#hiro hamada

"Class, let me introduce you to my TA. He will be assisting me starting this year, so if you have any questions when I am unavailable, you may ask him."

It was only then that you turned your attention to the dark-haired man standing at the side of the room. He stepped up to the lecturer’s podium beside her, giving a shallow bow in greeting.

Your stomach dropped.

Your mouth parted in shock, and it was pure luck that you managed to compose yourself before a scandalized gasp slipped out.

Across the room, Hiro smirked.

For a brief moment, you weren’t in that lecture hall anymore. You were back in a dark club, strobe lights flashing in chaotic bursts, drowning in the pulse of heavy bass. Heat pressed against your skin—his hands, his breath, the dizzying scent of sweat and cologne. Fragments of black hair, dark eyes, and fevered kisses flickered through your mind like a half-remembered dream.

"Hey, (Y/N), isn’t that the dude you gave a lap dance to?"

Your friend’s voice shattered the moment.

You whipped around so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

"What?! First of all, I didn’t give him a lap dance!" you hissed, barely resisting the urge to slap a hand over her mouth.

But it was too late. The rest of your so-called friend group had already spun around in unison, looking between you and Hiro with scandalized delight.

"That’s him?! Damn, I can barely recognize him in fluorescent lighting!"

"Shut up! Do you guys want the entire student body to hear?!"

At your pointed hiss, they turned back to their screens, tittering like middle schoolers rather than university students. You exhaled sharply, heart hammering as you cautiously glanced back toward the podium.

Hiro hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

One Week Ago...

You were supposed to be having fun.

Finally, after months of waiting, you were stepping into a club for the first time at the ripe age of eighteen. Your friends had painstakingly crafted fake IDs, using a 3D printer to create laughably inaccurate replicas, but somehow, they worked. No questions asked, no second glances from the bouncer.

You should have been thrilled.

You weren’t.

Maybe you should have known tonight was doomed when you burned your hand curling your hair. Or when you got cornered into being the one to call the Uber. Or—most damning of all—when you spotted your ex within seconds of walking in, an unfamiliar girl hanging off his arm.

For a moment, you froze.

What was he even doing in San Fransokyo?

Would he tell the bouncer you were underage? He was petty enough to do it. But then again, so were you, and you knew for a fact that he wasn’t of age either. It was a stalemate, but the sight of him still soured your mood.

It was weird. You weren’t shy about partying. Back home, you had been a wild child—always the first to start trouble, never the first to back down. In fact, you’d been looking forward to tonight, ready to show off your new miniskirt.

But now, staring at the hoards of people dancing under flashing lights, all you wanted to do was go home.

Was this homesickness? Or were you just… depressed?

Your so-called friends certainly weren’t helping.

"Come on, (Y/N), don’t be such a buzzkill," one of the girls slurred, already too drunk to pace herself.

You swallowed the sting of her words and instead focused on how she could barely stand straight. Maybe if you convinced the others she needed to leave early, you could slip out, too.

But another girl groaned. "Seriously, your bummed-out face is bringing everyone down."

You forced a smile, pretending their words didn’t dig under your skin like splinters.

They weren’t really your friends. Just dormmates who had grown up together, their circle already established long before you entered it. You should have been grateful they let you in at all.

But they weren’t the friends you had growing up.

"Here, something to take the edge off," one of them said, shoving a shot glass into your hand.

If she had been one of your friends back home, you might have heard the concern in her tone—an attempt to help you loosen up, have a good time. But this was the same girl who had looked you up and down earlier and said, "You're wearing that?" in that perky, passive-aggressive tone of hers.

You didn’t even know how she was smart enough to get into SFIT. With any luck, she’d burn herself out from drinking and partying all the time, flunk out, and you’d never have to see her smug, sour-puss face again.

Until then, you were going to shovel as many drinks into your mouth on her tab and conveniently “forget” to pay her back.

This was what she got for making you call two Ubers for this abnormally large friend group and then forcing you to squeeze into the backseat because she called shotgun. Screw calling shotgun—you’d just spent seventy dollars on cab fare.

You briefly recalled your older sister’s advice before you moved here: Never order the fruity, cutesy cocktails unless you’re stopping at one drink. They’ll get you shitfaced.

Well, too bad. A $22 piña colada was exactly what you needed right now.

The bass thumped in your chest, a heavy, thrumming beat that made the floor beneath your heels feel alive. The club was packed, neon lights flashing in dizzying patterns, and for a moment, you felt weightless—lost in the music, in the warmth of your friends, in the sweet burn of your drink.

Until a hand wrapped around your wrist.

"(Y/N), hey," Your ex said, leaning in too close, his breath fanning against your ear, "Been trying to get your attention all night."

You rolled your eyes, tugging your wrist free, "That's funny because I haven't noticed you at all."

He laughed, like this was some kind of joke, like you were playing hard to get instead of just not interested, "Come on, let’s talk. Just five minutes."

"I don’t want to talk."

"Why are you acting like this?" His voice dipped, frustration creeping in, and you could already tell—he wasn’t going to back off easily, "I'm trying to give you a chance to get back together."

You sighed, glancing around, pulse spiking with something sharper than annoyance. Where were your friends?

"God, why can’t you just take a hint?” You bemoaned, yanking your wrist free from his loose grasp and stalking off without a second glance.

Your eyes scanned the club, searching for an escape, when they landed on a man sitting alone at a large table. Poor thing looked all by himself. He probably needed some cheering up.

And, more importantly, you needed to get rid of your ex.

The solution was obvious. He’d understand, right?

Plus, you were clearly trying to get out of a conversation with your ex-boyfriend, so he’d be willing to pretend to make out with you to turn him away, right? I mean, that was the standard procedure.

Except it wouldn’t be so much a pretend makeout—because it would be real. But you were going to pretend you knew him.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you strode over and plopped into his lap.

His head tilted slightly in confusion, dark eyes meeting yours, but you didn’t give him a chance to ask questions.

“I’m gonna kiss you now!” You announced—probably unnecessary, but hey, a little warning was the polite thing to do.

And then you did.

For a second, nothing happened. You barely registered how long that moment lasted before his lips moved against yours, warm and firm. Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands settled on the curve of your hips. He tasted like coffee with the faintest hint of beer, wrapped in the fresh scent of cologne and a whisper of rubbing alcohol.

Your tongue flicked into his mouth, letting him taste the lingering traces of fruity cocktails and cherry lip gloss.

And just like that, your ex was forgotten.

You kept kissing him, hands easily finding his hair, tugging him closer so that his lips fit better against yours. The alcohol had long since dulled your other senses, but your skin felt like it was on fire, heat spreading down your neck and chest. At the same time, the way he kissed you was so restrained, so gentle and cozy, that you wanted to crawl into his hoodie and take a nap.

Oh, pretend boyfriend, you're the best.

Of course, your friends had to ruin it. Somehow, their voices managed to cut through the music and the haze in your mind.

"Y/N! The Uber's outside!"

Oh, for goodness’ sake. The second you were actually having fun, now they wanted to leave? A part of you wanted to ignore them and keep kissing this handsome stranger. He was handsome, right? Otherwise, why would you be in his lap? Though, to be fair, you had barely looked at him before pouncing.

Still, almost on instinct, you started to pull back, reducing the pressure in your kisses until both of you finally broke apart, lips wet, breaths uneven. You pressed a few lazy kisses against his cheek and temple.

"Bye, cutie." You murmured.

And then you stood up and drunkenly climbed into the backseat of the Uber like it was a clown car.

Class had ended, but you were still pretending to organize your notes like your life depended on it, hoping Hiro would take the hint and leave the room to go do his adult TA things—or whatever he wanted to concern himself with that did not involve ruining your very short university experience.

But of course not. He stood at the door, diligently greeting each student like he was the friendly neighborhood TA instead of your personal walking humiliation.

You shifted in your seat, rearranged your laptop charger again—this time slower, with the careful precision of someone knitting a sweater while underwater. Maybe if you just stayed here long enough, he’d get bored and go. Maybe he had a meeting. Or office hours. Or something.

And then you felt it—that shift in the air. Like the heat of embarrassment had physically manifested behind you.

“Hey. (Y/N), right?”

Your spine locked up. Your blood froze.

You turned slowly, as if he were a bear and sudden movement might trigger an attack.

There he was.

Hiro Hamada.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed, leaning just enough to look effortlessly casual. His black hair was still a little tousled, like he hadn’t even tried to fix it after class. His expression? Infuriatingly smug.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw your face today,” He said, head tilting slightly like he was studying a rare bug in a glass case, “Small world, huh?”

You blinked at him. Hard.

“…Sorry. Do I… know you?”

He didn’t even flinch. In fact, he looked delighted.

“Wow. Ice cold. That’s how we’re playing this?”

You let out a laugh—sharp and awkward and high-pitched enough to haunt you for the next six years, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His smile grew, like watching you combust in real-time was the most entertaining thing he’d seen in weeks.

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest in mock injury. “That hurts. After everything we shared. I thought what we had was special.”

You immediately looked around, heart crawling up your throat like it was trying to escape your body, “Lower your voice!”

“Why?” He asked innocently, leaning in ever so slightly, “I thought you didn’t remember a thing.”

You wanted to evaporate. Just poof—gone. Turn into mist. Fade into the carpet. Something.

“Can we just—” You dragged a hand over your face, “Please pretend that didn’t happen.”

He took a sip from his coffee like he was sipping on your embarrassment, “I mean… I could. But the only reason I took this job was to witness some juicy college drama. Didn’t even have to wait long.”

You glared at him, which only made him grin wider. The worst part was he looked so genuinely happy. Like this wasn’t just fun for him—it was a gift.

“Please tell me you’re not the one grading our quizzes.”

“Oh, I absolutely am.” He nodded, delight dancing in his eyes, “Sorry though—I won’t bump up your grade just because you’re a good kisser.”

You blinked, “I—excuse me?!”

“I have morals,” He added, like that explained anything. Then, after a beat: “Mostly.”

“This is the worst day of my life.” You muttered.

“Hey,” Hiro said, clearly savoring your pain, “Look on the bright side—you made quite the first impression.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, emotionally battered, and spiritually flattened.

“Anyway,” He called over his shoulder, "See you next class, (Y/N).”

And with that, he walked off—cool, unbothered, victorious.

You, meanwhile, sat there in stunned silence, still clutching your charger and wishing it would magically turn into a noose.

The last thing you wanted to do was work in the campus library. It was way too quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like a caged animal. You weren’t about to spend your entire university experience trapped within its walls, suffocating under artificial lighting and the recycled breath of stressed-out students.

So, whenever you could, you worked outside—somewhere with fresh air that hadn’t already been inhaled by another engineering major.

The Lucky Cat Café was perfect. Close to campus, never too crowded, free WiFi, and comfortable seating. Plus, Cass, the woman who ran it, was an absolute sweetheart—always saying you reminded her of her nephew, slipping you pastries on the house, and outright refusing your tips with a dismissive wave.

You should’ve known it was too good to last.

Because when you strolled up to the counter, fully expecting to see Cass, you were instead met with him.

Hiro Hamada.

Your stomach dropped like a lead weight as he turned around, apron tied around his waist, a knowing smirk spreading across his face the second he registered your horror.

“What can I get you?” He asked, far too smug for your liking.

You rattled off your usual order, barely making eye contact, fumbling to shove your card into the reader. He chuckled as he turned away to start preparing your drink, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“So… you work here too, huh?” You asked, attempting nonchalance and failing miserably, “Must be hard balancing both. When exactly do you work here?”

Hiro glanced over his shoulder, smirk widening, “Why? So you can come when I’m not working?”

You scoffed, “Oh noooo, of course not!”

He laughed, tamping down the coffee grounds before clicking the portafilter into place, “Well, you’re out of luck. Not only does my aunt own the place…” He pulled the shot, unbothered, like he wasn’t about to ruin your life, “I also live right upstairs.”

Your face fell, “You’re joking.”

“Not, cutie.”

Midterms were eating you alive.

Your desk back at the dorm was a graveyard of empty coffee cups and crumpled notes, and the library was too quiet—like every shuffle of your pen was amplified and judged by some invisible jury. So you’d migrated to the Lucky Cat Café. It wasn’t your regular spot when you wanted peace and quiet—especially because of a certain TA who liked to tease you endlessly—but you’d long since learned that Hiro’s teasing had very little weight behind it. He just liked seeing you squirm. Once you made peace with the fact that he wasn’t going to blow up your entire life, he was, occasionally, a friendly presence.

That had nothing to do with why you’d come to the Lucky Cat for midterms. No—this decision was purely practical. The library was crawling with smelly, sleep-deprived students on the verge of breakdown, and your dorm had been less-than-peaceful ever since your roommate got a boyfriend. You’d think for someone who spent so much time face-down on a pillow, they’d at least try to muffle it.

Except tonight, even the cozy glow of the lamps and the smell of espresso couldn’t calm the knot in your stomach. You had three exams in forty-eight hours, and no amount of caffeine was going to save your sleep-starved brain from the slow-motion train wreck that was your study schedule.

Your head was in your hands, staring down a page of practice problems that might as well have been written in ancient Greek. Numbers blurred together, formulas swam in and out of focus, and your brain threatened to shut off entirely.

Honestly, at this rate you’d benefit from a nap more than continuing to study. At least then you’d fail the exam well-rested.

“You’re overcomplicating it.”

You flinched, snapping your head up—only to see Hiro, smirking faintly from behind the counter, his apron still tied loosely around his waist.

“Don’t sneak up on me/” You muttered, dragging a hand down your face.

“I didn’t sneak,” He said as he walked over and slid into the chair across from you without asking, “You just haven’t been paying attention to me for hours now, which, by the way, is very hurtful.”

You groaned, “I’m too tired for this, Hiro.” You’d long since stopped calling him Mister Hamada—too many syllables.

He scanned the sheet with practiced ease, eyes darting quickly across the equations. Then he pointed with his pen, voice calm and matter-of-fact. “Look—cancel this term, substitute here, and then it reduces cleanly. See?” He scribbled the steps neatly in the margin.

You stared.

You clutched your hair, teetering on the verge of a meltdown. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m gonna fail and then I’m gonna dig a hole in the ground and just await death.”

You peeked at him from behind your hands, cheeks burning despite your exhaustion. He didn’t look smug this time—only quietly amused, chin resting on his hand, watching you with something like fondness.

“At least we’re not overreacting.” He said, deadpan.

“Hiro, I’ve been staring at this problem for thirty minutes and it was a fucking substitution. I’m going to fail my exams.”

“You’re just tired,” He replied, “You’ve been here for hours without a single break. I thought you would’ve taken the hint when your laptop overheated and killed itself.”

“That piece of junk was weak.” You huffed, glaring at the offending pile of plastic and betrayal.

“It needed a good nap. So do you.” He pushed a bottle of water toward you, "Drink this. And then go home and get some sleep. Staring at the paper like it's going to teach you something through osmosis is just wasting your own time."

You uncapped the bottle, glaring at him over the rim as you took a begrudging sip, “You just want me to leave.”

“I can’t deny that I’m not anxious for the stench of stressed college student to finally clear out of the café and allow another paying customer to sit here,” He said matter-of-factly, “Especially since you ordered a single coffee and pastry and then parked yourself here for five and a half hours.”

You flushed, suddenly apologetic, “You’re right, sorry. I’ll—uh—take a box of muffins to go, please.”

He rolled his eyes and reached over to ruffle your hair, “Don’t give me more work. If you really feel guilty, then go home and go straight to bed.”

“So pushy.” You muttered.

“Get used to it,” He said with mock solemnity, tapping his pen against your notebook before sliding it back to you, “Here’s the deal: pack it up for tonight, get at least five hours of sleep, and tomorrow I’ll sit down with you and we can work through some practice papers together. I’ll even bring flashcards if you ask nicely.”

You blinked at him, caught between disbelief and suspicion, “You’d… actually do that?”

He looked straight at you, expression steady, “It is technically my job, (Y/N).”

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he shrugged, trying—and failing—to hide the upward curl of his mouth, “Don’t read too much into it. I’m just trying to protect my grading curve. Can’t have your zero tanking my very first semester as a TA.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself, “Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

And before you could come up with another excuse, he gathered half your mess into a neat stack, slid it into your bag, and pushed it across the table, “C’mon. Go. I’ll walk you out. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can stop babysitting you.”

“And yet,” You said, stuffing your papers into your bag, “you’re offering to babysit me again tomorrow.”

He grinned, not even pretending to deny it this time, “Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

The exam room doors swung open, and students poured out like prisoners being released. Most of them looked half-dead, dragging their feet and muttering curses under their breath.

Honestly, you didn’t feel that great either—the paper was brutal, and you had flat-out guessed on more than a few. Still, at least you’d managed to finish in time to go back over your answers, a feat many of your classmates hadn’t achieved. You’d even heard someone audibly gasp in the last five minutes when they realized there was a fifteen-point calculation question waiting for them at the very end.

Stepping into the sunlight after hours under suffocating fluorescent bulbs that felt more psychiatric ward than classroom, you blinked hard, stretching your shoulders. A few minutes later, the professor exited, exam papers stuffed in his bag. He was immediately swarmed by students, all clamoring for partial credit and mercy curves.

Beside him, Hiro slipped out with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, looking irritatingly relaxed. Afterall, he was only a witness to the absolute torture that happened inside that room. The crooked smile on his face grew the second his eyes landed on you, and he broke away from the crowd without hesitation.

“Someone looks happy." He remarked, stopping in front of you.

You chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I had a little trouble on the rotational dynamics problem—you know, the one with the pulley system?—but overall, I think I did pretty well. I definitely passed.”

Hiro’s grin widened, equal parts smug and impressed, "I'm sure did more than that. Afterall, having an amazing tutor such as myself is practically a guarantee for a perfect score."

You scoffed, heat creeping into your cheeks, “Don’t push it. I’m not about to jinx myself.”

“Mm-hm,” He hummed, never one to not tease you, “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to grade yours extra harshly—just to keep you humble.”

You rolled your eyes, “Wow, thanks."

“Anytime,” Hiro said, unbothered, as the crowd of groaning students buzzed around you both, “That’s what I’m here for.”

You snorted, shaking your head, already half-turning like you were going to escape before he teased you anymore. But Hiro wasn’t done.

“So,” he drawled, falling into step beside you, “what’s the plan for celebrating a job well done?”

You hummed, trying to sound nonchalant, “My friends and I are planning on going out tonight. Do as many shots as we had espressos for the last week.”

Something flickered across his face—amusement laced with just the faintest trace of disapproval, “Clubbing, huh? Try not to get too drunk. Wouldn’t want you falling into someone else’s lap.”

Heat of embarrassment flushed through you, rushing up your neck and painting your cheeks and ears bright red. Without thinking, you jabbed a finger into his side, “I told you to stop bringing that up here!”

Hiro let out a quiet laugh, "Oh come on, I get such little joy from this job."

You groaned, trying to shove down the flutter of nerves his voice always managed to bring out. God, you were such a masochist.

He leaned slightly closer, voice lowering into something softer, more practical. “Hey, seriously though… if you need anything tonight—need someone to pick you up—call me. Don’t be stubborn.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity behind the tease. “Uh… yeah, okay,” you mumbled, tucking the thought away even as your stomach did little flips.

“No problem. Seriously,” He said, voice calm but playful, “Just don’t end up in anyone else’s lap, alright?”

You groaned again.

Wasabi peeked his head into the classroom, immediately greeted by his old professor. He’d insisted more than once that he could come by any other time—he really didn’t want to interrupt during class—but the professor had waved him off, assuring him that the students would be too absorbed in their work to need much supervision.

So Wasabi smiled politely, exchanging warm formalities, even chuckling when the professor joked about whether he missed his student days.

His laugh faltered.

Because across the room, Wasabi spotted a very familiar head of hair.

Of course he’d known Hiro had taken on a temporary job as a TA this semester—but he hadn’t realized he’d be walking in during one of Hiro’s classes.

There he was, standing over a student who was hunched over a circuit board, carefully soldering. From where Wasabi stood, Hiro should’ve been focused on the circuitry. Nodding at their explanation. Correcting their hand position. Doing TA things.

But instead… Hiro was staring.

Not at the project. At her.

His eyes locked onto you, his posture loose but intent, and there was a crooked smile tugging at his mouth—one Wasabi had never seen on him before. It was soft. Fond.

Wasabi blinked, almost disbelieving what he was seeing.

And then you looked up, your expression expectant, clearly hoping for Hiro’s approval. And Hiro—caught in the act—shifted his gaze back to the board with lightning speed, nodding quickly, pretending he’d been paying attention the whole time.

Still, Wasabi saw the way Hiro leaned in, pointing out a connection, voice low, his eyes flicking back toward you with the tiniest linger before he forced himself to focus again.

What shocked Wasabi more was you—you didn’t shrink away. Didn’t flinch at the close proximity. You were comfortable with it. Relaxed, even. Like you were used to Hiro being in your space.

Wasabi’s brows shot up, his brain stuttering. No way. No way.

Beside him, the professor followed his gaze and chuckled knowingly. “Ah yes, you were good friends with Hiro during his time here, weren’t you? He’s my teaching aide for the semester.”

Wasabi managed a polite nod, but his mind was still stuck on what he’d just witnessed. Hiro Hamada. Cool, brilliant, usually oblivious Hiro Hamada. Looking at someone like that.

And worse—she looked right back at him like she didn’t mind one bit.

The second he ducked out of the classroom after talking to the professor, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

[3:42 PM] Wasabi: HIRO HAS A GIRLFRIEND

[3:43 PM] Fred: I will pay you 50k to get a picture of them rn

“How was class?” Hiro asked the second you stepped beside him, clutching your books in your arms. Before you could protest, he’d already taken the load from you, slinging your messenger bag onto his shoulder like it was his by right.

You tried your best to hide the smile tugging at your lips, “It was fun. Professor Munroe brought her daughter in for a bit—guess she couldn’t find someone to watch her. She was so cute, just sitting in the front row with her toys. Honestly, I wanted to take a bite out of her cheeks.”

Hiro gave you a sideways look, but the corner of his mouth quirked up, “You sound like Honey Lemon. She says that about babies all the time.”

You shrugged, grinning. In truth, you’d missed a good chunk of the lecture because you couldn’t stop watching the little girl quietly stack blocks and hum to herself. The fact that the kid had been so perfectly behaved the whole time hadn’t helped—your brain had melted into aww mode.

“Any plans this weekend?” Hiro asked casually, adjusting the strap of your bag on his shoulder.

“Hmmm, not really. I want to get the reading done for next week, but let’s be real—I’m probably going to spend the entire weekend in bed scrolling on my phone. I need one of those lock-box cages or something. This is a serious addiction.”

“I could build you one if you want,” He offered immediately, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “But instead of a normal timer lock, I’ll rig it so it only unlocks if you solve a basic harmonic oscillator equation. Easy enough if you actually paid attention in lecture.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing your head back, “Ugh, I can’t imagine anything more horrifying."

“If you’re not doing anything this weekend,” Hiro said, adjusting your bag strap higher on his shoulder, “You should swing by the café. Cass says she’s missed you.”

That tugged a guilty smile out of you, “I missed her too. I’ve just been so swamped this week that all I’ve wanted to do after class is go home and pass out. I don’t even know how you’ve been managing shifts on top of this.”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth quirking, "I haven't been doing much honestly. The work is easier to grade than it is to do. Plus I'm only TA for one class so I'm not juggling a bunch of other shit."

You chuckled, "I'll remember that the next time you tell me how tired you are."

He chuckled, shaking his head as the two of you slowed to a stop at the corner where your paths split. For a moment, you hesitated, almost reluctant to peel away.

“Alright,” You said finally, softer now, “I’ll try to stop by. No promises on being coherent, though.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” He handed your bag back to you, fingers brushing yours just a little too long before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

You nodded, tucking the strap of your bag securely over your shoulder, “You too, Hamada.”

And with a final wave, you headed off in opposite directions—your smile lingering long after you’d gone.

Hiro shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, walking a little further across the lot toward his bike. The evening air was cool, humming faintly with cicadas and the distant buzz of campus chatter. For a moment, everything felt normal.

Until it didn’t.

That creeping sense hit him like static crawling under his skin—hands prickling, feet going numb, a cold bead of sweat trailing down his back. His steps faltered.

He froze, scanning the lot, eyes darting between parked cars and flickering streetlights.

Something was wrong.

And then he felt it.

It was the heat. The kind he had hoped never to feel again.

The blaring wail of the fire alarm split the air, sharp and merciless, rattling the walls of the building. Students and faculty spilled out through the doors in panicked waves, shoving and tripping over each other in their scramble to escape.

Hiro’s heart stopped. Smoke was already curling from the upper windows, the glow of flames licking at the edges of the glass.

He didn’t think—he just ran. Against the tide of people shoving past him, his shoulder catching on theirs as they barreled out. Their cries and warnings blurred into static, drowned beneath the hammering of his own pulse as his legs carried him closer, closer—

Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, running down his back, soaking through his shirt. His vision blurred with red flames and creeping black spots as panic clawed at his chest, squeezing tighter with every passing second. His eyes darted wildly, searching—

“(Y/N), no!” Hiro’s scream tore from his throat as he watched you sprint toward the burning building, vanishing between the flames.

Pins and needles pricked at every muscle in his legs as he stumbled forward, trying to follow. The building was going to explode. It was going to explode. His breaths came sharp and ragged, each one more painful than the last. He tried to keep moving, but his body was frozen in place—caught between the desperate urge to run inside and the overwhelming fear threatening to break him down completely.

Time stretched. Everything blurred. People rushed past him in waves, but he barely registered them. His body ached, his lungs screamed, and his vision tunneled. Then, suddenly—

He blinked.

And you were there, leaning over him, a little girl clutched in your arms.

“Hiro! Get up! Get up! It’s not safe! Hiro, please, wake up!”

Through the thick haze clouding his mind, he barely managed to push himself upright. He let you pull him into a run, his legs moving sluggishly beneath him as you dragged him past the enclave. Around him, everything felt surreal—people moving at hyperspeed while he remained stuck, his pulse roaring in his ears.

He barely processed the moment the little girl in your arms lifted her head at the sound of a panicked cry.

"Gabi! Gabrielle!"

The child twisted in your grasp, her eyes lighting up.

"Mommy!"

Dr. Munroe rushed forward, her face crumpling with relief and exhaustion as she reached for her daughter, sobbing before she even got to hold her. You placed the girl in her arms without hesitation, watching the tearful reunion with a soft, tired smile. You didn’t linger, didn’t wait for gratitude—you had other priorities.

“Hiro?” Your voice was softer now, filled with concern, “Are you okay? Why did you pass out like that? Are you hurt?”

Too many questions. Too much.

He didn’t answer. He just pulled you into a tight embrace, arms locking around you as if you might slip away again. Your body fit against his like a puzzle piece, grounding him. He exhaled shakily, his breath warm against your neck as he buried his face there. Then, he pressed a kiss to your pulse point.

You stiffened for a moment before your arms came up, looping around his shoulders. Your hand rubbed slow, soothing circles against his back.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” He whispered.

Your throat tightened, but you forced your voice to stay steady, soft against the frantic tremor in his. “Hey, I’m here. I’m okay. See?” You pulled back just enough to guide his hand to your face, pressing his palm against your cheek, “Not a scratch on me.”

His fingers trembled against your skin, still gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

"I'm okay," You murmured, leaning closer so he couldn’t look away, “I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

It was easy to tell that Hiro was still spiraling, the panic from the fire gripping him like iron. You could hear the wail of the fire brigade as they pulled up, sirens cutting through the chaos. You clutched Hiro’s hand as you both sat on the sidewalk, far enough away from the smoldering building that the heat was only a memory now.

The teachers were busy rounding everyone up, splitting cohorts to take attendance and check for anyone who might still be inside or missing. You had to wrench your hand free from Hiro’s iron grip to speak to the RA, who marked you present and relatively unhurt, keeping you low on the priority list. You felt a pang of sympathy for classmates who hadn’t been so lucky.

Hiro’s grip on your wrist had loosened only slightly, but his tension didn’t fade. The longer you sat there, the deeper he sank into his panic. He wanted to leave—escape far, far away—and he wanted to take you with him. You tried your best to reassure him, murmuring that you were fine, that he didn’t have to worry. But the longer you perched on the rough concrete, the more his breathing sped, the more his mind spiraled.

Eventually, you spoke with the dorm manager, learning that a portion of the dormitory had been damaged in the fire. Returning tonight was out of the question, and alternative accommodations were being arranged—but that mostly meant she didn’t know what to do with the large number of displaced students. She hinted that it would be easier if you had family nearby, but you had to explain that your family lived in another city.

Before you could process the implications, Hiro interjected without hesitation, “She can stay at my place for the night.”

You watched in stunned silence as the dorm staff simply accepted his offer, likely too grateful to have one less student to worry about. Within moments, you were on the back of his moped, the scent of soot and ash clinging to your clothes.

The moment you stepped into the café, the smell of espresso and pastries mixed sharply with the lingering scent of smoke clinging to your clothes. Hiro barely had time to greet you before Aunt Cass spotted him.

Her eyes went wide, and she bolted forward, nearly knocking over a chair in her rush. She wrapped him up in a fierce, trembling hug, tears streaming down her face as she clutched his shoulders and checked his arms and legs as though she could physically ensure he was unscathed. “Hiro! Oh my god, Hiro! I heard the news! You’re not hurt, right?” She sobbed, her voice breaking between frantic checks.

Hiro’s initial instinct was to squeeze you even tighter, but he quickly shifted, carefully freeing you to step aside while he let Aunt Cass envelop him. You bit your lip, silently observing. She seemed so distraught—not just about the fire, but about Hiro himself. Of course, you hadn’t expected her to be calm at the news of a fire, but this level of concern was something else entirely.

After a few minutes, Hiro gently pushed her back, brushing the tears from her cheeks with a calm, measured hand. “I’m fine, Aunt Cass,” He said softly, his voice steady but firm, “Really. I’m okay.”

You stayed quiet, letting her fuss over him, just as you had calmed Hiro moments ago. You waited, quietly steadying yourself, until Hiro was able to soothe his aunt, her trembling grip loosening, and the room settled into a calmer rhythm.

"Oh, thank god. Thank god." She whispered, voice still shaky, murmuring the words more to herself than to anyone else.

And then, at last, her gaze fell on you. Her eyes widened, a mixture of relief and mild embarrassment crossing her face, “(Y/N)? Sweetie, hi! Oh, I’m so sorry you had to see me like this. Are you alright? Did you get hurt at all?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head, “Not a single scratch or burn, I promise.”

Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer, concern still softening her features. Then Hiro stepped closer, a quiet calm in his voice as he asked, “Aunt Cass, is it okay if (Y/N) stays here for the night? The dorms… were kind of caught up by the fire.”

Aunt Cass’s eyes flicked from Hiro to you, and then she nodded firmly, her tone warm and decisive, “Yes, of course, she can stay. Don’t even worry about it. I’ll close up the café soon and get dinner going—you two go take a shower first. Wash off the smoke and ash, and get comfortable. You’ve both been through enough for one day.”

Hiro shot you a glance, a soft half-smile tugging at his lips, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. You returned a small, grateful smile, feeling a flicker of comfort amid the chaos of the day.

Cass patted Hiro’s shoulder, her voice gentle but firm, “Go on, you two. I’ll handle things here.”

Hiro chuckled softly, nudging you toward the door. “After you.” He murmured, a rare softness in his tone. You followed, letting him lead the way, the quiet weight of the day slowly lifting with each step toward the small sanctuary of the apartment upstairs.

Hiro led you up the narrow staircase to his apartment, his moped’s engine long silent behind you, the smell of soot and ash still clinging faintly to your clothes. The door swung open, revealing a small but cozy space—warm light spilling across the tidy living area, the faint aroma of whatever Cass had been preparing in the café downstairs.

“Okay,” You started, setting your bag down, “before I actually begin to act like all of this is normal, I really do think we should talk about—”

“Ow.” Hiro’s voice was flat, monotone, utterly unconvincing.

You turned to give him a look, incredulous, when a soft whirrr filled the room. The sound grew louder, accompanied by the hiss of air inflating—and you stumbled back as something massive unfurled from a compact charging pod in the corner.

In seconds, a towering white figure loomed before you, round and impossibly soft-looking, somewhere between the Michelin Man and a giant marshmallow. It blinked down at you with simple, serene eyes.

“Hello,” It intoned in a gentle, synthesized voice, “I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion. I was alerted to the need for medical attention when you said: ow.”

Your jaw went slack, “What the—”

Hiro crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug for someone who had just unleashed a seven-foot balloon nurse on you. “This is Baymax,” He explained, as if that clarified anything, “He’s… kind of like a robotic nurse.”

You gaped at him, “You built that?”

He gave a small shrug, but before he could give you a response, Baymax stepped closer, sensors humming as a faint red light swept over you from head to toe.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Baymax asked serenely, “how would you rate your pain?”

“Uh—um—zero? I’m not in any pain at all.” You shot Hiro a look that screamed what is happening right now.

Hiro shoved his hands into his pockets, looking faintly sheepish. “We were caught in a fire.” He supplied.

At once, Baymax tilted his head, “Fire exposure detected. Assessing for thermal injury and smoke inhalation.”

Baymax lifted one stubby hand, and with a soft click, a small opening appeared at the tip of his finger. He extended it toward you with perfect seriousness, “Please blow into this with as much strength as possible.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry—what?”

Baymax repeated in the exact same calm tone, “Please blow into this with as much strength as possible.”

You glanced at Hiro, eyes narrowing, “This isn’t some elaborate prank, right? Like, the second I do this he’s going to spray whipped cream in my face?”

Hiro snorted, biting back a grin,. “No. Just do it. Trust me.”

Still skeptical, you leaned forward and blew into Baymax’s finger, cheeks puffing like you were inflating a balloon. The robot whirred softly, lights blinking across his chest.

“Preliminary examination complete. Pulse rate elevated,” Baymax announced, “Respiratory rate slightly above baseline. Trace particulate matter in lungs consistent with smoke inhalation. Recommending fluids, rest, and monitoring for symptoms including coughing, dizziness, or difficulty breathing.”

You straightened, blinking in disbelief, “Woah. How… how accurate is that?”

“Extremely accurate,” Hiro said before Baymax could answer, pride tugging at his lips, “Baymax can measure lung capacity, oxygen saturation, and common trace substances.”

Baymax added in his calm monotone, “Ninety-nine point seven percent accuracy rate.”

Your jaw dropped a little, “That’s insane. You built—no, you designed this?”

Hiro scratched the back of his neck, "Actually my brother did. It was something he really believed in. Baymax was meant to revolutionize healthcare accessibility, especially in places where doctors aren’t readily available. He’s saved a lot of lives.”

Baymax tilted his head toward you, eyes blinking, “Your heart rate has increased by twenty percent.”

You froze. Hiro choked.

“Baymax—!”

Steam curled into the hallway as you pushed open the bathroom door. Your damp hair clung to your cheeks as you padded barefoot into the living room, where Hiro sat hunched on the couch. He looked up at the sound of you entering, his eyes roving appreciatively over your figure, enveloped in one of his oversized t-shirts. The neckline had slipped slightly off your shoulder, the fabric hanging loose on your frame, carrying faint traces of detergent and something warm and familiar you couldn’t quite place.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, voice soft but tight at the edges.

You managed a small smile as you sank into the armchair across from him, “Much better, thank you. Funny how heat can be so scary in one scenario but so welcoming in another.”

He let out a quiet laugh through his nose, short and brittle. The silence that followed was heavy, uneven, filled with the faint rustle of his restless hands tugging at a loose thread on his sleeve, clenching and unclenching as if holding something in.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” You asked gently. You didn’t need to specify—you both knew you meant the panic, the fire, the fear—but you offered him an out, a chance to circumvent the weight of the conversation if he wanted.

His head lifted, dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he simply stared, jaw working as though the words were caught somewhere in his throat. Then his gaze drifted, landing somewhere distant—far beyond the apartment walls.

He exhaled slowly, letting the air tremble from his chest, then leaned back, head tilting toward the ceiling. “When I was fourteen,” He began, voice low, “we lost my older brother… Tadashi. In a fire. At SFIT.”

You blinked. The name rang faintly familiar until it clicked. Your stomach dropped. You’d walked past the robotics lab countless times, seen the bronze plaque: Tadashi Hamada Memorial Lab. The realization hit like ice. How had you never made the connection? You had assumed it was a coincidence, thought the surname must be common here.

You didn’t interrupt. This wasn’t the first fire at SFIT, was it? What the hell was wrong with that university? Didn’t they have proper extinguishers?

Hiro swallowed hard, his throat working painfully around words that still seemed to hurt him. “He ran in to save someone… and he never came out.” His hand pressed lightly against his thigh, trembling faintly, “So when I saw you running in tonight—” His voice broke, and he dragged a hand over his face, exhaling shakily, “I couldn’t move. I was right back there. Watching it happen all over again.”

Your eyes stung. You found yourself blinking rapidly, your own voice shaking when it came, “I’m sorry, Hiro.”

He looked up at you, stunned by the tension in your voice, “I’m so… so sorry.” You whispered, shifting closer. You closed the space between you, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him toward you. Steady and warm, you held him in place.

His hands hesitated before settling on your waist, gripping tighter than you expected. Then he gave in, burying his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he was drowning and you were air. The faint scent of soap clung to your skin, mingling with the comforting warmth of his hoodie, cocooning the moment in quiet intimacy.

“It must have been so hard for you,” You whispered into his hair, voice breaking with sincerity, “You were so young.”

His shoulders trembled against you, but he didn’t pull away. You stayed pressed close, legs curling against his own, gently patting his back as he took a few more steadying breaths.

“Don’t ever put yourself in danger again,” He said once he pulled back slightly, pinning you in place with his intense gaze. His voice was firmer than it had been all night, “I can’t lose another person I love.”

You blinked at him, heart hammering, caught between the warmth of his words and the intensity of the moment. For a heartbeat, everything felt suspended—time, space, even the heat of the apartment.

And in that instant, it became painfully clear. This was Hiro’s silent confession of his feelings, and this was the moment you realized he loved you—but neither of you said a word.

You simply held each other a little tighter, letting the unspoken understanding linger between you, heavy and perfect.

You didn’t move after that—neither of you did. The heaviness of the night, the lingering adrenaline, and the rawness of the moment left you both spent. Hiro’s arms stayed looped around your waist, his cheek resting lightly against your hair. His breathing gradually slowed, evening out until the tension bled from his frame.

You didn’t know who fell asleep first, only that at some point the words faded, and you simply existed in the silence together—your ear pressed to the steady staccato of his heartbeat, his warmth wrapping around you like honey. One by one, every muscle in your body loosened until sleep claimed you where you sat.

That was how Aunt Cass found you when she padded upstairs a little while later, fresh from closing the café. She paused in the doorway, her heart squeezing at the sight: Hiro slumped against you, your head protectively angled over his, both of you tangled together on the couch as though the rest of the world had ceased to matter.

Cass lifted her phone, muffling her laugh behind her hand as she snapped a picture. Just one—something to hold onto. She didn’t say a word, didn’t disturb you, only smiled softly to herself before slipping into her room.

[9:23 PM] Cass: [photo] [9:23 PM] Cass: i believe you promised me 50k, fred.

Bonus:

You and Hiro worked in quiet tandem—your feet casually thrown across his lap as you fiddled absentmindedly with a mini soldering tool, while he click-clacked away on his keyboard. It was, objectively, a huge fire hazard, but he really couldn’t care less. He loved this—these quiet, comfortable moments shared between you.

It wasn’t until he lifted his non-dominant hand from the keyboard, stretching his fingers as he squeezed a stress ball, that you struck.

Before he could react, you grabbed his wrist.

Something cold. Then hot.

His fingers twitched, but you didn’t let go until you were done, finally pulling back to switch off the machine and tug off your goggles with a satisfied grin. He glanced down at his wrist, realization dawning.

There, wrapped around it, was a thin metal bracelet—simple but sturdy, with a small plate at the center.

Your name was carved into it.

Hiro let out a laugh, turning to you. Your expression was expectant, almost eager, like a kid showing off their latest masterpiece. His heart squeezed.

"Did you just brand me?" He teased, admiring the bracelet.

You only grinned wider, humming perkily before pressing a quick kiss to the pulse point on his wrist—right where the bracelet sat.

Something in his stomach jumped.

"You're mine now. It's official."

Yeah, he was definitely in trouble.

Deleted scene:

"Hi! I read your paper on laser-induced plasma! Using electromagnetic steering was so creative! How did you even come up with that?"

Wasabi gave you a knowing smile before gesturing to the man beside you, "Actually, it was Hiro who gave me the idea."

You turned to Hiro, who was already grinning with pride, clearly hoping to impress you. Your heart melted. Without thinking, you cupped his cheeks in both hands, adoring the way he leaned into your touch.

"Wow," You murmured with a fond smile, "My boyfriend's a nerd."

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