Henry Creel's wife

well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes don’t lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.

but you’re not, so toji’s lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. it’s pathetic, really. he’s got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he can’t fucking focus. his mind’s on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.

“toji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?”

toji’s head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.

it’s you—oh god, it’s you, and you’re looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. you’re in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw you—did you get your nails done? so pretty. you’re so pretty, you’re always so pretty, and toji’s mouth dries.

he doesn’t say anything because he can’t, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throat—but he slowly stands up anyway. you’re humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.

he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.

“you want this, princess?” he mumbles.

you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesn’t slide off. you’re caressing his pecs now, teasing. “toji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. i’m busy.”

toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, “only if i get an invite, sweetheart.”

“we’ll see,” you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. you’re running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. “if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you wash the dishes.”

he kisses your neck. “m’always good for you, baby.”

you’re giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?

he’ll never know, because he’s holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesn’t care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.

fuck.

toji gives your hips one last squeeze. “go pay, princess. i’ll bag your stuff.”

“you better.” you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.

you’re a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. toji’s a 24-year-old who’s still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.

in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.

ⵌ AT THE FRATHOUSE !

“you can’t pull someone like y/n, no offense.”

toji wishes suguru wouldn’t spell it out. he already knows, for christ’s sake.

in sigma chi’s living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between geto’s legs with his back against geto’s chest & his toe tickling toji’s jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.

sato’s about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, “therapy fucking sucked today. i still don’t think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normal—fuck you, suguru.”

“maybe it is,” suguru’s lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, “but having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.”

“a young man can’t be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.”

“oh, i’m not hungry..”

sukuna trudges over toji’s legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. “i brought drinks. toji, why’re you on the floor? ya need therapy too?”

sato snickers. “toji’s fallen for a rich girl.”

sukuna snorts, “don’t even joke, lad.” but suguru and toji aren’t laughing. his brows scrunch. “wait—“ he turns to toji, “you’re serious?”

toji eyes him. “mind your own business.”

sukuna doesn’t believe in complex schools of thought like ‘minding your business.’ so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against toji’s cheek. “does she know you’re poor?”

“hey, hey,” geto bites his cheek, “not too much on him.”

but sukuna continues. “what about the kid? does she know you have a son?”

toji’s jaw only tightens.

sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguru—then shakes his head, laughing. “jesus christ of jollof rice,” he cracks open a beer, “you’re fucking cooked, bro.”

toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.

suguru sighs, resting his chin on sato’s head as sato munches happily underneath him. “i hate to suggest this, but there’s a way you can get her to give you a chance.”

sukuna and toji both perk up.

“if she doesn’t know about meg—or your, uh, economics,” suguru clears his throat, “then you keep it that way. she thinks you’re some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.”

sato frowns. “this sounds like something i’d suggest. so not good, i think.”

suguru pokes his cheek, making sato’s pout grow deeper. “i’m just spit-balling here. it’s obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.”

“i don’t like her because i want her to play housewife.”

“we know,” suguru’s smile is affectionate. “that’s why we’ll help you.”

sukuna grunts in agreement. “sounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out you’re a baby daddy with no money, she’ll just run back to her range rover.” he takes another swig of his beer. “we’ll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she won’t leave.”

sato nods. “we’ll babysit. lend you money. heck—you can drive my porsche to your dates.”

on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. it’s a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.

but toji’s desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.

“alright,” he grunts. “let’s fucking do it.”

SIGMA CHI’S REMARK : DON’T WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHO’S YOUR DADDY ?

taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru

“babysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?”

ΣΧ

megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. he’s slumped against his dad’s thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.

sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.

hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. “listen up. i’m going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, i’m throwing all of you into a pond.“

suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumi’s height. he wipes megumi’s cheeks with a smile. “don't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?”

“hi, uncle sugu,” megumi’s voice is flat but he leans into geto’s palm on his cheek. “are we going to draw today?”

“of course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.”

toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. “why is his face like that.”

“sukuna, do not fight my kid.”

megumi points towards him. “my daddy calls you a pervert.”

sato bursts out in laughter. suguru’s snickering too, though he’s doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.

he rises to his feet. “suguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. i’m leaving.”

megumi waves a sticky hand. “bye, daddy. bring me a cookie.”

“will do, brat.” and the door shuts with a thud.

——

“we should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, ‘gumi?”

megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. he’s seated in geto’s lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.

megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his father—DADDY AND ME. “i’ve never been to an amusement park.”

“what?” sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. “what kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!”

“my father is poor.”

“oh,” sato shrinks. “fairs.”

suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumi’s hair to hide the fact that he’s shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. “i can’t take this anymore, suguru.” he clutches his chest. “we’re going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.”

suguru raises a brow. “toji said no screens. and either way, i won’t let you turn him into an ipad kid.”

megumi slumps against geto’s chest. “i want a blue gatorade.”

“i’ll get it for you, buddy,” suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. “don’t let sato teach you about investment and stocks while i’m gone, okay?”

sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguru’s back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle of—is that the last gatorade?!

sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumi’s tiny brows furrow. “that’s mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.”

“well,” sukuna licks his lips, slow. “uncle sugu’s not the king of this house.” he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.

and then he screams.

“uncle sugu! mister pervert’s being mean again!”

sukuna chokes on his gatorade. “who the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little brat—“

sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukuna’s wrath alongside sato.

megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, he’s not so sure he even wants it anymore.

he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up sato’s iphone. he dials his dad’s number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.

ⵌ AT THE DATE !

in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.

toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

“hi, princess,” he slides into the booth seat—next to you, not across, because he’s been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursday—and his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.

“hi,” you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.

“you look nice today,” you hum. “who are you trying to impress?”

your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. “you, obviously.”

toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now he’s nibbling your ear as you talk about something from class—a lazy professor or something else, it’s hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speak—and toji’s mind wanders. he’s kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you haven’t yet flinched in disgust.

he doesn’t dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.

so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him he’s distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thigh’s on his lap now.

but all good things must come to an end.

toji’s phone buzzes.

loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. “sorry…just spam.”

“spam?” you poke his bicep, grinning. “or is your little side piece getting impatient?”

“don’t have a side piece, baby,” he murmurs into your cheek. “only want you.”

1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO 🤡

his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. “toji, just answer it. what if it’s an emergency?”

you’re right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, he’d fucking flip. he bites his lip, “one second, princess.”

he presses his phone to his ear, but megumi’s voice greets him instead.

“daddy! uncle kuna’s trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!”

toji’s eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.

in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. “suguru—! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stop—“

you’re blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. “daddy? who’s calling you daddy?”

toji’s soul leaves his body.

“daddy, are you coming home soon? uncle sugu’s spanking him now. it’s very loud—“

he ends the call before you can hear any more.

“do you have a son?”

toji’s breathing stutters. you’ve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curious—or cautious, toji can’t really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when you’ve already shifted your thigh off his lap?

“nah,” he answers too fast. “it’s my nephew.”

toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you don’t relax into his palm. “think he meant to call my brother, not me.”

he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. “i didn’t know you had a brother…”

“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesn’t deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.

“we can change that though,” he lies, smiling. “wanna get dessert?”

SATO’S REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BAD—HAHA !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !

taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo

“inviting her over already? we’ve gotta scrub this place clean, then.“

ΣΧ

toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesn’t exist.

geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.

“hi daddy,”megumi’s voice is flat through the speaker. “uncle kuna’s being nice to me today.”

“that’s great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?”

“yo,” sukuna’s voice crackles through.

“if anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.”

“oh.”

“yeah,” toji shifts the phone in his neck. “make sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and don’t let sato spoil him too much.”

“heyyy toji!” sato’s voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. “keep megumi safe, got it?”

“yes, sir!” / “we got it, boss.” / “bye, daddy!”

toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. “all done in the kitchen. remind me why we’re deceiving this poor lady again?”

toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. “because she wouldn’t look twice at a broke guy with a kid.”

toru softens, adjusting his glasses. “you don’t know that. have you tried telling her?”

“no.”

“why not?”

"because,” he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."

toru purses his lip. he’s watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make toji’s nose scrunch up in disgust.

toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. “but you don’t know if she’s like that.”

“i know i can’t lose her before i even have her.”

toru purses his lip. toji’s voice came out too tight.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

when toji opens his front door, you’re in a too-short dress and there’s moët & chandon in your hands.

god, you’re gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he can’t take back.

“hi,” you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. “you gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?”

ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.

“say ‘please pretty girl, may i have the wine?’”

you’re still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.

his lips twitch, “i’m not saying that.”

“aww,” you pout, glossy and spoiled. “guess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.” you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he can’t wait to squeeze it.

“i’m gonna be so lonely…” your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. “and i came all the way over here, too. i’m so upset.”

toji doesn’t let you take another step.

you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. “toji! put me down!”

careful what you wish for.

toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. you’re giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. toji’s jaw ticks.

he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.

“please, pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. “may i have the wine?”

oh.

your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but you’re a bad girl, so you don’t give toji zenin what he wants just yet.

your smile falters, but you tilt your head. “thought you weren’t gonna say it?”

he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “and i thought you were leavin’.”

you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. he’s filthy—big hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.

his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, “toji, the wine—“

“hold it, baby.”

your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.

toji doesn’t kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.

you’re still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeper—

“ow!”

toji freezes.

in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach can’t help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.

“did i hurt you?” his voice comes out weird. “doll—look at me. you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. “something... something poked my leg.”

you pull out a tiny, red brick.

you blink. “a lego?”

for the second time this evening, toji freezes.

he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. “that what you stopped me for, princess?” he mutters coolly, like his heart isn’t beating in his throat. “had me so worried, baby.”

“toji, why do you have a lego?”

he kisses your jaw, “my nephew’s.”

ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.

but then you see it.

on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.

and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.

DADDY AND ME.

your body goes still.

toji’s hands are on your hips, thighs, waist—but his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.

“toji,” you whisper. “who drew that?”

toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.

“sociology project,” he breathes. “developmental regression. drew it with my left hand.”

“your left hand…”

your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.

toji zenin does not study sociology.

TORU’S REMARK : YOU CAN’T FOOL HER FOREVER.

BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !

taught by: sato gojo

“you can’t pull up to a date in an uber. take my porsche—you’re a rich guy now.”

ΣΧ

it’s late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at sato’s sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in toji’s crappy apartment, the gang’s all there.

megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.

“why does everyone always leave me?”

the trio freeze.

megumi’s expression is flat. he’s staring into the tv’s glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitates—but then he rests a hand on megumi’s hair. “what do you mean, kiddo?”

“daddy’s always leaving now,” megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. “he never spends time with me anymore. he’s acting like my mommy did.”

the three boys’ hearts crack right down the middle.

they’re staring at each other now, the weight of megumi’s words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less present—and is also not present tonight—is because he’s currently trying to hide his child’s existence to impress a woman? and that they’re all helping him?

sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.

“he’s just been busy,” he croaks out. “he’s been picking up new shifts. he’s working really hard.”

“yeah,” sukuna agrees. “he’s working hard. to take care of you, meg.”

megumi stares into the tv screen. geto’s hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.

“i know.” megumi mutters. “he’s my hero.”

suguru bites his lip. “you know what, meg? why don’t we draw something? a new picture for your dad?”

megumi’s eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.

megumi nods, “yeah.”

“okay, buddy. i’ll go get the crayons.”

“i’ll get the paper!”

“and i’ll… uh. you want a gatorade, kid?”

the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends he’s not wearing sato’s luxury cologne, that his tie isn’t secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isn’t too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesn’t taste like his blood.

he’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

when you open the car door, you look like a dream.

your lips are glossy, always glossy, but it’s a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of sato’s car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passenger’s seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.

“Hi.” you blink at him.

“Hi.”

he can’t say much else, and he really ought to but he can’t, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in. “you look gorgeous.”

you don’t respond.

the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you don’t notice. he’s practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend he’s used to it. he isn’t, and he’ll never be.

he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.

“toji?” you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.

“yeah, baby?”

“where are we going?”

toji’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. “somewhere nice,” his voice is strained. “somewhere you deserve to be.”

he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.

you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. “i feel like i’m sitting in a museum,” you murmur, quiet. “everything feels curated. including you.”

he swallows. “i’m trying to make tonight special.”

“special…” you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.

“i don’t know who you are, zenin.”

toji’s head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. he’s a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. oh—megumi. his phone’s been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. how’s megumi?

“i’m just a guy,” he chooses to say. “a guy who likes you.”

“do you? or is that just part of the exhibit?”

maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.

he’s not sure what, honestly, but he’s quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. “stay in the car, okay?”

you only nod, and toji’s throat curls with guilt.

the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnet—careful, as careful as a man like him can be—pretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesn’t find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.

three minutes pass before he returns to the car.

three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesn’t it?

megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.

the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but you’re still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.

so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driver’s seat. you’re staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.

“toji,” your voice is careful. “do you have anything you want to tell me?”

yes. i work three jobs and i’m drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy who’s five-and-a-half and he’s the only good thing i have left. and i’m sorry i lied, but i didn’t want you to leave me before i could love you and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry again, and you deserve better, and i’m sorry.

“no,” toji lies.

you purse your lips. “okay.”

the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before it’s even started, and his pulse is too loud and—

“daddy?”

toji’s blood runs cold.

in the backseat of sato’s porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. “hi, daddy.”

toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.

he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his son’s back. “megumi—hey, buddy—what’re you doing here?”

megumi buries his nose into his father’s neck. “i didn’t want to be alone again.”

toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. “hey—you’re never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.”

he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.

“is this your son?”

toji’s mouth dries.

he could say it’s his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his ‘brother’ as dad, but god. you’re already looking at him with something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to name, and toji’s jaw aches.

“yes,” he sucks in a breath. “this is my son, megumi.”

he brushes megumi’s hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. “meg, say hi to the pretty lady.”

“hi, pretty lady.”

megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his father’s stomach.

you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.

“i think you should take me home.”

???’s REMARK : YOU CAN’T LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !

taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.

“maybe she doesn’t hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.”

ΣΧ

it’s a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.

he’s slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.

“you didn’t just lose the date,” nanami’s voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. “you insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman who’d only care about you if you had money in your bank account.”

toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, who’s about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. “she looked at me like i was trash, nanami.”

“she looked at you like you were a liar,” nanami corrects. “which you are.”

nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.

“toji, you’re a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt she’d lose interest because you have a son—i believe she hates that you lied to her.”

megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through toji’s lips. it’s cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. “i need to apologize.”

“yes,” toji can hear a page flip. “and quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.”

the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.

megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. “daddy, are you mad at me?”

toji frowns. “for what?”

“i ruined your date,” megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. “with auntie.”

toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. he’s always known it, but he’s growing to look more and more like his father every day.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. “you’ve never ruined anything in your life.”

he pats megumi’s hair, head thrown back. “i’m sorry, meg.”

five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. he’s more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesn’t know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.

megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.

then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.

toji zenin eats it right off.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.

you no longer frequent the local loblaws.

and it breaks toji’s heart, actually. you haven’t blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.

call him a weirdo, but he’s been to almost every grocery store nearby.

no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like you’re above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and toji’s chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if you’d let him.

toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.

he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. toji’s lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.

“let me help.”

you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries aren’t even that heavy. he’s not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks it’s so fucking cute.

he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: “i owe you an apology.”

you tilt your head. “do you?”

he squeezes megumi’s hand in his own to ground himself. “i lied because i was scared,” he admits, and you never thought you’d hear toji and ‘scared’ in the same sentence. “you’re a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,” he breathes. “and i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw me—the me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,” he raises megumi’s hand, “you’d leave before i even got a chance.”

he shifts his hand to megumi’s head. “it’s fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,” he ruffles megumi’s hair. “say hi, kid.”

“hi, auntie.”

your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.

“hi, baby boy.” you crouch down to his height. “i love your shirt. do you wanna come here?”

megumi nods. he abandons his father’s side to let you scoop him up in your arms.

toji frowns.

megumi’s a shy kid. or not shy—awkward. he can’t make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t familiar with, and he’s very quick to say no to what he doesn’t like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumi’s fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.

“hi, auntie,” megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. “i did a very good job.”

“so good, baby,” you kiss his hair, grinning. “i’m gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.”

megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.

“what the hell is happening?”

“daddy’s a big dummy,” megumi mutters into your shoulder. “the biggest,” you agree.

toji’s frown deepens, and you laugh. “i’ve already met megumi, silly.”

toji blinks. he’s about to ask how, but you beat him to it: “remember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,” you kiss his ear softly, and megumi’s blush deepens. “we had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend we’ve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.”

you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. “i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this little angel from me. you’re a monster, toji.”

“dummy monster…” megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.

toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didn’t think too much of it, but perhaps he should’ve.

“so? you two were testing me, or some shit?”

you shift a hand from megumi’s back to your hip. “no attitude, mister. i’m still mad at you,” your frown, and then your shoulders drop. “did you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when i’ve already seen your crappy apartment?”

you stroke megumi’s hair. “and lying about meg,” your expression goes soft, sad. “have you apologized to him?”

“yeah,” megumi tugs your necklace. “he told me sorry.”

you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. “that’s great, baby. you deserve an apology. and i’m sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.”

megumi pats your face, voice flat. “i forgive you.”

you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.

megumi’s cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. you’re smiling at him like he’s heaven as a boy, and megumi—quiet, awkward, megumi—is hiding his face in your shoulder because he’s shy.

how greedy.

how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he can’t truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his son’s drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he can’t even be greedy right.

how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.

he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumi’s cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.

now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughing—and toji thinks about how he hasn’t seen megumi this childish in a while.

his heart aches.

“i’m sorry.”

sorry for what? he knows what he’s sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.

“‘gumi, do we forgive daddy?”

“yeah,” megumi’s feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. “if he stops hiding my gummies.”

toji won’t hide his gummies anymore. hell, he’ll never hide anything again in his life.

and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his father’s shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his father’s legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. “ow…”

toji snorts, crouching. “what are you doing, kid.” but he’s scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.

“how about we go shop for some gummy worms?”

BONUS — Y/N AND MEG’S FIRST MEET !

“who are you?”

the voice makes you jolt. you’re staring at your hands in the passenger’s seat of toji’s rented—no, probably borrowed—porsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.

you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.

and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.

toji.

megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.

“hi, baby,” you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. “i’m friends with your daddy. what’s your name?”

“i’m megumi,” he sniffles, yawns. “my friends call me meg. but i don’t have any friends.”

oh. “hi, meg. what’re you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?”

you hope he says no, because you know toji’s been hiding something—someone from you, but he wouldn’t go that far. at least, you hope he wouldn’t.

“no, my uncles are at home,” he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. “i wanted to see daddy. he left for work.”

work? no he didn’t. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. “did he tell you he was going to work, meg?”

“no, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.”

“oh, baby…”

toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his father’s only makes your heart ache.

you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?

but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.

“megumi, do you wanna make a deal?”

“what kind of deal?” megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.

“a super simple one. your daddy’s been acting really strange, right? to you and me,” you pat his cheek. “all you have to do is act like we’ve never met, and i’ll give you anything you want.”

megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, “are you the lady daddy wants to impress?”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“i heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,” megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. “he said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.” he rubs his eye. “then he started leaving me. where’s daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.”

“oh, meg,” your heart breaks. “come here, baby.”

megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. “auntie, why are you crying?”

your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, “don’t worry about it, meg. and your daddy’s gonna come back soon, okay? and he won’t leave you alone anymore. i’ll make sure of it.”

megumi pulls back. “you promise?”

you cup his cheeks. “i promise. go back to sleep, okay?”

EPILOGUE !

on the couch of toji’s crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his father’s side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and toji’s wishes.

megumi offers his father a gummy worm. “when is auntie coming?”

toji eats it off his palm. “soon, kid,” he clicks his tongue. “swear you like her more than me now.”

megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. “nah, i like daddy the most.”

toji softens.

all toji can see right now is the top of his little boy’s head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smeared—much like megumi’s hands—and on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dress—ballerina cappucina?—getting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jackson’s personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.

toji shakes his head. “meg, you know i’m never leaving, right?”

“i know,” megumi groans. “you told me a billion times yesterday!”

“quit whining,” toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. “just wanted to remind you.” he mumbles.

megumi slumps against his father’s chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. “you don’t need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.”

toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, “thanks, kiddo.”

———

when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.

the sound—and megumi’s accidental jab of his elbow against his stomach—wakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.

he sucks in a breath and opens the door.

“hi, pretty.”

“move. i’m not here for you.”

you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.

“auntie?”

“oh, my baby!”

you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. toji’s eye twitches in disbelief. “are we serious?”

“oh, you’re still here,” you glance over at him, bored. “meg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?” you toss him your car keys.

toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.

toji pads over to you, slow. “i wanted to see you.”

you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, “and now, you have.”

“you still mad at me?”

of course you’re still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but toji’s hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.

toji zenin is such a sap.

he acts like he isn’t, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.

megumi shoves his father’s lips away. “daddy stop.”

you laugh, nuzzling megumi’s cheek. “he’s such a dummy, isn’t he meg? do you think i should forgive him?”

“yeah,” megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. “he said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddy’s really sorry for everything.”

“aww. daddy’s so cute when he’s sorry, isn’t he?”

toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him as well.

“i forgive you, mister. now go get those groceries—shoo!”

toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.

megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. “auntie?”

“hm, gummy?”

megumi hides in your neck—shy, nervous. “are you gonna be my new mommy?”

you freeze.

megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and he’s gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isn’t in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you don’t know, but who are you to judge and conclude?

“i don’t know, meg, it’s too soon,” you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. “but i know i’ll be here, baby. for you.”

“will you be at my school, too?” he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. “all the other kids have mommies except for me.”

“oh, megumi—of course i’ll be there!”

it’s taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but he’s giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because you’ve only known him for a little over a week but you’re already ready to give him the world. “auntie, stop!” but he’s laughing. “there’s lip gloss all over me!”

when toji walks in, he can’t believe his eyes.

there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.

and he doesn’t really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?

so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because you’d curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where you’re showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you don’t push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.

“aww, look at you getting all sappy.”

“auntie made my face all sticky..”

toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.

MEGUMI’S REMARK : CAN I HAVE SOME GUMMY WORMS…?

#SIGMA CHI STORIES !

LOVE OVER LOBLAWS, end.

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.

SIGMA CHI TAGLIST (A) — JOIN HERE !

—

"It is literally the same man."

"It isn't."

"It is."

You looked right at the long haired man and scoffed. You both spent the past ten minutes watching an old movie named 'Man of Steel" debating if Henry Cavill was the same man who played in "Walking Out'.

News flash! It's not.

"I know what i'm talking about," You pressed. "the nose is different"

"The nose is not different, they're the same person." Suguru insisted, he was very eager to prove you wrong. He always was. "The energy is the same."

"The energy?"

"Yes," He glanced at you. "the energy is very...Henry-like."

You stared. "That is not evidence."

"It is to me."

Three minutes later both of you were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, searching on your phones.

When the answer finally appeared, You triumphantly held up your screen.

"See? The man who played in 'Walking Out' was Matt Bomer."

He looked at your screen, then at his, then back at your screen before putting his phone away and staring at the movie.

"I still think the energy is the same."

"Say you're wrong."

He sighed deeply, Suguru never had a problem apologizing when he was wrong, but he hated the look on your face.

"It wasn't even that serious."

"It is serious"

"It's never that serious"

"it is serious." You repeated, refusing to let this go.

In the end Suguru didn't even apologize, he watched the film in silence and refused to look your way.

—

Then there was the thermostat war.

A conflict that had somehow lasted three years. Mind you, you got married three years ago.

You increase the temperature? Suguru would lower the temperature.

You would raise it again.

He would lower it again.

Raise.

Lower.

Raise.

Lower.

Until you walked in to see him lowering the thermostat once more on a very cold winter day, irritation visible on his face. His hand froze on the lower button. "What?"

"Put it back to how i had it." Crossing your arms, annoyed.

"It's too warm. No one wants to be warm like you, lavagirl."

"It's winter."

"I'm aware."

Five minutes later both of you were sitting together under the same blanket while Suguru quietly rubbed your cold hands.

The thermostat remained exactly where he wanted it.

—

The most ridiculous argument, however, occurred because of grocery shopping. Specifically because Suguru insisted on buying fruit he never actually ate.

"You bought bananas." You looked up from the grocery bags to the man putting up the rest of the groceries.

"Yes, what of it?"

"You don't eat bananas."

"I might." He glanced at you before returning his attention back onto the task at hand.

"You won't."

"I could."

"They're turning brown."

"They still have potential."

You rolled your eyes deeply. "That's not how fruit works."

The bananas sat untouched for a week.

Every day you pointed at them, every day Suguru claimed he had plans for them. And eventually you found him making banana bread at eleven o'clock at night. You walked into the kitchen, he looked guilty.

Crossing your arms with a raised brow, you sighed deeply. A habit that you gained ever since you met Suguru. "You were never going to eat them, were you?"

"No." He shook his head, his pride didn't allow him to look up at you. He knew you were right and he didn't want to give you the satisfaction of seeing him.

"So that entire argument was pointless."

"Mostly."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then both of you started laughing, the sound mingling together and filling the rest of the empty apartment.

That was the thing about being married to Suguru, the arguments never felt serious. They were less like fights and more like an ongoing competition neither of you intended to win or lose.

Even when you annoyed each other.

Even when you rolled your eyes.

Even when he stole your side of the bed and claimed he hadn't moved an inch.

Even when you stole his hair ties and claimed it was yours.

You always ended up exactly where you started,

when it happens again a few days later, you shrug it off again. you don’t want to be the kind of person who reads too much into things. you’ve worked really hard not to be that person anymore.

still, you find yourself opening your phone to his contact more often than usual. typing. deleting. then typing again.

hey —that’s too empty.

just checking in —sounds forced?

are you okay? —that’s too heavy. too direct. you don’t think you have the right to ask so bluntly.

though… you remember wishing someone had asked you that when you were in a not-so-good place.

you close your messages without sending anything. your chest tightens with anxiety—just a little—but you breathe through it like you’ve learned.

but then days pass. then a week. then another.

worry doesn’t hit all at once. it seeps in slowly, settling into your every thought. you catch yourself thinking about suguru at inconvenient times—standing in a line, brushing your teeth in the morning half conscious, lying awake at night unable to sleep.

every time your phone buzzes, your hope spikes in an embarrassing way.

it’s never him.

you tell yourself you’re projecting. you’ve been in that place where the world feels like too much—where even something as simple as responding to a text feels too daunting of a task.

you know what it’s like to vanish without meaning to and you guess knowing that should make this easier.

it doesn’t.

after a few more days of no contact, you finally try calling him… even though you despise phone calls. that says a lot.

the line rings and rings and rings…

you hang up before it goes to voicemail, heart pounding like you’ve done something wrong. your hands feel unsteady after, like they used to when you were younger and everything felt like too much. you hate that reaction. hate that it still lives in you somewhere.

you try to ignore it. but now? nowyou’re really worried about him. again, you try to find reason. he’ll probably reach out when he’s ready like he always does. again, you shouldn’t project.

but concern doesn’t disappear when you ask it to.

by the time you’re standing in front of his door your stomach hurts.

the walk to his apartment felt longer than it should have. every step felt like another chance to turn around.

you had excuses lined up and ready: he’ll be asleep. you’re overreacting. this is intrusive. it’ll be really awkward. you have nothing to say!

when you reach his door you’re still not sure what to say, even after you’ve gone over a billion different ways a conversation could go.

maybe he’s ghosting you because he doesn’t want to be friend anymore.

your fist hovers inches from the door and you exhale sharply.

you hesitate, because of course you do. your heart is beating too fast, your palms are sweaty, and your brain is cycling through worst case scenarios you don’t want to name.

but finally, you muster the courage to knock. you were here already. you couldn’t be that girl who wimped out of everything again.

the silence that follows is loud. and through it, the thought of leaving flashes through your mind so clearly it scares you.

you tried…that’s enough. time to go home.

however, something heavier roots you in place. you shouldn’t leave. couldn’t, actually. you needed to know your friend was okay.

so you knock again, a little firmer this time.

there’s movement inside. a pause. and then footsteps towards the door. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself.

the door opens just a crack.

geto’s face appears in the gap.

relief hits you first, sharp and dizzying. he’s here. he’s alive. your shoulders loosen before you can stop them.

then the rest registers.

geto’s eyes look tired in a way that isn’t just about the loss of sleep, dark bags making home under his eyes. his hair is messier than you’ve ever seen it. he’s always taken care of the luscious locks… but apparently not right now.

though, it’s the look on its face that really gets to you. it’s blank. not in his usual quiet or guarded way.

nothing in his expression even shifts when he sees you.

like a corpse.

“…oh,” geto says plainly, “hey.”

he utters the two words like they’re nothing. like this is just an ordinary day—like you haven’t been worried sick after being ignored by him for weeks.

at that exact moment, regret slams into you—sharp and shameful.

you should’ve checked on him sooner. you really shouldn’t have waited until time stretched on for too long.

“hi,” is all you finally manage to whisper back, even though you want to say so much more.

your throat tightens. you weren’t ready for how much it would hurt to see him like this.

there’s an awkward pause where neither of you move. you’re suddenly acutely aware of how long it’s been and how strange this must be for him. you don’t want to overwhelm him.

but you also don’t want to pretend everything’s fine.

“you… um… you haven’t been answering?” you try.

it comes out like a question instead of the statement you meant.

he looks away, jaw tightening. “yeah. sorry.”

that’s all he offers. no explanation.

it hurts.

you’ve been close with him for a few years. you thought maybe you’d earned enough trust for him to tell you when things were wrong.

but you know, even like this, that he must be hurting more than you are.

the door opens a little wider. not an invitation, exactly, but not dismissal either.

okay. well maybe your presence here was fine.

suguru’s apartment is dim, thin curtains drawn tight. the air feels stale. there are signs of life everywhere, but no signs of living.

there’s a high pile of dishes left in the sink and a crumpled blanket on the couch like it’s been slept in for weeks.

your chest aches.

you stand there, unsure where to put your hands, your eyes, your words.

this is the part you’re terrible at. you know you should reach out to him right now. you should say the right thing. maybe offer comfort without sounding rehearsed.

you don’t know how to do any of that.

but you do know why you came.

“um… i just wanted to check in on you… it’s been a few weeks,” you murmur softly. “i thought you left the country or something!”

shit.

you don’t even know where that last part came from—that thought had never crossed your mind until this minute.

maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

he doesn’t laugh or twitch like usual when you try to fill the awkward gaps with useless jokes. instead, suguru only nods like he’s tired.

“sorry. i’ve been…” there’s a pause like he doesn’t know what he’s been doing. “busy.”

you don’t believe him. you know he knows you don’t too.

“oh” is all you respond with.

you’re really fucking bad at this.

he opens the door wider after a moment, stepping aside like he’s giving in rather than inviting you in. you take that as permission, slipping past him with careful steps, like the wrong movement might snap the fragility.

the door shuts behind you.

the click of the lock makes your stomach twist.

you stand there, hands useless at your sides, not sure where you belong. you don't say anything, trying to steady your racing thoughts. neither does he.

the silence stretches.

it isn’t comfortable. it isn’t neutral. it’s just there, pressing in on you from all sides. suffocating. it floods the space where something should be said but isn’t.

geto moves first.

it’s subtle and something he doesn’t even realize he does. his shoulders sag and he drags a hand down his face like it takes effort to keep himself upright. he exhales emptily, then turns away from you without another word.

he crosses the room slowly, movements dulled, each step is heavier than the last. when he reaches his couch, he doesn’t even bother sitting properly.

he just…collapses into it, slumping forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed. it’s scarily as if he’s been holding himself together purely out of obligation. your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

you clearly recognize how he feels. you can recall the time you felt it.

that alone terrifies you even more.

you stay where you are for a second too long, watching him. the way his once shiny hair falls into his face, now dull and uncared for. he goes still once he’s there—like moving any more might be too much.

this wasn’t how you imagined him at all.

well, you don’t even know what you imagined. but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. not him looking so spent… so tired.

you take a few tentative steps closer, stopping a careful distance away. close enough to be present but still far enough in fear that you’ll overwhelm him.

another pause settles in.

you feel your heart pounding in your ears.

your brain starts shouting at you—don’t ask. don’t make it worse. don’t open a wound you can’t fix.

this is the part where you usually retreat. where you convince yourself silence is safer.

but you just can’t.

your fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeves.

“…suguru?” you say softly.

just his name. testing it. seeing if he’ll come back to shore or if you have to go back out into the deep to get him back.

he doesn’t respond. but his shoulders tense, just a fraction.

you swallow, throat feeling tight. this feels like stepping off a ledge.

after a long minute, you finally whisper it.

“are you okay?”

the words hang in the air.

for a moment, nothing happens. you almost think he didn’t hear you because of how quiet you spoke.

but then his shoulders are trembling.

just once at first—sharp, like he’s been jolted awake after a nightmare and his body reacted before he could stop it.

geto lets out a sound that’s quiet and broken. he brings his hands to his face like he’s embarrassed to be seen like this. like he can still fix it if he hides fast enough.

“…that’s a stupid question,” he mutters, lacking any conviction.

his voice is wrong.

your chest throbs again painfully. “i’m sorry. you don’t have to answer,” you say quickly. “i just—”

he inhales, shaky. then exhales, worse.

“i don’t know,” he says. the words crack halfway through. “i really don’t know.”

and that’s when something shatters.

his head drops into his hands. his elbows press harder into his knees like he’s folding in on himself. another breath stutters out of him, then another, each one rougher than the last.

it hits you in the chest like a brick.

he’s crying.

quiet. you’re only able to tell in the way his shoulders shake and he sniffles just one.

it’s the same exact way you’ve cried before.

he’s been holding it back for so long his body has forgotten how to let it out properly.

fear flares hot in your chest and you freeze in your spot. your first instinct is to do something. anything. but your body won’t cooperate.

you’ve been here before. you know how overwhelming the simple question felt when you were already falling apart. but maybe that’s why you asked it.

you’re rooted to the spot for a whole minute. it seems to stretch for an eternity.

suguru’s breathing hitches again. it’s small and barely there. a soft, broken sound that slips out of him like he didn’t mean for it to. and something in you breaks with it.

your eyes are burning before you can stop the reaction.

old memories rush in uninvited—the nights you spent staring at the ceiling, the times you wished someone would just stay and hug you without asking you to explain yourself.

you press your lips together, hard, but it doesn’t help much.

before you can overthink it—before fear can catch up and drag you back like a tide—you move.

it’s sudden and clumsy. unplanned and uncalled for. one second you’re frozen, the next you’re crossing the room in a few quick steps, heart pounding like you’ve made a terrible mistake you can’t undo.

there’s a brief pause and a moment where you hover, unsure, caught between wanting to help and being terrified of doing the wrong thing.

and then you’re sitting down beside him.

not touching him, just close enough that your knee almost brushes his and that he knows you’re there.

his shoulders tense and he turns his face away from you.

“sorry,” he mutters, voice thick. “you shouldn’t have to see this.”

your breath wobbles. before you can swallow the words back down, they slip out.

“hey,” you say, softly. shakier than you meant it to be. “please don’t say that. don’t apologize for anything. it’s okay.”

he stills.

your hands tremble slightly in your lap, but you keep them there, resisting the urge to grab onto him, to hug him and give him the comfort he deserves.

“it’s really okay,” you repeat. “you don’t have to stop. or… hide.”

your voice cracks on the last word.

you hate that it does, but you don’t take it back.

he lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts. it catches in his chest, stuttering on the way out.

and then suguru is crying harder.

not loudly still, just deeper.

something’s given way and he doesn’t know how to put it back together. his shoulders shake, uneven and exhausted, but he still won’t look at you. his blurry gaze stays fixed somewhere on the floor, jaw clenched like he’s bracing himself for impact.

your eyes sting at the sight and tears blur the edges of your vision. you blink a few times, trying to ground yourself. you don’t want to make this about you and you don’t want him to feel like he’s made you cry too on top of everything.

you swallow.

“you don’t have to be so strong anymore.” the words feel dangerous, but you say them anyway. “i know you’re tired.”

his breathing falters again.

he presses his lips together, like he’s trying to swallow the sound back down, as if crying is something he can still control if he tries hard enough. you know it’s not.

his shoulders curl inward further, his arms wrapping around himself, spine bending under a weight you can’t see but you can feel.

you shift on the couch a little. close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him. you stop there, giving him time. giving yourself time.

again, your hands twist in your lap.

you want to reach out so badly it almost hurts. the ache is as strong as a current.

so you give into it. for him.

“i know i’m not great at this,” you admit, eyes fixed on the floor just like his. “but i just…i really care about you. you shouldn’t suffer alone. you can share the burden…” you take a breathe, and then add, “if- if you want…”

the word sits heavy between you.

his crying doesn’t stop. but it softens, just a fraction, like the sharpest edges have dulled. he tilts his head slightly away, breath shuddering, and for a terrifying second you think he might pull back entirely.

but he doesn’t.

the question fall from your lips before you can stop it.

“do you want me to… to hug you?”

your heart starts racing, loud in your ears, every nerve suddenly awake. you shouldn’t have asked so bluntly. maybe you should’ve given him more time.

you brace yourself for him to shake his head—or pull away—or just close off completely.

he doesn’t respond for a long moment.

his breathing stays uneven, shoulders trembling with aftershocks. he keeps his face turned away from you, eyes fixed on nothing, lashes damp.

your stomach twists with the urge to take the words back, to apologize for overstepping.

you almost do.

but then suguru is nodding, it’s barely there. so small you almost miss it. but it’s unmistakable. he slowly lets his arms fall away from where they were tightly crossed in front of him.

“okay…”

you move slower, giving him space to change his mind. you move to sit closer. close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm.

you pause again—one last chance for him to pull away.

when he doesn’t? you lift your arms and wrap them around his side, gentle and loose enough he could slip out if he wanted to. your cheek hovers near his shoulder like you’re waiting for permission even now.

he stiffens for half a second.

and then he collapses into you.

it doesn’t happen all at once. he sinks into your arms like he’s falling into a sink hole. but really, he sinks as if his body has finally found a place to rest.

he turns his whole body toward you and his forehead presses into your shoulder. his breath hitches as another quiet sob slips out, finally audible. his hands curl into the sleeves of your hoodie, gripping like he’s afraid you’re gonna disappear.

your eyes burn harder but you swallow it down and you hold him just a little bit tighter.

“you’re okay. i’m not going anywhere,” you murmur hoarsely.

his breathing breaks again at that. it’s a quiet and broken sound muffled against your shoulder. he clings a little tighter, hands shaking.

time stretches strangely after that.

you don’t know how long you sit there—minutes, half an hour, maybe longer—him shaking softly, you holding on, bodies sore yet both of you breathing through it together.

neither of you move while suguru’s sobs ease into uneven breaths. he still doesn’t speak. you don’t need him to and he doesn’t have to. he just stays curled into you, exhausted down to the bone.

you know exactly how it feels so you let him.

you’re not sure when exhaustion pulls him into slumber… and you’re not sure when you fall after him.

⋆⁺₊❅。

suguru wakes in fragments.

first he feels the dull ache in his muscles. then, the faint warmth pressing against his chest. and finally, the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing.

for a moment, he’s still, letting it register. he doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes fully. the world is soft, somehow softer than he remembers it being in weeks.

his lashes stick slightly, damp and crusty from the tears he couldn’t stop. when he blinks, the motion is slow.

the swell of his eyes still aches, but gentler now, muted by exhaustion and the quiet presence of the girl he loves beside him.

he shifts just enough to glance at you without disturbing your sleep.

the edges of your face are softened in the dim light, strands of hair falling against your cheek. your eyes are closed, but there’s tension there too, small lines that tell him you’ve been holding yourself tight too.

something warms in his chest—a surge of affection so sudden it almost makes him startle.

he stays still, just watching you. memorizing the small things—the rise and fall of your shoulders with your breath, the slight twitch of your fingers, the soft crease at the corner of your brows.

and then, slowly, almost instinctively, you stir. your eyelids flutter and you shift slightly as if sensing him there.

suguru’s heart leaps.

you blink slowly, just as he had moments before. and when your gaze lands on him, he sees it—the soft worry still lingering in your eyes even though you’re disoriented from falling asleep without meaning to. he can visibly see the concern that still hasn’t faded from your expression.

he swallows, tense in a way that’s entirely different from before. no panic, no guilt, just a tight, affectionate awareness. his lips twitch into something like a small, quiet smile.

“hi,” he whispers, voice rough, almost reverent.

he doesn’t want to speak any louder. he shifts closer to your body. not by much, just enough to feel even more grounded in your warmth. for the first time in days, even weeks, he finally feels… lighter.

he rests his head a little more firmly against your shoulder, suddenly not so afraid to sink into you anymore.

he glances at you again, careful, taking in the way you blink the haze of sleep away from your sight. his chest aches in a way that’s soft, like it’s finally making room for something he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in a while.

“you stayed,” he murmurs, almost like a question.

you blink, still waking, your own chest tightening. “huh? of course i did… i wasn’t gonna leave you alone again…”

again.

he swallows. hard. his throat still feels raw. but he lets out a shaky breath. it feels like he’s letting some more weight slide off him, little by little.

there’s a quiet stretch of time where neither of you speak. there seems to be a lot of that. but this time it isn’t tense. it’s comfortable. his cheek rests against your shoulder. his eyes are still half lidded and tender.

your hand moves on its own, gently resting over his broad back, fingertips light and steady.

he inhales, slower this time. a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his lips. not everything has been magically fixed…but he can breathe easier now. he can live, not just exist.

and then, very slowly, you let the words slip out. not consciously, just a stream that feels like it’s been there, ready to come, and the presence of him makes it possible, “you know, i… uh, i wasn’t always okay either. before i met you, i had… lots of bad days. for longer than i care to remember.”

he shifts slightly, just enough to glance at you with that tender gaze. he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t even blink—he just lets you continue.

“i didn’t talk to anyone about it at first. i just… kept it all inside. i thought it would go away on its own.” your hands twitch against his back, almost subconsciously. “it didn’t. and it… it got worse before it got better.”

your voice drops a little. it’s distant, almost as if you’re remembering something far away. “um… something bad happened and eventually i started seeing a therapist. that… helped. not everything fixed overnight, not even close. but… it made it a lot better.”

you pause, hesitating, testing yourself.

then, softly, “so that’s why i know a little about feeling like you’re too far gone. or like nobody can ever understand,” you huff out a breath, “but… you’re not alone. if you ever want to talk about it— i mean, when you’re ready of course— you um… you can talk with me.”

the words linger.

for a moment, he doesn’t react at all. he stays leaned into you, breathing slow.

your heart starts to race again in the silence. you worry you said too much. worry you’ve made it about yourself and crossed some invisible line.

but in reality, he’s letting what you said settle somewhere deep before touching it.

his fingers move.

just slightly, curling into the fabric at your sleeve.

“…thank you,” he says.

you blink.

he doesn’t lift his head at first, still pressed against your shoulder. but then, slowly, he meets your eyes. puffy and vulnerable, they hold yours for a long moment.

something unspoken passes between you—relief, trust, and a fragile acknowledgment that you’re both still here.

and before he even realizes it, his arms are around you—a way to make sure you’re here and he’s here. and the world outside doesn’t matter for a second. his cheek presses lightly against yours and his hands rest on your back.

your body stiffens for a fraction, startled by the contact, even though you had been the one hugging him earlier, but you don’t pull away.

your hand instinctively rises, resting on his arm, fingertips light and steady, letting him feel your presence too.

he inhales, shaky, then slowly exhales, letting out another quiet breath he’s been holding in for days. the ache in his shoulders softens. his face buries into your neck, eyelashes against the skin. you feel the faintest tremor run through him—but it isn’t weight this time. it’s relief.

“thank you,” he repeats against you, voice almost inaudible, softer, but you hear it. “…for everything.”

you squeeze back gently. “you don’t have to thank me,” you murmur.

he lets the words sink in, letting himself relax a fraction more. he rests there, arms wrapped around you, feeling like he can finally exhale. in that quiet, tender space, he feels finally feels a little bit of peace.

you let yourself watch him for a while, just feeling the warmth of him, letting the quiet stretch out.

after a while, your eyes wander to the window behind his sheen curtains. the sky is darkening outside… and big, soft snowflakes are drifting down.

you gasp without meaning to in complete awe.

suguru peeks up at you in question.

“it’s snowing!”

he watches how your face lights up in that way it does when you’re giddy—and he can’t help the curve of a smile tugging at his lips.

“it is,” he murmurs, still looking at you.

you grab at his sleeve gently. “we should go outside! get some fresh air. it might… feel good,” you say softly, hopeful and excited, but still trying to be careful not to push.

he hesitates, blinking up at you. “outside?”

you finally look at him, reigning yourself back in, “yeah,” you murmur, “just for a little while? it’s so pretty. and it’ll be good to get some air too.”

he swallows, still leaning against you, and after a moment he gives a tentative nod. “okay then.”

you smile, relieved. he shifts off of you slowly, like he doesn’t want to, muscles stiff.

after getting into coats, both of you move towards the door. when it opens, the cold rushes in, sharp and crisp against your cheeks.

beautiful chunks of snow flutter down, big and soft and so so pure.

you tug on his hand with a giggle, pulling him outside completely. the snow lands onto suguru’s hair and yours—though it probably doesn’t look as good as it does on him as it does you.

he blinks as you tug on his hand, and for a moment his surprise turns into something soft and unguarded.

a small laugh escapes him.

it’s been days since he’s felt like this. weeks even.

light.

snow lands on his hair and shoulders and he grins without thinking, brushing them away with a quick shake of his head. your laughter carries him along, and he can’t help but mirror it.

“hey, careful!” he teases, voice rough but warm, nudging you gently as another flake lands on your nose. you giggle louder, swatting at it, and his chest aches pleasantly at the sight—at the way your eyes sparkle despite the cold, the way your smile makes the world feel so much lighter.

he squeezes your hand, tugging you toward him briefly, eyes bright, the tension long gone from his shoulders.

“this is nice,” he murmurs, and it isn’t just the snow. it’s everything—being outside, being here, being with you.

he tilts his face up, letting flakes land on his lashes, his lips curling into a soft, happy smile.

you squeal softly, tugging him along again, and he laughs, a little louder this time.

he lets himself move with you, the cold biting his cheeks, the snow crunching under his feet.

“look at it,” you whisper, eyes bright. and he does. he watches the snow swirl around, the flakes catching the dim lights of the street.

he’s happy. he really is.

he squeezes your hand again, tighter this time, shy but sure. “thanks for everything,” he says softly, full of warmth and something like awe.

he squeezes your hand again, tighter this time, shy but sure. “thanks for everything,” he says softly, the third time, full of warmth and something like awe.

you smile back, just as soft, and squeeze his hand back. both of you feel oh so warm despite the chill of winter.

you both keep walking, letting the snow fall over you, letting the cold sting your cheeks, letting the joy sink in.

the world feels impossibly big, impossibly soft, and impossibly alive.

when you round back the block and end up near his place again, neither of you slow down. if anything, your steps drag, reluctant, like the idea of going back inside would break whatever spell the snow has wrapped around you both.

the building looms quietly ahead, familiar and unthreatening now, but still… you don’t let go of his hand. he notices. doesn’t mention it. he kind of hopes you won’t either.

you stop in the middle of the sidewalk instead, breath puffing out in little clouds. you glance around, at the untouched snow piling up along the curb, smooth and perfect. an idea sparks.

“…this might be stupid,” you start, already half embarrassed, “but… we could make a snowman?” your voice lifts at the end hopeful. “i mean, since it’s sticking and we’re out here already!”

for a beat, he just stares at you.

then he lets out a laugh. something in his chest loosens even more.

“a snowman,” he repeats, amused, so achingly fond. “you’re serious.”

you shrug, ducking your head in embarrassment. “kind of. i mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“no,” he says quickly, smiling wider now. “no, i want to.”

the words come easier than he expects.

you light up instantly, clapping your gloved hands in quiet excitement. “okay! okay, good. um—where do we start?”

he crouches down without thinking, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it together between his palms. it’s cold enough to sting, but he barely notices.

“guess we start here,” he says, rolling it against the ground.

you kneel beside him, your shoulders brushing as you help. the snow sticks to your gloves, to your sleeves, to the hem of his coat.

the first snowman comes together slowly. suguru’s oddly focused, packing the base like it’s a serious task, while you smooth the middle and keep fixing the same dent over and over.

“it keeps leaning,” you whine.

he tilts his head, studying it. “maybe it just likes that side.”

you huff a laugh and smile at him, “you’re right.”

you find two sticks for arms and hand them to him. he sticks them in, then pauses.

“hmm…these look weird.”

you pout. “they’re fine.”

he shrugs. “okay okay. artistic choice.”

by the time you’re done, your fingers are numb and your cheeks hurt from smiling. you both step back to look at your snowman.

“i think he needs a friend…” you contemplate.

he nods without hesitation. “yeah. it’d feel rude not to give him one.

the second snowman ends up shorter and rounder. you laugh when the head almost slides off, steadying it with both hands.

“hold on—hold on—” you say, trying to fix it.

“i’ve got it,” he says, reaching in to help, your hands overlapping for a second before you both still.

you don’t pull away. neither does he.

you finish it together, brushing snow from each other’s sleeves without really thinking about it. when you’re done, the two snowmen stand side by side, uneven and kind of charming.

“they look like us!” you giggle without thinking.

“yeah,” he replies softly. “they do.”

snow keeps falling steadily. the world feels small and calm. you realize you’re standing closer to him than before.

he glances at you. you look up at the same time.

“cold?”

you grin knowingly. “just a little.”

he huffs softly, rubbing his bare hands together and looking at your gloved ones. “even though you’re the one that thought ahead?”

you look down at his hands—red at the knuckles, fingers stiff—and before you can overthink it, you reach out and grab them.

he startles slightly. “hey—”

“hold still,” you say, already cupping his hands between yours, gloves and all. “you’re freezing!”

you rub them together briskly, breath puffing out in little clouds as you focus way too hard on the task.

he watches you, eyes wide for half a second, then soft. a quiet laugh slips out of him, a little breathless. “you don’t have to do that.”

“i can’t let you get frostbite. besides… i wanted to.”

that seems to knock the air from his lungs just a bit.

his smile turns shy and giddy, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. he squeezes your hands gently, almost absentmindedly.

snow settles into his hair. onto your shoulders. neither of you lets go.

“mmh well… this is nice,” he murmurs.

you nod, cheeks suddenly warm despite the cold. “yeah. it is.”

there’s a pause that’s charged and soft all at once. you sway just slightly closer, still holding his hands, still warming them, until there’s barely any space left at all.

you don’t know who leans in first.

you only know that suddenly he’s close enough that you can feel his breath, and still, you want to be closer. as close as you can possibly get.

so you kiss.

it’s soft and surprising and immediately right. your hands slip from his fingers to his coat, his hands coming up to your waist like it’s always belonged there.

both of your lips are chapped, but it doesn’t really matter. his lips are warm despite the cold, and gosh, does it feel nice. the kiss lingers, unhurried, like neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.

you breathe him in and your chest feels too full all at once.

he exhales against your mouth, a quiet sound that almost feels like relief.

your forehead rests against his when you finally part, noses brushing. you keep your hands fisted in his coat like letting go might send him drifting away again.

for a second, he just looks at you.

really looks.

his eyes soften, something fragile flickering there, and his thumbs trace small, absent circles at your waist.

you break the spell first with an exhale. “woah…”

he smiles that smile you adore, still close, voice low and warm. “i hadn’t even realized how long i’ve been wanting to do that.”

you duck your head, smiling. “yeah… same.”

but then he’s tilting your head up and you’re kissing again.

this time it’s giddier, smiles breaking through, noses bumping as neither of you quite figures out how to stop. you pull back for half a second, just to laugh… and then you’re kissing again, closer, warmer, like neither of you wants to let the moment end.

snow keeps falling around you, the world hushed and glowing, the two uneven snowmen behind you slowly blurring together.

still, neither of you are in any hurry to go inside.

you’re glad he’s here with you.

masterlist

hi, my first reverse comfort fic so i hope this is okay🥹

i’m sorry for not writing an actual bday fic because i ran out of time and took too long to edit this…

he saw you three times over the past ten months. the the first occurance was at the dispensary. he was on his way out and you were on your way in. he opened the door for you and you quite literally turned and walked away.

the second was at a friend's funeral. he passed way unexpectedly in a tragic accident. you paid your respects and the moment you saw he was also there, you left.

you found yourself another coffee shop, gym, grocery store, literally everything. you stopped going to places you had no business going to as well.

gas stations? you didn't drive, so you stopped.

the pet supply store? you didn't have a pet but he did. why bother?

shoko's house? he lives in the apartment complex right across from her's. they're closer and have always been closer. you didn't have to see her at her place anymore.

you also distanced yourself from any mutual friends you had just to lessen the risk of seeing him too. he was having breakfast with shoko when he learned that.

"how's she been? i just wanna know if she's okay."

"i wouldn't know," shoko shrugged, taking a bite of her breakfast sandwich. "she doesn't talk to me much anymore."

"can you figure out? she has me blocked on everything."

"ha," she chuckled while pulling her phone out. "serves you right. i'd do the same."

he really did want to stay in contact with you after the breakup, but he knew better. he knew you wouldn't be able to do that, and it was selfish of him to even expect that. he honestly didn't even know if he himself could hold that promise either, so he understood why you went mia on him.

you could imagine his surprise when he looked down at his phone and saw a call coming from you.

he was at the gym with satoru. suguru was like a night owl. he'd always prefer doing things at night. he'd tell you that's when he felt the most productive—and he was.

he worked an overnight job, did all of his school work at night, and in this instance, he was getting a gym sesh in past midnight with his best friend.

he had just gotten out of the shower after hitting back and biceps, ending the night with cardio. his towel wrapped low around his waist, water droplets dripping onto his body from his hair.

as he finished drying his hair, lotioning, and putting some clothes on, listening to his best friend yap about whatever the fuck, his phone lit up on the counter.

he thought it was strange that someone would be calling him at around 2am.

what was more strange was that your contact was showing up at this ungodly hour.

he almost didn't believe his eyes when he saw your contact name, still saved as 'baby' with a heart, and old contact picture of a candid smile he refused to delete, just like the rest of your pictures.

suguru picked up immediately, already assuming the worst. were you okay? safe? alive? his heart was racing and he began to panic.

"sugu?" you hiccuped.

his heart dropped to his ass.

"please, please. are you there?"

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. "yeah. yeah, sorry. hey, bab–" he cut himself off after seeing satoru raise an eyebrow. "what's going on?"

"i don't know," you slurred, voice breaking because you felt embarrassed and really just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry. "i'm drunk. i feel sick. i was here with these new people and— and– they left without me." you hiccuped.

"and then there was this guy doing these dumb street interviews and i had to get away because he was annoying. i don't know what to do. i'm lost and alone and i feel like i'm going to pass out and i didn't know who else to call–"

"hey, calm down," suguru replied, trying not to make it seem obvious that he too, was freaking out. "where are you?"

"i was at the club. 44. and then i walked down some street. i don't know which way but i smell curry. not the good kind though. like really bad curry. i feel like i'm going to–" you gagged. "throw up."

"no, don't throw up." he covered the mic of his phone and looked over at satoru, who was frozen in one spot. "hurry up. put some fucking clothes on. we have to leave," suguru scolded.

he uncovered his mic, running off to grab his gym bag. "baby, can you do me a favour? put me on speaker and share your location with me," he asked you with a much gentler tone than he just did with satoru.

"no, i don't think i can," you answered, starting to get overwhelmed. "i just remembered your number but i have you blocked and my phone's about to die–"

"baby?" satoru questioned.

"hurry the fuck up or i'm going to leave you here."

you started crying on the other end abruptly, "why the fuck are you yelling at me?!"

"no, no," suguru took a deep breath in and out, "i'm sorry. i'm not yelling at you. i'm talking to satoru."

satoru quickly grabbed his things and they made their way to suguru's car. he pleaded you stay on the phone with him, to which you rambled on and on about how your phone was about to die and you'd try your best.

suguru pulled out of the parking lot. his phone connected to his car, and that's when satoru began connecting the dots.

"give me five. i'll be there in five. don't move, okay?"

"i can't move, sugu. my entire body feels so heavy."

"good enough. just give me five minutes."

you giggled a bit. "i'd be lucky if someone didn't kidnap me right now."

"don't say that," he scolded. "five minutes, okay?"

he had a pretty good idea where you were, considering 44 was the one club where you and suguru would actually enjoy.

oh right. the third occurance was the club. it was still a month fresh. you were with your friends when you saw him. you were pretty drunk so you didn't run away from him instantly. matter of fact, you looked happy to see him, and even danced with him for a while until the alcohol wore off.

you were at the bar, ordering some more cheap shots for yourself when suguru approached you.

"hey–"

"oh, hiii!" you sang. "you want one, sugu? here, let's have a shot together. it's on me."

he took the shot despite not wanting to drink tonight. he was dragged out of his shared home with satoru and toji because he was "sulking all day n night," according to toji, and how neither of them could stand it anymore. suguru could not say no to you. especially not after seeing you the happiest he had ever since the night you two broke up.

the dj had been playing a mix of your favourite songs.

the kind you used to scream in the car together with the windows down and the bass turned up too loud. music you'd dance to in the kitchen while waiting for your food to heat up. the tunes you'd hum under your breath absentmindedly and then deny doing when he pointed it out. suguru recognized it almost immediately. it made something twist in his chest before he could stop it.

you grabbed his wrist without warning. "come on," you insisted, already tugging him toward the floor. "this one's mine."

he should have refused.

he knew he should have.

he knew that. somewhere, deep down, he knew that.

but a month of not having you near him had done something ugly to his self-control. the second you touched him first, smiling at him like that, whatever sense he had left just folded. the word 'no' died in his throat before it could form, so he let you pull him.

the dance floor was packed. lights flashing overhead in soft, dizzying colours, bass crawling up through the soles of his shoes. people were too close, too loud, too sweaty, but then there was you in front of him laughing and swaying to the music and somehow none of it felt irritating anymore.

"how have you been?" you asked suddenly, like this was normal. like this was just another night. like you hadn't blocked him on everything and vanished out of his life so suddenly.

he stared at you for half a second.

"good."

you squinted at him immediately. "liar."

he almost smiled. "why ask if you're just gonna call me a liar?"

"i wanted to see if you'd lie."

"and?"

"and you did."

he shook his head. "i've been alright."

"you still staying up all night like a psycho?"

"i work overnight."

"that wasn’t the question," you teased.

"... yeah."

you frowned. "that sounds concerning. you should really get that checked out. i'm concerned for you."

"it's not concerning."

"suguru," you deadpanned, swaying a little closer with the music. "everything about you is a little concerning. i worry for you everyday."

that made him laugh for real. not a lot. just enough for his mouth to twitch and the sound to leave his nose.

your eyes widened immediately. "there he is. there's my sweet boy."

you looked so stupidly happy over something so small that it made him feel sick in the worst way.

he missed this.

he missed you giving him shit. he missed the way you'd look at him like pulling one reaction out of him was some great personal victory.

"fine. i'll get it checked out." he gave in. "what about you? how have you been?" he asked after a moment, quieter this time.

you shrugged like it was nothing. "same old."

same old.

like you hadn't cut everyone off. like you hadn't become a ghost. like there wasn't something tired hiding underneath your smile.

his hands stayed on your waist. your arms had moved up loosely around his shoulders by then, more for balance than anything else. at some point the space between you disappeared completely, and neither of you were the ones to fix it.

you tipped your head back to look at him properly, cheeks warm, eyes glassy. "i know you missed me, baby. i did too."

there was no accusation in it. no teasing, either.

he could have lied—probably should have. instead, he just looked at you.

and that was answer enough because your expression softened in that way he remembered too well. the way it only ever did with him. like something in you unclenched. his hand slid slightly higher against your back without him thinking about it, keeping you close. keeping you steady.

and that was when it hit him in one clean, miserable wave.

this was the happiest he had felt in a while.

not at the gym. not at work. not with satoru and toji dragging him around trying to fix him with noise, and routine, and sarcasm. it was here, with you halfway drunk and smiling against him in the middle of a packed dance floor.

the happiest he'd felt was standing in the middle of a crowded club, holding the girl he wasn't supposed to touch anymore.

that was until you suddenly snapped out of it.

you were still swaying together when something changed. your movements slowed. your hands loosened slightly where they rested on his shoulders.

suguru noticed immediately. "you good?" he asked, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music.

you didn't answer. instead, you were staring at him. really staring. like you were seeing him properly for the first time all night.

"… wait." your brows slowly pulled together. your gaze flicked down to where his hands were resting on your waist. then back up to his face. the haze in your eyes cleared just enough. "suguru?"

the way you said his name was different this time hit his gut. "what's up, baby? are you okay?"

panic flickered across your face. you stepped back abruptly, your hands dropping away from his shoulders.

"i—" your eyes darted around the crowded dance floor like you were suddenly trying to remember how you got there. "i have to go."

"hey, wait—"

but you were already shaking your head. "sorry."

the crowd swallowed you almost immediately as you pushed your way toward the edge of the dance floor, disappearing between bodies and flashing lights before he could follow.

it was the last time suguru felt your touch.

"y/n?" satoru asked in a whisper, snapping him out of the memory.

suguru nodded his head and muted for a brief moment. "she's drunk–"

"i'm really trying to wrap my head around why you guys broke up." suguru shot a look at satoru. "what? don't look at me like that. you still love her. she still loves you. i don't get it."

suguru clenched his jaw and unmuted so he could avoid having this conversation.

he knew. in his brain it made sense at the time. he just didn't want to get into it with satoru. it was something he had already gotten into with his psychotherapist and psychiatrist and it was a painful awakening.

his gps was showing his eta to be thirteen minutes away. suguru kept his word and made it in five.

he found you sitting on the curb in a mini skirt and little top, heels taken off and discarded far behind you. your phone was still on, not having the chance to die before suguru had gotten there and you can hear the audio starting to screech in close proximity.

the moment you groaned with irritation, he ended the call. you looked up at him with mascara running down your face because of your little breakdown earlier.

when you saw him, it felt like time stopped.

the world stopped spinning, everyone and everything slowed down.

he was the light of your life.

after you and suguru broke up, not only had you become extremely avoidant, but you numbed the feeling and filled the void with the help of an expensive and impractical form of "therapy": alcohol.

you wouldn't drink all the time. it started off occasional, once every two-ish weeks when you would party with your friends on the weekend. you also had knew your limits that you didn't mean to exceed. you'd tell yourself it happens.

but the context made it concerning.

you'd brush off your friends' concerns, knowing deep down, they were right.

you should have listened.

every two weeks turned into every week, then every few days, then everyday, multiple times everyday where you were always blacked out.

seeing suguru made you want to bawl.

it hit it all at once. you hated that you let it get so bad. you needed help. you wanted to get better. seeing him made you realize that.

you still loved him.

and after all, loving someone means wanting to be better for them.

as he crouched down to reach eye level and placed his retro nike windbreaker over your shoulders, you felt immense shame. you didn't have it in you to look him in the eyes. you didn't want to know if he looked disappointed or disgusted at you.

he didn't.

he was just glad you were safe—and that you trusted him enough to still be there for you.

he took his time putting your arms through the sleeves and zipped it up for you. as he was doing that, you noticed satoru outside of the passager door, using his arms as support to lean on top of suguru's car.

"are you okay?" satoru yelled out.

you couldn't answer in time. you were bridal swept off your feet by suguru swiftly. his hands had come up automatically like second nature. one arm slid behind your back, the other under your knees.

you made a weak sound of protest as your feet leave the ground. "hey," you mumbled. "i could've walked."

"i don't think so," he replied quietly.

you could feel him—solid, warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. he smelt like soap. for a moment your body relaxed before your brain could catch up. he adjusted his grip when you shifted, tightening just enough to keep you steady.

he walked around the car to where satoru's standing. suguru didn't look at him, "get in the back."

"the back?"

"yeah," suguru repeated. "the back."

"this is fucked up," he disapproved.

"you'll survive."

suguru opened the passenger door and lowered you into the seat carefully. he adjusted you when you slumped sideways, made sure your legs are tucked in properly, then reached across to buckle your seatbelt himself. he gave it a small tug to make sure it was secure.

"you good?" he asked for personal reassurance.

you nodded, already melting into the seat.

he pulled his jacket closer around you, tucking it up under your chin like you might get cold, then closed the door ever so gently.

satoru just stared at what was unfolding before his eyes.

"… wooooow," he dragged, closing the door. "i get booted and she gets princess treatment." he leaned forward between the seats. "you know, technically, you could've just let me sit there."

you giggled a bit. typical satoru and his old, rage-baiting antics. god, he was so dramatic.

"you complain too much," suguru shook his head while putting his own seatbelt on.

a little time passed. you were watching the streetlights slide by under the night sky when suguru stopped at a red light.

satoru slouched in the backseat, stretching his legs. "yo, i'm exhausted. there's literally no one out right now. just run the red."

suguru looked at him through his rear view mirror with a raised brow, "no. i'm abiding traffic laws."

you pointed forward immediately, poking his cheek. "aw, laws. i missed that about you."

satoru sighed dramatically. "oh my god. you've been gone ten months and you'ree already ganging up on me again."

"that's because you're annoying, toru," you reply like it's an instinct (it was).

"annoying is crazy."

"you quite literally thrive off getting on everyone's nerves. exhibit one, me. exhibit two, sugu. exhibit three, hime. should i continue?"

suguru let out a quiet huff of laughter before he can stop himself.

you squint at him. "did you just laugh?"

"no."

"oh my god. you so did."

satoru leaned forward between the seats, grinning, "don't lie. you've been miserable for months. that's the first time i've heard you laugh in a while."

"the fuck are you talking about? i didn't laugh," suguru lied. "now sit back. you're distracting me."

he scoffed. still leaning forward, "didn't you run like three reds getting here? now you're talking about laws and safety."

"that was different,” suguru retorted.

"how?" there's a brief silence. "yeaaaahhh, that's what i thought."

you hummed, pleased, "i like when he drives safe."

satoru chuckled, "careful. if you keep that up he's never gonna break a rule again."

"can you not?" suguru rubbed his temple.

the moment the car stopped, he was out of his seat, around the hood, opening your door before you can even unbuckle yourself.

suguru doesn't even let you try to walk.

"okay, okay," you mumbled as he reached for you. "i can–"

he doesn’t argue. he just lifts you.

again.

he pulled you in until your cheek pressed against his shoulder. you barely had time to protest before your body settled, heavy and warm and embarrassingly comfortable. you sighed without meaning to.

the lobby was quiet. almost too quiet. your voice echoed when you whispered. "you're gonna drop me."

"i would never, baby," he said, immediately, adjusting his grip instinctively, thumb caressing into your side. "you know that."

you do.

but that's what made everything about you two hurt more.

the elevator ride was slow. you sway slightly with the movement, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie without asking permission.

"all good?" he asked again, softer this time.

you nodded, "you're really strong, sugu."

"of course i am," he replied, softly yet snarkily, still holding you like you weighed nothing.

the elevator doors opened. he continued to carry you down the hallway like it’s nothing. you hadn't walked through these halls in months despite almost always being here throughout the five years you knew suguru, and the three you dated.

suguru exhaled and gestured toward the door. "you got it?"

"yeah, just one sec,” satoru replied, already fishing his keys out as they reach the door, glancing over his shoulder when he realizes suguru never put you down. "huh?"

"what?" suguru asked shifting his grip, steady yet antsy, thinking something happened to you while he couldn't see. "is she okay?"

satoru nodded, unlocking the door. "yeah. just looks like she's damn near boutta pass out."

"don't drop me," you mumbled as suguru walked into their apartment.

satoru huffed, keeping the door open, "surprised he didn't."

the apartment looked the same. it was dim and quiet at night compared to the chaos that comes throughout the day.

you always loved it here. the kitchen was on the left as soon as you'd enter, leading into the living room, and then three rooms—one for toji, one for satoru, and one for suguru. only toji's room was shut right now. he was probably fast asleep.

suguru placed you on the couch. you immediately sank into the cushions, pillows, and blankets that were laid out. he turned on the lamp near the couch on for a little more light.

"there," he starts, "stay."

you nod at his command, "i think i'm pretty good at that."

satoru snorts from behind you, toeing off his shoes, "liar. you ran off and got lost less than an hour ago."

suguru disappeared into the kitchen while you and satoru continued to bicker. he soon came back with a glass of water, crouching slightly to hold it out to you.

you handed the glass back when you're done, leaning sideways into the couch cushions. suguru pulls a blanket from underneath you and drapes it over you without comment, tucking it around your legs. his fingers linger for a second longer than necessary.

a comfortable silence settled in.

a little too familiar, like how it used to be.

"okay!" satoru slapped the couch, disrupting the silence, "i'm tapping out now. i'm sensing something coming and i don't wanna be in between that. don't have the brain power for that right now."

you frowned, "you're abandoning me?"

"yes. i am," he repeated. "love you, but i'm tired," he stretched. "let me know if you need anything."

"i won't."

"yeaaahh, we'll see about that. you absolutely will," he ruffled your hair before walking towards his room. "you know where i'll be."

suguru sighed, "go to bed."

satoru grinned at you, softer now. "night." you waved back.

the silence stretched once again. you could not look at him. you hadn't been able to look him in the eyes the entire night. you sat on the couch, everything coming back to you again. his words, his promises, his warmth, his touch, memories with him.

it was right about now where you wished satoru didn't leave. the alcohol was leaving your system rudely.

your throat began to close up again. it felt like wires were tightening up around your neck, making it hard to breathe, hard to regulate yourself.

unbeknownst of your state again, suguru excused himself momentarily, "i'll be back. i'm just going to grab something."

he went into his bathroom, scurrying through his cabinets and drawers knowing he didn't throw out the makeup wipes you left at his place in bulk. it took him a little to find them because they were hidden away at the back, but he got them. he read the packaging carefully, making sure they were still good to use. he grabbed an unopened pack, knowing they'd still be okay.

then, he went into his closet and looked through some hoodies. his fingers immediately recognized your favourite one he owned, also hidden at the back. it was just the sage essentials hoodie, but for some reason you loved it.

he remembered how the conversation went and could not help but smile sadly at the bittersweet memory.

"you need to stop stealing my clothes, baby. i'm running out."

"i mean, i could give everything back," you responded, sitting at your desk finishing a paper whilst in his hoodie. "not this one though."

"i don't even think i got to wear it yet," he stated politely, pointing out a fact. not offended, nor argument-driven, just calm and patient, like he always has been with you.

"girlfriend tax, sugu. sorry not sorry," you smiled. "in my defence, this is the only one that actually fits me well. the rest are like dresses on me."

"okay," he kissed your forehead. "it's yours. only because you look good in it."

he found your shorts he did not get to give back to you. they were thin, black shorts but he figured you'd be a lot more comfortable in these than the skirt you were wearing.

he had just stepped back into the living room when he saw you curled in on yourself, shoulders shaking, mascara streaked even worse than before. your top was gone, discarded somewhere on the floor without really thinking about it, overheated and uncomfortable. you were sitting there in nothing but your bra under the heap of blankets.

he froze for half a second, then hurried to you. he placed the wipes and clothes on the table across from you without looking.

"hey, hey, hey. what's wrong?" he asked quietly. "why are you crying?"

you tried to wipe your face quickly when you saw him standing there.

it didn't help.

you looked like a mess. you were a mess.

your eyes were red, lashes clumped, eyeliner smeared halfway down your cheeks, lips trembling like you were barely holding it together.

he knelt in front of you on the ground. he placed his hands on your covered legs and drew little circles into the blanket with his thumb. he was close enough for you you could feel his warmth again and it made something in your chest cave in.

"slow down," his voice remained quiet. "look at me. i only left for a minute. what's going on?"

you shook your head. "i can't," you whispered, voice cracking. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to start again, i just— it won't stop. i don't know why it won't stop."

the rest dissolved into sobs.

he sat beside you, approaching you slowly. his arm slid around your shoulders slowly, cautiously, like he was testing whether you'd let him. his hand rested flat behind your head first, thumb brushing your hair lightly. when you didn't pull away, when you didn't tense up or tell him to stop, he tightened his hold just a little and guided you closer.

your body went with him without resistance.

your forehead pressed into his chest, right over his heart, and you hated how natural it felt. how your muscles relaxed on instinct, how your breathing shifted automatically to match his.

it was like your body remembered him better than your mind did.

his other arm came up around your back, folding you in completely now, holding you close in a way that felt both protective and familiar. his hand settled between your shoulder blades, firm and steady, fingers spreading slightly like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.

you could feel him everywhere.

the warmth of his body through his shirt. the slow rise and fall of his chest under your cheek. the quiet, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. the faint scent of his shampoo and cologne that clung to him, something you'd always associated with comfort.

you clutched at his shirt without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric like you were afraid he might let go if you didn't hold on. your grip was uneven and weak at first, hesitant, like you weren’t sure you were allowed to touch him like this anymore.

he noticed this, like how he noticed everything. his hand moved. it slid up your back slightly, pressing you closer, a silent reassurance.

it was okay.

you could.

your face buried deeper into his chest, and that was when the sob you'd been holding back finally broke free. it wasn't loud. it wasn't dramatic. it was quiet and ugly and shaky.

"shhh, calm down," he murmured softly, lips brushing against your hair as he spoke. "i got you."

one of his hands began moving in slow, steady strokes up and down your back, from your shoulders to the middle of your spine and back again. the motion was repetitive, grounding, something he'd done for you countless times before when you were overwhelmed or anxious or couldn't sleep.

and that was when it really hit him.

you never cried like this.

in all the years he'd known you, he could count the times he'd seen you properly break down on both hands, nothing more.

the night you'd spotted that trembling stray on the sidewalk and knelt down in the rain because you couldn't stand the thought of it being alone. he caught you tearing up a bit, but wiping your tears away before he'd noticed. he promised you he'd take it home, and he had.

the week your grandparents passed within days of each other, when you'd sat on his bed in silence for hours before finally curling into him and letting yourself cry, apologizing between breaths like you were doing something wrong.

the nights you'd gotten overwhelmed about school, work, and your future, staring at the ceiling and insisting you were fine until the pressure built up too much and cracked through.

that was it.

that was all.

every other time, you swallowed it. joked it off. distracted yourself. took care of everyone else first. you were strong to a fault.

you felt it in the way your body responded immediately, tension slowly bleeding out of you with every pass of his hand. your sobs softened into broken breaths, then into quiet sniffles pressed against his chest.

he didn't check his phone, didn't shift away, didn't rush you. he stayed like that the entire time.

"breathe," he whispered into your hair. "just breathe with me, okay? slow down."

he inhaled slowly, exaggerated it a little, held it for a second, then let it out. you tried to follow, even though it felt impossible at first. your breaths were uneven and shaky, but eventually, slowly, they started to match his. after a while, your sobs softened into quiet sniffles and broken little breaths.

your throat hurt. your head felt heavy. you felt empty and too full at the same time.

he never let go.

when you finally lifted your head, your eyes landed on his chest and you frowned faintly. "i got makeup on your shirt." there was a dark smudge of mascara, liner, and foundation smeared across his t-shirt from where you'd been crying into it.

he glanced down, clicked his tongue softly. "doesn't matter." he brushed his thumb gently under your eye, wiping away another tear. "what's going on with you, baby?" his voice laced with pure concern and ache, "please talk to me."

"nothing," you lied. "i've just been drinking. i'm tired. it happens. i'm sorry."

he tilted his head and raised a brow. "try again."

he saw right through you.

"i don't know," you finally admitted. "i thought i did. i always think i do. but i don't."

he waited.

"i didn't mean for tonight to happen like this," you went on. "i didn't mean to get that drunk. i didn't mean to lose my friends. i didn't mean to call you. it just keeps happening."

your voice wavered.

"i'm tired of pretending i'm okay," you whispered. "i'm not. i've been pretending for so long i don't even know what 'okay' is supposed to feel like anymore."

suguru knew that feeling all too well.

if anyone knew, it was him.

after all, that is why he had decided to leave.

he remembered the night clearly.

the way the words had tasted wrong the moment they left his mouth. even though it made him sick to his stomach, he knew he had to be mean, or else you wouldn't let go.

the way you had looked at him across the room like the air had been knocked out of you. he had told himself he was doing the right thing—that he was protecting you from the worst parts of him.

back then, his head had this constant, heavy fog. it was suffocating. every thought circling the same conclusion that he was dragging you down with him. every bad day he had, he started noticing the way you watched him more carefully. the way you tried to lighten the room when he went quiet, the way you carried both of your moods on your shoulders without ever complaining.

it had terrified him.

not because you were doing anything wrong, but rather because you were doing everything right.

you loved him enough to stay, and he had convinced himself that was exactly the problem.

so he left first.

he had told himself you would heal faster that way—if he stepped out of your life completely, you would eventually move on and find someone easier to love. someone who didn't come with the weight he carried around inside his chest every day.

he thought he had been doing you a favour.

sitting here now, holding you while you cried into his shirt, the idea felt almost cruel.

his hand slowed slightly on your back. "have you been drinking like this a lot?" he asked quietly.

you didn't answer right away. your fingers tightened slightly in his shirt. "… yeah." the word came out small.

"how long?"

you sniffed, wiping under your nose with the back of your hand before answering. "i don't know," you admitted. "a while."

he didn't need more explanation than that. the exhaustion in your voice said enough.

"every day?" he asked carefully.

you hesitated again. "most days."

suguru exhaled slowly in worry. "okay," he murmured. "that's okay. we'll figure that out."

you frowned faintly against his chest. "figure what out?"

"how to help you."

you pulled back just enough to look at him properly for the first time since the crying had started. your lashes were still wet, eyes swollen and red, but there was something searching in your expression now.

"why would you do that?" you asked quietly.

the question caught him off guard. his brows pulled together slightly. "what do you mean?"

"why would you help me?" you repeated. "you left me."

"because it's you," he said.

he stared at you for a moment like the answer was obvious.

because it was.

"i'm going to help you no matter what. any time, irregardless of what we are. you mean too much to me for me to not help you when you reach out."

"that's not fair," you whispered. "you can just say things like that."

suguru stilled, "i'm sorr–"

"do you know how hard it's been to stay away from you? i thought if i kept seeing you i'd just… keep coming back," you admitted. "and that felt worse."

his mind flashed briefly to the three times he had seen you over the past months. the dispensary. the funeral. the club.

every single time you had turned and walked away from him like he was something dangerous. he had thought you were finally moving on. he had thought you hated him.

"i missed you too much."

suguru felt something in his chest shift uncomfortably. it was the realization settling slowly into place.

you sniffed again, voice barely above a whisper now.

"i still love you. and i hate that i do."

"i know," he said softly.

your brows furrowed. "do you?"

"yeah," his voice was quiet, but steady.

you stared at him, searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he meant it.

"then why did you leave?" you asked. there wasn't anger laced in your voice, just exhaustion.

"because i thought loving me was hurting you." the words came out louder now. "i thought if i stayed you'd eventually start resenting me for it."

you shook your head faintly. "that wasn't your decision to make."

"i know. i know that now."

his hand slid gently to the side of your neck, thumb resting just under your ear where he could feel the faint rhythm of your pulse. he hesitated for only a moment before continuing.

"… i love you. i never stopped. not once."

your eyes glistened again, but this time you weren't crying. if anything, you looked stunned. like the idea that he might still love you had never crossed your mind.

your hand lifted slowly, brushing along the side of his jaw. you let out a shaky breath and leaned forward. "you're an idiot."

"yeah," he admitted easily. "i know that too."

he moved first, but it was slow. so slow you had time to pull away, to push him, to run like you had been for months. you didn't. you met him him halfway.

the first touch of your lips was impossibly soft. it was a gentle, questioning press that was more breath than kiss. it was hesitant, testing the waters after a ten month drought.

his lips were warm, softer than you remembered. they parted immediately under yours, a quiet, welcoming surrender. your hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, holding on for dear life.

his hands, which had been resting on your legs, flew to your waist, gripping you tight enough to bruise, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left. he gripped onto you like he was afraid you might disappear. one slid up your back, tracing the line of your spine through the blanket before coming to rest between your shoulder blades, pressing you closer.

he was holding you close, but it wasn't demanding. it was grounding, like he was making sure you were real, that you were really here.

the kiss deepened, but it never grew frantic. it remained soft, almost reverent. his tongue traced your bottom lip, a slow, deliberate sweep that made you shiver.

you opened for him without a second thought, a soft sigh escaping your throat as his tongue met yours. it wasn't a hungry exploration, but a familiar, comforting dance.

it was like coming home.

"i missed this," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "i missed you."

you could taste the faint mint of his toothpaste, coconut chapstick, the unique flavour that was just him, and it was intoxicating.

he shifted, turning you both slightly so you were leaning back against the couch cushions, his body hovering over yours without crushing you. the angle changed, and the kiss became deeper, more intimate. his hand moved from your back to cup the side of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your ear. you could feel the frantic, unsteady beat of his heart against your ribs, a rhythm that matched your own.

this was the suguru you knew.

the suguru who kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world, who could pour all the words he couldn't say into a single touch. you were melting into it, your body relaxing under his, your hands roaming his shoulders, his back, reacquainting yourself with the solid, familiar planes of his body. a part of you, the part that had been lonely and hurting for ten months, wanted more. it wanted to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in him until the pain went away.

"i love you," the kiss broke apart slowly, your foreheads resting together. his eyes were closed, his breathing unsteady. "fuck, i love you so much."

you didn't trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, pulling him back in. this time it was less hesitant, more sure. it wasn't hungry or desperate, but thorough. it was like he was trying to memorize you all over again, mapping every curve and dip of your mouth. his tongue slid against yours, a slow, deliberate dance that sent a shiver down your spine.

"sugu," you breathed out, your head falling back to give him better access, your eyes fluttering shut.

"yes, baby?" his voice was muffled against your skin, the words a broken, worshipful thing. it was the name he was finally allowed to call you after ten months, and it shattered what was left of your composure.

"please, touch me."

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and serious. just as suddenly as it started, he stopped.

he pulled back, his breathing heavy and ragged, his hands still gripping you like he was afraid you'd vanish. his lips were swollen and red, his eyes dark and clouded with a mixture of lust and something else. something pained.

he didn't see the mess—he just saw you. he saw the girl he'd loved for years, the girl he'd broken, the girl he was desperate to put back together.

"i'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "we can't."

your heart plummeted. shame, hot and sharp, flooded your veins.

of course.

this was a mistake.

you were a mess. a drunk, pathetic mess.

and he'd finally come to his senses. you tried to pull away, to retreat back into yourself, but his grip on you tightened, holding you in place.

"hey, look at me," he said, his voice gentle now. you couldn't. you kept your eyes down, staring at the dark smear of mascara on his t-shirt. "please, look at me."

you finally met his gaze, and what you saw there wasn't rejection. it was concern. it was that same soft, achingly familiar look he'd always given you when you were hurting.

"not like this," he said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. "not when you're drunk. not when you're hurting. you deserve more than that, baby."

you just stared at him, your mind too fuzzy to process his words. he sighed, a quiet, resigned sound, and carefully untangled himself from you.

he knelt in front of you again, his expression unreadable. "come here," he murmured, gently taking your chin in his hand.

he pulled one of the wipes from the pack, the scent of cucumber and green tea filling the air. he was so careful as he started to clean your face, his touch impossibly light. he wiped away the tracks of your tears, the smudged mascara, the foundation that was caked around your eyes. he didn't say a word, just worked gently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

it was the most intimate thing he'd done all night.

more intimate than the kiss, more intimate than the desperate way he'd held you. this was suguru taking care of you, the way he always had. this was him seeing you at your absolute worst and choosing to tend to you instead of taking advantage.

once your face was clean, he set the wipes aside and picked up the hoodie. it was your favourite one, the soft sage green one that was perfectly worn in. "arms up," he instructed softly.

you obeyed, lifting your arms over your head. he pulled the hoodie over you, his knuckles brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. it swallowed you whole, the fabric soft and warm, and it smelled overwhelmingly of him. of laundry detergent and his cologne and something that was just uniquely suguru.

he then picked up the shorts. "can you stand up for me?" you shook your head, your body feeling too heavy. he just nodded, like he expected that. "okay, just lift your hips."

he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your skirt, his gaze fixed on your face, not your body, as he slid it down your legs and tossed it aside. he helped you into the shorts, his hands lingering on your hips for just a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.

he stood up, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he was going to leave you there, cold and alone on the couch.

he stood up and held out his hand. "come on."

"where?" you whispered, your eyes wide.

"just to sleep," he promised, his voice soft. "i'll take the couch. you need to sleep in a real bed."

you shook your head. the thought of being in his bed without him somehow worse than being on the couch alone. "can you stay here with me? please? just for tonight," your voice had that small, vulnerable edge again. "i don't want to be alone."

he looked at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours. he looked at the tear tracks on your clean cheeks, the way you were clutching his hoodie, the raw fear in your eyes.

you were his weakness. his kryptonite, even. you always made him give in.

"of course. i'm not going anywhere," he murmured.

you shifted further onto the couch, making room for him. he adjusted automatically, lying down on the outer edge, his back near the open room, his body angled slightly around yours.

it was a subconscious, protective gesture, one he'd made a thousand times before. putting himself between you and the rest of the world.

you tucked yourself in against him, instinctively, your body remembering the shape of his even when your mind was a mess. your forehead pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, right over his heart, your hand resting lightly against his stomach.

you could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart under your ear, a slow, comforting thrum that was already starting to lull you into a state of calm.

his arm wrapped around you without discussion, settling securely across your back. his other hand came up to rest on your head, his fingers stroking through your hair in a slow, repetitive motion.

your breathing evened out quicker this time. the exhaustion, both emotional and physical, caught up to you fast. the weight of the last ten months, the alcohol, the crying, the emotional whiplash of seeing him again—it all crashed down on you at once.

your body went heavy, your muscles relaxing one by one. within minutes, your grip on his hoodie slackened, your hand going limp against his stomach.

he stayed awake a little longer.

listening to the sound of your breathing, deep and even now. making sure you were really okay, that this wasn't another dream he'd wake up from alone. he could feel the gentle puffs of your breath against his neck, the soft weight of your head on his chest.

it was familiar and agonizing all at once. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair. he'd forgotten what this felt like. he'd forgotten how right it felt to hold you like this.

eventually, his eyes closed too.

——

morning came in slowly.

satoru shuffled into the kitchen first, hair a mess, still half asleep. he stopped mid-step when he saw the couch. "... oh?"

toji followed. "what now."

they both looked down to see you and suguru tangled together on the couch, completely out, faces relaxed, breathing slow and synced.

"... oh." toji stared. "man, it's been months."

satoru grinned. "nah. i knew it."

toji groaned, opening his wallet. "you said by christmas."

"i said before the year ended. it's only the first week of december. technically, i'm still right. pay up."

"okay, but this isn't 'back together' either. they're just sleeping."

"look at them," satoru scoffed quietly. "that's not casual. you're telling me you and your missus don't sleep together like that?"

toji handed over the fifty with a sigh. "fuck you."

suguru woke up the way he always did. too early, half-aware, and still tired. and the first thing he saw was two faces hovering directly above him.

he jolted. "holy fuck—"

the sudden movement sent a shock of adrenaline through his system. before his brain had even caught up with the sight of satoru and toji's smirking faces, his body reacted on pure instinct.

his arm, which had been resting loosely across your back, snapped around you. he pulled you flush against him, your body shifting easily in his arms. he rolled slightly, curling his body over yours in a move that was both protective and possessive, shielding you from the unexpected intrusion.

your face, which had been resting on his chest, was now buried in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. he held you there, a solid, unmoving wall between you and his idiot friends, his heart slamming against his ribs as he stared up at them.

"suguru's awake," satoru whispered loudly.

"no shit," toji replied, his eyes fixed on the way suguru was practically covering your body with his own. "yeah, you win."

"see, that wasn't casual."

"not at all."

"what the fuck are you guys doing?" suguru scolded quietly, making sure you wouldn't wake up to their stupidity.

toji moved his head slowly, "could ask you the same thing. you back together?"

suguru rolled his eyes, "no."

"give me my fifty back," toji tried snatching the fifty back from satoru but he wouldn't budge. he ignored him, for now, and immediately focused on suguru again. "you fucking?"

"what time is it, holy," suguru sighed, tiredly. he glanced at his phone to see it was still just 7:25am. "it's too early for you to be running your mouth like that. watch it."

"okay, then elaborate," toji snarked. "what am i looking at?"

suguru's gaze softened for a fraction of a second as he looked down at you.

you were still fast asleep, completely oblivious.

your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, one hand fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt right over his heart. your legs were tangled with his under the blanket, your knee bent and resting against his thigh. even in sleep, you were seeking his warmth, his comfort.

he tightened his arm around you again, his hand splaying across your back, holding you even closer. it was an unconscious gesture, one that spoke volumes. he looked back up at toji, his expression hardening again.

"i don't know yet," he admitted, agitated. "now please, both of you, fuck off."

"aight, whatever," toji shrugged his shoulders. "i've got work in another hour and a half. hold whatever drama you guys are going to get into until then."

"suguru," satoru called out from the kitchen with his overly sweet morning coffee. "i've got class at 10:30. i'm practically begging you to wait until then."

"if your loud mouths shut up, you wouldn't have to worry about it," suguru scoffed. "if you guys wake her up, you'll have to deal with it. hide in your rooms until then or something."

you suddenly shifted. your body heavy and warm, a feeling of unfamiliar comfort surrounding you.

that was wrong.

your bed wasn't this warm. your pillow didn't smell like him.

the memories hit you then, not as a coherent narrative, but as a series of disjointed, sensory flashes. the thumping bass of the club, the burn of cheap vodka, the cold night air on your face. his car.

his hands on you. his mouth on yours, soft and questioning at first, then deeper, more certain. the desperate, aching want that had flooded your system, the way you'd clung to him, silently begging for more. the feeling of his body over yours, the solid weight of him, the worshipful way he'd touched you.

you pulled back quickly, sitting upright so fast the blanket pooled in your lap and the world tilted violently. your heart was suddenly racing, beating against your ribs.

the room felt wrong. too bright. too close. the air was thick with the scent of him—laundry detergent, his cologne, and something uniquely, painfully suguru.

your eyes landed on him.

he was sitting up beside you, watching you with a guarded expression. he was in a simple t-shirt with your makeup on it and sweats, his hair still slightly messy from sleep.

your gaze dropped on the hoodie you were wearing. your favourite one. the one you dropped off when he wasn't home months ago. then onto your discarded skirt and top, scattered in a neat pile near the coffee table.

your stomach dropped.

"no," you muttered under your breath, the word a choked, horrified whisper.

he stood up slowly, his movements careful, deliberate, like he was approaching a spooked animal. "hey. it's okay."

"don't," you said quickly, scrambling to your feet.

satoru and toji looked at each other frightened. they truly did not want to get caught up in this. they both snuck into the nearest room, satoru's, without being seen. however, they were still very much going to listen.

your head swam, a wave of dizziness washing over you, but you ignored it, stumbling back a step. "i don't remember getting here. i don't remember falling asleep."

your brain was racing ahead of you, filling in the blanks with the worst-case scenarios.

what had you done?

what had you said?

you remembered wanting him, remembered kissing him with a desperation that bordered on pathetic, but after that?

nothing. it was a blur.

"did i— did we?" you stopped yourself, the question catching in your throat. you couldn't ask it. you couldn't bear to hear the answer.

"no." he said gently, his voice soft but steady. "you called me. i picked you up—"

"i know that," you snapped, more panicked than angry. "i remember the club. after that it's just… bits and pieces. that's not good."

you bent down, your fingers clumsy and shaking as you grabbed your skirt from the floor. shame was flooding in fast, hot and suffocating. "i should go."

he didn't move, just watched you with an unnerving calm. "you just woke up."

"exactly," you replied, your voice tight, strained. "i shouldn't have stayed."

you turned and moved toward the door, your clothes clutched in your hand like a shield. you had to get out. you had to breathe.

his hand caught your wrist. "no."

"let go."

"we need to talk."

you finally turned to face him, your eyes wide and pleading. "i don't know what i did. i don't know what i said. let me leave, suguru. please."

"you told me you still love me last night."

the words landed between you like something physical. you stopped fighting him immediately.

your body went completely still, energy draining out of you all at once. you just stood there, your wrist still held in his gentle grip, your mind utterly blank.

"… what?"

he didn't soften it. didn't wrap it in anything. he just looked at you, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"you told me you still love me. we're going to talk about it."

the panic drained from your face in slow degrees, replaced with something quieter. heavier. more devastating. the shame was still there, but now it was mixed with a raw, terrifying vulnerability.

you had said that. you had laid your heart bare, and you couldn't even remember doing it.

your grip on your clothes loosened, your fingers going numb. the fabric slipped slightly, but you didn't notice.

the air in the room felt thick, heavy with the weight of your confession. your breathing steadied, but your chest felt hollow, achingly empty. you could feel the start of a headache brewing behind your eyes.

he finally let go of your wrist, but he didn't step away. he gestured towards the couch. "sit down. please."

you didn't have the energy to argue. you sank onto the couch, your clothes falling into a forgotten heap beside you. you wrapped your arms around yourself, a flimsy barrier against the cold reality of the morning.

he knelt down in front of you. he left a careful foot of space between you, a space that felt both a courtesy and a chasm.

he put the blanket back onto your bare legs. he leaned forward, really looking into your eyes.

"you called me around two," he started, his voice low. "you were at that club downtown. i told you to stay put, that i was coming to get you."

you just stared at your hands, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. you remembered that part. the desperate, lonely urge to call the one person you knew shouldn't answer.

"you were upset and drunk. i brought you back here. you didn't want to be alone."

he paused, running a hand through his hair. you could feel his gaze on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet it.

"we talked," he said. "we talked about the last ten months. about how miserable we've both been. and then… you told me you still love me."

your breath hitched. it was one thing to hear the words, another to hear the context. to know it wasn't just a drunken slur, but a confession born from months of pain.

"i told you i never stopped loving you either," he admitted.

the words hit you like a physical blow. you finally looked up at him, your eyes wide. he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

"we kissed. it wasn't just a drunken mistake. not for me, at least. hopefully not for you either."

"i remember that," you shook your head, confusion and warring emotions swirling inside you. "but i don't remember saying it.”

"i can tell," he smiled gently yet painfully. "but you did. and i need to know. was it just the alcohol talking or did you mean it?"

the question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. it was the moment of truth. the moment you had to decide whether to run back to the safety of your lonely apartment or to take a terrifying leap of faith.

you looked at him, really looked at him. at the dark circles under his eyes, at the way his shoulders were slumped with a weight you knew all too well. at the hope and fear warring in his gaze.

you thought about the last ten months. the sleepless nights, the forced smiles, the constant, dull ache of missing him. you thought about the flashes of memory from last night—the comfort of his arms, the rightness of his kiss.

you took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat.

"i meant it," you whispered, the admission feeling both terrifying and like a release.

for a long moment, he didn't move, nor say anything. you were sure you'd made a mistake, that you'd just handed him a loaded gun and he was deciding whether to pull the trigger. the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

then, you felt the couch shift as he moved. he closed the careful foot of space he'd left between you. his arm slid around your shoulders, tentative at first, and then he was pulling you into him.

you went stiff for a second, your body's instinct to protect itself warring with your desperate need for his comfort.

his other arm came around you, his hand sreading across your back, and he just held you. one of his hands came up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

that was your undoing.

the careful composure you'd been clinging to shattered. you didn't realize when, but you began to tear up again. it wasn't sad, but relieving—a release of months of pain you hadn't allowed yourself to feel. you clung to him, your fists gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt, your body trembling against his.

he just held you tighter. he didn't shush you or tell you it was okay. he just let you have a moment, his own breathing ragged in your ear, his hand stroking your back in a slow, soothing rhythm.

when your tears finally subsided, leaving you feeling weak and hollowed out, you didn't pull away. you just stayed there, tucked against him, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. it was the most peaceful you'd felt in half a year.

"i'm sorry," you mumbled into his neck, your voice hoarse.

"you have nothing to be sorry for." he said, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "i'm sorry."

"it's okay, suguru."

you finally pulled back just enough to look at him, your face blotchy and your eyes swollen. he gently cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"so… what now?" you whispered, the question feeling impossibly big.

he took a slow breath, his gaze serious. "first, you're going to let me make you some coffee and something to eat."

you wanted to argue, but the thought of food and coffee was suddenly overwhelmingly appealing. you just nodded, unable to find the words.

he stood up, pulling you with him. he kept a hand on your waist, steadying you as you swayed slightly. "go brush and wash your face. you know where my bathroom is," he gestured towards his bedroom. "i'll be in the kitchen."

you gave him a small, hesitant nod before disappearing into his room. the bathroom was just as you remembered it, tidy and clean. you grabbed a spare brush from his drawer and used his toothpaste.

you splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the evidence of your breakdown. you looked at your reflection in the mirror—at your puffy eyes and pale skin—and barely recognized the person staring back at you.

when you emerged a few minutes later. the smell of coffee filled the small apartment. you found him in the kitchen, standing by the counter, two mugs in hand. he was wearing that same soft, guarded expression, but there was something new there too. a flicker of hope.

"we're not just jumping right back into things," he said, his voice quiet, like he was reading your mind. "i know we can't. there's too much happened between us."

you looked up at him, relieved.

"we talk. for real this time. about everything. about why i left, about what you felt."

"okay," you agreed, your voice barely a whisper. "tonight?"

"it's up to you. whenever you want to, i'm here for you. i'm ready. you stay here tonight," he added, his tone leaving no room for argument. "you can stay in my room, and i'll stay out here."

"seriously?" you sulked. "i've spent months away from you and we can't sleep together?"

a hint of a smile played on his lips.

"it's not funny."

"i know, baby. we'll take it slow," he continued, his gaze fixed on yours. "one day at a time. we start over. we go on dates. i pick you up, i bring you flowers— everything we used to do."

"flowers, huh?" a small, watery smile touched your lips.

"roses, lilies, and tulips. he leaned forward and booped your nose. you scrunched it immediately after. "yeah, i still remember,"

"but for tonight, we can watch a movie, order some food, and talk about whatever you want to talk about."

you looked at him, at the hopeful, earnest look in his eyes, and felt something inside you finally start to heal. you nodded. "i'd like that."

his hand coverered yours. "we're going to fix this," he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. "i promise."

you squeezed his hand, a silent agreement. "i believe you."

"fucking finally, holy fuck."

you turned around to see none other than toji walking out of satoru's room. no one else has a more suggestive way of speaking. satoru followed him out, waving slightly at the both of you. and no one's more nosey than the two.

"i'm going to be late to work now because of you," he directed towards more suguru than you. he then ruffled the hair on your head. "missed you, kid. i'll see you later."

"still only a year younger than you," you remarked.

it was his nickname for you ever since you two met, which was eight years ago. he waved without looking and shut the door behind him. now your attention diverted to satoru.

"how are you?" you asked, discreetly wiping your eyes. "still annoying as ever, i assume."

"ha, ha, ha," he raised his brows and smirked. "i can hold what just happened, and last night over you, by the way."

suguru scoffed, "no you won't." he took a sip out his mug and gave him a stare.

"you're no fun," satoru sighed. "i'm doing wonderful. ask why."

"… why?"

"i'm fifty dollars richer because of you guys."

part five

────────────── .✦

@ yut2achoya. do not copy, feed into ai or repost on any other platform!

a/n: went to “end the chapter mid-scene” town and they crowned me the QUEEN 💯 next chapter is the finale though chat *enter sad violin*

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 taglist xxxx