In biological terms, they call it the pack instinct—the urge of every living creature to bond with another. It doesn't have to be one of their own. It could be another creature entirely unrelated to them.

As long as there is love, there is life.

For you, after a few long years of searching for your own pack-mate, you stumbled upon him in an elevator.

At first, you didn't really notice him.

The elevator was always crowded in the mornings. People squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder, clutching coffee cups and briefcases, staring at their phones with the hollow expression of those not yet fully awake. You stepped inside, pressed yourself into whatever space was available, and rode to the seventeenth floor. Every day, this was your routine.

And every day, he was there.

Tall enough to see over most heads, with short blonde hair that always looked slightly windblown. He stood near the back wall with his hands in his pockets and an expression that hovered somewhere between sleepy and amused.

You learned his routine before you learned his name. He got on at the same lobby, got off on the same floor as you and without fail, turned left while you turned right.

At five-thirty every evening, you found yourselves together again. The elevator doors would open. There he'd be. You'd ride down in silence. Then he would disappear into the city while you headed in the opposite direction.

Weeks turned into months. Months turned into a year. You learned tiny things about him. He liked listening to music on his commute. He sometimes wore old band t-shirts beneath his work jacket. He laughed quietly to himself whenever he read something funny on his phone.

And every time he smiled, two absurdly deep dimples appeared in his cheeks. The first time you noticed them, you nearly walked into a wall.

After that, you found yourself waiting for them. Waiting for the smile. Waiting for the elevator. Waiting for him. It became the favorite part of your day.

Neither of you spoke. There were occasional nods, a muttered "morning." Once, during a power outage that trapped everyone for twenty minutes between floors, you'd exchanged actual conversation.

You learned his name was Maki.

Maki with the blonde hair, Maki with the ridiculous dimples, Maki who always stood close enough for you to notice the faint scent of his shampoo, Maki who somehow made thirty seconds in an elevator feel important.

The realization hit you one random, rainy Tuesday.

You were both standing in the lobby. The elevator was late. Maki wasn't there. And you felt disappointed.

Then the doors opened at the last second and he hurried inside, slightly out of breath. The relief that flooded through you was embarrassing. You looked up. He looked down. His dimples appeared.

"Oh good," he said. "I thought I'd missed you."

Your heart stopped functioning normally "What?"

He laughed. "That came out weird."

"No, no," you said quickly. "Keep talking."

His ears turned pink. "I was just..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We've been riding the same elevator for almost two years." The grin that spread across his face revealed both dimples at once. "You know," he said, "I was trying to figure out how to ask you out without sounding like a complete creep."

You stared at him. The elevator dinged. The doors opened onto the seventeenth floor. Nobody moved. People shuffled around you with annoyed sighs. Neither of you cared.

"You wanted to ask me out?" you finally managed.

Maki nodded. "Preferably before we retire."

You laughed. He laughed. And suddenly it felt absurd that you'd spent years riding up and down together without doing this.

"Then yes," you said.

His eyebrows rose. "Yes?"

"I'll go out with you."

The smile that followed was so bright you thought it might power the elevator by itself. "Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah." He stepped aside as the last people filed out. "Because I've been sharing an elevator with my favorite person every day for two years."

The warmth that settled in your chest felt strangely familiar, like finding something you'd been missing for a long time.

Maybe because you'd spent most of your life feeling like a puzzle piece from the wrong box.

You fit everywhere, technically. You had friends, you got along with people, you could hold conversations and laugh at the right moments and blend into a crowd when you needed to.

But there was always something slightly off. Like everyone else had been handed a script you never received.

You were never completely part of things, only adjacent to them.

Most of your real comfort came from your online friends—the people who knew the strange corners of your personality that never seemed to surface around anyone else. The ones who understood your niche references, your bizarre trains of thought, your tendency to spiral from discussing grocery lists into debating whether penguins would thrive in a corporate office environment. The people who never looked at you strangely when your brain jumped three conversations ahead.

Then Maki happened.

One evening you'd spent twenty straight minutes making increasingly ridiculous arguments about why a goose would be a terrible roommate. Instead of looking confused, Maki had immediately joined in.

"No, you're missing the biggest issue."

"What biggest issue?"

"The goose would steal your socks."

You had stared at him. "What?"

"Think about it."

"Why would a goose steal my socks?"

"To establish dominance."

And somehow that conversation had lasted another hour. It was stupid, completely stupid. And you'd laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

That was the thing about Maki. He never seemed interested in some simplified version of you. He wanted all of it—the weird parts, the difficult parts, the parts you usually kept tucked away because they were too complicated to explain.

He asked questions, remembered answers, paid attention. Months after an offhand conversation, he'd bring up things you'd forgotten you ever mentioned.

You once casually told him that thunderstorms helped you sleep. Three months later, during a particularly loud storm, your phone buzzed.

Maki: Bet you're having the best nap of your life right now.

You stared at the message for a full minute, because he'd remembered and people rarely did.

Then there was your hyper-independence.

If you needed something, you handled it. If something was difficult, you dealt with it. If you were struggling, you figured it out alone.

Maki hated that.

Not because he thought you were incapable, quite the opposite actually. He knew you could do everything yourself. He just thought you shouldn't have to.

The first time he discovered you'd been carrying three overloaded grocery bags home alone, he'd looked genuinely offended. "You could've called me." He'd said, immediately yanking two of the bags away before any protest could fall from your lips.

Another time, you'd spent hours assembling a bookshelf by yourself. When Maki arrived and found you sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by screws and frustration, he'd dropped to the ground beside you without a word.

"I can do it myself."

"I know."

"So why are you helping?"

He'd handed you a screwdriver. "Because I love you." As though that explained everything. To him, apparently it did.

The biggest fight you'd ever had started because you'd gotten sick and deliberately not told him.

When he eventually found out, he stared at you in complete disbelief. "You had a fever."

"I was fine."

"Baby, you almost collapsed." He said, placing a cold towel on your forehead with utmost care, "You don't always have to carry everything alone, you know?"

Patiently, stubbornly, Maki had spent years teaching you that relying on someone wasn't the same thing as burdening them.

That love wasn't just showing up for the easy things. It was showing up for the annoying, inconvenient, ordinary things too. The grocery bags, the flat tires, the bad days, the random Friday afternoons where your brain convinced you the entire world had shifted two inches to the left. Especially those.

Like today, for example.

Nothing catastrophic had happened, which in some ways made everything worse.

The train had been delayed. Someone had sent you three separate emails asking questions already answered in the original document. Your lunch had somehow ended up tasting like disappointment. A meeting that should have lasted twenty minutes stretched into an hour and a half.

Every small inconvenience stacked neatly on top of the previous one until your patience resembled a tower built from wet cardboard.

By three in the afternoon, you were already exhausted. By four, every conversation felt slightly too loud. By five, even answering a simple "How was your day?" sounded like a task requiring extensive preparation.

The worst part was that strange, hollow feeling underneath everything, the sense that you were moving through the day rather than living it. Like your body had shown up to work but the rest of you had gotten lost somewhere along the commute.

By the time you finally got home, your shoulders ached from tension you hadn't even realized you'd been carrying.

You unlocked the apartment door, stepped inside and immediately spotted your boyfriend.

Maki was stretched out on the couch with one arm draped across the backrest, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. The television was on low volume, filling the room with soft background noise.

The moment he looked up, his expression softened into something that made your chest swell.

"Hey, sweetheart."

That was all it took. You dropped your bag near the door, kicked off your shoes and crossed the room without a word.

Maki barely had time to set his phone aside before you folded yourself directly into his lap and buried your face against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instantly. Automatically, like muscle memory or like breathing.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. You just stayed there, pressed against the familiar warmth of him, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

One of his hands moved slowly through your hair, gentle and patient—the way he always did when he knew you were running on empty.

A soft kiss landed against the crown of your head. You felt him rest his cheek lightly against your hair.

"That bad?"

A muffled noise escaped you, something between a groan and a whine.

Maki laughed quietly. "Got it."

His fingers continued combing through your hair. The apartment felt warm and safe, the rain tapping softly against the windows.

After a while, Maki tilted his head so he could look down at you. His expression was soft in that way it only ever was around you.

"Would you like to take a shower?"

You considered the question. The hot water, clean clothes (preferably his), washing away the entire miserable day.

Eventually, you nodded against his chest. "Yeah."

Maki pressed another kiss to the top of your head and tightened his arms around you for a few seconds longer.

As if he understood that right now, more than the shower or dinner or anything else waiting to be done, what you really needed was this.

A place to rest. A place to stop carrying everything. And, as always, Maki seemed perfectly happy to be that place.

The world outside the apartment faded completely as Maki held you. The rain continued its soft rhythm against the windows, but inside, everything had gone still and warm.

After a long, comfortable silence, Maki shifted beneath you. His arms tightened once—a quick, reassuring squeeze—before he spoke again, his voice low and gentle.

"Alright, baby. Up we go."

Before you could even process what was happening, he slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you off the couch,

You let out a small, surprised sound, your arms winding around his neck. "Maki—"

"Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I've got you."

He carried you through the apartment with the kind of effortless certainty that made your chest ache. The hallway lights were dim, the bedroom door already open, but he bypassed it entirely, heading straight for the bathroom.

The tiles were cool beneath his bare feet. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, then set you down carefully on the edge of the counter, his hands lingering at your waist to make sure you were steady.

You sat there, legs dangling, looking up at him. The bathroom light caught in his hair, softening the angles of his face. His eyes were warm, patient, full of something that made your throat tight.

"Okay," Maki said quietly, his thumbs tracing small circles against your hips through the fabric of your work clothes. "Let's get this day off you."

He started with your shirt.

His fingers found the buttons, working each one free with a care that felt less like undressing and more like unwrapping something precious. With each button, he pressed a kiss to the newly exposed skin—your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, the hollow at the base of your throat.

"You don't have to—" you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I want to," he said simply, and his dimples appeared as he glanced up at you. "Let me take care of you tonight. Please?"

The word please undid something in you. You nodded, and he smiled—that bright, ridiculous, dimpled smile that still made your heart stutter after all this time.

Your boyfriend slid the shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall somewhere behind him. His palms smoothed down your arms, warming your skin, before he knelt in front of you to undo your pants. His movements were unhurried and reverent. He pressed a kiss to your knee as he worked the fabric down your legs, then another to your ankle when you stepped out of them.

When you were left in nothing but your underwear, he rose again, his hands cupping your face. He studied you for a moment, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones.

"Beautiful." He said, so softly it was almost to himself.

Steam began to fill the small space as he turned on the shower, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of the room. Maki tested the water with his hand, adjusted the temperature, and only when he was satisfied did he turn back to you.

"Ready?"

You held out your hands to him. He took them, helped you slide off the counter, and guided you into the shower.

The hot water hit your skin like a release. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, your shoulders dropping as the tension began to unspool. Maki stepped in behind you, the water catching in his hair. He reached for the shampoo.

"Close your eyes." He instructed softly, and you obeyed.

His fingers worked through your hair with a gentleness that made your knees weak. Maki massaged your scalp in slow, firm circles, working the lather from your roots to your ends. Every movement was designed to soothe rather than simply clean. When he was done, he guided your head back under the spray, rinsing until the water ran clear.

Then came the conditioner. Then the body wash.

Your beloved's hands traveled over your shoulders, down your arms, across your back. He worked the soap into your skin with the same patient attention, finding every knot of tension and pressing gently until they began to loosen. His thumbs dug into the tight muscles at the base of your neck, and you couldn't help the small, involuntary sound that escaped you.

"Found it," he murmured, amused.

"Shut up," you mumbled, but there was no bite to it. He laughed quietly and kept working.

By the time Maki was done, you were barely standing—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer, bone-deep relaxation that had settled into every part of you. Your limbs felt heavy, your mind blissfully blank, your heart full.

Maki turned off the water and reached for a towel.

He wrapped it around you first, drying your arms and shoulders with careful strokes. Then he knelt, patting dry your legs, your feet, even between your toes, which made you giggle sleepily. He rose, dried your hair with a second towel, ruffling it until it was damp and soft and sticking up in every direction.

"There," he said, surveying his work with satisfaction. "All better."

He helped you step out of the shower, then guided you to the bedroom. He pulled one of his t-shirts from the drawer—soft, worn, smelling faintly of him—and helped you pull it over your head. Then a pair of loose shorts, because he knew you liked having the option.

You stood there, wrapped in his clothes, your hair still damp, your body warm and clean and completely at ease.

Maki looked at you for a long moment. Then he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you into a hug so full and steady that you felt something inside you finally, fully, let go.

"I love you." He said against your hair.

You buried your face in his chest and held him back.

"I love you too."

He pulled away just enough to look at you, his dimples deepening as he smiled. "Feeling better?"

You thought about it. The terrible day, the hollow feeling, the weight you'd been carrying.

Then you thought about Maki carrying you to the bathroom. Undressing you with his kisses, washing away every trace of the bad hours, dressing you in his clothes and holding you like you were something worth holding.

"Yeah," you said, and your voice came out steady. "I think I am."

Maki kissed your forehead. "Good. Now come on." He tugged you toward the bed, pulling back the covers. "Let's go lie down and watch something stupid until we fall asleep."

The bed welcomed you both like an old friend.

Maki pulled the covers up over your shoulders, tucking the edge beneath your chin with the same careful attention he gave everything else. You shifted closer, molding yourself against his side, your head finding its natural resting place in the hollow of his shoulder.

His arm came around you, palm flat against your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns through the soft fabric of his old t-shirt. His other hand found yours, threading your fingers together and resting them on his chest, right over his heart.

The rain had softened to a whisper against the windows. The apartment was dark except for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the curtains. It painted soft shadows across the ceiling, cast gentle silver lines along the curve of Maki's jaw.

You let out a long, slow breath. The kind that came from somewhere deep. The kind that said I'm home.

Maki pressed his lips to the top of your head and let them linger there.

"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your hair.

"Mmh."

"Warm enough?"

"Mmh."

"Need anything?"

You nuzzled closer, your nose brushing against his neck. "Just this."

His chest rose and fell with a quiet laugh. "Yeah, me too."

Your breathing began to even out, growing slower and deeper. The tension that had coiled in your shoulders all day had finally dissolved completely, leaving you soft and pliant in his arms. Your fingers curled loosely around his, your body relaxing into his as though you were made to fit there.

Maki stayed awake.

He listened to the rain, felt the gentle weight of you against him, counted the soft rhythm of your breaths until they became predictable, steady and peaceful.

And in the quiet of that dark room, with you safely tucked against his side, his thoughts drifted.

He thought about the first time he saw you in that elevator. Head down, earbuds in, a small frown of concentration on your face as you scrolled through something on your phone. He'd thought you were beautiful, but more than that—he'd thought you looked like someone he wanted to know.

He thought about the months of silent rides. The gradual progression from strangers to familiar faces. The morning you'd both reached for the same elevator button at the same time, your fingers brushing, and how you'd both laughed nervously and said "sorry" at the exact same moment.

He thought about the power outage. Twenty minutes trapped between floors. How you'd been the one to break the silence with a joke about the universe trying to give you both a forced bonding experience. How he'd laughed so hard he'd snorted, and how you'd looked at him like that was exactly the reaction you'd been hoping for.

He thought about asking you out. The terror of it. The way his heart had hammered against his ribs as he'd stepped into the lobby that rainy Tuesday, determined, terrified, completely unprepared for how you'd say yes before he'd even finished his sentence.

He thought about every moment since. Every laugh, every conversation, every time you'd looked at him like he was something special, when really, he was just a guy who'd been lucky enough to find you.

He thought about the way you'd curled into him. How you trusted him enough to fall apart in his arms, to let him put you back together. How you'd let him wash your hair and dry your feet and dress you in his clothes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He thought about how you always smelled like sunshine and something floral, even after a long day. He thought about how your laugh sounded like coming home.

He thought about the future. About mornings and evenings and grocery runs and lazy Sundays. About arguments they'd have and make up from. About growing old, about gray hair and wrinkled hands and still reaching for each other in the dark.

Maki thought about forever.

And he realized, with a certainty that settled warm and solid in his chest, that forever with you still wouldn't be long enough.

His arm tightened around you, just slightly, pulling you closer. You stirred, making a soft, sleepy sound, and he pressed another kiss to your hair.

"Love you," he whispered into the darkness. "So much."

You didn't answer. You were already asleep. But your hand, still resting on his chest, curled a little tighter around his fingers and that was answer enough.

Maki closed his eyes, your warmth seeping into his bones, your scent filling his lungs, your heartbeat a quiet lullaby against his ribs.

He smiled to himself—one of those soft, private smiles that only existed in moments like this. His dimples appeared, even in the dark.

You snuggled closer to Maki, fitting yourself against your side like you'd been doing it your whole life. And maybe you had been.

Maybe you'd just been waiting for the right elevator.

fin.

A/N: oh to have a love like the one Maki gives :((( yeah i had the saddest playlist on whilst writing this

divider by @diviniyae

@eu1joo @7yataki @frenchkisstheabyss @yumangel @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @antonh0lic @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll @solairemelo @cece0710 + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added

one.

he remembers you asked him to wake you up early. you've just slept together for the first time – as in literally just slept next to each other, nothing more.

“y/n?” he calls so softly, voice laced with sleep and love and a little awe at the fact that he actually gets to wake up next to you. you hear him and pretend you don't just to hear him say it again.

two.

you're just about to head to bed, it's almost midnight when he calls.

“y/n,” he sighs, drawling out your name.

“hi, baby. how was practice? you sound tired,”

“i am,” his voice is a little muffled.

you chuckle softly. “go to bed then, silly,”

“i am,” he says again, too exhausted to even say anything more.

you can picture him in bed with his eyes closed, face half-buried in his pillow. “i see. wanted to check in with me before bed then, i presume?”

“mmhm,”

you smile. “alright then. good night, baby.”

“love you,”

three.

when you press answer on the video call request, the screen shows you your boyfriend with his mouth stuffed like a chipmunk.

“y/n!” he exclaims, barely intelligible. “this burrito is the best thing i’ve ever tasted,”

“you called me at work to tell me this?” you laugh.

he holds up a hand while he chews before answering. “well, yeah. but also to tell you that this is what we're ordering for dinner tonight because you need to taste this roll of heaven. okay bye now, i'm gonna focus on savouring every bite,”

four.

you're standing outside his apartment building waiting for him when he sneaks up behind you.

“hi y/n,” he breathes right behind your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

“oh my…”

“i know, i'm very handsome,” he brags, brushing his hair back and snaking his arms around your waist.

“no, i mean… um, can you do that again?”

“what?”

“whisper my name the way you did just now?”

a teasing smile spreads across his face as he leans in close. “ooh, we like that, do we?”

five.

“and…you know what maki…said then?” you manage to get out between fits of laughter as your audience of friends wait impatiently.

“oh my god y/n please don't tell them,” maki pleads, but he can't help laughing too.

“oh come on just spill it already!” taki cries.

you happen to lock eyes with maki then, causing the both you to erupt into laughter again.

six.

“y-y/n…wow, hi.”

you chuckle nervously, your flushed cheeks mirroring his. “what's with that reaction? didn't expect me to make it?”

“n-no, it's not that, i just uh…wow. you look… wow. i don't even know what to say. um, hi,”

you laugh again, albeit without the nerves this time. “yes you said that already, genius. but hi,”

seven.

five urgent knocks. when you open the door, you find him with tears streaming down his face.

“y/n,” he chokes out, and it sounds like help me.

you pull him into your arms, and shut the rest of the world out behind you.

© lovelyjuju, 2025. please don't copy, translate, or post on any other platforms. find my other works here

she met you at a christmas party. 

nobara’s tiny college apartment was packed, and somehow she ended up leaning against a doorway across from you. you were making idle small talk with her, all flushed cheeks and nervous laughter and fluttering lashes. 

neither of you noticed until nobara had pointed out the mistletoe dangling from the doorframe above you. 

maki pretended not to care, head ducked to take a sip from her red solo cup. her cheeks turn about the same shade when you lean in to peck her on the cheek. it’s quick, and you’re drawing back with a nervous giggle and a quiet apology. 

maki thinks that’s about where she started to fall for you. 

— ˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—

“maki!”

she turns at the summon, watching you run across the crosswalk, cheeks flushed from the cold and hair disheveled and scarf trailing behind you as you hurry over. 

you beam up at her, a sage-colored box tucked under your arm. 

“i wanted to get this to you before i take off.”

you always give her a present every year. hand-wrapped, thoughtfully chosen, wrapping paper smelling of your perfume, and her name in your adorable penmanship written on the tag. but you fly home every year to spend the holidays with your family, so she doesn’t see you until after the new year, where you always hug her when she picks you up from the airport and make the same lame ‘i haven’t seen you since last year!’ joke, completely oblivious to the fact that she spent christmas staring at the mistletoe and wishing you were there. 

you had asked once, actually, what she did for the holidays. she didn’t tell you that, but she did admit that she didn’t do much outside the occasional meetup with mai to exchange gifts and grab a coffee or have a drink. you had nodded, not offering much else aside from your hand on hers. you knew about her family, everything that happened with them and how awfully they’d treated maki. 

the gentle squeeze you give her gloved hand brings maki back to present. 

she flashes a little smile. “you know you don’t have to do this every year.”

“i know. i like it.”

cute. “when are you leaving?”

“tomorrow night!”

she clicks her tongue. “cutting it a little close, aren’t we?”

“it’s usually less crowded then.” you shrug, matching her pace as you walk to your usual cafe. this is maki’s annual gift to you. coffee and a pastry before you leave for the holidays. she insists she’s not all too materialistic, that she’d rather give you something useful like food. but despite this, every year when you return from your trip, she gives you some little trinket that she “just happened to see that reminds her of you.”

you two make pleasant small talk over hot beverages, maki listening intently as you tell her about your plans for home. she can’t help but smile as you light up like the decorated trees outside, gesturing so vividly you almost knock over your drink. 

she walks you home until your paths diverge and she heads back to the apartment, preparing to settle in for her lonely little christmas. 

the next day passes slow. maki tries to keep busy, running miles on the treadmill and binging shows you’ve recommended, calling the odd friend who happens to be free on vacation. the crowds and the weather make it difficult to go out. 

the loneliness hits harder than normal when she comes home after visiting mai on christmas eve. the apartment is usually empty, maki being the only one who lives there. but even with the decorations you helped put up it feels plain desolate now. 

she’s not sure how long she’s sat on the couch, long-cold coffee in hand and mind wandering idly, when there’s a knock on the door. 

strange. maybe it’s mai, forgotten something?

she opens the door, stunned to find you standing there with melting snow still in your hair. 

“hi.”

maki presses her lips together, searching for words. she steps aside to let you in, latching the door behind you. 

“i—”

“my flight was cancelled. um, something about the snow.” you’re shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, still in your hat and coat. your bags lie forgotten at your feet. 

“and i…” your eyes are big when you look up at her, something softer and more vulnerable than she’s maybe ever seen. “i didn’t want you to be alone.”

she blinks. her glasses are fogging from how close you are. 

her stunned silence is making you anxious, and you open your mouth to apologize, but you don’t get the chance. there’s no mistletoe above you, but maki kisses you anyway. 

maki doesn’t believe in christmas miracles or soulmates. she thinks they’re both corny cliches made up by saps. but she does believe in some semblance of fate, if that’s what led her to you. 

dividers by @/dollywons, pics from pinterest — a note i thought of while writing this: