Potato

Iharu Furuhashi laughed, plopping down on a rickety chair that creaked ominously under his weight. "That's just his face, man. Vice-Captain Hoshina always looks like he's plotting something."

"That's because he usually is." Haruichi Izumo muttered, meticulously organizing documents into labeled folders. As someone who actually appreciated proper record-keeping, he was the only one who seemed genuinely invested in the task.

Aoi Kaguragi, ever the gentle giant, carefully moved a precariously stacked tower of boxes to prevent an avalanche. "We should focus on finishing quickly. Captain Ashiro mentioned wanting this room cleared by the end of the week."

"Yeah, yeah," Kafka sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Let's just get through these boxes and—whoa, what's this?"

He'd opened a box marked 'MISC - Photographs 2008-2015' and found it filled with old photo albums and loose pictures in protective sleeves. Unlike the boring documents they'd been sorting through, these actually looked interesting.

"Photos?" Kikoru perked up, her curiosity piqued. "Let me see."

Within moments, the entire platoon had abandoned their assigned boxes and crowded around the table where Kafka had spread out several photo albums. The images were a fascinating glimpse into the Third Division's history—formal platoon photos, candid shots from training exercises, and even a few party pictures from various celebrations.

"Look how young Captain Ashiro looks here!" Iharu pointed at a photo from what must have been her early days in the Defense Force. She couldn't have been more than twenty, her expression already carrying that same focused intensity.

"Is that Vice-Captain Hoshina?" Reno leaned in closer, examining a group photo from 2012. Sure enough, a younger Soshiro Hoshina stood in the back row, his signature lazy smile already in place, though his face still carried a hint of youthful roundness.

"He looks exactly the same," Kafka observed. "Just... slightly less terrifying?"

"I didn't know officers kept personal photos in the archives," Kikoru mused, flipping through one of the albums. "Oh, look—these must be from the New Year's celebration in 2014. Everyone's in formal wear."

Haruichi adjusted his stance, studying the photos with analytical interest. "It makes sense. The Defense Force is like a family for many officers. These are memories worth preserving."

They continued sorting through the photographs, commenting on how different everyone looked, laughing at particularly funny candid shots, and marveling at how much the base had changed over the years. It was a pleasant distraction from the tedious sorting work.

Then Aoi, who had been quietly examining a stack of individual photos, suddenly went very still.

"Um... everyone?" His deep voice carried an unusual note of uncertainty. "You might want to see this."

The others clustered around as he held up a photograph, and for a moment, nobody spoke.

The image showed Vice-Captain Hoshina—definitely younger, maybe in his mid-twenties—standing in what appeared to be a traditional Japanese garden. Cherry blossoms drifted in the background, and the lighting suggested either early morning or late afternoon, that golden hour that made everything look soft and dreamlike.

But it wasn't Hoshina that had captured their attention.

Next to him stood a woman.

She was beautiful in an understated way, wearing an elegant kimono in shades of soft pink and cream, patterned with delicate cherry blossoms that complemented the scenery. Her hair was styled in a traditional manner, adorned with ornamental pins that caught the light. She wasn't wearing a Defense Force uniform—in fact, everything about her appearance suggested she was a civilian.

And she was clearly pregnant.

Despite the flowing sleeves of her kimono that draped gracefully over her midsection, there was an unmistakable gentle swell to her stomach—not dramatically large, but definitely present. Her hand rested naturally on the bump, a gesture so instinctive that it spoke of months of habitual protection.

But what truly caught their attention was the intimacy captured in the photograph.

Hoshina's arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand covering hers where it rested on her stomach. His usually playful expression had softened into something tender, almost reverent, as he looked down at her. The woman gazed up at him with such open affection that it made the photograph feel almost too private to be viewing.

They looked like...

"Is that... Is Vice-Captain Hoshina married?" Kafka finally broke the silence, his voice climbing an octave in disbelief.

"There's no way," Iharu breathed, leaning in so close his nose nearly touched the photograph. "Vice-Captain Hoshina? The guy who practically lives at the base? The one who turns every conversation into a swordsmanship lecture?"

"And apparently has a wife," Kikoru added, her eyes wide. "A pregnant wife. Or... had? When was this taken?"

Reno carefully turned over the photograph, looking for any identifying information. In faded ink, someone had written: Spring 2015 - H & Y

"2015," Reno announced. "Ten years ago."

"H & Y," Haruichi repeated thoughtfully. "Hoshina and... Y? Does anyone know a Y-name associated with the Vice-Captain?"

They all shook their heads, still staring at the photograph in stunned fascination.

"She's really beautiful," Aoi observed gently. "And they look... happy."

"Happy?" Iharu sputtered. "They look like they're in a romance movie! Look at how he's looking at her! I didn't even know Vice-Captain Hoshina's face could make that expression!"

"His hand is on her stomach," Kikoru said slowly, as if working through a complex equation. "On the baby. Which means..."

A collective realization seemed to dawn on the group simultaneously, and various shades of red began creeping up necks and across faces.

"Oh my god," Kafka choked out. "Vice-Captain Hoshina... and she... they..."

"Of course they did, you idiot," Kikoru snapped, though her own face was decidedly pink. "That's generally how pregnancy occurs."

"I KNOW THAT!" Kafka's voice cracked. "It's just—he's Vice-Captain Hoshina! Our Vice-Captain Hoshina! The guy who makes us run laps until we puke! The weapons master who can take down Kaiju with just swords! And he... he..."

"Had sex?" Iharu supplied helpfully, though he looked equally flustered. "Yeah, man, that's... that's a mental image I didn't need."

"Do you think they're still together?" Reno wondered aloud, mercifully steering the conversation away from that particular topic. "He doesn't wear a wedding ring."

"Lots of Defence Force officers don't wear rings," Haruichi pointed out logically. "They can interfere with combat suits and equipment. It's actually discouraged during active duty."

"But he's never mentioned a wife," Kafka insisted. "Not once. And I've been here for months now!"

"Have you ever asked him about his personal life?" Kikoru countered.

"...No?"

"Then why would he volunteer that information?"

Aoi carefully set the photograph down on the table, and they all stared at it some more, trying to reconcile the image of their stern, sword-obsessed Vice-Captain with the tender man in the photograph.

"Look at his smile," Aoi said softly. "It's different from his usual one. More... genuine."

He was right. Hoshina's typical smile was sharp, almost predatory—especially when he was about to put them through particularly hellish training. But in this photograph, his smile was warm, unguarded, full of unmistakable love.

"She must be someone really special," Kikoru murmured. "To make him look like that."

"Do you think something happened to her?" Kafka asked quietly, voicing the worry that had started creeping into all their minds. "I mean, if he doesn't talk about her, and this was ten years ago..."

"Don't jump to conclusions," Haruichi said firmly, though his expression was troubled. "There could be many reasons he keeps his personal life private. The Defense Force is dangerous work. Maybe he wants to keep her safe by maintaining that separation."

"Or maybe she left him?" Iharu suggested, then immediately looked guilty for saying it. "I mean, not that I'm saying she would! But being married to a Defence Force officer has to be hard, right? Especially someone as high-ranking as Vice-Captain. He's always here, always working, always in danger..."

"Look at this photograph," Reno interrupted, his quiet voice cutting through the speculation. "Really look at it. Does this look like a relationship that would end badly?"

They fell silent, studying the image once more. The way Hoshina held her, protective and gentle. The way she leaned into him, trusting and content. The way they both cradled that precious bump, their unborn child, with expressions of wonder and anticipation.

"No," Kikoru finally said. "It doesn't."

"So where is she?" Kafka asked. "Where's the baby? They'd be, what, nine or ten years old now?"

"Maybe they don't live on base," Aoi suggested. "Maybe Vice-Captain maintains a separate family home. For safety."

"That would make sense," Haruichi agreed. "If Kaiju attacked this base, which has happened before, having his family elsewhere would be strategic."

"It's still weird that he never mentions them though," Iharu insisted. "Not even in passing?"

"The Vice-Captain is a private person," Reno observed. "Have any of you ever heard him talk about his personal life at all? His hobbies, his family, anything outside of work?"

They all thought about it and realized Reno was right. For all his chattiness during training and his constant presence around the base, Hoshina never actually shared anything truly personal. They knew he came from a prestigious family with a strong military tradition, they knew he was obsessed with perfecting his sword techniques, they knew he had a complicated relationship with firearms and conventional weapons.

But beyond that? Nothing.

"He keeps his walls up," Kikoru said thoughtfully. "Captain Ashiro does the same thing, but at least she's obvious about it. Vice-Captain Hoshina hides behind that smile and all his teasing, so you don't notice that he's not actually letting anyone in."

"That's kind of sad," Kafka said softly. "If he has this whole other life—a wife, a kid—but feels like he can't even mention them..."

"Or maybe he's just professional," Haruichi countered. "There's nothing wrong with maintaining boundaries between work and personal life. In fact, it's probably healthy."

"Healthy?" Iharu scoffed. "The man practically lives here! I don't think I've ever seen him leave the base except for missions!"

"Maybe he visits them when we're not paying attention," Aoi suggested diplomatically. "During his time off."

"Does Vice-Captain Hoshina even take time off?" Kafka wondered aloud.

They all looked at each other. Nobody could remember a single instance.

"Okay, this is getting depressing," Iharu declared, shaking his head. "Can we go back to being shocked that he had sex? That was more fun."

"Please don't," Kikoru groaned, covering her face with her hands.

"What don't you want him to do?"

The voice came from directly behind them, cheerful and unmistakable, and every single member of the platoon froze in perfect, synchronized horror.

Slowly—so slowly it was almost comical—they turned to find Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina standing in the doorway of the surveillance room, his hands in his pockets, his expression pleasantly curious.

And his eyes were closed in that familiar, deceptively friendly expression that usually meant someone was about to have a very bad day.

"V-Vice-Captain!" Kafka stammered, unconsciously moving to stand in front of the table where the photograph still lay in plain view. "We didn't—I mean, you're—what are you doing here?"

"Well, I came to check on your progress," Hoshina said casually, stepping further into the room. "It's been awfully quiet up here, and knowing you lot, quiet usually means trouble."

His gaze swept across the group, noting their guilty expressions and suspicious positioning, before landing on the table behind them.

On the photographs.

On that photograph.

For just a fraction of a second—so brief they might have imagined it—something flickered across Hoshina's face. Surprise? Recognition? Nostalgia?

Then his usual smile was back in place, perhaps a touch sharper than before.

"Well, well," He said softly, moving forward. The platoon parted like the Red Sea, unable to do anything but watch as he picked up the photograph. "I haven't seen this in a long time."

The silence was deafening.

Hoshina studied the image, his expression unreadable. His thumb traced the edge of the photograph with surprising gentleness.

"Sir," Kikoru finally found her voice, standing at attention despite her obvious nervousness. "We apologize if we intruded on your privacy. We were sorting through the archives as ordered and found—"

"It's fine," Hoshina interrupted, though his tone was distant. He was still looking at the photograph. "These are old personnel files. They're technically public record for Defence Force members."

"Even personal photographs?" Haruichi asked carefully.

"Even those." Hoshina finally looked up, and his eyes were open now, fixed on each of them in turn. "Though I'm curious what conclusions you've drawn from this particular image."

Oh, this was a test. They all recognized that tone.

"That you were married, sir?" Reno offered cautiously. "Or are married?"

Hoshina's smile widened fractionally. "Good observation. What else?"

"That your wife is a civilian," Kikoru added. "Based on her clothing and the setting."

"Also correct."

"And that she was pregnant," Aoi said gently. "Congratulations, sir. If that's appropriate to say."

Something genuinely warm entered Hoshina's expression then. "Thank you, Kaguragi. That's very kind."

Kafka raised his hand hesitantly, like he was back in school. "Sir? If you don't mind me asking... why doesn't anyone know about this?"

Hoshina set the photograph down carefully, his fingers lingering on it for just a moment before he straightened.

"Tell me, Hibino," He said instead of answering. "When you joined the Defence Force, what did they tell you about Kaiju?"

Kafka blinked at the sudden change in topic. "Uh... that they're dangerous? Unpredictable? That they can attack anywhere, anytime?"

"Exactly." Hoshina's voice was quiet but intense. "The Defence Force isn't like a normal military. We can't predict where or when attacks will occur. Our enemies don't follow rules of engagement. They don't care about treaties or cease-fires or civilian casualties."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"Everyone in this room has seen what Kaiju can do. You've seen the destruction, the casualties, the chaos. You've felt the fear of facing something that could kill you in seconds." His gaze swept across them all. "Now imagine having people you love more than your own life, and knowing that any day, any mission, could be the last time you see them. Or worse—that they could become targets specifically because of their connection to you."

The room had gone very quiet.

"The higher you climb in the Defence Force, the bigger the target on your back," Hoshina continued. "And on the backs of anyone associated with you. I'm Vice-Captain of the Third Division. I've personally killed more Kaiju than most officers see in their entire careers. I've made enemies—not just monsters, but rival divisions, political opponents, criminals who've lost their operations to our raids."

"So you keep your family secret," Haruichi said slowly, understanding dawning. "To protect them."

"To protect her," Hoshina corrected softly. "To protect them both."

"Both?" Kafka's eyes widened. "So the baby—"

"Is nine years old now," Hoshina confirmed, and there was no hiding the pride in his voice. "Nine years old and absolutely fearless, just like her mother."

"Her?" Kikoru's voice rose with excitement. "You have a daughter?"

Hoshina's smile turned genuinely fond. "I do. Smart as a whip, stubborn as a mule, and completely convinced she's going to join the Defence Force someday, no matter how many times her mother and I tell her to consider literally any other career."

Despite the serious conversation, several of them couldn't help but smile at that.

"What's her name?" Aoi asked.

"Nice try, Kaguragi." Hoshina's eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'm not giving you ammunition for future teasing."

"And your wife, sir?" Reno ventured. "The woman in the photograph?"

Hoshina picked up the photo again, and his entire demeanor softened in a way they'd never seen before.

"Her name is [Y/N]," He said quietly, as if the name itself was precious. "We met when I was twenty-one, married when I was twenty-five. This photo was taken at her family's estate during Hanami—cherry blossom viewing. She was six months pregnant at the time."

"She's beautiful," Kikoru said sincerely.

"She is," Hoshina agreed without hesitation. "Though if you tell her I said that, she'll probably hit me with a rolled-up newspaper again."

"Again?" Iharu couldn't help but laugh.

"My wife is not impressed by my rank or reputation," Hoshina said dryly. "She treats me exactly the same as she did when I was a cocky young officer fresh out of training. It's... refreshing, actually."

"Does she know about your work?" Haruichi asked. "The danger?"

"She knows everything." Hoshina's expression grew serious. "I won't lie to her, not about that. She knew what she was signing up for when she married me. Doesn't mean she likes it, but she understands."

"That must be hard," Kafka said quietly. "On both of you."

"It is," Hoshina admitted. "There are nights I don't come home. Missions that keep me away for weeks. Injuries I can't fully explain because the information is classified. And every time I leave, neither of us knows if I'll come back."

The weight of that reality settled over the room.

"But," Hoshina continued, his voice stronger now, "that's exactly why I do this job. So that she can live in a world where Kaiju attacks become less frequent, less deadly. So that my daughter can grow up without the fear I grew up with. So that maybe, someday, families like mine don't have to make these kinds of sacrifices."

He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze sharp and assessing.

"You all have people you care about, don't you? People you want to protect?"

They nodded, thinking of their own families, friends, loved ones.

"Then you understand why I keep mine separate from this life. It's not because I'm ashamed or because I don't love them. It's because I love them so much that I'll do anything—including erasing my presence from their public life—to keep them safe."

"Does Captain Ashiro know?" Kikoru asked suddenly.

"The Captain knows everything," Hoshina confirmed. "She's actually met [Y/N] several times. They get along frighteningly well, which means they probably spend their time together discussing all my flaws."

Despite the tension, that drew a few chuckles.

"So what now?" Kafka asked. "Now that we know, I mean."

Hoshina's expression turned serious again, and when he spoke, it wasn't Vice-Captain Hoshina the hardass trainer or Hoshina the playful tease. It was simply a man asking for a favor.

"Now, I'm trusting you all to keep this information to yourselves," he said quietly. "Not because I don't trust the other divisions or our subordinates, but because the fewer people who know, the safer my family is. Can I count on you?"

"Of course, sir!" They chorused immediately, standing at attention.

Hoshina smiled, the gesture warm and genuine. "Thank you. Truly."

He moved to return the photograph to the box, then paused, studying it one more time.

"You know," He said conversationally, "this was taken the day [Y/N] told her parents she was pregnant. They were... not thrilled initially. I was still relatively junior, my career was dangerous, and they'd had different hopes for their daughter. But by the end of that day, after seeing how happy she was..." He trailed off, lost in the memory. "Her father pulled me aside and told me I'd better take care of both of them. Best threat I ever received."

"Do you see them often?" Aoi asked gently. "Your family?"

"Not as often as I'd like," Hoshina admitted. "But I make it work. Late night visits when I can slip away. Video calls when I can't. And [Y/N] brings our daughter by occasionally, though they use false names and she dresses down to avoid attention."

"Wait," Iharu's eyes widened. "Has she been here? To the base?"

Hoshina's smile turned mysterious. "Maybe. Maybe not. That's for me to know and you to wonder about."

"Evil," Kafka declared. "That's just evil, Vice-Captain."

"I learned from the best," Hoshina said cheerfully, clearly referring to Captain Ashiro.

He finally placed the photograph back in the box, handling it with obvious care.

"All right, enough slacking off," He announced, his usual brisk tone returning. "This room isn't going to organize itself. I want this done by 1700 hours, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" They scrambled back to their assigned boxes, suddenly motivated to actually complete the task.

Hoshina moved toward the door, then paused at the threshold.

"Hibino."

Kafka jumped. "Yes, sir?"

"That photograph..." Hoshina's voice was casual, but there was something weighted beneath it. "It stays in the archive. But if you happen to find any others of my family, I'd appreciate it if you'd set them aside for me. Some memories are worth keeping close."

"Of course, Vice-Captain," Kafka said softly. "I'll make sure they're kept safe."

Hoshina nodded once, then left, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

For a long moment, nobody spoke. They simply stood there, processing everything they'd learned, seeing their Vice-Captain in an entirely new light.

"He's kind of amazing, isn't he?" Kikoru finally said. "Balancing all of this—being one of the strongest officers in the Defence Force while maintaining a secret family."

"It must be lonely sometimes," Reno observed. "Not being able to talk about them."

"That's why he told us," Aoi said wisely. "Because he knew we'd understand. That we'd protect his secret."

"And because we caught him with evidence," Iharu added pragmatically. "No point denying it at that point."

"Either way," Haruichi said firmly, "we have a duty now. To Vice-Captain Hoshina and to his family. No one outside this room learns about this."

They all nodded in solemn agreement.

"Now come on," Kafka said, rolling up his sleeves with renewed determination. "Let's finish this sorting. And keep an eye out for more photos. If Vice-Captain wants them, we're going to find every single one."

Over the next several hours, the Third Platoon worked with newfound purpose. What had started as tedious busy work had transformed into something resembling a treasure hunt, though they were careful to remain respectful of the privacy they'd been entrusted with.

As they meticulously sorted through box after box, they did indeed find more photographs—not many, but each one was carefully set aside as Vice-Captain Hoshina had requested.

There was one of Hoshina in what appeared to be a hospital room, looking absolutely exhausted but radiantly happy, cradling a tiny newborn wrapped in a pink blanket. [Y/N] was visible in the background, resting in the hospital bed, her expression one of tired contentment. The date on the back read simply: Best day of my life.

Another showed a toddler—presumably their daughter—with her mother's features and her father's mischievous smile, wearing a tiny kimono and holding what appeared to be a toy sword. Hoshina was crouched beside her, his hand steadying her grip, clearly already teaching her the basics of swordsmanship. [Y/N] stood behind them, her arms crossed and her expression caught between amusement and exasperation.

There was a family photo from what must have been New Year's, all three dressed in formal traditional clothing, standing before a shrine. Their daughter looked about five years old, holding both her parents' hands and beaming at the camera with unrestrained joy.

Each photograph was a glimpse into a life completely separate from the Defence Force—moments of normalcy, love, and domestic happiness that seemed almost surreal when contrasted with their stern, sword-wielding Vice-Captain.

"It's strange," Kikoru mused as she carefully placed the photos in a protective folder. "Seeing him like this. He's still obviously the same person, but..."

"Softer," Reno supplied. "More open."

"Happy," Kafka added simply. "He looks genuinely, completely happy."

"He is happy." Came another unexpected voice from the doorway.

They all spun around to find Captain Mina Ashiro standing there, her usual stoic expression in place. She'd entered so quietly that none of them had heard her approach—a testament to her skill and their distraction.

"Captain!" They immediately stood at attention.

Ashiro waved them at ease, stepping into the room with her characteristic composed grace. Her sharp eyes immediately found the folder of photographs on the table.

"So you've discovered Vice-Captain Hoshina's secret," She observed, no question in her tone.

"Yes, ma'am," Haruichi confirmed. "He found us reviewing the photographs and explained the situation. He's asked us to maintain confidentiality."

"Good." Ashiro picked up the folder, flipping through the images with an expression that might have been the slightest hint of fondness. "The Vice-Captain's family is one of the Defence Force's best-kept secrets. It needs to stay that way."

"You've known the whole time, haven't you, Captain?" Kikoru asked.

"I was at their wedding," Ashiro replied simply. "Small ceremony, very private. Just close family and a few trusted friends. The Vice-Captain asked me to be a witness."

That revelation sent a wave of surprise through the group. The idea of Captain Ashiro at a wedding—their normally stoic, all-business Captain attending something as sentimental as a marriage ceremony—was almost harder to imagine than Vice-Captain Hoshina being married in the first place.

"What was it like?" Kafka couldn't help but ask. "The wedding, I mean. If you don't mind sharing."

Ashiro was quiet for a moment, as if deciding what she could reveal. Finally, she spoke, her voice carrying an unusual note of warmth.

"It was beautiful," She said simply. "Traditional ceremony at [Y/N]'s family estate. The Vice-Captain wore formal hakama, and [Y/N] wore a Shiromuku—a white kimono. I've never seen Hoshina look so serious. Or so terrified."

Despite themselves, they smiled at that image.

"He was terrified?" Iharu asked, delighted. "Vice-Captain Hoshina, who faces Kaiju without blinking?"

"Terrified," Ashiro confirmed with the ghost of a smile. "He told me later that fighting Kaiju was easier than standing before [Y/N] and promising to love her for the rest of his life. The weight of that vow, knowing his dangerous work, knowing he might not be able to keep it... it shook him."

"But he made the promise anyway," Aoi said softly.

"He did." Ashiro's gaze grew distant, remembering. "And [Y/N] promised the same, knowing full well what she was accepting. They went into that marriage with complete honesty about the risks and challenges. I respect them both for that."

"What's she like?" Kikoru asked curiously. "Mrs. Hoshina, I mean. [Y/N]."

Ashiro considered the question carefully. "Strong," She finally said. "Not physically—she's a civilian with no combat training. But mentally, emotionally... She's one of the strongest people I've met. It takes a particular kind of strength to be married to someone in the Defence Force, especially at the Vice-Captain's level. The constant worry, the long absences, the injuries, the near-misses with death... it wears on you."

She paused, her expression thoughtful.

"But [Y/N] handles it with grace. She's built a full life for herself and their daughter, independent of Hoshina's career. She doesn't sit around waiting for him to come home—she's a successful calligrapher and teaches traditional arts at a cultural centre. She's made sure their daughter has stability and routine despite her father's chaotic schedule. And when Hoshina is home, she makes every moment count."

"She sounds amazing," Kafka said sincerely.

"She is," Ashiro agreed. "The Vice-Captain is lucky to have her. Though he's very aware of that fact."

"How often does he see them?" Reno asked.

"That's not my information to share," Ashiro said firmly, though not unkindly. "But I'll say this—Vice-Captain Hoshina is very careful about maintaining the separation between his work life and home life. There are established protocols for his visits, security measures to ensure his family's safety, and contingency plans in case his identity is compromised."

"That must be exhausting," Haruichi observed.

"It is," Ashiro confirmed. "But he considers it worthwhile. As should you all. The Vice-Captain has chosen to trust you with this information. Don't make him regret it."

"We won't, Captain!" They chorused seriously.

Ashiro nodded, satisfied. She set the folder of photographs back on the table.

"Finish organizing this room by the end of the day. Those photographs should be returned to the Vice-Captain directly—I'll inform him that you've set them aside. Everything else is to be properly filed or disposed of according to regulations. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

As Ashiro turned to leave, Kafka's curiosity got the better of him once more.

"Captain? One more question, if that's all right?"

Ashiro paused, looking back at him with one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Does Vice-Captain Hoshina ever..." Kafka hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Does he ever regret it? Choosing to have a family while serving in the Defense Force? Given how dangerous and complicated it makes everything?"

For a long moment, Ashiro simply studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, surprisingly, she answered.

"I asked him that once," She said quietly. "Years ago, after a particularly difficult mission where he was severely injured. He was in the medical bay, recovering, and I asked him if he thought it was fair—to [Y/N] and their daughter—to continue putting himself in danger when he had so much to lose."

She paused, and something almost tender crossed her face.

"He told me that having them didn't make him weaker or more cautious. It made him stronger. Because he wasn't just fighting for some abstract concept of humanity anymore—he was fighting for his wife's smile, for his daughter's laughter, for the future they would share. He said every Kaiju he killed was one less threat to their world. Every mission he completed was another day his family could live in peace."

The weight of those words settled over them.

"So no," Ashiro concluded. "I don't believe he regrets it. Not for a second."

With that, she left, her footsteps echoing down the hallway until they faded entirely.

The platoon stood in silence for a moment, processing everything they'd learned. Then, without needing to discuss it, they turned back to their work with renewed determination.

They had a job to do, and now it felt like more than just busy work. They were protecting something precious—a family, a secret, a piece of happiness in a world filled with monsters.

And they would guard it well.

After a day of locking himself in his house, he had come up with his very own poison. Made from the remains of a dendro slime, mixed with a few crushed petals of Dendrobium, and a generous splash of expired alcohol stolen from the Cat’s Tail.

He didn't know if it was truly toxic. In fact, he just mixed random ingredients he found revolting.

He wasn't planning on truly poisoning you after all. In its current concentration, it would merely cause temporary numbness (maybe).

And so he placed a cute little package in front of your house (he stole the documents that held information of those working under the Grand Master to find your address). Inside the package was a plate of Hash Brown he had cooked himself.

Of course, the poison was sprinkled on top as well.

He knocked on the door to your house and hid in a bush nearby.

He watched the door open, a shiver of excitement going down his spine.

But when you stepped out, his eyes widened. You weren’t what he had imagined. Not old, not bitter, not hunched over with tired eyes and stained robes.

You looked... young and composed. Normal in fact.

You glanced at the package, shrugged, and brought it inside.

The next day, he had half hoped there would be some commotion. Instead, nothing happened.

Lohen found that significantly more unsettling than if you had screamed.

Did you not open it?

Did you die?

Worse, did you throw it away?

By the second day, irritation curdled into curiosity again, and curiosity dragged him back to your house.

He hadn’t even reached the door when something stopped him.

A box.

His box.

He stared at it, then at the note pinned neatly on top.

It read-

---

Observation Log

Possible dendro slime derivative.

Taste profile:

Slight bitterness.

Floral aftertaste.

Perhaps traces of alcohol.

Symptoms:

Tingling lips.

Mild numbness in fingers.

Onset approximately twenty-five seconds.

Conclusion:

Sloppily made poison.

---

He stared at the handwriting. The faint smell of alcohol lingering on the hastily ripped paper.

'..... Sloppy?' he scoffed, annoyance creeping up into his face. He crumbled the paper, staring at the door with a sadistic smile.

"Fine then. I'll show you real poison."

The next morning, another box appeared at your doorstep.

Like last time, you took it into your home. You had no idea who was delivering these, but the last package being drenched in a mild toxin made it interesting enough for you to open.

You tore open the box.

This time, it was a plate of mushroom pizza.

"Oh, that looks delicious." you muttered to yourself, noticing the unusual purple coloring on the crust.

You reached and held a piece of the pizza near your mouth. And without a care, you took a huge bite from the area where the coloring was the brightest.

The following day, Lohen returned to find another note on your doorstep. This time it was more detailed than the last.

---

Observation Log

Low concentration of Aconitum.

Taste profile:

Initial sweet-bitter note.

Followed by burning sensation.

Symptoms:

Numbness.

Dizziness.

Loss of strength.

Conclusion:

Good posion. Easily countered.

Although, I liked the taste of the pizza.

(attached are my other observations)

---

There were six pages attached.

Six.

Lohen stared, flipping through the pages with a smile. "God. She's insane."

This started the exchange of poisons and paper notes.

The next package that Lohen put on your doorstep had a small note of his own.

---

To the Medic

Firstly, fuck you.

Secondly, you missed a secondary ingredient. (Hint : It was Naku weed)

Thirdly, thank you for complimenting the pizza.

I made it myself.

---

Your response appeared the next morning.

---

To the Poisoner

1. Rude.

2. I did not miss the ingredient. Naku weed has no toxic properties. Just color.

3. The posion on the crust was obvious. Are you perhaps new to this poisoning thing?

---

Your responses pissed the Vice captain even more. Because how dare a lowly medic like you have the audacity to critic his cooking?!

He tried even harder after that.

More precise blends. Better masking. Controlled dosages. Carefully calibrated ingredients. Tried perfecting the recipe so you couldn't find any faults.

Everything.

After making sure everything was perfect, he delivered the next package. A plate of Northern Apple Stew.

The reply next day was written in a crumbled paper with messy handwriting.

---

Rules for Future Poisoning

1. No explosive diarrhea.

2. No permanent injury.

3. No organ damage.

4. No blindness.

5. No poisoning children.

6. Food should remain edible

---

Lohen rolled his eyes at the rules. "Killjoy." To him these rules just were unnecessary boundaries that ruined his fun.

But he never wanted to stop this exchange between the two of you. It was much too entertaining for him.

Unknown to him, that night ended with you locking yourself in your room. Having non stop diarrhea for hours.

Soon the notes became longer than the poisons themselves.

One morning, the package you opened had a plate of Cream Stew.

And this time the note attached had a list of ingredients used.

---

Current Theory

The toxin should produce localized muscle weakness.

Estimated duration:

Two hours.

Possible side effects:

Dizziness.

Drowsiness.

Complaining.

Will you be able to guess what I used (Y/N)? °^°?

---

Three days later Lohen received something he could only call a report.

A dossier.

Twenty-two pages which included diagrams, charts, annotated symptom timelines.

And corrections.

So many corrections.

---

Page 14: dosage error.

Page 17: please stop using kitchen spoons as lab tools.

Page 19: “Did you eyeball the concentration?”

---

Unfortunately Lohen had. And he hated that you noticed.

Months passed and somehow it became a routine.

Your medic colleagues grew increasingly worried seeing you drowsy every other day.

"Do you know who keeps sending you poison?" one asked.

You shook your head. "No, not really."

"Shouldn't that concern you?"

You looked confused. "Why?"

"Because they're poisoning you...?"

You blinked. Honestly, if the person wanted to kill you, they could have used other deadly toxins. Yet, they always made sure to use small doses and non lethal ingredients.

You smiled to yourself. "They are very considerate actually."

"... Oh." the medic froze.

You tapped a finger on your cheek. "They also have lovely handwriting."

"..."

The medic walked away. Unable to continue the conversation.

Lohen, meanwhile, was also not doing well.

Varka had his suspicions when he first saw the crazed man laughing while tasting the exotic plants he had ordered.

One day, while Lohen was away on a mission, he broke the lock of his drawer and read through all the papers in there.

Papers about toxic plants. Possible ingredients. And of course, all the notes you had written to him.

He ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell is happening in Mondstadt?"

Varka immediately dragged Lohen by the collar and pushed him into the store you worked in to apologize.

You looked up from your desk and instantly recognized him as your mysterious poisoner.

Not by his face. But by his hands.

The stained fingertips. The chemical burns. The ink marks. The quiet proof of obsession.

"Oh," you smiled softly. "It's you."

Lohen blinked.

Varka shoved him forward. "Apologise to the lady Lohen."

Oh. So his name was Lohen.

The boy looked deeply offended. "I don't want to."

"Apologize." The Grand Master repeated, his gaze cold.

Lohen sighed dramatically. Then glanced toward you. "...Sorry for poisoning you."

You immediately shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. "There is so need for apologies. I should be thanking you actually."

Silence.

Even Varka froze.

You continued, brighter now. "The poisons were genuinely fascinating."

Varka looked horrified.

"I learned to make dozens of new antidotes!"

Lohen stared. Mesmerized.

"Also the toxins were quite creative! Honestly, every morning became something to look forward to."

Varka took a breath, and turned his gaze to the ceiling, perhaps praying to Barbatos why they allowed these two people to exist.

"Also the notes were fun!" you added, opening your drawer and placing a the stack of notes you had carefully stapled.

Lohen wasn't even listening anymore.

Because you were smiling.

At him.

Because of him.

Because he had poisoned you.

It was a stupid conversation. The girl in front of him was grateful for poisoning her. It was reckless, idiotic and yet...

At that moment his heart made some several terrible decisions.

He realised.

With a lot of hesitation...

That-

'Oh.'

'Oh no.'

'You were kinda cute.'

He had known your name for months. Known where you worked. Known your habits. Your favorite medicinal herbs. The way your handwriting became messier when excited.

But seeing you in person? Actually talking to you?

He was finished.

Absolutely in love.

That night he didn't sleep. Instead he sat at his desk surrounded by herbs, powders, vials, and failed formulas, staring at his next experiment like it might hold divine answers.

Most men wrote poetry.

Most men gifted flowers.

Most men confessed.

But Lohen was not most men.

He lifted a vial of deep red liquid, watching it swirl under lamplight with a manic smile. "If she barely liked the last one... I'll just make one that is even better."

And thus began the greatest romantic pursuit in history.

Not through gifts or heartfelt letters.

But through an escalating series of increasingly sophisticated poisons.

Lohen's new life goal was simple.

Create a poison so fascinating, so beautiful so perfect....

That when you tasted it—

You'd fall hopelessly in love with its creator.

Unfortunately for him, the only thing you fell in love with was the chemical composition.

Fin

😭 😭 😭 I CANT WITH THIS GUY. I FEEL LIKE HE'S SOMEONE WHO'D GIFT YOU A BOMB CUZ HE LOVES YOU.

Some of the ingredients used r actually toxic while others r just bs. I tried making it as Canon as possible but I'm sure there r some mistakes. Sorry abt tht.

Oikawa Tooru had been something of a campus celebrity since your very first year—charismatic, loud in the way stars always are, and seemingly untouchable in how easily people gravitated toward him. There was always someone calling his name across the quad or waving at him in the halls, and he never failed to flash that practiced, dazzling smile that somehow managed to look sincere every time. You’d never spoken to him—not directly, not personally—but you’d caught glimpses. Enough to know that the real thing was even more magnetic than the rumors.

You knew the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, how his shoulders relaxed when he was surrounded by his friends, how he would complain about the cafeteria coffee but still drink it anyway. You’d watched him from the corners of classrooms and in line at campus cafés, never too obvious but never quite able to help yourself. You were down horrendously bad for this man—though you’d die before admitting it aloud. The problem was that you were painfully shy, and despite your not-so-minor crush, you went out of your way to avoid even the possibility of interaction. You’d once pretended to be deeply fascinated by a bulletin board just to avoid making eye contact when he walked past.

You were convinced that he didn’t know you existed.

But he did.

He noticed you—had been noticing you since the second week of that painfully early GE class you shared. At first, it was idle curiosity. Then, fascination. And now, borderline obsession. You sat two rows in front of him, usually by the window, and he could barely concentrate half the time. Your handwriting, the way you sometimes doodled in the margins of your notes, the tiny way you tilted your head when you were confused—he knew it all. You'd lean forward just slightly when something interested you, and he would forget entirely what the professor was talking about. Once, you dropped your pen and he nearly fell out of his chair trying to reach it at the same time.

“God, he’s doing it again,” Matsukawa muttered, nudging Hanamaki with his elbow as they all slumped in their usual booth at the library café.

Hanamaki didn’t even look up from his phone. “What? Spacing out and pretending he’s not heart-eyes over mystery girl?”

“She’s not a mystery,” Oikawa shot back instantly, cheeks already starting to pink. “I know her name.”

Iwaizumi raised a brow as he took a sip of his drink. “Congratulations. Next, you’ll be telling us you know her blood type.”

“I don’t, obviously,” Oikawa muttered, fiddling with the lid of his drink. “...It’s probably B.”

Hanamaki snorted. “You looked that up, didn’t you.”

Oikawa looked vaguely horrified. “I did not! Why would I—okay, I might have, but only once! And it was for research.”

“Research,” Matsukawa repeated, deadpan. “On her blood compatibility? You planning to donate an organ or propose?”

Oikawa groaned, slumping into the table. “You guys are the worst.”

“You’re worse,” Iwaizumi said dryly. “You're literally a disaster every time she’s within a ten-foot radius.”

“She’s so pretty,” Oikawa mumbled into his arms.

“And you get so stupid,” Hanamaki added.

“You almost walked into a door last week,” Matsukawa said. “We saw it. The entire hallway saw it.”

“I was distracted!”

“By her existing,” Iwaizumi said flatly. “Just talk to her, dumbass.”

“I can’t just talk to her,” Oikawa said, lifting his head with a look of genuine agony. “She’s—she’s quiet. What if I scare her?”

“You scare everyone,” Hanamaki said. “That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“But she’s not everyone,” Oikawa said softly.

They didn’t say anything to that—not because they didn’t have anything to tease him with, but because the way he said it was too honest, too transparent in a way that caught them slightly off guard.

Matsukawa was the one who broke the silence. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

“Like, ‘write her name in your notebook and practice your married signature’ bad,” Hanamaki added.

Oikawa let out a long, suffering groan and buried his face back into the crook of his elbow.

And from a few tables over, completely unaware, you sipped your coffee and tried not to look directly at him. He was loud and bright and effortlessly charming—and you were convinced you’d melt into the floor if he ever so much as glanced in your direction.

He did.

A lot.

And every time he did, his heart stuttered—like he was the one with the hopeless crush.

It was almost ridiculous how the universe seemed to toy with both of you. A few weeks into the semester, your professor for one of your GE classes stood at the front of the lecture hall, a list of randomly assigned project partners in his hand. You weren't expecting much. In fact, you were already mentally preparing yourself to carry the entire project, as usual.

But then, your name was called—and immediately after, his.

Oikawa Tooru.

Your breath caught. Your brain short-circuited. You didn’t even look back at him, too busy calculating how quickly you could get up and ask to be re-assigned. Surely the professor would understand. It wasn’t about Oikawa specifically—it was about your tendency to completely shut down around people like him. Popular. Charming. Intimidatingly beautiful.

But before you could move, you heard his voice—bright, eager, and just a little too loud.

“Cool!”

You froze.

He was already making his way toward you, that signature easy grin on his face, his brown hair bouncing slightly with each step. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, like this was the best possible outcome he could have hoped for.

And then he tripped.

It happened so fast. One second he was gliding down the steps of the tiered seating like it was a runway, the next he caught the edge of his shoe on a stair and went sprawling—face-first, limbs flailing in the most undignified way possible—onto the floor right in front of you.

The entire lecture hall gasped. So did you.

“Oh my god—Tooru! Are you okay?”

Your voice cracked slightly at the end, halfway between concern and panic. You were already halfway out of your seat, your hands hovering, unsure whether to help him up or pretend you hadn't just witnessed your crush crash and burn like a baby deer on ice.

Oikawa froze on the ground. Not because he was hurt—but because you said his name.

You. Knew. His. Name.

He looked up at you, ears burning bright red, and despite the throbbing pain in his knee and the bruised ego, he swore he could feel his soul leave his body and ascend.

“I—uh. Yep! Totally fine. That was…just gravity testing me.”

“Gravity's a bitch,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, but he heard it anyway. He laughed. You winced.

From the back row, Iwaizumi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s malfunctioning again.”

“Dude’s gone,” Matsukawa said, sipping from his tumbler like he was watching a reality show. “Absolutely fried.”

Hanamaki leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Did you hear her? She said his name. That’s it. We’ve lost him.”

“I’m not carrying him down the stairs if he short-circuits again,” Iwaizumi added.

Oikawa, who was still crouched on the floor pretending to inspect his shoelaces, heard all of it.

But he didn’t care.

Because you knew his name.

And you were worried about him.

God help him, he was doomed.

Meanwhile, you, on the other hand, were still internally spiraling over what had just happened—not even a full minute had passed since Oikawa tripped in front of you and practically crashed face-first into the pavement like a poorly written slapstick scene. You didn’t even understand how it unfolded. One moment, he was confidently walking your way, and the next, gravity had betrayed him in the most theatrical way possible. Now he was crouched down, pretending to fiddle with his shoelaces as if that somehow explained the catastrophe, but the real chaos was happening in your head—because you had said his name.

Again.

“Tooru.”

It slipped out before you could stop yourself, soft and uncertain, and the moment it left your lips, you saw it hit him like a second blow. If his brain had short-circuited the first time, this one sent him into a full shutdown-restart sequence. You couldn’t tell if it was the way you said it or the fact that you said it at all, but it had him spiraling—and you, just as badly, were panicking over how much worse you might’ve made things.

Still, you did the only thing you could think of—you extended your hand toward him, voice quiet but sincere. “Uhm—I’ll help you up, Tooru.”

That did not help.

Oikawa looked up at you as if your voice alone could kill him, a stunned expression frozen on his face. You had just offered him your hand—and said his name—again. It was over. His neurons had given up entirely. He was absolutely losing it.

“Yeah—yeah, sure,” he managed to say, but it came out breathless, like the words had to push past a malfunctioning system just to make it to the surface.

Then, without thinking, he took your hand.

You jolted at the contact, visibly startled, and you couldn’t stop the flush that crawled up your neck. His hand was warm—too warm—and the feel of it against your palm made your heart spike wildly in your chest. You could feel your entire body heating up like your blood had turned to steam. He held on longer than necessary, just long enough to make your breath hitch, and when you finally looked at his face, he was already staring at you like you had just fallen from the sky and cracked his sanity open.

Several steps behind, the rest of the team had come to a halt, observing the entire scene unfold like front-row spectators to the most awkward yet painfully romantic moment they’d ever seen in real time. Iwaizumi stood with arms crossed, clearly trying to suppress the urge to groan into the sky. Matsukawa had one brow lifted so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline, and Hanamaki, bless him, had the most smug grin stretching across his face.

“Who needs a cinema when I’m watching this?” Hanamaki muttered under his breath, elbowing Matsukawa lightly.

None of them blinked. None of them moved. Because somehow, despite how ridiculous it all started, they knew—this was the beginning of something they were absolutely going to tease Oikawa about until the end of time.

“Uhm… when do you want to start?” you asked, your voice barely steady as he sat down beside you—too close, too real, too much for your already short-circuiting brain to handle.

You didn’t dare look at him. Not directly. Not when your heart was pounding this loud and your palms were too clammy to be normal. Your eyes focused anywhere else—the desk, your notebook, the way the sleeve of his hoodie brushed against your arm like it had no concept of personal space. Everything about him was overwhelming, even in silence.

Oikawa shifted slightly, one leg crossed over the other, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie as he tried not to stare too obviously at your profile. You looked nervous—but soft. And so, so pretty up close. He almost forgot to answer.

“Later?” he offered, trying to sound casual.

You gave a small smile—barely there, but real—and shook your head gently. “I have another class though,” you said, almost apologetically, and that little touch of laughter at the end of your sentence slipped out before you could catch it.

And just like that, Oikawa was gone.

To anyone else, it would’ve been a normal laugh. A polite one. But to him, it was the prettiest thing he’d heard all day—maybe all semester. The way it cracked the nerves in your voice, the way your eyes softened when you said it—he wanted to bottle the sound and play it on repeat. His thoughts unraveled faster than he could keep up with.

“Oh—uh, right—of course,” he stammered, already fumbling his words. “That totally makes sense, I—I mean, obviously you’d have class, because, uh, we’re in school—yeah.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed again, this time hiding your smile behind your hand.

Oikawa stiffened. He had to look away, cheeks visibly flushing, as if he had been caught in the act of thinking something he shouldn’t be.

From across the room, Hanamaki made a dramatic face and mouthed oh my god while Matsukawa smirked like he’d just won a bet. Iwaizumi, arms crossed and expression flat, looked like he was moments away from dragging Oikawa out by the collar if he fumbled one more time.

Eventually, the awkward air gave way to something lighter, easier—like the ice had cracked just enough to let a little warmth through.

“How about this weekend?” you offered softly. “There’s a café across from the school. It’s usually quiet.”

Oikawa’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought he might pull something. “Yes. Yes—Saturday? That works. Saturday’s great.”

You smiled again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Saturday, then.”

The moment stretched just a little too long, not in discomfort—but in uncertainty. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to just leave it at that. So you hesitated, fingers brushing against the edge of your phone.

Then, voice even quieter than before, you glanced up from beneath your lashes and said, “By the way… should I give you my number? To contact me?”

Oikawa stared.

If his brain had reset earlier, this time it completely powered down. Your voice had gone soft again—so soft he had to lean in slightly just to hear you clearly. And then, the words themselves—give you my number—sent him into another emotional tailspin.

“Yes!” he said a little too loudly. Then he cleared his throat, trying to play it off. “I mean—yeah. That’d be helpful. Just so, like, I can message you. About the project.”

You nodded, holding out your hand for his phone. Oikawa fumbled to unlock it—twice—before finally managing to hand it over. You typed in your number slowly, trying not to think too hard about how his eyes were definitely on you the whole time. You even added a small emoji next to your name—out of habit, not flirtation—but when you gave the phone back, Oikawa stared at the contact like it had personally granted him eternal happiness.

You didn’t realize it, but he smiled for the rest of the day.

When you handed your phone to him so he could type in his number, Oikawa took it like it was made of glass. His fingers hovered for a second, then typed carefully—nervously—as if each letter had the power to make or break fate. He pressed save only after checking twice, cheeks flushed, mouth opening like he wanted to say something more before he let it go.

You bid him goodbye with that soft smile and your usual light step, not noticing how long he stayed there even after you disappeared into the crowd.

Oikawa was still staring at your contact info, frozen in place like time stopped. He couldn’t believe it. Your name—your name—was now sitting in his phone like it belonged there, like it always had.

And then his phone buzzed.

[you]: see you on saturday tooru ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

His heart did a full somersault in his chest. His lips parted in disbelief, then curved upward slowly, like they didn’t know how else to react.

“That’s new,” Matsukawa said casually, appearing by his side with an annoyingly smug look as he peered over Oikawa’s shoulder. “So you finally won the lottery.”

“I should’ve placed bets,” Hanamaki added as he joined in, nodding to the message on the screen. “All it takes was a project so you can finally grow balls to get close to her.”

Iwaizumi was the last to arrive, folding his arms as he cast Oikawa a look that was both unimpressed and faintly amused.

“Even though it was an embarrassment watching you fall flat earlier,” he muttered.

Oikawa groaned, but it was the kind that had no real weight—his grin gave him away. He clutched his phone like it was a secret he never wanted to lose, still looking at your message like he couldn’t quite believe it existed.

Maybe he did fall earlier. Maybe he’d embarrassed himself more times than he could count. But none of that mattered now.

The rest of the week passed in a blur, lectures blending into each other, and practices running longer than they should. But Oikawa didn’t mind. Saturday kept inching closer, and he welcomed the distraction of waiting.

By the time it finally arrived, Oikawa was practically vibrating with energy.

Living off-campus was a mutual decision between the four of them—him, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki—something about shared space, independence, and how splitting rent outside campus was barely any more expensive. Their rented house had four bedrooms, and despite their differences, it worked.

Kind of.

Especially when Oikawa started his morning by knocking on every single one of their doors for the third time.

“Iwa, Iwaaa—how’s this coat? Be honest, I trust your opinion,” he sang, standing in the hallway in front of Iwaizumi’s door, fully dressed in layered neutrals: a cream turtleneck under a deep brown blazer, tailored slacks, tortoiseshell glasses, and his favorite loafers. Very old money. Very Tooru.

The door flung open with force. Iwaizumi glared at him, hair still tousled from sleep.

“It’s seven-thirty in the morning. On a weekend.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, Iwaizumi slammed the door shut again.

“That was rude, Iwa!” Oikawa called, offended but not surprised.

Undeterred, he made his way to the next door. “Mattsun?” he said, knocking rhythmically. “Don’t ignore me. Rate the look. One to ten. Be honest but not too honest.”

A muffled groan. Then: “Too early for fashion shows, Tooru.”

Finally, he knocked on the last door. “Makkiiii~ You’ll tell me I look hot, right?”

The door creaked open a crack, just enough for a bleary Hanamaki to squint at him. “You’re obnoxious, but annoyingly good-looking. Now get out of here before I throw a slipper at your face.”

Oikawa beamed. “That’s the energy I needed, thank you, Makki!”

Satisfied, he returned to his room, checking his appearance in the mirror one last time—adjusting the collar of his coat, fixing the cuffs, making sure his glasses sat just right.

Then his phone buzzed.

[you]: good morning tooru see you later (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

Oikawa froze. Stared. Then dramatically collapsed backward onto his bed, clutching his phone to his chest and covering his mouth like he was trying to trap a scream.

“She texted,” he whispered to no one. “She texted first. Oh my god—she’s so cute—what does that kaomoji mean? Is that a heart? Is she flirting? Iwa-chan will never believe this—wait, no, Iwa-chan cannot know about this.”

He rolled onto his stomach, kicking his feet into the mattress like a teenager high on the idea of love.

Then his phone vibrated again. He jolted upright like he'd been electrocuted.

[you]: I'll eat breakfast first then I'll let you know when I'm on the way

[you]: you should also eat too tooru (๑´ڡ`๑)

Oikawa screamed.

Like, actually screamed.

He launched his phone onto the bed and flailed like a man under emotional attack.

“She cares about my health! She wants me to eat! She used a food kaomoji—what does that even mean?!” He groaned into his pillow, muffled and dramatic, before flipping over again to stare at the ceiling in awe. “She’s gonna be the death of me.”

There was a sharp knock on his wall—probably from Iwaizumi’s room. “SHUT UP, TOORU. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP.”

Oikawa cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back, “I’M HAVING A MOMENT, IWA-CHAN. LET ME FEEL THINGS.”

Then, quieter, to himself, “I can’t eat now… how do you expect me to eat when she texts like that?”

Still, he sat up. Smoothed his clothes again. Slipped off his glasses just to clean them even though they were spotless. Checked the time. Checked it again two seconds later.

And with one last look at his reflection, he whispered, “Don’t mess this up, Tooru.”

You, on the other hand, were already red just by sending the message to him.

Your phone slipped from your fingers and landed on the bed with a soft thud as you froze in place, hands hovering midair like you were afraid to touch reality.

"Are you okay?" she asked slowly, watching the way your face turned even redder. "Do you have a fever?"

You whipped your head toward her, eyes wide. "What? No! I'm—I'm fine!" you lied, voice three octaves higher than usual.

She frowned, standing up to approach you with her hand outstretched. "You're sweating. You definitely look like you have a fever—"

"I'm fine!" you insisted, grabbing a pillow to hide your face. "It's just... I sent a stupid text, okay?"

That caught her attention.

She stopped in her tracks, grin forming instantly. "To Oikawa?" she asked, voice laced with teasing.

You groaned into the pillow.

"Why did I put a kaomoji?!" you cried into the fabric. "Who even does that?! What am I, twelve?! He’s gonna think I’m weird."

Your roommate laughed. "You're spiraling, and it's not even 9 a.m."

“I should’ve deleted it. I should’ve deleted it and retyped like a normal human being.”

"And yet," she sipped her coffee again, eyes sparkling, "you didn't."

You dramatically collapsed backward onto the mattress, hands flung out like you were on stage.

“I’m never texting anyone again.”

Your phone buzzed.

You shrieked.

[tooru]: see you later also ♡

You stared at your phone.

Oh god.

Why did he send a heart.

Without even thinking, you launched yourself face-first into your pillow and let out a muffled scream.

Your feet kicked at the mattress. You writhed like a bug on its back. The pillow smothered both your voice and your rising panic, but the damage was done. Your brain was spiraling.

You didn’t even hear your roommate step into the room until you heard the unmistakable sound of a coffee mug being set on your nightstand.

“You good?” she asked, one brow raised and very much not concerned.

You lifted your head just enough for her to see your wide-eyed expression and the sheer panic painted across your face.

“He sent a heart,” you croaked out. “Tooru. Oikawa. He—he sent a heart.”

Your roommate paused for a moment… and then snorted.

“Oh my god,” she said with a grin. “You’re totally acting like a high schooler with a crush.”

“I am! This is his fault! I only sent a kaomoji! That’s like—barely flirting! Why would he heart me back?!”

“Maybe…” she drawled, her grin widening, “he likes you too?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Your entire body glitched.

Face: red. Heart: combusted. Brain: fried.

“D-Don’t say that!” you stammered, clutching your pillow like it was a life preserver.

She laughed as she sat at the edge of your bed, watching you squirm with far too much amusement. “You’re so adorable when you’re flustered. This is the most I’ve seen you lose it over a guy.”

You groaned and rolled again, hiding your face. “Because he’s not just a guy! He’s Oikawa Tooru! And he just sent me a heart like that’s a normal thing to do!”

“Well,” she teased, “good luck being normal when you see him later.”

You arrived at the café first.

The place was cozy, bright with warm light, and filled with the low hum of morning chatter. You chose a table near the window, trying to look casual as you sat down—but your fingers kept betraying you. You brushed imaginary dust off your dress for the third time, then tugged at your sleeves like they were too tight. They weren’t. You were just… nervous.

You smoothed the ribbon in your hair, inhaling deeply. You’d already ordered drinks to distract yourself. Maybe it would help. (It didn’t.)

Then the soft chime of the door rang.

Your head turned instinctively.

Oikawa Tooru stepped inside, hair slightly tousled by the wind, a tote bag over his shoulder, and that same casual, effortless charm he always carried like second nature. His eyes scanned the café for a second—and then found you.

He lit up immediately.

He waved at you like he’d been waiting for this all week.

Your eyes met his—and just as quickly, you dropped your gaze, flustered. You looked down at your lap like your nails suddenly became very interesting.

Meanwhile, Oikawa?

He was dying.

His heart thudded against his ribs so loud he was surprised no one else could hear it. You looked so adorable it physically hurt. The ribbon in your hair, the way you were dressed just a little more than usual, the way your gaze flitted away shyly when you caught him staring—

He was done for.

He moved toward your table too fast, too giddy—and immediately bumped into the edge of a nearby table.

A sharp, clumsy thud echoed.

A few people turned. He winced. One hand clutched his hip dramatically.

You looked up in surprise. “Oh my god—are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said quickly, shooting a sheepish smile at the older woman whose latte nearly spilled. “That table clearly came out of nowhere.”

You tried to hold in your laugh as he finally reached your table and slid into the seat across from you, rubbing at his hip like he was wounded in battle.

“You really okay?”

“I’ve had worse injuries in volleyball,” he replied with a wink. “But I’ll probably need emotional support now.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks still warm. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned forward slightly, still smiling. “But you’re smiling now, so… mission accomplished.”

You looked away again, biting back a smile.

And in that quiet second between heartbeats, Oikawa thought:

I’m so, so screwed.

Oikawa stood up almost immediately after settling in, like he hadn’t really intended to stay seated just yet. He brushed invisible dust from his sleeves before turning to you with a casual, “Do you want something? I’ll order.”

He glanced at the menu again while waiting for your answer, and when he asked what you wanted, you simply replied that you’d have another iced mocha—then added, somewhat shyly, that a slice of strawberry cheesecake sounded nice, too.

At the mention of it, he looked up. You hadn’t noticed, but there was a subtle shift in his gaze—like something about the words strawberry cheesecake flipped a switch in him. Oikawa swore he caught the tiniest glint in your eyes, an almost childlike spark that told him you didn’t just like the dessert—you loved it. He made a mental note of it without hesitation, storing it somewhere deep in the corner of his mind like it might come in handy one day, even if he didn’t know when.

A few minutes later, he came back carrying two iced drinks and two slices of cake. One strawberry cheesecake—perfectly plated and slightly glossy under the café lights—and another slice of chocolate for himself. He set yours in front of you without a word, just the smallest smile tugging at his lips.

You immediately reached for your wallet, already ready to split the bill. “Wait—how much was mine?”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand like it was no big deal.

You paused. “Are you sure?”

He looked up—and made the mistake of actually looking at you. The question had come out so genuinely, so earnestly, paired with that slight tilt of your head and the way your fingers hovered above your bag like you were still ready to insist. You looked up at him with eyes too soft for your own good, brows slightly drawn together in a way that screamed polite worry. And Oikawa, who had thought himself immune to such things, immediately felt his heart skip something like five beats.

He forced a casual shrug, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Yeah. Seriously. It’s just cake.”

The silence that followed wasn’t entirely awkward, but it wasn’t quite comfortable either. It was the kind that made you stir your straw unnecessarily in your drink just to give your hands something to do. He glanced down at his plate, and you glanced around the café, neither of you quite sure what to say next.

Eventually, you cleared your throat and spoke, voice a little lighter as if trying to reset the mood. “So... how do you want to start our project?”

It brought him back to reality. Right—your GE in literature. The joint presentation on showcasing different forms of written expression across eras. Poetry, prose, essays, scripts—anything that could be dissected and brought to life in front of the class. It was supposed to be simple, academic, straightforward. But now, looking across the table at you—fork in hand, eyes curious and waiting for his response—it didn’t feel so straightforward at all.

“Since we have two weeks to prepare, let’s just research first. Then I’ll do the PowerPoint—is that okay with you?” he asked, stirring his drink lazily, gaze fixed on you with casual ease that made your heart skip.

“Of course, but I’ll help you with the PowerPoint, okay?” you replied, offering a smile before your eyes quickly dropped to your plate. You poked at your cheesecake, avoiding his eyes, too aware of how intensely he’d been watching you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore—so was the flutter in your stomach. You were trying to play it cool, but God, the way he looked at you was intimidating in a way you couldn’t explain.

Oh god, Oikawa swears he might not even get through the day without combusting for the tenth time.

And don’t even get him started on how your cheeks puffed slightly as you took another bite, eyes lighting up at the taste like it was the best thing you’ve had all week. The way you looked—content, cheeks rounder, mouth curved into the softest smile as you chewed happily—it was too much. Too damn much.

He leaned back in his seat, trying not to grin like an idiot, but it was already too late.

He was so screwed.

And to make it worse, he could already hear Iwaizumi’s voice echoing in the back of his head—“You’re so whipped, it’s pathetic.”

Oikawa took another sip of his drink and stared at you over the rim of his glass, already knowing Iwaizumi was right.

Your days began to follow a pattern—one Oikawa secretly looked forward to more than his weekend games. Whether it was in quiet cafes tucked into campus corners, the school library where he’d “accidentally” reserve the seat next to you every time, your dorm lounge where you two would awkwardly huddle over a shared laptop, or sometimes even the house he shared with his three equally nosy (and annoying) best friends, your presence was starting to blur into every space of his life.

At first, it was just the literature project. But that quickly evolved into, “Hey, aren’t we in the same GE class? Want to study together too?” And you’d nodded, a bit too quickly, cheeks already warming, eyes darting anywhere but his face.

What started as strictly academic became something more like a ritual. Oikawa would pretend not to get too excited when your name popped up on his phone, and you would spend a full twenty minutes debating whether your outfit looked “too much” or “too plain.” You were a nervous wreck most of the time—especially the first time he invited you over. To a boy’s house. A house filled with boys. Tall, chaotic, loud boys. You practically considered faking sick.

But you showed up.

In a simple cream-colored dress with puff sleeves and a burgundy bow clipped neatly into your hair. You were trembling like a puppy in a thunderstorm, clutching your notes like they were a crucifix. Oikawa thought he might die. Right there. On his stupid living room rug.

“Hey, she’s cute,” Hanamaki had whispered way too loudly as he passed the living room with a bowl of popcorn.

“Our Oikawa has taste, huh?” Matsukawa had added, peeking into the room and wiggling his eyebrows like some evil uncle.

“She’s here to study,” Iwaizumi groaned, whacking both of them with a throw pillow. Then he turned to you with a forced smile. “Sorry. They’re idiots. Please ignore them.”

You bowed in embarrassment. “I-It’s okay… I didn’t expect anyone else to be here…”

Oikawa had the audacity to grin like a maniac. “They’re always here,” he whispered to you. “But you’re the only guest I like.”

He swore he saw steam rise from your ears. And then he had an internal breakdown for saying that out loud.

Your bow would bob every time you nodded, always slightly off-center by the end of the day from fidgeting too much. He grew to anticipate that bow like it was part of your personality—like it was something only he got to see up close. You’d tug at the hem of your skirt while reciting terms or chew on your pen while watching him explain things on your laptop screen, and Oikawa would have to bite his tongue not to say anything stupid.

"She's literally a shoujo manga character," Matsukawa whispered to Hanamaki one evening while peeking through the kitchen pass window.

"I bet Oikawa already has a secret folder of her selfies," Hanamaki replied, nodding seriously.

"I do not—!" Oikawa barked, nearly flipping his textbook. You shot him a puzzled glance, oblivious to the banter, while Iwaizumi dragged the two idiots back to the kitchen by their shirt collars.

“I’m sorry again,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, setting snacks down beside you. “If you hear them say anything stupid, just pretend they’re NPCs.”

You giggled, finally relaxing a little as you opened your notebook. “It’s okay. They’re kinda funny…”

Oikawa caught that—the way your eyes softened when you laughed. And he was screwed. So utterly, completely, permanently screwed.

Because your shy glances, your off-center bows, the way you always offered to help even when you didn’t have to—it all made his heart feel too full.

And unfortunately, Matsukawa was right. He might have actually saved a few selfies you sent when you asked, “Is this dress too much for study night?”

He might be whipped. But at this point? He didn’t even want a way out.

Once your literature project ended—and you both presented it with flushed cheeks and awkward smiles that your professor somehow didn’t question—your little study dates… still continued.

There wasn’t even a conversation about it. No “Hey, want to keep studying together?” or “Should we still meet up at the café this Friday?” It just happened. Like clockwork. Like you two were already part of each other’s schedules, as natural as morning alarms and coffee runs.

It was almost laughable—how seamlessly Oikawa had folded himself into your routine. Or maybe you had folded into his. Either way, it felt like the universe quietly decided: Yeah, these two belong in the same sentence.

Still, no matter how many times you found yourself beside him—head bent over a shared textbook, knees brushing under the table, his pen sometimes in your hand because you always forgot yours—you never quite got used to being close to Oikawa Tooru.

Not in the way that mattered.

Not when his cologne lingered too long on your sleeves. Not when he leaned over your shoulder and quietly read something out loud, voice brushing the shell of your ear. Not when he offered you his hoodie without asking and your fingers brushed when you reached for it.

You were calm and composed on the outside—mostly—but inside? You were still a shy, fidgety mess.

And Oikawa? Well, he was in emotional shambles too.

Every time you smiled up at him with that quiet kind of warmth, every time you touched his arm to get his attention, every time your bow flopped slightly to the side by the end of your study session, he had to resist the urge to scream into a pillow. Preferably Iwaizumi’s.

“She’s so cute I’m gonna combust,” he whispered one time in the kitchen, forehead pressed against the fridge.

“You’ve said that four times this week,” Iwaizumi replied flatly, sipping his protein shake.

“Because it’s true,” Oikawa whined. “She’s literally ruining me.”

“You’re ruining yourself, actually,” Hanamaki chimed in from the hallway. “Man up and ask her out already.”

“I second that,” Matsukawa added. “Unless you want us to keep watching you make heart eyes at her over a damn thesaurus.”

“I do not make heart eyes—!” Oikawa hissed, then immediately cut himself off when you peeked your head in to ask if he still had your highlighter.

He melted.

You apologized for interrupting, bow bouncing softly with your flustered movement. Oikawa stared for two full seconds too long before snapping out of it.

“Y-Yeah! It’s on the table!” he stammered. “Wait—I’ll get it for you!”

“Dead man walking,” Hanamaki muttered behind his cup of coffee.

“Certified whipped,” Matsukawa coughed.

“Do I ever get a break from you guys?” Oikawa groaned as he jogged after you, highlighter in hand, soul in shambles.

No. No, he did not. But he didn’t really mind.

Because somehow, even without the project, even without a clear label for what you two were, you still kept coming back to him.

And honestly? He hoped you never stopped.

But he did hope—selfishly, stupidly—that there was a label between you two.

Because god, the project was over, the grade was in, and the deadline had passed weeks ago—but he still wanted you near him. Even if it meant combusting every time you leaned too close, losing his cool whenever you looked at him for just a second longer than necessary. You still laughed at his dumb jokes, still texted him memes at midnight, still dragged him to cafés under the excuse of "editing" your presentation. It should’ve ended. Should’ve faded. But it didn’t. And Oikawa hated how much he liked that.

He was out at the mall with Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa, trailing a few steps behind them, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as they argued over which movie to watch later. He wasn’t really paying attention. His gaze drifted along the rows of shop windows—until it landed on a pastel storefront with a cluttered display of hair accessories.

One bow caught his eye.

It was delicate—off-white with soft lace and little crystal accents that shimmered under the lights. The kind of thing he’d never wear or care about. But when he saw it, he thought of you. Instantly. The way you sometimes braided the sides of your hair when you were rushing. The way your eyes lit up when you wore something cute and someone actually noticed.

Oikawa lingered, slowing down.

He was still staring when a voice chirped behind him.

“Oh my god, you’re buying that for her, aren’t you?” Hanamaki said, elbowing him with a grin. “Makki, shut up—” Oikawa muttered, though he made no move to walk away.

“Aw, come on, it’s adorable,” Matsukawa added, stepping beside him. “Can you imagine her face? She’d die.”

“I’m not—buying anything,” Oikawa said, even as his eyes flicked back to the bow. “It just... looks nice, that’s all.”

“Right, right,” Hanamaki smirked. “And I just follow you around out of brotherly affection. Tooru, you’re down so bad it’s almost romantic.”

“She’s not even—” Oikawa started, then cut himself off. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat crawl up to his ears. “We’re not even together.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Iwaizumi cut in dryly, not even looking up from his phone. “Buy the bow, dumbass. You’ve been staring at it for a full minute.”

Oikawa exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys don’t get it. She’s... she’s different. And I don’t want to mess this up by pushing too hard.”

Hanamaki tilted his head. “So you’d rather suffer in silence than tell the girl you’re in love with her?”

“I never said love,” Oikawa said, immediately.

Matsukawa raised a brow. “You just did.”

Oikawa groaned again, loud this time, like the sound could drown out his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes found the bow again. The crystals sparkled like they were mocking him. But he still pictured you wearing it. Still wondered if you’d smile. If you’d let him put it on you himself. If you’d finally look at him and say you liked him too.

Iwaizumi nudged him forward with a grunt. “Just buy it already, Tooru.”

And maybe, if he did—maybe he’d finally find out if you’d let him be more than just a partner on a long-finished project. Maybe you’d let him be something real. Something with a name.

He bought the bow.

Matsukawa let out a low whistle behind him the moment he stepped up to the counter, and Hanamaki practically threw his arms in the air like Oikawa had just proposed marriage instead.

“Oh my god, he’s doing it!” Hanamaki stage-whispered with all the subtlety of a marching band. “Look at our boy—finally growing up.”

“Should we clap? I feel like we should clap,” Matsukawa added, already fishing out his phone like he might record the moment for future blackmail.

Oikawa didn’t say a word. Just placed the bow gently on the counter and tried to ignore how the cashier raised an eyebrow at the spectacle happening behind him.

“Is this… a gift?” she asked, deadpan, as Hanamaki and Matsukawa continued to act like they were witnessing a wedding proposal.

“It’s not a confession,” Oikawa muttered, cheeks flushing. “It’s just... something I thought might suit a friend.”

Behind him, Hanamaki gasped. “Friend?”

“Liar,” Matsukawa coughed into his fist.

Iwaizumi stepped up with a sigh that sounded like it had aged him ten years. He bowed slightly to the cashier, one hand already gripping Hanamaki’s collar. “I’m sorry for them. They were dropped on their heads as children.”

The cashier snorted but waved it off. “It’s cute. Annoying, but cute.”

Oikawa paid in silence, doing his best to look anywhere but at his friends. When the cashier handed him the little pastel bag with the bow inside, he took it carefully, like it might break if he held it too tightly.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Iwaizumi nudged his side.

“Don’t screw it up,” he said.

And for once, Oikawa didn’t fire back. He just clutched the bag a little tighter and thought of you.

You were in your dorm, sprawled on your bed with your cheek pressed against the pillow and your phone held loosely in one hand when it vibrated. You barely glanced at the screen before your heart did a quiet flip.

[tooru]: are you free?

That was it. No context. No follow-up. Just five words that immediately lit a fuse in your brain.

You stared at the message a little too long, waiting for another one to come in—for something like need help with econ again? or want to review the lab notes together? Something that would make this feel normal, familiar, something that wouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it was currently doing. But nothing else came.

You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard and deleting your reply three different times before you could bring yourself to send a casual yeah, why? back. You barely had time to toss your phone on the bed when it buzzed again.

[tooru]: there’s a new pastry place by the station. they have strawberry cheesecake. wanna come with me?

You blinked.

Then you sat up.

Then, without warning, you dropped back down face-first into your pillow and let out a long, muffled groan that could only come from someone who was spiraling too hard, too fast.

“Uh-oh,” your roommate said from her desk without even turning around. “It’s happening again, isn’t it.”

You didn’t move.

She swiveled her chair and gave you a pointed look. “What did Oikawa say this time? Did he compliment your penmanship? Call you cute again on accident? Smile at you with his pretty boy twinkle?”

You rolled over dramatically, holding your phone up like it was damning evidence. “He asked if I was free.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“He said there’s this new pastry shop near the station. And that they have strawberry cheesecake.”

Silence.

Then—“Oh, you’re doomed.”

You clutched your pillow tighter. “What if he’s just being nice? Maybe he just remembered I like sweets and wants company.”

She gave you a look. “Company? What is he, an eighty-year-old man with a tea set?”

You flushed. “It’s not like he called it a date. What if it’s just... casual? Not even that deep.”

“And yet here you are, spiraling like this is the season finale of your love life.”

You groaned. “We don’t even hang out like this. It’s always for school. Group projects. Study sessions. I don’t know what this is.”

Your roommate stood and walked over, snatching your phone from your hands with a huff. “He said strawberry cheesecake, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The one you like.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve never actually told him you liked it?”

“I don’t think so?” you said, voice going soft. “Maybe... maybe back when we met at that café for our project? He asked what I wanted, and I told him strawberry cheesecake.”

She raised a brow. “So he still remembers.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “There was also that one time at his house. He gave me these cream puffs while we were reviewing, and I kinda—might’ve—gone through his snack stash like a criminal.”

Her grin was practically predatory now. “And he let you?”

You covered your face with your hands. “He said I looked cute when I was chewing.”

She gasped and hit you with a pillow. “You left that out on purpose.”

“I forgot!”

“No, you repressed it,” she declared, pointing at you like she was solving a crime. “You’ve been in love with him since I don't know during the freshman orientation.”

“I’m not in love with him.”

She arched a brow. “You sure?”

You didn’t answer.

She threw herself on the bed beside you and poked your shoulder. “It’s a date. You’re getting cheesecake with a pretty boy who remembers what you like and texts you without an academic excuse. You’re not imagining it.”

You peeked at your phone again.

[tooru]: i’ll wait for you at the station at 3. don’t be late—i want to see if you’ll light up again when you eat it like last time.

You stared. Then let out another groan and rolled off the bed.

Your roommate smirked. “Yeah. You’re toast.”

Oikawa, on the other hand, was beet red when he sent the message—his fingers trembling slightly as he hit send, and the moment it was done, he immediately tried to play it cool, though it was impossible to hide the way his face burned all the way up to his ears. Behind him, the laughter came sharp and immediate. Hanamaki had caught the tail end of the text just as he leaned over to grab his drink, his eyes widening before he burst out laughing, loudly enough to draw glances from nearby tables. Matsukawa nearly choked on his soup, slapping the table with the flat of his hand while Iwaizumi just stared, unimpressed but not entirely unsympathetic—though the upward twitch of his lip betrayed that he was far more amused than he let on.

“Be honest,” Makki said through his cackling, “did you actually just say ‘see you later’ like you’re in a high school drama?”

“I told you not to look at my phone,” Oikawa muttered, his face buried in his scarf even though they were already seated and the hotpot was making the space warm enough to fog the windows.

“I mean, I didn’t try to look,” Makki grinned, leaning back, “but you were holding it up like it was a love confession.”

“You should’ve added a heart,” Matsukawa added, nudging him with his knee beneath the table. “She replied, right? What’d she say?”

“Yeah, come on, Tooru,” Hanamaki teased, voice sing-song, “don’t leave us hanging.”

Oikawa gave them all a half-hearted glare but couldn’t hide the way his hand curled tightly around his phone, thumb brushing over the screen. The reply had been simple—rushed, even—but it was enough to make his chest feel light. okay sre you tooru. A typo, sure, but she had replied. And more importantly, she had called him by his first name. The way his name looked in your message did something inexplicable to his brain, enough that he kept reading it over and over again in his head like it meant more than it probably did.

The four of them were currently seated around a bubbling pot, the restaurant tucked into a quieter corner near the station, their bags from the mall resting beneath the table, the crisp late afternoon slowly darkening through the windows behind them. It was supposed to be just another group hangout to kill time before they headed home for the weekend, but at some point between teasing each other in the arcade and getting distracted at the snack stalls, Oikawa had typed that message to you—an invitation, barely disguised beneath casual words and a half-hearted emoji. He might deny it later, might swear up and down that it was just a recommendation or a friendly suggestion, but the reality was undeniable.

He had technically asked you out on a date. And the moment you replied, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it for the rest of the night.

After a few hours had passed since they finished lunch—his stomach full but his thoughts restless—Oikawa excused himself from the group, slipping away from the laughter still echoing behind him as they split off in different directions. The late afternoon breeze tugged gently at his jacket as he made his way to the pastry shop by the station, the one with soft pink walls and dainty cakes behind glass, where he’d told you to meet him.

He arrived early, of course. Pacing near the door for a few moments before deciding to head inside, he chose a seat by the window, one that gave him the perfect view of the street. His fingers drummed idly against the table, gaze flitting from his phone screen to the people passing by—until his eyes caught on a familiar figure approaching.

There you were.

Wearing a dress he could only describe as the embodiment of sweet elegance. You always wore dresses—your signature style, he’d come to realize—but today’s look made something in his chest tighten. A soft, lolita-style dress in a muted cream color framed your figure, adorned with subtle lace, frilled sleeves, and a ribbon that swayed with your steps. Your hair was styled with care, and even from behind the glass, he could see the way your eyes lit up when you spotted him.

The off-white lace bow he'd bought earlier at the mall—on impulse, he’d claimed to his friends, though they'd all seen right through him—would match your outfit perfectly. He felt his heart skip, his fingers instinctively brushing the little shopping bag beside him, suddenly bashful at the thought.

Then you waved, your face brightening in a way that made him melt instantly. There was a sparkle in your eyes—pure, warm, sincere. Oikawa barely had time to recover before you pushed open the door, the bell above it chiming softly.

“Hi, Tooru,” you greeted sweetly, your voice soft with affection.

And just like that, any rehearsed line he had vanished from his head.

Oikawa blinked once—twice—because somehow, seeing you through the glass hadn’t quite prepared him for how stunning you looked up close. His breath caught in his throat, and his words tangled awkwardly as you approached the table with a small smile, the soft hem of your dress swaying with every step.

“You… wow,” he managed, sitting up straighter, ears turning pink as he fumbled for coherence. “You look—really, really cute. Like… ridiculously cute. I mean, not that you don’t always, just—today—especially—” He ran a hand through his hair in a flustered motion, letting out a nervous laugh. “This dress suits you so much, it’s almost unfair.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you looked down immediately, your cheeks heating like a rising tide, lips parting in surprise before curling into a shy smile.

Your fingers clutched your bag a little tighter, voice barely above a whisper as you murmured, “Thank you, Tooru…”

You still wouldn’t lift your gaze, and Oikawa thought he might combust right then and there—because even your shyness was adorable beyond reason.

Oikawa stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped back, catching it with a quick hand before clearing his throat and turning to you with a nervous smile.

“D-Do you, um—what do you want? I-I mean, to order,” he asked, voice stammering slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool but failing miserably.

You blinked up at him, surprised by how flustered he was, and gave a small smile.

“Strawberry cheesecake,” you said, soft and certain, then added with a thoughtful hum, “and probably… some tarts too.”

Oikawa nodded far too seriously, as if it were a mission briefing. “Right—cheesecake and tarts. Okay. Got it.”

Then, under his breath—barely audible—you caught him mutter, “of course you’d pick something sweet.”

You sat down, smoothing the hem of your dress as you did, and let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. A soft smile found its way to your lips—small, almost unsure, but warm nonetheless.

Your heart was beating so fast it echoed in your ears, thumping against your chest like it was trying to get your attention. And maybe it was.

Because this felt different.

There were no study guides laid out across the table. No notebooks crammed with highlighted notes. No looming exams or group projects to fall back on as an excuse.

Just you and him.

Just Tooru.

And deep down, in a place you tried to keep quiet, you couldn’t help but wonder if this really—truly—was a date.

Oikawa came back carefully balancing a small tray, placing it down with a proud little grin. On it were two slices of cake—yours a strawberry cheesecake topped with glistening fruit, and his a rich chocolate mousse layered with ganache. Beside them sat a delicate mini tart platter, each one filled with creams and fruits and custards like a pastel mosaic.

“Uhm—I ordered the mini tart platter instead,” he said, stammering slightly, “so we can, like, try different flavors… together.”

He tried to play it cool, but the way he fiddled with the edge of the tray betrayed the fact that he was anything but.

Then he looked at you—and nearly melted.

Because your eyes lit up the moment you saw the sweets, your entire face softening in delight like you’d just been handed a box of sunshine. You looked at the tray, then at him, and back again, like you couldn’t decide what was sweeter.

He didn’t care that his cake was probably going to get warm. Not when you looked at dessert like that. Not when you looked at him like that.

He sat down in front of you, still slightly flushed, and gently nudged the tray a little closer to your side of the table.

"You can eat now," he said softly, eyes flicking between your face and the strawberry cheesecake like he wasn’t sure which one was more captivating.

You nodded, your fingers brushing over the fork as you quietly murmured, “Okay,” your voice a little shy, your cheeks already warm.

He watched the way you looked down bashfully, how your lashes fluttered when you avoided his gaze—so damn cute he had to glance away himself just to breathe.

“By the way,” he said again, voice softer now as he reached down and pulled out the small paper bag from earlier. His fingers fidgeted slightly with the handles, like he wasn’t sure if he should hand it over yet. But then, after a breath, he set it on the table between you two. “I bought this and… it immediately reminded me of you.”

You blinked, eyes flickering between him and the bag. You slowly opened it and carefully peeled back the tissue, revealing the off-white lacey bow inside. Your heart skipped at the sight—it was delicate, sweet, and just your style. You already imagined how it would look nestled in your hair.

You looked up to thank him, but your voice caught when you saw the way he was watching you—quietly, earnestly, like he’d been holding something in for a long time.

“Tooru…?”

He let out a slow exhale, glancing down at his fingers before lifting his gaze back to yours. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant, but firm enough not to run away from what he needed to say.

“I didn’t just ask you here because I happened to be in the area,” he admitted. “I… I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. Ask you out, properly. Just us. No study materials. No excuses.”

He smiled sheepishly, cheeks tinting red. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you for a long time. And I saw that bow at the mall earlier, and it just—made me think of you. How cute you’d look in it. How much I wanted to see you smile.”

Your breath hitched, and the blush on your cheeks deepened as you lowered your gaze for a moment, overwhelmed but soft all the same.

“I… I wasn’t sure how you’d feel,” he continued, quieter now. “But I figured, if there was even a chance… then I wanted to try.”

You looked up again, meeting his eyes. They were wide with vulnerability, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. Just Tooru. Honest. Hopeful.

The bow still rested in your lap, but your hands were already trembling from how full your chest felt.

And with a shy smile tugging at your lips, you whispered, “I’m really glad you did.”

Your fingers moved almost on instinct, soft and trembling as you reached across the table and gently held one of his hands resting near the fork. His skin was warm, and when your touch met his, Oikawa froze—eyes flicking down, then back to you, breath held like he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

You smiled, shy and a little wobbly, but it was genuine—tinged pink across your cheeks as you gently squeezed his hand.

“I like you too, Tooru,” you said quietly, just above a whisper. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now… I just never thought you’d notice me like that.”

His eyes widened, a glint of disbelief flickering in them before his lips parted, but you kept going, voice a little steadier now.

“And… I’m happy,” you continued, looking down at the bow still sitting on your lap, brushing your thumb over the delicate lace. “That it reminded you of me. It’s really pretty. It feels like… you see me. Really see me.”

You peeked up at him again and added with a soft laugh, “And you remembered I have a sweet tooth. The tarts, the cheesecake… you always remember the little things.”

Oikawa was speechless for a moment—his fingers gently curling around yours now, as if trying to ground himself in the fact that this was real.

“You’re kind,” you whispered, “and I always thought… maybe someone like you wouldn’t look at someone like me like this. But I’m really glad I was wrong.”

And for the first time that day, Oikawa looked like he could cry—from relief, from joy, from the soft, quiet realization that the person he’d been falling for felt the exact same way.

You and Oikawa walked to your dorm that same evening hand in hand. In your grasp was a paper bag filled with slices of strawberry cheesecake and another box holding cakes of different flavors—ones he remembered you mentioned liking before. In his was the smaller bag carrying the delicate lace ribbon he bought just for you.

You couldn’t stop smiling, your fingers gently curled around the handles as if you were afraid this day might slip away like a dream. Your heart fluttered at how thoughtful he’d been, getting takeout just so you could enjoy the sweets later too.

Oikawa kept glancing at you, grinning to himself. The way you clutched the cake boxes so carefully, eyes bright and steps a little lighter than usual—he thought you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. You were practically glowing, and all because of him. He didn’t think his heart could take it.

When you reached your dorm building, you turned to him, the hallway quiet and dimly lit.

“Thank you again, Tooru,” you said softly, cradling the bags against your chest. “For… everything.”

Before he could say anything back, you leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips—soft, fleeting, but sweet enough to make his heart skip.

You pulled away shyly, your gaze flickering down as your cheeks heated.

But then Oikawa’s hand gently cupped your cheek, and before you could look up again, he leaned in and kissed you—deeper this time.

His lips moved slowly against yours, tender but sure, as if he’d been holding that in for too long. The cake bags were nearly slipping from your hands, but you didn’t care. You felt like you were floating.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was a little shaky, and his smile was boyish and full of wonder.

“…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he murmured.

You giggled, breathless, and whispered, “Me too.”

After that night, you officially started dating the campus crush and star volleyball player—Oikawa Tooru—who, unbeknownst to most, had been deeply in love with you all this time.

Even with the title of boyfriend now secured, Oikawa would still short circuit in your presence alone. You could be doing the most mundane thing—tying your hair, sipping your drink, or smiling at your phone—and he’d be sitting across from you, red-tipped ears and dreamy eyes, completely malfunctioning.

You, on the other hand, were doing your best to overcome the fluttery shyness that came with dating someone like him. It was hard to stay composed when Oikawa would send you heart-throbbing winks across the hallway, or pull you close by the waist just to kiss the top of your head when you least expected it.

Of course, this only gave his friends premium material to tease him with.

“Look at Lover Boy over there,” Hanamaki would grin while nudging Matsukawa. “He’s been staring at her for five full minutes. Is that drool?”

“Bet he writes her poems on the back of his practice schedules,” Matsukawa added with a snort.

“I wouldn't put it past him,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “The man once practiced ‘how to smile less smugly’ in the mirror for her.”

Oikawa would dramatically shield you behind him, scowling at them like a knight defending his honor. “You're all just bitter and alone.”

But even in the face of relentless teasing, he was unbothered—too busy being head over heels for you to care. And while you were still adjusting to all the public attention, there was one thing you both knew for sure:

Whatever this was between you—it was real, sweet, and the best kind of chaos.

𓆩♡𓆪

Ever since you joined the Stellaron Hunters you've all but inserted yourself into his life. From insisting on accompanying him on missions to spending the majority of your free time with him.. Blade has had more than his fill of you.

However, despite his initial apprehension, he's found you to be oddly... sweet.

Everything you've done for him is not for your personal gain, but for his own well being. You insist on making him drink enough water and eating an acceptable amount of food.

He's forced to obey your incessant demands to avoid being reprimanded by you. He's found it's more pleasant to be on the receiving end of your smile in comparison to your frown.

Now, you insist on fixing his "damaged hair" as you like to proclaim.

This has led to weekly sessions of you basically pampering him as you dutifully wash his hair with shampoo, conditioner, and a 'treatment' as you like to call it.

"Hi Bladie!" Your cheerful greeting has become part of his daily routine. You've taken it upon yourself to ensure he took care of himself. He never bothered to ask why, but he goes along with it since he doesn't have the energy to refuse you anymore.

"Hmm, your hair looks much healthier. I think the treatments are working. What do you think, Bladie?" You purposefully enunciate his nickname with a sugary sweet tone as you coax him to lie on his back. "That's something I wouldn't be able to tell." His response was terse and simple, yet he saw the way it made you pause. He could see the light in your eyes as your lips formed an 'o' in surprise.

This was the first time he's responded to you with more than three words. He watches with a weary heart as your expression of surprise slowly morphs into one of uncontained excitement. "Oh? So you do enjoy my company. Otherwise you wouldn't have bothered to respond, right? ...You know what Blade, I think I'm starting to like you." Your tone of voice conveys your sincerity as your hand reaches for the shampoo bottle you bought just for him.

Blade remains unruffled on the outside, but in truth he doesn't know how to respond to your words.

You're oddly endearing when you're doting on him, but he'll never admit it since it'll only serve as new material for you to tease him with. Instead he chooses to close his eyes as your fingers work their supposed magic on his scalp.

To his surprise he wakes up as you're drying his hair. As his heavy lidded eyes slowly blink open he hears your voice humming a soft tune as you continue to dry his hair for him.

"Ah, your awake sleepy head." Your teasing falls on deaf ears. Blade has trouble comprehending the fact he fell asleep with someone nearby, and without having one of his recurrent nightmares for that fact.

"Blade?" Your voice sounds soft and enticing to Blade's ears; He finds himself drawn to your voice in his sleepy state. He slowly tilts his head upwards to look at you, and he swears you've never looked this way before.

You never looked so..

He refused to finish the thought as he replies, "Yes?" To your inquisition. Your eyes light up with that familiar glimmer of joy as a knowing, coy smile lifts the corner of your lips.

"Remember what I told you earlier? I really think I like you. Romantically, I mean."

Silence fills the room.

Blade blinks at you slowly, akin to a drowsy owl rousing from sleep, as the silence envelopes the two of you like a suffocating hug.

Blade slowly blinks at you once more before he abruptly turns his head to the side to look away.

An awkward cough escapes his lips.

He doesn't respond.

You don't take his lack of a response personally as you opt to finish drying his hair, humming an upbeat tune as you complete your self assigned task.

Blade only has one thought on his mind as you finish.

Why... 

Why is his heart beating faster?

𓆩♡𓆪

"Blade?"

"..."

"Blade?"

"..."

"Bladdeee?" This time, you maneuver yourself to block his path and force yourself into his point of view. A low grunt is the only acknowledgement you receive from Blade as he finally stops walking to stare at you. "Oh Blade, how can you be so cruel? I just want to talk to you." Your words reek of exaggeration as much as they are a faux pretense of innocence. Your theatrics are enunciated by your disarming smile in Blade's direction.

Unfortunately for him, Blade finds himself drawn to your smile.

This seems to be a common recurrence for him.

"What is it? Do we really need to talk this much to complete the mission?" Blade's tone is gruff and filled with faux ire. He frowns in an attempt to dissuade you from continuing the conversation.

Of course you happily ignore his frown as you invade his personal space. You lean into him, your face a bit closer to his as your lips form an infuriating smirk.

"Oh Blade, you know I love talking to you. I couldn't resist the urge even if I tried." That infatuating, familiar smirk of yours only serves to fuel his annoyance. He simply clicks his tongue as he moves around you to start walking again.

He isn't surprised when you fall into step beside him. He still isn't surprised when you loop your arm with his, leaning your head against his shoulder as your pace easily falls into stride with his.

He loathes the way his heart reacts to your close proximity; he ignores his increased heart rate as he keeps his eyes focused ahead of him. He looks anywhere but in your direction.

The last time he looked at you when you were this close it felt like his heart was going to explode.

It was a foreign feeling; another new experience your presence in his life has bestowed onto him.

Instead of delving deeper to determine the cause of these feelings he's opted to ignore them.

It's easier that way.

"So Bladie... do you like the roles we were assigned to play? I, for one, am very excited to play the role of your loving wife." Blade can only muster a sigh as he recalls the conversation that took place the day before.

𓆩♡𓆪

A meeting between the Stellaron Hunters was taking place, but it felt less like a meeting and more like an informal gathering. Silverwolf opted to play her games on the couch as you eagerly discussed plans with Kafka and Firefly.

The Stellaron Hunters needed a way in without drawing too much attention to themselves and Kafka had the perfect idea on how to do this.

"How about you and Bladie put on disguises and enter the establishment as newlyweds? It's a perfect cover up. This is a popular honeymoon spot, and the two of you can wear disguises." Kafka's subtle suggestion is anything but subtle. Blade purposefully ignores her pointed gaze as your eyes light up with obvious excitement.

It was obvious you were quite fond of Kafka's suggestion. Firefly takes the opportunity to excitedly chime in.  "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea! Aren't you silverwolf?" Firefly fails to be subtle as she pointedly looks in Silverwolf's direction.

Silverwolf doesn't pause her game, but her eyes lift up to look in your direction before she gives a silent nod of approval.

All that was left was for Blade to agree to the plan.

Blade was dumbfounded on how this idea even came to be, but he couldn't find it in himself to reject the proposed plan. With a feigned lack of interest Blade's simple retort was, "Fine."

Lo and behold, now the two of you begin your next mission as newly weds.

Blade's heart races uncontrollably in his chest as you rest your head against his arm. As an added result to your close proximity, Blade's nose picks up your familiar scent.

Your scent has become a source of comfort for Blade. It was unavoidable really; the two of you spend so much time together that it would be odd if he didn't find some sort of comfort being by your side.

So, despite his body's odd reaction to your touch, Blade finds himself at ease as the two of you check in and reach your location with no problem.

Blade notices your demeanor suddenly shifts as you two navigate the crowded area. Blade isn't fond of crowds himself but he does fine with a group of people. He tends to stick to himself as everyone else enjoys themselves.

However, it doesn't take a genius to notice how uncomfortable you are right now. You cling tighter to Blade; your body is practically glued to his side as your eyes glue themselves to the floor.

Blade watches you for a moment. He's never seen you so out of your element before.

He can't say he enjoys the sight of you like this.

"Look at me." Blade surprises himself when he mutters those words, but it's too late to take them back.

You hesitate for a moment before your gaze tears itself from the floor to look into his eyes. "Yes?" Your response is unusually short and it lacks your usual teasing tone.

Blade carefully considers his next words that never come. Instead he draws you impossibly closer to him; he unlinks your arms in favor of firmly grasping your hand in his.

He maneuvers through the crowd with ease to guide you to a secluded area absent of prying eyes. He sees the surprise in your eyes as they look at him, but he also sees the underlying trust you have for him within your gaze.

He smirks as a thought forms in his mind.

You can be good at following directions when you want to be.

Once he confirms the two of you are alone, he cages you between his arms as you look up at him. He's met with a rare sight; for once you're the one blinking at him in surprise.

"You listen well. You kept your eyes on me the whole time." Blade's lips form a smirk as he takes in your expression that morphs into one of annoyance. "Oh hush." Your words lack bite as you lean into his chest, hiding your face from view.

Blade's eyes widen as goosebumps rise on his skin. "Thank you." Your words are muffled but decipherable. "...Don't mention it." Blade's words are quiet, but it's undeniable they're full of care.

Blade debates on teasing you as you do it to him all the time, but he can't bring himself to. Not when you're so close to him like this.

Instead he waits for you to collect yourself, shielding you from everyone and providing a safe space until you're ready to delve back into the crowd.

This time, your hands search for each other as you re-enter the crowd.

Blade pretends not to notice your smile aimed in his direction.

𓆩♡𓆪

"I think we'd make a great couple, don't you? This mission proved what I already knew was true. We completed our tasks with ease and no one suspected we were Stellaron Hunters!" Your cheerful voice drifts from the bathroom as Blade lies on your shared bed for the evening.

He stares blankly up at the wall as he wonders how he ended up in this situation.

He knows you requested a room with two beds, despite posing as newly weds, yet the two of you are sharing a room with one bed.

He knows you didn't purposefully pick a room with one bed. Even though you make your affection for him quite obvious you never put him in situations he'd feel uncomfortable in.

You have no problems backing off if you sense his discomfort.

If Blade's being honest, the way you dote on him and keep his comfort in mind only serves as fuel for these foreign feelings to grow.

"I'm sure your affectionate nature had something to do with it." Blade responds. You exit the bathroom in a comfy set of pajamas.

You don't hesitate to lie down beside him on the bed, but instead of staring at the ceiling you stare at him.

"I can sleep on the couch if that makes you more comfortable. I'm sorry we didn't get a room with two beds. I can call and-" "Don't worry about it. I don't need much sleep." Blade's matter of fact response causes a pout to surface on your lips.

"That's not good. Considering what I know about you I can understand why but.. still.." Your voice slowly trails off. Blade glances at you, and he can tell your mind is working overtime to come up with a solution.

"Sleep here. I'll keep watch in case we tipped someone off." Blade moves to get up from the bed, but your hand darts out to grasp his arm.

He could easily shake you off, but something stops him from doing so.

"If you can't sleep then can you at least stay here with me until I fall asleep? Please? If you're okay with that it'd mean a lot." Your voice is quiet and laced with exhaustion. You two did have an eventful day, and he knows you also tend to have trouble sleeping at times..

"Alright." Blade isn't sure why he relents so easily, but he does.

Your happy smile is confirmation that he made the right decision.

He lies down comfortably beside you as he watches you snuggle up under the soft blankets. "Do you want to join me?" Your invitation elicits a soft chuckle from Blade.

"You know I don't need to." "You know I don't care, come on, stop being so difficult. Come here." You scootch back and motion for him to get off the bed for a moment.

He obliges, and you lift the blanket for him to join you.

He stares at you for a long time. He doesn't know why, but he wants to join you. He really does.

Rather than deny what he knows is the truth, he quietly slides under the soft blankets to lie by your side. Your giddy smile brings warmth to Blade's cheeks.

Your eyes take on that mischievous glint as your face moves closer to his. "Is that a blush I see on your face, Bladie? Who knew I had that effect on you?" Your voice is as teasing as it is alluring.

He doesn't deny your claim, opting to roll his eyes in an attempt to brush you off. This seems to only fuel your fervor. Almost as if you've gained a second wind, your demeanor shifts to one of excitement as you lift your thumb to gently graze his cheek.

"Oh Blade, you look so pretty right now." A wistful sigh leaves your lips as you blatantly admire him.

Blade closes his eyes. If he doesn't, his heart might burst out of his chest.

He feels you lean in, closing the distance between you two. To your shared surprise he doesn't turn away or give you any indication to back off.

Rather, his hand finds your hip to pull you closer.

"I hate the way you tease me." Blade's voice is gruff as he slowly peeks his eyes open.

He's met with a beautiful sight.

His eyes widen as he takes in your flushed expression. Your lips are parted and your eyes gleam with unspoken affection.

Despite his words, Blade's eyes remain fixed on your parted lips. His hand slowly trails up your side, up your arm, to rest against your hand that's frozen in place against his cheek.

"I hate the way you tease me." He whispers the words again, but every time he does it sounds less and less convincing. His eyes take on a shine you've never seen before, and his chest rises and falls at a faster pace than before.

Without the two of you realizing it, the distance between your lips has shrunk.

Blade's gaze remains focused on your lips, even as your eyes stare deeply into his. "Your lips are dry." Blade's words catch you off guard, and you quickly lick your lips to wet them.

The moment your tongue retreats into your mouth Blade's lips crash against yours.

A noise of surprise leaves you as Blade's lips roughly caress yours.

It's sudden, but not unwelcome. In fact, your heart ricochets against your ribcage as you close your eyes. Your fingers grasp his soft, long strands as your heart flutters in your throat.

You two share a long passionate kiss as Blade's arm wraps around you, holding you close as he savors the feeling of your lips against his.

When you pull away for air, Blade's intense gaze is the first thing to greet you.

You take the opportunity to catch your breath, and you notice Blade's erratic breathing mimics yours.

Once you have enough air to speak the first words out of your mouth are, "I really like you, Blade. Romant-" "Romantically. I know." Blade finishes your statement for you as an attractive, knowing smirk accompanies his words.

"I think I really like you too. Romantically." Blade doesn't give you a chance to respond as his lips chase yours once more.

You two spend the next few hours enjoying each other's company as you periodically share sweet, indulgent kisses between the two of you.

Eventually exhaustion takes over and you fall asleep. To Blade's relief he falls asleep shortly after you do.

𓆩♡𓆪

You groan as your eyes slowly open. You stretch your stiff limbs as your mind slowly wakes up.

A soft chuckle reminds you that you aren't alone.

You turn to look at Blade. His eyes are soft, and a fond smile lifts the corner of his lips.

"Sleep well?" This time you're the one being teased as Blade wipes a bit of drool that escaped from the corner of your lips.

You would feel embarrassed if Blade wasn't looking at you with such affection in his eyes.

"I did, thanks to you. Did you..." Blade nods in confirmation to your unspoken question, and that giddy smile he's come to enjoy lights up your features.

"Oh, I'm so happy! Let's get ready and eat some breakfast. We have to meet up with the others..."  You search for your phone, only to find Blades, and check the time.

"...In two hours." You laugh. Blade looks surprised by the sight of his phone. "I haven't seen that in a long time. You girls use it more than I do." Blade shakes his head in amusement as he slowly rises, ready to start the day with you.

"Yeah yeah, come on, we have to hurry! I can't wait to see everyone again!" You make your way to the bathroom, but not before leaving a chaste kiss against Blade's cheek.

His smile reflects the knowing look you give him before you enter the bathroom to get ready.

Blade sighs, knowing the others are going to tease him to no end for the next few days.

𓆩♡𓆪

Blade's prediction holds true as Firefly's excited squeal draws the attention of Silverwolf and Kafka.

You and Blade reunite with your fellow Stellaron Hunters, except this time you're holding hands.

Kafka's smirk is enough for him to know a few days is an understatement.

Yet, when he turns to look at you, and your warm smile is the first thing he sees, he realizes he's fine with being teased.

first, it was your outfit. he looked you up and down and went, 

“really? you’re wearing that in the 21st century?”

excuse you, king of fashion from the joseon dynasty. who are you to judge? it’s not like he time-traveled from a palace to start critiquing your finds from a sale.

second, he kept putting your things out of reach. your phone? suddenly on the top shelf. your clipboard? behind the couch. your pencil? under his chair, on purpose. you swear he's testing your limits, or plotting your downfall.

then came the tripping. oh, you needed to walk across the room? not on his watch. his legs are everywhere, strategically stretched out like some runway trap. you tripped so many times you started checking for banana peels, ghosts, lasers. nope, just jinu, smirking like the devil.

but the fourth incident? that was the final straw, cherry on top, icing on the cake.

lunch time with the boys, as you sat down, thinking today would be normal. wrong. a food war broke out like it was a birthday party for feral children. you tried your best to restore peace, to be the mature one.

what did jinu do? used you as a human shield.

abby hurled a chunk of chocolate cake aimed at jinu’s face and…it landed squarely on yours. full facial coverage, no need for foundation or setting powder. you were cake, you became cake.

the room fell silent, dead silent and suddenly the temperature dropped drastically.

“uh-oh…” “uh-oh? i’ll show you uh-oh.”

scolding them so hard, they cleaned the room faster than soda pop climbed the charts. but not before you casually wiped a thick streak of icing off your cheek… and smeared it across jinu’s expensive jacket.

revenge is really best served sweet.

ABS, LIPSTICK AND YOUR SOUL so today it was just you and abby, because he had a solo photoshoot scheduled for a magazine. and since you’re technically his manager, also part-time stylist and personal chef, you had to tag along in case anything went wrong.

what actually went wrong was the photographer taking one look at you and deciding: 

"yes, her. she’s a star, i want her too."

the man went full runway visionary on the spot, saying things like “match made in heaven”, “too hot to handle”, “this is a renaissance in the modeling world”.

you blinked, abby blinked, and before you knew it, boom, he was unbuttoning his see through white shirt like he did every day.

he didn’t even hesitate. just popped it open, revealing his abs like a smooth criminal. the makeup artists, who you swear were too excited, rushed in to dust glitter on his stomach for more angelic effect. meanwhile, someone shoved you into a beautiful white dress that honestly made you feel like a fairy about to get tricked into marriage.

lights, camera, action!

the first pose was quite intimate. abby’s sitting on the floor, legs bent, slightly leaning back and you’re straddling one of his legs, sitting upright, facing him. your hand’s on his shoulder. it’s giving soft launch, but also someone help me, i didn’t sign up for this.

for pose two the photographer himself wanted you to wrap an arm around his neck. okay, sure. your other hand rests on his chest. he’s standing beside you now, arm around your waist like it belongs there.

then the final shot. one word: scandalous.

you lean in with a bright red lipstick, pressing a kiss to his cheek. abby’s standing shirtless, tie loosened, covered in lipstick marks you just left, like a walking crime scene. he’s smirking, you’re literally dying.

after the last shutter clicks, you finally exhale. it’s over. it’s finally over. you glance at abby, and—oh no.

he’s already looking at you. soft, playful, with daring eyes glowing just a little too golden under the lights.

you look away, cheeks heating up like someone turned the studio into a hot sauna. this was not on your job description, but if viral couple shoots boost popularity, so be it.

“do i… have something on my face?” “no, you’re just pretty.”

manager-nim.exe has stopped working. please restart the system.

and then, oh god no, he brushes his thumb over your lip, gentle, casual, almost like a husband to a bride on their honeymoon. your stomach does an olympic-level backflip. why is he like this? why are his eyes so shiny? why do you feel like you’re being hypnotized?

but just like that, everything goes back to normal.

“can you move, princess?” “abby, you’re the one who wrapped your hands around my waist.” “yeah, but i want to change now.”

spoiler alert: he does not change. he just wanted to see if you’d let go first, which you didn't.

PINK SWEATER HEART MOUNTAIN you have gone through every circle of hell at this point, and it’s only monday. just because you’re technically responsible for them doesn’t mean you’re responsible for everything. or so you told yourself, before you ended up in the middle of someone’s personal closet apocalypse.

how did you get here? good question, you want to know as well.

one moment you were helping sort outfits in romance’s room, like the helpful little assistant you are, and the next, you were buried alive under a landslide of pastel cardigans, suspiciously sparkly pants, and a very aggressive pink sweater with a heart knitted on the front.

you tried to fight for survival, you really did. you kicked, but flailed. screamed once and eventually accepted your fate. your body now belonged to the great pink void. you would be remembered only by the faint echo of your last sigh and the perfume cloud left behind.

what’s the point of living anyway? you were gone. this was it. this was how it ends. goodbye cruel world. goodbye daylight. goodbye life outside of knitwear. merging with the universe, consumed by fashion.

until, hallelujah, a light shone upon your face.

“angel? where did you go?”

a voice. a very sweet voice. could it be... heaven? have you become an angel already? yes, that must be it. the light was warm, comforting, like a divine flame. this was surely heaven’s gate, or maybe it was just romance standing above you like some celestial being sent by the coco chanel gods.

“oh, there you are! you really got yourself buried under sweater mountain, huh?”

he was grinning down at you, you blink at him slowly. is he real? is this a hallucination?

to test this, he leans down and pinches your cheeks. not hard, just soft enough to make you mildly regret ever helping him organize his closet.

then, he offered you a hand. you took it, obviously, because one, he was literally your only way out, and two, you’re not immune to how annoyingly pretty he is.

“i think you’ve suffered enough for one day.”

you mumble something, still spiritually disoriented, because after all, you just came back from the dead.

“we’re going out,” “is it a date?” “depends. are you paying?” “no?” “then yeah, it’s a date. my treat.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but he was already leading you toward the door like some prince rescuing a very confused damsel. you’re still not totally sure what’s happening, but you’re upright, and he’s holding your hand, and that’s a win in your book.

also, he smells really nice. like strawberries and vanilla. honestly, you might let the sweaters bury you again if it means he’ll save you like that.

GOSSIP, CUDDLES AND NAP TIME secretly, mystery was your favorite of the saja boys. not that you’d ever admit it out loud. but it’s just with him, you could finally have a moment of peace and quiet. no screaming, no cake aimed at your face, no wardrobe meltdowns, or someone trying to turn your life into a k-drama.

no abs, no jinu. especially no jinu.

“i swear, if jinu makes one more comment about my outfit, i’m going to wear a potato sack to the next shoot on purpose,”

pacing back and forth across the room like a lawyer waiting for the final verdict awarded to the criminals that are your boys.

“like, i'm sorry, not all of us wake up with perfect hair and tons of designer clothes.”

mystery is sitting quietly on the couch, half-focused on a random magazine that was on the small table, when he was about to say something supportive. maybe something wise, or one of his usual gentle one-liners—

“and don’t even get me started on abby! my lips are still tinted red from that photoshoot. my soul is sparkling from glitter clothes. i sneezed and it looked like a unicorn and a fairy vomited on me.”

he closes his mouth. okay, not the right time.

“romance buried me in sweaters this morning! i almost didn’t make it back alive…also i’m officially traumatized from the color pink.”

you keep pacing. mystery's not surprised, because you do this often when you're overwhelmed. but today’s energy is especially chaotic and exhausting.

finally, you collapse next to him with a dramatic sigh, like the weight of everyone's ridiculousness has finally drained you to the max.

“why are they like this? why am i like this? why are you not like this? actually, don’t answer that.”

mumbling, leaning back and looking at the ceiling like it holds answers to what causes your spiritual pain. the long haired boy just smiles a little, that soft, curve of his lip reassuring you that everything is okay.

you start talking again, softer now. still half-ranting, half-reflecting. something about shoes, cake fights, and jinu’s long legs. then, the words start to come out slowly from you, the energy dips. your voice fades into soft hums and sleepy murmurs. eventually, there’s nothing at all.

he glances down and sees your head gently resting on his shoulder.

oh, you’ve fallen asleep mid-rant again.

he shifts slightly, careful not to wake you, and reaches for the thin blanket draped over the side of the couch. he lays it over your body, tucking it just enough to keep you warm.

mystery leans back, magazine forgotten, letting you rest. peace and quiet, just the two of you. honestly, it’s kind of perfect.

“sleep well, (name)-ssi…”

THE TIKTOK INCIDENT messing around after hours in the practice room with the camera propped on a chair, shirt falling off your shoulder, no makeup, and doing the soda pop choreo like some broke university student who’s had 3 hours of sleep and 5 iced coffees. you weren't even trying to look good for the video, just wanted to test the lighting and have fun like a normal human being. it was meant to stay in your drafts.

except, someone got a hold of your phone because you accidentally left it unlocked.

you should’ve known something was up when baby was too quiet for too long and then started giggling in the corner like a gremlin. you didn’t think much of it until a few hours later when your phone blew up with notifications, mentions, edits, even fanpages. and a trending hashtag.

#SodaPop_Challenge

#SajaPrincess_Challenge

“you did what?” “oops~” “baby i'm going to—” “love and spoil me? I know.”

the video went viral with people starting to learn your version of the choreo. performing it with the boys on live stages as not part of the plans on your schedule. fans said you danced better than half the idols debuting this year.

but the maknae didn’t stop there. no, no. he dug deeper and went through all your drafts.

and there it was, one video that caught his eye. you in a fitted dress, heels, makeup, hair done. looking drop-dead stunning, like a princess.

he blinked, stared, panicked. who was this goddess and what did she do with his manager?

so naturally, he did what he does best: tell lies.

“jinu said you need to dress formally for an event tomorrow.” “why didn’t jinu tell me himself?” “he's busy. something about…non-functional soda pop from the vending machine” “okay…”

so imagine the chaos when you walk into the practice room in heels and a short dress, looking like you’re about to attend the met gala red carpet.

saja boys turned into frozen boys.

romance drops his water bottle, abby walks into a wall, jinu nearly chokes, mystery mutters under his breath, and baby is smug. mission accomplished.

“wait… why aren’t you dressed up?” “dress up for what?”

the anger you had inside you when you looked at baby and he immediately hid behind abby. he was very lucky that he was cute.

taglist: @seneon @y2kuromi @maruflix @napbatata

three

four

five

six

seven

more chapters coming soon… (probably)

—

Coming into the Korean pop music business as a group's manager wasn't exactly what you planned that would happen to you, it wasn't the job you dreamed of but it paid rent and the boys you were looking after weren't that bad, they were extremely clingy and a tad over protective for someone they appointed as their manager for 6 months. It was unexpected but the 5 boys seemed nice enough that immediately made you accept their offer as their manager, their looks were just bonuses.

Apparently, being their manager also requires you to bring them food (Baby said so) and while they offered to come with you, you disagreed because you didn't want to disrupt their dance practice. They gave you their money, of course.

So that's why you were currently in the supermarket, pushing the trolley as you tried to remember what it was that the boys liked to eat. It seemed only Baby loved the hot sauce after getting a free taste on one of the few times they came with you to the shops.

"You can buy what you want with the money too, pretty." they said before you walked off, handing you a butt load of money that wouldn't be able to fit in your wallet.

And that's what you did, throwing your favourite food after food inside the trolley with a giddy smile before stopping to think what your boys liked.

A tap on the shoulder interrupted you from your thoughts making you turn around to see an admittedly handsome man who seemed about your age, ginger hair, brown eyes and fair skin. He's a foreigner, that much was obvious. You blink in surprise and confusion, "Uh, hello? something wrong, sir?" You asked, voice laced with its usual softness and trying to speak in english.

The male cleared his throat, "Uh.." he was momentarily distracted by your looks and cute voice. "Uhm, ye-yes... I-" He cleared his throat again.

You raised an eyebrow, 'Is he alright?' you thought.

"I think you're really pretty and... I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date with me..." He finally says, cheeks tinted pink. British.

Your eyes widened, feeling your own cheeks heat up at his words and accent. This is the first time in years since someone had asked you out, someone this handsome and has a british accent! That's practically the sexiest accent in the world, at least that's what your friend said to you.

"Oh! My name is Brandon, I'm not from here and I just... I thought you very pretty and I'm rambling.." He stammered out, face reddening even more. "I don't know, I just- I wanted to try and have a friend... it doesn't have to be a date-date, just a friendl-"

You don't have an understanding of the whole english language but you definitely got the gist of that.

You interrupted him with a kind smile, "I accept!" You exclaim, trying to hide your excitement.

Brandon smiled back, "h-here... my number, call me? I mean w-we can meet tomorrow for that date.." He said as he handed me a piece of paper with his number that he wrote before walking towards me.

You gave him a nod and a small wave as he walked away with a skip.

You opened the door to the boy's dance rehearsal, carrying three bags of food (the two bags were for you). The boys stopped their practice and immediately went to fight each other on who could help you, practically pushing each other away before Abby grabbed the bags from your hand with a charming smile, "I'll handle them for you, pretty." He said as the rest scoffed.

"Thank you!" I smiled, "So how's practice going?"

Jinu sighs at the question, moving to stand beside you. You could practically smell him with how sweaty he is, no- you could smell all of their musky smell. "It's fine," He huffs, trying to cover up the fact that it was not doing well at all with how much the rest of the guys stressed him out a lot.

"I did tell you I could hire a dance instructor for you guys," I hum, trying to ignore their scent.

Baby rolls his eyes, "Don't. I don't want other people in here." He mutters. I don't want you talking to anybody else, especially if it's a guy.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," Romance reassures as he took the place on the other side of you. "Just watch us and look all beautiful for us... okay, Ms. Manager?" he adds with a flirty smile, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Mystery nods his head at what the heart shape haired male said.

I pout, "I just want to be useful, I am your manager after all..."

Abby chuckles, "you are useful, pretty girl. You're taking care of us right now, buying us all these food. You've been a good girl for us." He praised as Jinu hums in agreement.

Your cheeks heated up, they always seem to like mentioning everyday that you've been a good girl and it never stops to make your heart skip a beat.

Such a good girl, you like touching my muscles, don't you?

Thank you, pretty girl. I'm so proud of my good girl.

Don't stop doing that, it feels good... that's right, good girl.

The next day came by and you were giddy, all excited that the others couldn't help but notice it when you came by for another day of dance rehearsals.

Abby moved to flex his muscles, intentionally growing closer to you as the thin shirt made his abs more prominent. "What's got you all excited?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow as he looked down at your form.

"Well yesterday... a guy asked me out!" You exclaimed, "He was sooo handsome and he has this british accent that it just made my heart melt!" You place a hand on your chest for good measure.

The others stopped whatever it is they were doing to look at you, an unreadable expression plastered on their faces before Jinu gave you a small smile which was obviously fake but you didn't notice, practically buzzing with excitement.

"Is that so? I'm happy for you!" He says as he gave you a pat on the shoulder.

"We're actually going at this restaurant in town tonight and I'm gonna be wearing the prettiest dress," You giggle as Mystery grits his teeth in annoyance, trying to stop himself from barking angrily at whoever's taking you out.

They can't believe you had the nerve to just go on dates with some nobody, you were their manager so that practically means you're theirs. So that pretty dress you own is reserved for their eyes only. Who cares if that guy has an accent? They know they're much better than whatever nobody you found on the streets.

The day rolls by, the Saja boys couldn't focus on whatever dance routine they had to do because they have one goal in mind;

getting rid of the bastard who had the audacity to steal their pretty girl.

It was easy trying to find the guy you were going on a date with because you told them his description and where you were meeting, oblivious to their plans. They know you wouldn't accuse them of doing something because you were dumb like that and they love it.

Jinu was dressed as a waiter that they ganged up on to steal his clothes and his soul while the rest waited outside in a dark alleyway. You were still at your apartment, getting all dolled up for this ugly nobody who could never compare to their majestic beauty.

How did you ever find this piece of shit handsome?

The raven haired male plastered on a fake smile as he approached Brandon who looked nervous and sweaty, Jinu was glad he came here extra early. "Hello, sir. I just wanted to inform you that a pretty, young lady is waiting for you outside." he said in perfect english as the ginger male looked up at him in surprise before nodding his head to stand up, following after him.

Brandon looked confused as he was led to a dark and secluded place, he looks around. "Uh, where-" he turns to face Jinu and lets out a gasp, seeing 5 pairs of glowing eyes- yellow embers with orange slits that are razor-thin- glaring down at him from the shadows.

The brit lets out a nervous chuckle, stepping back. "I-is this a joke, mate? It's not really funny..." He mutters before his back felt the dirty and cold stone wall.

"You really thought you could take her... from me? from us?" one of them growls as they moved closer to him.

"Don't bother screaming for help, no one's here but us." another whispers tauntingly before they all simultaneously pounced at the male who let out a scream with other people none the wiser.

"I- I got stood up..." You whimper, having just gone to the restaurant and waited for hours for the guy but he never game. "I waited for him but he didn't come..."

You were in their house, practically dashing over to them in tears. They bit back the smile as you melted into a puddle in Jinu's arms who coo-ed and rubbed your back gently as you cried.

"A-and I was all dressed up too... h-he's such a jerk!" You sobbed, hiding your pretty face in his chest.

"It's gonna be okay, [Your name]" Abby moves towards you, fingers moving to take your chin, tilting your head to look at him so that they could see your pretty face even with the make up running down due to your tears.

Romance gave you a smile, "Besides, you've got us. You don't need some other guy to go on a date with, we're here for you." He said softly. "Oh look, you're ruining your make up now... but don't worry, you're still the prettiest girl in the world."

Mystery nods, "And... being on some date with a nobody would only deter you from your job as our manager... who's gonna take care of us now if you're gonna go off going on a date.." he mumbled, trying to act all upset.

You sniffle, "y-you're right... I- I'm suppose to be your manager... you guys are my priority." you mumbled as you wipe your tears away but the crying never stopped.

They all smirked, unknown to you. That's right. They are your priority and no one else.

"So you better not be getting into some dates again," Baby reprimands with an annoyed huff.

[Last name] [Your name], a name most popular uttered by many people, a name who could turn many heads at the direction with just at a simple mutter, a name that could break a cold person's exterior, and lastly, a name that could easily steal the hearts of the upcoming Korean boy group the Saja boys.

The Saja boys were currently at their own dance rehearsals because they can't exactly steal fans if they don't look great, sing great and dance great, would they?

Jinu lets out an exasperated sigh as he stared at the group of demons, glaring daggers at the other four demons who just can't get the dance right. "We're meant to jump in sinc at this part." He said, crossing his arms as Baby Saja rolls his eyes from behind Abby, thinking their leader wouldn't be able to see. "Why you!-" the dark haired male was about to stomp over when the door opened.

The five males immediately straightened their postures at the sight of her.

[Your name].

Their very own manager.

Standing there with a bright smile plastered on your pretty face as you held the lyrics of their song Soda pop in hand given to you by Jinu.

"Ms. Manager, good to see you." Abby gives out a little wave, shirt riding up to show a bit of his skin and toned body. "You're late. Again."

It wasn't a secret to the five of them that you were admittedly... not that great of a manager, even though they don't have much experience of how a manager actually acts but they just don't want to get rid of you. Not when you looked at them so prettily that they can't help but want more of you, definitely not when you smelled so sweet that they just want to get closer to you just to smell you, and definitely not when you touch them as if they were made of glass (and they weren't, but to them, you clearly are).

Before they met you, you were in need of a job and well... you had a very unforgettable first meeting with them that they just have to keep you to themselves.

"I'm sorry, the landlord upped the expense of the rent." You said, giving them an apologetic look as you handed them each a plastic bottle of cold water. "And he wouldn't exactly leave me alone..." You added, unbeknown of the eyes glowing yellow at the mention of the bastard who wouldn't leave you alone when you turned around to fix the papers.

Romance hums, stepping closer to you. "We did offer that you could stay with us," He voiced, placing a hand on your waist.

You look up at the male who stared down at you, a dreamy look on his face as he tried his hardest not to brush his hand on your soft-looking cheek. "Like I said, there aren't exactly many rooms in the house you reside in that could let me stay there." You pointed out.

It was true, the house they stayed in or more likely, stolen from people before they got their souls, only had five bedrooms, fitting for the five of them.

The heart shaped haired male had his eyes trail over to your plump lips and before he could quip something else, he was suddenly bumped to the side by their muscular member who couldn't help but replace the hand on your waist with his own, pulling you closer to his bigger frame. "Just stay with us." He whispers, voice deep.

You can't help but feel your heart racing at his words but put some distance by leaning back, "Abby, that's not very nice. You just hurt Romance." You frowned as you turn to the other male who immediately changed his glare pointed to Abby to a happy smile as he saw you turn to him.

"He's a big boy, he can handle a little bump." Abby rolls his eyes as Baby snickers.

Before you could tell him to apologize, Jinu walks over to you. "They're right, you know. You wouldn't have to deal with your landlord if you just stayed with us, I can just give you my room and sleep on the living room." He offers, hoping he could change your mind and stay with them instead.

"It's fine, guys really. Thanks for the offer but I really can't, you already appointed me as your manager even when I don't have much experience..." You murmured before feeling Abby's hand on your waist tighten. "It's just some old guy anyway, it's not that big of a deal." You try to reassure, lips turned up in the pretty smile that softened their exteriors.

"Do you want me to take care of him for you?" Everyone turned to Mystery who uttered those words, the rest grumbled, clearly wanting to be the one to say that to you.

You look confused by what he meant but shook your head, "No, it's alright, you don't have to."

"I'd do anything for you," The male mumble as he watched you refuse their offers some more, clearly not having heard what he mumbled.

Baby slumps into your back making you let out a cute little yelp at the added weight, "You can just sleep with me." He said, lips brushing over the back of your neck causing you to shiver.

The others immediately disproved of that.

They watched as their little Ms. Manager gave them a wave goodbye before walking off towards the bus stop.

It was silent for a bit before Baby saja finally says, "We're getting rid of him, right?"

The next day, you slammed the door open, breathing shakily as the Saja boys turned to you in concern. You were trying to catch your breath, practically running here to inform them of the news that had been delivered to you by a fellow neighbour.

"You alright, pretty girl?" Romance was the first to ask as Jinu stopped the music.

Their concern was a facade of course. They know what you were gonna say, practically smelled your scent miles away as you moved to get to them. They held back smirks of their own as they stared down at your form.

"H-he... the landlord- he's dead," You said, eyes wide and clearly still in shock. "One of my neighbours saw dismembered bodies and- oh gosh... it sounded so frightening."

The whimpers you let out highened their growing arousal as they stared at you, eyes darkening as they fought the urge to take you right then and there.

"Wh-what if that happens to me-" You were tearing up now.

Oh, those tears. Those beautiful tears.

Baby licks his lower lip at the sight, the desire to lick them with his tongue growing. He can't help but wonder what you tasted.

Jinu walks up to you immediately, in faux concern, placing a hand on you shoulder to comfort you. "We're very sad to here that..." He said with a frown and furrowed his eyebrows. "But you shouldn't worry about that happening to you, Ms. Manager."

You look up at him and the dark haired male praised himself for not pouncing on you at the sight. Sniffling, you asked. "Wh-what?"

He gave you a small yet reassuring smile, "If you stay with us, you'd never get hurt by that awful killer on the loose."

"We'll be sad without our pretty little manager to tend to our needs..." Abby adds on.

"We need you, I need you." Mystery whispers.

Your body was shaking, overwhelmed by everything that's happening.

However, if this little thing didn't change your mind yet... then they'd just have to take you, with or without your consent. You're theirs after all.