly, like he’s glitching between frames. his form almost disappears behind the net before he reappears, tipping the ball just over the block. the one with the headband, nanase, serves like it’s second nature, clean and precise every time.

you’re so deep into your little photographer high that when the coach blows the final whistle, it almost startles you.

“i wanna see the photos.” kurona is the first one to jog over, already leaning into your space.

the rest of the team gathers around like moths to a flame—sweaty, breathless, and suddenly way too invested in how their hair looked mid-spike.

nagi peers over your shoulder lazily. “i look tired.”

“you are tired,” you deadpan.

“you made me look short,” reo accuses, squinting at one of the photos.

“you are short,” you shoot back without missing a beat.

that gets a few snickers. even hiori cracks a smile, and you feel the warmth bloom in your chest like an ember catching fire.

eventually, the crowd thins. players peel off toward the showers or the vending machines, energy mellowing like the sun outside.

you’re tucking your camera away when you hear footsteps behind you.

“you’re coming friday, right?”

you blink. then turn.

reo’s towel slung around his neck, is watching you expectantly. his purple eyes gleam with something suspiciously close to mischief.

“you mean your mansion-sized rager party that has its own Instagram countdown page?”

he grins. “the one and only.”

“i don’t know,” you shrug, adjusting your sweater sleeves. “parties aren’t really my thing…”

reo’s smile doesn’t drop. if anything, it sharpens.

“you know what else wasn’t your thing? talking to people. and now look at you—telling me i’m short in front of my entire team.”

you narrow your eyes. “that… was justified.”

“you need to come,” he insists. “you’ve been working too hard. think of it as… mental health care. mandatory.”

you hesitate—and that’s his cue.

“pleaseee?” reo clasps his hands in front of him dramatically. “who else is gonna keep me sane while bachira starts dancing on the pool table again?”

“i’m just saying,” reo says, now placing a hand over his chest like a martyr, “the vibes would be immaculate if you came.”

even hiori offers a quiet nod. “it might be nice. you should come.”

you glance over at nagi, who has yet to weigh in.

he shrugs. “i wasn’t gonna go. but if you’re going… might as well.”

you squint. “so you’re guilt tripping me together now?”

reo gasps. “no! never! we would never!”

(he is.)

you sigh, finally caving, despite every antisocial cell in your body screaming otherwise. “fine. i’ll go.”

reo fist pumps like you just agreed to marry him.

—

later that evening your phone buzzes, screen lighting up with a familiar name:

with a headache. ( not proof read 😓 )

it’s lunchtime. the halls are packed, buzzing with students scrambling to be first in line. karasu slips past them, cutting through the noise toward their usual spot in the cafeteria.

yukimiya, otoya, oliver, shidou, and sae are already there.

but… you’re not.

“where’s y/n?” he asks, pausing behind the bench instead of sitting down.

“dunno. haven’t seen her since first period.” otoya shrugs, stabbing his milk carton like it insulted his family.

“i’ll be back,” he mutters, already walking away before anyone can question it.

he knows where you are. he always does.

because sometimes—when the noise is too much, when the world feels too loud—you disappear. and he follows.

you both have a place. a forgotten, dusty classroom that nobody uses but you. the janitor let you keep the key, on the condition that you clean up after yourselves. since then, it’s been your hideout. your little haven.

karasu slides the door open quietly and slips inside, closing it behind him.

it smells like chalk and sunlight. dust and old papers cling to the air. a tall shelf near the front blocks most of the room—piled high with notebooks and forgotten textbooks. to his right, a soft curtain sways with the breeze from a cracked-open window.

he pushes through it.

there you are.

curled up on the old couch, knees tucked to your chest, headphones on. cradled in the cocoon of your own little world.

you look up slowly when he enters. your eyes meet his—and even though your smile flickers, he can tell.

you’re tired. you’ve been shining too long. the kind of light that performs for others until it burns itself out. still glowing, but dimmer now… wanting to rest.

“hey,” he says softly, walking over and sitting beside you. the couch dips under his weight.

“hey,” you reply, voice gentle. you shift over to make room, pulling your headphones down around your neck.

karasu leans in, brushing a strand of hair from your face. his dark eyes scan your expression, warm and careful. “headache again?”

you nod. “mhm. and i forgot my pain meds at home.” you sigh in frustration.

you nuzzle into his hand, your cheek resting against his palm.

his hands are warm. yours always run cold.

he doesn’t say a word.

he just unzips his bag and reaches into the exact pocket he always keeps stocked. of course he knows where it is.

you smile, quietly.

he hands you a water bottle and a small pill.

you take them, swallowing the pill with one swift motion.

“thank you, karasu.”

“anytime.” he takes the bottle back, already glancing at your bag. “did you eat?”

you hesitate. “’m not hungry.”

he sighs, already fishing out your bento.

“you can’t take meds on an empty stomach,” he scolds, flicking your forehead.

“ow!” You pout, rubbing the spot. “you’re such a meanie, karasu..!”

he just grins and peels off the bento lid.

you turn your face away stubbornly. “i said i’m not hungry…”

but before you can put your headphones back on, his long fingers gently guide your chin. a bite of food hovers in front of your mouth.

you groan. but eat it anyway.

this goes on for five whole minutes—bite after bite, complaint after complaint—until you finally swat his hand away. “okay! no more!”

he chuckles. “you ate enough. that’s all i needed.”

“go back to listening to your music,” he says, nudging you softly. “i know it helps.”

you nod, sliding your headphones back on and leaning into his shoulder. his phone lights up with a tiktok video, volume low. he scrolls lazily with one hand, letting the other rest on your knee.

then, out of nowhere, he pulls you up. shifts you gently onto his lap—until your back is against his chest, legs curled across the couch.

“much better,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your shoulder. you feel his nose press into your hair, breathing in the familiar vanilla scent of your shampoo.

his arms wrap around your waist. steady. comforting.

he keeps watching his show.

you fall asleep like that—held, warm, safe.

and in your dreams, you think:

( 🌱 ) ♡ ✉️ masterlist .

— camera chronicler ! (series) — slow updates

— he always knows (karasu x reader)

— lighter lovers (series)

your notebook flops open lazily as you bask in the soft golden spill of afternoon sun filtering through the tall windows. it stretches across your desk like a warm sigh, kissing your skin with that midweek tired warmth.

pen between your fingers. thoughts somewhere tangled in yesterday. maybe the day before, too.

you woke up feeling just a little bit lighter this morning–thanks to that talk with hiori.

something about the way he listened, really listened, left space where your panic usually sat. it didn’t fix everything, but it cracked the shell of your exhaustion just enough for you to breathe again. 

hiori sits beside you, textbook open and highlighter in hand.

his movements are neat, soft, gentle and deliberate. he’s always like that-–always moving with such intention-–like everything should be carried out with utmost importance.

you watch as he turns the page, the highlighter squeaking softly across the lines. there’s a tiny crease between his brows when he’s focused.

kurona yawns quietly from your other side, lips gently resting on the eraser of his pencil, reading through the chapter like the words are drifting off the page. 

you hesitate, then lean slightly toward hiori.

“hey,” you murmur, voice quiet like it might shatter the air around you.

he glances up, dark cyan eyes locking onto your (e/c) ones with that same gentle steadiness that calmed your storm last night. 

“thanks again,” you say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “for, y’know…the other night.”

he doesn’t answer right away. just closes his book, placing his highlighter between the pages like a bookmark.

“you feeling a little bit better?”

“...yeah.” you nod, giving him a small smile that almost fools even you. “or at least trying to.”

a pause.

then kurona, voice soft and simple:

“trying’s better than pretending.”

you glance at him—blinking

and then back at hiori, who offers the smallest smile. the quiet kind that says “i see you.”

your chest softens.

maybe this is what it’s like…to be known in quiet ways.

the bell rings. a dull screech through the speaker system.

as class wraps up, you start to pack your things. hiori gives you a small smile, you smile back, slipping your textbook into your bag.

you’re halfway to the door when something tugs gently at the hem of your uniform sweater.

you turn.

kurona. cheeks a little pink, eyes shy but sure.

he holds out a small paper bag, folded neatly at the top.

“open your hands,” he says, barely above a whisper. “it’s for you.”

you blink. then smile–soft, genuine, a little surprised. 

you extend your palms, and he drops the tiny bag into them.

inside: your favourite candy.

“seriously?” you say, a little laugh in your voice. “thank you, kurona.”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal, but you can tell by the way his ears are a bit red that he’s happy you smiled..

“see you later,” he says, and you both part ways in the hallway current—fingers still curled gently around the candy like it’s the sweetest kindness anyone’s offered all day. 

-

it’s lunchtime, and the cafeteria is already bursting at the seams-–chatter echoing off every wall, trays clattering, laughter pitched too high for your nerves to tolerate. the fluorescent lights feel too hard, the noise too much. you stand at the entrance, frozen in place, as a pulse begins to build behind your eyes. 

your phone is already in your hand before you fully register the thought,

a white lie. technically true, but not the whole story. there were assignments waiting for you, sure-–but really, you just needed a moment to escape. a pause. a second to breathe without the weight of being perceived. 

tucking your phone away, you grip your bento tighter and slip out of the cafeteria unnoticed. your footsteps echo softly as you climb the back stairwell, each step peeling you away from the chaos below. 

the rooftop is your little secret haven—a forgotten space where the wind carries clarity, and the sky feels wide enough to breathe in. 

the metal door creaks open, you find your way to your little spot hidden away but you stop short.

someone’s already there.

he’s sitting with his back against the wall, legs stretched out comfortably, black headphones over his ears. from the side profile alone, you recognize him instantly: rin itoshi. his gaze is tilted skyward, watching clouds like they’re trying to say something he can’t quite hear.

he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t flinch. just stays perfectly still, like silence is his mother tongue. 

you hesitate in your place, awkward and startled. “oh–sorry. i didn’t know anyone else came up here. i’ll leave—” 

“don’t,” he says.

you pause, confused. “...don’t what?”

“don’t leave.”

his voice is flat. quiet. almost bored. but he doesn’t look away from the skyline.

you hesitate in the doorway, still gripping your bento box like it’s a shield.

“you can sit,” he says again, this time a little softer. “if you want.”

you glance at him–expression unreadable, posture calm but not cold. there’s no invitation in his voice, but no resistance either. just…space. offered gently.

you nod once and quietly make your way to your usual corner, settling down a few feet away. the breeze curls around you like a sigh. for the first time all day, the world doesn’t feel like it’s pressing in.

for a few long minutes, neither of you say a word. 

you unwrap your bento slowly, chopsticks clacking as you pick at cold rice and tamagoyaki. somewhere between the bites,you notice it–the faint sound bleeding from rin’s headphones. a low, hazy melody. dreamlike. hollow and aching. 

you squint.

“...wait. is that cigarettes after sex?”

he lifts a brow—barely. his gaze shifts, just a sliver, before flicking back to the sky.

“you know them?”

you nod mid-chew, swallowing quickly. “now that i think about it…you do give off that ‘haunted-by-my-own-thoughts’ energy. CAS definitely suits you.”

a sound leaves him—somewhere between a huff and a scoff. you can’t tell if he’s offended or amused.

“didn’t think someone like you would ditch lunch for a rooftop pity party.”

you blink. “someone like me?”

“y’know. all sunshine and sweaters. the type who usually eats surrounded by people who talk too loud.”

your lips tug into a smirk. “guess you’re not totally wrong.”

another beat of silence. a breeze rolls past, rustling your sleeves and tugging gently at the corners of your hair.

“they’re good, though,” you murmur. “the band, i mean. they’ve got this…soft, personal vibe. kinda like background noise that knows all your secrets. good for studying, crying, or falling asleep.”

“maybe that’s why i like them,” rin says quietly, eyes still tracing clouds like they’re constellations only he can read. 

you glance over. his profile is sharp in the sunlight, cut from glass and shadow. but there’s something about him—a stillness that isn’t cold. just…distant. guarded. like a secret half-spoken.

“yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “i listen to them a lot.”

that makes him look at you. not a full turn—just a quiet flick of his eyes.

you chew the inside of your cheek, words falling a little slower now.

 “i guess it just…helps sometimes. having something quiet. something that doesn’t ask questions.”

rin hums, barely audible. but they he says,

“yeah. it does.”

minutes pass like that—gentle, wordless. you both just exist. no expectations. no performance. just two people, quietly breathing in the same slice of sky.

eventually, rin shifts.

“you can come back,” he says. “here. if you need to.”

you blink. “...huh?”

he shrugs-–barely a motion, more like a thought he let slip. “this place isn’t mine. not really.”

you stare at him, surprised by the offer. by the softness tucked in between his usual silence.

“thanks,” you murmur, voice a little steadier. “i might.”

rin slips his headphones back on.

you don’t say anything else. just let the wind comb through your hair and the warmth of the sun press against your skin. somehow, the silence with him doesn’t feel lonely. it feels…understood. like this rooftop is a pause button in a world that never stops spinning.

and rin?

he’s not so bad.

not when he lets you in, even just a little.

– 

your shoulders still feel light from the wind on the rooftop, the echo of soft music and even softer company humming in your bones. for once, your thoughts aren’t screaming. just a quiet buzz beneath your skin.

the school hallways though? a completely different story.

it’s the tail-end of lunch and the corridors are swarming. students flow like currents, brushing past one another in messy waves. lockers slam open and shut in rapid rhythm. sneakers squeak on polished floors. someone’s blasting music from their phone despite the “no devices” sign plastered on every wall.

the air is thick with the scent of miso soup, cafeteria grease, and those overpriced bentos from the vending machines that never quite taste like food. 

you exhale, weaving through the chaos like a shadow, dodging a group of first-years and side-stepping a spilled juice box like you’ve done this dance a thousand times. 

and just as you’re about to dip into your next class—

“Y/NNNNN~!”

a voice like a firecracker. heads turn. conversations stop. 

your soul physically LEAVES your body.

“bro…” someone mutters, snickering nearby.

“is that shidou again?”

“why’s he always so loud–?”

and then there he is. 

shidou ryusei: six feet of athletic menace. all wild blond chaos and a grin-too-wide charm, shouldering through the crowd like it owes him money. he throws an arm around your shoulder without warning, yanking you sideways into his orbit like a human satellite. 

you half-collapsed under his weight. “get offff,” you groan, trying to straighten your spine. “you’re heavy.”

“you’re dramatic,” he huffs, hair bouncing as he leans closer. “it feels like i haven’t seen you in dayssss. did you replace me already? i barely see my cuddle buddy anymore.”

your face erupts into flames.

“shidou. shut. up.”

you glance around, horror blooming. yep–definitely getting side-eyed now. one girl gasps. someone else whispers:

“did he just say cuddle buddy?? are they dating?”

mortified, you elbow him in the ribs. hard. he barely flinches. 

“stop saying that in public,” you hiss. “people are gonna think i’m your girlfriend or something…”

he gasps like you stabbed him in the chest with a mechanical pencil. gripping his uniform shirt with way too much flair, he staggers back a step.

“you are my girlfriend though. you’re my number one, baby~” he croons dramatically.

you shove his face away, palm smushed against his cheek. “you’re so annoying.”

he spins dramatically like you wounded him. then suddenly lights up.

“WAIT–aren’t you coming to my club today??’

you nod, brushing lint off your sleeve. “i’m photographing the basketball team, remember? yukimiya wants promo content for the talent board.”

shidou’s face practically ignites. 

he grabs your shoulders and starts shaking you with the intensity of a child on a sugar rush. 

“REALLY?! you’re gonna witness my SICK basketball skills?! you’re gonna fall for me all over again, i already know it!”

your soul does a full-body eject.

“GET OFF!” you smack at his arm. “my brain is literally rattling, shidou–if you don't stop i swear i’ll lose motor function…”

–

school is out for the day and the sun is beaming in the late afternoon. you take your time getting to the gymnasium.

you slip through the doors, quietly, letting them close behind you with a soft click. the air hits you instantly—thick with sweat, gatorade, and ambition. sneakers squeak against polished floors, and the sound of basketballs thudding in steady rhythm echoes like a heartbeat. warmups are already in full swing.

even with your cat-like movements—slow and quiet, barely noticeable—shidou recognizes you almost instantly. his face lights up “Y/NNNN! YOU’RE HERE!!” he runs over to you mid-drill, his excitement practically bouncing off the walls.

“finally decided to take some shots of your favourite player, huh?” he grins, flexing his arms dramatically. 

you stare. unimpressed. 

“i’m here to take pictures of everyone, shidou,” you deadpan. “not just you.” 

as you’re still bickering with shidou-–who’s somehow managed to turn “photography” into “flirt and flex hour”—the rest of the basketball team begins to trickle over.

karasu. oliver. otoya. yukimiya. 

faces you know now. not just names. not just uniforms.

you exhale softly.

not strangers. not anymore.

and that realization feels like more of a relief than you expected. it settles somewhere behind your ribs—quiet, warm, grounding. taking photos with people you actually know? people you don’t have to perform around?

it makes things easier.

not effortless.

but easier. 

your fingers tighten around your camera strap, your shoulders squaring a little more than before. that flutter of nerves in your chest is still there—but it’s lighter now. more like a dance than a storm. ever since the feedback on your first post, your confidence has grown, inch by inch. 

“y/n~” 

you glance up just as oliver strolls over, towel slung casually around his neck like he’s in a GQ ad. his grin is practiced but playful, eyes flickering over you with that signature ease. 

glad to see you again,” he drawls. “so what do you think—should i start posing now, or wait until you fall for me mid-shot?” 

you blink once.

then deadpan:

“already falling.”

a pause. 

“straight into traffic.”

otoya laughs, elbowing oliver with that effortless grin of his. 

“you gotta let her breathe, man.” he teases, then turns to you, green eyes gleaming like he’s got something up his sleeve. 

“though…you did say you wanted lots of pictures today. i’ve been practicing my good side.” he flashes a wink. 

you raise a brow, sliding the cap off your lens with a small click. “right…” you murmur, deadpan, but the corner of your mouth quirks up just a little. 

off to the side, karasu doesn't say much.

he takes a slow sip from his water bottle, gaze cool and unreadable beneath dark lashes. sharp. steady. calculating. 

then he nods once.

quiet hello. 

maybe even approval.

and somehow that single glance lingers longer than the others’ full conversations. 

yukimiya steps forward next—his presence calm, composed, like always. he smells faintly of citrus and cologne, soft and clean and oddly grounding. 

“i’ve been really looking forward to this,” he says, voice smooth but sincere. “your photos last time were incredible.”

you blink, heat rising gently to your cheeks.

“oh—thank you,” you mumble, fidgeting with your camera strap. “i’ll…try to get some good ones today too.” 

the coach walks over not long after, greeting you with a warm, easy smile.

he’s middle-aged—graying at the temples, deep lines etched into his face from years of shouting across gym floors. but his eyes still twinkle, like he believes in miracles that happen at half-court and buzzer-beaters that defy gravity.

“thanks for coming today,” he says, voice warm and a little raspy. 

“the boys have been buzzing all week. i swear you’re the reason why they’re so hyped today.” he chuckles, glancing over at the group.

as if on cue—

shidou launches himself off the bleachers, mid-flip, limbs everywhere. 

“YAHHHH! DID YOU SEE THAT??? I’M AERIAL!” 

you blink. 

yeah…maybe a little too hyped. 

the coach sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like this is just another thursday. 

but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

–

the whistle blows. practices starts. and so do you.

the gym springs to life in an instant. 

squeaks of sneakers against glossy hardwood, the thud of basketballs hitting the floor like heartbeats, fast and rhythmic. laughter ricochets off the walls. shouts fly mid-pass. callouts bounce high off the ceiling beams like they’re chasing the rafters. 

it’s warm in here. 

not just from the heat, but from the energy. 

from the rush that pulses through everyone like static caught in skin. 

you take a step back, fingers curling around your camera strap. it settles against your chest like a familiar weight. 

you lift the lens.

and the world quiets. 

the chaos dulls to a hum—

just you, the camera, and the rhythm of movement. 

you catch shidou mid-air, arms outstretched in one of his ridiculous jump shots. his face is lit with boyish joy, and explosive light, limbs wild, unfiltered. 

click.

oliver spins the ball on one finger, that smug grin aimed at otoya like a weapon. he’s mouthing something cocky—you can’t hear it, but the smirk says enough. 

click.

otoya moves like he’s performing, not just playing–fluid, effortless, a grin tugging at his lips as he weaves through defenders. he pushes his bangs out of his eyes with a practiced flick, casually glancing toward the sidelines like he knows someone’s watching even if no one is. 

click. 

then there’s yukimiya. graceful, like the game was choreographed just for him. clean passes, fluid pivots, not a single wasted step.

click. click. 

but then—

you find him through the lens. 

karasu. 

and just like that, the rest of the world dulls to grayscale.

he’s not dancing like otoya. not soaring like shidou. 

his game is sharp. grounded. 

like he’s solving a puzzle no one else realizes is even there. 

eyes narrowed deep in concentration, movements smooth but strategic, like chess played at high speed. 

you adjust the focus without thinking. 

your breath stills.

he cuts across the court like he’s sketching something—invisible—every pivot, every glance, every breath meticulously placed. 

he doesn’t need flash. he is the flash. the quiet burn in a room full of fireworks. 

your fingers hover on the shutter.

click.

you catch him in profile—jaw set, a sheen of sweat catching the gym lights like gold dust. 

click.

his shadow stretches across the court mid-turn, jersey clinging to the tension in his back. 

click. 

his hand outstretched in a no-look pass, the corners of his mouth twitching with subtle satisfaction. 

and for a moment—you forget how to breathe. 

why does it feel so intimate?

it’s just sports. just movement. just…moments. right?

but he’s captivating.

not in the loud dramatic way shidou is. 

not in the flirtatious charm of otoya or oliver. 

not in the gratefulness of yukimiya. 

no—karasu captivates because he never asks for attention.

and somehow, you give it to him anyway.

you blink and bring the camera back up. 

click.

and maybe—

maybe he knows you’re watching.

because there’s a beat. a silver of a second, mid-practice, mid-motion—where karasu’s eyes flick toward you.

just once. 

and you swear there’s a faint glint of amusement, like he’s caught you peeking. 

like he’s saying 

“got you.” 

your finger stills on the shutter. 

your snap the photo anyway.

then shake yourself out of it.

light angles, you remind yourself. focus. 

just…do your job.

but your heart disagrees. it flutters like a moth in a jar.

because that wasn’t just a photo.

it was a moment. 

practice winds down with a sharp whistle and scattered echoes of bouncing basketballs. you lower your camera from your face, fingertips still tingling with adrenaline from the shots you just captured. 

and then—

“Y/NNNNNN!”

before you can dodge, you’re tackled by shidou.

he launches himself at your mid-run, his sweaty, overheated body practically folding you in half. you stumble, nearly face-planting, the weight of him dragging you into what can only be described as a death cuddle.

“did you see me?!” he practically yells in your ear. his smile could power a small city. 

“ i was AMAZING, right? don’t lie. i totally carried.” 

you groan beneath him, shoving at his shoulder.

“shidou. you were great. now please get off. i don’t wanna be marinated in your sweat.”

he gasps, one hand flying dramatically to his chest. 

“huh? you want me even closer? babe just say the word—”

“shidou.”

you shriek, smacking his arm, “GET. OFF.”

he finally rolls off, still pouting like a soaked golden retriever denied a hug. 

a few of the boys snicker from the sidelines.

oliver strolls pass, casually sipping from a sports drink. “she’s not your mattress, shidou.” he laughs.

otoya cackles behind him. “he’s just mad because she wasn’t only taking pictures of him.”

that pulls your attention back. right. the photos.

you still have your camera looped around your neck. 

and now—mulitple pairs of eyes are watching you. 

“can we see?”

yukimiya asks, gentle as always. like he’s asking for permission, not demanding proof.. “i’ve been looking forward to it.”

you hesitate. 

fingers tighten instinctively around the lens. 

what if they’re blurry?

what if the lighting was off? what if—

before you can spiral too far, otoya bounces beside you, peeking over your shoulder. 

“c’mon, don’t gatekeep your art~”

you sigh, long and a little dramatic.

“okay, okay…but no yelling if they’re ugly.”

you scroll through the preview screen, lifting the camera for them to see. 

there’s a pause. 

then—

“holy crap—these are actually insane,”

 oliver says, eyes squinting as he zooms in.

“yo, my skin’s glowing like i drink water and mind my business. do you airbrush people in real time or what?”

shidou practically screams.

“WAIT I LOOK SO SICK IN THAT ONE—SEND THAT TO ME—NO, SEND ME ALL OF THEM!”

you roll your eyes, but you’re grinning. 

yukimiya smiles softy, voice calm and genuine.

“you’ve got a really strong eye for composition,” he says warmly. “you captured the rhythm of the game beautifully.”

you try to brush it off, heat rising to your cheeks. 

“it’s not that serious…” you mumble, looking away. “i just got lucky with the lighting or whatever…”

that’s when karasu speaks up. quiet. calm.

“you should take yourself more seriously.”

you blink, looking up at him. 

he’s watching you from a few steps away, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but not cold. his voice isn’t biting or sharp, just…honest. solid. like truth laid flat on the floor between you.

“you’re good,” he says plain and simple. “like—actually good.”

the words sink into your chest heavier than they should. 

you’re not used to compliments sticking.

most just bounce off your skin before they have time to even mean anything. 

but his—his lands. like it slipped through a crack in your self-doubt you didn’t even realize was showing. 

you don’t know what to say. so you don’t say anything at all.

just look away. 

camera still in hand.

heart ticking a little too loud in your ears.

and maybe that’s enough for now. 

– 

the sun has dipped lower now. 

golden hour kisses the school’s walls, and the pavement outside glows with warmth, like everything’s been dusted in soft amber.

you’re squished between shidou and otoya as you all shuffle down the hill toward the nearest corner store–cheap drinks, vending machines buzzing, neon lights flickering even though the sky hasn’t gone dark yet. 

shidou’s hair is still damp from practice, clinging to his forehead as he walks beside you. he keeps bumping into your shoulder on purpose, occasionally singing your name like it’s the chorus to a pop song that only he knows. 

otoya hums beside you, sipping something fizzy and purple. 

without looking your way, he holds it out to you casually. “wanna taste? it’s grape.”

you give it one long stare. then him.

“...how many girls have you offered your drink to this week?”

he blinks. “huh?”

you deadpan. “exactly.”

he clutches his chest like you stabbed him. “whaaaat?! that’s so cold! it’s just a drink! a peace offering! a symbol of our unspoken bond!”

“pretty sure your last ‘symbol’ had lip gloss on the rim,” you mutter. 

shidou cackles beside you. “she doesn't wanna taste your disease juice otoya.”

“y’all are fake,” otoya whines, cradling his soda like it’s emotionally wounded. “i’m the most romantic one here and no one appreciates my generosity.”

“you’re generous with mono,” you shoot back, dodging a flying straw wrapper he throws in defeat. 

the corner store glows like a lantern as you approach, casting the sidewalk in a warm pulse of light. the air smells like fried food and bubblegum. something about it feels… lived-in. familiar. 

yukimiya’s already at the front, cool and elegant as always, a basket balanced in one hand. it’s filled with sweet buns and chilled matcha. karasu walks beside him—hands tucked in his pockets, earbuds in, shoulders a little hunched from the wind. he hasn’t looked at you once. 

meanwhile, oliver’s at the vending machine, beefing with it like it insulted his hair. “i swear i pressed milk tea! this isn't even remotely close—what is this?!”

“you’re pressing it like a grandma,” shidou calls out with unnecessary volume. “just give it here before you break it.”

“grandma?!” oliver gasps, scandalized. “you have old man knees!”

otoya snorts from beside you, tossing a wrapped sweet into your hands before grabbing two for himself. “you’re lucky,” he says with a grin. “i don’t usually share my snacks with just anyone.”

you raise a brow, unimpressed. “do you say that to all the girls you talk to?”

he pauses—then smiles, the corner of his mouth lifting like he’s been caught. “only the ones who make me look good in photos.”

you roll your eyes but pocket the candy anyway. he’s harmless. (mostly.)

and then, behind all the noise, laughter, and vending machine drama, he finally looks at you.

karasu.

just a glance. barely a flicker.

but your eyes meet.

and it’s enough.

it’s fleeting, but something about the glance makes your chest flutter. you remember how his voice dipped after practice, quiet but sincere:

“you should take yourself more seriously.”

you didn’t expect those words to stick. 

but they did.

and now, he’s looking at you like he meant it. like he still means it.

there’s no smile. no smirk. just the quiet weight of his gaze—calculated, unreadable, but not unkind.

and then he’s gone again, gaze turning back to the storefront, shoulders brushing yukimiya’s like static electricity. a quiet retraction.  

the moment passes.

you trail after the others as they push through the glowing doors, the sound of laughter and vending machine buttons mixing with the rustle of snack wrappers and shidou’s protests about how grape is the superior candy flavour. 

inside, the warmth wraps around you like an old hoodie. familiar. soft. safe.

but something in your chest is still buzzing. quietly. like the aftershock of being seen. 

not watched. not stared at. 

seen.

you brush your fingers across your camera strap like it’s a secret only you understand.

and you smile. 

just a little.

you stood stiffly by the bed, sleeves bunched in your fists like a nervous middle-schooler giving a presentation. 

“i’m only doing this because my back is going to snap in half if i spend another night on that couch,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. 

“right, right…” shidou grinned, already sprawled out on the middle of the mattress. 

he patted the space beside him like he was inviting a stray cat. “c’mon, roomie. plenty of space for us to cuddle~” 

you rolled your eyes and climbed on the bed cautiously, like it was booby-trapped, your weight dipping just enough to make him shift slightly closer. the sheets were warm from where he lay. his cologne–sweet, musky, dangerous–lingered in the air. 

you stayed near the edge of the bed, like one wrong move would land you in hell itself.

then you drew a deadly serious line down the middle of the mattress with your finger.

“do not cross this line or i swear to god—”

one second he was across from you. 

the next? he was on top of you. 

arms planted on either side of your head, knee slotted between your thighs, and face inches from yours.

the air stopped moving. 

your breath caught somewhere in your throat and your heart? gone. it had evacuated the premises. 

“or what?” he murmured–low, husky, soft like static in your ear.

your lips parted, but nothing came out. just silence and adrenaline and the ache of how close he was. 

you could see everything.

the way his lashes fluttered against his cheek.

the slow rise and fall of his chest.

the golden strands of hair falling over his eyes, tips tickling your skin.

even the small scar near the corner of his mouth you’d never noticed before.

“what’ll you do,” he whispered again, voice dripping like honey,

“if i cross the line? if i push you?”

his hand slipped under your shirt–cold and smooth–fingertips ghosting along your waistline.

your whole body shuttered.

“if i test you… will you allow it?” he added, thumb brushing just beneath your ribs, sending sparks down your spine.

you couldn’t breathe.

your eyes darted to his–those molten gold irises staring straight through you like he could see every thought, every flicker of panic, every want. 

his hand inched higher. you flinched.

not because of fear.

but because of the thought–the terrifying, heart-stopping thought–that you might let him.

and then—

“just kidding!” he chirped, voice back to its usual chaotic brand of smug, rolling back to his side of the bed.

you blinked. hard. your breath came back all at once in a weird, shaky gasp.

your pulse was everywhere.

neck, chest, fingertips. chaos.

you didn’t say anything for a second. couldn’t.

just stared up at the ceiling, your brain spiraling.

why didn’t you stop him?

why did it feel like your body forgot how to say no?

would you have stopped him?

the silence was so loud your ears were ringing.

“you’re really fun to tease, y’know,” he said casually, resting his head on his arm.

you turned to face the wall, cheeks burning. 

“oh shut up, shidou,” you muttered, throwing your pillow at him. “you live just to make me suffer.”

he laughed, voice deep and pleased. “yup, you’re totally right about that.”

– 

you both eventually settled into bed–back to back, shoulders barely brushing, the quiet hum of the night settling between you like a breath held too long. it was awkward at first, a little too warm, the air charged with unspoken rules and imaginary boundaries. but it was also… comfortable. 

you hadn’t realized just how much sleep you were missing–how the ache in your back had become white noise. how soft a real mattress truly felt. it took less than ten minutes for your breathing to slow, for your eyes to grow heavy, for his warmth to lull you into unconsciousness. 

you woke up to two things: your alarm and the solid weight of someone warm and way too close wrapped around you like a second skin.

shidou.

his arms were snug around your waist, chest pressed flush to your back, his entire body curled around you like he belonged there. his nose was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath soft and steady–faint against your skin but felt. 

“shidou…” you croaked, your voice still sandpaper from sleep. “it’s time to get up.”

he groaned lowly, shifting only to nuzzle even closer. 

“five more minutes,” he muttered. 

you froze.

that voice.

deep. gravelly. laced with sleep. it rumbled more than it spoke.

holy. that was his morning voice?

your cheeks flared hot.

“we’re gonna be late shidou,” you tried again, less confident this time. you wriggled to get up–but then his arm tightened. his leg slotted between yours.

“don’t wanna…” he mumbled, voice dipping even lower, his breath ghosting along the shell of your ear.

your brain short-circuited.

“i’ll get up without you,” you threatened, squirming half-heartedly.

“five more minutes,” he repeated, pushing you back into the sheets with a gentle weight, “i promise, y/n…” 

your heart stuttered, your face on fire, but your hands moved on their own–brushing the tousled mess of blonde and pink strands from his forehead. 

he leaned into your touch.

from this point on, you knew you were doomed. “...fine,” you whispered, barely above a breath. 

you both finally got up–sleep still lingering in your bones. brushing your teeth side by side, bumping into each other in the kitchen, slinging on your uniforms half-awake. the usual morning chaos felt a little softer now. 

soon, you were stepping out the dorm together, parting ways near the east building–him flashing you a smirk, you rolling your eyes, cheeks still faintly warm.

and just like that, the school day began.

you barely made it to class on time, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, your hair still damp from your morning shower. the hallway buzzed with sleepy chatter and half-hearted yawns as students filed into rooms like zombies trying to be academic. 

english class. your next battlefield.

you stepped into the room and immediately noticed the lineup.

karasu tabito, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, and yukimiya kenyu.

your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your composure, barely. the only available seat? smack dab in the middle of that chaos.

“morning,” yukimiya greeted politely as you slid in the empty desk between him and oliver. he looked up from annotating his notes, glasses perched perfectly on his nose. 

“did you sleep well?” he added casually, eyes flicking to yours with genuine interest. your brain flickered to shidou wrapped around you like a heating blanket and you physically had to blink it away. “y-yeah,” you coughed. “totally. slept like a corpse.”

oliver snorted from beside you, lounging back in his chair with all the grace of a cat who knew he was pretty. “you always say weird shit like that?” he mused, gazing at you from the corner of his eye. “kinda cute.”

your pencil froze mid-air.

you blinked.

then sighed.

karasu, seated directly behind you, leaned forward lazily, resting his chin on his palm as he muttered, “didn’t think the girl who took those insane sparring photos of kunigami would be this fun to eavesdrop on…” 

you twisted in your chair, eyeing him with raised brows. “wait–you saw those?’

“i don’t live under a rock,” he smirked. “you captured his kick mid-air, right? gym lighting hit just right. it was kinda…poetic.”

he was watching you in that unreadable karasu way, like he was scanning your soul and filing it alphabetically. the air between you cracked a little. you weren’t sure if he was complimenting your photograph or interrogating it. maybe both.

michael, from the seat up front, turned halfway toward your group.

“guess our little camera chronicler’s making waves,” he said smoothly, voice laced with something cocky. “not bad, newbie.” 

you tried not to react too hard to being called camera chronicler. you were already hyper-aware of how sharp his jaw looked in the light and how his sleeves were rolled just enough to show the veins on his forearms. 

“uh—oh—thanks!!..”you murmured. 

the teacher finally entered. ms. kiyoko, a sharp-eyed woman in a midi skirt who took absolutely zero shit–and called everyone to attention.

“today we’re doing a close-reading exercise. pair work. open your textbooks to page 142.”

groans echoed and books slammed open.

you were about to ask yukimiya if he wanted to pair up when–

“yo,” oliver said, tossing his book onto your desk, “partner up?”

you blinked. yukimiya looked unbothered, but you saw his brow twitch for a second before he turned back to his own copy. 

“uh…sure,” you said, voice caught in your throat.

oliver leaned in closer than necessary, his breath fanning your check as he whispered, “let’s see if you’re as good with metaphors as you are behind a lens.”

you held your ground. barely.

during the pair work, oliver flirted a little too much for it to be considered productive. he keeps reading lines from the poem wrong on purpose just to get a reaction out of you. karasu chimes in now and then with sarcastic comments from behind. michael throws a crumpled paper note across the room at oliver mid-class that says “focus, idiot.”

yukimiya subtly helps you structure your final answer when oliver gets too distracted and keeps things–professional–but you notice him glance at you more than once when he thinks you’re not looking. something warm. curious. 

eventually, ms. kiyoko calls on each pair to read their analysis aloud. oliver turns it into a joke at first–but then you take over, breaking down the poem’s emotion, rhythm, and structure in such clarity and ease that the room goes quiet for a second. 

“maannn, i love 'em smart and pretty,” oliver whistles under his breath. 

as everyone packs up, you tap yukimiya’s shoulder. “hey, um…i just wanted to say thanks for the student council recommendation. i really appreciate it–i mean how you’re letting others see the beauty of the world that i see. you didn't have to do it but you did. thank you.” you bashfully smiled, fiddling with the hem of your uniform skirt. 

he pushes his glasses and offers you the softest smile. the kind that doesn’t for anything in return.

“you earned it. your work speaks for itself.’’

then, quieter: “and… if you ever need help with anything at all, let me know.”

for a second, you freeze. compliments always felt a little foreign, like you weren’t sure if you truly deserved them. but his tone is sincere. there’s no hidden meaning behind it. just pure kindness.

“...thanks,” you whisper.

and you mean it.

alas, the end of the day, as you were exiting your last class you received a text;

you smiled at your screen, but the buzzing warmth in your chest didn’t quite match your fingers. you were tired. not the sleep kind, but the kind that settled in your bones and stayed. still, you grabbed your bag. a part of you wanted to go. needed to feel normal. even if it was just for one night. 

you stepped into reo’s house like it was some sort of luxury airbnb in tokyo’s rich people district. the ceilings were so high they echoed. the entryway had polished marble floors, warm ambient lighting, and a massive abstract painting that probably cost more than your entire closet. 

“yo,” reo beamed, tossing you a drink from the fridge like it was your house. which–according to him—it kind of was. “my home’s your home too,” he always said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

you followed the others down a hallway that felt like a fashion runway. nagi was already trailing behind, scrolling on his phone, while hiori and kurona walked quietly side-by-side, deep in conversation about some game update. 

you…weren’t super close with either of them. not in person. but online? that was completely different. you four had late-night discord sessions that ran deep—pvp battles, chaotic mario kart races, ranting sessions at 2 a.m. when the world felt too loud. it was easier behind the screen. safer. 

you entered the game room–if that’s what you could even call it. the walls were lined with rgb-lit shelves of consoles, controllers, and headsets. a massive couch framed the giant projector screen. the carpet was plush enough to swallow your whole foot. 

everyone piled in, tossing bags aside and kicking off shoes. the lights dimmed to a soft neon glow. chigiri opted out to sit and gossip with reo. bachira was making weird faces at the screen and shouting about who got to pick teams. 

nagi plopped down next to you, controller in hand. “play with us,” he yawned. “hiori and kurona already picked a game.”

“cant. homework first,” you mumbled, pulling your notebook out like it weighed fifty pounds.

reo groaned. “you're always working. can you just–relax for once?”

“if she keeps this up, she’ll have gray hair before she hits twenty,” nagi added, not looking up from the loading screen.

you smiled faintly. but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“i just…can’t slack off,” you muttered, eyes scanning your notes. “some of us don’t have the option.”

the room got quiet for a second. nobody pressed you further. you weren’t mad. you were just…tired. tired of expectations. of tiptoeing the edge of burnout just to stay afloat.

you got through your notes quicker than expected–maybe because the laughter around you helped drown out the anxious hum in your brain. when you finally set your stuff down and grabbed a controller, nagi lazily held his hand out for a high five. “welcome back, y/n.”

hiori glanced at you with a small smile. “ready to get destroyed?” his voice was soft, but teasing. you laughed. 

“absolutely not. you’re going down, hiori.”

the five of you–nagi, bachira, hiori, kurona, and you–grounded into a chaotic squad. hiori offered gentle tips when you fumbled a combo. kurona would giggle under his breath whenever someone got jump-scared. it was easy. light. the tension you carried all day began to slowly melt away.

kurona sat cross-legged beside you, elbow just barely brushing yours as you both raced down a digital highway. his eyes flicked to you a few times–like he was curious, but too shy to say anything out loud. there was a softness to him that put you at ease. 

hiori laughed quietly when you accidentally drove off a cliff. “you always panic in the same spot,” he smiled.

you mock-glared at him” says the guy who fell off twice.”

for a moment, you forgot.

you forgot about stress. about perfection. 

you let yourself exist. 

until your phone buzzed. 

MOM incoming call…

your stomach flipped. 

you froze mid-laugh, fingers still on the controller. the entire room felt like it blurred around you. 

“i’ll be right back,” you whispered, slipping off the couch.

you stepped into the hallway, the laughter of your friends muffled by the heavy door. your finger hovered over the answer button. and then–click.

“hello?”

“why didn’t you answer the first time?”

“i–i did, i was just—”you started, but your voice faltered.

“you didn’t. and why haven’t you sent me the updated test scores? you’re not here to fool around with games and friends. you’re here to work. do you understand me?”

you bit your lip so hard it hurt. the words dug deep into the space between your ribs. 

“i am working,” you whispered. “i’m trying.”

“try harder.”

and just like that–she hung up.

window by sundots now playing…

your chest tightened and tears pricked from the corners of your eyes. you stared at your reflection in the black screen of your phone. suddenly, the laughter in the other room felt too loud. too far away. you felt small. like you were seventeen steps behind and drowning in invisible expectations. 

you didn’t even notice the door creak open. 

“...y/n?”

hiori’s voice was quiet, gentle. 

you looked up, blinking fast. “sorry–just–just needed some air.”

he didn’t say anything. just took a small step closer. “...you don’t have to talk about it,” he said, “but if you ever want to…i’ll listen.”

you hadn’t meant to say anything. 

but something about hiori made silence feel safe. 

“...i’m scared i’m not good enough,” you whispered. “all the time.” 

hiori looked at you. not with pity. but with recognition. 

“i get it,” he said softly.

and just like that, it all spilled out. 

“my mom… she doesn’t say it outright. not always. but it’s like–if i’m not the best, then what am i doing? if i’m not the top, if i don’t ace every test, if i spend any time doing things i actually like…it’s like i’m wasting her time. wasting her money. wasting my life.”

you fiddled with the drawstrings of your hoodie. “she called me tonight just to remind me that i’m not here to make friends. that i’m here to perform. and i just–i know she’s wrong. but i still feel like i have to prove something.”

hiori stayed quiet, nodding slowly.

“she does this thing where she brings up other people’s kids. like, ‘did you hear so-and-so got into med school? or ‘why can’t you be more like them?’ like my life is a competition i didn’t sign up for. and no matter how hard i try, it’s never enough. it’s just…never enough.”

you blinked back tears, embarrassed by how raw your voice sounded. “i’m tired,” you whispered. “i’m so tired of pretending i’m okay.”

for a second, all you heard was the hum of the hallway light.

then–

“i know exactly what you mean.”

hiori’s voice was so gentle, it felt like a hug. 

“my parents…they do the same thing. they plan everything out for me. what sports i play. my future. my entire life, like i’m just a resume waiting to be printed.” he started at the floor, voice distant. “they want me to be perfect. always the best at my sport. always the best at everything. like if i mess up once, the whole thing falls apart.”

you met his eyes.

“they don’t ask what i want,” he said. “only if i’m meeting expectations.”

your heart ached. 

“exactly,” you whispered. 

silence wrapped around you both again–this time warm. safe.

“i’m glad you told me,” hiori said. “really. you don’t have to carry it all alone.”

you gave him a small smile, the kind that barely lifts the corners of your mouth. but it was real. 

“thanks for listening,” you said. “i’ve never really…said any of that out loud.”

“well.” he replied, his smile soft and a little sad, “now someone else knows. and i think you’re doing better than you credit yourself for.”

you leaned your head against the wall, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath all year.

“...you wanna go back inside?” you asked eventually.

“in a bit,” he said. “let’s stay here a little longer.”

and so you did.

two kids with broken expectations and tired hearts, sitting in the quiet, finally letting themselves breathe. 

eventually, you both rejoined the others. played a few rounds of a game. laughed a little. even won once. hiori smiled when you did. 

by the time you were ready to leave, you felt…lighter. not fixed. not whole. but lighter. 

reo offered to drive you back, yawning dramatically as he clicked the car keys. “tell shidou i expect a thank-you text for returning his precious roomie in one piece.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled.

the dorm was quiet when you got back. dark, except for the soft glow of the kitchen light shidou must’ve forgotten to turn off.

you slipped off your shoes quietly and tiptoed toward the bedroom, expecting noise, chaos—maybe him gaming or humming obnoxiously in the bathroom.

but he was already asleep.

sprawled across the bed, limbs a mess in the sheets. his chest rose and fell gently, face half-buried in his pillow. blonde hair tousled. completely unbothered by the world.

you stood there for a moment, hoodie sleeves covering your hands as you watched him. 

the bed creaked gently when you climbed in beside him, careful not to wake him.

the room smelled like laundry detergent, your vanilla body mist, and the faint trance of shidou’s cologne.

as you settled under the blanket, the weight of the day hit all at once–but this time, it didn’t drown you. it just drifted through you, quiet and slow, like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.

you thought about hiori.

the soft way he’d listened.

the way he didn’t try to fix you–just stayed.

you thought about how comforting that felt. how real. 

you thought about how easy it was to talk to him now. and how, maybe, your little late-night gaming group meant more to you than you realized. 

you thought about how you weren’t alone. not really.

then you turned onto your side, facing away from shidou. 

his hand brushed yours in his sleep–barely, just a ghost of contact. you didn’t pull away.

you weren’t fixed. not yet. but maybe you didn’t need to be. maybe just being heard—by a boy in his sleep, by a friend who understood, by the warmth of your own breath–was enough for now. 

and for the first time in a long time, your chest didn’t feel so heavy when you closed your eyes.

the couch creaked as you sat up, your back stiff and sore like it had spent the night in a full-body brawl. the second week sleeping on that godforsaken thing and your spine was already filing for divorce.

the first week with shidou had ended surprisingly smoothly. you’d both fallen into each other’s routines–your nightly dinners, his dish duty, you studying at the coffee table while he explained why dinosaurs would make excellent emotional support pets. it felt…nice.

and that was weird.

weird because home had never really felt like a home before. not with your parents. not with all the cold silences, the sharp expectations, the love that had to be earned. but here, wrapped in this mismatched chaos with shidou’s messy habits and his oddly thoughtful dinner compliments…

you almost forgot what loneliness tasted like.

the morning sun spilled through the curtains in soft gold beams, kissing your skin as you shuffled toward the bathroom. you brushed your teeth, washed your face, and fixed your hair, slipping into autopilot.

you were tired. exhausted, even. dorm chaos, student council pressure, heavy classwork, your parents still watching from the sidelines with their cold, academic sternness. you couldn’t fall behind. not here. not now.

not when this school meant escape.

you were top 3%. one of the best. you earned your place. now you just had to keep it.

your phone buzzed on the sink.

a text from yukimiya.

the school day passed like static–long lectures, scribed notes, and a shit ton of caffeine to fuel your system and your sanity. you ate lunch with reo and nagi, only half-listening as they argued about a new game drop.

you couldn’t stop thinking about your shoot.

by the time the final bell rang, you were already halfway to the gym complex, camera bag slung over your shoulder.

you took a deep breath and slid open the doors.

death pit.

you had walked into a literal death pit.

the air was thick with sweat, adrenaline, and the kind of focused silence that said if you breathe too loud you might die.

the room was lined with padded mats, punching bags swinging harshly with every blow, and boys sparring like their lives depended on it.

you froze at the door, camera clutched tight.

every head turned to you.

like prey entering a den.

just as you were about to slowly reverse back in the hallway, a familiar voice called out.

“y/n?”

you exhaled. lifesaver. kunigami walked toward you, towel around his neck, glistening in sweat from intense training. his hair was a damp mess, clinging to his temples, and his white shirt clung to his chest in a way that was…not helping your ability to form coherent thoughts.

“oh hey kunigami. i didn’t know you were in the martial arts club.”

“yeah,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “not a lot of people do. it’s actually how i got into blue lock, my scholarship came from this club.”

you blinked. “wait, that’s super cool. you guys work so hard in here. it’s intense!”

you told him about your assignment, how yukimiya tasked you with documenting school life for media coverage and yearbook.

“oh yeah,” kunigami nodded. “he mentioned that someone from council would be stopping by. i didn’t know it was you though.”

“i hope i’m not distracting you guys,” you said with a nervous smile. “i felt like i walked into a war zone.”

he grinned. “nah, you’re fine. honestly, i think it’s nice. this club doesn't get much recognition. maybe your photos will change that.”

“i hope so,” you said.

he guided you deeper into the gym. the smell of rubber mats and sweat clung to the air. you could see it now–how serious they all were, how much discipline thrummed beneath every hit, every movement.

kunigami walked you through the room, introducing you to everyone as you passed.

“that’s lemon,” he pointed at a tall guy with a short stubble mid-kick. “fast reflexes, pretty cool.”

lemon gave you a small wave as you and kunigami walked by.

“that’s raichi,” kunigami continued, nodding toward a buzzcut dude yelling at a punching bag like it owed him money. “don’t worry, he yells at everything.”

“and that’s barou, our best hitter. don't talk to him while he’s training. just…don't…”

your eyes shifted to barou in the far corner. his eyes cut sharp, wild and focused.

you swallowed. “got it…”

“well thats majority of the team. feel free to start whenever you like and make yourself comfortable.”

you did just that–set up your camera and equipment, positioning yourself on the edge of the mats, right where the chaos bled into stillness.

the second your fingers wrapped around the lens, the rest of the world blurred. time slowed. thoughts melted away. behind the camera, it always felt like life itself held its breath–only what you focused on truly existed. you saw things others didn’t. the smallest flickers of emotion, the quiet, grit, the moments between seconds. that was your superpower.

and right now, your lens found kunigami.

he moved with disciplined force, each motion sharp and practiced. the gym lights cast a soft glow against the sweat glistening on his skin. his apricot hair, damp and curling slightly, clung to his forehead as he threw a high kick–perfect form, unwavering balance. you pressed the shutter. once. twice. rapid.

but it wasn’t just technique you caught. it was something else.

in that split-second freeze, his face–focused and serious–held something…heavier. an emotion that slipped through the cracks. determination, sure. but beneath it… uncertainty? frustration? like he was chasing something just out of reach, like even his best wasn’t good enough.

you wondered if anyone else ever saw that.

but he didn’t notice you watching. he was too immersed, too focused. and maybe that’s why the photo worked. it was raw, unguarded. it wasn’t just a picture, it was a glimpse into his world.

after club practice ended you stayed back with kunigami to help him clean up the equipment, you thought that this was least you could do considering they kindly welcomed you into their space.

“you work really hard y’know,” you said, nudging a stack of training pads toward the wall with your foot.

“i mean, i’m surprised more people don’t know about this club. it’s super cool.” you looked over your shoulder, smiling. “there’s something really raw about it–like, you guys don’t perform for show, you do it because you want to, because you’re dedicated. and that’s pretty rare.”

kunigami froze mid-lift. his face flushed instantly, red creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“thanks,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. his eyes darted anywhere but at you. “no one’s ever really said that to me before…”

you blinked, surprised. “seriously? that’s insane. i mean, you’re, like–crazy talented. it shows.”

if it was possible, he flushed even more. you turned your gaze back to the pads, suddenly feeling a little warm yourself.

“anyway,” he cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject before his heart burst out his chest from all your compliments. “what’s your schedule looking like after this?”

you stretched your arms above your head with a groan. “gonna head back to my dorm and try not to die doing bio homework. it’s been kicking my ass lately.”

he chuckled, the tension melting just a bit. “sounds brutal.”

“it is,” you sighed dramatically, flopping against the wall like your soul had left your body. “if i have to read one more paper about mitochondria, i swear i’m gonna become one out of spite.”

he laughed–a real one. “if anyone could pull that off, it’d be you.”

you turned to him with a crooked grin. “wow, the nerdiest compliment i’ve ever received. i’m flattered.”

“guess i’m just full of surprises.” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, the way he always did when he didn’t know where to look.

a comfortable beat passed before he added, “since you stayed after to take pictures for our club i’ll walk you back.”

you blinked. “wait–are you sure? you really don’t have to–”

“it’s fine,” he cut in, giving you a small smile. “least i could do.”

so you walked together, you steps in sync. conversation light. you learned he was the middle child, he had two sisters, one younger and one older. “middle child syndrome,” he joked, making you chuckle. it did make sense though. that quiet protectiveness, the way he watched out for others…

by the time you reached your dorm building, the sky had dimmed into shades of soft orange and blue.

“thanks again, kunigami.” you smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “for walking me.. and being so cool today.”

he scratched the side of his face, clearly flustered.

“anytime. really.”

you waved him off and slipped inside. and even though the day had drained you, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

as soon as you entered the dorm you were immediately lifted into the air.

“YOU’RE FINALLY BACK!” shidou beamed, spinning you like a human beyblade. “i was so bored. so lonely without you.” he clutched his chest like he was auditioning for a drama.

“i wasn’t even gone that long,” you snorted, giving him a shove.

he grinned anyway–teeth sharp, eyes playful, like a golden retriever who just got let off the leash.

dinner. dishes. homework.

you nightly routine unfolded like muscle memory.

you scribbled biology notes at the coffee table while shidou went off on a passionate rant about why chainsaw man was “literally peak storytelling and people who don’t get that just have bad taste.”

as the night settled, quiet and gentle, you found yourself standing in the bathroom, toothbrush dangling from your mouth staring at your reflection.

your eyes flicked toward the couch.

the spine-destroyer.

the dream killer.

the cursed piece of furniture.

not tonight.

you paddled toward the bedroom, sleeves of your hoodie clutched in your hands. shidou was already sprawled out on the bed, phone in hand, eyes lazy.

“...shidou?”

he looked up.

“can i…sleep with you tonight?”

there was a beat of silence

then his grin spread–slow, smug, a little too pleased.

“finally. i thought you’d never ask.”

you rolled your eyes. but your lips twitched.

just a little.

—