#fuma fluff

your holy grail, the gym - the place you spent countless hours in, headphones blasting your playlist. you went so many times a week it was practically your second home. 

working out had become a habit of yours at the start of the year, it was the only new year’s resolution you had managed to follow through with. minding your business, headphones blasting a random playlist, it felt like the months flew by.

your schedule was steady, you went regularly, and your body was fit - and that’s how you liked it.

---

somewhere along the way, you started to notice a certain someone that worked out near your usual spot. the guy was handsome, and also ripped as hell, his triceps buff and his biceps even bigger. he kept to himself most of the time, only offering a small, brief smile on the occasion you made eye contact in the large mirror.

after the first sighting, you started to find him every time you went unintentionally - near the machines, outside the locker rooms, standing in the reception when you walked in. it was practically impossible to not see him. anytime you went, he was there, that same focused look on his face as he curled the heavy dumbbells. 

it was strange. you had never noticed him before, yet you knew he wasn’t a new member because he was friendly with the staff, familiar with the equipment. maybe fate had caused you to notice him. or maybe the guy’s insane muscles. either way, you weren’t complaining. he was a sight for sore eyes. yours, more specifically.

---

you were struggling to put the weights back on the bench press bar, your arms exhausted and weak.

“need some help?” a deep voice called, warm hands sliding over your wrists and guiding them to the bar. lifting your gaze to the person, you realise who it is - the guy you’ve been seeing everywhere.

“oh, um… thanks.” you mumbled, sitting up and wiping the sweat from your forehead. the guy chuckles, offering his hand to you. it was much larger than yours, with calloused knuckles and veins that ran down his forearm.

“i’m fuma. murata fuma. nice to meet you.”

you introduced yourself in return, taking his hand. his grip was strong, as you expected, his hand enveloping yours. a quick shake, and that tight squeeze was gone.

“are you a regular here? i feel like i haven’t seen you around before.” fuma asked, his gaze soft as he stared down at you. he hadn’t seen you before? but you’d sworn he had made eye contact with you in the past…

“yeah, i am. i haven’t seen you around here before either.” you replied, a small laugh escaping. what a liar you are. anything to not sound like a creep, you thought. it would be weird to admit that you had actually seen him around hundreds of times already, and were able to recognise him from the back of his head.

fuma hummed at your response, a hint of a grin visible on his lips.

“i see. well, hopefully i’ll see you around.” he began to back off, brushing a hand through his hair. “be careful with those weights, alright?”

“i will. see ya.”

you waved and he left, your eyes lingering on his buff figure as he walks away.

---

you started to talk with fuma more and more over the following weeks, growing more comfortable with each other. the two of you had started working out alongside each other, spewing words of encouragement at one another, sharing water bottles when the other’s had ran out.

fuma would offer you advice and support where he could, especially when it came to pull-up form and exercising your back muscles.

“here, let me help you.” he had offered, his large hands gripping your waist, pushing under your loose workout shirt as he gave you a boost to reach the bar. 

he’d count your reps, giving you tips on endurance and form, his hands sliding over your back, feeling how your muscles tightened for each rep. the touch made your skin burn.

when you reached 12 pull ups, your new record, fuma squeezed your shoulder, eyes trained on the trail of sweat dripping down your neck. 

“knew you could do it.” he said with a smirk, voice deep, his dark gaze lingering on your red face. “attagirl.”

everything about him drove you crazy, from his charming looks, his insane build, his endless support. you were screwed.

little did you know, fuma was in way deeper.

---

that same night, fuma was unable to sleep despite how exhausted he felt.

he was tossing and turning, all because he couldn’t get you out of his head. anytime his eyes closed, he’d see your face, your perfect body and how it moved. he could practically still feel how warm your skin felt in his hands, how your muscles moved under his grip.

fuma groaned, his body tense with desire for you - strong and relentless. it was hopeless.

all he wanted was you.

---

it was a hot friday evening, your workout had taken a toll on you. fresh out of the shower, you quickly put on your spare change of clothes in the locker room. much better, you thought.

you were brushing your hair when you heard the door hinges creak open, heavy footsteps echoed through the room. facing your locker, you couldn’t tell who it was, not until a wide shadow appeared above you, his breathless panting hitting the back of your bare shoulder.

“fuma?” you called, putting the brush in your bag and turning around. 

fuma looked… different, to say the least. his hair was dishevelled, his stance tense, and his eyes were dark, piercing. staring right at you.

before you had a chance to ask him what was wrong, his hands grabbed your shoulders, manhandling you roughly,  pushing you up against the wall. you let out a gasp of shock, quickly swallowed as fuma crashed his lips against yours. his large body completely towered over you, pinning you in place.

his lips moved over yours with nothing but desire encouraging him, his tongue pushing into your mouth. you kissed him back, your hands finding the thick trunks that were his arms. you could feel him smirking into the kiss, hands squeezing your ass before exploring over your body.

“fuck… ‘wanted this so fucking bad,” fuma groaned, breaking the kiss. his mouth was quick to find your jaw, the sensation of his hot, wet tongue dragging across your skin leaving goosebumps on your flesh. “wanted you so bad.”

“mmh, i wanted it t-too, fuma…” you whispered, the tone of your voice making fuma moan.

the two of you stay there, indulging in your desire for one another, completely unbothered by the risk of being caught by the staff.

all that mattered in the moment was you and fuma.

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but there’s one complication. fuma.

the first time you met him, it was casual — nicholas introducing you with that grin of his, “she’s our friend, she’s one of us, so be nice.” you laughed it off, bowing politely, thinking nothing of it. but then fuma looked up at you, and there was something in the way his eyes softened, the way his smile curved, that lodged itself somewhere deep in your chest.

and now, every time you’re over, it’s the same cycle. you’ll be sprawled on the couch next to euijoo, pretending to care about whatever show he’s got on, but your gaze always drifts. you catch yourself staring — fuma’s hair falling into his face while he laughs at something nicholas says, his hands moving gracefully when he gestures, the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

you think you’re subtle, but your heart doesn’t seem to agree. it pounds every time his shoulder brushes yours in the kitchen, every time he glances your way in the middle of a conversation.

you never talk much when he’s around. it’s not that you don’t want to — it’s that the words dry up in your throat, your shyness wrapping tight around you like a net. you’ll answer if he asks you something, always polite, but never daring to add more. and then you scold yourself later, lying awake in bed, thinking about all the things you could’ve said.

nicholas teases you sometimes. you’ll catch him giving you that knowing look when your eyes inevitably follow fuma across the room. you’ll hiss at him under your breath, “shut up,” cheeks blazing, but he just laughs, nudging you like an annoying older brother. euijoo isn’t much better, though he’s more subtle about it — the sly smile, the raised eyebrow when fuma happens to walk in and you immediately stiffen.

and fuma? god, you’re convinced he doesn’t notice. how could he? he’s older, more confident, carrying himself with that calm presence that makes everyone around him feel at ease. he’s always kind to you — offering you snacks when he’s cooking, making sure you have a blanket when the dorm gets cold — but you tell yourself that’s just who he is: kind, thoughtful, a natural caretaker, just like he acts with the rest of the group.

still, sometimes you wonder.

like the night you were all playing cards on the floor. you lost spectacularly, and nicholas was making a whole show of it, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. you were hiding your face in your hands, mortified, when fuma’s voice came, low and warm: “don’t tease her too much.” you peeked through your fingers to find him smiling at you, gentle, like he was on your side.

your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might actually throw up.

or the time you were scrolling through your phone on the couch and realized he was sitting across from you, watching something on his laptop. you kept stealing glances, thinking you were safe, when suddenly his eyes flicked up and locked on yours. you froze, deer-in-headlights, and he just… smiled. you looked away so fast your neck hurt, heart hammering against your ribs.

you tell yourself you’re just imagining it. that he probably smiles at everyone that way. but still, it lingers. the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he sees you too.

the crush eats at you in quiet moments. brushing your teeth, you’ll think about what it would feel like if he leaned down to kiss you. cooking ramen with euijoo, you’ll picture fuma wandering in, sliding his arms around your waist, murmuring something low in your ear. you know it’s hopeless, but the daydreams won’t stop.

and the worst part? the longing has started to bleed into everything. when he’s not around, you find yourself scrolling through clips of him, searching his face in group photos, listening too closely when nicholas casually mentions him. when you’re with him, you can barely breathe, trapped between wanting to disappear and wanting to stay forever.

you don’t say a word, it’s safer this way — to keep the crush tucked away in your chest. you’d rather suffer in silence than risk ruining the easy comfort you have with nicholas, euijoo, and the whole group.

still, every time fuma laughs, every time his eyes meet yours across the room, it feels less like a secret and more like a fire that won’t stop burning.

and deep down, a part of you wonders how much longer you’ll be able to keep it hidden.

it happens on one of those nights where the dorm feels too full — laughter spilling from every corner, euijoo and nicholas arguing over some game, music humming in the background. you’re curled up on the arm of the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but really you’re doing what you always do: sneaking glances at fuma.

he’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed, shoulders broad even in the loose hoodie he’s wearing. his hair falls forward as he focuses on whatever’s happening in front of him, but he pushes it back with those strong, veined hands, and your chest squeezes tight.

you think you’re being subtle. you always think you are.

but this time, when you look up, his eyes are already on you.

you freeze. caught.

he doesn’t look away. his gaze lingers, soft but steady, like he’s been waiting for you to finally notice. the noise of the room dulls in your ears, every sound swallowed by the sharp, fast pounding of your heart.

you tear your eyes back to your phone, cheeks blazing, hoping maybe he’ll just forget it happened. but then you hear it — your name, spoken in his voice. low. uncertain.

you glance up again, and he’s shifting closer, his large frame moving carefully, like he doesn’t want to startle you. he settles beside the couch, tilting his head up to catch your gaze, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees.

“can i… ask you something?” his words are hesitant, but his eyes are steady, searching yours.

you swallow hard. “y-yeah?”

he looks down for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek like he’s working up the courage. when he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost shy. “why do you… always look at me like that?”

your breath catches.

he must see the panic in your face, because he immediately waves his hands, stumbling over his own words. “ah, sorry, that sounded—i didn’t mean it in a bad way. i just… i notice. sometimes. a lot, actually.”

his ears are red. bright red, glowing against his pale skin. for someone built like him — tall, broad-shouldered, strong — he suddenly looks impossibly gentle, like he’s terrified of pushing you away.

you want to deny it. to laugh it off, to tell him he’s imagining things. but the way he’s looking at you — cautious, hopeful, like he already knows the truth — makes the words stick in your throat.

“i…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “i guess… i can’t help it.”

his eyes widen. for a moment, he just stares, lips parted, like the words short-circuited his brain. then, slowly, his expression shifts. his shoulders relax, his mouth curves, and the smallest, shyest smile spreads across his face.

“you… like me?” he asks, voice breaking a little on the last word.

you bury your face in your hands, mortified, but he laughs — soft, breathless, not mocking at all. “ah, don’t hide. please.” he gently tugs at your wrist, coaxing your hands away. “i just… i didn’t think… you’d ever feel that way about me.”

your heart stutters. “why not?”

his smile turns sheepish, his gaze dropping to his lap. “because you’re… you. and i’m… me. i’m not really good at this stuff.” he rubs the back of his neck, clearly flustered, but his words are honest. “i thought if i tried to talk to you more, i’d just mess it up.”

you blink at him, stunned. all this time you thought you were the only one tripping over your feelings.

“fuma…” you say softly, leaning down just a little, “you couldn’t mess it up.”

his head snaps up, eyes wide and shining, and for a moment he just stares, like he’s trying to commit the sight of you to memory. then, very carefully, he lifts one of those big hands and rests it near yours on the couch cushion. not touching, not yet — just close, an unspoken question.

you slide your fingers over his before you can second-guess yourself.

he exhales shakily, shoulders slumping in relief, his hand curling gently around yours.

the noise of nicholas and euijoo carries on in the background, oblivious, but in this little corner of the room, it feels like it’s only the two of you. fuma’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, tentative but tender, and he looks at you with that shy, boyish smile that makes your stomach flip all over again.

“so… you’ll keep looking at me,” he murmurs, voice almost teasing now, though still soft. “but maybe, this time, i can look back?”

your laugh is quiet, nervous, full of warmth. “yeah. i’d like that.”

and when his grip tightens just slightly, anchoring you there beside him, you realize you’re not the only one who’s been quietly longing all this time.

his extensive knowledge could only be explained by his own nerdiness, which made him a perfect fit for the job, a favorite in customer’s eyes when it came to asking for advice — whether it was regarding a gift for a friend or trying out a new series for the first time. no matter how unexpected or convoluted the question, fuma had the answer and was ready to share it.

as time passed, he learned to recognise some of the familiar, recurring faces amongst the store’s customers — a group of teenage girls who went to a nearby high school, the young boy who always talked to him about pokemon, the older lady who decided to pick up reading manga as a hobby after retiring from her job to have something to occupy herself with. 

and then of course, there was you.

he noticed you the first time you came through the door, the cold air from the outside gushing inside the store as you walked in, a winter appropriate outfit on, cheeks and nose slightly rosy from the cold. your eyes looked around the interior with pure curiosity — gaze scanning the shelves full of mangas, staring intently at every display, at the figurines and blindboxes, the pins and bag accessories. eventually, your gaze fell upon fuma: standing further inside the store as he conversed with a different client, his eyes meeting yours for a quick second as he mouthed a quiet ‘welcome’, lips curving up into a smile. oh, what a beautiful smile it was. 

that day, you asked him for the latest volumes of your favorite manga, only to find out the batch was supposed to arrive the next day. it wasn’t the end of your conversation, though — fuma seemed friendly and knowledgeable, so you decided to stay a few minutes longer, asking him questions about the town and its local specialties. only then did he learn that you had just moved here: which explained why he hadn't seen you before, why you had never stepped foot in this store before. 

you waved him goodbye with a promise to come in the next day. fuma made sure to hide a copy in the back of the store in case they were sold out when you arrived. 

ever since then, you have made sure to come over at least weekly — whether just to chat or buy something, a bright smile on your face whenever you saw fuma’s frame through the display windows. you’d even exchanged numbers with your newly made friend; under the pretext of being able to ask for local specialties whenever you’d like to try something new, but actually used to send each other pokemon memes and ask for new anime recommendations.

your friendship bloomed over the course of these past months, and yet at some point, your feelings started turning into a different direction — what started as an unlikely acquaintanceship between two people has turned into something far deeper, far more meaningful. his smile brought warmth to your cheeks, his texts more frequent and seemingly meaningless; talking about his day, funny things that happened at work, a new place opening up near the city mall that he wanted to try out. each time his name popped on your screen, your heart skipped a beat — but you didn’t dare do anything about it.

and poor old fuma, unbeknownst to you, was feeling the same way. hearing your laugh over the phone was enough to brighten up his whole day, the mere sound of your voice quickly becoming his favorite thing in the world. he started seeing you in everything — in the flowers from the shop he walked by on his way to work, in the shows he watched, in the places you’d mentioned to him in passing. but just like you, he didn’t utter a word about it. not to you, at least — far too afraid of ruining the perfectly good friendship you two had. 

there was someone, however, who was greatly annoyed by this whole situation. annoyed to see two people so obviously and utterly in love with each other with no desire to confess. 

byun euijoo.

‘both of you are as blind as it gets’ the orange haired boy murmured quietly as he restocked the shelves, the shop already closed. ‘you’re clearly head over heels for each other and neither of you will admit it. it’s infuriating.’ 

fuma just hummed in response, too busy with counting up the day’s earnings. it wasn’t the first time his friend has mentioned it. far from it, actually. euijoo was the first one to notice that soft, lingering tension between you two — the longing looks, the awkward laughs, the way fuma’s face lit up whenever you’d text him during work hours. to him and many others, your chemistry was as obvious as the fact that the grass is green. and yet, for some bizarre reason, the only two people unaware of the mutual feelings coming to life were the ones experiencing them. the world must’ve truly loved playing tricks on you. 

‘are you seeing her tonight?’ euijoo’s voice echoed throughout the empty store as he carried two boxes to put them in the back. 

‘yes.’

‘restaurant?’

‘no.’ fuma answered, his voice calm. ‘her apartment. one of her favorite shows just got a live action adaptation.’ 

euijoo nodded.

‘so it’s a date.’ he mumbled.

‘it’s a friendly meeting.’ fuma corrected. euijoo audibly groaned in response — hiding his face in his hands for a few seconds, as if his friend’s words filled him with unimaginable amounts of frustration.

‘friendly meeting. i’m sure it’ll be more than just friendly.’ euijoo’s words made fuma’s head turn immediately, the man shooting his friend a warning glare. euijoo only put his hands up in a defensive motion, a chuckle escaping his lips. ‘seriously, though. just ask her out — i’m sure she’ll say yes and then we will all be happy.’

‘we all?’ fuma questioned.

‘yes. you, her and me, because i won’t have to tolerate your stupidity anymore.’

your apartment was exactly what fuma expected it to look like. 

it was small but cozy — the space used to its full extent and yet still without the feeling of it being cluttered or untidy. it reminded him of a finished puzzle, the way everything had its designated spot, almost like a personalised museum of all your interests, all your hobbies. 

the warm light coming from various smaller lamps provided a nice ambiance in the living room, already prepared beforehand for fuma’s arrival. you had snacks, and drinks put down on the small, round table, the sofa covered with blankets. one particular item caught his attention, though. 

an eevee-shaped pillow. 

fuma liked to believe that there was no such thing as a simple key to his heart — that his affection could only be gained through mutual effort, through gestures and acts as opposed to just seeing something you have in common. and yet he was wrong, for the sight of that pillow alone was enough to make his heartbeat race. such a stupid, seemingly trivial thing, but for fuma that was enough. 

‘where’d you buy that?’ he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. you followed fuma’s gaze towards the pillow and giggled.

‘if you’re asking because you want to buy it, then you’re a tad bit too late.’ you answered, sitting down on the couch. fuma did the same — plopping on the empty space, legs spread just slightly as he got himself comfortable. ‘i got it at a convention in tokyo june of last year. i managed to snatch the last one.’

‘so it was you.’ he mumbled quietly, voice barely audible.

‘huh?’

‘i was there too.’ fuma explained, a small chuckle leaving his lips. ‘waiting in that line to buy one. they told me they sold out just a few minutes before i arrived — had to buy the umbreon one instead.’ 

‘oh.’

‘yeah.’

‘don’t tell me you stood in that line for an hour just for me to steal it from right under your nose.’ you muttered, suddenly very aware of the heat travelling to your cheeks. fuma nodded in response and it took everything in you not to disappear from embarrassment. ‘oh my god, i’m so-’

‘no apologising.’ he cut you off before you could finish your sentence, knowing exactly what words were about to leave your mouth. ‘i have a dozen other ones at home. besides, it fits your apartment better.’

‘are you sure?’ you asked, voice quiet.

‘i’m positive.’

you exhaled with relief, the idea of fuma not holding a grudge against you for it making you feel at ease. it was a stupid thought to begin with — you knew he wasn’t that kind of person whatsoever, so you truly had nothing to worry about. and yet for the split second of that idea getting into your head, you couldn’t help but worry about this somehow ruining your relationship with him. 

what a silly thought — fuma could never let such trivial things truly get between you two. 

you turned towards the tv, gaze focused on the screen as you searched up the live action adaptation you intended on watching with him today, completely unaware of the way his eyes still laid upon you. fuma didn’t stop looking at you for even a second — eyes sparkling with admiration as they lingered on your face, your side profile, the cozy sweater you wore around the house with a graphic from one of your favorite animes. he couldn’t help but smile to himself, the sight of you enough to make his heart melt completely. 

he thought back to euijoo’s words for a quick second — how obvious it is that the two of you are head over heels for each other and yet neither will admit it — and let himself ponder. having you here, so close to him, made his heart feel at ease, his mind rushing with ideas of what could’ve been had you actually been together, had he actually confessed. and yet despite those racing thoughts, there was still doubt lingering in the back of his head: euijoo was rarely wrong about those things, but there was always a probability of his claims ending up untrue. 

was the risk worth taking? was it better to speak or to remain in stagnancy?

‘hello, earth to fuma!’ you explained, brows slightly furrowed as you waved your hand in front of his face. ‘i think you zoned out for a hot minute.’ 

‘ah, yeah. sorry about that.’ he answered, eyes catching yours for a split second before he looked away. 

‘anything on your mind that you want to share?’ you asked, making yourself more comfortable on the couch, lips curving up into the softest and sweetest of smiles fuma has ever seen. ‘once we start watching i might be too invested to pause.’ 

fuma thought about his answer for exactly seven seconds. 

risk or stagnancy. but risks usually get rewards, don’t they?

‘i like you.’ he blurted out before he could mentally stop himself, the words so sudden and surprising they caught you off guard. ‘no, i love you. i don’t think i could possibly hold it in for any longer.’ 

‘oh.’

‘you don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel the same way. i guess i just- i needed to let it out.’ he added, suddenly very aware of your gaze on him, of the way his cheeks heated up with each passing second of complete silence. he was almost scared to look your way — unsure of what expression he’d see on your face, of what reaction you had to his words. 

the silence stretched. 

‘oh, fuma.’ you finally mumbled, words barely above a whisper. ‘you don’t know how long i wanted to hear that from you.’ 

he turned his head to face you, surprise painted on his face — which only deepened when he was met with your lips on his, a quick, unsure kiss which ended before he could even register what was truly happening. 

‘sorry for that.’ you said quickly, words jumbling together. ‘i guess i got a little too excited-’

fuma’s lips were back on yours, this time with more confidence and awareness from the man as they clashed into yours, a gasp escaping yours as he did so. despite the initial shock, you melted into the kiss almost immediately — letting fuma take the lead as your hand rested atop his chest, his own reaching for your waist as he tugged you closer to him, his grip on you gentle and delicate. 

he leaned away just slightly — unable to keep himself from smiling as he rested his forehead against yours, a small, awkward laugh escaping his lips. you couldn’t help but smile too, the sheer joy of finally being free of the burden of the hidden affection you held for him making you happier than you could ever possibly be. even more so when knowing he felt the same way. 

fuma didn’t let go, still holding you in his arms as the two of you got yourselves more comfortable on the couch. your body fit with his like a missing puzzle piece — almost as if you were made for each other, as if it was always meant to be like this. 

and maybe it was. maybe euijoo was right — this was never supposed to be just a friendly meeting.

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Murata Fuma

Girl dad

Perhaps my most controversial take but fuma is 200% a girl dad. He loves his daughter so much yall don’t get it.

He always swears that they need to get matching outfits, he is the first one to volunteer to do her hair, he takes her on daddy daughter date at the pokemon park.

He is just whipped for his daughter and spoils her rotten.

He is a very worried and protective type of dad, maybe even over-protective. That daughter of his is the second most precious person to him, after you and if there is one thing that is clear is that he does not plays about the woman and girl of his life.

Wang Yixiang

Twins

Nicholas is just an incredible father, competent and strong willed.

Preparing the bedrooms, doing the shopping, staying on top of the laundry…  

And when the twins, a boy and a girl comes ? The most whipped father ever. He loves them both calls them his little munchkins.

He is a very goofy father but the kids knows that no matter what he has their back. He is also a strong defender of quality time as a family. Wearing matching outfits, going to the park, playing the piano to the kids, taking you on dates while K babysits.

He also makes sure that both of the kids get the same education, not caring about social norms of fashion and social etiquette. His daughter wants to play football and son wants to learn ballet ? He lets them. What matters most to him is that they grow up learning they are loved, respected and cherished as they are.

Byun Euijoo

Girl dad

He wants a daughter. He loves his daughter.

The type of husband that cried during the gender reveal when he learned that it was a girl. The type that laid awake at night watching you and your 7 month old sleeping, thinking about the day she would get married and sobbing silently.

The type of dad that is just so sweet and tender that every woman around you is jealous that you have such an incredible husband and dedicated father to your child.

🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸

All rights reserved © peonienicho 2026, do not copy/translate my work.

He frowns at the empty state of the house. He's not used to it and isn't particularly fond of being alone either. You've been a pair for so long that nothing feels like home unless you're beside him. Coziness turns dreary and familiarity feels almost foreign without you. Four years of marriage will do that to anyone.

He's hit immediately with a pang. He misses you already. However, there's nothing to do to speed up your return but fall into the usual routine, accepting the unfamiliar quietness of it all in your absence. He hopes you'll be home soon as he picks up your slippers and straightens the blankets.

Two hours later, and you're still not back. Fuma has already brushed his teeth and showered. Clad in soft pyjamas that aren't quiet warm enough, as if anything could compare to your hugs. The bed is empty, uninviting, and cold, but Fuma slips under the covers anyway. He has a feeling sleep won't come easy.

After twenty minutes, he texts you. No response. His mind flickers to all the times you've waited for him in bed, complaining and protesting his late work schedules leaving the bed empty. He always made it up to you, but until now, he didn't understand how truly miserable it must be for you most nights. No wonder you can rarely sleep without his arms wrapped around you.

He knows you. You always respond to his texts immediately if you can, which makes him think that your phone must have died. You never remember to charge it before leaving for work, and this morning was extra hectic for you. Fuma is completely out of luck.

He sighs, perhaps a bit more dramatically than necessary, and feels around for your pillow on the other side of the bed. It's not perfect, but it'll have to do for now. He hugs it to his chest and closes his eyes. It smells just like you. If he can just trick his brain into thinking it is you, he might be able to sleep.

The house is dead silent when you get home at almost 11PM. You're exhausted from the long day, frustrated that your phone had died before dinner, and in desperate need to be back in your husband's arms where all annoyance sheds away. The promise of falling asleep in his arms gives you the energy you need to make it to bed. You drop your bag and shed layers as you walk across the house, bee-lining it for your shared bedroom.

You switch on the lamp as you pull your shirt off, leaving you in only your bra and pants. Your husband is already in bed, and you quickly note that he's hugging your pillow, cheek squished against it and a pitiful pout on his face. His eyes flash with longing as soon as you flicker the light on and he sits almost immediately.

"You're finally home!" The excitement in his voice betrays the tiredness of his body, and you can't help but laugh in endearment.

"Sorry I'm back home so late—glad to know someone missed me," you quip with a grin, grabbing a set of pyjamas and a towel from the closet.

"You showering?" he asks, and you swear you hear something resembling disappointment in his tone.

"What? You want to cuddle me while I'm stinky? I'm flattered, but I think you'll like me better once I'm clean," you call back, turning on the shower-head.

"The bed is cold," he mumbles in complaint, plopping down again and hugging your pillow extra tight. You snicker as you let your hair fall from your up-do and run your fingers through it.

"I'm sure I have no idea what that must be like," you peek through the open door to wink at him, smile widening when you hear him groan and spew out more complaints mixed with a few apologies for all the past nights he kept you waiting—he really didn't know how bad it was.

Fuma is, without a doubt, a patient man, but even he has his limits. He thinks another fifteen minutes without you in his arms might just kill him. It goes by incredibly slow, and his patience has almost wilted completely when you finally step out.

All is right again when you fall onto your side of the bed. Fuma wastes no time wrapping you up in his arms. Your skin is still warm from the hot shower and your hair is still wet, but he doesn't care and still nuzzles as closely as possible.

You don't miss the opportunity to tease him about how clingy he's being after waiting for you for three hours, but you're quickly shut up by his lips. Your husband insists it isn't a crime to miss his wife like crazy, and you can't argue with him on that.

Sleep falls between you two fast when you finally relax into his arms, safe and comfortable, right where you belong.

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the flowers swayed side to side, dancing in joy as rain finally seeped into their roots, coating every fiber of their stems. the gentle pickup of wind messed with fuma's bangs, sweeping them to the sides of his head. the bench he sat on was drenched; droplets of water dripped onto the ground as they collectively made their way toward the public drain.

dejavu hit him like a brick. two years ago, on that same stormy day, he had sat on this same drenched bench, head lifted to the sky as each drop of water kissed his face. fuma felt lost, unable to get rid of the fog that followed him.

his solution: an aimless walk, where he only stopped walking when his legs couldn't carry him anymore. he sat on a nearby bench. his chest felt lighter, making it easier to breathe. he remembers hearing a soft meow, followed by a loud pspsps.

he turned his head and found you on your knees in front of the bench on the other side of the garden that separated the two of you. an umbrella lay thrown to the ground. a cat cowered underneath the bench, frightened by a sudden crack of thunder. fuma recalls helping you catch that cat, grabbing it briefly by the scruff of its neck before holding it in his arms like a newborn.

you'd thanked him profusely, hands reaching out to pet the tiny cat in fuma's arms, scolding the guilty one for running away so suddenly.

he put the cat back in your arms, telling you not to worry about it. fuma knew who you were. you lived down the street from him, and you knew of each other through a mutual friend.

the small cat meowed once more as he shoved his head in between your elbow and left side of your ribs. an escape artist, you'd said, he always wants to go outside, and yet he can't handle a little rain.

your giggle echoed in his head like a soft melody lulling him to sleep. for the first time in a while, he'd gone back home feeling full. he hadn't eaten that day, but his fast-thumping heart, his once restless mind now quiet, and his newly found smile were enough to satiate him that day.

entry no. 8

today began with nothing and ended with everything. that girl i've only seen for a handful of times brought my smile back. my cheeks hurt, and my jaw is tight, but i don't mind the pain since it's evidence that i can smile. i can feel joy and happiness.

it'd been too long since i last thought about those words.

the notebook in fuma's hands fell to the ground, pages now splotched with mud and water. his hands covered his head as he tried to block out the ringing sound in his ears. his bangs clung onto his eyes, obscuring his vision of the concrete under his feet. eyes shutting, blinking once then twice, unable to differentiate between his own tears and the rain that poured down on him.

his hunched figure straightened, turning to look at that same bench where he held a real conversation with someone truthful. where he finally enjoyed talking to someone without pretending.

he's been sitting here since dawn broke, waiting to catch a glimpse of you. he isn't brave enough to ask his friend about you, not when he owes you his smile. so he keeps his distance, not wanting to be too much on anyone.

fuma bends to grab his now muddied notebook. the page he had open is now filthy, words unreadable.

he'll be back tomorrow.

entry no. 49

i've gone to that bench from dawn to noon, waiting for her. she never showed. i've walked down the street, taking the long way to the grocery store, and i've never seen her look out her balcony like she normally does.

i reached out to yuma. i couldn't stop myself. i had to ask about her. she's fully consumed me.

she traveled on a scholarship for her master's.

i'm glad she isn't avoiding me.

two droplets of water raced to the finish line on fuma's iced drink. fuma internally cheered for the left droplet as it passed the right one almost halfway.

the jingle of the cafe's bell got his attention. he saw his dear friend, yuma, walk in, eyes scanning the café before landing on fuma who had his hand slightly raised. a smile spread on fuma's face, pointing to the chair across him.

"nice café, man." yuma sighs as he relaxes in his chair. his red cap laying on the table as he ordered a hot coffee.

yuma glanced at the drink in front of fuma, jutting his chin toward it, "i've never seen you drink a latte before."

fuma hums, taking a sip from his drink. "now, you have."

yuma rolls his eyes at him, smirk playing on his face.

"anyway, i have some good news and some not-so-good news."

"i'd like the not-so-good first, then."

"she's coming here."

fuma stills, heart squeezing as he tries to stop his mind from racing.

"who's coming?" fuma questions carefully, looking at the mischievous cat sitting in front of him. yuma reminded him of that one cat from the garden.

"that's the good news," right after he says your name, fuma feels his surroundings grow quiet. he couldn't stop staring at his friend sitting in front of him, suddenly jumping up from his seat.

fuma's knees hit the table, almost knocking over both drinks on yuma if it weren't for the latter's quick reflexes.

"can you relax?" yuma whisper-shouts, pulling his awestruck friend back down. but to no avail, fuma has practically turned to stone. his eyes lock onto the café door, waiting to hear that bell jingle, to see your figure walk through it.

"she just landed, fuma. chill the fuck out." yuma snaps him out of his trance with a pat on the shoulder.

fuma looks at him, then at his own shoulder, then back at yuma. "right. of course. yeah." he clears his throat.

fuma takes another sip of his drink, ears glistening red as realization washed over him. he can't believe he showed how desperate he is for you.

yuma chuckles, taking a sip of his own drink, "i'm glad you're feeling better, now."

"i've been better for a year." fuma cocks an eyebrow at him, but yuma shakes his head.

"i meant that you're better at accepting your own feelings. at moderation, at that."

fuma replies with another hum, telling him about his therapist and the help his diary has provided. in the middle of talking, fuma hears the jingle. his eyes shoot behind yuma, heart almost in his throat now.

there you are.

sunglasses on your head, pushing your hair out of your face. your eyes squinting as you tried to look for that familiar blond head that told you to come here right after you landed.

all you wanted to do was hit the bed, but you know how sulky this cat-like man can get, so you couldn't pass on it.

as your eyes kept scanning the café, you saw a familiar face. that same face two years ago holding onto your cat with a slightly amused face as you yapped his ear off. it was now brighter. fuller.

"fuma?" you walked up to the table. yuma looked up at you instead in amusement, considering how fast you got here.

fuma's voice caught in his throat, suddenly dry from the shock of seeing you after so long.

on fuma's drink, another two droplets raced to the bottom, only to be conjoined as one, passing the finish line together.

he cleared his throat once more, saying your name in that soft tone of his, now much more full of life. your smile shined bright, contagious as it spread to his own face.

"don't flirt in front of me. i get jealous, you know." yuma's pouty voice broke the soft eye contact exchanged between the two of you.

your giggle sounded in his ear, that same chime that made him smile now made him laugh.