SOOBIN

your watch buzzed softly against your wrist.

8.00 miles.

without thinking, you slowed from a run to a jog, then to an easy walk, letting your breathing settle into the familiar rhythm you’d practiced for years. this wasn’t the hard part. it never was. the run wasn’t about conditioning anymore. it was about routine. about reminding yourself that no matter how loud your thoughts became, your legs always knew what to do.

behind you…

“…i think i can actually see the afterlife.”

you looked over your shoulder just in time to see suna fold in half, hands braced against his knees, taking dramatically exaggerated breaths.

“you alright?”

“no.”

his response came far too quickly.

“i’m filing a complaint.”

“you volunteered.”

“i volunteered for emotional support.”

he pointed weakly toward the trail stretching behind the two of you.

“i didn’t volunteer for whatever medieval punishment that was.”

a laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“it was eight miles.”

“it was eight centuries.”

he slowly straightened, stretching until his back cracked loud enough for you to hear it.

“i think i developed asthma around mile six.”

“you don’t have asthma.”

“i do now.”

“you can’t just decide that.”

“i absolutely can.”

he placed a hand over his chest with all the seriousness of someone making their final statement.

“please tell yaku… he still owes me twenty yen.”

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as the two of you wandered toward a small convenience store across the street. a few minutes later, you were sitting on a weathered wooden bench overlooking the river, each holding a cold sports drink. condensation gathered against the plastic bottle, dripping onto your fingers as the breeze carried away what little remained of the morning heat.

for a long while… neither of you spoke and it wasn’t awkward.

with suna, silence rarely was.

he was the kind of person who never seemed bothered by empty space. if anything, he preferred conversations that took their time.

eventually, he twisted the cap back onto his bottle and glanced sideways at you.

“…can i ask you something?”

you nodded without looking away from the river.

“when have you ever waited for permission?”

“…fair.”

another quiet moment passed.

“i’ve been thinking.”

“…dangerous.”

“i know.”

he smiled faintly.

“you’re spanish.”

“half.”

“half.. yeah, you’ve mentioned it before.”

“i have.”

“but…” he frowned slightly, searching for the right words. “i guess i expected it to be…”

he gestured vaguely with one hand, “…more obvious.”

you turned toward him, amused, “obvious?”

“yeah.” he shrugged, “i don’t know, i thought maybe you’d speak spanish more, celebrate different holidays, talk about it… wear something.”

“something?” you laughed, “that’s incredibly specific and incredibly vague.”

“i’ve got a talent.”

“you really don’t.”

his shoulders lifted.

“i just mean…” he looked out toward the river, “i always imagined it’d be a bigger part of… you.”

you followed his gaze.

“it is.”

the answer came quietly.

“i just don’t wear it loudly.”

suna stayed silent. waiting.

“my mom always used to tell me that being spanish wasn’t something i had to prove.”

your fingers curled around the cold bottle in your lap.

“it wasn’t about how often i spoke the language.”

“or how many traditions i posted online.”

she’d smile every time she said it.

“‘it’s something you carry.’”

a smile tugged gently at your lips as you remembered.

“so i carry it.”

“in little ways.”

“the food i grew up eating, the music my family played every sunday morning while they cleaned the house, the way everyone talked over each other at dinner, the way my grandmother never let anyone leave hungry.”

“the way we celebrated everything…and somehow cried during half of it too.”

suna chuckled softly.

“sounds loud.”

“it was.”

“it still is.”

he smiled to himself.

“…i think i’d like your family.”

“they’d feed you until you couldn’t move.”

“i already can’t.”

“good.”

“they’d consider that a challenge.”

the two of you laughed together, the sound carried away by the wind before it faded back into silence.

suna spoke again, “…what was it like?”

you tilted your head. “growing up?”

he nodded.

“you don’t really talk about your childhood.”

your expression softened.

“i had a good one… we weren’t rich, but we never felt like we were missing anything.”

“my summers were spent running around my grandparents’ neighborhood until the streetlights came on.”

“my cousins and i would race each other through the parks.”

“i always cheated.”

“you?”

“i had longer legs than everyone else, so technically… it was strategic.”

he gave you the flattest look imaginable.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been hearing that since i was six.” you smiled, but it slowly faded into something quieter, “my abuela always knew where to find me.”

“whenever everyone else was inside…i was outside racing somebody.”

“my cousins.”

“the neighborhood kids.”

“my own shadow.”

“i think she knew before anyone else that i’d end up running.”

without realizing it…

your fingers drifted toward the necklace resting against your collarbone.

back and forth.

the tiny charm rolled between your thumb and forefinger almost absentmindedly.

suna noticed almost immediately.

“…you always touch that when you’re thinking.”

you glanced down.

“…do i?”

“mhm.”

he nodded toward the pendant.

“why that one?”

your thumb brushed gently over the worn silver.

“my abuela gave it to me.”

there was something different in your voice now.

softer.

like every word carried years behind it.

“it was the morning of my first real race.”

“i was terrified.”

“i thought if i lost…”

“…that’d be it.”

you smiled to yourself.

“she laughed at me.”

“i remember thinking she was so mean.”

suna smiled.

“i have a feeling she wasn’t.”

“no.”

“she wasn’t.”

you lifted the charm slightly, letting it catch the sunlight.

“she put this around my neck…”

“…kissed my forehead…”

“…and said—”

your voice became almost a whisper.

“‘remember where you come from.’” a beat passed.

“‘you run faster when you remember where you come from.’”

the breeze stirred again.

for a long moment…

neither of you moved.

suna looked at the little pendant, then at you.

he cleared his throat.

“…your…”

he frowned.

“…abu…”

you pressed your lips together, already smiling.

“…abu…”

another attempt.

“…abuela…”

the pronunciation was careful.

awkward.

every syllable sounded like it had to fight its way out.

he looked at you expectantly.

“…did i say it right?”

you laughed, warm enough to chase away every bit of tension that had followed you all week.

“close enough.”

he nodded once, completely satisfied.

“…your abuela…”

he looked back toward the river.

“…was a genius.”

the words settled gently between the two of you.

no jokes.

no sarcasm.

just quiet certainty.

you wrapped your fingers around the little charm again, letting it rest against your heart.

“i think she’d like you.”

suna raised an eyebrow.

“even after hearing me pronounce ‘abuela’ like that?”

you laughed again.

“oh, she’d definitely make fun of you.”

“…that’s somehow worse.”

“it is.”

another comfortable silence settled over the bench as the afternoon crept closer.

hours from now, thousands of eyes would be fixed on the track.

the pressure.

the expectations.

the heartbreak waiting on the other side of the finish line.

for now, though…

it was just the two of you, a river drifting lazily past, and the small silver charm resting in your hand—a reminder that no matter how far you ran, there would always be somewhere, and someone, waiting at the place you first learned how.

[ cue more dramatic music and end credits ]

CREDITS —

previous episode ‧₊* ‧₊ masterlist ⋆·˚ ༘ next episode

translations 🪇 : frijole: bean. / mi media naranja: my better half (rough translation.) / abuela : grandma / comment for any other translations needed.

💬 , guys im trying, help, my job keeps me busy and literally, it still doesn’t help me make enough for bills and providing for my family, im lwk dying and i cant even find another job 😭 im HAVING A ROUGH TIME, and i thought i could write enough to get enough kofi donations but i’ve literally abandoned yall 😔💔 ANYWAYS ENJOY

᧔᧓ you just read a fic that ruined your life ? or do you want your request seen sooner? a coffee donation shows support and/or moves your request up the queue! ☕️

look here for more reads 📚!!

your watch buzzed softly against your wrist.

8.00 miles.

without thinking, you slowed from a run to a jog, then to an easy walk, letting your breathing settle into the familiar rhythm you’d practiced for years. this wasn’t the hard part. it never was. the run wasn’t about conditioning anymore. it was about routine. about reminding yourself that no matter how loud your thoughts became, your legs always knew what to do.

behind you…

“…i think i can actually see the afterlife.”

you looked over your shoulder just in time to see suna fold in half, hands braced against his knees, taking dramatically exaggerated breaths.

“you alright?”

“no.”

his response came far too quickly.

“i’m filing a complaint.”

“you volunteered.”

“i volunteered for emotional support.”

he pointed weakly toward the trail stretching behind the two of you.

“i didn’t volunteer for whatever medieval punishment that was.”

a laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“it was eight miles.”

“it was eight centuries.”

he slowly straightened, stretching until his back cracked loud enough for you to hear it.

“i think i developed asthma around mile six.”

“you don’t have asthma.”

“i do now.”

“you can’t just decide that.”

“i absolutely can.”

he placed a hand over his chest with all the seriousness of someone making their final statement.

“please tell yaku… he still owes me twenty yen.”

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as the two of you wandered toward a small convenience store across the street. a few minutes later, you were sitting on a weathered wooden bench overlooking the river, each holding a cold sports drink. condensation gathered against the plastic bottle, dripping onto your fingers as the breeze carried away what little remained of the morning heat.

for a long while… neither of you spoke and it wasn’t awkward.

with suna, silence rarely was.

he was the kind of person who never seemed bothered by empty space. if anything, he preferred conversations that took their time.

eventually, he twisted the cap back onto his bottle and glanced sideways at you.

“…can i ask you something?”

you nodded without looking away from the river.

“when have you ever waited for permission?”

“…fair.”

another quiet moment passed.

“i’ve been thinking.”

“…dangerous.”

“i know.”

he smiled faintly.

“you’re spanish.”

“half.”

“half.. yeah, you’ve mentioned it before.”

“i have.”

“but…” he frowned slightly, searching for the right words. “i guess i expected it to be…”

he gestured vaguely with one hand, “…more obvious.”

you turned toward him, amused, “obvious?”

“yeah.” he shrugged, “i don’t know, i thought maybe you’d speak spanish more, celebrate different holidays, talk about it… wear something.”

“something?” you laughed, “that’s incredibly specific and incredibly vague.”

“i’ve got a talent.”

“you really don’t.”

his shoulders lifted.

“i just mean…” he looked out toward the river, “i always imagined it’d be a bigger part of… you.”

you followed his gaze.

“it is.”

the answer came quietly.

“i just don’t wear it loudly.”

suna stayed silent. waiting.

“my mom always used to tell me that being spanish wasn’t something i had to prove.”

your fingers curled around the cold bottle in your lap.

“it wasn’t about how often i spoke the language.”

“or how many traditions i posted online.”

she’d smile every time she said it.

“‘it’s something you carry.’”

a smile tugged gently at your lips as you remembered.

“so i carry it.”

“in little ways.”

“the food i grew up eating, the music my family played every sunday morning while they cleaned the house, the way everyone talked over each other at dinner, the way my grandmother never let anyone leave hungry.”

“the way we celebrated everything…and somehow cried during half of it too.”

suna chuckled softly.

“sounds loud.”

“it was.”

“it still is.”

he smiled to himself.

“…i think i’d like your family.”

“they’d feed you until you couldn’t move.”

“i already can’t.”

“good.”

“they’d consider that a challenge.”

the two of you laughed together, the sound carried away by the wind before it faded back into silence.

suna spoke again, “…what was it like?”

you tilted your head. “growing up?”

he nodded.

“you don’t really talk about your childhood.”

your expression softened.

“i had a good one… we weren’t rich, but we never felt like we were missing anything.”

“my summers were spent running around my grandparents’ neighborhood until the streetlights came on.”

“my cousins and i would race each other through the parks.”

“i always cheated.”

“you?”

“i had longer legs than everyone else, so technically… it was strategic.”

he gave you the flattest look imaginable.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been hearing that since i was six.” you smiled, but it slowly faded into something quieter, “my abuela always knew where to find me.”

“whenever everyone else was inside…i was outside racing somebody.”

“my cousins.”

“the neighborhood kids.”

“my own shadow.”

“i think she knew before anyone else that i’d end up running.”

without realizing it…

your fingers drifted toward the necklace resting against your collarbone.

back and forth.

the tiny charm rolled between your thumb and forefinger almost absentmindedly.

suna noticed almost immediately.

“…you always touch that when you’re thinking.”

you glanced down.

“…do i?”

“mhm.”

he nodded toward the pendant.

“why that one?”

your thumb brushed gently over the worn silver.

“my abuela gave it to me.”

there was something different in your voice now.

softer.

like every word carried years behind it.

“it was the morning of my first real race.”

“i was terrified.”

“i thought if i lost…”

“…that’d be it.”

you smiled to yourself.

“she laughed at me.”

“i remember thinking she was so mean.”

suna smiled.

“i have a feeling she wasn’t.”

“no.”

“she wasn’t.”

you lifted the charm slightly, letting it catch the sunlight.

“she put this around my neck…”

“…kissed my forehead…”

“…and said—”

your voice became almost a whisper.

“‘remember where you come from.’” a beat passed.

“‘you run faster when you remember where you come from.’”

the breeze stirred again.

for a long moment…

neither of you moved.

suna looked at the little pendant, then at you.

he cleared his throat.

“…your…”

he frowned.

“…abu…”

you pressed your lips together, already smiling.

“…abu…”

another attempt.

“…abuela…”

the pronunciation was careful.

awkward.

every syllable sounded like it had to fight its way out.

he looked at you expectantly.

“…did i say it right?”

you laughed, warm enough to chase away every bit of tension that had followed you all week.

“close enough.”

he nodded once, completely satisfied.

“…your abuela…”

he looked back toward the river.

“…was a genius.”

the words settled gently between the two of you.

no jokes.

no sarcasm.

just quiet certainty.

you wrapped your fingers around the little charm again, letting it rest against your heart.

“i think she’d like you.”

suna raised an eyebrow.

“even after hearing me pronounce ‘abuela’ like that?”

you laughed again.

“oh, she’d definitely make fun of you.”

“…that’s somehow worse.”

“it is.”

another comfortable silence settled over the bench as the afternoon crept closer.

hours from now, thousands of eyes would be fixed on the track.

the pressure.

the expectations.

the heartbreak waiting on the other side of the finish line.

for now, though…

it was just the two of you, a river drifting lazily past, and the small silver charm resting in your hand—a reminder that no matter how far you ran, there would always be somewhere, and someone, waiting at the place you first learned how.

[ cue more dramatic music and end credits ]

CREDITS —

previous episode ‧₊* ‧₊ masterlist ⋆·˚ ༘ next episode

translations 🪇 : frijole: bean. / mi media naranja: my better half (rough translation.) / abuela : grandma / comment for any other translations needed.

💬 , guys im trying, help, my job keeps me busy and literally, it still doesn’t help me make enough for bills and providing for my family, im lwk dying and i cant even find another job 😭 im HAVING A ROUGH TIME, and i thought i could write enough to get enough kofi donations but i’ve literally abandoned yall 😔💔 ANYWAYS ENJOY

᧔᧓ you just read a fic that ruined your life ? or do you want your request seen sooner? a coffee donation shows support and/or moves your request up the queue! ☕️

look here for more reads 📚!!

you liked that it felt like something you and yuta were building together.

the soft hum of the kitchen light filled the quiet as you moved back and forth between the stove and the table, placing down dishes one by one with careful, habitual movements. the plates matched—finally. the glasses too. even the cutlery had a satisfying weight to it now, not like the mismatched, half-bent pieces you both used to own when things were… tighter.

three years of marriage.

a year in this house.

and now—stability. comfort. warmth.

a small, quiet life that felt almost too good sometimes.

from the living room, you could hear the faint rustle of movement—pages turning, maybe. yuta had been sitting on the couch for a while now, something resting in his lap, though you hadn’t really checked what it was. every now and then, the cat would chirp or shuffle, claws lightly clicking against the hardwood as it wandered aimlessly between rooms like it owned the place.

(which, to be fair, it did.)

you smiled to yourself, adjusting one of the plates just slightly so it lined up better with the others.

“dinner’s almost ready,” you called softly, not loud enough to break the calm, just enough to let the words drift.

there was a pause.

then—

“…mm.”

his response came quiet, thoughtful. not distracted—just… somewhere else.

you didn’t think much of it.

comfortable silence had always been your thing.

it settled around you both easily, like something familiar slipping over your shoulders, warm and weightless at the same time. there was no need to fill it, no pressure to speak just for the sake of it. you existed together in it, and that was enough.

you carried the last dish to the table, setting it down with a soft clink.

and then—

a sigh.

soft. long. deliberate.

you paused for half a second, glancing toward the doorway, but you didn’t turn fully.

“…yeah?” you hummed back, almost instinctively, voice light as you reached for the napkins. “what’s up?”

another pause.

longer this time.

you could practically feel him thinking.

“…i’ve been… thinking about something,” yuta said slowly.

you nodded to yourself, still focused on folding a napkin just right. “mm, that sounds dangerous.”

“…hey.”

you smiled a little. “sorry, go ahead.”

he shifted—there was a faint creak from the couch, followed by the soft thump of something being set aside. the cat padded into the kitchen then, tail high, weaving between your legs before circling once near the table.

“…you ever think,” he started again, quieter now, “that it might be nice to… have something else around here?”

you blinked, glancing down at the cat as it meowed expectantly at you.

“…we already have something else around here,” you said, nudging it gently with your foot. “and she’s already spoiled enough.”

“…not—” he hesitated. “not like that.”

you hummed, misreading him completely as you reached for the food again. “ohhh. you want another one.”

“…another one?” he echoed.

“yeah,” you said, completely serious. “like a kitten. or—oh my god, wait—are you thinking about a dog? because i told you, if we get a dog, you’re the one waking up early, not me.”

there was a very long silence.

you didn’t notice.

you were too busy mentally planning what kind of dog he’d pick, already picturing something soft and clingy that would follow him around the house like a shadow.

“…i don’t think,” yuta said slowly, “you’re… understanding what i mean.”

you finally paused, turning your head just slightly toward the living room, brows pulling together in mild confusion.

“…not a dog?” you asked.

“…not a dog.”

“…okay.” you turned back to the table, processing. “so… what? a bird? absolutely not. i am not living with something that screams at 3 a.m.”

“…no, not—”

“a fish?” you continued, fully committed now. “because i feel like you’d get emotionally attached to a fish way too fast, and then if it dies—”

“it’s not a pet.”

you stilled.

just for a second.

the quiet shifted—not broken, just… different now. softer, but with something underneath it.

you slowly turned around this time, fully facing him.

yuta was standing just at the edge of the kitchen now, one hand lightly resting against the wall like he hadn’t even realized he’d walked in. his hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his hands through it while thinking, and his expression…

gentle.

but nervous.

“…oh,” you said, softer now. “then what are you talking about?”

he looked at you for a moment.

really looked at you.

and then he exhaled quietly, shoulders relaxing just a little, like he’d finally decided to stop circling around it.

“…i was thinking,” he said, voice careful but warm, “that maybe… we could have a baby.”

the words landed softly.

no drama. no rush.

just… there.

you blinked.

once.

twice.

your brain, very helpfully, decided to replay the last five minutes of conversation all at once.

another one.

something else around here.

not a pet.

you stared at him.

“…a baby?” you repeated, like you needed to hear it again to make sure it was real.

yuta nodded slightly, almost shy now, his gaze dipping for just a second before returning to you.

“yeah,” he murmured. “a baby.”

you looked around the kitchen instinctively, like there was suddenly going to be one sitting there on the counter.

“…you meant a baby this whole time?” you asked.

“…yes.”

“…not a dog.”

“…not a dog.”

“…not a fish.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, the tension easing just a little. “not a fish.”

you stared at him for another second.

and then—

you laughed.

soft at first, surprised, a little breathless, like the idea had caught you off guard in the most unexpected way.

“yuta,” you breathed, bringing a hand up to your face. “i thought you were trying to convince me to get another cat.”

“i figured,” he admitted, smiling faintly.

you shook your head, still laughing under your breath, the sound filling the room in a way that made everything feel warmer somehow.

but then…

it settled.

the laughter faded into something softer.

your eyes found his again.

“…a baby,” you repeated, quieter now.

he nodded.

there was no pressure in it. no expectation.

just a quiet hope.

“we don’t have to,” he added quickly, stepping a little closer. “i just—i was thinking about it, and… i don’t know. things are… good right now. we’re okay. better than okay. and i just thought…”

he trailed off, searching for the right words.

“…it might be nice,” he finished softly.

the house was quiet again.

but it wasn’t the same quiet as before.

this one felt… full.

you looked at him—really looked at him this time—and something in your chest shifted, warm and deep and a little overwhelming.

three years.

a home.

a life.

and now…

this.

you glanced down at the table you’d set so carefully, then back at him.

“…you’re serious,” you said gently.

“i am,” he replied.

you exhaled slowly, your shoulders relaxing as the idea settled into you, not all at once, but piece by piece.

“…you want a baby,” you murmured.

“with you,” he said, without hesitation.

that made your breath catch just slightly.

of course.

of course it did.

you stepped toward him then, closing the small space between you, your hand finding his without thinking, fingers sliding into place like they always did.

“…you’re lucky i love you,” you mumbled, though your voice was soft, fond.

he smiled a little, squeezing your hand.

“i was hoping that would help my case.”

you huffed a quiet laugh, leaning into him just slightly, your forehead brushing his shoulder.

“…i can’t believe i thought you were talking about a fish.”

“to be fair,” he murmured, “you were very passionate about it.”

“because i thought you were about to emotionally bond with a goldfish.”

he laughed then—soft, warm, the sound settling into the walls like it belonged there.

and somehow…

it did.

everything did.

even this.

you tilted your head slightly, glancing up at him again, your expression softer now, more thoughtful.

“…we can talk about it,” you said quietly.

not a yes.

not a no.

but something real.

something open.

and yuta—gentle, patient yuta—just nodded.

“yeah,” he said. “we can.”

and in the quiet that followed, standing there in your kitchen with your hand in his, the idea didn’t feel so sudden anymore.

it felt like something that had been waiting for you both to notice it.

and well… it got noticed.

it wasn’t eight and a half months later the way people usually tell it.

no long, drawn-out “we talked all night and made a careful decision” kind of story. no slow planning, no calendars spread across the table, no hesitant what-ifs stretching into morning.

it was supposed to be a discussion.

you both had every intention of sitting down after dinner that night, maybe curled up on the couch, your legs draped over his, voices soft as you talked about timing and readiness and all the things people usually talk about when they’re about to change their lives forever.

but instead—

you couldn’t stop looking at him.

it was something small at first. the way his sleeves were pushed up while he washed the dishes. the quiet focus on his face. the way he kept glancing at you like he had something on his mind but didn’t want to rush you.

and then it wasn’t small anymore.

it was everything.

the warmth in your chest, the way your body leaned toward him without thinking, the sudden, overwhelming need to be close—to touch, to feel, to have him.

you didn’t know why.

not in that moment.

but yuta did.

of course he did.

because yuta—gentle, thoughtful, terrifyingly attentive yuta—had been quietly keeping track of things you barely even noticed yourself. little patterns. dates. changes in your mood, your energy, your body.

he knew.

and he didn’t say anything.

he just looked at you the way he always did—soft, a little shy, completely in love—and when you reached for him first, when you closed the space between you with something breathless and certain…

he didn’t stop you.

he never would.

and somehow—

it only took that one night.

yuta liked to pretend he wasn’t proud of it.

he really did.

he would hide it behind soft smiles and gentle deflections, shake his head a little if you teased him about it, act like it wasn’t something he thought about at all.

but sometimes…

sometimes you’d catch it.

in the way his chest lifted just slightly when someone mentioned how far along you were. in the quiet, pleased hum he’d make under his breath when he rested his hand over your stomach. in the way his eyes softened with something deeper—something almost awed—every time he looked at you.

like he still couldn’t believe it.

like he couldn’t believe he did that.

and maybe—just a little—

he was proud.

you didn’t mind.

not when he’d been… this.

perfect didn’t even feel like a big enough word for it.

he oiled your belly every night with slow, careful hands, like it was something precious—like you were something precious. he’d kneel at your feet after long days, gently massaging away the ache without you even having to ask, his touch patient, unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be.

he bought you clothes that actually felt good on your changing body, soft fabrics that didn’t irritate your skin, loose fits that made it easier to breathe. and when you stood in front of the mirror, unsure, adjusting something for the fifth time—

he was always right there.

telling you how radiant you looked.

how beautiful you were.

like he meant it every single time.

because he did.

he helped you get dressed when bending became harder, carefully guiding your arms through sleeves, steadying you without making you feel incapable. he learned how to do your hair—clumsy at first, fingers fumbling through strands until he got it right, until he could braid and smooth and pin things into place with quiet concentration.

sometimes he’d even try your makeup.

not perfectly.

but gently.

like everything else he did.

he took over the kitchen completely, making sure you ate properly, learning what you could and couldn’t stand, adjusting recipes without complaint. when certain smells started making you nauseous, he didn’t hesitate—he switched detergents, cleaning products, even the soap in the bathroom, anything that might make it easier for you.

and when it didn’t help—

when you were kneeling on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, body trembling, stomach turning—

he was there.

holding your hair back.

rubbing slow circles into your back.

whispering soft reassurances like you weren’t falling apart right in front of him.

he didn’t flinch.

he didn’t pull away.

he just stayed.

even when you were embarrassed.

even when you laughed weakly afterward, apologizing for things you couldn’t control—like the gas that slipped out unexpectedly, the way your body changed in ways that felt unfamiliar and sometimes humiliating—

yuta would just laugh softly with you.

never at you.

always with you.

like none of it made you any less beautiful in his eyes.

if anything…

it made him love you more.

and somehow—

he balanced all of that with being a sorcerer.

late nights, unpredictable calls, the quiet weight of a world that still needed him.

but he always came back.

always.

and now…

it was just another evening.

or at least, it was supposed to be.

the house was dim, wrapped in that soft, golden quiet that came just after sunset. the air felt still, calm in a way that usually settled your nerves, but tonight—

your body wasn’t letting you enjoy it.

you shifted on the couch, fingers gripping the fabric beneath you as another wave rolled through your abdomen, tighter this time, sharper.

“yuta…” your voice came out strained, barely above a whisper.

he was there immediately.

he always was.

“hey,” he murmured, kneeling in front of you, hands already finding yours. “it’s okay. i’m right here.”

you squeezed his hand instinctively, your breathing uneven as the discomfort peaked.

“it hurts…”

“i know,” he said softly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “but remember what the doctor said? it’s normal. just grab my hand—yeah, like that—and breathe with me, okay?”

he guided you through it, his voice steady, grounding.

“in… and out… slow, you’re doing good…”

you followed him as best you could, focusing on his voice, on the warmth of his hands, on the way he never once let you feel like you were facing it alone.

and slowly…

it passed.

your body relaxed again, tension easing out of your muscles as you slumped back against the couch, exhausted.

“…okay,” you breathed.

“yeah,” he whispered, brushing a hand over your hair. “you did so good.”

you let your eyes close for a second, just listening to him, feeling him there.

then, quietly, he stood.

“stay here,” he said gently. “i’ll be right back.”

you didn’t argue.

you couldn’t.

a minute later, he returned with a familiar bottle, already opened, pressing it into your hands.

kombucha.

you let out a weak, teary laugh.

“you’re obsessed,” he teased softly.

“don’t start,” you mumbled, already taking a sip.

you’d been hooked since your second trimester—something about it just worked, and yuta, of course, made sure there was always some in the fridge.

you drank slowly, your hands still a little shaky, eyes stinging from the lingering discomfort.

“…yuta,” you whispered after a moment.

“yeah?”

“…sit with me.”

he didn’t hesitate.

he slid onto the couch beside you, immediately pulling you closer, adjusting you carefully so you could rest against him comfortably. his fingers slipped into your hair without thinking, gently combing through it in slow, soothing motions.

“i’ve got you,” he murmured.

you melted into him, the tension leaving your body piece by piece under his touch.

“you’re so strong,” he continued softly, almost like he was talking more to himself than to you. “you’ve been handling all of this so well… i’m really proud of you.”

your eyes burned again, but not from pain this time.

“…stop,” you whispered, though there was no real protest in it.

he smiled faintly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“you’re beautiful,” he added quietly. “you know that, right?”

you huffed weakly. “i feel like a mess.”

“you’re not,” he said immediately. “not even a little.”

his fingers kept moving through your hair, steady, comforting, grounding.

and for a moment—

everything felt calm again.

safe.

soft.

until—

something shifted.

not the pain.

something else.

you lifted your head slowly, looking at him.

really looking at him.

the warmth in your chest came back, sudden and overwhelming, curling low and deep in a way that made your breath catch.

“…yuta,” you said, quieter now.

he blinked, a little surprised by the change in your tone. “yeah?”

you didn’t answer right away.

instead, you moved.

swinging a leg over him, settling yourself carefully in his lap, your hands finding his shoulders as you leaned in, pressing your lips to his with sudden urgency.

he froze for half a second—just enough to process it—

and then melted into it.

“hey—” he murmured softly against your lips, a hint of breathless surprise in his voice. “are you—are you okay?”

“i want you,” you whispered, words warm, insistent, your forehead resting against his. “really bad.”

his hands came up instinctively, steadying you, concern flickering in his expression even as something softer, deeper, responded to you.

“…right now?” he asked gently.

you nodded, already leaning back in, your kisses more desperate this time, your fingers curling into his shirt.

and yuta—

yuta, who had never once denied you anything you truly wanted—

let himself give in.

carefully.

gently.

always mindful of you.

always.

but just as the moment deepened—

just as his hands settled more securely at your waist—

you froze.

completely.

your breath caught sharply in your throat, your body going rigid as something unmistakable spread beneath you.

“…yuta—”

your voice broke.

and then—

you started crying.

soft at first, then harder, panic rising too fast for you to catch it.

“hey—hey, what’s wrong?” yuta’s hands immediately shifted, concern snapping into place as he tried to steady you. “did i hurt you? what happened?”

you shook your head, tears spilling over, your grip tightening on him.

“i—i don’t know—something—”

and then he felt it.

the warmth.

the realization.

everything clicked at once.

yuta stilled.

just for a second.

“…oh,” he breathed.

his hands softened immediately, one coming up to cradle your face, the other still steady at your side.

“…hey,” he said gently, voice calm despite the sudden shift. “it’s okay.”

you looked at him through your tears, confused, overwhelmed.

“it’s okay,” he repeated softly, brushing your tears away with his thumb.

a small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at his lips.

“…your water just broke.”

the words hung in the air.

real.

impossible to ignore.

and suddenly—

this wasn’t just another evening anymore.

the hospital lights were too bright.

not harsh enough to hurt—but enough to make everything feel sharper than it should’ve been, every second stretched thin, every sound just a little louder, a little too real.

machines hummed. shoes squeaked against polished floors. voices overlapped in low, urgent murmurs that never quite settled into silence.

and in the middle of it all—

you.

hours had passed.

yuta had stopped keeping track somewhere between the first wave of real pain and the moment your fingers started gripping his hard enough to leave marks. time didn’t feel like time anymore. it felt like a series of breaths, a series of pushes, a series of moments where all he could do was stay exactly where he was and not fall apart watching you go through it.

“you’re doing so well,” he kept saying, over and over, his voice softer than everything else in the room but somehow the only thing you could really hear. “i’m right here… just like that, you’re doing perfect…”

he didn’t let go of you.

not once.

his hand stayed locked in yours, the other brushing damp strands of hair from your face, his touch careful even when everything else felt chaotic. he had changed into scrubs at some point—he barely remembered doing it—but now they were slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up, his hair messier than usual from running his hands through it again and again.

he looked just as overwhelmed as he felt.

but he never let you see it.

not fully.

because this wasn’t about him.

this was about you.

and you were everything in that moment.

outside the room, the waiting area felt just as tense.

the other sorcerers had gathered without needing to be asked, drawn there by something unspoken, something that tied all of them together in quiet concern.

no one was really sitting still.

megumi and yuji pacing. toge and panda shifting. maki and nobara glancing toward the closed doors like they could somehow see through them if they tried hard enough.

they could hear pieces of it.

not everything—but enough.

enough to know it wasn’t easy.

back inside—

“okay,” one of the doctors said firmly, voice steady but urgent. “you’re ready. we need you to start pushing now.”

your body trembled, exhaustion pulling at every muscle, but you nodded, barely able to form words anymore.

yuta leaned closer immediately.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. “just like we practiced, okay? you’re not alone. i’m right here.”

you squeezed his hand.

and then—

you pushed.

time blurred again.

minutes, hours—it didn’t matter.

just the rhythm.

push. breathe. hold. again.

your voice broke more than once, your body shaking under the strain, but every time you faltered, every time it felt like too much—

yuta was there.

“you’re so strong,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion he couldn’t quite hide anymore. “just a little more… i know it hurts, but you’re doing so good… i’m so proud of you…”

and you believed him.

even when it felt impossible.

“one more—just one more push!”

you cried out, your grip tightening painfully around his hand as you gave everything you had left—

and then—

a sound.

small.

fragile.

alive.

the room shifted instantly.

the tension broke, replaced with something lighter, something almost disbelieving as the doctor’s voice cut through—

“the baby’s here.”

your chest heaved, your entire body going slack with exhaustion as the sound filled the room again—soft cries, real, unmistakable.

yuta froze.

completely.

for just a second.

like his mind couldn’t catch up to what his ears were hearing.

“…she’s—” his voice broke. “she’s here…?”

you barely managed a weak, tearful laugh.

“…yeah,” you whispered.

he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his shoulders dropping all at once as something overwhelming washed over him—relief, disbelief, joy all tangled together so tightly he couldn’t separate them.

he leaned down immediately, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand cradling the side of your face.

“you did it,” he whispered, voice trembling now. “you did so good… i’m so proud of you…”

you closed your eyes, leaning into him, too tired to say much more—but you didn’t need to.

he understood.

he always did.

not long after—

after the baby was cleaned, after the initial rush settled just enough—

yuta stepped out into the waiting area.

the door barely had time to open before everyone looked up.

the silence that followed was instant.

heavy.

waiting.

yuta stood there for a second, his chest rising and falling, his eyes a little glassy, his expression softer than they’d ever seen it.

and then—

“…she’s here,” he said.

that was all it took.

the room erupted—not loudly, not chaotically, but with relief, with smiles, with something warm and shared between all of them.

questions followed, of course, overlapping, excited, but yuta just laughed softly, shaking his head a little.

“they’re okay,” he added quickly. “both of them.”

that mattered most.

it always would.

he didn’t stay long.

he couldn’t.

he needed to get back to you.

to his family.

he turned, already reaching for the door—

but before he could step through—

it opened again.

a doctor stepped out.

“mr. okkotsu,” they said quickly.

yuta paused, something in their tone making his chest tighten instantly.

“…yeah?”

the doctor hesitated—just for a second too long.

“…we need you to stay out here.”

everything in him went still.

“…what?” he asked, quieter now.

“there are some complications we didn’t detect during the pregnancy,” they continued, already turning slightly back toward the room. “we need to address them immediately.”

the words didn’t fully land at first.

complications.

didn’t detect.

immediately.

“…wait—what do you mean?” yuta stepped forward, panic rising too fast, too sharp. “is she okay? what’s wrong—can i—”

“we need space,” the doctor said firmly.

and then—

the door shut.

hard.

final.

yuta stared at it.

his hand was still half-raised, like he hadn’t processed that he wasn’t allowed to go back in.

“…no,” he breathed.

his chest tightened, something cold creeping in where warmth had just been moments ago.

“…no, no, no…”

he moved again, faster this time, reaching for the door like he could just open it, like they couldn’t actually keep him out—

but a hand caught his shoulder.

“hey.”

he turned sharply.

and there he was, gojo, for once—serious.

“yuta,” gojo said, voice lower than usual, steadier. “they’ve got it handled.”

“i need to go in there,” yuta shot back immediately, his voice shaking now, panic bleeding through no matter how hard he tried to hold it back. “she’s in there—i need to be with her—”

“and you will be,” gojo said, firm but not unkind, his grip tightening slightly. “but right now, you being calm is more useful than you trying to break through that door.”

“i don’t care about useful,” yuta snapped, his breathing uneven, his gaze locked on the door like if he looked away something worse would happen. “she’s—she just—she was fine—”

his voice broke.

just slightly.

“…she has to be fine,” he whispered.

the hallway felt too small.

too quiet.

every second stretched again—but this time, it wasn’t filled with your voice, or your hand in his.

just—

waiting.

and yuta had never hated waiting more in his life.

a couple of hours had passed.

no one really noticed when one hour turned into two—time in the hospital had a way of stretching, of becoming something unsteady and unbearable when all you could do was wait.

the hallway had gone quieter.

not empty—but quieter.

voices had softened, movements had slowed, and even the usual confidence that surrounded people like them—sorcerers, fighters, people used to facing the worst—had dulled into something more human.

worry.

real, helpless worry.

and yuta—

yuta hadn’t moved much.

he’d sat, stood, paced, stopped, ran a hand through his hair more times than he could count, his eyes never straying far from that door like it might open the second he looked away.

like if he stopped paying attention, something worse would happen.

he didn’t like that feeling.

he didn’t like not being able to do anything.

and then—

finally—

the door opened.

every head snapped up at once.

a doctor stepped out, their expression tired—but not urgent anymore.

not panicked.

something in yuta’s chest shifted immediately.

“mr. okkotsu,” they said.

he was already standing before they finished speaking.

“…is she okay?” his voice came out rough, like he hadn’t used it properly in hours.

the doctor nodded.

and just like that—

the tension snapped.

“she’s stable now.”

the words settled over the room like something warm, something needed.

behind him, the reactions came in waves—

relief, quiet laughter, someone exhaling a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding.

megumi relaxed just slightly, shoulders dropping. inumaki gave a soft, relieved sound under his breath.

gojo leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, hand over his chest. nanami adjusted his glasses, tension easing from his expression. maki crossed her arms, but the tightness in her stance loosened.

yuji visibly brightened, and choso closed his eyes for a brief second. nobara let out a quiet “finally.” and todo actually whispered something about “brotherhood triumphing again.”

but yuta didn’t hear most of it.

because the second the doctor stepped aside—

he was already moving.

the room felt different when he stepped back inside.

quieter.

softer.

like everything had been reset.

and there you were.

propped up against the hospital bed, looking exhausted in a way he’d never seen before—but there. awake. breathing. safe.

and in your arms—

the baby.

his chest tightened instantly.

not painfully.

just… full.

too full.

“…hey,” he whispered, stepping closer like he was afraid the moment might disappear if he moved too fast.

you looked up at him, tired but smiling—really smiling—and it hit him all over again.

you were okay.

“…hey,” you echoed softly.

he reached you in seconds, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek before his eyes dropped to the small bundle in your arms.

“… she’s…” he trailed off, his voice catching slightly. “she’s so small…”

you huffed a quiet laugh. “you’re one to talk.”

he smiled faintly, but his eyes didn’t leave the baby.

“can i…?” he asked, almost hesitant.

you nodded, carefully adjusting so he could see better, your fingers brushing his as you shifted.

for a moment—

he just looked.

taking it in.

memorizing it.

like he wanted to remember every detail exactly as it was.

after a bit, the doctors spoke again, explaining things more clearly now that everything had settled.

there had been complications.

ones they hadn’t been able to predict.

the baby had come early—too early—and your body hadn’t been ready, hadn’t been able to stabilize the way it should’ve after birth.

it had been dangerous.

closer than anyone wanted to admit.

but now—

now you were okay.

and the baby was okay.

and that was enough.

more than enough.

yuta let out a slow breath, his shoulders finally relaxing completely as the weight of it all lifted just enough for him to stand without feeling like he might collapse.

“…okay,” he murmured. “okay… that’s… okay…”

it could’ve been worse.

and that thought alone made everything feel lighter.

the quiet didn’t last long.

because, of course—

they came in.

one by one, then all at once, filling the room with warmth and noise and the kind of presence that made everything feel just a little less heavy.

questions followed immediately.

gentle ones. excited ones.

and then—

the inevitable.

“so,” yuji started, practically bouncing where he stood, “what’d you name her?”

you and yuta exchanged a look.

just for a second.

one of those quiet, shared moments that didn’t need words.

and then—

you spoke.

“…tsumiki.”

the room stilled.

just slightly.

like the name needed a second to settle.

“…that’s adorable,” gojo said immediately, way too loudly, hands coming together in exaggerated excitement. “that is dangerously cute. i’m offended, actually. how am i supposed to compete with that?”

you laughed softly, shaking your head.

“why tsumiki?” yuji asked, tilting his head.

before you could answer—

maki spoke.

“it’s the street,” she said simply. “the one they always used to go to.”

tsumiki lane.

and just like that—

yuta was gone.

not physically.

but his mind—

his heart—

it slipped back.

that street.

it wasn’t anything special to anyone else.

just a quiet corner, tucked away far enough from everything that it felt like its own little world.

but to him—

it was everything.

he could still see it.

the first time he met you there—awkward, unsure, standing a little too far apart like neither of you knew what to do with the space between you.

the first time your hands brushed—completely accidental—and how neither of you pulled away as quickly as you should’ve.

the night you both got caught in the rain, laughing breathlessly under a broken streetlight, your hair soaked, his jacket draped over your shoulders even though it didn’t help much.

the way you’d sit on the curb together after missions, exhausted, leaning into each other without thinking, your head resting against his shoulder while the world stayed quiet just for a little while.

your first real fight—voices raised, emotions too big, both of you saying things you didn’t fully mean—

and then making up right there, words soft, hands hesitant before they found each other again.

the first time he kissed you—

nervous, unsure, pulling back too soon before you laughed softly and pulled him back in, showing him it was okay.

late nights where neither of you wanted to go back yet, so you just stayed there, talking about nothing and everything, your voices low, your fingers intertwined like it had always been that way.

the time you fell asleep against him on that very same street, your breathing soft and steady while he sat there, completely still, too afraid to move in case he woke you.

the quiet moment when he realized—

really realized—

that he loved you.

and then—

the night he proposed.

standing under that same dim light, hands shaking just slightly, his voice softer than it had ever been as he asked you to stay with him—

forever.

and now—

that same name sat in the air.

held by something new.

something small.

something theirs.

yuta blinked, the memories settling gently as he looked back down at you—at your new baby girl—at the life you’d built together.

“…tsumiki,” he repeated softly.

it felt right.

it felt like everything had come full circle.

like all those moments—every laugh, every tear, every quiet second on that street—

had led here.

to this.

and for the first time since the panic, since the fear, since the long, endless wait—

yuta smiled.

soft.

real.

completely at peace.

copyright © t4kalcvr 2026 all rights reserved

💬, there’s this girl on instagram who’s name is blythe and she sang a song about how she got her name and i took that idea and ran with it because it was among the most beautiful songs ive ever heard.

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your voice didn’t tremble—not even a little. it didn’t dip into that instinctive politeness people tended to use around him, didn’t carry the usual hesitation or second-guessing that came with speaking to someone like him. instead, it came out steady, almost absentminded, like you were pointing out something mundane, something obvious—like the sky being overcast or the professor running late. there was no challenge in your tone, no bite meant to provoke him. and somehow, that made it worse. because it meant you weren’t intimidated.

the lecture hall, which had been buzzing just seconds before with overlapping conversations, rustling backpacks, and the low hum of pre-class chatter, fell into a sudden, unnatural silence. it wasn’t gradual—it dropped all at once, like the air had been sucked out of the room. the kind of silence that pressed in on your ears, heavy and expectant.

because everyone knew him.

everyone knew sukuna.

not just in the way people knew a name on a roster, but in the way they recognized a presence without needing confirmation. he carried himself like the space belonged to him, like the rows of seats, the worn desks, the very air in the room bent around him rather than the other way around. there was something inherently sharp about him—the kind of sharp that didn’t need to be loud to cut. his gaze alone had a reputation, known for lingering just long enough to make people uneasy, even when it wasn’t directed at them. professors tolerated him with thin patience because his work was flawless, because correcting him often meant being wrong themselves. he came and went as he pleased, spoke when he felt like it, ignored what bored him.

and no one questioned it.

no one dared to.

until you.

sukuna didn’t react right away. he remained exactly where he was, slouched back in his chair like the world moved around him and not the other way around. one arm was draped lazily over the backrest, fingers tapping in a slow, idle rhythm against the wood—unbothered, unhurried, like your voice hadn’t quite reached him yet or simply hadn’t earned a response. for a moment, it almost seemed like he might ignore you entirely.

then, gradually—deliberately—he turned his head.

the movement was slow enough to feel intentional, like he was choosing to acknowledge you rather than reacting on instinct. his eyes found you easily, and when they did, they didn’t flick away. they dragged over you instead, taking in details without urgency, without shame, like he had all the time in the world to decide what to make of you.

“…my seat?” he echoed, his voice low, edged faintly with something that resembled amusement—but not quite. it sounded more like he was testing your words, turning them over, deciding whether they were worth entertaining.

you adjusted the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder, your expression unchanged, unimpressed in a way that felt almost… dismissive.

“i sit there every class.”

simple. direct. final.

another pause followed—longer this time, stretching just enough for discomfort to bloom in everyone else but you. it seeped into the room, into the rigid stillness of the students watching from the corners of their eyes, into the quiet tension coiling tighter with every second that passed without resolution.

someone behind you muttered something under their breath, too quiet to make out but loud enough to betray nerves. somewhere off to the side, a soft, strained laugh slipped out before being quickly swallowed. the atmosphere grew thin, fragile—like it was balancing on the edge of something, waiting to tip.

sukuna leaned back slightly, his posture shifting in a way that should’ve read as casual, but didn’t. there was a deliberateness to it, a subtle expansion of space, like he was settling in not to yield—but to observe. to watch you a little longer, to see if you’d falter under the weight of the attention now pressing in from every direction.

“…then sit,” he said.

you blinked once.

just once—quick, subtle—but enough to show that you hadn’t expected that answer. not resistance, not compliance… something in between.

“your stuff is there,” you pointed out, gesturing lightly toward the notebook sprawled across the desk, its pages open and careless, his pen resting diagonally across it like it had been dropped without thought.

his gaze flicked downward briefly, acknowledging it, then returned to you just as quickly.

“…move it.”

no bite. no warning.

just indifference.

like it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

you exhaled through your nose, the sound soft but edged with irritation now, and without asking again, you stepped forward. your fingers brushed the edge of his notebook as you slid it aside—not aggressively, not hesitant either—just enough to create space for yourself. the paper dragged faintly against the desk, the sound sharper than it should’ve been in the silence, drawing attention you didn’t acknowledge.

you didn’t look at him as you did it.

didn’t wait for permission.

didn’t hesitate.

you simply… made room.

and then you sat.

right beside him.

close enough that the space between you barely existed, that the heat of another person was something you could almost feel if you thought about it too long. your elbow hovered near his, your shoulder nearly brushing his arm. it was a proximity most people avoided with him—carefully, deliberately.

around you, the room stayed quiet for a second longer, eyes lingering, curiosity mixing with disbelief.

and you didn’t acknowledge any of it.

not the stares.

not the tension.

not even him.

you settled into your seat with the same calm indifference you’d shown from the beginning, pulling out your notebook, flipping it open, the soft rustle of paper the only sound you contributed. your focus shifted immediately, like the interaction had already ended in your mind, like he had already become irrelevant.

like he was nothing more than a minor inconvenience you’d already dealt with and moved past.

and that—

more than the audacity, more than the lack of fear—

was what caught sukuna’s attention.

and kept it.

it didn’t happen all at once.

interest, for him, never did—it was never sudden, never reckless, never the kind of thing that struck like lightning and demanded to be acknowledged. sukuna wasn’t impulsive in that way. whatever caught his attention had to earn it, piece by piece, until it settled somewhere beneath his skin without permission. and with you, that interest didn’t arrive as a realization—it built itself quietly, in fragments so small they were almost meaningless on their own. a glance here. a moment there. things that, individually, could’ve been ignored.

but they didn’t stay separate.

they stacked.

layered slowly, subtly, until they formed something he couldn’t quite brush off anymore.

he noticed it first in the way you reacted—or rather, the way you didn’t.

people were predictable around him. they stiffened when he spoke, shoulders tightening just slightly like they were bracing for something sharp. they laughed too carefully at his remarks, even when they didn’t understand them, eager to stay on his good side. they watched him out of the corners of their eyes, measured their words, adjusted themselves in quiet, almost instinctive ways that betrayed just how aware they were of him.

you didn’t do any of that.

when he spoke, you didn’t tense. didn’t falter. your attention shifted when it needed to, but not because it was him. when he said something biting, something that would’ve made someone else shrink or scramble for a response, you didn’t laugh unless you actually found it funny—and more often than not, you didn’t. you didn’t try to keep up with him in conversation, didn’t push yourself into his space with forced confidence or subtle attempts at approval.

you didn’t orbit him.

you didn’t gravitate toward him at all.

you just… existed beside him.

steady in a way that felt unshaken, unbothered by the weight of his presence or the reputation that followed him so closely. you took up your space without asking, without adjusting, without caring whether he noticed or not.

and somehow—

that unsettled him more than anything else ever had.

“you’re wrong.”

his voice cut through the quiet of the lecture hall one afternoon, low but clear, slipping between the soft scratch of pencils and the occasional rustle of paper. it wasn’t loud, didn’t need to be—people heard him anyway.

you didn’t react right away.

your pen continued moving across your notebook, the ink flowing in steady lines as you finished writing out your thought before even acknowledging him. only then did you glance sideways, your expression composed, though there was a faint hint of irritation in the slight pull of your brows.

“about what?”

sukuna shifted just slightly in his seat, the movement subtle but intentional as he leaned closer—not enough to close the distance completely, not enough to touch, but enough that his presence pressed into your space in a way that couldn’t be ignored. it was deliberate, the kind of closeness that demanded awareness.

“that formula,” he murmured, tapping the end of his pen lightly against your paper.

the contact was brief, a soft, rhythmic tap against the page, but it drew your attention immediately. you frowned, your gaze dropping back down as you scanned over your work again, more carefully this time.

“no, i’m not.”

the response came out automatic, confident in a way that suggested you trusted your answer more than you trusted him.

a quiet click of his tongue followed—soft, almost dismissive.

before you could react, he reached over, his hand moving into your space without hesitation. the edge of his sleeve brushed lightly against your arm as he pointed to a specific line in your notes, the proximity brief but noticeable, grounding his presence in something physical.

“you skipped a step.”

you followed where he indicated, your eyes narrowing slightly as you retraced your work, line by line, slower now. for a moment, it looked like you were going to argue—your posture still, your expression focused.

and then you saw it.

small. easy to miss.

but enough.

the realization settled in quietly, your shoulders easing just slightly as you exhaled under your breath.

“…oh.”

it wasn’t dramatic. no frustration, no embarrassment—just acknowledgment.

sukuna leaned back again, withdrawing just as easily as he’d leaned in, the space between you returning to what it had been before. there was the faintest shift in his expression, something subtle at the corner of his mouth—not quite a full smile, but close enough to suggest satisfaction.

“try to keep up,” he said.

there was a trace of mockery there, light but present.

you rolled your eyes, turning back to your notebook without bothering to respond, your pen already moving again as you corrected the mistake.

and that should’ve been it.

just another moment.

another small, insignificant interaction to be forgotten as quickly as it happened.

but the next day—

when you arrived early, like you always did, and set your things down in your usual spot—

you placed your bag in the seat beside you.

not absentmindedly.

not by accident.

but deliberately.

leaving it there.

waiting.

and when sukuna walked in later, his gaze sweeping the room in that same quick, instinctive way—

it landed on you.

and the empty seat next to you.

and without a word, he made his way over—

and sat.

it wasn’t discussed.

not once—not in passing, not in implication, not even in the quiet spaces between conversations where something like that might have naturally slipped in. there was no acknowledgment of it, no moment where either of you paused and said this is becoming something, no agreement spoken or unspoken that defined what was happening between you.

and yet—

it settled into place anyway.

routine, for sukuna, had always been something loose, something he bent around his own convenience rather than followed. but this—this formed with a strange kind of consistency, something quieter, steadier, built without effort and without permission. it happened faster than either of you would’ve admitted, faster than it should have, slipping into your days until it felt less like a choice and more like something inevitable.

you were always there first.

the lecture hall would still be half-filled, the low hum of early arrivals lingering in the air, sunlight filtering in through the tall windows and stretching lazily across the rows of desks. you’d take your usual seat without hesitation, setting your things down with a familiarity that came from repetition—but there was always that one detail, that one small, deliberate act that never went unnoticed.

your bag went in the seat beside you.

not tossed there carelessly, not dropped in absentminded habit, but placed—positioned in a way that was intentional, claiming the space without drawing attention to it. it wasn’t defensive, wasn’t meant to keep others away out of discomfort.

it was reserved.

quietly. confidently.

like you didn’t feel the need to explain why.

like you already knew who it was for.

and then, without fail—

he’d show up late.

every time.

the door would creak open mid-lecture, the sound just loud enough to interrupt the flow of the professor’s voice, just enough to draw a few irritated glances from students who had already settled in. it was a familiar disruption, one that came with the same muted annoyance each time—but never surprise.

because it was him.

and sukuna never cared.

not about the looks, not about the brief pause in the lecture, not about the subtle tension that followed his entrance. he stepped inside like none of it mattered, like the room would adjust around him the way it always did. his presence shifted the air without effort, drawing attention whether anyone wanted it to or not.

his gaze would sweep the room once.

quick.

sharp.

instinctive.

it didn’t linger, didn’t wander—it moved with purpose, cutting across rows of faces and scattered notebooks until it found exactly what it was looking for.

you.

always you.

there was never hesitation after that.

no second glance.

no consideration of any other seat.

he’d move through the rows with an easy, unhurried stride, slipping into the space beside you like it had always belonged to him—as if the seat had been his long before you ever decided to leave it open.

and neither of you said anything.

not a greeting. not a comment.

just the quiet shift of space as he settled in, the faint creak of the chair as he leaned back, the subtle brush of movement as your presence adjusted around his without thought.

it became natural.

effortless.

dangerously easy.

sometimes, beneath the narrow desk, your knees would brush—just barely, a fleeting contact that could’ve been avoided if either of you had tried. the first few times, it might’ve been accidental. something that happened in the cramped space without intention.

but after that—

neither of you moved.

the contact would linger for a second too long, long enough to be noticed, long enough to be acknowledged without words—and then it would remain, subtle but present, like neither of you saw a reason to pull away.

other times, your elbows would bump as you both reached for something at the same time—your notebook, a pen, the edge of the desk. small collisions, brief and light, but close enough to feel.

and still—

no apologies.

no awkward laughter.

no retreat.

you didn’t flinch away.

he didn’t either.

the space between you never widened again.

if anything—

it only grew smaller.

၄၃

“you don’t talk much.”

you said it as the two of you stepped out of the lecture hall together, your voice slipping easily into the quiet space between footsteps and distant chatter. the heavy doors swung shut behind you with a dull thud, cutting off the muffled echo of the professor’s voice, and outside, the late afternoon had softened into something golden. sunlight stretched long across the campus walkways, catching on the edges of buildings and spilling over the pavement in warm, uneven patches that lengthened your shadows beside you.

students moved around you in loose clusters—laughing, complaining, already shifting into the rhythm of the evening—but the space between you and sukuna felt strangely separate from it all. quieter. more contained.

he glanced at you then, just briefly, his gaze sliding sideways without turning his head fully. his hands were tucked into his pockets, shoulders loose, posture relaxed in that same effortless way he always carried himself—as if nothing around him demanded his full attention unless he chose to give it.

“i talk enough,” he replied.

his tone was flat, dismissive in that familiar way, like the conversation didn’t hold much weight to him, like your observation was something he could brush aside without thinking twice.

you hummed softly in response, the sound low and thoughtful, but not convinced. your gaze stayed forward, following the path ahead as you adjusted the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, the motion absentminded, practiced.

“no, you don’t.”

there was no challenge in your voice, no edge meant to provoke him—just quiet certainty, like you were stating something you’d already decided was true.

for a moment, the only sound between you was the rhythm of your footsteps against the pavement.

then—

his gaze sharpened.

it wasn’t obvious to anyone else, not something loud or dramatic, but it was there—the subtle shift in the way his eyes settled on you again, more focused this time, more intent.

“why do you care?”

the question came out low, edged just enough to suggest curiosity wrapped in something more guarded. not defensive, not quite—but not open either. it lingered in the space between you, heavier than your original comment had been.

you didn’t look at him right away.

you shrugged lightly instead, your fingers brushing against the strap of your bag as you adjusted it again, the movement small, casual—like the answer didn’t require much thought at all.

“just an observation.”

simple.

uncomplicated.

and somehow, that made it harder to read.

sukuna didn’t respond immediately.

his steps slowed just slightly—not enough to stop, not enough to fall behind, but enough that his attention shifted more fully toward you. his gaze lingered, studying you in a way that stretched longer than necessary, longer than what the moment called for. like he was trying to find something in your expression that didn’t quite match your words. like he was searching for an underlying reason you hadn’t bothered to say out loud.

but there was nothing there.

no hesitation. no hidden meaning.

just you—calm, steady, and entirely unbothered.

“…you talk too much,” he muttered finally.

the words came out quieter than before, less sharp, almost like an afterthought he felt obligated to offer in return. there was a faint edge to it, but it lacked the bite it might’ve had with anyone else.

you smiled.

and it wasn’t the kind of smile people gave him—wasn’t teasing, wasn’t mocking, wasn’t forced or overly bright in an attempt to smooth over tension.

it was soft.

genuine.

warm in a way that settled rather than stirred.

you didn’t argue. didn’t defend yourself. didn’t push the conversation any further.

you just… smiled.

and for a moment, something about it caught him off guard—not enough to show, not enough to disrupt the steady rhythm of his steps—but enough that it lingered, quiet and persistent, somewhere just beneath the surface.

the conversation moved on after that—faded into something else, or maybe into nothing at all.

eventually, your paths split the way they always did, the campus stretching out in different directions, your footsteps slowing as you turned away from him with a casual, “see you,” like it was something expected, something certain.

he didn’t respond right away.

just watched you for a second longer than necessary before continuing on his own path.

and that should’ve been it.

just another interaction.

another forgettable exchange.

but later—long after the sun had dipped lower, long after the noise of the day had softened into something quieter—he found himself thinking about it again.

not the words.

not the question.

just that smile.

and for reasons he couldn’t quite name—

it stayed with him.

၄၃

the first time he walked you home, it wasn’t planned.

it wasn’t something he decided on beforehand, wasn’t a thought-out choice or a quiet intention he carried with him as the evening stretched on. if anything, it happened the way most things between you seemed to—unspoken, unannounced, slipping into place without either of you acknowledging it as it formed.

it was late. later than usual.

the campus had thinned out in that subtle, gradual way it always did after dusk, the earlier energy fading into something quieter, more hollow. the hum of voices that usually filled the walkways had dulled into scattered murmurs in the distance, distant laughter echoing faintly from somewhere far off. streetlights had begun to flicker on, casting soft pools of warm light across the pavement, leaving stretches of shadow in between that felt deeper than they should’ve.

your footsteps filled the silence around you, steady and unhurried as you made your way down the familiar path toward your dorm. there was no rush in your pace, no sign of unease in the way you moved—you walked like you belonged there, like the quiet didn’t bother you, like the late hour was just another part of your routine.

you didn’t notice him at first.

didn’t hear the subtle shift of footsteps falling in line behind yours, didn’t catch the presence lingering just out of your awareness. he was quiet when he wanted to be—deliberate in the way he moved, his stride easy but controlled, his attention fixed without needing to announce itself.

not until—

“you always walk alone this late?”

his voice cut through the quiet behind you, low and sudden enough to break the stillness in a way that made your body react before your mind could catch up. you flinched slightly, your steps stuttering for just a fraction of a second as you turned, your breath catching faintly in surprise.

“oh—” your eyes landed on him, recognition settling in almost immediately, the tension easing from your shoulders just as quickly as it had appeared. “yeah. i do.”

sukuna’s expression shifted as he looked at you—subtle, but there. something darker slipping into place beneath the surface, not quite anger, not quite concern, but something that made his gaze linger a second longer than necessary.

“stupid.”

the word came out flat, unfiltered, like he hadn’t bothered to soften it before saying it.

your brows pulled together instantly.

“excuse me?”

there was a sharpness to your tone now, not defensive but questioning, caught somewhere between confusion and mild irritation.

he didn’t answer you directly.

didn’t explain himself, didn’t backtrack.

instead, he stepped forward, moving past you with that same easy stride, his shoulder brushing just close enough to yours to be noticed without quite touching. his pace didn’t change much—slow enough that you didn’t have to rush, measured enough that it felt intentional.

“keep up.”

you stared at his back for a second, caught off guard by the abruptness of it, by the way he’d shifted the moment without giving you space to question it further. your lips pressed together briefly before you let out a soft huff under your breath, your steps picking up just enough to fall in beside him.

“…are you walking me home?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now, threaded with something almost curious.

he didn’t look at you when you spoke.

“don’t make it sound special.”

the response came just as easily as everything else he said—short, dismissive, stripped of anything that might’ve hinted at intention.

but he didn’t leave.

he didn’t slow down to let you walk ahead.

didn’t speed up to put distance between you.

he stayed exactly where he was—matching your pace without ever acknowledging that he was doing it, his presence steady at your side, close enough that you were aware of him without needing to look.

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

it settled around you both in a way that felt… natural. the sound of your footsteps blended together now, falling into the same rhythm, the quiet of the campus stretching out around you like a shared space rather than an empty one.

every now and then, your shoulders came just a little too close. not quite touching, but near enough that the space between you felt thinner than before. neither of you adjusted.

neither of you said anything.

and before you realized it, the familiar outline of your dorm building came into view, its entrance lit by a soft glow that spilled out onto the pavement, warm against the cool dimness of the night. the light brushed over both of you as you stepped into it, softening the edges of everything, making the moment feel quieter than it already was.

you slowed slightly as you reached the door, your hand hovering near the handle as you hesitated—just for a second.

“…thanks.”

the word came out softer than you expected, quieter, like it carried more weight than the situation technically called for.

sukuna’s gaze shifted away almost immediately, his jaw tightening just slightly as if the acknowledgment caught him off guard in a way he didn’t care to show.

“yeah.”

short.

dismissive.

but not careless.

you lingered for a moment longer, then pushed the door open, stepping inside as the warmth of the building wrapped around you. the door closed behind you with a soft click, the sound echoing faintly in the small entryway.

and outside—

sukuna stayed where he was.

just for a second.

two.

long enough to make sure you were fully inside, long enough for the light from the entrance to fade slightly as the door settled back into place.

only then did he turn, hands slipping back into his pockets as he walked away—his pace as steady and unhurried as it had been the entire time.

like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

even if, somewhere beneath that—

it had.

it settled into something quieter after that.

not dramatic, not sudden—nothing that demanded attention or forced either of you to stop and recognize it for what it was becoming. it didn’t announce itself, didn’t shift the air in any obvious way. instead, it softened everything around it, smoothing the edges of your interactions until they felt less like separate moments and more like a continuous thread running through your days.

it was in the small things first.

shared snacks that were never explicitly offered, never accompanied by a “do you want some?” or even a glance in the other’s direction. you’d pull something from your bag—chips, candy, something quick—and set it on the desk between you without thinking too much about it. and he’d take from it just as easily, without asking, without hesitation, like it was already understood that he could. sometimes it went the other way—his hand reaching into his own bag, pulling something out, setting it down in that same unspoken middle space. you never questioned it. never thanked him. just took what you wanted and kept going.

it was quiet.

easy.

like it had always been that way.

and then there were the moments that happened without eye contact, without acknowledgment, but never went unnoticed.

when your pen ran dry mid-sentence, your hand pausing just slightly as the ink faded into nothing, you wouldn’t even have to look up before another one slid across the desk toward you. the motion was smooth, absentminded on his part—like he wasn’t thinking about it, like it cost him nothing—but it always arrived at the right time, stopping just within your reach. you’d take it without a word, your fingers brushing briefly against the desk where his had been moments before, and continue writing like nothing had happened.

he never looked at you when he did it.

you never looked at him when you took it.

but it happened every time.

and when he drifted—because he did, more often than people realized—his attention slipping just enough for his gaze to lose focus, his posture loosening in a way that suggested his mind had wandered somewhere else entirely… you noticed. always.

your hand would move without much thought, nudging lightly against his arm, just enough pressure to pull him back without startling him. it wasn’t forceful, wasn’t insistent—just a quiet reminder, grounding him back into the moment before he missed something important.

he never thanked you.

never acknowledged it out loud.

but he’d straighten slightly, his attention snapping back into place, his focus returning to the lecture like the lapse had never happened.

and somehow, that was enough.

even outside of class, it followed you.

messages that started out short—dry, almost reluctant. a single sentence. a brief response. words that felt more like obligation than interest.

and yet—

they stretched.

slowly at first. replies coming a little quicker, a little longer. a second message sent before the first one had fully settled. conversations that should’ve ended continuing for no real reason other than neither of you choosing to stop them.

it wasn’t obvious.

not at first.

but it grew.

line by line. day by day.

until what started as something minimal—something that could’ve been nothing—became something that lingered, something that carried weight in the quiet spaces between everything else.

neither of you named it.

neither of you questioned it.

you didn’t sit down and define what this was, didn’t draw lines or set expectations or try to make sense of the way it had woven itself so seamlessly into your routines.

you just let it exist.

let it build.

let it settle into something that felt natural without ever needing to be explained.

and somehow—

that made it stronger.

because even without a name—

it kept growing anyway.

၄၃

“why do you hang out with me?”

it came out like it hadn’t been sitting in his mind for long—but there was something in the timing of it, the way it slipped into the quiet between you like it had chosen the exact moment you couldn’t avoid it. no warning. no lead-in. just a question dropped into the space as if it belonged there.

you paused where you were sitting on the campus lawn, the late afternoon light warm but fading, spilling gold across the grass in uneven patches. the ground beneath you was cool where your palms rested against it, blades of grass bending slightly under your fingers as a light breeze moved through. around you, the campus was softer than it had been earlier—less noise, fewer footsteps, the day slowly loosening its grip as it drifted toward evening.

you looked up at him slowly.

not startled.

just… curious.

“what kind of question is that?” you asked.

your tone wasn’t defensive. it didn’t rise or sharpen. it was simple, almost puzzled, like the question itself didn’t quite make sense in the shape of your understanding of him.

sukuna stood a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze fixed on you in that steady, unreadable way he had. the sunlight caught the edges of him, outlining his shoulders, his profile, the faint shift of his expression as he waited.

“a simple one,” he said.

you let the silence settle again—not uncomfortable, just present. your fingers absentmindedly picked at a blade of grass near your knee before you stopped, letting your attention fully lift to him.

you tilted your head slightly.

studying him.

not in the way people usually studied him—careful, wary, measuring distance—but like you were actually trying to understand the question instead of avoiding it. your eyes lingered on his face, not searching for danger or hidden intent, but something closer to meaning.

and that alone seemed to make the moment shift.

he didn’t look away.

you didn’t either.

after a pause that stretched just long enough to feel intentional, you spoke again.

“because you’re not as mean as you pretend to be.”

it was said gently. not teasing, not accusatory. just… matter-of-fact, like you’d been observing it for a while and had finally decided to say it out loud.

for a brief second, something changed in his expression.

subtle—but there.

a tightening, a shift in the angle of his gaze, like something in your answer had landed in a place he hadn’t prepared for. the ease in his posture didn’t disappear, but it sharpened at the edges, something more guarded slipping into place beneath it.

“you’re wrong,” he said.

flat. immediate.

but not dismissive.

your lips curved faintly, not in amusement exactly, but in something softer—something that didn’t challenge him so much as acknowledge him.

your eyes stayed on his.

steady.

“am i?”

the question wasn’t pushed. it didn’t demand a response. it just existed there between you, quiet and unforced, like you were leaving the space open for him to decide what to do with it.

sukuna didn’t answer.

didn’t correct you again.

didn’t argue.

he just stood there for a moment longer, gaze still fixed on you, the wind moving faintly through the grass around your feet, the world continuing on in its slow, unbothered rhythm.

and then—

he didn’t leave.

he simply stayed where he was, hands still in his pockets, eyes still on you, as if moving away would’ve required a decision he wasn’t willing to make.

so he didn’t.

he stayed.

၄၃

finals week wore you down faster than you ever expected it would.

it didn’t happen all at once—no sudden crash, no dramatic breaking point—but a slow, steady unraveling that crept in through missed hours of sleep and half-finished meals, through the quiet strain of trying to keep up with everything all at once. nights blurred into mornings, mornings into afternoons, until time itself felt thin and stretched, measured less by clocks and more by how many pages you had left to review. sleep became optional, something you told yourself you’d get later, something that slipped further out of reach each time you chose to keep going instead. meals turned inconsistent—quick snacks when you remembered, forgotten entirely when you didn’t.

you spent more time in the library than anywhere else.

it became your space without you realizing it—the same corner, the same table, surrounded by towering stacks of textbooks and loose papers that spread outward in a quiet kind of chaos. your notes were scattered, layered over each other, lines of ink interrupted by streaks of fluorescent highlighter that bled across the pages in uneven swipes. everything blurred together after a while—words, formulas, sentences you’d read three times and still couldn’t quite hold onto.

your eyes burned.

your head ached.

and eventually—

your body gave in before your mind did.

that’s how he found you.

slumped forward at your usual spot, your posture folded in on itself, your head resting against your arms in a way that looked less intentional and more like you’d simply run out of energy mid-thought. your pen was still loosely held between your fingers, tilted at an angle against the paper, as if you’d meant to keep writing and just… hadn’t.

for once—

you were quiet.

completely still.

no shifting, no absentminded movements, no soft sounds of turning pages or tapping your pen against the desk. the restless energy you usually carried had faded into something softer, something unguarded in a way he wasn’t used to seeing.

sukuna slowed a few steps away.

then stopped.

his gaze settled on you, lingering longer than he meant it to, longer than it should have. there was something different about you like this—something that didn’t match the version of you he’d grown used to. you looked smaller, somehow. not physically, but in the way your guard had slipped away without you realizing it, in the way your usual steadiness had softened into something quieter, more fragile at the edges.

he didn’t like it.

not because of you.

but because of what it did to him.

he clicked his tongue softly under his breath, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the library, irritation flickering briefly across his expression—but it wasn’t directed at you. not at the way you’d fallen asleep, not at the exhaustion written into the lines of your posture.

it was at himself.

still—

he stepped closer.

slowly.

quiet enough that the movement didn’t disturb the silence around you, his footsteps softened by the carpet beneath them. he paused at the edge of the table, his gaze flicking briefly over the scattered mess of your notes before returning to you, lingering again in a way that felt heavier now.

he didn’t think too hard about it.

didn’t give himself time to reconsider.

his hands moved almost on their own as he shrugged off his hoodie, the fabric shifting quietly as it slipped from his shoulders. for a second, he hesitated—just a fraction, barely noticeable—before leaning forward slightly and draping it over you.

carefully.

more carefully than he would’ve admitted.

the hoodie settled around your shoulders, the weight of it light but present, the warmth immediate as it wrapped around you. it carried the faint scent of him—clean, subtle, something familiar in a way that didn’t feel overwhelming, just… there.

you stirred almost instantly.

your lashes fluttered, your brow shifting slightly as your eyes opened just a fraction, unfocused at first as you blinked against the dim lighting. it took a second—maybe two—for your gaze to find him, for recognition to settle through the haze of sleep.

“…kuna?”

the nickname slipped out easily.

unfiltered.

soft in a way that only came from being half-asleep, your voice barely above a whisper as it reached him.

and he froze.

completely.

the sound of it hit something immediate, something unexpected, locking him in place in a way nothing else had. you’d never called him that before—never shortened his name, never softened it like that. it felt… different.

too different.

your lips curved faintly, your expression still blurred with sleep, your eyes barely open as you looked at him.

“you’re nice.”

the words came out just as easily.

just as soft.

and something in his chest tightened in a way he didn’t recognize, heat creeping up the back of his neck before he could stop it—unfamiliar, unwelcome, and entirely out of his control.

“shut up,” he muttered quickly, his gaze snapping away almost immediately, his jaw tightening as if the only way to deal with it was to cut it off before it could settle.

but he didn’t take the hoodie back.

didn’t move away.

he stayed.

and at some point, your eyes closed again, your breathing evening out as sleep pulled you under properly this time, the warmth of the fabric and the quiet of the library wrapping around you both in something softer than before.

when you finally woke again, it wasn’t all at once.

it came in slow, hazy pieces—awareness returning gradually, your senses catching up one by one as you shifted slightly, the stiffness in your neck making itself known first, followed by the faint rustle of fabric around your shoulders.

his hoodie.

you recognized it before you fully processed why it was there.

and then—

you looked up.

and realized the second thing at the same time.

sukuna was still there.

sitting across from you like he hadn’t moved at all, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his posture relaxed but his attention fixed—on you. his gaze was steady, quiet, unreadable in that familiar way, like he’d been watching longer than he intended to admit.

you blinked at him once.

then smiled.

softly.

genuinely.

the kind of smile that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t tease or push—just existed, warm and easy in a way that felt natural despite everything else.

and this time—

with the softest baby pink hue, he was the one who had to look away first.

copyright © t4kalcvr 2026 all rights reserved

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