From your workplace to the bar it takes around half an hour by train and five more minutes on foot. It takes some time, but in the meantime you spend observing the people you pass by.  

There are other people like you—businesspeople commuting and tiredly staring at their phones, checking the time, teenage girls dressed in short skirts and hiding bottles of absolute vodka in their absolutely too small purses, students who look like they’re on the brink of exhaustion and just want to lie down in their beds.

Back in high school, you thought everyone was exaggerating when they told you to enjoy your school and college times to the fullest, because ‘those were the times when you’d see your friends the most.’

Joke's on you, because it turned out to be exactly as people described.

Nowadays, you are barely able to meet most of your friends, work gets in the way, someone’s planning their wedding, and others are travelling the globe.

But there was one person you could always count on: your best friend Tsumiki. After graduation, when everyone started going their own separate ways, the two of you stayed together. 

Despite everything that was happening, the two of you managed to meet every Friday in a bar of your choice and enjoyed a good glass of ‘whatever’ together after an exhausting day of work.

Especially after today, first of all, your alarm didn’t go off, and you barely managed to arrive in time; secondly, the printer decided that today would be a good day to give up, so you had to run to the copy shop down the street during your lunch break and if this wasn’t enough, one of your co-workers called in sick for the beginning of next week, so now you have to pitch in for them during next week’s report. 

The meetings weren’t bad per se; all you had to do was update your superiors about what your department was working on, the good things, the things that are still in the process, and new ideas. What was bad was with whom you had to do them, simply because you didn't know which of his sons your CEO would send this time. 

The Zenin family has some kind of twisted sense of humor, because, yes, they’re one of the most successful companies, but their way of treating their employees? Well, all you can hope for is that not one of the younger sons will be the one to evaluate you.

The train comes to a halt and announces the station's name; your cue to exit. It’s a short walk, but you can still feel the ache in your feet from walking around in heels the whole day. Luckily for you, you arrive in no time.

As soon as the bell, which is strung to the door, rings, Tsumiki turns around and waves you over, delighted that you made it. Except her younger brother Megumi was here this time—his boyfriend Itadori too—along with their best friend Kugisaki. 

Tsumiki slides over to the side to make room for you to set your bag down before sitting next to her. “What's your little brother doing here?” you eye Megumi, although he doesn't seem to pay much mind to it. 

On the other hand, Yuji looks like he’s about to explode from nervousness—Kugisaki too—but from laughter.

“You see,” she pauses for a moment and shoots you a sheepish smile. "He wanted to talk to you about something.”

“So, you're telling me your family is fine with you marrying a man,” you recap what Megumi has just told you, “but they draw the line at you getting married before Naoya?” Your finger traces along the rim of your glass, and you grimace, bewildered.

From your peripheral view, you can see Tsumiki and Kugisaki giggling to one another. “Trust me, I wouldn’t go as far as asking you if I hadn’t already tried everything else.” Megumi deadpans.

There’s a pregnant silence spanning around the room between Megumi's statement and your answer. “And now,” you begin, still not being able to wrap your head around this whole thing going on, “you want me to go out with your cousin?” 

“My condolences.” Kugisaki chirps in, “Maki told me that every time they’re on family vacation together, he listens to these black pill songs in the shower.” She remarks. “Like unironically!”

Although he tries to hide it by muffling his mouth with his hand, Itadori is smiling from ear to ear. “He’s on some crazy looksmaxxing shit.” He adds.

Next to him Megumi lets out an exasperated breath and side-eyes his friend before turning his attention on you again. “I’ve never said anything about going out,” He drawls. “Those are your words now.”

Upon his words, you can’t help but scoff. “Is ‘go on a date with my cousin’ not the same as going out?” you exclaim, but you’ve known Megumi long enough to know that he’s serious about this. “Megumi, he's my supervisor. I can’t afford to lose my position.” A sigh accompanies your words.

“I know that, and I usually wouldn’t even do this, but Naoya knows I want to marry, so he’s purposefully ruining every date his father sets him on.” Megumi furrows his eyebrows in frustration. “Well, he’s also an asshole, so the dates never work out,” Itadori adds offhandedly, before picking up his glass to empty it.

The conversation drifts from Megumi, Itadori, and Kugisaki commenting on the situation. “You just have to pretend to like him, and as soon as he's like ‘yeah, she’s the one’ you can cut out the bullshit.” Kugisaki shrugs as if it were the easiest thing in the world. 

“I’m only allowed to marry when he’s found someone, so please.” If you didn't know any better, Megumi is practically begging you to go out with Naoya.

“But Megumi, my job—“ you interfere to make him stop, but he’s quick to cut you off before you can finish your sentence. “I’ll also pay and handle the consequences. So please,” he frowns.

“Come on, it'll be a good story to tell your kids.” Tsumiki giggles, and you see the way there’s a cheerful smile tugging at her lips. “Yours and Naoya’s kids, by the way.” Kugisaki comments, and Megumi throws her a blank stare. “Don’t jinx it, Nobara.” Megumi mumbles and nudges her arm. 

“Fine, but I can’t promise anything.” You tap your fingers against the wooden surface, already overcome with regret.

In all honesty, you’re not sure what made you agree; maybe it was the fact that the alcohol already took its effect, the pleading eyes Itadori threw at you, or the big stack of money Megumi slid over the table that kept growing every second you didn’t answer.

Megumi sighs, his body visibly begins to relax, and the tension that was residing on his face starts to fade away. It wasn’t obvious, but there was a small smile gracing his lips. “Thank you.”

Okay, so, you lied. There are many things you’d do for your best friend—she’s your better half after all, your soulmate, and unfortunately also the older sister of the guy who dragged you in this situation. 

Sure, you like Megumi a lot and you really tried to give it your best to make this date somehow work, but your body gets a physical reaction as soon as Naoya Zenin dares to open his mouth—you’d rather rip your ears off than listen to him talk any longer.

Honestly, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. For the past 40 minutes, he’s done nothing but pick apart his food, and see if ‘they cooked it to his liking’, glance at his wristwatch to see how much of your time he can still waste, or call for the waiter for the nth time to complain about the wine ‘not being fermented enough’. 

Admittedly, you’re no better. There are a couple of women sitting at the table behind you gossiping, and you can’t help but overhear what they’re talking about. Just as the one girl was getting to the interesting part, complaining about how her ex-boyfriend took his new girlfriend to the same restaurant she recommended to him on their first date, Naoya speaks up, and your eyes widen in surprise as he calls out to you.

“You’re a friend of Megumi?” he doesn’t even look at you as he asks and just continues cutting his food. The metal knife scratches against the porcelain plate and creates an unpleasant shrieking noise. “Friend of his sister,” you correct him and mimic him by dragging your fork along your plate.

Naoya's face contorts into an expression of disdain and finally spares you a glance. “He told me you’re a friend of his, I thought at least someone who’d I knew,” his amused remark, “not some nobody.” is followed by tsk.

You don’t answer, you don’t want to answer, and you know better than to answer him because that’s what he wants—for you to indulge in his provocations. But with every passing minute of him throwing blank stares at you, your resolve crumbles.

Instead, you pick up your glass of red wine that’s been untouched the entire evening, because Naoya was whining left and right about the restaurant being some ‘tasteless tent’ whose food is ‘no better than dog food’.

To your surprise, the wine was really nice; it wasn’t too sour, contrary to the cheap bottle you used to buy at your local corner shop when you and Tsumiki always tried to convince the cashier that you were old enough to buy alcohol.

Additionally, it was also just sweet enough for you to taste out the alcohol. He’s got a good taste—you’ll give him that.

It’s like he’s watching you, because the second you put down your glass—mind you, not even a split second after it sits on the table again—Naoya dares to open his mouth again. 

“What’s your job?” he asks, and you already sense the mocking intent behind his words. “I work at a company,” you say mindlessly and pick up your glass again to take a sip.

Sooner or later, he’d find out anyway—even if you’d prefer not to—but you’ve already decided: this might be one of the top 5 worst dates you’ve ever been on.

Also, it’s not like you’ve lied to him anyway; it’s a white lie at best, and the chances of you ever running into Naoya ever again, in a workplace with hundreds of workers, are little to none. 

Either way, he probably wouldn’t recognise you anyway.

“Not a good paying one,” he smirks and diverts his eyes towards your body, “I can tell by the clothes you're wearing.” 

Well, this date just moved up to the top 4 worst dates ever.

You furrow your eyebrows in annoyance. “What can I say?” you let out a dry chuckle. “My superior is a pain to be around and doesn't know where to invest his money.” Your words are followed by a mere shrug.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, probably intending to interrogate you further. If it weren’t Naoya Zenin asking you, you’d think it was almost a romantic gesture.

Keyword: almost. 

“Yeah.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, not willing to feed into his provocations any further. But, this doesn’t tip men like Naoya off—men who make it their purpose to ruin someone. 

“Hm, you were able to eat everything,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “I’m impressed.” He remarks mockingly, before taking a small sip from his glass. “It’s not often you meet a woman who has such a big appetite.” This time, he simply grins, and you hate to admit it, but his words are slowly getting under your skin. 

Top 3 worst dates ever.

“Yeah, you could learn from me.” You advise. “If you’d actually eat the food they served you instead of whining, maybe you’d shut up for once.”

This finally seems to do the trick because you can see the way his jaw is tightening. “You should learn how to behave like a proper woman.” It’s quite funny seeing him lose his composure over such a measly comment. It’s evident that he doesn't plan on giving up on harassing you. “I wonder who even hired someone like you.” 

Top 2 worst dates ever.

Well, he won’t have to ponder on it too long—should he ever realize you work at the same company. “A woman should know where she belongs, and it’s certainly not at work.” He finalizes.

Well, this date officially took the first place for the worst date you’ve ever been on.

Actually, what if this were your 13th reason? You don’t respond to his comments, not because you want to give him the satisfaction he’s been looking for or agree with him, but because you know where you stand, and actually know what self-respect is. And you certainly know that Naoya isn’t worth putting in effort for.

“Okay, so this isn’t working out. Itadori, right when he said you're an asshole.” You sigh as you lean back in your chair, already hinting that you’re about to leave. Naoya has the audacity to tsk  “That guy just wants to marry his little boyfriend. I don’t even know why you bother so much.” he cocks his head to the side, smirking at you.

There are certain levels of low, and you might’ve actually reached the lowest, because, yeah, this family affair is none of your business, and you shouldn’t meddle in other people’s lives this much, but it seems Naoya never knows when to keep his mouth shut and when not. “Oh my god, would it kill you not to have the last word for once?” you groan, and in the midst of your complaint, your hand hits your half-full wine glass and knocks it over. 

There’s nothing you can do to stop the liquid from escaping the glass; it already ruined the white tablecloth and spilled onto Naoya’s (now once) white dress shirt.

“Fuck, I didn’t plan for this to happen,” you hastily say and attempt to clean the table by soaking up the drink with napkins, unfortunately to no avail. “Can you women even do anything?” Naoya puts his hands on either side of the table and snaps at you. 

His eyebrows scrunch up together in anger, and he tightly grips the tablecloth. This guy’s seriously got some screws loose. “Let's just pay,” he groans, sinking into his chair with his body still tensed up. 

Upon seeing his stretched-out arm, the waitress rushes over almost immediately. “Took you long enough.” Naoya snides under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his remark. 

“The bill, Sir? How would you like to pay?” The waitress nervously puts down the bill; there are more digits than you can count on one hand, and you hurriedly glance over to Naoya.

A mistake on your side.

Naoya, being Naoya, seizes the opportunity, “You’re so full of yourself, right woman? We’ll split the bill then.” The playful smile that's tugging at the end of his lips doesn't go unnoticed.

For a moment, the waitress is taken aback, but she just nods, knowing it’s probably better not to ask any questions. She simply glances at you, but you’re just as, if not even more, surprised as she was just now and yelp out a loud “What?!”

There’s been a handful of terrible and right out awful dates you’ve been on, but you doubt nothing will ever come close to this one. 

Once there was a guy who stood you up 5 minutes prior to the date, then there was a guy who kept ranting about his best friend and how great she was, basically using you to get over her, and you don’t even want to recall the other incidents; either way, you’re pretty sure that you’ve blocked them out anyway.

Nonetheless, all of them always paid for the first date—it’s basic courtesy and a simple, polite gesture, and you're certain that Naoya—a man who has more money than sense—can afford to pay for a first date.

At this point, you’re already so tired out from this date that you don’t even have the strength in you to talk back anymore; instead, you rummage through your purse for your wallet. It doesn’t take you long to find it, and when you do, you take out a handful of bills and slam them down on the table. 

“Hope you’re happy, asshole.” You feign a smile before taking your leave. 

Well, the massive stash of money that Megumi gave you now didn't seem like such a big exaggeration anymore.

Not even a week has passed—to be precise, it’s been more than one day and a few hours since you’ve seen him on your terrible date on Saturday.

Karma’s a bitch, but so is Naoya Zenin. 

The colleague you were supposed to fill in for still wasn’t back, and now it was up to you, alongside a few other colleagues, to update your superiors on this month's work. Usually, these meetings don’t take all too long; you just hope that this will be over soon and you can return to your cubicle and pretend you’re doing something on your computer.

When you stepped into the conference room, your eyes drifted around the room. The lightning here was unpleasant, bright white lights that illuminated the room, similar to hospital lights. A few people already sat down and chattered with one another, and others were frantically scrolling through their tablets to look over their notes again.

Soon, people started to flood in, and you barely managed to take in the room before finally sitting down yourself. The meeting was about to start, and the crowd that gathered at the front of the room started to scatter in different directions to sit down. Only then, when you glanced in the now empty direction, you spotted him—surprise would be an understatement—your eyes widened in shock when you saw that it was Naoya out of all the people sitting across the room. 

To make matters worse, he was already looking at you, and before you knew it, you locked eyes with him. You didn’t even have to second-guess what he’s thinking, his face says enough—he doesn’t look particularly pleased to see you. 

What a great way to start off your day.

Overall, the meeting went fine, it began with people presenting their achievements and how they wished to improve, but it didn’t even look like Naoya was listening. 

From time to time, he’d let out a tired yawn here and there, not even bothering to hide his boredom; sometimes, he’d also pretend to listen when in reality he was just playing with his helix and glance in your direction.

Considering how irksome this meeting was for him, you thought that he’d stop looking at you after a while, that he’d find himself a new distraction. Still, even as you teared your eyes away from him and concentrated on the colleague who was speaking, you could practically feel the way he was shooting daggers at the side of your head.

When it was finally your turn to speak, you tried to look at everyone but Naoya, which was hard when he was tracking your every move. He looks like he’s just waiting for the right moment—the decisive moment where you slip up and he can attack. Just at the thought of that or Naoya in general, your vision turned green. 

It took every ounce of willpower in you not to let your revulsion show on your face, because knowing how the Zenin family is, they’d punish your whole department for even glancing at Naoya in the wrong way.

After a few other presentations, a round of questions, and a praise from Naoya—which looked like it physically hurt him to say those words out loud—you were permitted to leave.

“You over there, stay here.” You immediately freeze on the spot upon hearing his words, peering at the people beside you to check if he means them, despite knowing that he was directly referring to you, even if you wished he weren’t.

Around you, the people stop in their tracks, curiosity piqued, and you feel all the eyes in the room landing on you. “Were any of you even listening?” Naoya clicks his tongue in annoyance. “I told you to leave unless any of you insist on working more.” As soon as he said the words, everyone disappeared as fast as possible. 

All you could do was helplessly watch after them, wishing that you were them.  

“Turn around, will you?” If being in the same room as Naoya wasn’t bad enough already, you’re now alone with him. You do as you’re told and face him. “What's someone like you doing here?” His words are laced with a distaste that you could only reciprocate. “I work here.” You reply curtly, knowing that that’s not the answer he sought. “You think you’re so funny.” He spits plainly, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from bursting out laughing on the spot. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were working here?” He demands angrily, and this time, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Sorry, sorry,” you giggle after a while. “Honestly, at first I had my doubts, but the money convinced me.” You admit giddily, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize that anger has risen to Naoya’s face.

“You want the money so bad?” He exclaims, irritation written all over his face, “Well then, work for it. You have nothing against working more, no?” He states, and that bullshit-eating grin of his tells you that he’s serious.

“But Sir, that’s against the rul–” You say, taken aback by his statement, “I don’t give two shits. For a month, you’ll be working more, and maybe you’ve learned your lesson until then.” And the smile he gives you is eerily similar to the one you gave him on your date—a smile full of condescension.

Yeah, you really hate this guy.

It’s been a week since then, and you can’t recall all the times someone came up to you and attempted to talk to you about you and Naoya. There’s been an absurd wave of rumors surging towards you every day. 

Some claim that Naoya is your ex-husband, now turned superior; others suspect that you slept with him, consequently got pregnant, and he told you to abort the child, and during lunch break, you hear the young interns gossip about how Naoya probably made a move on you.

Obviously, each of these suspicions was false; you denied them every time, accentuating how you would never in your life voluntarily get in touch with Naoya Zenin unless you’d fallen on your head, lost all your memories, forgot his awful personality, and only wanted him for his nice looks.

You dislike Naoya for many things, but there’s one thing you’ll give him—he’s handsome. His eyes are both enticing and sharp, as if to lure you in, but then seize the moment to devour you when you let your guard down. 

It happened to you once that a “he’s kinda fine” slipped out of your mouth, and people immediately started to tease you about how they knew that you liked him. Apparently, there was “the look of love” in Naoya’s eyes every time he walked past you with a loving smile adorning his lips, and how you always returned his gaze fondly with a smile of your own—whatever that’s supposed to mean.

If only they knew that the way Naoya looked at you was to make sure that you were working the extra task he assigned to you, before mocking you, and grinning as he saw you struggling with those tasks that take ridiculously long, and were simultaneously the most useless. 

Also, the way you looked at him was a simple glare and a faux smile that’s supposed to ease his “worries” of you “slacking off at work,” as he liked to call it.

Still, people come up with new, stupid ideas every other hour, and it was embarrassing how easily they got under your skin.

Along with the fact that Naoya does absolutely nothing to stop the rumors makes it ten times worse. (And because everyone’s probably too scared to even approach him.)

Now you were beginning to understand what people meant by corporate-slaves, because this felt like some sleep-eat-work-repeat lifestyle, which you certainly did not want to live. However, it’s just 2 more weeks, and you’re free from this hell.

Although if there was one thing you were looking forward to, it was your weekly meeting with Tsumiki, only this time you came late. When you had the chance at work, you texted Tsumiki that you wouldn’t make it in time today, and she only read and responded to your messages when she was already at the bar, saying that she’d wait for you with a little surprise.

When you finally arrived, it took you a minute to look around and find her—it was a lot fuller than usual. Then, when you finally saw Tsumiki, you hugged her and apologized gullibly. “Hey, Miki. Sorry that I kept you waiting.” You sigh before slumping down on the leather seats.

Tsumiki gives you a warm smile and makes room for you to sit closer. “No worries.” She says sweetly before pouring herself another shot. “What took you so long?” She asks curiously and downs the glass. Once again, Megumi, Itadori, and Kugisaki sit at the table. It’s obvious why they’re here, but you’re not in the mood to talk to them about it.

“Naoya’s ass ordered me to work longer, but please let's not talk about him.” You groan in annoyance, and as if on instinct, Tsumiki pours you a glass and hands it to you, smilingly. “He has the power to do that?” The voice comes from across the table—the one who spoke up was Kugusaki. “Apparently.” You shrug your shoulders before drinking from the glass.

It’s silent for a while, and you notice that the air in the atmosphere has shifted. It’s weird, but you’re not bothered enough to ask—at least not yet. The evening goes by with a couple more rounds of drinks, stalking old classmates on social media, unrealistic “what-if” and “what-would-you-rather” scenarios, and more drinks.

“Okay, okay, I think that’s enough.” Tsumiki asserts after a while and looks to the others for help. “Ugh, seriously.” You utter in frustration. “If he’d stop behaving like some male tradwife, I’d actually go out with him.” 

The others observe you as you rant. “I mean, yeah, I’ll stay by my word, he’s fine as fuck, but someone needs to tell him to shut up, I swear.” You ramble. “He’s actually so my type looks-wise, and you know if he wasn’t him, I'd definitely date him.” When the words leave your mouth, you see how the others are throwing confused stares at each other before they land on you.

“So, who’s ‘he’?” Megumi questions cautiously. “Naoya.” You muffle, voice already feeling hoarse, and Tsumiki hands you a glass of water. “Unfortunately.” You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your blouse after the admission.

Suddenly, Itadori jumps up and puts his hands on the wooden table. “Well, then it’s your lucky day!” And you can practically see the way his eyes shine as he announces. “Naoya asked you on a second date.”

“A second what?” You cough on your water, and your eyes widen in shock. “A date,” Itadori repeats, all smiley. “No, Itadori, I heard what you said, I'm just,” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. “No, sorry, what?” 

For the first time this evening, Megumi expresses his thoughts. “This is the first time Naoya has ever asked someone to go out with him again.” He pauses for a moment and coughs, before he mumbles something under his breath that you almost missed— is he embarrassed? “And if it helps you, he kept blabbering to me about you. Which is weird, cause he usually says talking about people is a waste of breath.” 

“Wow, how charming.” You huff dryly. He glances over Tsumiki before continuing. “My sister already told me that you’d say no, and I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want to do, but,” He pauses and sighs. “He might have actually developed some interest in you, and this is the best chance we’ll ever get. So, would you mind going on a date with him again?”

“Megumi, you do know that he made me work more because I accidentally spilled wine on him, and made me do these tiresome, stupid tasks that he pulled out of his buttcrack.” You exclaim and take notice of Megumi’s frown.

Tsumiki pats on your shoulder reassuringly before glancing at Megumi. “You know, Megs, I know you mean it well, but going on another date with Naoya would actually make me go crazy.” Her hand stays on your shoulder. “But to me it also sounds like you kinda like him.” 

Her words strike you like lightning, and you immediately straighten up. “Tsumiki, what the fuck?!” You screech, and you can feel the way the other customers turn around to look at you. “Well, I don’t know, just a feeling.” She laughs softly. “Maybe just try it, and all of a sudden he realizes you’re like the love of his life and wants to change just for you.” She jokes.

“Yeah, and then we live happily ever after.” You add, and the others join in Tsumiki’s laughter. “I’m not drunk enough for this.” You snort and rub your eyes with the pads of your fingers. “Okay, well, when does he want to meet me?” 

There’s a brief silence before Itadori breaks it. “You’re actually agreeing?” He looks at you in bewilderment. “Like for real, for real?” He questions to ensure that he hasn’t heard you wrong.

“Mhm.” And you nod your head. Actually, you don’t really know what made you say yes. Did you actually develop some feelings? Yeah, no. Was it the thrill of being with him? Or maybe you’ve just become as unhinged as Naoya and accepted your fate; whatever it was, you were still certain in your choice and had no plan of going back on your word—at least not yet.

“Actually, already next Friday at seven,” Megumi tells you, and you stare at him in disbelief. “That’s literally when work ends for me.” Tsumiki turns to you in confusion. “I thought work ended at six for you?”

“Well, Naoya gave me more work, so I also work longer on most days. That’s why I also came late today. He’s practically setting me up.” You deadpan, and you can feel the toll your words have on the couple across from you— how easily Megumi’s and Itadori’s good moods were shattered. 

Naoya’s words replay in your head over and over. I don’t even know why you bother so much. It’s not like he was wrong, maybe you did feel something for Naoya, and this would be the only chance for you to find out without any co-workers interfering—then it’d work out for the guys and you—call it a win-win situation?

“But,” And their heads immediately lifted. “I’ll try my best to find a way.” 

Megumi and Itadori look at each other and smile. “Thank you, I’ll send you the address later. I seriously owe you.” Megumi sighs in relief. “But tell him to pay for it this time.” He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?” If you weren’t irritated already, you are now. “Well, the last time, he wanted to split the bill.” You explain.

“That’s unlike him,” Megumi states. “He usually always pays for the dates beforehand. Right after they ordered their food. He says it's manly.” If that were the case, then it wouldn’t make sense for him to insist on only paying for his order. “Wait, what?” 

You and Megumi look like two strangers who speak different languages and are trying to explain the same concept to one another, but the language barrier hinders you; in this case, it’s a matter of understanding the situation.

“You know how Naoya is,” Megumi begins and bites his lower lip in the process, contemplating finding the right words.

“Conservative?” Tsumiki recommends.

“An asshole?” Kugisaki laughs. “Stuck up?” Itadori guesses.

He merely nods. “Yeah, that sums it up.” The conversation continues to flow, going back and forth on different themes, and Naoya slowly fades into the background, that is, until you’re about to leave. 

Tsumiki tilts her head to the side and speaks. “Let’s meet up on the weekend then. Can’t believe Naoya is stealing my precious you-time away from me.” She grins. “You’ll have to tell me all about it then!” 

Outside, the rain heavily platters on the concrete, consequently staining the sidewalk with deep gray spots. With each minute passing by, you’re starting to regret this decision more and more.

The raindrops kiss the tinted car windows, blurring your view, almost like the rain is mocking you for blindly going on another date with Naoya.

On one hand, there are hundreds of thousands of excuses running around in your head that you should use to get the driver to stop, turn around, and drop you off at home again.

Then you’d just lie down, watch this one show that Tsumik kept suggesting to you these past few months. 

“Right, so it’s like a drama about this one girl who helps out her best friend to go on dates with potential marriage candidates instead of her, and on this one date, she accidentally catches the attention of her boss!”

Call it contradictory, call it cliché, but maybe it’s also exactly what will hit the right spot and what you need to still process that you’ve just dumped your boss's son.

But that’s the thing: when you think of Naoya, there’s a familiar feeling bubbling in your chest, and twinges at your heartstrings, one akin to nervousness and excitement—you know what it is, this feeling of an enjoyable thrill, filled with pleasure and doubts—and you don’t like it.

Because you know if you don’t stop here, then there’s no point going back.

After a while, the car comes to a halt, hauling you out of your thought-prison. The driver remains quiet in his seat, and it’s only when you bend forward to pay him that he lets out a deep huff of acknowledgement, before driving off.

Technically, you still have the option to run away and never look back, but your feet won’t budge—they’re glued to the ground. It’s like your body knows that you want to be here, despite denying it.

When you step inside, you notice how quiet it is: no rich folks chatter, no fancy live music, and no clattering of plates or anything of that sort. 

At the reception, there stands a young boy, not much older than you, drowsily leaning his chin on the palm of his hand and lifelessly staring into the air.  “Uhm..hi?” You greet awkwardly. Only then does he seem to acknowledge your presence. “Oh, sorry, hi, what can I do for you?” The boy stumbles over his words, his eyes take the form of crescent moons, and his lips twitch with an uncertain smile. 

“I’m here on a da— to meet Zenin.” You cough over your previous words, hoping that the waiter hasn’t noticed your nervousness. “Naoya Zenin.” You manage to choke out, and the boy's eyes widen in surprise. “Mr., I’m so snobby and pay for everything, Zenin?” The boy rambles, talking to himself before realizing that you're still standing in front of him.“Wait, sorry, I’ll bring you to the table right away.” He states and leads you to Naoya, whose arms are shrugged together over his chest, and he has skepticism written all over his face.

His gaze drifts over to the waiter, raising his eyebrow, and before he can say anything, the boy pulls out the chair for you, and you mutter something along the lines of a thank you before sitting down.

“Your food will be ready soon.” He says meekly while bowing down, not daring to meet the gaze of either of you. He excuses himself and rushes to leave.

He disappears, and you turn to Naoya, who looks like he just bit into a sour apple and now has to make his complaints about everyone's problem. “Two minutes.” Naoya holds up his index and middle fingers.

“What?” Confused with his accusation, your eyebrow quirked up. “You’re 2 minutes late.” He seethes and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt to point at his wristwatch. “See, for that behavior, you’d get your pay lessened.”

Right now, you're seriously questioning yourself, and moreover, your taste in men, despite Naoya already knowing the reason—him—why do you feel a glimmer of excitement burning up in your chest talking to him again?

“Very funny.” You remark ironically, and he chuckles quietly before you change the topic. “Why’s it so empty here?” Careful not to make any sounds, you shift in your chair and look around. 

“Huh?” Naoya’s face takes on a look of irritation. “I booked the whole thing,” he tells you as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why would you do that?” 

“Cause I wanted to spend time with you,” He gives you a half-hearted smile. “alone?”

“Which means you want me so bad or what..?” You look at him, dumbfounded, because this wasn't how you expected to play out. When you first arrived and saw the deserted restaurant, you thought this was about to be some big prank, paranoia was crawling up your neck, and you looked for the hidden cameras everywhere.

He doesn’t give you a direct answer and only says something that you make out to be a quiet "Believe what you want.” But the red blush slowly creeping up on his neck doesn't go unnoticed, and for the first time this evening, you feel like you can actually relax.

Maybe it’s out of embarrassment, anger, or perhaps even affection, you’ve come to the point where it doesn’t matter to you anymore. All you want is to spark more of these reactions out of him, ignoring how that makes you just as weird as he is.

A genuine and amused smile musters itself up on your lips, and you start giggling. “The fuck are you laughing about?” He spits, and you just wave him off. 

You’ve learned how to handle his remarks and know how to retort to them, which makes everything funnier—for you at least. 

The whole evening plays out like this: both of you talking over dinner with Naoya making stupid assumptions about you—being all serious about them too, and all you do is tell him off and counter with a question of your own. These are typically followed by Naoya adding his own two cents.

Your face takes on an expression of disgust as you take a sip from your drink. “Ew.” Slightly sticking your tongue on as the alcohol further enveloped your mouth.

“Aww, can’t even hold a little alcohol?” The man across from you coos mockingly and takes a sip of his own. He sets down his glass and gives you a smug grin.

“Nope, just reminded me of this one drink that I had in senior year that made me black out so bad, and in the morning, Tsumiki told me that she had to wipe all my vomit away.” You laugh softly as you recall the night it happened. “Honestly thought you’d be like super against a woman drinking,” You say, glass still in your hand and swirling the liquid inside around. “'Cause you’re like..” You pause for a moment.

Conservative, stuck up, an asshole

Ideas are popping up in your head, but you do your best to shake them off and attempt to find the right words. “Considering you’re so..traditional?” You say weakly.

“Traditional?” Naoya repeats your words, his expression unreadable. “Traditional.” You say again, your lips pressed into a thin line. The man  slowly nods his head, "Traditional." He concludes and shoots you a blank stare.

He’s probably noticed it too, but you’re getting to know each other more over this date, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t enjoy this—not like you’d ever tell Naoya.

His eyes leave yours, and he starts fiddling with his cutlery again. A wall of silence builds up again; it stands steady in its place, and you’re not sure if you’re the one to take the first step to climb over it.

There’s no one else in the restaurant—just the two of you. The only sounds that are being made are when the metal meets the porcelain again, but other than that, you don’t find a way to fend this unbearable quietness away. 

When you take today into account, your first date with Naoya and all the times at work you spent bickering with him, you realize Tsumiki might be right.

You do like Naoya—as absurd as that even sounds. Admittedly, you're not sure yourself why you like him; all you know is that this attraction towards him only seems to grow by the minute.

Maybe you seriously need to check if you’re a masochist or something, because you don’t think any sane person would admit to liking Naoya Zenin. 

Suddenly, the sound of metal clattering against the table plays, and it rips you out of your thoughts. 

“Is it true,” Naoya starts off and looks up from his plate, and with his words, he tears the wall built out of each unsaid word down. “That you wanted to go out with me just to take advantage of my money?”

Once again, no matter how much you try to study his face, only stone-cold eyes meet yours, behind which his emotions are locked. It’s like he’s trying to test you and base his reaction on your response.

Caught off guard, you’re uncertain what you should say at this moment, so you just tell him the first thing that comes to your mind. “No, Megumi gave me money.”

Seeing the way his forehead creases and the way he slams his hand on the table tells you that this wasn't the answer he was hoping for. “Oh, so you're paid to be here?” 

“Well,” you begin, still unsure of what to say. “Yes?” You confirm after a while and immediately regret your words. “No!” You hastily added, but Naoya’s reaction only seemed to worsen with every passing second, so you just kept on talking, hoping that there’d be one answer that satisfied him. “Kind of?”

Naoya is quick to respond with a question of his own. “Oh, is that so?” He asks, voice sharp as a knife's edge. “Thought you were a gold digger, it turns out you’re actually just a lying bitch. Should’ve expected that from you.” He huffs and rolls his eyes. 

Something churns in your stomach. Taken aback, all you can do at this moment is snap back at him. “Sorry?” You shout at him in disbelief. Feet already rising to take your leave. How did talking about embarrassing high school memories turn into him calling you names?

Everything’s happening all at once and too fast for you to comprehend;  the best thing you could do right now is to remove yourself from this conversation. “And here I thought you were actually pretty nice for once.” You don’t tell him that it’s more than that—that you actually considered this—considered him.

As you stand up and walk away, Naoya steadies himself on the table with his hand before stepping forward to grab your wrist, his grip tight on your arm. He stands close now—mere inches away from you—he doesn’t say anything, but the way his hot breath fans against your nape tells you that he’s seething.

You shake his hand off and turn away from him, quickening your pace as you bolt off. “Hey! You still need to pay!” He screams furiously after you.

“Shut up!” You turn your head around and yell back at him from behind your shoulder. “I know that you already paid, dickhead! That server couldn’t shut up for his fucking life!” Those were your last words before storming off, leaving Naoya alone in the empty restaurant.

Just when you thought this might turn into a serious thing, everything went down the river.

No matter how much you tried to avoid him, he always found a way to seek you out. Whether that was at meetings where his eyes would meet yours as soon as you stepped into the room, outside in the parking lots where he’d just so coincidentally parked next to you, and sometimes you’d even see him during your lunch breaks at the café where you usually go.

One and a half months—you’ve been living like this for a good almost two months, and if it weren’t for the pay, you would’ve already slammed the resignation papers on his desk.

Honestly, you’re not sure why your life has turned upside down ever since you met Naoya—since knowing Naoya, you’ve been stuck in some cliché romcom movie—or a psychological thriller from another perspective.

Because why is it that another Friday night of yours with Tsumiki goes to waste, to meet Naoya? Not that you asked him out for a date—it’s a work celebration dinner, which means there are several other employees with you to fill the awkward silence, because you really didn’t want to engage in a conversation with Naoya.

Unfortunately for you, it was just your luck that you landed at the same table as Naoya.

Usually, six to eight people were sitting together at a table, but a few employees called in sick today, so there was one table that accommodated fewer people than the others, and it just so happened that you and Naoya got assigned together at this table—talk about a coincidence.

Next to you sat a blue-haired girl not much older than you, whom you’ve never seen around—most likely a new employee—and kept sliding against her chair, presumably nervous that she was sitting at the same table as Naoya. 

She keeps shooting hopeful glances at you, hoping you’d open your mouth and say something to start a conversation. Honestly, you felt bad, cause you know how stressful a first-time work dinner can be when you don’t know anyone, but you really didn’t want to talk to Naoya or anyone from work right now.

You’ll make it up to her someday.

Naoya sat right across from you, gawking at you from time to time, and you’d just roll your eyes at him. Next to him sat someone whom you didn’t know, but from the looks Naoya was giving him, you assumed that he didn’t like him much either.

It was plain obvious that the guy was drunk from the way he was talking and continuously threw his arms over Naoya’s shoulder, attempting to act all buddy-buddy with him, to his dismay, Naoya kept angrily shoving him away.

“Say, Mr. Naoya, is it true you wanna marry?” The man slurs over his words before laughing to himself. Naoya shows minimal reaction; only a mere disapproving look tells that he’s not enjoying himself. “What about it?” He eventually says dryly.

Hearing Naoya’s words, the man’s smile widens in happiness. “You already got someone in,” He gulps and mutters a small sorry under his breath, all while laughing and brushes himself over the chest before continuing. “Mind?” He finalises.

His question catches your attention, and for the first time this evening, you fully look at Naoya, who’s already wearing a grin on his face that tells you that he’s up to no good. Naoya sighs dramatically before carding his fingers through his hair. It’s as if he needs to muster up his courage before revealing his answer. 

Naoya takes a good look at you before turning to his side. “Yeah, I’ve got someo—“ You don’t get to hear the rest of his answers, because a scream erupts next to you. “I think my food just moved!” The girl next to you exclaimed as she squats on her chair and points at the bowl in front of her with her chopsticks.

“Miwa, stop messing around.” The voice from across the table half-shouts, and in response, she just frantically shakes her head. “I saw it move just now!” She squeals.“Pinky promise, cross my heart, hope to die, I swear!”

She continues to ramble on for a while, and you can’t help but let an exasperated sigh escape your lips. “You have to put it in the broth, and it'll cook automatically then.” You tell her calmly, taking your chopsticks into your hand, and show her how to do it properly.

Her mouth takes the shape of an o, and she freezes for a moment. “Oh, so that’s how you do it.” She chuckles sheepishly and puts her hand on the back of her hair in embarrassment. Miwa—as you know now—picks up her chopsticks to place the meat in her bowl, but it just so happens that when she reaches over to grab the meat off the plate, the table topples and her bowl loses its balance.

The bowl falls over before you can even process what just happened. The bowl now lies on the table with the broth leaking all over the surface, some of it dripping down on your lap. “Oh my god, I’m so so sorry!” Miwa puts her hands over her mouth and shouts apologetically. 

“It’s fine. This happens to everyone.” You give her a half-hearted smile as you’re reminded of when you spilled wine all over Naoya. “I’ll get some tissues from the restroom.” You slide your chair backwards in order to stand up, but Miwa stops you by holding down your hands.

She keeps them tightly in her hands, as if she needs to keep them in a chokehold, and shakes her head as she looks down at the floor. “No, it was my fault. Let me do this. I’ll clean this up.” She looks up at you with a pleading look, and you can’t help but feel bad for her.

You don’t think she’ll let go of you unless you give in to her request. “Okay,” Miwa’s eyes are practically sparkling as soon as the words leave your mouth, and her hold on your hands tightens. “Still, I'd like to go outside, ” on my own, you think to yourself before throwing a bored glance at Naoya. “So, can you let me go?” You ask her politely, looking down at your intertwined hands.

“Oh,” She yelps. “Yeah, sure, sorry!” She says in a docile tone, and her grip on your hands quickly loosens. “Thanks.” You murmur and smile at her. Miwa hastily stands up and joins you. She mumbles a quiet see you later and disappears into the restroom. 

Before going outside, you make sure to look behind you, ensuring that Naoya isn’t making any moves on following you. Either way, he seems occupied with the colleague next to him, so he won’t be a problem—for now.

Outside, in the parking lot, a cold gust of wind greets you, and you can’t help but regret leaving your jacket inside, but you have no intention of returning back inside right now. You’d rather freeze to death out here than hear Naoya open his mouth once more.

Cheerful, but obnoxious laughter fills the air, and you turn your head to the source of commotion. A group of older male colleagues stands together not too far away from you. You’ve walked past some of them once, bowed your head to show respect, or greeted them out of politeness. 

But the way that all of them were looking at you and exchanged knowing glances with each other made something in your stomach twist. It’s only then that one of the men emerges from the group and makes his way over to you. 

He’s a good head taller than you; from his position, you’re sure he can see the way your neck shivers as he comes closer to your face. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here alone?” He asks and reaches out for the strand of your hair that’s been blown away by the wind. 

Goosebumps are rising all over you, met with the fear of not knowing what happens next. I’m just here to catch some air, but I’ll go back in now.” You manage to dodge his touch by a hairsbreadth, and you notice the way his expression immediately sours. “Have a good evening.” You mutter, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you tremble as you nod your head at him. 

“Going already?” The man is quick to latch onto your wrist, and you feel how everything stops for you. “I’m sorry.” You stutter. “But I really have to go now.” Your words just seem to worsen his mood; in response to that, the grip he has on you becomes tighter—suffocating.

The man’s lips curve into a smile. “It’ll be fun, okay?” He assures, but his eyes deceive his words; whatever he plans to do isn’t going to be fun in the slightest. 

“That girl can’t do shit. Help her, will you?” A loud voice shouts over to you, one you recognize in an instant, and for the first time this evening, you’re glad that he’s here.

Naoya strides over to where you are. Simultaneously, the man immediately lets go of your arm and shoves his hands in his pockets, as if that’d help to cover the grip marks he left on your forearm.

“Mr. Zenin.” The man swallows and proceeds to nod at Naoya, who doesn’t plan on responding in the same manner. “Hope you enjoyed this work dinner. It’s your last.” He states and pulls you away, leaving the man baffled. 

He yells after the two of you, but you can’t make out his words from this distance. “Naoya, let me go. I have to get my things and go home.” You demand and attempt to shake him off. 

“Is that how you repay me?” He stops in his tracks and turns around. “Well,” you start, the words lying on the tip of your tongue. “Thanks for just now, but I seriously just wanna get my things.” 

“Woman, listen. I’ll drive you home.” He says, voice nor face betraying him—he’s serious about this.

A beat of silence passes, and if it weren’t for Naoya’s hand holding yours, you’d think this was some sort of dream.

After a while, you manage to say a few words. “Please don’t?” And take a step away from him. “Also, you’re not allowed to drive when you drink.” You remind him, because if there was one thing you didn’t need now was being pulled over and getting a ticket for driving under the influence.

“Being drunk doesn’t make me an idiot.” Naoya retorts, letting go of your hand. “You’re an asshole either way,” You scoff. “With and without alcohol.” 

“Do you want me to drive you home now or not?

If love makes one blind, it apparently also makes one stupid, because why on earth did you agree to sleeping over at Naoya’s place?

When you were in the car, you noticed that he wasn’t driving in the right direction.

Fuck no. I’m not driving across the whole city to bring you home.

He was even being so nice as to drop you off at this 24/7 open convenience store that sells toothbrushes and shirts, and if you didn’t hurry, he’d drive off without you—if that’s not princess treatment, then you don’t know either.

That’s how you ended up sleeping on Naoya’s couch for the night.

Technically, you didn’t agree, more like you were forced, but if this included a cozy couch, a huge kitchen with a kitchen island, and bathrooms as big as your apartment, then maybe you’d consider it. 

Maybe next time.

It must be nice being a nepo baby and having the privilege to spend money on everything, without worrying about ever running out of money. 

Today’s incident still keeps you up, and you feel a shiver running along your body as you remember how close he was to touching your skin. His smile is etched into your memory, and the way he’d talk to you plays over and over in your mind.

It’s a memory engraved in your consciousness, and you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to rid this feeling of disgust and fear.

Trying to distract your head from these thoughts, you notice how cold it actually is. Does this man not heat his house? How does he even expect you to sleep well with a blanket that’s as thin as his patience?

You don’t know what made you decide to walk up the stairs and find Naoya,  but you’re already here. If you’re already at it, you might as well take a look around.

The hallway is dark, and you carefully tread along the polished floors. His house is spacious–it feels big but also incredibly empty at the same time—you wonder if Naoya always spends his nights alone in this cold space.

Before you left the bathroom, you spotted Naoya going into the room right at the end of the hall, assuming this must be his room. As you finally stand in front of his door, you contemplate running, but it’s not like you’re asking for a big favor. It shouldn’t be as difficult as you're making it out to be.

You just want a blanket, that's everything. You're cold, that’s everything. Naoya should help you warm up, that's everything— “

Three times—you knock a total of three times, but there’s no answer coming from the other side of the door. It’s only after the fourth unanswered knock that you enter his room, the door lightly squeaking as you push it open.

As you step in, you’re met with a cold breeze. “Naoya?” You call out his name, but you’re met with no response. “Naoya?” You repeat once more, hoping that he’d notice you know. Seeing that he’s not reacting, you search for the light switch, hands groping at the wall behind you until you find and turn it on.

Unsurprisingly, Naoya isn’t in his bed or in his room at all. You take a look around, but can’t find him anywhere; that’s when you feel the breeze again. Now with the lights on, everything came into view, and it's only then that you notice the door to the balcony being slightly ajar. 

You make your way over to the balcony, open the door, and step outside. “Naoya? What are you doing?” The back of his head greets you, and under the moonlit sky, you can see the way his blond hair gleams. Met with no response, you take another step forward, and now his side profile comes into your view.

It’s eerily quiet.“What is it?” He takes a drag from his cigarette and ashes it down his balcony into the garden, probably hoping that in the morning the wind will blow it away. For a moment, it’s quiet, the wind quietly whistles in your ear, and the smell of smoke lingers in the air, enveloping the two of you. He looks good like this, dressed in casual attire, wearing a relaxed look on his face, and behaving unusually silent.

You can’t take your eyes off Naoya.

Although he always tries to act all distant, Naoya takes everything personally and is always up to confront someone about it, too. “What are you looking at so dumbly?” He growls, and you can feel the corners of your lips twitching. “For someone who’s so traditional, you sure don’t give a shit about your lungs.”

“Do you even inhale…the smoke?” You laugh, quirking an eyebrow, observing him skeptically. “The fuck are you saying?” He ashes off his cigarette again. “Well, you're just taking puffs.” You point at his cigarette and then at him. “Someone knows shit,” he scoffs and turns away from you. “Talk about fucked up lungs.” 

You don’t dwell too long on his words and change the topic. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a terrible host?” You sneer and lean against the railing. “You think it's funny to insult me?” If he doesn’t ash off his cigarette very soon, it’ll go out immediately, but you don’t tell him that. “Well, we’re not at work, so I really couldn’t care less.”

“Why are you even awake? Don’t you need your beauty sleep?” Naoya jokes, tone filled with mild condescension. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” You say dryly and turn to meet him. “I just couldn’t. What about you?”

Naoya finally ashes off his cigarette, so that only the butt of it is burning now, and he smudges it against the railing before chucking it down. “I was thinking about marriage.” He admits and smirks at you.

You ignore the way your heart tightens at his words and laugh it off. “How much?” It doesn’t take a genius to see that Naoya is irritated by your words. “How much what?”

“How much are you paying her to marry you?” You finally say and let out a final laugh. Naoya’s face seems to relax at your words, and he asks a question of his own. “How much are you getting paid?”

“That’s secret information.” You deadpan and side-eye him. “Not like I don’t know already.” Naoya sneers. “Why are you even asking the— Oh my god! Were you hitting on me just now? 

“You’re practically eye-fucking me every time I walk into the room.” He says it like it’s a fact. “Do you hear yourself?” You exclaim in disbelief, taking a step back from him. 

Every time you take a step away from him, he takes a step forward. It goes on so long until your back meets the wall, and your eyes widen, knowing that Naoya has you exactly where he wants. 

He leans forward and presses his hand against the wall, before nudging your ear with his nose. “Just admit it.” He whispers before backing away and smirking. 

It’s in this moment that you just let go of everything—including your sanity, and give in to your desires. You cup his cheeks in your hands and pull him downwards to press your lips against his—an action he quickly reciprocates. 

He tastes of tobacco; usually, you dislike the taste, but there are some exceptions, and Naoya seems to be one of them. On him, it tastes comforting and soothing, although nothing is comforting about the way he kisses you. 

His tongue darts over your lower lip, and before you can even grant him full access, he pushes his tongue in your mouth, and you involuntarily let out a high-pitched sound. Your hands find his hair to yank him down, and his roam beneath your shirt, his hands freezing cold as they press against your warm skin.

Only when you push him off to catch your breath does he stop kissing you, and his hands retreat from your skin.

You don’t even get a full minute to breathe properly before Naoya pushes himself on you again, but you hold him in his place before he can slot his lips on yours again, your eyes warning him not to go any further.

To your surprise, Naoya actually seems to follow your warning and steps back. It’s far enough so that he no longer breathes right into your face, but still near enough for you to see him up close and observe his features.

He seems to have noticed, and a wide grin forms on his face as he raises both his arms into the air, as if he’s been accused of something. 

“Don’t give me that face.” Naoya coos in faux sympathy. “To make it up to you, how does going on a third date sound to you?”

END NOTE: i have an admission to make...i didnt even watch the new season yet...lol