#inumkai

calm and measured. like always.

but you were nothing but calm. you’d gone still.

“space?” you echoed.

he nodded once, already standing, then already by the front door, already reaching for his coat, “we’re both getting frustrated.”

you didn’t say anything. just watched him leave.

the door clicked shut softly behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

you've been replaying that in your head for the past hour. curled on the couch, in the same spot he'd left you, knees to your chest, cheeks wet with tears and eyes trained on some stubborn mark on the coffee table as you tried to piece it all together.

space.

space.

what does that even mean? people don't usually ask for space unless something's wrong, right?

unless he was pulling away— or trying to let you down gently.

your throat closes at the thought.

no. nonono, he wouldn't just leave like that, would he? suguru was always so communicative, surely he'd at least tell you if he really was breaking up with you.

space didn't mean forever. did it?

but what if he was just trying to soften it?

your thoughts move faster than you could grab at them.

the conversation played in your head again as hot, stinging tears well up in your eyes. you psycho-analyse every part of it. every pause. every breath that now sounded suspiciously like a sigh of annoyance. every look on his face. was it disgust? anger? or was he tired?

did he seem distant recently? had he already been pulling away without you noticing it? did you miss it?

your body jolts when you hear the lock click.

the door opens again. and suguru walks in, holding two to-go cups of warm beverages, and his small smile back on his face, "hey." he says.

your head snaps up. and all you can do is stare, mouth slightly agape in confusion. he's... back?

he blinks when he sees you. really sees you.

your tear-streaked face. your curled posture. the way you look at him all furrowed brows like you weren’t expecting him to return.

his expression softens instantly.

“…oh, sweetheart.”

suguru sheds his coat and shoes, and finds his spot beside you, putting the cups down. one in front of him and one in front of you.

his hands are gentle as they come up to your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes.

“i was only gone for an hour,” he murmurs. “what happened? have you been crying this whole time?”

you stare at him, lost. “you…” your voice trembles. “you said… space.”

“i did.”

“but… but you’re back…” your lips wobble, “i—i thought you were leaving for… a long time.”

his brows knit together, something like guilt flashing across his face. “…is that why you think i wanted space?”

you hiccup, looking at him with wide, watery eyes. “is… it not..?”

he frowns, “no, baby,” his voice is quiet and wrapped in silk, fingers brushing the tears from your cheeks. “not at all.”

you sniff, your breathing uneven as you try to process it.

“i just saw we were both getting frustrated,” he continues, “and i didn’t want us to say something hurtful.”

you blink at him. then your shoulders sag. like something heavy finally slipped off them, “…oh.”

he smiles softly at your realisation, a breathy chuckle leaving him. he exhales softly, thumbs still tracing slow, soothing motions against your skin, “i’m sorry,” he murmurs sincerely. “i should’ve explained that better. i thought you understood what i meant.”

a small sniffle escapes you and you shake your head, "no. it's okay." you mumble.

"come here."

and you do. then you sit there. silent, face in his shoulder, and his arms looped around your back, gentle hands stroking your skin comfortingly.

once you're calm again, there’s a pause. then suguru reaches forwards for one of the cups, pressing it gently into your hands.

“drink."

you take it, fingers still trembling slightly. it's your favourite order from the cafe nearby.

you swallow, feeling the hot liquid chase its way down your throat, warming your chest and soothing you. your head finds its usual spot on his chest and you sigh. "i'm still mad at you." you mumble, reminiscing the earlier fight that had still gone unresolved.

suguru only smiles. "me too, baby. we'll talk later, hm?"

ෆ o. yuuta

you forget your phone at his place

you're halfway down the elevator when you realise your pocket feels way lighter than it should.

empty.

you pat it, and frown. then check the other pocket. your jacket. your bag. then your pocket again for good measure.

"...ugh." a quiet groan escapes you.

your phone. you forgot your phone. up there.

in that apartment. with that boyfriend. the one you'd just stormed out on.

the one who's probably still standing at the door, staring at it like you might come back. which now, you're forced to.

he gets like that after arguments. quiet and wide-eyed and apologising profusely even if he doesn't quite understand what he did wrong. like a kicked puppy.

and you... always cave. but you hadn't this time. mostly because you'd fully managed to avoid eye contact all the way until the door.

you had succeeded. if only you hadn't forgotten your phone in the heat of your annoyance.

the elevator dings at the ground floor and the doors slide open. you grumble and instead of getting out and going home like you're supposed to, you press the button for his floor, and glide back up.

yuuta blinks at you as he opens the front door, clearly confused why you're back so soon, eyes round and a little red around the rims. you immediately snap your gaze to ground. if you look at him for too long, you'll feel bad and give in.

"shut up." you mutter, pushing past him and inviting yourself into his house.

yuuta hadn't said anything. but he chooses to listen to your warning. he stands there, idly, watching you stalk around his living room, searching for something. he wants to offer to help, ask what you're looking for... but he's not quite sure if he's allowed to exist in the same space as you right now. even if this is his own house. besides, you had just told him to shut up.

you stand straight, back rigid. you can feel his gaze on you.

it pisses you off. because you know what face he's making even without looking at him: he has his head tilted to the side, his lips pressed together and his eyes wide and questioning and nervous. and he looks way too adorable for someone you're supposed to be mad at.

"say it." you mutter.

"huh..?"

your head snaps to him— big mistake. but you were absolutely correct with your prediction. he was making that exact face. "whatever you're thinking."

"...what are you looking for?" he almost steps forward, but his foot hovers before he retracts it, choosing to stay in his spot. as if one step would make you coil away in disgust.

"my phone."

"oh..." he scratches his nape, trying to think of when he last saw you with it. nothing comes up except for flashes of the argument and you walking out that make his chest hurt a little, "uh... do you want me to ring it?"

you pause. jaw flexes and unflexes and yuuta swears he sees a vein in your neck pop. before you sigh, "fine."

he fumbles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. and presses a few buttons and rings. a faint 'bzzt bzzt' accompanied by your ringtone reverberates from the couch. you walk over shoving your hand between the cushions and fish out the noisemaker.

you head for the door again, and yuuta simply watches, unsure if he should walk you out. he decides you probably wouldn't want that. "text me when you're home," he says instead, "...please."

you pause, your hand on the handle and your heart squeezes.

his voice is quiet and unsure like he's not sure if he's been given permission to ask that from you. you close your eyes, head tilting forwards and you almost groan. how the hell were you supposed to stay mad at him now?

with a turn of your heel, you step back into his space, and throw your arms around him in a hug. yuuta stiffens instantly, clearly not expecting the turnaround. but just as quickly, he melts, holding you, cheek pressed into the top of your head. "i will." you mumble into his shirt.

he nods against your head, "okay... bye..."

there’s a pause, you can feel it; the hesitation— like there’s something else he wants to say.

but he’s holding it back. perhaps because he doesn’t want to push you. or because he thinks he’s not allowed to.

you pull back slightly, looking up at him. his expression is soft and a little uncertain.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it now. just affection, “love you,” you say for him.

his eyes widen just a little.

like you’ve just given him something he wasn’t expecting.

“…love you too,” he says, quieter. relieved.

you huff softly, stepping back again, grabbing the door handle. “i’m still mad at you,” you clarify, just to be clear.

he nods immediately. “i know.”

“we’re talking about it later.”

“okay.”

you open the door and step out. then pause. “…don’t just stand there,” you mutter. “go sit down or something.”

he blinks. “oh... okay.”

you shake your head, a small smile slipping through despite yourself. then you leave.

ෆ i. toge

clingy bf final boss

you’ve been ignoring him since last night, which, in theory, should’ve made you feel better.

it doesn’t.

it just means you’re on the track with nobara and maki, supposedly training, grumbling through your annoyance while pretending you don’t feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head.

“hey, y/n?…” nobara tilts her head slightly, squinting past you. “i think you have a fan.”

you don’t evem need to look. you know. “don’t acknowledge him,” you mutter. “i’m mad.”

maki snorts under her breath, arms folded. “i think he’s sorry.”

“i don’t care,” you say immediately. “he can be sorry from over there.”

behind you, a certain presence stays exactly where it’s been for the last ten minutes. quiet. still. watching. not paying the slightest bit of attention to anything his training buddies panda or yuuta have to say to him on the other side of the oval.

toge doesn’t move unless you move first.

and even then, it’s not really moving, it’s copying.

when you pace the track, he does too from his side. when you stop, he stops.

when you glance over your shoulder, he’s already looking at you.

expression unreadable. but persistent.

nobara eventually laughs, “this is insane.”

"i feel like that must take more energy than actually training," maki adds.

“ignore it,” you repeat, firmer this time, like that’ll fix your heartbeat.

it doesn’t. he knows exactly how to make you feel guilty. although you really can't tell if he's doing it on purpose or not.

you’re mid-sentence, telling the girls you’re going to go into the city for lunch— just to get space, clear your head, avoid the feeling of being watched wherever you are.

then you feel it.

a presence at your side.

you don’t even need to look.

you already know.

he reaches for your hand gently.

“salmon?” he asks, almost a little pouty. like he’s daring you to turn him away.

you glare at him instantly. “no. you’re not coming.”

he pauses.

blinks.

then tilts his head.

“okaka.”

you groan loudly and turn away, already walking. “i don't care,” you mutter. “i said no.”

he follows anyway.

it’s the worst game of 'what’s the time, mr wolf' you’ve ever played.

you walk. he walks. you speed up. he matches you instantly. you slow down. so does he.

and every single time you stop and turn around—

he’s stopped too. just standing there. looking at you.

like he’s waiting for you to keep walking. like you're just a normal couple out on a normal walk on a normal day. like you're the weird one for stopping all of a sudden.

you whip around at him once, frustrated. “s-stop following me!”

he tilts his head, “…tuna?”

you groan again and keep walking.

he follows again.

by the time you reach the restaurant, you’re fully done.

the hostess at the door smiles politely, holding up two fingers. “for two?”

you exhale through your nose like your soul has left your body. toge nods for the both of you, and then you're seated.

you sit across from him with your arms crossed.

he sits across from you like he didn’t just trail behind across half the city like a clingy stray caught on your scent.

for a few minutes, there’s silence. you refuse to look at him, even though his eyes are on you.

then the food arrives.

he watches you for a second. then picks up a piece of food, and holds his chopsticks under your chin in offering.

you immediately turn your head away. “no.”

he doesn’t move.

you glare at him. “i don't want it.”

he blinks slowly, “salmon.”

you refuse.

he waits.

ten seconds. twenty.

you try continuing with your meal, but he doesn't put it down. you can feel him still holding it there out of the corner of your eye.

still waiting.

you groan, rubbing your temple. “isn't your arm tired?”

"okaka."

"that was a rhetorical question."

"salmon."

your jaw tics, half in humour and half in annoyance "you don't have to respond to everything i say."

"salmon." he keeps holding the food up.

you finally snap, just to make him stop. “fine!”

he smiles, satisfied. you take a bite and chew, a little more aggresively than usual, as if you imagined his head being ground repeatedly between your teeth.

he watches you eat like he’s won something.

ෆ f. toji

you don't ask him for help

you’re still mad at him. which is why you’re doing it yourself.

because he doesn't deserve the sweet, soft; “baby, can you grab that for me?” nor the batting of your lashes like you usually do just to see that stupid smug smirk tug at his mouth.

no.

you drag a chair across the kitchen tiles instead.

deliberately scrape it a little louder than necessary to get him to look up from the tv.

you climb up without looking at him, reaching toward the top cabinet for your favourite mug— the one he always gets for you.

behind you, the couch creaks.

he’s noticed.

you smile faintly with your back turned, enjoying the idea of the annoyed grimace that must be present on his face now.

toji doesn’t say anything at first. just watches. eyes narrowed slightly.

you stretch a little higher, fingertips just brushing the shelf.

the chair wobbles.

just a little, but that’s enough.

“oi.”

his voice cuts through the room, low and irritated.

"what? you ask haphazardly, reaching again.

the chair shifts once more as you lower cup after cup onto the counter to clear space for you to grab your favourite one. you swear he hides it at the back on purpose just to make sure you ask him every time.

heavy footsteps cross the room in two strides.

then suddenly, you’re airborne. clean off the chair like you weigh nothing.

“hey—!” you yelp, grabbing his shoulder on instinct as he sets you down on the floor like you’re the problem. “when the hell did you get there!?” you snap, glaring up at him.

he doesn’t even look fazed.

“shut,” he mutters, already reaching up to the cabinet.

he grabs the mug easily.

you cross your arms, still annoyed. “i could’ve gotten it.”

he shuts the cabinet with a quiet thud and turns to you.

“…yeah,” he says flatly. “looked real stable up there.”

you huff. “i wasn’t gonna fall.”

he steps closer. too close. close enough that you have to tilt your head up to keep glaring at him, “don’t care,” he says, tone rough but quieter now. “don’t like it.”

your irritation falters for half a second, but you recover quickly, scoffing, “well... i don't like you. and i don't need your help.”

he snorts. "yeah?"

"yeah."

"then how come every morning all i hear is—"

"don't mimic me." you grind out through tight teeth, already feeing the mocking tone coming.

he bats his lashes at you, "ohhh toooji." he trills in a high-pitched voice impishly made to resemble that of yours, "it's too high, i can't reeaaach."

you grit your teeth, lips pursing and head whipping in the other direction, looking away quickly so you don't laugh. now would be the worst time to laugh. it would only vindicate him and his ego. "shut up."

then he presses the mug into your hands.

firm.

final.

“drink your tea,” he says smugly.

"don't tell me what to do."

minutes later, you glance at him over the rim of the steaming mug.

he’s back on the couch like nothing happened.

controller in hand, leaned back, game unpaused.

ignoring you again. except his eyes flick to you.

just once. quick. checking. making sure you’re not climbing anything else you shouldn’t be. and he gives you that infuriating sharkish grin.

ෆ k. choso

clingy bf final boss pt. 2

you don’t go to bed afterwards.

the argument had fizzled out hours ago— no real resolution, just quiet tension and too many things left unsaid. he’d gone to the bedroom eventually, slow steps, softer than usual, like he didn’t want to push you.

you didn’t follow.

instead, you'd curled up on the couch with a blanket and a pillow, the tv casting soft light across the living room. some random movie plays that you’re not even really watching.

it’s late. really late. your retinas burn a little, a warning that you should just turn it off and rest, but you don’t move.

you’re still mad… at least you think you are. but too much of that madness is diluted by sadness and guilt and also how badly you miss his puppy dog eyes.

the hallway light flicks on.

soft footsteps.

you don’t look. because a part of you still feels the need to keep up the act.

choso appears in the doorway, hair loose and messy, sleep shirt wrinkled, eyes still heavy with exhaustion. his eyebags even more pronounced than they already usually are.

he pauses when he sees you. really sees you.

the blanket. the pillow. the way you’ve set up camp like you’re planning to stay there.

his brows pull together slightly.

“…you’re not coming to bed?” he asks, voice quiet, careful. and sad. undoubtedly sad.

you don’t answer.

just stare at the screen.

he steps closer anyway.

you hear the soft clink of glass before you see it—a cup of water placed gently on the coffee table in front of you.

“you should drink,” he murmurs.

still nothing from you.

he lingers.

waiting.

you don’t look at him.

don’t acknowledge him.

don’t give him anything to work with.

a minute passes. then two.

you expect him to sigh. to leave. to go back to bed. anything but stand there watching over you in the dark like the babadook.

he doesn’t.

"if you're gonna stay there, can you sit?" your voice croaks from exhaustion and unuse, "creeping me out."

"oh." he whispers. the couch dips beside you.

you finally glance over. he’s sitting there.

quietly.

hands folded loosely in his lap. watching the movie like he’s been invited.

but choso doesn’t move. doesn’t talk. doesn't snuggle into your side or join you under the blanket, even if he's a little cold and the blanket is definitely big enough to share. just sits with you.

the movie keeps playing. some backstory scene you don’t care about. but now you’re aware of him. the warmth beside you. the quiet presence. the way he glances at you every so often like he’s checking if you’re still there. watching your reactions to every line. the way your eyes follow the captions at the bottom of the screen and your lips press together to suppress a snicker when a character makes a dirty joke.

he smiles when you do. not because he heard or processed the joke but because you're smiling.

time passes. ten minutes. twenty. you shift slightly under the blanket.

he doesn’t say anything.

just adjusts the edge of it absentmindedly so it covers your shoulder better.

you notice, but you don't move.

fifteen more minutes.

eventually, curiosity gets the better of you.

you look over, expecting to see him watching the screen or you. he’s slumped slightly now, head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.

…he fell asleep.

you stare at him for a second.

then sigh. soft. fond.

“you’re so stupid,” you mumble under your breath, but there’s no bite to it. you nudge him lightly. he stirs with a light whine but doesn’t wake.

he was already half-asleep when he came out here.

you shift, pulling the pillow out from under your head and sliding it beneath his instead. you tug the blanket up, draping it properly over him, tucking it around his shoulders.

his hand moves in his sleep. fingers brushing your wrist. then curling around it.

you stare at him, laying with the pillow and blanket you'd brought out for yourself with the intent of sleeping away from him and can't do anything but sigh again.

✴︎ BONUS! (my apology gift for dragging this pt. 2 for like 3 months OOPSIE DAISIES)

ෆ h. hiromi

he forgets to exit lawyer mode

you’re halfway through ranting about your coworker when he starts doing that thing.

that lawyer thing.

the one where his brows knit, his fingers fold beneath his chin, and suddenly he sounds less like your boyfriend listening to you vent and more like a man preparing cross-examination notes.

“well,” hiromi says slowly, “did you instigate the exchange at all?”

you blink, “…what?”

he continues, maddeningly calm. “because you do have a habit of responding sarcastically when agitated, and that can escalate—”

“hiromi.”

“i’m just saying there may have been contributory—”

“hiromi.”

he pauses.

looks up.

you stare at him in disbelief from across the kitchen.

“i’m your girlfriend,” you say flatly, grabbing your coat from the hook by the door, “not your defendant.”

his mouth opens.

closes.

you yank the coat on with a furious huff.

“where are you going?”

“for a walk,” you snap.

the door shuts behind you before he can answer.

the cold air does help.

a little.

mostly because it gives you something else to focus on besides the fact your boyfriend had just tried to assign legal fault percentages to your workplace annoyance.

you walk for twenty minutes. then thirty. rounding the block and angrily murmuring to yourself.

by the time you come back, your anger’s dulled into that grumpy stubbornness where you’ve already decided you’ll be silent for the rest of the night.

you unlock the apartment.

step inside.

and stop.

the lights are dimmer.

soft jazz hums quietly from somewhere in the living room.

there’s a mug of coffee on the table.

your coffee.

made exactly how you like it.

and beside it—

flowers.

you blink.

“what…”

“in here, sweetheart.”

you turn.

hiromi appears from the kitchen, tie loosened now, sleeves rolled up, looking deeply sheepish in a way that almost never happens.

almost.

he walks over carefully, like approaching a witness he’s already intimidated.

“before you say anything,” he starts, “i’d like to formally state that i handled that conversation very poorly.”

you fold your arms.

and stare

he winces. “yes. deserved.”

you try not to smile.

try.

he notices anyway.

of course he does.

he steps closer, taking your coat from your shoulders and hanging it up for you.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, voice softer now. boyfriend voice, not attorney voice. “you wanted comfort. i gave you a deposition.”

that gets a snort out of you.

you hate that it does.

he smiles faintly, relieved.

“i should have just told you your coworker sounds insufferable and that you were right.”

you narrow your eyes. “…i was right.”

“you were absolutely right.”

“and she’s annoying.”

“unbearably.”

you hum, accepting this.

he offers you the coffee and you take it. still grumpy, but less committed to the bit now.

“are the flowers part of your apology strategy?”

“yes.”

“did it work?”

he looks down at you, mouth twitching, “the jury seems undecided.”

you sigh dramatically. then step into him.

he wraps his arms around you instantly, warm and secure, kissing the top of your head. “for the record,” he murmurs, “i am on your side.”

you grumble into his chest, “that should be your default.”

“noted.”

ෆ i. takuma

accidental pervert

it happens so casually that it throws you off.

you’re both lounging around his place, tv playing something neither of you are really watching, on your phones, when he glances over at you and goes—

“…hey baby, what’s your bust size?”

you blink. slowly turn your head.

“…my what.”

takuma doesn’t even look phased. he’s still half-focused on his phone, like he just asked what your favourite colour was.

“your bust size,” he repeats. “like, the measurement.”

you stare at him, “…why.”

he shrugs. “just asking.”

just asking.

you sit up straight, narrowing your eyes. “why are you asking me that like it’s casual conversation.”

he finally looks at you properly, confused. “because i need to know?”

that does not help.

“takuma.”

“what?”

you chuck a pillow at his head, “what's wrong with you?!”

"ow! what?"

“why are you asking me that out of nowhere, you freak?” you ask, incredulous.

he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. as if this is absolutely not where he saw this conversation going.

“i'm going to bed,” you cut him off, grabbing your phone, "sleep here.”

“wait—”

“shut up.”

you stand up, already walking off, leaving him on the couch blinking after you like he just lost an argument he didn’t realise he was in.

he doesn't argue against you telling him to sleep on the couch of the house he pays for while you get his bed.

and you don’t bring it up again. the next morning is a little awkward, but you're fine again quite quickly.

even if he does act a little… awkward for the next couple days. like he wants to say something, but remembers how that went last time and decides against it.

a week later, a package arrives, addressed to you.

you frown, turning it over in your hands. “did you order something for me?”

takuma freezes. just for a second. then scratches the back of his neck. “…open it.”

you narrow your eyes suspiciously. but you do.

inside is a dress.

not just any dress.

a gorgeous one.

soft fabric, the kind that has to be tailored, your exact style like he reached into your brain and picked it out himself.

your mouth parts slightly. “…kuma.”

he’s suddenly very interested in the floor.

“it’s… custom,” he mutters.

you blink. look at the dress. then back at him. then back at the dress. “…custom.” you repeat

“yeah.”

realisation hits you like a truck. your jaw drops.

“takuma.”

"so... sorry if it doesn't fit right," he winces, “…i tried asking for your size,” he says, voice quieter now, “but you didn’t take too kindly to that.”

you stare at him. then at the dress. then back at him again.

“kuma, why would you ask me like that?!” you burst out. “if you told me it was for this i wouldn’t have gotten mad?”

he frowns, defensive now. “well i didn’t know it was weird!”

“how did you not know that was weird?!”

“because i didn’t even know what bust meant!” he blurts.

you pause, “…what?”

he rubs the back of his neck again, embarrassed. “i was just reading it off the website. it said bust, waist, hips... i thought it was just a regular measurement.”

you stare. “…you didn’t know what it meant.”

“not until you got mad at me and i googled it,” he admits.

you blink at him.

once.

twice.

then you start laughing.

he groans, face heating up. “it's not funny..."

“oh my god.”

he crosses his arms, sulking. “i was trying to do something nice.”

your laughter softens. you look down at the dress again with a grin. run your fingers over the fabric.

“…it’s really pretty,” you say softly.

he glances at you. “…yeah?”

you nod. then step closer, hugging him. “thank you, baby,” you mumble into his chest. “and… sorry for yelling at you.”

he huffs. “you’re still mean.”

“you asked me my bust size out of nowhere!”

“i didn’t know what it meant!”

you laugh again.

he sighs.

but he’s smiling too.

“…try it on?” he asks after a second.

you pull back, grinning, “yeah.”

ෆ i. shoko

she ate your cupcake

she's being dramatic. at least, that’s what you claim.

it’s just a scraped knee. you’ve had worse. it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.

still, you’re sitting on the cool metal of the bench in her office, arms crossed, refusing to look at her because you’re still annoyed about the cupcake situation.

“it was in the fridge for a week,” you mutter. “i was saving it.”

“mm,” she hums. shoko doesn’t even look apologetic anymore.

she’s crouched in front of you, hair slightly messy, gloves on, disinfectant-soaked cotton ball pinched between a pair of silver tweezers, dabbing lightly at the broken, bloodied skin.

“i didn't think you wanted it anymore,” she says simply.

you glare at her, “so you just assumed it was abandoned?”

“yes.”

"it was waiting for me.”

“and you never arrived. poor cupcake.”

you huff.

she reaches forward and gently takes your leg, pulling it closer so she can clean the scrape at a better angle.

you flinch slightly.

“don’t move,” she says flatly.

“i am moving because you’re attacking me with alcohol.”

“i know. you're very brave.”

"haha. really funny. you proud of that one?"

she doesn’t respond. but smirks lightly as if to affirm, yes, she is in fact proud of that one, and presses the cotton pad to your knee again.

you hiss softly. “ow.”

“don’t be dramatic.”

“i am literally injured.”

“you’re alive.”

you narrow your eyes at her. “my cupcake isn't.”

“because i put it out of its misery.”

“it was my cupcake, shoko.”

she finally glances up at you.

“…you’re more upset about a cupcake than your actual wound.”

“because the cupcake was important.”

she sighs. like she’s tired. like she’s always tired. but there’s something softer in her eyes that only ever appears when you're around..

she finishes wrapping your knee with practiced ease, fingers light, careful.

then presses her lips to your bandaged knee gently.

“done.”

you look down.

“…you’re surprisingly gentle for a thief.”

“i'm not a thief,” she corrects. “i rehome neglected cupcakes.”

you snort.

she stands up, tossing the used materials into a bin before walking over to her desk.

you watch her. still sitting there. still mildly grumpy.

she grabs a small box from her drawer and places it graciously onto your lap.

you blink. “what’s this?”

“replacement.”

you open it. inside is a cupcake. perfectly frosted. freshly chilled. your favourite kind. you stare at it.

then at her.

"forgive me?” she requests.

you smile despite yourself. “hm. i suppose.”

“you’re so charitable.”

all dividers by da best @anitalenia !!! saur kyoot

tagz 😛 @sigmaskibidifortnitebattlepass @luvs-angel @perkypeony @newpersonsameoldmistakez @ryokoisstar @gentlyflowing

a bottle of iced coffee from the nearby vending machine sits in front of him, condensation beading on the plastic. taped to it is a pastel post-it note, the handwriting round, in pink glittery pen. when he looks up, he catches movement. three girls ducking behind a bookshelf a few aisles away. one—clearly, the culprit, from the slight peek of her cardigan he'd gotten before she'd hurried off—peeks around the corner, eyes wide, then immediately pretends not to be looking, coughing and launching into a conversation with her other two friends who were just as eagerly waiting for his response to the move.

suguru leans closer to the bottle.

'hi! i thought you were really cute and was hoping you’d like to get to know each other :)'

hearts dot the i's. a phone number follows.

he exhales through his nose, faintly amused. on most days, he would’ve handled this properly—walked over, returned the bottle, declined with a courteous smile. he believes in that sort of thing.

today, suguru's tired. perhaps he's antsy in anticipation. he can barely get his mind off you. and the chapter he’s reading is genuinely interesting.

he nudges the bottle a few inches away from him instead. that'd work well enough, right?

there’s whispering from behind the shelves, disappointment from the girl, reassurance from her friends, then retreating footsteps. once they’re gone, suguru stands, drops the unopened bottle into the trash, and returns to his book without another thought.

by 2:30, he’s packing up. he'd planned on staying longer, but he feels awkward now after that interaction. and can't shake the feeling that he's still being watched.

at the check out counter, he checks his watch, slides the borrowed book and his library card into his bag, and stands. he’s eager to leave now—more eager than he’d anticipated. the air feels stale. he wants to be outside. he wants to see you. he'd arrive to surprise you early. sit behind the register while you finish your shift. he'd done it before.

he makes it to the front gardens of the library before a voice stops him.

“e-excuse me.”

he turns.

it’s the girl from earlier. alone now, shoulders tight, courage clearly borrowed. he registers the effort immediately. it doesn’t soften his stance. he'd noticed her and her entourage sitting together by the front when he'd been checking his book out. dumbly, he didn't suspect they'd been waiting for him to leave.

“i have a girlfriend,” he says calmly, before she can speak.

“oh.” she says. then, after a beat, something sharp creeps in. “so… could it have been a yes if you didn’t?”

he blinks once.

what a strange question to ask a stranger, he thinks.

and even stranger to persist after you've been rejected twice now by said stranger.

“no,” he replies pleasantly. “i appreciate the gesture, but you didn’t actually try to express interest. you bought a drink and ran. i never heard your voice until now. you didn’t even give me the chance to decide if i was interested.”

she stammers, words tripping over each other. “i— i was nervous—”

“nervousness isn’t the issue,” he says gently. “entitlement is.”

her brows knit. “then... if that's how you feel, why didn’t you throw it away?”

he suppresses a laugh at the fact she's even suggesting he would've drank it. “i don’t like iced coffee,” he answers. “i waited out of courtesy until you left to throw it away because, until a moment ago, i had respect for you as a stranger.”

she stiffens, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. “you’re… really mean.”

he tilts his head. “i can live with that.”

she huffs, “i just thought—”

“you thought persistence might change the answer,” he finishes. “might i suggest next time taking no for an answer. it'll be much less humiliating for you.”

before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts in.

“hi!”

suguru turns instantly.

it’s 2:35. you’re standing there with a grin, still in your uniform, bag slung over your shoulder, eyes bright as you hug his arm tightly. relief softens his expression in a way it never would for anyone else.

he steps into you, his arm slipping around your waist, fingers lacing with yours. he kisses your knuckles, “you finished early? i was going to surprise you.”

you laugh. “i surprised you! i saw you through the window.” then you rummage in your bag. “wait, i got you something!”

you pull out a bottle of iced coffee.

the same one from before. down to the brand and the flavour.

his smile turns warm and adoring, “my favourite,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your skin.

you glance at the girl, head tilting slightly, smile sweet. “oh sorry! are you suguru’s friend?”

she clears her throat, mortified. “n-no. i was just— asking for directions.”

suguru chuckles softly. “oh, don’t worry. i’ll tell her all about it later. we’ll have a laugh.”

you blink, confused, but he presses a kiss to your temple.

“come,” he says. “let’s get ramen.”

your face lights up. “ouuh! yeah!”

𖦹 o. yuuta

picnic date w/ yuuta

it’s warm enough for short sleeves, and mosquito bites and sunscreen. you and yuuta always try to capitalise on the warmer months with as many outdoorsy dates as you can manage. you've claimed your usual spot at the far edge of the park, tucked beneath a cluster of trees where the noise thins out and people don't wander past.

a picnic blanket's spread out beneath the two of you. you sit beside him in that pretty sundress that has him blushing like a schoolboy, knees tucked under yourself, chewing thoughtfully on your sandwich, your head leaned into his shoulder. yuuta watches you over his own sandwich when he thinks you’re not looking, cheeks warm, heart doing that thing it always does around you.

then, faint at first, comes the music.

you both pause, watching the ice cream truck roll in down the far end of the park. you always get ice cream on your picnic dates, it's not the same without it. however, this time, the truck had come late. you both assumed it wasn't coming today and had filled up on the other foods you'd packed.

"aw man..." you pout slightly, looking up at him, "i'm not hungry... d'you still want one?"

he considers it, then shakes his head, also full himself, “we can… share?”

you smile, glad that you don't have to miss out on tradition after all, “yeah!"

the wave of children who had raced towards the truck as soon as it'd pulled in has died down now, thankfully. you stay behind to watch the blanket while he walks toward it, hands shoved into his pockets, rehearsing his order in his head like it’s an exam.

one cup. strawberry. two spoons. simple.

when he reaches the truck, the girl working it looks down at him and smiles brightly.

“hi!” she chirps. “what can i get you?”

“uh—hi,” yuuta says quickly. “just... one cup. strawberry. please.”

she raises an eyebrow. “just one?” she smiles sweetly, "here alone, handsome?"

he freezes. entire face goes pink, "n-no..! no, i'm sharing.."

“with who?” she asks lightly, already scooping.

“my— my girlfriend,” he blurts.

she hums, unconvinced. “oh? don’t see her.”

his stomach drops.

“s-she’s— she’s over there,” he gestures vaguely back toward the trees, immediately worried he’s pointed too broadly. “we’re on a picnic.”

the girl smiles wider. “aw. that’s cute.” she leans forward a bit. “you know, you don’t have to be taken to enjoy ice cream with someone.”

yuuta’s brain short-circuits.

“i— i do,” he says earnestly. “i mean— i am. taken. i’m very taken.”

she laughs. “you’re funny.”

“i’m not,” he says, voice cracking slightly.

“why nervous?” she asks, handing him the cup, fingers brushing his intentionally. “it’s just ice cream.”

he recoils like he’s been burned as soon as he feels her nails scrape his fingers. he holds the cup tightly, "d-don't touch me. please."

there’s a beat of silence.

she blinks. “wow.”

“... sorry if that was weird,” he rushes on. “i just... love her a lot and she’s really important to me, and i don’t wanna do anything that could make her sad, or—”

he stops, breathless, eyes wide.

the girl stares at him for a moment, then snorts. “okay. got it, boyfriend of the year.”

he flushes crimson. “i... i didn’t mean—”

“relax,” she says, waving him off. “she’s lucky.”

yuuta gulps, "can i... get another spoon?"

he scurries back toward you like he’s fleeing a crime scene, ice cream held with both hands like it's a bomb that could detonate at any given moment.

when he reaches the blanket, you're laying down, soaking up sun. he can't even focus on how good you look like that because he genuinely feels like a criminal with a conscience. he sits down a little too quickly.

“ouu, that looks good." you smile, sitting up, taking one of the spoons and having a bite. you pause, paper spoon halfway in your mouth when you see the guilt-stricken expression on his face, tilting your head, "you okay, baby?"

he nods. then shakes his head. then nods again. “yeah. yes. i think so.”

you giggle softly, “what happened?”

he hesitates, then blurts, “she thought i was alone and tried to flirt with me and i panicked and told her about you and how much i love you and then she touched my hand and i told her not to touch me and—"

you blink, taking a few seconds to process because he's talking so fast. then you laugh, "really? what a weirdo."

you take the another bite of ice cream, scooting closer to him. he leans in hesitantly, like he's unsure if he deserves to.

“i’m sorry,” he says, looking worried now, “i-i told her i had a girlfriend immediately, i promise!”

you grin, "what are you even apologising for? you didn't do anything wrong."

"i... uh..."

your heart squeezes. you press a kiss to his cheek. “this ice cream's really good, baby. try some.”

his ears turn red. he smiles anyway, shy and relieved, leaning into you.

𖦹 i. toge

sleepy toge curses your annoying friend

you're not sure why your friend, miyo, always insists hangouts should take place at yours and toge's place. especially when yoka has a pool that's be great for the warm weather today. and emi's place is twice as big as yours. and miyo herself has a new puppy who you're dying to meet.

you've got a small city apartment, a lookout you could barely even count as a balcony, and... and, most notably—a quiet, white-haired boyfriend who adores you with a gentleness that still surprises you sometimes.

of course, still, you’re happy to host. you're delighted whenever miyo and the rest of your group of girlfriends come over to hang out and gossip. even prepared a fancy charcuterie board for all of you to share. with a salami rose and fancy cheeses and grapes. then you'd rummaged the house for all the nail polish you own.

toge had come home from his mission an hour before the girls arrived, worn down and hoarse from using his cursed speech, exhaustion clinging to him like a second uniform. you’d slipped easily into caretaker mode. once he was out of the shower and dressed in soft clothes, you’d pressed a mug of warm lemon tea into his hands for his sore throat, tucked him into bed, and kissed his forehead.

we won’t be loud, you’d promised softly as he drifted into a well-deserved nap.

now the four of you are sprawled across the living room floor, nails half-done, snacks dwindling. your hands rest on a cushion in emi’s lap as she paints your nails a glossy cherry red, recounting a story about her work crush to everyone.

"no way!" yoka gasps, "he's totally into you. you should make a move!"

she sighs, "that's the thing. he's not my type, like at all. he's so quiet. and kinda mean." she pouts, clearly conflicted, "i like extroverted guys, y'know? like the golden retriever type."

"maybe he just needs a push? toge's kinda like that too." you suggest.

"if you don't want him, i'll take him. i love quiet guys." miyo grins, dipping the applicator back into the pot of sky blue for yoka's nails.

"you love taken guys." yoka rolls her eyes.

miyo gasps, defensive, "i don't!"

the four of you look up when the door down the hall creaks, and out steps a sleepy inumaki, hair a little ruffled and eyes droopy. he looks softest like this. it's rare to see him so unguarded.

you open your mouth to greet him, but miyo beats you to it. "hi, toge!" she chirps sweetly.

he doesn’t answer her, rubbing at one eye. you smile instead, tilting your head without thinking, the kind of smile you give only him. that pretty smile that you don't realise drives him insane, "did you sleep well?"

he nods, "salmon."

"wow, so she gets a response and i don't?" miyo pouts playfully.

"shut up, miyo." yoka whines, "you got it on my finger!" you giggle lightheartedly, not quite seeing the bite in miyo's words.

toge couldn't understand how you could be so clueless.

he comes over to you, where you're sat on the rung having your nails done, putting an absent hand on your head. his fingers thread through your hair.

"did we wake you up?" you ask with gentle concern. he shakes his head.

"really? y/n was being super loud, i was sure she would." miyo chuckles.

he stares at her blankly for a second. before looking back down at you "tuna mayo?"

"hm?" you look up at him, "oh, i put it in the fridge. are you hungry? i'll go heat it up for you." you offer, not wanting him to do so much after working so hard this morning.

he shakes his head, "okaka." he insists, pointing to your hands, where polish is still wet. you smile adoringly, because you know what he means. have fun. don't fuss over me.

"okay. there's more tea for you on the stove." you grin, watching him head for the kitchen.

it's only then when miyo shoots up from her spot, "oh, i'm thirsty. what do you have, y/n?"

you look up her with a slightly confused blink, because you'd offered everyone drinks no less than five minutes ago, still you shrug, "we have soda and juice! you can help yourself."

"thanks! you're the best." she smiles, before skipping off to join toge behind the closed kitchen door.

yoka shakes her head with a disapproving sigh, cleaning the sloppy job miyo had done on her nails with an acetone soaked q-tip, "you're too trusting, y/n."

emi nods in agreement.

you frown, "hey, is this about what you two were telling me last week? i told you guys, it's nothing! she wouldn't do that."

"right." they both murmur in unison.

toge takes the tupperware of food you'd cooked out of the microwave, looking over his shoulder when he sees miyo enter. she smiles at him, opening the fridge and looking for a drink.

he sighs softly in annoyance. this is his least favourite scenario. him trapped in the same room as her. yet he can't stop finding himself here. not when she always manages to find an excuse to be left alone with him. usually, he'd tolerate it. she's your friend after all, and you're completely clueless to it. but he's still half asleep and sore right now and in no mood.

"toge~" she smiles, standing up with a can of soda, "can you get me a cup?"

he stares at her blankly, before stepping out of the way with his food.

"... or i'll get it myself." she chuckles, reaching for the dish rack and picking up a clean cup. she peers into the sink with a chuckle, "aww, y/n didn't do the dishes, huh?"

there's five in there at most.

he rolls his eyes, turning around, about to leave. and then she speaks again.

"i couldn't imagine leaving my house like this. like, one thing out of place and i go insane, y'know?"

no. no he doesn't know.

his eyes flick back to the door, convinced she can't have more to say now. but just as he's about to get a step in—

"what's that? is that the food she cooked you?" she peers at the warm tupperware in his hands, then her face twists, "oh... that looks... lovely."

his eye twitches. you'd made his favourite. and you did a damn good job at it.

she bursts into loud, fake laughter, "kidding!~ jeez, you're so uptight. i'd never insult your precious girl like that..."

a moment of silence passes.

finally. she's done. he turns, heads for the door.

"but it kinda looks like—"

"be quiet." the words leave him before he can even stop them.

miyo chokes up, her eyes widening as she opens her mouth and nothing escapes but a hoarse squeak.

he can't even say he regrets it. he sighs softly in relief, before leaving her without another thought.

𖦹 f. toji

your married landlady shoots her shot

toji’s leaning against the kitchen counter when the knock comes.

you’d ducked out ten minutes ago for snacks, leaving him alone in your apartment with the windows open and your cat judging him from the couch.

he opens the door without thinking.

“uh… hi.”

the woman on the other side blinks once.

then her eyes drag. slowly. deliberately. from his face, to his chest, down his arms like she’s inspecting merchandise.

“well,” she says, voice dropping into something syrupy. “hello. is y/n home? i’m her landlady.”

“oh, nah,” toji shrugs, casual. “i’m her boyfriend. toji. she went out. should be back soon.”

“right. toji.” she smiles — pleased with that answer. “she mentioned there was a problem with the sink?”

“oh, yeah. over here.” he steps aside, already turning toward the kitchen. “it’s leaking pretty bad. tried fixing it but i couldn’t figure it out.”

she follows him in, heels clicking, standing just a little too close. her perfume’s invasively sharp.

she leans over the sink unnecessarily, blazer pulling tight. the first two buttons of her blouse have magically come undone within the last thirty seconds. she tilts her head at him with a sultry smirk “you know… i’m very hands-on with my tenants. if there’s anything else you need help with, i have many services—”

toji snorts.

he doesn’t even look at her when he says it.

“aren’t you embarrassed?”

the words land flat. amused. cutting through her pride.

she freezes.

"flirting with your tenant's boyfriend in her kitchen. sad."

slowly, she straightens, colour creeping up her neck as she fumbles with her blazer, tugging it closed like dignity might button itself back on.

“i’ll-i’ll send a plumber in a few days,” she mutters, already backing toward the door.

toji shrugs. “cool.”

the front door opens just then.

you step in with your arms full of grocery bags, kick the door shut with your foot, and smile brightly when you see her.

“oh, hi yurina!”

she stiffens, forcing a thin smile. “y/n, hi. i was just telling your… boyfriend here that i’ll have the leak fixed soon.”

“oh, yay! thanks so much,” you beam, setting the bags on the counter.

“yes. yes,” she nods quickly. “i-i’ll head out now. see you.”

“oh! i have—” you start, reaching for the paperwork she’d given you days ago, stuck to your fridge with a magnet, signed and ready for her.

the door shuts abruptly.

you blink, “…huh. she must’ve been in a rush.”

“yeah,” toji murmurs.

you hum, unpacking snacks. “she’s really nice though! she always brings me these really good peaches her husband grows—”

he glances at the fruit basket on the counter.

“husband, huh?”

you pause. “yeah! he’s a gardener. really sweet guy. and they have a daughter, she's six. why?”

toji smiles. slow. smug.

“oh, nothing,” he says. “just that his wife was offering me all her special services.”

your jaw drops. “seriously?!”

he nods, smirk deepening. “uh-huh. undid her top buttons and everything.”

“is that why she was in a rush?” you gasp, eyes flicking to the peaches — still plump. still perfect. “woah… in front of her husband’s peaches and everything?”

toji laughs, low and rough, sliding an arm around your waist, “people got no shame.” he says, leaning into your neck, "d'you get beer?"

you roll your eyes at him, pulling the bottle you'd bought him.

𖦹 k. choso

rockstar!cho's manager has something against you

the bass is still thrumming through the walls when you step into the back entrance, vip pass swinging from your wrist. the guard barely glances at it before nodding and opening the door.

“welcome back,” he says easily.

you smile. “thank you!”

the whole band crew knows you. you’re always there, front row at all the shows, cheering too loud, sitting in on rehearsals when you can. the band guys joke that you’re the real good luck charm. they always save you a seat. you're family. their first and biggest supporter.

they've just had their biggest gig, like, ever. some huge artist noticed them and invited them to open for them at this huge talent event that actually matters. they'd done absolutely amazing. you couldn't wait to tell him that.

you step further inside, the lights are dimmer here, champagne glasses clink, conversations buzzing with post-show adrenaline. you scan the crowd for choso.

“excuse me.”

you turn.

a woman in a blazer stands in front of you, clipboard tucked under her arm. the band's manager. one of them, at least. the one who always lingers a little too close. the one whose hand always seems to find his shoulder. whose smile only appears when he's around.

you've had your suspicions about her for awhile now. never voiced them. she's been around for quite some time now, and she was good at her job, and she had connections with people in the industry. they had needed all the help they could get from the people who were willing back then. you couldn't imagine taking that away from hem.

“this area is restricted,” she says coolly. “you’ll need to leave.”

you blink, confused. because this woman had most definitely seen you backstage with them various times. your relationship wasn't a secret.

“oh... i have a vip pass. i’m meeting choso.” you say unsurely, holding up your wrist. had there been a mistake? the security had let you in... and you'd been assured the pass was all you needed. you've never been kicked out like this before.

her eyes flick to your wrist, then back to your face. unimpressed. “this section is for artists and management only.”

confusion prickles at your skin. “but… i'm always allowed with the band..”

she smiles, thin. “tonight’s different. bigger event. more important guests.”

so she did recognise you. could it hurt to at least call you by name?

you hesitate, clutching the strap of your bag. “oh... i was told it was fine. could you maybe check with—”

“i’m busy,” she cuts in. “security can escort you out.”

your heart sinks. you'd been so excited to see him.

before you can say anything else, another presence fills the space behind her.

“why are you not letting her in?”

choso’s voice is low and calm. but there’s an edge to it that makes the woman stiffen instantly.

“o-oh, choso!” she turns around far too quickly, smile snapping into place. “i didn’t realise— i was just doing my job. she doesn’t seem to have the proper—”

“answer my question.”

the room feels quieter. even the music fades into background noise.

she swallows. “i... don’t recognise her. is she important?”

your eyes widen. important is an interesting choice of words, but choso is already stepping past her.

he stops beside you.

his shoulders relax the second he sees your face. his expression softens, concern flickering across it. “are you okay?”

you manage a small nod, a little embarrassed.

he tightens his jaw. choso is always respectful to the staff. he makes it a point to show them his gratitude. never blames them for mistakes, buys them food when they stay late, always thanks them publicly at the end of concerts for their hard work, never ever raises his voice or scolds them.

but this is just blatant. she isn't even trying to hide it. he turns back to her. “you didn't recognise her." he repeats slowly.

"no... i don't think we've met." she gives you a saccharine smile, "i'm sorry for the misunderstanding. are you cho's friend?"

"i'm... his girlfriend." you mumble.

the manager laughs, fake. “oh! i'm so sorry, i didn’t know." she hits choso's arm playfully, "cho, you should’ve told me she was—”

“you do know,” he stops her. his voice doesn’t rise. that makes it worse. “you’ve met her multiple times. she baked cookies for you and the rest of the staff last week. she's been supporting us longer than you've been managing.”

her smile falters.

“and even if you didn't recognise her,” he continues, “you know the vip pass is all she needs to be back here. so why weren't you letting her in?"

she shifts, defensive now. “i-i was just trying to do my job.”

choso's eyes narrow, "that's security's job. so what's yours?"

a few heads nearby turn. the band guys have gone quiet, watching with grins because they've all also been waiting for choso to snap at her.

“i didn’t mean—”

he cuts her off, “no. what's your job?”

"...m-manager." she looks down.

"right." he says evenly, "don't speak to her like that again. and don't call me cho."

he turns to you then, and that sweet choso smile immediately comes to his face, "c'mon, let's get a drink." he says, wrapping an arm around you and leading you past the barriers and into the event.

gorgeous dividers by @pixopix ! check them out here <33