leekachu

READ THE FIRST 10 CHAPTERS OF SOMEHOW, YOU ON AO3 HERE

hello tumblr!

first off, i want to apologize for my inactivity. i have been working on this the entire time and havent had any motivation to write anything else lol.

second off, I LIED THIS ISNT AN X READER IM SORRY. this is a self indulgent fanfic made for my friend and i, but i did write it so any reader can insert themselves.

third of all, this fic is wayyy too long to put onto tumblr, so this post will have a sneak peek at the first chapter. currently, there are 10 chapters with an 11th being written as we speak. it is more than likely this will be my main focus for writing for a few weeks, but i will try to write some reigen fics because i miss him dearly lol.

this is primarily an oikawa x self insert (reader) but it is also an readers best friend x iwaizumi hajime LMFAO. feel free to insert your friend as the readers best friend.

warning, it is very likely i wont be active during august due to moving into college and starting college! i will try my best to upload :C

anyways, tumblr will get the updates as soon as chapters come out so yay! enjoy c:

...

This is a self-insert of my friend and me, as a summer project and gift to both of us. Purely for fun and to cure summer loneliness.

Tooru Oikawa has a rule—he doesn’t get close to fans. Not out of cruelty, but because fame is fleeting and friendships built on admiration feel shallow. He's always kept a polished distance, a winning smile from the court and nothing more. But that rule begins to crack when he starts noticing a girl in the crowd who cheers louder than any other fan.

Caylee doesn’t fit the mold of a typical Oikawa fan. She’s somewhat quiet, eccentric, and utterly uninterested in popularity, though she could easily achieve it if she wanted. She's just there to support her best friend Leilani, who has been hopelessly pining after Iwaizumi Hajime since their first year started.

Tooru’s curiosity deepens as he finds himself seeking her out—scanning the crowd, walking past her classroom on purpose, and wondering why someone so strange and soft makes his heartbeat stutter.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

First year, Aoba Johsai Beginning of Spring Semester

Tooru had always maintained a cautious distance from forming friendships with his fans. It wasn't that he didn't value their support; in fact, he often felt a deep sense of gratitude for the unwavering enthusiasm they showed towards him. However, the pressure of constant confessions that swirled around him was something he found overwhelmingly exhausting. Each heartfelt note, every fervent declaration of admiration—it was enough to make anyone's head spin. 

From the outside, it might appear to be an enviable position he was in, surrounded by adoring fans who dreamt of his lifestyle and presence. He understood why people would fantasize about achieving such a status; the average person would likely relish the attention and acclaim that came with it. Yet, for Tooru, the adoration often felt superficial. The barrage of compliments and admiration centered around his looks and talent, and while he was grateful for it, it didn’t necessarily build genuine friendships.

Beneath his charming exterior, Tooru harbored a romantic heart, albeit one cloaked in layers of reluctance. Which is why he longed for a genuine connection—one built on mutual understanding, shared interests, and emotional depth; something he couldn’t find in a relationship with a fan. The idea of sharing quiet moments with someone who appreciated him for more than just his public persona was a wistful dream he entertained in secret. And as a teenage boy with all the girls, yet none he actually felt connected to, he lived life with a tinge of sadness, as he sought a love that went beyond the superficial adoration of fans who only wanted him for his looks.

So… what was he doing walking up to this random girl after his game?

He always told himself he didn’t like being close with fans—too messy, too performative. So what was he doing now? Maybe it’s because she was a frequent audience member of the games…but wouldn’t that count as being a fan? 

He’d catch glimpses of her reactions during the matches—how she’d erupt in cheers when Iwaizumi secured a solid block, her body practically leaping from her seat, or how she’d bounce with unrestrained joy when Mastukawa executed a good serve. With both hands thrust in the air, she celebrated each hard-earned point, her excitement infectious. Sometimes, she would turn to the girl beside her, eyes wide and gleaming with enthusiasm, sharing animated reactions that felt so… genuine. There was just this… softness about her. It’s not like she was much different from his usual fans. She was feminine, yeah—did her hair in cute little styles, wore subtle, yet cute makeup, or added something a little extra to the standard Aoba Johsai uniform. She wasn’t really all that different to begin with. But something about her just stuck with him for some reason.

He noticed her at nearly every game now—always in the third row, middle left, just where he could regularly spot her. Always accompanied by her enthusiastic friend, the taller one with the infectious laugh. Leilani, he remembered, the one with the vibrant energy who lit up every room she entered. She was part of the student council, social and outgoing, quick to break the ice in any situation, her laughter big and charming, yet never overbearing. She clapped with exaggerated enthusiasm during tense moments in the match, her cheers ringing out boldly enough to make him suppress a grin while on the court.

And yet, it was the girl beside her who caught his attention more.

The girl, whose name still eluded him, was no less expressive than her friend, just different; she shone brightly in a more understated way—bubbly, but more whimsical than her friend. While Leilani was up in energy, this girl matched her spirit, echoing the same excitement, just a bit more playfulness. Together, they formed two halves of a whole that just felt right.

It was shameful, honestly—how much he’d started to look forward to spotting them. He knew he should’ve been focused on the game, but somewhere between serves and rotations, his gaze would always wander back to that beloved third row. He’d see the taller girl leaning forward, voice raised in encouragement, and beside her, the other girl would be grinning, her smile casting an unexpected warmth over him.

Maybe it was the way she had made eye contact with him just moments before he served that day. Perhaps it was the surprise amusement that danced in her eyes when she turned to Leilani after catching his smile. It was probably the sweet, melodic laugh that reached his ears from across the court when she waved at him in a delightfully goofy manner. Whatever it was, the couple of seconds of interaction they had stirred something within him, urging him forward.

Tooru found himself moving towards her, towel still draped around his neck, fingers wrapped around his cold water bottle, heart pounding in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He wasn’t entirely certain what he planned to say; he just knew he had to talk to her—needed to learn her name before she disappeared with her friend.  Just a name. That’s all he wanted. One name to match the girl who had become the highlight of every game, in a sea of people who only ever looked at him. He could see them getting ready to leave—Leilani swinging her bag over her shoulder, eyes scanning the exit, waiting for her other half. He weaved his way through the edge of the crowd, still half-damp with sweat, sneakers scuffing against the polished gym floor. Around him, teammates were being bombarded with congratulations and selfies, and part of him was grateful for the distraction—it made his approach a little less noticeable. He just prayed to every god he could outrun his own fans.

But with every step closer, his confidence wavered.

What was he even going to say?

“Hey. You’re cute. I saw you waving. What’s your name?”

It all sounded so… unlike him. He didn’t want to be that guy . Didn’t want to approach her the way people approached him —with expectations, shallow praise, or worse, the assumption that they already knew him. But instead of mulling over what he was going to say, maybe he should’ve paid more attention because now she was right in front of him, adjusting the skirt of her Aoba Johsai uniform with a quick, almost shy motion. Her bag hung loosely over one shoulder, and her cardigan tied around her waist. Next to her, Leilani—her friend—was already scanning the exit, trying to navigate through the crowds.

He stopped just a few feet away, hovering in that delicate space where he could easily retreat if he needed to, but close enough that she would notice him. The fluorescent lights of the gym cast a soft glow, illuminating the subtle nervousness etched on his features. Before he could second-guess himself, she lifted her gaze to his. It was a fleeting glance, quickly locking their eyes, but in that instant, surprise flickered across her face like a candle flame catching the wind. Her eyebrows arched in surprise, and her lips parted slightly as if she were about to speak but was momentarily struck dumb.

“Oh,” she breathed, the sound barely a whisper, filled with unexpected delight.

Leilani, her friend, turned around upon hearing her friend speak and caught on immediately, leaning in with a teasing smile that danced in her eyes. “Wait… are you—?” she began, her expression encouraging.

Tooru raised a hand in a tentative greeting, a small, nervous smile forming on his lips—the kind he reserved for moments when uncertainty clouded his thoughts. “Hey,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended, like gravel on a quiet road. “I, uh… I saw you at the game. Or—well, I see you at most games.”

Caylee blinked, surprise still etched on her features but layered with calmness. She didn’t appear to be a fan caught in a starry-eyed daze; rather, she seemed genuinely bewildered. “You… do?” she asked, confusion lacing her tone as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

He let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he fell back on when he felt out of his depth. “Yeah. It’s hard not to notice someone who cheers louder than our own bench,” he explained, a hint of admiration slipping into his words.

A soft blush crept across her cheeks, and she instinctively covered her mouth, glancing at Leilani, who nudged her gently, a knowing look in her eye that signaled encouragement. Tooru’s expression softened at the sight of her shyness; he couldn't help but smile a bit wider than he already was.

“I wanted to know your name,” he admitted, the sincerity in his voice breaking through the chaotic sounds of the gym around them, “if that's okay.” The noise faded into a distant hum—shoes squeaking against the polished floor, the echo of equipment being put away, Iwaizumi’s voice calling for Matsukawa to hurry. In this small pocket of space, her reaction felt monumental; she smiled shyly, a warmth radiating from her infectious honesty.

“It’s Caylee,” she said, her voice clearly nervous but overshadowed by her smile. “Caylee Quon.” 

He nodded slowly, imprinting the name in his mind like a cherished memory. “Caylee,” he repeated, letting the name linger on his tongue, feeling its familiarity resonate deeply within him. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Her cheeks flushed deeper, taking on a lovely shade of pink that seemed to glow against the backdrop of the dimly lit room. Despite the visible flush, her gaze remained steady and unwavering, filled with a shy intensity that contrasted sharply with her friend’s teasing smirk, which danced across her features like a playful challenge. 

“You too,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, but the softness carried a weight of sincerity. A gentle smile tugged at her lips, revealing a delicate mixture of nervousness and exhilaration that sparkled in her eyes. 

“Uhmmmmm…I’ll see you next time… haha…” Caylee managed to stammer, her laughter a desperate attempt to mask her anxiety. As the final syllable escaped her lips, she instinctively grabbed Leilani’s arm, her fingers curling tightly around it as if seeking comfort in her friend’s presence. 

It wasn’t long before she was already rushing toward the exit, her heart racing in sync with her hurried steps. The door loomed ahead, a gateway to the outside world where her emotions could settle, but she couldn’t help but steal one last glance back, the thrill of the moment still thrumming through her veins.

Tooru barely had time to savor the fleeting moment before a sudden, firm smack landed squarely on the back of his head, jolting him back to reality. 

“Oikawa, quit standing around and start cleaning up,” Iwaizumi's gruff voice sliced through the gym's fading buzz like a whistle, echoing against the high ceilings as he approached. With a towel slung casually over his shoulder and a mildly exasperated look plastered across his face, he exuded a blend of authority and warmth that was all too familiar.

Tooru blinked rapidly, the heat rising to his cheeks as he shook his head in an effort to dispel the lingering thoughts of Caylee. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” he muttered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and determination. The words barely made it past his lips, but inside, his heart still fluttered with excitement from their brief exchange—her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled.

As Iwaizumi stepped aside, a hint of annoyance still lingering in his posture, Tooru turned his attention to the equipment scattered across the gym floor. He moved toward the equipment cart, his mind still half-lost in the daydream, trying to push the sweetness of that moment to the back of his mind as he focused on the task at hand.

...

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the wide windows lining the school hallways, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. Tooru had just emerged from a grueling morning practice session, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, dampening his hair and sending a few rebellious strands sticking to his skin. His usual confident aura was slightly dimmed; fatigue tugged at his limbs, but a contented smile hinted at his satisfaction from pushing himself to the limit. He ambled through the hall, still resonating with the adrenaline of practice, when he suddenly bumped into someone rounding the corner.

“Whoa! Sorry—” Leilani’s voice rang out, bright and steady, but her eyes sparkled with mischief as they met his. She was a force of nature, her vibrant demeanor hard to ignore. 

Tooru blinked, momentarily startled by her sudden appearance. “Leilani? Hey…” He adjusted his posture, shaking off the weariness as he took in her enthusiastic energy.

She smiled widely, folding her arms confidently, a playful gleam in her eye. “I was just looking for you.” Her gaze flickered sideways, clearly assessing him, perhaps searching for the right way to approach the topic on her mind. “It’s about Caylee.”

Tooru felt a jolt in his chest, his heart skipping a beat. “Oh? What about her?” His curiosity sharpened; Caylee had been on his mind since their brief yet impactful encounter the day before.

Leilani laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing dramatic, don’t worry. She just wanted to say sorry for rushing out yesterday.”

Tooru raised an eyebrow, his posture relaxing. “Rushing out?”

“Yeah, after the game,” she said with a sheepish grin. “We kind of dipped fast, huh? Caylee and I were excited to try this new café that opened near the station. They’ve got these ridiculous parfaits in flower pots. We were both kind of bouncing off the walls about it all day.”

He chuckled softly, “Sounds like it was serious business.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Leilani said with mock solemnity. Then she glanced at the wall clock and made a small noise of realization. “Shoot, I gotta get moving. Homeroom’s gonna start soon, and I promised Caylee I wouldn’t make her wait outside again.”

Tooru tilted his head, not quite meaning to sound curious. “She’s in your class?”

Leilani shook her head. “Nope. She’s in 1-B—other side of the hall. I just usually meet her there so we can walk in together.” She offered him a friendly wave, already starting to head in that direction. “Anyway, see you around!”

“Yeah, later,” Tooru replied, but he remained rooted in place for a few seconds longer, eyes lingering on the path she’d taken.

1-B.

He hadn’t known that. Not that it mattered. But now he did. Just… information. Normal stuff.

Still, as he turned toward the lockers, his steps were a little slower, his mind oddly occupied. He wasn’t planning to do anything with that knowledge. Of course not.

But then again… passing through that hall wasn’t exactly out of the way. Not if he took the long route.

Just once. Maybe he’d get a glimpse. Just to… confirm she was real, maybe. That she hadn’t only existed in that strange, perfect little moment yesterday.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling a little as he reached for his water bottle.

Just normal stuff.

…

After homeroom ended, Tooru slung his bag over one shoulder, his steps light as he exited the classroom. His next class wasn’t far—just down the hall, two doors over—but instead of heading straight there like everyone else, he drifted in the opposite direction. A slow walk. No rush.

The hallway was filled with the sounds of first-years settling into their new rhythms—voices bouncing off the walls, lockers clattering open and shut, the faint squeak of shoes on the polished floors. Tooru moved at an easy pace, his hand tucked into his blazer pocket, hair still slightly tousled from practice that morning.

No one stopped him. He didn’t draw attention to himself. Just another student wandering the halls—except he wasn’t really wandering. His steps had purpose, masked beneath a calm, casual stroll. A casual stroll toward Room 1-B…

It wasn’t his class. His own homeroom was over in 1-D, tucked further down the corridor. But 1-B sat squarely along the way to the vending machines by the stairwell—or at least, that’s what he told himself. That it was a reasonable detour. Just a slightly longer path. A scenic route.

As he turned the corner, his gaze slid lazily across the row of doors ahead, some propped wide like most of the others, voices murmuring from inside. The usual first-year chaos—shuffling chairs, rustling notebooks, someone laughing too loud in the back. He didn’t stop. His footsteps didn’t falter.

He walked past the classroom’s familiar doors, then around the corner where the sunlight spilled through the high windows, streaking across the floor. And just a little further down—toward the middle of the first-year hallway—was room 1-B.

He glanced to the side. Casually. Or at least he hoped it looked casual.

The classroom door was cracked open, voices drifting lazily into the hallway. A couple of students stood by the doorway chatting, their uniforms half-unbuttoned in the spring warmth. Tooru passed them without pause, just slow enough to glimpse inside.

Aaaaaand there she was.

Her short hair was pinned back with a soft clip today, glasses pushed up her nose, her head slightly tilted as she listened to the girl beside her—Leilani, probably. Her hands were folded neatly over her desk, and she was smiling at something, soft and wide, like whatever was said had completely lit up her thoughts. Her smile was the kind that crept up slowly and stayed longer than expected—genuine, unhurried. The movement of her expression—soft, bright, entirely unguarded—pulled at something in his chest.

He didn’t let his eyes linger. Just one glance. One heartbeat. One soft, unspoken “there she is.” And then he was past the door. It wasn’t like he had made the trip just to see her. That would’ve been weird. He was just passing through. Just stretching his legs. 

He turned the corner and walked toward his actual classroom at the end of the hall, not knowing that the girl his gaze lingered on a few milliseconds too long had glanced toward the door, just a few seconds too late. His footsteps were quiet, his expression unreadable. But his thoughts were busy.

He didn’t know what he was trying to figure out, exactly. There wasn’t really anything to figure out. It wasn’t that he was interested in her, per se. It wasn’t like that. She had just… surprised him. Yesterday. Her reaction after the game hadn’t been what he’d braced himself for. No breathless fangirling, no squeals or fluttering lashes. Just a quiet, stunned smile. Like she wasn’t expecting him to speak to her at all.

And then the way she left so suddenly with her friend, half-laughing, half-hiding behind Leilani’s arm. He hadn’t been able to tell if it was nerves, or awkwardness, or something else entirely. The whole thing was… ambiguous. Open-ended. Unfinished in a way that lingered longer than it should have.

Still, Tooru had found himself wondering: had Caylee smiled about it later? Had she mentioned it to Leilani? Maybe even her other friends? Had she thought about it at all? It wasn’t like he cared. Not really . He just happened to pass by, a mere coincidence. Nothing weird about taking the long way to class. Nope! Nothing weird at all.

He tugged at his collar, suddenly aware of the warmth creeping up the side of his face. It was warm out. The sun was already climbing high, and the hallways were stuffy, and he had practice that morning after all. That was all it was. Just the heat. Not the way her smile had taken him off guard. Not the way he’d immediately noticed the little clip in her hair or the faint color on her cheeks. Definitely not that.

Tooru stepped into his next class just as the bell rang, sliding into his seat near the window with the kind of ease only someone who had timed it down to the second could manage. He set his bag down, pulled out a pen, and half-listened as the teacher launched into attendance. He twirled his pen between his fingers, elbow resting lazily on the desk, eyes drifting to the window even though there was nothing particularly interesting out there—just a patch of cloudless sky and the faint outline of the gym’s roof in the distance.

His mind wandered to how Caylee’s face had lit up when he first walked over. The surprised way her eyes widened, like she wasn’t sure he was actually talking to her. The slightly awkward stance. The way she turned to Leilani with her hand covering her mouth, slightly embarrassed by the abrupt interaction. The way she–

“Tooru-kun? You want to share your answer?”

He blinked. “Uh…”

He looked down. His notebook was blank. Right. He hadn’t written a single word.

A soft ripple of laughter moved through the classroom, but the teacher just sighed and moved on. Tooru leaned back in his chair, head tilted against the wall, tapping his pen against the side of his notebook now.

His eyes drifted lazily back to the window, but his thoughts stayed tangled somewhere between her laugh, the clip in her hair, and the warmth of her smile. He wasn’t going to do anything about it. It's not like it was anything that serious. Just curiosity…I guess? A passing thought, the kind that happened sometimes when someone surprised you. 

Buuuuttt then again…

He remembered seeing Iwaizumi talking to Leilani a few times. Not often, but enough. Between classes, or after practice, when she’d stop by to deliver council flyers. They weren’t close, but he knew Iwaizumi did seem familiar enough with her.

Tooru tapped his pen once more. Maybe he’d ask him later. Casually, of course. Just in passing! Right… just asking about Leilani. And maybe—if it came up—he’d ask if she ever mentioned her friend, too.

...

The courtyard was dappled in sunlight by midday, the spring air warm but gentle, brushing softly over the students who had spilled out of the building and onto the benches and stone ledges. Laughter carried lightly in the breeze, undercut by the low murmur of conversation and the rustle of convenience store wrappers being torn open.

Tooru sat beside Iwaizumi at their usual spot near the far edge of the courtyard wall, where a tall camphor tree cast just enough shade to keep the sun out of their eyes. Iwaizumi was halfway through a pork cutlet sandwich, elbow on his knee, idly scrolling through his phone in the other hand.

Tooru hadn't touched his bento yet. He held his melon bread loosely in his hands, the plastic crinkling beneath his fingers.

“So,” he began, too casually to be casual, eyes fixed somewhere ahead of him instead of on Iwaizumi. “That girl you were talking to the other day. The one in student council. Tall-ish. Wavy hair. Confident.”

Iwaizumi didn’t look up from his phone. “Leilani?”

Tooru shrugged one shoulder. “I guess.”

Now Iwa looked at him, a little sideways. “You guess? What, you trying to talk to her now?”

Tooru rolled his eyes. “No, nothing like that. I’ve just seen her around a lot at the games. You know her, right?” He tried (and failed) to ask casually, unwrapping his melon bread.

Iwaizumi gave him a look, the kind that suggested he wasn’t buying the nonchalance in Tooru’s voice, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back against the wall and wiped his hands on a napkin.

“We have a couple of the same classes,” Iwaizumi replied, shrugging. “She’s cool. Funny. Pretty extroverted. I invited her to watch one of the practice games against Shiratoizawa once, so we could study after. She’s shown up to games and stuff ever since, and she always brings along her friend, Caylee. ”

Tooru’s eyes flicked subtly to Iwaizumi, a flicker of interest hidden beneath his casual tone. “Caylee?”

“Yeah, Caylee,” Iwaizumi said, biting into the last bite of his sandwich. “They’re pretty tight. Leilani’s the extrovert, always a bit loud but in a funny type of way. Caylee’s more low-key but bubbly when she’s with Leilani. Think she mentioned they’ve known each other since middle school?”

Tooru nodded, letting the information settle as he chewed over the details. “Hmm. So, they usually come together, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Iwaizumi confirmed. “Leilani’s kind of the leader of their little duo. Makes sure Caylee’s always included. You asking about them for some reason?”

Tooru laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “Nah. Just curious. It’s nice having familiar faces in the crowd, you know?”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “Well, they’re definitely not your usual crowd. Both of them are pretty closet-level freaks, if you ask me. Not that it’s a bad thing—they’re just… total dorks and nerds. But you wouldn’t guess it looking at them. Leilani’s all confident and lowkey kind of intimidating, but once you hang out with her, she’s a little dorkier than she lets on. Caylee’s more whimsical—super into her own world of nerdy stuff and jokes around a lot more than Leilani, but she only really lets that side show around Leilani.”

Tooru nodded thoughtfully. “Oh..”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi said, leaning back with a grin. “I was pretty surprised the first time I hung out with them both after a match. They’ve got this weird little thing—like Caylee completely nerds out, and Leilani adds onto it with her. So funny.”

“That so?” he murmured, taking a small bite of his melon bread, chewing slower than usual.

Iwaizumi glanced sideways at him again. “You sure you’re not interested in one of them?”

Tooru scoffed, though the sound lacked any real sharpness. “I literally just said I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been weirdly attentive ever since I brought them up.”

Tooru gave a lazy shrug, letting his gaze wander to the distant crowd at the far end of the courtyard. “I just think it’s interesting. That’s all.”

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything right away. He only pulled out his phone again, lazily scrolling through a few messages. A breeze rustled the leaves above them, scattering bits of sunlight across the ground like little golden coins. The lunch period was winding down, but the courtyard was still buzzing with fragments of conversation and distant laughter.

After a moment, Iwaizumi spoke up again—more casual this time. “Well, like I said, I can probably get Leilani to agree to hang out sometime. Maybe get them both to come. They’re kind of… attached at the hip anyway.”

Tooru nodded slowly, the faintest glint of excitement flickering in his eyes now as he leaned back against the bench, lifting his arms to stretch. “Could be fun,” he said easily. “Good way to unwind after practice or something.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi drawled, unconvinced, but too tired to call him out again.

angst, PRE-TS, established relationship, fem reader, hurt no comfort heh..., ummm warnign tooru says mean things I guess, sorry this is kinda bad :c .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. inspired by:

.・゜-: ✧ :- Tooru couldn’t even remember what started it. Maybe he missed just one too many serves at practice. Maybe it was the ache in his shoulder that hadn’t gone away for weeks, or maybe, worst of all, it was that you were always there. Always present. Always patient. Always understanding.

And somehow, tonight, that felt like too much. It started small. Something about him forgetting to text you, that practice ran late. You’d asked if he was okay. You said it gently. You always did. But instead of telling you the truth: that he was just a bit tired, a bit overwhelmed, that he just needed some space, he let it fester. Let it twist. Until it spilled out ugly and sharp. “No—no, seriously,” he had snapped, voice a vicious blend of sarcasm and exhaustion, “do you ever stop? It's like being smothered with expectations all the damn time.”

You had paused, hands frozen in mid-air from folding his laundry, unsure if you heard him right.

“I can’t even breathe around you anymore,” he added, pacing like a caged animal, voice rising. “Everything I do, there’s some comment, some concern, some—some look like I’ve failed you. God, you’re exhausting.”

“Tooru—” you’d tried, but he cut you off.

“Can’t you just fucking relax? You’re on my ass all day. Why can’t you go bother someone else for once? I wish you could just be a chill girlfriend and be grateful instead of—God, you’re so high maintenance it’s like dating a fucking chore list.”

The silence after that was like the air being sucked out of the room.

He didn’t mean it. Of course he didn’t. But he said it. And there was no dragging those words back into his mouth once they were out. They just hung there—sick, festering, heavy.

Your face went blank. Not stoic. Blank. Like every emotion had been yanked from it at once, and all that remained was a shell trying not to shatter on the spot. You didn’t say anything—didn’t cry or yell. You just walked out of the bedroom, quiet as a ghost. He heard your footsteps down the hall, the soft swish of your socks on the floor. The bedroom door stayed open, but the space you left behind felt cavernous. This time, he didn’t walk away. ...

But you didn’t come back either. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ When Tooru woke up, the silence was oppressive.

2:13 AM.

His head throbbed. His mouth was dry. His body was warm, but not the way it used to be—not with your leg tangled in his, not with your quiet breathing against his chest.

The bed was too still. The sheets beside him were untouched. Not even a dent in the pillow.

A flash of fear crept up his spine as he pushed the covers off and stood. The hallway stretched out before him like a tunnel. He checked the guest room first, expecting to find you curled on the edge of the bed. But the door was cracked open, and the bed was empty. His heart began to race.

The kitchen light was off. The bathroom door was wide open. No signs of life anywhere.

Then he stepped into the living room.

Then he saw you.

You were asleep—barely—on the couch. Curled tightly into yourself under a throw blanket that was too thin, one arm tucked beneath your head as a makeshift pillow. The lamp was off. The television still displayed the paused menu of the last show you’d watched together.

Tooru stood frozen.

There was something about the sight of you like that—huddled into a corner of a couch, curled in a way that made him feel like his heart was punched through his chest.

You didn’t even take a pillow from the bed. Didn’t even grab the thicker blanket from the closet. Just escaped the bedroom. Escaped him. You always hated the couch. Too firm. Too short. You once joked that it “felt like lying on a bench in purgatory.” But here you were, trying to sleep on it, because he’d made you feel like you didn’t belong in bed with him anymore.

He stepped closer quietly, unsure of what to do.

Your face, even in sleep, looked worn. Not peaceful—tense. Lips pressed together like you were fighting something even in your dreams.

“Tooru,” you mumbled, barely audible, turning in your sleep. He swallowed. He didn’t want to wake you, but he couldn’t just let this stay like this. “Hey,” he whispered gently, kneeling beside the couch. “Sweetheart…” You stirred slowly, eyelashes fluttering before your eyes opened blearily. You blinked at him, confused at first—then, as the memory of the night returned, your face hardened. Not with anger, but with something worse: hurt.

“Why are you out here?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you murmured, curling into the blanket.

It was the kind of answer that didn’t ask for a reaction. A simple truth, tossed gently between you, like it wasn’t heavy.

But Tooru flinched like you’d hit him.

“What? No. No, that’s not—” he stammered. “That’s not true, you never bother me. I was just… angry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You didn’t say anything. Just adjusted the blanket slightly, like that would be enough to keep out the cold that had nothing to do with the air.

“I say stupid shit when I’m overwhelmed,” he tried again, softer. “But you know I don’t… I don’t feel that way about you.”

Your eyes didn’t meet his. They stayed somewhere near the far end of the room. On the floor. On nothing.

“I know you were tired,” you said quietly.

And somehow, it felt like the most painful thing you could’ve said.

Not forgiveness. Not even understanding. Just… surrender. Like you were folding the moment up and putting it away so you wouldn’t have to carry it anymore.

Tooru’s hands curled against his knees. He hated that tone — the way you’d said it like it explained everything, like it made his cruelty easier to live with.

You added, after a pause, “You always tell the truth when you’re tired.”

“That’s not fair,” he whispered.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t push. That wasn’t your style. But you looked at him then—finally—but then there was something in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

A distance that hadn’t always been there. A stillness in you. Not calm. Just empty.

“I don’t think you hate me,” you said softly. “I think maybe I just make you tired.”

The silence afterward was thick, like the breath before a sob, like the hush that falls in a room where something has just died. The clock ticked on. The streetlight outside buzzed faintly, casting pale orange through the blinds. Dust floated through it — tiny fragments suspended in a world where time had stopped.

Tooru opened his mouth, closed it again. There were a thousand things he could say. A hundred lies that might’ve sounded like love. But he knew none of them would reach you now.

“I’ll leave the door open,” he said quietly, because it felt like the only thing he could offer.

It was one of those rare, almost peculiar instances when Reigen found himself behind the wheel.

He had never been particularly fond of driving. It always felt too stressful, too chaotic—too many variables that could spiral out of control, too many things he couldn’t charm or talk his way around. Yet today was different. Today held a quiet significance that overrode his usual aversion. Today was all about you.

It was a promise he had made to himself: no matter what, he would always try—really try—to make you happy.

Lately, though, he’d felt something shift. The distance wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It crept in quietly, tucked away in the subtle changes—how your laughter came slower, how you took longer to respond to his teasing, how your once-effortless smile now carried the weight of effort. It wasn’t that you stopped caring. It just felt like something had dulled between the two of you, like a light dimming behind frosted glass.

Reigen had noticed. Of course he had. He picked up on those things more than he let on. But instead of confronting you with questions he wasn’t sure how to ask, he made a plan. A day at the beach—just the two of you, like you love(d).

He remembered how the sun used to revive you, how you thrived outside, chasing waves and laughing until your stomach hurt. He thought maybe what you needed wasn’t answers, but air. A reminder of warmth. Something that felt like before.

So that morning, he playfully yanked the covers off of you and tossed you an outfit he’d picked out with more care than he’d ever admit. Something he thought you’d feel good in. Something you might have chosen. He just knew you that well.

With that same undying enthusiasm he always wielded around you, he guided you into the passenger seat and started the engine. But the moment the key turned and the car rumbled to life, a quiet unease coiled in his chest.

You didn’t complain about being up too early. You didn’t grumble or roll your eyes like you normally would. You just moved—quietly, passively. Like someone stepping through the choreography of a routine they no longer believed in.

As the car sped down the highway, Reigen cranked up the volume on one of your favorite songs. The windows were down, the summer wind whipping through his hair as he belted out the lyrics with theatrical passion. He glanced at you, expecting your usual eye-roll or reluctant grin, maybe even a duet if he was lucky.

But you just smiled.

It wasn’t your smile—not the one that crinkled your eyes or made your nose scrunch in that endearing way he loved. This smile was thin, polite. It was like watching someone smile at an old photograph. Like you weren’t fully there with him. Still, Reigen kept singing. He clung to the melody like it might somehow pull you back.

“Come on, I know you remember this part!” he grinned, tapping the steering wheel with faux drumsticks. “This is your verse!”

You laughed, but it felt hollow in your throat. Even you could tell. “Yeah,” you murmured, almost apologetically. “I remember.” And you did—kind of. You remembered the brightness of those summer days, the sunburns, the salty fries, the feeling of sand caught between your toes. You remembered how Reigen used to laugh so loudly people turned around, how his cooler was always packed like he was preparing for a weeklong expedition. You remembered loving it. Loving him.

But now, it all felt distant. Like looking at your life through a fogged-up window—familiar shapes, blurred meaning. He kept talking. Stories spilled out of him like water from a cracked glass. A possessed vacuum cleaner. A cursed goldfish. A woman who was convinced her socks had transformed into eels. His voice was bright, lively—practiced. He was doing what he always did: filling the silence before it became too loud to ignore.

But for you, the sound was almost painful. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him. You did. Maybe even more than he realized. But lately, your life felt like a memory you were trying to wake up from. Like you were always a step behind, chasing feelings you used to have rather than actually having them. And the worst part?

You didn’t know why.

You stared out at the passing trees and blue sky, that guilty flutter churning in your stomach. What was wrong with you? Your boyfriend had done all this for you. He tried so hard. He was trying right now. And all you could offer him in return were quiet nods, half-laughs, and an occasional glance just to make sure he knew you were still there—even if you didn’t feel like you were.

You clenched your hands together in your lap. You weren’t angry. You weren’t even sad, exactly. Just… wrong. Like a puzzle piece in the right box but the wrong spot. You turned to look at him, really look at him—his profile against the summer light, eyes on the road, singing with so much hope it nearly broke you.

“I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a fragile glass ornament, delicate and heavy at the same time. It felt as if a weight had dropped between you, shifting the atmosphere in the car. He swallowed, the corners of his mouth twitching as his smile started to falter, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his hand sought yours, wrapping around it with a gentle, almost desperate grip, as if trying to hold onto something that felt like it might slip away.

You turned your gaze out of the window, the landscape blurring past like a fleeting memory. Your voice came out softer, almost a whisper, “Maybe some things… just don’t go back.” The words felt like an admission, a realization that settled in the pit of your stomach. He remained silent, the weight of your confession hanging thick in the car, mingling with the smell of leather and the faint soundtrack of tires on asphalt.

The road rolled on beneath the tires, steady and unchanging, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you both. You could feel the space between you expanding, an invisible chasm that neither of you quite knew how to bridge. Outside, the sun dipped low, casting golden rays that danced through the trees before being swallowed by a distant mountain. Shadows pooled over your hands, creeping across your skin like the unexpressed thoughts that lingered uncomfortably in the air between you, hovering over your faces, over what remained unspoken.

"Reigen, am I... unlovable?" Your question has been haunting Reigen for days. Actually, it wasn't really the question itself— it's what he responded with. Arataka nervously laughs, turning away from you.

"Hah... What..?" You turn to Arataka, your face tinted with offense.

"I'm serious, Reigen." He glances at you, eyes sharp, a little too fast with his reply.

"Don't be so dramatic. You're not special enough to be unlovable."

The words hang in the air, heavier than either of you expected. You stare at him, stunned. Arataka instantly regrets it, but his pride locks his mouth shut. •·.·''·.·•

Arataka hadn’t seen you in days. He hadn’t been able to contact you either; the constant dial tone rang in his ears for hours. Have you blocked him? He doesn’t blame you. Not really. But that doesn't stop the creeping nausea that coils in his gut every time he thinks about what he said.

“You're not special enough to be unlovable.”

What the hell was that? It came out too fast, too defensive— a reflex, like swatting at a wasp too close to his ear. Except this wasn’t some harmless sting. It was your face. The way your eyes sank just slightly, like something inside you quietly folded in on itself.

And now you were gone.

He tried to convince himself you were just busy. That maybe your phone had died. That maybe, any moment now, you'd barge into his office like always—grinning, uninvited, holding lunch in one hand and some half-baked excuse in the other. But it’s been four days. And now even Mob is getting antsy. His head snaps toward the door every time the clock strikes 4:00 p.m.—the time you'd always show up with snacks for both of them and that warm, effortless smile like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Even Serizawa had started asking about you. Arataka could see it in his eyes—how much he missed your quiet presence. You always made time to sit and share a cup of the cheap tea Arataka bought for the office with him whenever he and Mob were too busy. And now, that small comfort was gone—because of him.

It was Arataka’s stupid mouth that ruined it.

He was the one who took away Mob’s favorite person to talk to after a long day.

He was the one who pushed you out, even as every part of him ached for you to stay.

And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was supposed to say to your question.

"Reigen, am I... unlovable?" “No. You’re the only person who ever made me feel like maybe I wasn’t, either.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

On the fifth day, Mob came into the office, looking around as if he was expecting you to already be there. It broke Arataka's heart.

He was looking for you, too.

"Shishou," Mob frowned when he failed to spot you, his shoulders sinking a little, "What happened to (Y/N)?"

Arataka didn’t look up right away. His eyes were fixed on the half-empty coffee cup sitting on his desk, pretending to be lost in thought. But Mob didn’t rush him—he was patient. Quiet.

He glanced at the door, half-expecting you to walk in like you always did. “I… I miss her.”

Arataka’s jaw tightened.

Mob wasn’t one to say things like that lightly. If he missed you, it meant your absence was more than just noticeable—it left a hole.

“Yeah,” Arataka admitted quietly. “I miss her too.” ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Arataka should’ve cared more. He should’ve cared enough to ask where you lived. He should’ve cared enough to walk you home, to say something real instead of the half-hearted goodbyes he always gave as you left the office.

Now, as he wanders through the streets of Seasoning City, every familiar corner twists into a reminder of what he lost—and what he never gave. His phone feels heavy in his hand, each call unanswered, each message left on read like a silent rejection. But he can’t stop. He won’t stop.

He roams, hoping to stumble across you by chance, hoping to see that smile that always made the chaos of his days feel a little lighter. He’s desperate—desperate to say the words he should have said a thousand times before. That you are lovable. That you always have been.

That he loves you.

And maybe, if fate is kind, maybe you’ll let him say it to your face. Riiiingggg. Beep! Arataka pauses. Did you just— "Why are you still calling me Reigen?" Your voice is soft but empty— no bitterness, no anger. Just a quiet resignation as if you had just accepted you were less than nothing in Arataka's eyes. That's what crushes him most. His throat tightens, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I… I need to say it to you. To your face. Please. Where are you?" There was a long pause; the only thing he could hear through the speaker was the low hum of your room—the faint whir of a fan, the creak of old floorboards.

He spoke again, more desperately this time, pain catching in his throat. “Please… tell me. I just want to see you. I want to try—try to fix this!" •·.·''·.·•

Arataka had never run faster in his life.

His feet pounded the pavement, heavy as lead—each step a battle against the guilt clawing at his back, begging him to stop, to turn around, to admit he was already too late.

His legs burned. His lungs screamed. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. His tie flapped wildly over his shoulder, suit jacket unbuttoned, shoes slick with city grime—but none of it mattered.

All he could think about was you.

The city rushed past in smears of light and motion—faces, cars, voices—all a blur against the singular thought screaming in his head:

Please still be there.

He should’ve cared more. So much more.

He should’ve known where you lived. Should’ve walked you home every night, instead of waving lazily from the office door. Should’ve asked how you were, how your heart was doing, whether you felt seen—whether you felt loved.

He should’ve done everything differently; and now he was chasing a moment that should’ve never been lost.

Arataka rounded the corner too fast and stumbled, barely catching himself as his eyes locked on you.

You were there, standing beneath the red awning of the café you always mentioned—the one with the bitter coffee and the soft seats. You were standing upright, scanning the sidewalk, your eyes searching every passerby with that same quiet determination he’d seen so many times before.

You were waiting for him, and that shattered something inside him.

He didn’t call your name—there wasn’t time.

A storm of guilt, regret, and fear surged through him, and before he could stop himself, he was in front of you, pulling you close.

He crashed into you, wrapping you in a tight, desperate hug that almost stole both your breaths. You tensed for a moment—caught off guard—but then let yourself settle into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean what I said. Not a single word.”

His forehead rested against your shoulder, seeking comfort just as much as offering it.

“You deserve so much love,” he said, voice trembling. “And I love you. I love you more than I can say, and it crushed me when you asked if you were unlovable.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say. But you always found solace in hugs, and slowly, your hands came up to wrap around his waist. “I always say the wrong things when it matters most,” he confessed. “I joke, I deflect, I pretend it’s not serious—and I hurt people because I don’t know how to be honest when it counts. That’s on me. It’s always been on me.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes—his filled with tears he wouldn’t let fall.

“You asked me something real, and I mocked it. I mocked you. It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

His voice softened, almost a whisper now.

“I don’t deserve your love… but I love you. I always have. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

The silence between you trembled, fragile as a whispered secret, a glass on the verge of shattering. He braced himself, expecting you to pull away, to recoil, or even to strike out in pain or anger. But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him back, drawing him close. Your face found shelter against his chest, your breath quiet and steady. In that simple touch, a thousand words went unspoken—apologies, hopes, regrets, and a love too deep for speech. His fingers traced softly through your hair, every stroke a silent vow.

I’m here.

I love you.

It was nights like these that Hajime loved you even more than he already did.

Cheap Party City streamers adorned the walls of your small, shared apartment. Colorful balloons nestled in the corners of the room and small platters of food were scattered across every flat surface. The speaker you’d borrowed—well, stolen—from one of your friends played soft tunes, adding to the warm ambiance. And of course, Hajime's beloved friends and family were packed into the living room.

If he was honest, Hajime had never really cared for celebrating his birthday. But when he saw the sparkle in your eyes, the way you looked up at him for approval, the love so clearly written across your face—he couldn’t say no.

As the party wound down and guests slowly filtered out after cake and presents, Hajime found himself growing antsy. He’d had enough of the small talk, enough of the endless music, enough of the loud laughter—when all he wanted was to hear yours.

Spotting you chatting with the last lingering guests, Hajime slipped an arm around your waist, his touch gentle as his lips brushed your ear.

"Love, I'm tired," he whispered, his tone laced with exhaustion and just a touch of pleading.

He didn’t say much—he never had to. You understood him with little more than a look. With a quiet smile, you gently ushered the remaining guests out, and Hajime couldn’t help but feel lucky. I am so fortunate to have someone as kind and understanding as you.

╰┈➤˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

"Did you like the party, Hajime?" you asked sweetly, starting to clean up as he collapsed onto the couch, clearly worn out.

"Of course. Thank you so much, baby," Hajime murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t stop admiring you—your effort, your thoughtfulness, the time and money you'd poured into making the night special just for him. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

As he watched you take down a few more streamers, Hajime stood and slipped his arms around your waist again, this time from behind. His lips found the crook of your neck, pressing light, affectionate kisses against your skin.

You sighed in contentment, leaning into his embrace, your fatigue becoming harder to ignore beneath his calming touch.

"We can clean up later," Hajime murmured between kisses on the other side of your neck.

And with that, you let him take the lead as he gently guided you toward your shared bedroom.

Hajime's kisses never relented, even as you made your way to the bed. He gently lay you on your back, attacking your neck—now collarbone— with love bites.

"You make me so happy you know that?" Hajime muttered under his breath just loud enough for you to hear as he slowly started to unbutton your top.

"I think you deserve a reward for your hard work," His words tease as he slowly slips off your blouse at a deliberately slow rate leaving you in only your bra. Hajime takes his time to admire you as his hands caress your sides. His gaze lingers on the content yet exhausted look on your face, the way your chest slowly rises and falls, the rhythm breaking every time his hands grazed a bit too close to the soft, plump skin under your chest.

As his hands start to deviate from your sides and onto your clothed breast your breath hitches, his large calloused hands massaging your chest with practiced ease. Hajime groans at the feeling of you against his hands, the hardness in his pants only growing at the sensation. He lowers himself onto your body, placing open-mouthed kisses on the existing exposed skin. Your hands move to card through his hair, your jaw dropping slightly with pleasure.

"Sit up, love," Hajime commands lightly. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck as he undoes the clip to your bra, your nipples hardening at the rush of cold air.

"My pretty girl," He murmurs into your skin as he gently pushes you back down into the bed, throwing your bra to the side. One of his hands makes its way back onto one of your breasts, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth latches onto your nipples, his tongue swirling around the bud. His gaze never leaves your face, his arousal only heightening at your suggestive expression.

Hajime sucks and kisses your breast before moving his free hand that was once caressing your chest to lift your skirt—his touch light and teasing. Your face starts to contort with pleasure as he rubs his lanky fingers onto your clothed folds, your whimpers making it hard for Hajime to hold back.

"Baby," You whine desperately, "please," You writhe and squirm under his touch, unable to resist the teasing any longer. Hajime's mouth unlatches from your chest with a quiet pop.

"Anything you want, honey," Hajime makes no time hooking his finger on the hem of your underwear and pulling it down, allowing you to kick off the loose fabric. He starts to slowly trace the outline of your folds before dipping two of his fingers into you, a whimper again escaping from your lips. Hajime lowers his face onto your clit, adding to the stimulation. As you writhe and moan under his touch, Hajime becomes increasingly impatient.

You whine as Hajime pulls away, but before you can complain his lips crash onto yours as he struggles with the belt on his pants. Hajime lets his pants and underwear pool around his ankles before kicking the fabric off onto the floor.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby, I love you so much," Hajime practically whines against your lips, just as needy as you are. He flips your skirt up, letting the fabric sit on your stomach as he starts to grind his length against your pussy. Hajime groans and your slick immediately coats his hardened length, pleasure already coursing through his veins. Your moans and whines mix as he continues to grind before he starts to align his tip with the entrance.

"You're already so wet for me, love," He utters against your neck before he slowly pushes his length into you, his girth causing you to moan explicitly.

"Oh god, Hajime—" You start to whine before he cuts you off.

"Shh, love. Let me take care of you," Hajme whispers as he bottoms you out, his tip hitting your cervix; which elicits another moan from you. Hajime starts to move slowly, taking in each second to bask in the pleasure.

It's not long before his speed starts to increase, he can't help but want to take you to the edge. He whispers sweet nothings into your ears, his soothing words contrasting the explicit act between you two.

"You're always so tight for me, so good," He praises.

The wet sounds of pleasure and groans fill the room as Hajime's speed increases. Inaudible pleads fall from your lips as Hajime thrusts into you relentlessly. You start to claw at his back and clench around his length, eliciting a sharp moan from Hajime.

"You're squeezing," He pants, "Are you close, baby?" Hajime asks sweetly, watching as your face contorts with pleasure.

"Nnngh, so close Hajime," You manage to slip out, the knot in your stomach making you breathless.

"Cum for me, baby," Hajime whispers, his lips brushing against your ear as his free hand moves to circle your clit, encouraging you to chase your high.

A few more thrusts leave you screaming his name, and waves of pleasure rush through your body as you ride out your release. It's not long before Hajime follows you, shooting ropes of cum into your pussy. He slowly thrusts into you as you both ride out your highs, panting heavily. After a few minutes, he pulls out and lowers himself onto you, his hands moving to cup your face as he places a long, loving kiss on your forehead.