Self-indulgent

He was like a rabid dog without a leash. wild and untamed and always getting into some dilemma. its not really his fault though. he was always treated as this dangerous beast where you couldn't even look him in the eye without a hostile glare back. and all these annoying wannabe tough guys looking to see if the rumor of the 'mad dog" was true, just to end up with a broken cheek.

he was used to it at this point. a constant cycle of bark, bite, fight.

he stuck out in crowds, with not only his wide shoulders or his intimidating height, but with his reputation alone. his calloused knuckles and his bandaged face told stories of many fights and unhealed scars.

he knew that with a personality and looks like his, he would never experience something as stupid as love or friendship. that was for weak, sappy guys. and weak was the last word to describe him.

then...how can a weak and sappy thing feel so good ? it was just for a moment, but something bloomed inside his heart when he met you. it felt wrong. he wasn't supposed to feel that way.

it was raining, so all students had to stay inside for this break period. he couldn't even go out for a smoke break. and the closest place to his designated spot was the library, a place you worked at as an assistant.

the door flung open with a loud bang. everybody turned their heads in unison before cowering at the sight of his patch-faced scowl, sticking their noses back into whatever book they were reading.

you sat in the corner of the room, sorting out misplace books. you swear, people never give the time to put books where they belong. and sadly, you had a problem. the final book you needed to sort out this shelf was tucked on a shelf which you couldn't reach. who's bright idea was that !?

so here you were, standing on your toes like a idiot in trying to reach the final book. then, a tall, hooded man passed by you, and "tall" was just more than enough for you to call him over. "Um, excuse me," the man stopped walking, then he turned his head, and beneath the shadows casted by his hood, there was a deep frown.

"What ?" he snarled.

You hesitated for just a moment by his sudden, sharp reply. "You're pretty tall, so can you please pass me that book with the red cover ?" You pointed to a book on the highest shelf.

hah. it was comical. you're really asking a guy like him ? do you live under a rock ? he cracked a sarcastic smile at the though. even so, he grabbed the book for you without a reply.

"Ah, thank you." You said simply, nodding with a small smile.

his mind froze. the world seemed to stop for what felt like hours, but it was only a three second interaction. when you flashed him a smile a bunch of foreign and strange feelings clouded his heart. it felt like a pat on the head, but you just...thanked him..? why ? nobody was supposed to show affection for him, even if it was a simple thank you. you even smiled ! he just did a small, stupid favor for you...damnit. what the hell was that ?

and then you walked back to your seat, sorting out the final row of books.

he clutched at his heart which was beating way to fast. he looked at you with an intense glare that looked full of frustration, but his burning face said otherwise.

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 09 ; Coffe Questionary

Chapter 10

I got a new co-author to help me with this story :D

There were three knocks on your dorm door that woke you up instantly. The knocking was gentle but firm, and you didn't need to check the time to know who it was.

"M/N, breakfast is ready."

Isaac's calm voice rang out from behind your door.

It had become a familiar routine by now — Isaac waking you at exactly 7AM each weekday precisely. 

You groaned softly, still half-buried in blankets that smelled faintly of the lavender laundry detergent he'd bought for the dorm. Your body protested the movement, muscles still sore from yesterday, but the promise of food pulled you upright.

You sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and swung your legs over the side of the bed. 

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet until you slipped into the fluffy bunny slippers Isaac had gifted you — it was still ridiculous but it felt like the most comfortable thing your feet had ever touched. 

You shuffled toward the door, your hair mess, your shirt wrinkled, and stepped out into the main living area.

The smell hit you immediately.

Warm, sweet, bursting with the unmistakable scent of fresh blueberries. 

Your stomach growled audibly as you inhaled in the aroma . ‘I could get used to this every morning’, you thought, watching as Isaac moved around the kitchen with ease.

He was pulling a fresh batch of what seemed to be muffins out of the oven, the tray balanced carefully in his oven-mitted hands. 

Isaac was wearing a tight minion apron wrapped around his torso. It should have made you laugh. But instead, your gaze snagged on the way the apron cinched at his waist, emphasizing the lean lines of his body beneath the fabric.

‘Damn’, you thought, catching yourself. ‘He's got a nice waist.’

You ripped your gaze away quickly, heat crawling up the back of your neck, and made your way to your usual seat at the dining table. The chair creaked softly as you sat down.

"Good morning, Isaac," you said, your voice still rough with sleep.

Isaac turned toward you, his grey eyes soft in the morning light streaming through the windows. "Good morning, M/N." Isaac turned from the counter, a plate in his hands. He walked over and set it in front of you, "I have baked blueberry breakfast muffins for breakfast this morning. I hope you enjoy them."

You stared at the muffins. They looked perfect — Your stomach growled again.

"Ah, that looks nice!" you said, already reaching for one. "Thanks."

Isaac watched you take a muffin, his expression unreadable but somehow warm. He sat down across from you with his own plate, cradling a cup of tea in his hands, and the morning light caught his face just right.

You bit into the muffin. It was warm, bursting with sweet and tart blueberry, the crumb tender and buttery.

"You've outdone yourself," you mumbled through a mouthful of muffin.

Isaac's lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. "I'm glad you approve, M/N."

You took another bite, and another, and tried not to think about the way his waist looked in that apron.

You closed your eyes and sighed.

’Yeah’, you thought. ‘I could definitely get used to this.’

"I was thinking about your offer," Isaac said, setting his own plate down across from you and taking a seat. His grey eyes met yours across the table, "To spend quality time together at the cafe today. From last night."

"Ah, yeah!" You swallowed your bite of muffin, reaching for your glass of water. "When are you free?"

Isaac's lips curved into a small smile. "I cleared my scheduled meetings for today. I'm available when we're both done with our classes."

"Alright, cool!" You paused, your hand hovering over your water glass. A small knot of guilt twisted in your stomach. "You didn't have to clear out your meetings, though." You nervously put your hand behind your neck, rubbing at the skin there.

Isaac blinked, his expression softening. "I wanted to."

"Well, that's nice of you." You looked down at your muffin, at the way the blueberries bled into the crumb. "I just hope you don't have to catch up with more work later on."

Isaac was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. "I already am dealing with a lot of work." He paused, and you looked up to find his eyes fixed on you, "But I'm looking forward to spending time with you either way."

Your chest tightened. You looked away first, reaching for your muffin again just to have something to do with your hands.

"Okay," you said softly. "Me too."

Isaac nodded once, then picked up his own muffin and took a bite. The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the morning light growing brighter through the windows.

You continued to go through classes until it was finally over, the hours blurring together in a haze. 

But throughout the day, your mind kept drifting back to the library. To the green-haired male with the fogged glasses that kept noting down things every glance at took at you.

He began to stand out more ever since you'd noticed him. 

No matter what class you were in, no matter which hallway you walked through, you always had a familiar sense whenever you looked at him — like you knew him from somewhere, but you couldn't place a finger onto what it was that made him look so familiar. 

The way he held himself. The way his dark green eyes seemed to linger on you a moment too long before darting away. The way his glasses caught the light, obscuring his expression.

It was starting to unsettle you.

Your final class for the day came to an end. The professor's voice faded into the background as students began packing up, chairs scraping against the floor, bags being zipped shut. 

You made sure to wave goodbye to Naoko, who was already halfway out the door, her ponytail swinging behind her.

"See you tomorrow!" you called.

She waved without turning around and disappeared into the crowd.

You turned back to Azure, who was carefully packing his things — his notebook, his switch, his iPad . You reached over and picked up his stuffed raccoon toy from where it sat on the corner of his desk, holding it up to the light.

"Ever thought of giving this critter a name?" you asked, turning the toy over in your hands.

Azure looked up, his cheeks flushing pink. "O-Oh! U-uhm.. I, er, was th-thinking S-Stripes?"

You shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips. "It's up to you. Stripes is a cool name, though."

Azure finished zipping his bag and stood up, falling into step beside you as you headed for the door. "W-well, it-it's also you- your, er, choice."

You blinked at him. "Eh? It's not like it's mine!"

"I- I thought may- maybe…" Azure swallowed hard, his eyes darting away. "We cou-could share him?"

You smirked, a teasing lilt creeping into your voice. "Like, as parents?" You watched his face turn an even deeper shade of red and chuckled. "Chill, I'm easy."

Azure made a small sound — something between a squeak and a laugh — and nodded, his face now the color of a ripe tomato. "Gah! If… if yo- you want.."

You chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his curls. "Sure, that'd be fun."

Azure's shoulders relaxed, a shy smile spreading across his face. He looked up at you through his bangs, his dark  eyes soft.

You reached the door and stepped into the hallway, you tucked Stripes under your arm and glanced down at him. "I'll walk you and drop you off to your dorm, yeah?"

Azure nodded, his smile still in place, and the two of you started down the corridor together.

You and Azure continued to chat as you walked him through the winding hallways. He talked about a new game he'd started playing on his switch. You nodded along, asking questions, making jokes, watching the way his nervous energy seemed to settle whenever you laughed.

You quietly took note of how Azure seemed more relaxed around you compared to the first time you met him. His shoulders weren't as hunched. His gaze didn't dart around anxiously. And his stuttering had lessened — not gone entirely, but softer.

You felt proud.

But every now and then, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle up.

Your stomach began to slightly churn in discomfort, a low-grade unease that coiled in your gut. 

You tried to hide it — but something was wrong. You could feel it.

You felt like there was somebody watching you. Another pair of eyes on you, tracking your movements, following your every step.

You turned back for what seemed like the umpteenth time — and yet there was no one there.

But the feeling didn't go away.

By the time you realized it, you had made it to Azure's dorm. The building was quieter here, tucked away from the main campus.

You stopped at the door, and Azure turned to face you, his bright blue eyes soft.

Azure took the raccoon plushie from your arms, his hand lingering a little more than necessary. His fingers brushed against yours.

"I-I Ho-hope you stay ov-over one day," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled back, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "No worries, Princess. I wouldn't want to miss out on that."

You blew him a playful kiss and waved him off as you turned and walked away.

Behind you, Azure stood frozen for a moment, his face flushed, his hands clutching Stripes to his chest. Then he ducked inside his dorm, the door clicking shut behind him.

You walked down the path, your hands in your pockets, your mind already drifting to the cafe later with Isaac. 

The sun was warm on your face, the breeze gentle through your hair. For a moment, everything felt almost normal.

But the hairs on the back of your neck were still prickling.

"Oh, good afternoon. You must be M/N, right?"

You flinched at the sudden voice appearing beside you.

Your shoulders tensed, and you turned to look at the person behind you, already bracing yourself for another awkward encounter with another classmate who wanted to mock you about your past.

To your shock, it was Ito Makoto.

Your brain short-circuited for a moment, scrambling to place him. 

The glasses. The outside braces. The long bangs that seemed to cover half his face like a curtain. You knew him — not personally, but from the manga!

Makoto was the final male lead of the manga. The journalist of the campus, the head editor of the campus news, the sharp-tongued know-it-all who looked down on everyone around him. 

You remembered being part of the fan speculations on Reddit about how Makoto could have been involved with Takara's death. The theories had been wild, unsubstantiated, but they'd stuck with you. Ever since his character was introduced, you'd had high suspicions of him.

And now here he was. Standing beside you in the hallway, business card already in hand, looking at you like you were a story he couldn't wait to dissect.

Your eyes flicked over his face, taking in the details the manga panels had never quite captured. His glasses were thick, slightly smudged, and they magnified his eyes in a way that made him look perpetually surprised. The braces glinted when he smiled — which he was doing now, a thin, practiced curl of his lips. And his bangs were longer than you'd expected, falling across his forehead and shadowing one of his eyes.

His whole look screamed nerd. You already didn't like him.

And you weren't going to waste your time kissing his ass.

"Well," Makoto said, adjusting his glasses with a flourish, "my name is Makoto Ito, and I major in journalism."

You stared at him. "Okay..?"

"Ah, pardon my rudeness." He gave a small bow — more of a head tilt, really, like he was humoring you rather than showing genuine respect. "I wanted to ask you to help me out with a little school project of mine. You see, as an aspiring journalist, I wanted to work to make my own article — to possibly publish — and I would be delighted if you were up for an interview!"

You raised an eyebrow. "An interview? About what?"

Makoto's smile widened, and there was something sharp in it, something calculating. "I am currently studying the way reputation modifies the other students' perception of a singular person." He gestured vaguely at the students milling around you, the ones who still whispered when you passed.

"And considering your… less than ideal reputation, I wanted to confirm for myself if the voices that flutter around the students' mouths are indeed truthful or just fruitless gossip."

You crossed your arms. "Well, why should I?"

"Ah, I'm glad you asked that." Makoto stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.

"You see, after that dramatic spectacle you put at the library, information such as the ones I have would be very valuable for your pretty little head." He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

"You know, I could actually just interview little mister perfect — the one that the rumors say you follow around like a little puppy? But I figured, why not ask the supposed dog? Even if recently I feel the roles have been somewhat reversed."

Your jaw tightened. ‘Little mister perfect? The supposed dog? Is he calling ME a dog? Roles reversed??’

He knew about Wren. Of course he did. Everyone knew about Wren.

"Well," Makoto said, glancing at his watch with exaggerated impatience, "I have to go now. Not everyone has enough free time to follow strangers around." He pressed a business card into your hand, "Think about my words."

You looked down at the card.

Makoto Ito, Head Editor, Campus Chronicle. His office number, his phone number, his email. All printed in crisp black ink.

"That's my business card," he said, already turning away. "Don't lose it. I won't give you another." He glanced back at you over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "If you ever feel… adamant about sharing your situation, just come to my office. Or call me. Or text me. It's all written there. I'm sure you can read without a problem." He smiled — thin and sharp. 

“Well, farewell. I certainly do hope we can meet again. Possibly in my office."

And then he walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, his long coat flaring behind him like a cape.

You stood there, frozen, staring after him.

Your brow furrowed.

He was as weird as you thought he'd be. Weirder, maybe.

You looked down at the business card in your hand, then back up at the empty hallway where Makoto had disappeared.

"Creep," you muttered, shoving the card into your pocket.

You'd throw it away later. Probably.

Maybe.

You finally made it to your dorm, the familiar hallway stretching out behind you as the door clicked shut. 

You used your student ID to open the door with a swift swipe, the lock beeping softly as you stepped inside.

"Isaac?" you called out as you walked in, kicking off your shoes by the door.

You heard a faint sound of paper rustling and pen clicking. You followed the noise into the living room, and there Isaac was, seated on the couch with his back to you.

He seemed to be deep into paperwork, his shoulders hunched, his head bent low over the coffee table. A bouquet of roses was set on the side of the table, their deep red petals slightly wilting at the edges, pressed between huge stacks of paper that threatened to topple over.

You slowly walked your way behind him, your footsteps soft against the floor. "Isaac?"

Isaac didn't even look up. His pen scratched across the page, his handwriting neat but rushed, and his other hand was already reaching for the next form. He was too busy scribbling down on papers to acknowledge your presence.

You noticed his eyebags — darker than usual, beneath his grey eyes that spoke of late nights and early mornings. 

His cornrows were slightly disheveled, a few strands escaping the careful styling he usually maintained. Even his posture seemed off, his spine curved in a way that suggested he'd been sitting here for hours without moving.

"M/N," he said, his voice distracted, almost apologetic. "I'm truly sorry. Would it be possible to extend our time to go out?" He paused, finally glancing up at you over his shoulder. His eyes were tired, but they still held that warmth you'd come to recognize.

"I.. I am currently occupied with work at the moment. Afterwards, I have to go to an interview with the head news editor. He's been pestering me about the school newspaper budget increases."

You gave him a sympathetic smile, your chest tightening at the exhaustion etched into his face. "Oh, Isaac. I don't mind if we extend the time. I'm also fine if we postpone the hangout."

Isaac shook his head, his jaw set with determination. "No, M/N. I really look forward to going out with you." He turned back to his papers, his pen already moving again. "I'll try to finish this up and go to the interview at the newspaper office. Afterwards, we can finally go." His voice softened. "I'm sorry."

You watched him for a moment, "Well.. alright." You hesitated, then asked, "Who are you being interviewed by?"

Isaac didn't look up. "Ito Makoto."

Your blood ran cold.

The business card in your pocket seemed to burn against your thigh.

You swallowed hard, forcing your expression to remain neutral. "Oh," you said, your voice carefully light. "I've heard of him. He's... persistent, from what I've gathered."

Isaac hummed in agreement, still not looking up. "That's one way to put it. He's been requesting this interview for days. I finally caved." He signed another form and set it aside. "But it shouldn't take long, then we can go. These roses were supposed to be a gift, please act surprised when I give you them.”

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "Okay. I'll be in my room. Just let me know when you're ready."

Isaac murmured an acknowledgment, already lost in his paperwork again. You turned and walked toward your room, your mind racing.

Makoto Ito. The journalist. The suspect. The man who had practically cornered you in the hallway and offered you an interview. And now he was interviewing Isaac!

You closed your bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, pressing your palm to your forehead.

’What am I supposed to do now?’

You already felt bad that Isaac had to deal with a workload of stress. The papers were piled high on the coffee table, spilling onto the floor.

Considering he was the student council president, he had to juggle so many things all at once — meetings, budgets, complaints, events, the endless stream of responsibilities that came with leading an entire campus. 

And yet, despite all of that, he always made the time to make meals for you. To clean your room. To wake you up in the mornings with three precise knocks at exactly 7AM. To remind you to shower when you got too lost in your own head.

He had done so much for you. More than you deserved, probably.

And now Makoto Ito was going to sink his claws into him. Isaac was tired. Isaac was stressed. Isaac didn't need to deal with someone like that right now.

‘I should go to the interview’, you thought, your jaw tightening. ‘To distract Makoto so he wouldn't bother Isaac.’

It wasn't a perfect plan. It probably wasn't even a good plan. Makoto had already approached you once, had already offered you an interview. Walking into his office willingly felt like stepping into a trap you could see but couldn't avoid.

But Isaac had made you breakfast every morning. Isaac had cleaned your room. Isaac had held your hand on the couch and told you that you didn't have to face anything alone.

You sighed as you began to think, mapping out the route in your head. The newspaper office. You'd seen it on the campus map once, tucked away on the second floor, near the journalism department. It wasn't far. It was about ten-minute walk, or maybe less?

You gently opened your bedroom door, easing it open just enough to slip through. The hinges didn't creak — thank god — and you padded quietly across the living room. Isaac was still hunched over his paperwork, his back still turned to you.

You held your breath as you passed behind him, reaching for the front door, your fingers curling around the handle.

Isaac didn't look up.

You slipped out of the dorm and closed the door behind you with a soft click, your heart pounding in your chest.

You leaned against the door for a moment, pressing your palm to your chest, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

‘What am I doing?’ you thought. 

But your feet were already moving, carrying you down the hallway, toward the stairs and to the newspaper office and whatever awaited you there.

You hesitated as you looked over the glass doors, your breath fogging the surface just slightly.

Through the tinted glass, you could see Makoto sitting at his desk, his head bent over some papers, his long bangs falling across his face.

The office was small but cluttered — stacks of newspapers, filing cabinets, a bulletin board covered in pinned notes and photographs. The sign above the door read Newspapers Office in bold letters.

‘Here goes nothing.’

You slid open the glass doors, the frame rattling slightly in its track. 

A small bell chimed overhead and Makoto's head snapped up.

His eyes lit up behind those fogged glasses. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

"Oh," he said, setting down his pen and folding his hands on the desk, "look at who has finally shown his face here."

"Yeah, yeah." You stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind you. "I'm here."

"Ah, I knew my charm was too irresistible for you." Makoto leaned back in his chair, his smile widening. "Although I have to say, you had me doubting. I almost wanted to put a juicy piece of meat just outside the door, but it seems Wren's dog has come here willingly — like a puppy!"

Your eye twitched. "…What?"

"Anyway!" Makoto clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and sudden. "Let's get started, shall we? Please, have a seat!"

You glanced at the chair across from his desk. "Alright.." You sat down, and to your surprise, the seat was comfortable despite its appearance. The cushion still had some spring to it.

"This is only a formality," Makoto said, pulling out a notebook and flipping to a fresh page. His pen hovered over the paper. "Please, your name and last name, if you may."

"M/N L/N."

Makoto wrote it down quickly. Then he looked up at you, his eyes gleaming. "Now, the first question. What do you think about the rumors surrounding your situation?"

You shifted in your seat. "I think they're obnoxious. It's practically my reputation here." You paused, choosing your next words carefully. "I've gotten help for my behavior, and I want people to know I've truly changed."

Makoto tilted his head, his pen tapping against the notebook. "What do you feel about them?"

"Well, I just feel nothing but negative about them."

"I see, I see." He nodded, his expression almost sympathetic, though you knew better than to trust it. "That's understandable, yes. How about you tell me when those rumors started?"

"Uhm, ever since.. I began to act out over Wren?" You hated how uncertain your voice sounded, how the name still made your chest tighten.

Makoto hummed, scribbling something down. "Would you prefer if those rumors stopped, even though... wouldn't you say they can be quite convenient in certain situations?"

You frowned. "I'd prefer if they stopped. I don't think they'd ever be convenient in any situation. Rumors can ruin lives."

Makoto's pen paused. For just a moment, something flickered across his face — surprise, maybe, or respect. Then it was gone, replaced by that same knowing smile.

"I understand." He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Let's wrap it up for now. I would love to keep chatting with you, however my time is limited, and my schedule is filled to the brim." He reached for a stack of papers beside him, shuffling them absently. "I'll let you know if I need anything else from you."

You straightened in your seat. "Your side of the deal."

Makoto's smile widened. "Ah, don't tell me you really thought I forgot about it?" He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his chin resting on his folded hands. "Now, just come a little closer, 'sweety.'"

"What the—"

"Someone is asking questions." Makoto's voice dropped, losing its theatrical lilt. "Questions regarding you and your life. And oddly specific ones at that." He paused, letting the words sink in. 

"I don't know what their deal is, nor will I tell you who they are. But just so you know..." His eyes met yours, sharp and serious. "Someone is looking out for you." He leaned back again, the seriousness melting away. "I'll be extra careful if I were you. But that's just my opinion. Do whatever you will with this information."

Your throat felt dry. "Well, okay?"

Makoto picked up his pen again, already turning back to his papers. "I hope I'll see you again soon. Contrary to what you might think, I quite enjoyed our talk." He glanced up at you from behind his glasses, a hint of something genuine in his expression. "You could say I had quite fun with it."

You stood up, your legs feeling unsteady. The bell chimed as you slid the door open, but you didn't look back. You just walked out into the hallway, your heart pounding, Makoto's words echoing in your head.

‘Someone is looking out for you.

What did that mean?. 

“Someone is asking questions. Questions regarding you and your life. Oddly specific ones.”

Was someone out there to get you? Could it be Luka? He had the motive. He'd already grabbed you once. Who's to say he wouldn't do worse?

It definitely could be Luka.

Or was it Wren? The thought made your stomach turn. Wren. Wren, who had never seemed dangerous in the manga — not really, not until you started looking closer.

You slowly began to sweat even more, your palms clammy against the fabric of your pants. Your heart was picking up speed, that familiar flutter in your chest that signaled the beginning of something ugly. 

‘Crap’, you thought, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. ‘I can't have another panic attack here!. Not in the middle of the hallway.’

You began to pick up your pace, your footsteps echoing against the floor

“Well’, you thought, your mind racing, ‘I did my part now. I hope Makoto doesn't stop by at my dorm for Isaac.’

The thought of Makoto sitting across from Isaac, asking him pointed questions, digging into his life the way he'd dug into yours — it made your blood run hot. 

Isaac was already exhausted. Isaac was already drowning in paperwork and responsibilities. He didn't need some smug journalist adding to his burdens.

You reached the stairwell and took the steps two at a time, your hand sliding along the railing. The dorm wasn't far now. Just a few more turns, a few more hallways, and you'd be back.

Someone is looking out for you, Makoto had said.

Maybe it was Isaac. Maybe that's who Makoto had been talking about — Isaac.

Or maybe it was someone else entirely. Someone you hadn't even considered.

You shoved the thought aside and kept walking. The business card in your pocket crinkled with every step.

You'd given Makoto what he wanted — an interview, a few words he could twist and rearrange to fit whatever narrative he was building.

In return, you'd gotten a warning.

Whether it was worth it... you didn't know yet.

You reached your dorm door and paused, your hand hovering over the handle. Through the door, you could hear the faint sound of paper shuffling — Isaac, still working.

You took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

Isaac looked up from his paperwork, "M/N? Where did you go?"

You forced a smile. "Just went for a walk. Needed some air."

Isaac studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on the sweat on your brow, the tension in your jaw. But he didn't push. He just nodded and turned back to his papers.

"The interview should be quick," he said. "Then we can go."

You stood there for a moment, watching him work, the lie already forming on your tongue. 

Isaac didn't need to know any of that. Isaac needed to rest.

"Actually," you said, your voice carefully casual, "I don't think Makoto would be free for the interview with you."

Isaac's pen paused. He looked up at you, his grey eyes curious, a small furrow forming between his brows. "What do you mean?"

You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms to hide the way your hands were still trembling.

"On my way to my walk, I saw him.. interviewing someone else." The lie came out smoother than you expected, "It looked pretty involved. Considering his schedule is packed, he might not have time for another interview today."

Isaac blinked, processing this. His shoulders sank slightly — relief, maybe, or just exhaustion catching up with him. "I see," he said slowly. "He didn't mention any scheduling conflicts when we spoke."

You shrugged, pushing off from the wall and walking toward the couch. "Maybe it was last minute. You know how journalists are — they chase the story." You sat down on the opposite end of the couch, pulling your legs up beneath you. "So… when you're done with your paperwork, we can go!"

After a while, Isaac nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Okay," he said, turning back to his papers. "I just have a few more forms to review.."

"Take your time," you said, your voice soft. "I'm not going anywhere."

Isaac's pen scratched across the paper, and the room fell into comfortable silence. You leaned your head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling, and let yourself breathe.

The lie sat heavy in your chest, but you didn't regret it. Isaac deserved one evening without stress.

And if Makoto showed up at your dorm anyway, well... you'd deal with that when it happened.

You closed your eyes and waited.

"M/N?"

You slowly opened your eyes to see Isaac standing over you, his figure slightly blurred from sleep. 

In his hands, he held the same bouquet of roses that had been sitting on the coffee table — the deep red petals slightly wilted, but somehow still beautiful in the fading light.

"I'm ready to go out," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "Here is my surprise gift to you."

You rubbed your eyes, a sleepy smile spreading across your face as you took the bouquet from him. "Ah, wow! Thank you, Isaac. These are lovely!"

Isaac couldn't help but smile —a real smile that reached his eyes and softened the exhaustion etched into his features.

"Of course, M/N."

You slowly got up from the couch, careful not to crush the roses, and stretched your arms above your head. Your joints popped softly, it seems you'd fallen asleep sitting up. "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Okay."

"Soo," you said, tucking the bouquet under one arm and grabbing your jacket from the back of the couch, "I had this certain cafe in mind. It's not far from the campus. It has a strong 5-star reputation, and I'm hoping you'll like it."

You thought back to the manga panels you'd studied so intently, all those late nights doomscrolling memorizing the layout of the world you'd never expected to inhabit. 

There were plenty of places to go outside the campus — cafes, bookstores, small parks — all conveniently close at once. It was like the perfect location to be in, designed for maximum convenience and minimum travel time.

Isaac nodded, reaching for his own jacket hanging by the door. "If you are referring to the Kat Cafe, I am quite familiar with the location."

"Ah. Yeah!" You grinned, slipping your arms into your jacket. "And you are?"

Isaac paused, his hand on the door handle. He looked back at you. "I tend to go out for a stroll sometimes," he said, "when things get too caught up in my head." His voice dropped, softer now. "I like to say the tranquility of nature eases me."

You watched him for a moment, "That sounds nice," you said quietly. "Maybe you can show me your favorite spots sometime."

Isaac's smile returned, small but genuine. "I would like that."

He pulled open the door, and the two of you stepped out into the hallway together.

You and Isaac continued to walk until you both reached the main college entrance.

Everything felt almost peaceful. Your conversation had been easy — It was mainly just Isaac asking about your classes and you asking about his student council duties, nothing else.

Then a sudden voice called out.

"M/NN!"

Oh dear God.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself with a large, exhausted exhale that seemed to drain the air from your lungs.

Doesn't he have something better to do? You held back an eye roll — which you'd noticed was becoming a bad habit, all due to Takao and his endless ability to test your patience — and felt your shoulders tense.

You quickly grabbed Isaac on the arm, your fingers wrapping around his sleeve. "Let's go." You tried to swiftly run out before somebody could stop you.

It was too late.

Arms wrapped around you from behind — the touch made your skin crawl.

A head rested on your shoulder, cheek pressing against the curve of your neck, and you could feel the smile radiating off him without even having to look.

"M/NN," Wren murmured, his breath warm against your ear, "where ya heading?"

He seemed to get bolder with every interaction.

The first day, he'd just waved. Then he'd grabbed your hand. Then he'd shown up at your dorm with a basket of snacks, then at the library, then at the infirmary, then at the gym — which he became a manager of your volleyball team.

And now here he was, hovering over you, acting as if he had every right to touch you.

"Greetings, Wren." Isaac spoke from beside you, his voice was calm but you could feel the subtle tension in his arm beneath your fingers.

Wren lifted his head just enough to acknowledge him, his yellow eyes flicking to Isaac's face. "Hey." He gave him a short nod, then turned back to you.

"Wren." You weakly whispered back, the name tasting like poison in your mouth. You turned your head slightly, trying to put some distance between your face and his. "I'm just going out with Isaac."

Wren's eyes lit up, "Oh?" His smile widened, "I'd love to join in with you guys, if you don't mind!"

"Actu—"

Isaac cut you off, he spoke  to Wren with the same tone he probably used during student council meetings which felt pretty formal and professional, "We're actually doing a private hangout right now for just the two of us." His grey eyes met Wren's. "M/N can catch up with you another time."

The words hung in the air between the three of you.

Wren's smile flickered — just for a moment— before he smoothed it back into place.

Wren's arms loosened around you. He pulled back just enough to look at Isaac. 

Then he smiled softly. "Oh.. uhm, alright. Another time then."

His gaze dropped to the bouquet of roses in your arms, nestled against your chest. His smile softened into something almost wistful. "Those look beautiful!" he said. "Are they yours?"

You forced a smile, "Yeah," you said, your voice coming out lighter than you felt. "Isaac gave them to me."

Wren hummed as his gaze traveled from the roses to Isaac, then back to you, lingering on the way your hand was still resting on Isaac's sleeve.

"That's... so nice," Wren said, the word stretching slightly, as if it cost him something to say it. "Isaac has good taste! So good, it’s amazing! I love that! Great!”

Isaac inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Thank you, Wren."

The three of you stood there for a moment.

Wren's hands dropped to his sides. He was no longer touching you, but you could still feel the phantom warmth of his arms around your shoulders.

"Well," Wren said, stepping back, his smile settling into something more controlled. "I won't keep you two any longer. Have fun on your... “private hangout”."

He said the words lightly, but there was an edge beneath them, adding more emphasis to ‘private hangout’.

"We will," Isaac said with certainty.

Wren's eyes met yours one last time. "See you around, M/N."

You nodded in response.

Wren turned and walked away, his figure growing smaller as he headed back toward the campus dorms. You watched him go, your chest tight, your hand still clutching Isaac's sleeve.

Isaac didn't move. He just stood beside you patiently waiting.

After a long moment, you let out a breath. "Let's go," you said quietly.

Isaac nodded. "Okay."

You walked through the main entrance together, the campus gates closing behind you, ‘I need to set boundaries with Wren.”

After a few minutes of walking, Isaac spoke up.

"I may not pick up on most social cues," he said slowly, "but I could sense tension just now." He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a small, almost proud smile tugging at his lips. "Kudos to me."

You chuckled, "It's good that you're picking up on a few things," you said, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. "Bravo."

You let go of Isaac's arm, your fingers sliding off the fabric of his sleeve. "Thanks for that," you added, quieter this time.

Isaac shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "I don't think I need to be thanked," he said. "I understand your need to distance yourself from Wren." He paused, his steps slowing for just a moment. "Although," he continued, his voice thoughtful, "I shouldn't have said 'next time.'" His jaw tightened. "It would only bring his hopes up."

You looked at him — Isaac, who had been so awkward and formal when you first met him, was learning. He was beginning to adapt.

And he was doing it for you.

"You're getting good at this," you said softly.

Isaac glanced at you, his grey eyes questioning.

"The whole social cues thing, I mean!" you clarified. "You're getting good at it."

He was quiet for a moment, processing. 

Then he nodded, a small, satisfied smile returning to his face. "I have a good teacher."

You didn't know what to say to that, so you just kept walking, the roses still clutched in your hand.

"Here we are," Isaac slowly muttered.

You stared at the building right in front of you. Kat Cafe. 

Through the windows, you could see cozy booths, small round tables, and a long counter lined with pastries behind glass. 

The scent of coffee and fresh bread drifted out through the open door, it was alluring almost.

You trailed after Isaac, who opened the door for you with a slight bow. You gave him a smile as you entered, and he followed after you.

Inside, the cafe was even cozier than it had appeared from the street. 

"What are ya planning on ordering?" you asked, glancing at the menu board behind the counter. The options ranged from simple coffee to lattes to luxurious pastries.

Isaac hummed, his grey eyes scanning the menu with thoughtful consideration. "I'm not particularly picky," he said. "I'd prefer something mild and small portioned." He paused, then added, "Nothing too sweet."

"Honestly, I eat anything!" You walked over to a nearby two-seat table nestled against the window, the perfect spot for people-watching.

Isaac followed, pulling out your chair for you before settling into his own across the table.

"I suppose that only makes it better for us to be roommates," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I cook, and you eat."

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. "A perfect match for dormmates, don't you think?"

Isaac's smile widened. "I do think that," he said softly. "Yes."

A waitress made her way toward your table, a small tablet clutched in her hands. 

"Good evening!" she said, her voice bright and welcoming. "My name is Kat, and I will be your waitress for today. What can I get you two?" She turned to Isaac with a smile. "Starting with you?"

"Good evening," Isaac said, his posture straightening slightly. "I would like to see the Minion special menu."

You blinked in surprise, your head tilting. ‘There's a Minion special?’

"Certainly, sir." The waitress reached across the table and flipped the menu book to a certain page, revealing a spread of yellow-themed items. "Here are our Minion specials for today," she explained, pointing to each item as she spoke. "There is also a discount for two people!" Her eyes darted between you and Isaac, her smile widening.

Isaac nodded as he scanned the menu, his grey eyes moving slowly across the options.

His expression was concentrated. "I would like a latte with 3D Minion foam art," he said, "alongside the Minion-themed cheesecake, please." He looked away from your eyes, almost shy, his gaze dropping to the tablecloth.

The waitress typed into her tablet, unfazed. "Certainly! And how about you?" She turned to you.

"Uh, I'd... like the same as well." You smiled at her, then turned to look at Isaac, your eyebrow raised.

The waitress nodded, tapping a few more times on her screen. "Alright, please wait patiently until your table number is called out! You may pick your orders from the counter. Thank you so much for coming here!"

You nodded in response, and the waitress bustled away to attend to another table.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. "Huh! I didn't know there was a Minions special. No wonder you picked this spot."

Isaac's fingers fidgeted with the edge of the menu, a rare tell. "You would think it's quite silly and childish, right?"

"Nono!" You shook your head, your voice earnest. "I was just surprised to see that your infatuation with Minions runs deeper than I thought." You paused, a smile tugging at your lips. "It's cute, though."

Isaac's grey eyes met yours. "Cute..?" He said the word like it was foreign. His brow furrowed slightly, and confusion flickered across his face.

You felt your cheeks warm. "Yeah, you know," you said, waving your hand vaguely, "adorbs. Endearing. It's nice that you have things you're genuinely excited about! Shows that there’s more to you than a student council president!”

Isaac was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, a small smile returning to his lips. "I see," he said. "Then I suppose I am... cute."

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand. "Don't let it go to your head."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"How is college settling for you so far?" Isaac asked.

"Ah, it's going… okay." You shrugged, your fingers tracing the edge of the table. "I mean, I'm having trouble settling in so far, but I've met a few cool people." You looked up at him, a small smile forming. "Like you!"

Isaac's expression softened. He nodded slowly, as if filing away your words in that careful, methodical mind of his. "If we are roommates," he said, "I wouldn't want us to be foes."

"Yeah, that wouldn't end so well." You chuckled.

The memory of your first interaction flashed through your mind.

 "Aside from Luka and Wren," you continued, your voice dropping slightly, "everything is overall good. College is a big step for me." You paused, "Didn't think I would make it this far."

Isaac was quiet for a moment. When you looked up, he was watching you with intensely.

"You made it," he said simply. "And you're not alone."

"I know," you said softly. "Thanks to you."

Isaac's lips curved into that small smile — "You don't need to thank me, M/N. That's what roommates do."

The waitress called out a table number in the distance, and the moment shifted. You both turned toward the counter, where two yellow-adorned trays were waiting.

"I think that's us," you said, pushing back your chair.

Isaac stood as well, falling into step beside you as you walked to the counter. His shoulder brushed yours, and you didn't move away.

The Minion specials were ridiculous — the huge minion foam art were grinning up at you, cheesecakes decorated with googly eyes and blue syrup drizzles. 

You caught Isaac's eye as you picked up your tray, and for a moment, you both just stood there, holding your minion themed desserts.

"These are insane," you said.

Isaac looked down at his plate, then back at you. "Yes," he agreed. "But they make me happy."

you chuckled as you carried your tray back to your table, with Isaac following behind.

Suddenly, Makoto's voice approached your table.

"Oh my, look at that," he drawled, appearing at the edge of your table as if summoned by some malevolent force. 

He tilted his head, his fogged glasses catching the light, and his thin lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If those aren't my two favorite interviewees. What a coincidence it is for us to meet here. We could say it was fate, don't you think?"

You nearly choked on your latte. "What the— Makoto? Are you following me around?"

Makoto pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, his long bangs swaying with the movement. "Oh, goodness no! This is simply a cafe I frequent from time to time." He adjusted his glasses, the metal glinting. "If you had read yesterday's issue of the campus paper, then you would know that. But apparently reading from paper is too much for some people."

"Uh, sure?" You exchanged a glance with Isaac, whose expression had gone carefully neutral. His hand was resting on the table, fingers slightly curled, as if ready to intervene if necessary.

Makoto's gaze flicked between the two of you, taking in the Minion-themed foods. Something flickered across his face — amusement.

"Ah, I wouldn't want to disturb you two further," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Seeing your... delightful... meal." He lingered on the word delightful, drawing it out like he was savoring a private joke. "So I'll quickly move along and sit at another table far from your eyes. Never far from your minds, though."

"Okay.." You watched him take a step back, hoping he'd actually leave.

He paused. "And before I forget, let me just tell you another little thing." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

"There has been a switcheroo, it seems. It's not every day you see Wren Upton following M/N L/N around like a jealous ex." His eyes glittered behind his glasses. "I'll keep an eye on him for you two. And perhaps keep him in check if things go south. Consider it a thanks for our early interview, sweetie."

He gave a theatrical little bow and sauntered away, sliding into a table in the corner with his back to you — though you could have sworn you still felt his attention prickling at the back of your neck.

Isaac let out a slow breath. “He makes quite an entrance.”

"That’s way too nice," you muttered, staring at Makoto's silhouette. "He's insufferable."

Isaac studied your face. "You've interviewed with him before?"

You nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Earlier today. Before we left." You paused, then added, "He's the one I lied about. Y’know the person he was interviewing?" Your voice dropped. "It was me."

Isaac was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he reached across the table and rested his hand on yours, "You don't have to explain," he said softly. "Not if you're not ready."

You looked at his hand on yours, at the way his thumb traced a slow circle on your knuckles. The tension in your chest eased a little bit.

"Thanks," you whispered.

Isaac nodded, and the two of you sat there quietly.

"M/N," Isaac said after a while.

You looked at him, pulled from your thoughts about Makoto's lingering presence in the corner. "Yeah?"

His fingers were wrapped around his mug now. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed deeper than usual, like he was working up the courage to say something he'd been holding back for longer than just tonight.

"Last night," he said slowly, "I found myself deep in thought about the question you asked me." He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "What to do if someone isn't what they seem." Another pause, longer this time. Then he lifted his gaze and met yours. "Were you talking about me?"

Your breath caught.

"I—" you started, then stopped. Your mouth felt dry. You looked down at your hands, at the way your fingers were picking at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Isaac isn't who you think he is.” 

Takao's words echoed in your head, “He managed to cover up his past quite well, didn't he?”

"I don't know," you said finally, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. You stared at the Minion foam art on your latte, "I had.. a few people in mind."

Isaac didn't flinch. He just nodded slowly, his expression unchanged, like he'd been expecting this.

"I see," he said.

The silence returned, heavier than ever now.

Isaac set down his mug and leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the table, his hands clasped together. His grey eyes were earnest, almost desperate in a way you'd never seen before.

"I'm not going to lie to you, M/N," he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "There are things about my past that I'm not proud of. Things I've done that I can't take back." He paused, his jaw tightening, his fingers interlacing so tightly his knuckles went pale. "But I'm not that person anymore. And I would never — never — do anything to hurt you."

You looked at him.. Isaac’s  shoulders were tense like he was bracing for rejection.

“Isaac isn't who you think he is.”

Maybe that was true. 

Maybe there were things in his past — dark things, violent things, things that would make you see him differently. 

But the man sitting across from you now, he felt so safe.

"Okay," you said.

"Thank you for understanding," Isaac said quietly, his hands were now on yours again. His thumb still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand.

"No, of course." You shook your head, squeezing his fingers gently.

"I mean, considering 'my' past, I bet it's way worse than whatever you have done before." You let out a humorless laugh. "Not trying to compare, by the way. Just saying." You paused, looking down at your joined hands on the table.

"I'd never hurt you or any of my loved ones, either. And whatever it is about your past…" You looked up at him, meeting those tired grey eyes. "Please don't feel obligated to answer all my questions. Yeah?"

Isaac slowly nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. His fingers tightened around yours slightly.

"My past actions still haunt me to this day," you continued, your voice dropping. "Hell, even people like Makoto are trying to snoop around. Trying to dig up whatever dirt they can find." You glanced toward the corner where Makoto sat, his back to you, his pen still moving across his notebook. "It's like they just see me as a juicy gossip topic. Not an individual with feelings and thoughts of their own. I suppose they see me as a dog more than a human being."

You turned back to Isaac, your chest tight. "So it's good that you've changed yourself. To be completely unrecognizable from whoever you used to be." You paused, swallowing hard. "I wish the same for me as well."

Isaac was quiet for a long moment.

"You will change," Isaac said finally, his voice low but certain. "You already have."

"You think so?"

"I know so." He squeezed your hand. "I've seen it."

You didn't know if you believed him — not completely— but sitting here, holding his hand, it was easier to pretend.

"Thanks, Isaac," you whispered.

He smiled, "You’re welcome, M/N.”

"If you're not busy later on," you said, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself, "could we watch Despicable Me? Together?"

Isaac blinked at you, his grey eyes widening. His fingers, still intertwined with yours, went still.

"Really..?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Why would you want to watch it?"

"Well." You shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his gaze. "I figured you liked Minions. And I'm pretty sure Despicable Me has Minions in it, so… why not watch it together?" You looked down at your joined hands, then back up at him. "So I can understand the things you like. As long as I'm not taking up your time as much as I already am."

"You're not," he said finally. "You’re not taking up my time." He paused, his thumb resuming its slow circles on your knuckles. "I enjoy spending time with you, M/N. Even when we're just sitting in silence."

Your chest tightened. "Really?"

"Yes."

He looked down at your hands, then back at your face, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I would like to watch Despicable Me with you. I haven't seen it in a while."

"Yeah?" You couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. "Perfect. We can watch it tonight after we get back!”

Isaac nodded. "Tonight, then."

You sat there for a moment longer, hands still clasped,

In the corner, Makoto's pen had finally stopped moving. He was watching you both, his expression unreadable behind those fogged glasses. But for once, you didn't care.

You had a movie to look forward to. And a friend to watch it with.

Wren hummed as he continued to brush his hair in front of the vanity, the soft bristles gliding through his copper-brown strands. 

The mirror reflected his own face back at him — He examined himself with the same careful attention he gave everything else in his life, turning his head slightly, checking for imperfections.

Behind him, Luka was draped across Wren's bed like a man possessed.

His tall frame was curled around one of Wren's pillows, his face buried in the fabric, his breath coming in shaky, uneven pulls. Luka held it like it was something sacred.

"Wren," Luka bit his lip, his voice muffled against the pillow, "thank you… so, so much for inviting me over to your dorm." He pulled the pillow closer, inhaling deeply, his dark green eyes fluttering shut. "It drives me crazy to be lying on your bed. I feel so, so lucky to just be in your presence."

Wren hummed, setting down his brush and picking up a small bottle of cologne. He spritzed it on his wrists, then his neck, watching his reflection with detached satisfaction. 

“I'm glad," he said, his voice light, almost singsong. "You should be."

Luka's grip on the pillow tightened. "I- I can't help it…" He sat up slightly, his dark hair falling across his face, his cheeks flushed a deep, feverish pink. "Everything about you drives me to the edge. Your scent." He breathed in again, shuddering. "Your eyes. Your soft lips." His gaze dropped to Wren's mouth, hungry and reverent. "Your beautiful smile. Your luscious hair… hm~"

He let out a small, breathy sound — a moan — and pressed his face back into the pillow, as if the very act of describing Wren aloud was too much for him to bear.

Wren sighed, his eyes drifting from his own reflection to meet Luka's in the mirror. His expression was calm, almost bored, "Thank you~" he said, drawing out the word. "You know I don't normally do this."

Luka nodded frantically, his dark green eyes wide and worshipful. "I love you, Wren," he breathed, the words tumbling out like a confession. "You mean so, so much to me. Every step you take makes me weak in my legs." He clutched the pillow to his chest, his knuckles white. "I just can't help but worship the very ground you walk on."

Wren smiled, "Awe, thank you," he said, turning back to his reflection. He ran his fingers through his hair, arranging the strands just so, tilting his head to catch the light. "What else?"

Luka's breath hitched, his fingers curling into the fabric of the pillowcase. He pressed his face deeper into the soft cotton, inhaling slowly, as if the scent alone could sustain him. 

His dark green eyes fluttered closed, and a low, shaky sigh escaped his lips.

"Everything," he murmured, his voice muffled by the pillow. "Every little thing you do drives me insane. The way you walk. The way you talk. The way you laugh at your own jokes even when no one else is laughing." He lifted his head just enough to look at Wren's reflection in the vanity mirror, his gaze hungry and adoring. "The way you flip your hair. The way you bite your lip."

Wren's brush paused mid-stroke. He tilted his head, examining his reflection from a different angle, then continued brushing. His expression was placid, but there was a faint curve to his lips — the ghost of a smile, self-satisfied.

"The way you say my name," Luka continued, his voice growing more fervent. He sat up on the bed, clutching the pillow to his chest like a lifeline. "The way it sounds when it leaves your lips — soft and sweet, like honey. I replay it in my head at night. Over and over and over and over and over. I can't sleep without hearing it."

Wren set down his brush and turned on the vanity stool, facing Luka fully. His yellow eyes swept over the other boy — "You're very devoted, Lukie~ I love that.” he observed, tilting his head.

"I would die for you," Luka said, the words tumbling out without hesitation. "I would kill for you. I would burn this entire campus to the ground if you asked me to."

Wren's smile widened, just a fraction. "I know," he said softly. "That's why I keep you around."

Luka's breath caught. His eyes glistened — not with tears, exactly, but with something close. Something raw and feverish and completely unhinged.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for seeing me. For choosing me. For letting me be the one to worship you."

Wren stood up from the vanity and walked toward the bed. He stopped in front of Luka, looking down at him with those bright, unreadable eyes.

"Worship me, then," he said, his voice low. "Show me how grateful you are."

Luka shuddered. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead to the mattress, his lips brushing against Wren's shoes.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—"

Wren watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached down and ran his fingers through Luka's hair, slow and almost gentle.

"Good boy," he murmured.

Luka trembled beneath his touch, utterly undone.

"So," Wren whispered. His fingers were still tangled in Luka's hair, stroking slowly like he was petting a cat. His yellow eyes gleamed in the dim light, fixed on the top of Luka's bowed head. "I heard you did something to M/N today."

Luka's body went rigid beneath his touch. His forehead was still pressed to the mattress, his lips frozen against the toe of Wren's shoe.

"You love me, right?" Wren continued, his voice soft and tender. His fingers curled slightly, tugging at a strand of Luka's dark hair. "You'd tell me everything, wouldn't you?" He paused, letting the words sink in. "Would you? Tell me what you did."

Luka's breath shuddered out of him. He lifted his head just enough to look up at Wren, his dark green eyes wide and glistening, his lips parted. There was fear there — not of Wren, but of disappointing him. Of losing his favor.

"I... I didn't mean to—" Luka's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I just wanted him to stay away from you. He said he wasn't interested anymore, but I didn't believe him. I thought... I thought he was lying."

Wren's expression didn't change. His fingers continued their slow, rhythmic stroking. "What did you do, Luka?"

Luka's eyes dropped to the floor. His hands were shaking. "I grabbed him. By the collar." His voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't hit him or hurt him. I just... I wanted to scare him. To make him understand that you're mine and I’m yours.”

Wren was quiet for a long moment. The only sound in the room was Luka's ragged breathing.

"Mine," Wren repeated, tasting the word. His fingers stilled in Luka's hair. "You think he's a threat to you?"

Luka nodded frantically, his whole body trembling. "He's always been there. Always watching you. Following you. And now he says he's not interested, but I don't believe him. People don't just change like that, Wren. They don't just stop.”

Wren withdrew his hand from Luka's hair and stepped back. Luka's head lifted, his eyes following Wren's movements like a lost puppy tracking its owner.

"I don't like it," Wren said, his voice flat. "Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?"

Luka's heart lurched. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Wren. I'll never—"

"You'll never do it again," Wren finished for him, his voice cold. "Because if you do, I won't be able to protect you. Do you understand? I’ll never talk to you again and I’ll make sure you’ll never see me.”

Luka nodded, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you. Thank you for forgiving me."

Wren's expression softened just slightly. He reached down and cupped Luka's chin, tilting his face up. "I'm not forgiving you, Lukie~" he said softly. "I'm giving you a chance to earn my forgiveness. There's a difference."

Luka's breath caught. "I'll earn it," he said, his voice fierce. "I'll do anything. Anything you ask."

Wren smiled — that perfect, soft, beautiful smile. "I know you will," he said.

He released Luka's chin and turned back to the vanity, picking up his brush again. In the mirror, his reflection gazed back at him.

Yandere x Female! Reader

⤷ TW: Dark romance themes, Yandere/obsessive behavior, extreme codependency, stalking, gaslighting/verbal aggression, breaking and entering, and implications of forced confinement. Please read with caution; this is purely fictional and features highly toxic dynamics.

The first thing you notice when someone is completely dependent on you is how heavy their silence feels. For three long years of university, you had been the only person who could calm Adrian down when his stress levels hit a breaking point. You knew how to talk him out of his worst moods, how to clean up his messy apartment when he forgot to eat for days, and exactly how to fix the problems he constantly created for himself.

But you were never the reason he smiled.

Every late night you spent helping him finish his college projects, every time you cooked for him, and every frantic dawn you spent sitting on his couch listening to his rants was dedicated to someone else. Her name was Maya. She was the popular, pristine girl who treated Adrian like a backup plan, only giving him attention when she needed someone to drive her around, pay for her drinks, or boost her ego. Adrian lived in a complete fog of obsession, totally blind to the fact that while he was chasing a girl who despised him, you were quietly breaking your own heart just to keep his life from falling apart.

You loved him with a quiet, heavy weight that you kept hidden behind a flat, calm face. You swallowed your own feelings every single time he leaned his head on your shoulder and complained about how cold Maya was to him. You convinced yourself that being the person he came home to was better than being nothing at all.

But this endless cycle of fixing his life wasn't just a college habit—it was a routine the two of you had been writing since you were kids.

Long before Adrian became this intense, stressed-out guy, you were just kids sharing a wall in a crumbling neighborhood. His family life was loud and chaotic, and your mom worked constantly. To escape, you and Adrian had built a secret hideout in the narrow gap between your houses, hidden behind overgrown bushes and old wooden crates.

The other kids thought Adrian was weird because he was too quiet and stared too long, but to you, he was just the boy who would sit patiently on the grass for hours while you helped him study or untangled the burs from his hair after he climbed a tree. When you were twelve, he scraped his knees badly trying to walk along a high concrete wall just to prove a point to some bullies.

"You're going to get yourself seriously hurt one day, Ade," you had muttered, cleaning the scrape with a wet napkin.

Adrian hadn’t even flinched at the sting. He had just stared at your face. "Doesn't matter," he replied, his voice cracking. "You're here anyway. You always fix it."

"I won't always be here," you said, trying to make him understand.

But Adrian hadn't smiled. His hands had reached out, tightly gripping the edge of your shirt. "You will," he whispered, looking terrifyingly serious for a kid. "You have to. If you leave, I’ll just stop trying."

As you grew up, that bond didn't break; it just turned into an unhealthy reliance. You went to the same university, lived in apartments just a few blocks apart, and you kept stepping in to rescue him from his own chaotic choices.

Then, your quiet presence became a threat to the girl in the light.

Maya never cared about Adrian, but she cared immensely about Ethan. Ethan was a popular track runner on campus, a genuinely nice guy who ignored every single one of Maya's desperate flirts. Maya couldn't understand why he wasn't interested, until a rainy Tuesday afternoon when she hid behind the library bookshelves and overheard Ethan talking to a friend.

"Maya is just loud," Ethan had said, his voice warm. "But Y/N? There’s something so genuine and strong about her. She doesn't scream for attention, but you can tell she's the kind of person who keeps everything together. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to talk to her for weeks. She's fascinating."

The realization that a nobody—a girl who spent her weekends cleaning up Adrian’s messes—had captured the attention of the only guy Maya actually wanted turned her vanity into pure poison. Maya knew how much you secretly cared about Adrian. It took her less than an hour to create a lie to get you out of the picture.

She lured Adrian to the empty courtyard behind the old gym. Before he arrived, she tore the seams of her own shirt, scratched her own arms until they were red, and unclasped a silver bracelet Adrian had saved up to buy her, throwing it against the concrete.

When Adrian walked around the corner and saw her crying, his protective instincts completely took over his brain. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes wide with instant rage.

"It was Y/N," Maya sobbed, hiding her smug grin against his shoulder. "She found out I talked to you yesterday. She cornered me here and screamed at me. She said she’s been living in your pocket for years, and if I don't leave you alone, she’s going to make sure I regret it. Adrian, she’s insane."

The accusation made no sense, but looking at Maya’s scratched arms and his broken gift triggered a blind, furious delusion in his head. He saw the blood on her skin and felt completely betrayed by the one person he trusted completely.

"She won't touch you again," Adrian whispered, his voice turning freezing cold. "I'll handle it."

The kettle was just beginning to whistle on the stove when Adrian’s front door shattered open.

You were sitting on his kitchen counter, waiting for him. You had brought over groceries because you knew he hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. When he stormed into the kitchen, the room instantly lost all its warmth. He didn't look tired or stressed; he looked at you with absolute disgust.

Before you could slide off the counter, he crossed the floor and slammed his hand against the wood right beside your knee so hard the mugs in the cupboard rattled.

"Did you touch her?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

You looked at his angry, bloodshot eyes, keeping your face completely expressionless. "Touch who, Adrian?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" he shouted, lunging forward to bunch the collar of your jacket in his fist, pulling your face close to his. "Maya is sitting in the campus clinic right now, shaking because you cornered her like a crazy animal! You actually thought you could lay your hands on her?"

The hostility in his voice felt like a physical blow, but you forced your face to stay flat. "I haven't seen Maya today. I’ve been here, cooking for you."

"She had the broken bracelet, Y/N! Her arms were scratched!" Adrian hissed, his grip tightening on your collar. "She told me everything. She told me how you’ve been secretly obsessing over me, how you think you own a piece of my life just because you help me out. You actually thought you could threaten her because of your disgusting little crush?"

You looked deeply into his eyes, searching for a single glimpse of the childhood friend you had spent your whole life protecting. There was nothing left. He had completely surrendered to a lie, looking at you like you were trash. The cold truth finally settled in: against Maya’s tears, your entire life of loyalty meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Let go of my jacket, Adrian," you said, your voice entirely flat and empty.

He shoved you back against the wall with a look of pure contempt. "I only kept you around because you were useful," he whispered. "But you're actually just pathetic. You’re desperate, and I never want to see your face near my apartment again. Stay away from me, and if you ever look at Maya again, I’ll make sure you regret it. Get out."

You did not cry. You did not try to explain that Maya's scratches were self-inflicted. You simply stood up, picked up your keys, and walked past him, your face a perfect sheet of ice. You walked out into the cold evening air, pulling the door shut behind you, and you didn't look back.

A full month passed.

At first, Adrian convinced himself he was glad you were gone. He had proven his loyalty to Maya. But as the days turned into weeks, his life completely collapsed into rot. His apartment became an unlivable mess of trash and dirty dishes. He kept trying to manage his university schedule and his meals, but he was completely lost.

Without you sitting in the background waiting to catch him when he stumbled, his daily life felt entirely empty. The manic high he used to get from chasing Maya completely vanished. A sickening, cold dread began to claw at his throat as he realized a terrifying truth: his life only worked because your steady, silent presence had been his anchor. You were the floor beneath his feet, and he had thrown you out like garbage.

And then, he saw you with Ethan.

Adrian was sitting in his car across from a small café near campus when he spotted you through the window. You were wearing a soft sweater, a warm mug of tea in your hands. Sitting directly across from you, leaning in with a gentle, caring smile, was Ethan.

Adrian’s breath hitched. He watched, completely paralyzed, as Ethan reached across the table, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. Ethan spoke softly, and for the first time in years, a genuine, beautiful smile broke across your face. You laughed—a soft, light sound that Adrian realized he hadn't heard you make in a very long time.

A sudden, violent wave of agony ripped through Adrian’s chest. It felt as if his lungs were collapsing. He couldn't draw a breath, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard the plastic began to creak.

Why did it hurt like this? His brain screamed in total confusion. Why did his chest feel like it was being ripped apart just seeing you look at another guy, while looking at Maya now felt like staring at nothing?

A dark, toxic jealousy flooded his system. He didn't care about Maya. He didn't care about his pride. He just wanted to sprint into that café, rip Ethan's hands away from your skin, and drag you back to his apartment where nobody else could ever make you smile.

The confusion drove Adrian completely crazy over the next three days. He followed you like a starving animal, staying far behind you in the shadows as Ethan walked you home, brought you coffee in the morning, and slowly taught you how to trust someone again. Every time he saw you lean into Ethan's space, Adrian felt like he was swallowing broken glass.

He couldn't take it anymore. On the fourth night, he caught Maya leaving a convenience store, cornering her in the dark alleyway behind the building. His eyes were wide, the pupils completely blown.

"Tell me what happened behind the gym," Adrian whispered, his voice dangerous as he stepped directly into her path.

"Adrian, leave me alone," Maya laughed nervously, trying to back away. "I already told you. Your little friend Y/N attack me because she's jealous—"

"You're a liar," Adrian interrupted, his fist slamming into the brick wall right next to her face, the sound echoing loudly. His face was pale, his teeth chattering from pure distress. "I saw her with Ethan. Ethan doesn't look at you, Maya. He looks at her. You didn't care about the bracelet. You used me to get rid of her because your ego couldn't handle that he liked her instead of you."

Maya’s jaw dropped. She tried to push past him, her voice rising into an ugly screech. "So what if I did? She’s a nobody, Adrian! She was basically your servant anyway, cleaning your mess like a pathetic, desperate little—"

She never got to finish the sentence. Adrian didn't touch her, but the look that crossed his face was so terrifyingly dark that her throat closed up in pure survival instinct.

"If you ever say her name again," Adrian growled, looking so insane that she froze, "I will ruin your entire life. Get out of my sight."

Maya scrambled away, fleeing into the street.

Adrian stood alone in the dark, the absolute weight of his own horrible behavior crashing down on him. The realization fractured his mind. You had loved him since you were children. You had protected his secrets and given him your entire youth without ever asking for anything in return. And the moment a liar shed a few tears, he had looked at you with disgust and called you pathetic. He had driven away his only comfort.

The guilt didn't turn into normal sadness. It twisted instantly into a heavy, frantic obsession. He couldn't let Ethan touch you again. He couldn't let you leave him behind in the dirt. He had to fix it. He had to drag you back into his life, no matter what it took.

You were standing in the center of your small apartment, pulling a thick knit cardigan over your shoulders. Your purse was resting on the kitchen counter, and you had just checked the clock. Ethan was supposed to pick you up for a movie in less than ten minutes, and for the first time in months, your chest felt light. The stress of dealing with Adrian had finally faded from your mind.

Then, the heavy wood of your front door violently shattered apart.

The lock blew straight off the frame, the door slamming against the wall as Adrian stormed into your living room. He looked completely unhinged. His clothes were soaked through with rain, his hair was messy across his forehead, and his golden eyes were wide, frantic, and bloodshot.

Before you could scream or reach for your phone, Adrian crossed the room in a single stride. He didn't grab your wrists or push you against the wall. Instead, he collapsed hard onto his knees right at your feet.

His large arms wrapped around your thighs with a crushing intensity, locking you in place. He buried his face directly into the soft wool of your cardigan, and a ragged sob ripped out of his throat. He was trembling so violently that your own legs shook.

"Y/N... Y/N, please," Adrian wept, his voice completely broken. He clung to your legs like a man falling off the edge of a cliff. "Please don't push me away. Don't look at me with that blank face. I know the truth. I know she lied. I know what a monster I am."

You stood entirely frozen, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Get your hands off me, Adrian. Ethan is coming."

The name Ethan caused a sharp, animalistic growl to escape his throat. He tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you down slightly until you couldn't move an inch away from him. He lifted his head, his face drenched in rain and tears, his wide eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying fixation.

"No Ethan," Adrian breathed, his voice cracking with a desperate, heavy reverence that made your skin crawl. "No Maya. No one else. I don't care about anyone else on this earth, Y/N. I saw him touch your face and my chest literally started to rip apart. I couldn't breathe. I realized you're the only person who keeps me human."

He reached his trembling hands up, his fingers bunched in the fabric of your cardigan, pressing his face against your palms. He began to kiss your knuckles with a frantic hunger, his tears hot against your skin.

"You loved me," he whispered, his voice dripping with an intense, suffocating sweetness. "You stayed in my room when everyone else ran away. We've been together since we were kids. And I threw you out for a lie. Punish me. Do whatever you want to make it even. I’ll let you do anything, as long as you look at me the way you used to."

He pressed his forehead back against your knees, his fingers locking behind your waist like iron bands, ensuring you couldn't take a single step toward the door. A small, wild smile broke through his tears.

"I'm never letting you walk away again," Adrian whispered into the quiet room, his voice shaking with an intense, terrifying joy. "I’ll lock this door from the inside, I’ll burn his car to the ground, I’ll make sure no other man ever breathes the same air as you. You are my anchor, Y/N. And from this day on, you stay right here where I can keep you entirely to myself."

A/N: Hi everyone! I am so sorry for the radio silence—it’s been almost a whole week since my last update.

To be completely honest, I had a really hard time finishing this chapter because school has been absolutely kicking my back. I've been incredibly busy with academic stuff lately and barely had any time to sit down and write.

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 08 ; The Truce

Ship names made by my creative friendImaginary phantom MC X Wren= photobomb MC X Luka= eye2eye MC X Takao= Lemondrop MC X Azure= Los(v)er MC X Isaac= warm soup MC X Yufei= Summer storm

Chapter 9

You were lost in your thoughts as you waited at the table in the library, your fingers tapping against the wood. 

You constantly checked the time on your phone, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness. 

3:04. 3:07. 3:12. 

As the time grew longer, your stomach felt heavier and heavier, like you'd swallowed stones.

Not so far from you, tucked into a corner near the biographies, you spotted a dark green-haired male. Your eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. He looked quite familiar — but his face was mostly covered by a large stack of books balanced precariously on his table and his fogged glasses that reflected the light in odd angles.

You noticed him staring at you time to time. 

Every few minutes, his head would tilt just slightly in your direction, his eyes hidden behind those smudged lenses. Then he'd quickly go back to scribbling something down in a notebook, or that was what you made out of his movements from this distance. 

Sure, you'd had stares here and there from people — you were used to that by now — but this was different. This was lingering... And it was starting to get uncomfortable.

You averted your eyes away and onto your spread out books on your desk, except they were only there for show. 

You didn't want to look like an awkward loser sitting there and doing nothing for over thirty minutes, so you'd pulled out a few textbooks from the shelf, opened them to random pages, and pretended to read. 

You hadn't absorbed a single word.

Now that reminds me, you thought, frowning to yourself as you checked the time again.

3:31PM.

‘Where the hell is he?’ Your scheduled meeting time had been 3PM. Twenty minutes ago. You'd messaged him twice — no response. You'd waited. You were still waiting. And with every passing minute, your nerves wound tighter and tighter.

You crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair, your eyes drifting toward the windows, toward the door, toward anywhere but the dark green-haired stranger still staring at you from across the library.

You continued to be deep in thought, running through possible conversation starters, possible escape routes, possible ways to keep yourself from panicking.

That was when you felt the presence of a looming figure over you.

The air shifted. The light dimmed slightly, blocked by a tall body stepping into your space. You glanced up — and met your eyes with another pair of dark green eyes.

Not the stranger's. Worse.

You widened your eyes, your heart seizing in your chest, and stood up instantly. A nervous smile plastered itself across your face, so wide it almost hurt. 

“Luka! There you are, buddy!" You held out your hand for a handshake, your palm slightly sweaty, your fingers trembling just a little.

Luka stared at it. Then at you. His expression was blank, almost bored.

"Oh right.. haha, germs, am I right?" You nervously chuckled, retracting your hand and wiping it on your pants.

Luka continued to stare at you, his brows furrowing slightly. The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the distant sound of pages turning somewhere in the stacks.

"Uhm, have a seat?" Your hand presented to the seat across from yours, an offering, a peace treaty.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Alright.. so have a stand!" You let out a nervous laughter that died almost immediately when Luka's expression didn't change.

"You unblocked me to have a talk," he said, his voice low and even. "So talk."

You swallowed hard, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Yeah, you're so right. I'm no longer interested in Wren. He's all yours."

"Yeah sure."

"I'm not kidding."

Luka's eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing. "You've been obsessed with him since we were kids. You made people's lives hell if they so much as looked at him." He stepped closer, and you stepped back, your thighs hitting the edge of the table. "What makes you think I will believe your stupid lie?"

"I'm not lying, Luka." You held his gaze, even though every instinct was screaming at you to look away. "I'm seriously no longer interested in Wren."

"Why?"

"Gee, I don't know?" You ran a hand through your hair, searching for words that wouldn't sound fake. 

"I.. got help over time and I realized how tiring it is. My deranged behavior ruined me and I don't want to be like that anymore." Your voice dropped, quieter now. "I know what people think of me and it's been so hard."

"That's easy for you to say, M/N." Luka's jaw tightened. "I was one of your victims."

You flinched — just slightly  — but you didn't look away. "And I am super sorry for that, Luka." Your voice was earnest, pleading.

"What can I do to fix this mess?"

Luka frowned, his dark green eyes searching your face for something — a sign that you were mocking him. 

Did you seriously think he was that stupid to fall for your lie? His hands clenched at his sides, his fists tightening harder and harder until his knuckles went white.

"Quit the act," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I know this is just one of your strategies to get closer to Wren, isn't it?"

You remained calm, even as your heart pounded against your ribs. 

"No, Luka. It isn't. I'm not playing a game." You held your hands up, palms out. "Please, let's just come to civil terms and stop this war between us. There's nothing for you to find if you keep watching me to slip up."

Luka stared at you for a long moment. His anger didn't disappear — but it shifted. 

His brow furrowed deeper, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was confused now. Frustrated. He didn't know what to do with someone who wouldn't fight back.

"So uh," you said, your voice small, "are we cool now? Truce?”

Something snapped.

Suddenly, Luka gripped your collar.

His fingers twisted into the fabric of your shirt, yanking you forward until you were inches from his face. His breath was hot against your skin, his dark green eyes blazing with something that wasn't quite anger anymore — something wilder but you couldn't put a name on it.

"You think this is a game?" he hissed.

Your hands flew up, not to push him away, but to grab his wrists, "No," you whispered. "I don't think this is a game. I think you're scared!”

Luka froze.

His grip loosened — just slightly enough for you to breathe.

"I'm not scared of you," you continued, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. "I'm scared for you. You've wrapped your entire existence around someone who doesn't even see you. And one day, Luka, he's going to look at someone else — someone who isn't you — and you're going to have nothing left."

The library was silent. The dark green-haired stranger had stopped pretending to write.

Luka's hands fell away. He stepped back, his chest heaving, his eyes wide.

"You don't know anything about me," he said.

"I know enough."

Luka stared at you for one more heartbeat. Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps sharp against the floor, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.

You stood there for a moment, your heart pounding, your shirt wrinkled where his fingers had been.

Then you sank back into your chair and let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

You stood there, your legs suddenly felt like jelly as you tried your best to stay upright. 

Your knees wobbled beneath you, threatening to buckle, and you gripped the edge of the table so hard your knuckles went white. 

Your exhales came out weak and shaky, ragged little gasps that barely seemed to reach your lungs, as if there was something heavy pressing against your chest, blocking your airway.

You felt your hands shaking — not a subtle tremor, but a violent, uncontrollable shudder that rattled up your arms and into your shoulders. 

You looked down at your palms and watched them twitch like they belonged to someone else. 

Suddenly, your vision wasn't so clear anymore.

The edges of the library blurred, the books on the shelves melting into smudges of color, the sunlight from the windows fragmenting into dizzying patterns.

You didn't know why you felt like this all of a sudden.

Your brain couldn't catch up with your body, it couldn't process what was happening fast enough to stop it.

You weren't exactly harmed — Luka hadn't hit you, hadn't cut you, hadn't left a single mark on your skin. But whatever he had done, whatever that moment of fury and fear had been, it scared the shit out of you.

You didn't know whether or not you had messed up.

Your conversation with Luka replayed in your head on a loop. Had you pushed too far? Had you said the wrong thing? Were you going to die? 

The thought slammed into you like a freight train. No, you couldn't die. You were only just adjusting to this new world — this strange, terrifying, beautiful world that wasn't yours but had become yours anyway. 

You couldn't die. You refused to die. But what was going to happen now? What was Luka going to do? What if he came back? What if he told Wren? What if—

A loud ringing went on and on in your ear, piercing and relentless, drowning out every other sound. 

The library faded away. All you could hear was that noise, that horrible noise, and your own heartbeat pounding faster and faster and faster.

You felt yourself lowering down to your knees. 

The movement was slow, almost gentle, like your body was trying to let you down easy. 

Your lips were quivering. Sweat began to build at the side of your face, dripping down your temples, mixing with something wet on your cheeks that you didn't recognize at first.

"Oi — are you okay?"

Footsteps. Someone was coming closer, their shoes squeaking against the floor.

"M/N? M/N, can you hear me?"

The voice was distant, like hearing someone call to you from underwater. 

You couldn't respond. You couldn't move.

‘I don't want to die’, you thought, the words echoing in your skull, bouncing off the walls of your brain. ‘I don't want to die. Not yet. Please. I don't want to die.’

Hot tears spilled from your eyes — cutting tracks down your cheeks, dripping off your chin onto the carpet below. You hadn't even noticed you were crying. You hadn't noticed a lot of things.

"I don't want to die," you heard yourself say. The words came out broken, barely a whisper. "I don't want to die."

A pair of hands gently gripped your shoulders. "Hey, hey, look at me. You're okay. You're okay."

The voice was familiar. You couldn't place it — you couldn't think, you couldn't breathe .

"Can you hear my voice? Just focus on my voice, okay? Breathe in and out. Like this." The person inhaled slowly, deeply, and you felt the pressure of their hands on your shoulders rise and fall with their chest. "Come on. Try with me."

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Not yet. Please. I don't want to die.

You tried to breathe. You really did. You gulped air into your lungs, but it felt like swallowing sand. You felt tears streaming out of your eyes, hot and relentless, and you couldn't make them stop. 

You felt lightheaded all of a sudden, the room spinning around you, the voice fading in and out like a radio losing signal.

And then, slowly, everything went dark.

You blacked out completely.

Your eyes snapped open in an instant, the world rushing back in a disorienting blur of light and shadow. 

You sat up — too fast — and immediately winced in pain as the surroundings spun all around you. 

You pressed a hand to your forehead, willing everything to stop moving.

"M-M/N?" Azure's voice cut through the fog, high and trembling. 

His eyes widened as he woke up instantly — had he been sleeping beside you? — and scrambled to his feet. "O-oh my go-gosh, M/N! Ca-can yo-you hear, er, m-me?!" He got in front of you and waved his hand back and forth, his fingers blurring with motion.

Your throat felt dry. Like you'd swallowed a mouthful of dust and hadn't had water in days. 

Your hands were sweaty, clammy, leaving damp prints on the thin blanket covering your legs. Everything felt sweaty — your face, your neck, the back of your shirt. 

‘This mattress feels so scratchy…’

Azure quickly poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand, his hands trembling so badly that water sloshed over the rim. 

He carefully handed it to you, guiding your fingers around the glass, and helped you drink it slowly — small sips,, his bright blue eyes never leaving your face.

"A-are you hur-hurt?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Y-you're safe now!"

He set the empty glass down and went to the nearby window, fumbling with the latch before pushing it open. Fresh air rushed in — cool and clean and alive.

You breathed it in. Once. Twice. Your lungs expanded, and for the first time since waking up, you felt like you could think.

"Where.. am I?" you asked, your voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

"Y-you-you're in, er, the infi-infirmary r-right now." Azure returned to your side, hovering like a worried mother hen. "It-it's okay, M-M/N! You're s-safe here."

"How did I get here?" You rubbed your temples, trying to piece together the fragments of memory.

"We-well, Ta-Takao car-carried you here!" Azure's words tumbled out in a rush. "I-I s-saw h-him, er, o-on his wa-way and fo-followed." His lower lip trembled. "I'm- I'm so so-sorry, M/N!"

"Sorry?" You blinked at him, confused. "Why are you sorry?"

Azure's face crumpled. "I sh-should've b-been th-there! I sh-should've come w-with you! I kn-knew L-Luka was d-dangerous and I—" His voice broke, and he pressed his hands over his face, shoulders shaking.

You reached out — slowly and carefully — and rested your hand on his arm. "Azure. It's not your fault."

"But I—"

"It's not your fault," you repeated, firmer this time. "I asked you to wait outside. Remember? I said I needed to talk to him alone."

Azure lowered his hands, his eyes red and glistening. "I sh-should've said no."

"And I would've argued." You attempted a small smile, though it felt weak on your face. "You can't protect me from everything, Azure. Nobody can."

He sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "I c-can try."

"That's very sweet of you." Your hand slipped from his arm and fell back to the cot. "Where's Takao now?"

Azure glanced toward the door. "He, er, he went to g-get the n-nurse. An-and to fi-fill out some p-paperwork." He paused, his brow furrowing. "He l-looked r-really worried, M/N. I've n-never, er, s-seen him like th-that before."

You stared at the ceiling, processing this. Takao? Worried?? About you???

"Can you help me sit up more?" you asked. "I feel like I'm drowning in this cot."

Azure nodded quickly and grabbed a pillow from the adjacent cot, stuffing it behind your back. You leaned into it, grateful for the support, and let out a long, slow breath.

The infirmary was quiet — it was just the two of you.

"I'm sorry I scared you," you said quietly.

"D-don't be-be sorry." Azure pulled a chair close to your cot and sat down, his knees almost touching the mattress. "J-just l-let me er,-he-help you.."

"Hm."

Azure's lips pressed into a thin line. "P-promise m-me."

You looked at him — at his trembling hands, his worried eyes, the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks. 

This boy who had been bullied and broken and taught to expect the worst from people. This boy who had still followed Takao to the infirmary because he was worried about you.

"I promise," you said.

Azure nodded, satisfied, and leaned back in his chair. He didn't leave. He just sat there, keeping watch, his hand resting on the edge of your cot like a silent vow.

And for a little while, neither of you spoke.

"Thi-this is prob-probably not the-the best, er, time…" Azure's voice wavered, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He kept his gaze fixed on his lap, cheeks flushing a deep pink that crawled all the way to the tips of his ears.

"But I-i got o-our wii's, er, to-to fall in-inlove in Tomogachi life!"

You blinked at him, the weight in your chest loosening just a fraction.

The infirmary still smelled like antiseptic and clean sheets. Your body still ached with the aftermath of whatever had happened in the library.

But Azure was sitting beside you, holding his switch like it was a fragile treasure.

You smiled —, small but genuine. "Did you? That's great, Princess."

Azure's blush deepened impossibly further. He ducked his head, curls falling over his forehead, and shoved his switch toward you. 

On the screen, two pixelated creatures were nuzzling each other under a tiny digital tree. Hearts floated above their heads.

"I-i've been tr-trying for w-weeks," Azure mumbled, peeking at you through his bangs. "Th-they ke-kept f-fighting."

"Sounds familiar."

Azure's head shot up, his eyes wide. Then, slowly, a shy smile spread across his face. "Y-yeah," he said softly. "I gu-guess it d-does."

You looked at the screen again. The pixelated creatures were holding hands now, their little faces pressed together.

"What did you name them?" you asked.

Azure hesitated. His fingers tightened around his switch. "I, er… I n-named one A-Azure."

"And the other?"

He didn't answer. His blush spread down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar.

A cough caught your attention, cutting through the soft quiet of the infirmary. 

You turned your head toward the door, and there stood Takao.

He had his brows furrowed, deep lines etched into his forehead, and his eyes were fixed onto you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. 

You couldn't tell if he was frustrated, or sad, or stressed — maybe all three at once. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense, and his hands hung stiffly at his sides like he didn't quite know what to do with them.

"Takao..?" Your voice came out smaller than you intended.

He didn't respond right away. He just stood there, staring at you, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

Azure glanced between the two of you, his hands still clutching his switch to his chest like a shield. 

He could feel the tension thick in the air, pressing down on all of you. Quietly, he slid off his chair.

"I-i'll g-go ch-check on the n-nurse," Azure mumbled, slipping past Takao and out the door. It clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing in the suddenly too-empty room.

And then it was just you and Takao.

He didn't move from the door at first. He just stood there, his dark blue eyes boring into yours, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he spoke.

"You scared the shit out of me, you fucking asshole."

You winced, your shoulders hunching. "Uh, sorry."

"What the hell happened?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. What could you say? ‘I had a panic attack because Luka grabbed my collar and I thought I was going to die?’ It sounded ridiculous even in your own head.

Takao pushed off from the door and walked toward you slowly. He stopped at the foot of your cot, his hands gripping the metal railing so hard his knuckles went white.

"I found you on the floor," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. The words came out clipped, like he was forcing them through a clenched jaw. 

“You were shaking. And crying. You wouldn't respond to anything I said." He paused, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I thought — I didn't know what to do."

You looked away, staring at your hands resting in your lap. Your fingers were still slightly pale, the skin cool to the touch. "I'm fine now."

"No, you’re fucking not!”

"I'm getting there."

Takao's grip on the railing tightened. The metal creaked faintly under his palms. 

"Don't give me that bullshit. You were on the floor, M/N. You were Unresponsive. Murmuring shit about not wanting to die." His voice cracked on the last word, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. 

“What the hell happened?"

You shrugged, forcing your shoulders to lift even though they felt heavy as lead. "Stress. About school. I was studying and I—"

"What kinda stress fucking leads you to murmuring you not wanting to die?" Takao cut you off, his voice sharp. He released the railing and stepped closer, looming over you, his shadow falling across the cot. 

"Huh? Is there someone out there? Someone threatening you?"

Your breath caught. You looked up at him, you noticed the way his dark blue eyes seemed to burn with something that looked almost like fear.

"No," you said. "No one's threatening me."

"Then why—"

"It was just a panic attack, Takao." You kept your voice steady, even though your heart was racing. "I get them sometimes. It's not a big deal."

Takao stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face for something. His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, and you could see him fighting to keep his composure.

"That's not a normal panic attack," he said finally, his voice quieter.

"It was for me."

Takao didn't look convinced. But he didn't push further. He just stood there, hovering over you.

"You should sit down," you said. "You look like you're about to collapse."

"I'm not the one who passed out on a library floor."

"And yet you look worse than I feel."

Takao's eye twitched. But after a moment, he pulled the chair Azure had been sitting in closer to your cot and dropped into it heavily, the legs scraping against the floor. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze still fixed on you.

"Don't do that again," he said.

"Do what?"

"Scare me like that."

You blinked at him, surprised by the bluntness of his words. "I'll try not to."

"You're such an ass," Takao said, his voice flat but lacking real venom. "I fucking hate you."

You rolled your eyes, "Okay, sorry."

"I didn't mean that."

"Mhm." You weren't sure if you believed him, but you didn't have the energy to argue. "So what time is it?"

Takao blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, then glanced down at his watch. The silver band glinted under the infirmary lights. "It's 5PM."

"Shit." Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, the thin blanket pooling around your hips, and planted your feet on the cold floor. "I have volleyball practice at 4."

Takao's hand shot out, pressing against your shoulder, pushing you back down before you could stand. "You're not going anymore."

"I can't be late!" You tried to shove his hand away, but he didn't budge. His grip was firm.

"Oi." His voice dropped to something low and serious. "You need to rest, you dumbass. You fainted like an hour ago."

"I need to go." You looked up at him, your eyes wide, pleading. "Yufei and Naoko are waiting for me—"

"Then they can wait longer." Takao's jaw was set, his dark blue eyes hard. "Or they can practice without you for one day. You're not invincible, M/N.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off.

"You passed out. On the floor In the library." His voice cracked again, just a little, just enough to make your chest ache. "Do you understand how fucking terrifying that was? I thought—" He stopped, swallowed, looked away. "Just stay. Please."

The word hung in the air between you.

You stared at him. At the tension in his shoulders, the furrow in his brow, the way his hand was still pressed against your shoulder like he was afraid you'd collapse again if he let go.

"Fine," you said quietly. "But text Yufei for me. Tell him I'm sick."

Takao stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign that you were lying, that you were planning to bolt the second he turned his back.

Then he nodded, pulled out his phone, and started typing.

You leaned back against the pillow, the fight draining out of you, and let yourself breathe.

You checked your phone and immediately winced at the screen. A flood of notifications stared back at you.

Yufei : M/NNNNN WHY AR YOU LATE?????

Yufei: HELLOOOO M/N

Yufei: M/N

Yufei: M/N

Yufei: M/N

Yufei: ARE YOU COMING OR NOT

Yufei: HELLO :(

Yufei: PLS WHERE R U

Yufei: WHEN ARE YOU COMING

Yufei: I MISS YOU PLS DONT LEAVE USSSSS

Yufei: M/NNNN

You scrolled further. And further. He'd sent nearly 80 messages in the span of an hour, each one more desperate than the last. 

A few from Naoko were mixed in — but the majority of the chaos was purely Yufei.

Naoko: Hey, M/N. I heard what happened. Please hydrate yourself and rest plenty! 😿

And then you saw them.

Wren: I noticed you weren't at practice today. Are you feeling alright?

Wren: I saved you some water bottles in case you come tomorrow.

Wren: Hope everything is okay, M/N ❤️ I’ll bring you something :)

You stared at the little red heart at his message. Something cold settled in your stomach, chasing away the warmth that Yufei's nonsense had brought.

"That bad?" Takao's voice came from beside you, low and dry.

You turned your phone toward him so he could see the screen. His eyes scanned the messages, his expression shifting from curiosity to mild horror to something that looked almost like sympathy.

"Your friends are insane," he said.

"Yufei isn't usually this bad," you mumbled, though you weren't sure that was true. You'd only known him for a day. Maybe this was just his normal.

"And Wren?" Takao's voice was carefully neutral.

You locked your phone and set it face-down on the cot. "I don't want to talk about Wren."

Takao didn't push. He just nodded, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You should probably text them back," he said after a moment. "Before Yufei pulls up here with a search party."

You groaned, picking your phone back up. "Don't give him ideas."

You tapped onto Yufei's contact and typed something quick, your thumbs moving sluggishly across the screen.

You: Hey, sorry, I'm not feeling well.

The response came in less than three seconds.

Yufei: WHAT?? ARRY YOM OKAY

Yufei: ARE YKUK HFURT?

Yufei: WHE RE SRE YKU

You stared at the messages, deciphering them like a cryptic code. Your head still ached, but you couldn't help the small snort that escaped you.

You: how are you texting in practice?

A pause. Then:

Yufei: IM HIDINGN FROM NSOKO RN

Yufei: SHES CLAKIHGNIUT NMYN NAME WAIT

Yufei: SOS

Takao leaned over, peeking at your screen. His brow furrowed. "Is he having a stroke?"

"No," you said, though you weren't entirely sure. "I think he's just running from Naoko."

Another message came through, slightly more coherent this time.

Yufei: OK IM IN THE BATHROOM NOW

Yufei: ARE YOU OKAY??? DO YOU NEED ME TO COME OVER??? I CAN BRING YOU SOUP. I DONT KNOW HOW TO MAKE SOUP BUT I CAN TRY. OR I CAN BUY SOUP. OR I CAN JUST COME OVER AND NOT BRING SOUP. DO YOU WANT ME TO COME OVER??

You smiled despite yourself. The panic in his texts was almost endearing, it wasn’t something you were used to receiving.

You: I'm fine. Just resting :P Go back to practice before Naoko kills you lmao

Yufei: BUT WHAT IF YOU DIE AND I NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN

You: I'm not going to die lol

Yufei: YOU DONT KNOW THAT

Yufei: PROMISE ME YOU WONT DIE

You stared at the screen. Takao was watching you, his expression unreadable.

You: I promise.

Yufei: OK

Yufei: I BELIEVE YOU

Yufei: BUT IF YOU DIE IM GONNA BE SO MAD AT YOU

Yufei: GET BETTER SOON OK??? I MISS YOU ALREADY. PRACTICE IS BORING WITHOUT YOU. YUFEI'S HAMSTRING HELL ISNT THE SAME WITHOUT YOU THERE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT IT

Yufei: OK NAOKO IS COMING I GOTTA GO

Yufei: BYE BEST FRIEND

Yufei: I DECIDED YOURE MY BEST FRIEND NOW BTW

Yufei: NO TAKE BACKS

Yufei: AAAAAAAAAA SHES HITTING ME

You locked your phone and set it down, the warmth in your chest spreading despite everything.

"You're smiling," Takao said.

"Shut up."

He didn't. But he didn't say anything else either. He just sat there, beside you, as the afternoon light faded into evening.

"Thank you, by the way," you said, your voice softer now. The words felt small in the quiet of the infirmary, but you meant them. "I hope I wasn't heavy at all."

Takao grumbled, his gaze fixed on the far wall instead of looking at you. "It didn't matter at the time."

You sighed, letting the silence settle for a moment. "Well, guess I'll just wait here until I get discharged by the nurse."

Takao nodded.

The quiet stretched between you again, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. You watched the shadows lengthen across the floor, listened to the distant murmur of the campus outside, and tried not to think about Luka's hands on your collar.

Then Takao moved.

He reached into his jacket pocket — the worn black one with the ripped lining — and pulled out a small bundle of yarn and a crochet hook. The yarn was a deep burgundy color, soft and slightly fuzzy, wrapped carefully around itself to keep from tangling. The hook was plain, silver, nothing special.

You blinked. "What's that?"

Takao's shoulders tensed. He didn't look at you, his dark blue eyes fixed on the yarn in his hands. "Oi, that's none of ya business."

"Well, it's in full display in front of me."

"I.. crochet sometimes." His voice was low, almost defensive, like he was admitting to something shameful rather than a harmless hobby. "To kill time."

You stared at him. At his rough hands, his calloused fingers, at the way he held the hook — carefully, like he'd done this a billion times before.

"Huh," you said. "That's pretty… unexpected of you."

"I know what you're thinking."

"I doubt it."

"You're thinking it's weird."

"No!” You shook your head, your voice quiet. "I'm thinking it's kind of cool, actually.”

Takao's head snapped toward you, surprise flickering across his face before he quickly looked away. His ears were red. You pretended not to notice.

"Just don't tell anyone," he muttered, his fingers already working the yarn into the beginning of a loop. "I have a reputation."

"Yeah," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn't want people to know you have hobbies that don't involve violence."

"Shut up."

You didn't. But you also didn't say anything else. You just watched his hands move — the hook sliding through the loops, the yarn twisting into neat, even stitches — and let the quiet settle around you both.

"What are you crocheting?" You tilted your head, trying to make sense of the shape forming beneath his fingers. It was still loose andd shapeless, but you could see the beginnings of something taking form.

"A Hyacinth," Takao said without looking up.

"A what?"

"It's a flower, dumbass." His voice was flat, but there was no real heat behind it. Just exhaustion, maybe.

"Oh." You watched his hands move — the hook dipping and looping, the burgundy yarn twisting into something that might eventually resemble petals. "Is it the loofa looking one?"

Takao's fingers paused for just a fraction of a second. "I guess, bro. I guess."

You hummed, leaning back against your pillow. The infirmary had grown darker as the afternoon faded, Somewhere outside, you could hear students laughing and shit chatting.

"Where'd you learn how to crochet like that?" you asked.

"Ms. Harper taught me."

"Ah, the librarian?"

"Who else, dumbass?" Takao's eyes flicked up to meet yours for just a moment, a hint of exasperation in his gaze, before dropping back to his work.

You rolled your eyes, "Well, that's nice of her. I don't know any hobbies that I can do."

The words hung in the air between you. You hadn't meant them as a plea, or even as a question — just an observation of something you'd been feeling ever since you woke up in this strange new world. Everyone around you seemed to have something. Yufei had volleyball. Azure had his games. Takao had his crochet, hidden away like a secret weapon.

You had nothing.

"I can teach you."

You blinked. Takao's voice had been low, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. His hands had stilled on the yarn, and he was staring at the half-formed flower in his lap like it had personally offended him.

"Huh?" You straightened up, your heart doing something strange in your chest. "I didn't hear you."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes. You. Did." Takao's jaw tightened, and his ears were definitely red now, visible even in the dim light. "Don't make me say it again."

You stared at him. "Okay," you said softly. "I'd like that."

Takao didn't respond. He just picked up his yarn again, his hook sliding back into the loops, and continued working on his hyacinth like the conversation had never happened.

But you noticed he was sitting a little closer than before. And you didn't move away.

Your phone buzzed with a new notification, the screen lighting up against the dim infirmary air. You glanced down, already half-expecting another frantic message from Yufei or maybe Azure checking in.

"Who is it now?" you muttered, turning the phone toward you.

Isaac: 𝓗𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸, 𝓜/𝓝. 𝓐𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻? 😭😭😭😣😣🙏🙏😃😃😃😄😄😄😄😄😂🥶🥵🥵😰😨😨😨😨😨😥😥😥😥😥😥😨😨

You blinked at the screen. Then blinked again.

Takao glanced over, his crochet hook pausing mid-stitch. "Who's that?"

"Isaac," you said slowly, still staring at the message. "My dormmate."

"The student council president?"

"Yeah."

Takao's brow furrowed. "He texts like a middle schooler."

You couldn't argue with that.

You: Oh hey Isaac! and yeah I am

His response came almost immediately.

Isaac: Ⓕⓐⓝⓣⓐⓢⓣⓘⓒ ⓣⓞ ⓗⓔⓐⓡ ⓣⓗⓐⓣ    .⃝😍😍😍😚😚🥰🥰🥰😄😄😄😁😁🤣😂😁😁😁😁😁😁😆😆😆😆😆

You stared. The font had changed again.

You: what's with the font and emojis lol

Isaac: 𝕀 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝕞𝕪 𝕥𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘. 𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥? 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵😳😳😳😳🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

Your eye twitched.

Takao leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. "What the hell is happening?"

"I don't know," you admitted. "I think he's having a crisis."

You: some fonts are hard to read but yeah it's cool

You tried to be gentle. Isaac was trying, in his own strange way. The thought was almost sweet, buried under all the chaos.

Isaac: Շђคภк ץ๏ย. รєє ץ๏ย ร๏๏ภ. 👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾👋🏾😁😁🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩😃😃😃😃😃😃😃🤗🤗🤗😆😆😆😆😃😃😃

You stared at the final message.

Takao was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he said, "Is he always like this?"

"No," you said, still staring at your phone. "This is new."

"Huh."

You locked your phone and set it aside, suddenly exhausted in a different way. Isaac meant well. You knew he meant well. But his version of "spicing up" his texting was somehow more exhausting than a normal conversation.

"Your friends are weird," Takao said, picking up his crochet hook again.

"You're one to talk."

"I'm not your friend."

"Could've fooled me."

Takao didn't respond. But he didn't deny it either. He just kept crocheting, his hyacinth slowly taking shape beneath his fingers, the burgundy yarn catching the fading light.

"Isaac and I had a.. strange past, actually." Takao's voice was low, almost a murmur, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

You raised your brow at him, your attention sharpening. "Really?"

Takao shook his head, his jaw tightening. "Ah, forget it. I don't want to involve you in it."

"Why do you always do this?" You sat up straighter, frustration prickling beneath your skin. "You bring something up, and when I ask you about it, you tell me to brush it off."

"Some words just slip before I can take them back." He wouldn't look at you. His fingers had stilled on the crochet hook, the burgundy yarn hanging loose and forgotten.

"Well, now I'm curious." You leaned forward, ignoring the way your head still throbbed. "Isaac could be a serial killer for all I know, and you could be keeping this from me!"

"Oi!" Takao's head snapped toward you, his dark blue eyes flashing. "It's nothing like that, dumbass!"

"Then what is it like?"

Takao hesitated. The silence stretched between you, filled with something unspoken.

You softened your voice. "Wait, Takao. I won't force you into telling me."

"Nah, it's just.." He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping. "I do want to."

"Oh, uh, alright." You settled back against your pillow, giving him space. "Take your time."

Takao stared at the half-formed hyacinth in his hands.

"Would it be surprising," he said finally, "if I told you that Isaac isn't what you think he is?"

Your heart stuttered. "What do you... mean?"

"Everybody doesn't know what he's done." Takao's voice was flat, carefully controlled. "But I remembered. Everything." He paused, his fingers tightening around the crochet hook. "He managed to cover up his past quite well, didn't he?"

"Takao, what are you—"

A knock on the door cut you off.

You both turned.

Wren stood in the doorway, his copper-brown hair catching the dim light from the hallway. He was still wearing his manager's polo, the whistle still hanging around his neck, and his bright yellow eyes were fixed on you with an expression of soft concern.

"M/N," he said, his voice warm and gentle. "Oh my goodness, I hope you're feeling better."

"Wren? What are you—"

"I excused myself early today," Wren said, stepping further into the room. "So I figured you'd be here." He stopped at the foot of your cot, his bright eyes scanning your face, your body, your hands. "How are you feeling?!"

You glanced at Takao, who was still sitting in his chair, his crochet hook frozen mid-stitch. Wren followed your gaze, his smile never wavering.

"Hey," Wren said, his tone light, almost casual. "Could you please leave for a moment?"

Takao's jaw tightened. His dark blue eyes flicked to you. You gave him a small nod. It's fine. I'll be fine.

Takao grumbled something under his breath, shoving his yarn and hook into his jacket pocket. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the door. He paused beside Wren, his shoulder brushing against the other boy's, and shot him a look that could have curdled milk.

Then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him.

Fuck.

It was just you and Wren now.

The infirmary felt smaller somehow, the walls pressing in, the air thicker. Wren walked around to the side of your cot, his footsteps light against the floor, and stood beside you, looking down at your face with that same soft, worried expression.

"M/N," he said, reaching out — fast — and touching your forehead with the back of his hand. His skin was cool against yours, his fingers gentle.

You flinched. The motion was small, barely noticeable, but Wren's hand hovered in the air for a moment before dropping back to his side. He didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just chose not to.

"You're warm," he murmured.

"Wren, you should go."

"M/N, please." He pulled the chair Takao had been sitting in closer to your cot and sat down, his knees almost touching the mattress. "Let me stay with you for a while."

"What about Luk—"

"No." Wren's voice was sharper now, firmer. "I'm not leaving." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "Do you have any idea how worried sick I was for you? I even left practice early as a manager to check up on you." His bright eyes met yours, and there was something in them you hadn't seen before. "Please. Just let me be here for you. At your lowest."

He reached out and took your hand, lifting it, pressing your palm against his cheek. His skin was warm, smoother than you expected, and his eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, like your touch was something precious.

You didn't pull away. You couldn't.

"Have you seen Luka today?" you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Wren's eyes opened. He blinked, confused by the shift in topic. "Uh... no. Why?" His brow furrowed. "Did something happen?"

You sighed to yourself, your gaze dropping to your hands — to his hands, still wrapped around yours. Wren already knew about Takara's and Luka's rivalry. It wasn't a secret. Everyone knew. And maybe, this was your chance to make things right, to set the record straight! To free yourself from all of this.

"I know that my past with you has been nothing but... weird and uncomfortable," you said slowly, choosing your words with care.

Wren blinked. "Y-Yeah...?"

You took a breath. "Over the break, I decided to get professional help."

The lie tasted strange on your tongue, but it was plausible. People changed. People grew. People went to therapy and worked on themselves and came out the other side different.

Wren's brow furrowed deeper. "...what?"

"Yeah." You nodded, trying to look earnest like you believed what you were saying. "I learned that my actions and life-long obsession with you were unhealthy. And I no longer want to be that person anymore." You pulled your hand back from his cheek, letting it fall to your lap. "I tried telling Luka I wasn't interested in you, but he didn't seem to buy it. So I was thinking maybe you could try to convince him th—"

"You're no longer... interested in me..?" Wren's voice cracked on the last word.

"Yeah!" You nodded, relieved that he seemed to be catching on. "Romantically. Anyway, so could you tell Luka that—"

"How come you're no longer interested in me?!"

You blinked, startled by the sharpness in his voice. "What? Romantically, yeah!"

"Wh-what?" Wren's hands gripped the edge of the cot, his knuckles going white. "What do you mean? You don't love me anymore?"

"Wren—"

"What did I do wrong?" His voice was rising now, cracking at the edges, his bright eyes wide and glistening. "Is it how I look? Am I no longer attractive? Did you find someone else?" He was leaning closer, his face inches from yours, his breath warm on your skin. "Is it Takao? Is it Azure? Is it—"

"Woah, woah!" You held up your hands, palms out, trying to create some distance between you and the frantic energy rolling off Wren in waves. "Don't take it personal. You're a great guy. Everybody loves you." The words felt hollow on your tongue, even though they were true. Wren was loved — adored, worshipped, put on a pedestal by practically everyone who crossed his path.

"I just want to make things right. I don't want to torment you anymore."

Wren stared at you. His chest was heaving, his bright eyes wide and wet, and his hands were still gripping the edge of your cot like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

"Torment me?" he repeated, his voice small. "You never tormented me, M/N."

"I followed you everywhere. I scared off anyone who looked at you. I made your life—"

"You made my life interesting." Wren's voice cracked. He reached out again, his fingers brushing against yours, hesitant, almost shy. "Everyone else just... agrees with me. Smiles at me. Says yes to everything I ask. But you..." He swallowed hard. "You saw me. Even when I was pretending to be fine, you saw right through it. You always knew when something was wrong."

You didn't know what to say to that. The words lodged in your throat, thick and heavy.

"I don't want you to change," Wren continued, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "I don't want you to stop loving me. I don't care if it's unhealthy or weird or whatever your therapist said. I needyou, M/N. I need you to keep looking at me like I'm the only person in the world."

Your heart was pounding. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go. Wren was supposed to be relieved — happy, even — that his obsessive stalker had finally backed off. He was supposed to thank you and walk away and never look back!

Instead, he was sitting here, holding your hand, looking at you like you were the one slipping away.

"Wren," you said softly, "you don't need me. You have Luka. You have your fans. You have—"

"I don't want Luka." The words came out sharp, almost angry, and Wren's eyes widened as if he surprised even himself. He looked down at your intertwined fingers, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of your hand. "I don't want any of them. I want you."

The infirmary was silent. Somewhere outside, the world kept spinning, but in here, time had stopped.

"You should go," you whispered.

Wren shook his head. "No."

"Wren—"

"No." He looked up at you, and there were tears in his eyes now — real ones, glistening on his lashes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. "I'm not leaving you again. I've spent this whole week watching you drift away, and I'm not going to let it happen anymore."

He squeezed your hand.

"I'm going to prove it to you, M/N. I'm going to show you that you don't need to change. That you don't need to push me away." His voice dropped, low and fierce. "And I'm going to start by figuring out what Luka did to you. Because I know he did something. And when I find out..." His jaw tightened. "He's going to wish he never touched you."

Your blood ran cold.

"Wren, don't—"

But he was already standing, already walking toward the door, already pulling out his phone.

"Get some rest," he said, his voice light again, like nothing had happened.

He smiled at you — that perfect, soft, beautiful smile — and walked out the door.

And you were alone.

You sighed as you finally arrived at your dorm, your legs heavy and your body still buzzing with the remnants of the day's chaos. 

The hallway was quiet at this hour, most students already settled into their rooms for the evening. You checked the time on your phone — 7:12PM. Hours had passed since the infirmary, since Wren, since everything, but it still felt like the afternoon had barely ended.

You used your ID to swipe open the dorm room door, the familiar click of the lock echoing in the quiet space. 

The living room was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner, its warm glow casting long shadows across the floor.

Isaac was there, swinging back and forth on his chair, the old wood creaking softly with each motion. He had a book open in his lap — thick and academic-looking — but his eyes weren't on the pages. 

They were fixed on the door, waiting.

When he saw you, his whole body stilled. His shoulders relaxed, his grip on the book loosened, and a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours escaped him in a quiet sigh.

He snapped his head to look at you, his grey eyes scanning your face, your posture, your hands — checking for injuries, for signs of distress, for anything out of place.

Then he let out a sigh of relief. He set the book aside and walked toward you, his footsteps soft against the floor. "M/N, you're here."

"Yeah," you said, kicking off your shoes by the door. "The nurse discharged me."

Isaac's brow furrowed. "Are you okay? I hope you didn't go to volleyball practice right after." He paused, then added, almost sheepishly, "I checked the schedule."

You blinked at him, caught off guard. "I was planning to, but I didn't." You tilted your head. "And you checked the schedule?"

Isaac's expression didn't waver. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're my roommate. I like to know where you are." He paused, his grey eyes softening. "You don't have to tell me what happened. But don't lie about it."

You were quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. Then, slowly, you spoke. "It all started when I talked to Luka."

Isaac's eyebrows rose, surprise flickering across his usually stoic face. "Luka?" He crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. "Why?"

"To tell him I was done with Wren." You walked over to the couch and sank into the cushions, the familiar fabric soft against your tired body. "I didn't want to deal with the fighting anymore."

Isaac nodded slowly, processing this. "How did he take it?"

"Badly."

"I'm not surprised." Isaac's voice was quiet, thoughtful. "Luka doesn't trust anyone." He paused, tilting his head. "But he's not unreasonable. Give him time."

You looked up at him. "You know him?"

"I know of him." Isaac walked around the couch and sat down beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you. "Student council hears things."

"I see."

Isaac glanced at you, his grey eyes searching. "I hope he didn't hurt you, M/N." A pause. "Was that why—"

"No, but..." You sighed, leaning your head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling. The shadows from the lamp flickered across the white paint, dancing in the dim light. "I sort of planted a seed, now that I think about it. It's up to Luka how he'll take it." Your voice dropped. "I'm scared of getting hurt."

Isaac was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted on the couch, turning to face you more fully. "I remembered what you said to me," he said, his voice soft. "Our first interaction."

You turned your head to look at him. "You do?"

"I have quite the photogenic memory." There was no pride in his voice, just simple fact. "You said quite concerning things. Like a knife-slashing killer being on the loose."

Your face went hot, a flush creeping up your neck. "Oh, uh, yeah."

Isaac's lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close. "That sent alarm bells all over my head. I was so worried a student of this college could potentially be in danger, so I made the choice to make you my dorm mate." He paused, his grey eyes warm. "Now that I think about it, you're the most absurd person I've ever met, M/N."

"Really?" you asked, your voice small.

"Yeah." Isaac nodded. "But you're also an amazing person to have as a friend. I only wished I could be there for you more often, but you come back pretty late." There was no accusation in his tone.

You smiled. "Well, in that case, why don't we go out together?"

Isaac's eyes widened, his stoic composure cracking just slightly. "Really?"

"Yeah." You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest. "I don't have practice tomorrow, so I was thinking we could go out to a nearby cafe."

Isaac blinked, processing this. Then he nodded, his expression smoothing back into something calmer, though the faint flush on his cheeks gave him away. "Oh, I.. that's.. okay, sure." He paused, his grey eyes meeting yours. "As long as you're feeling okay."

You smiled at him, then looked back up at the ceiling. A moment of silence passed between you.

Then you spoke again. "Isaac, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, M/N."

Your fingers picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion. The words felt heavy in your mouth, hard to shape, harder to release. 

“What do I do if somebody isn't what they turn out to be?" You paused, staring at the ceiling. "What if I think I know them as harmless and nice, but they slowly start to change?"

Isaac turned to look at you, his grey eyes steady and unreadable. "What do you mean, M/N?"

Your thoughts went back to Wren — the way his voice had cracked when you said you didn't love him anymore, the way his fingers had curled around yours like he was afraid you'd disappear, the way his smile had stayed in place even as something darker flickered behind his eyes. That wasn't the Wren from the manga. That wasn't the sweet, innocent victim who needed saving from obsessive love interests. 

That was someone else entirely. Someone you didn't recognize.

And then your thoughts drifted further. To Takao's words, spoken in the dim quiet of the infirmary, ‘Would it be surprising if I told you that Isaac isn't what you think he is?’

You looked at Isaac now, sitting beside you on the couch, his posture open and concerned, his expression soft in a way that felt genuine.

He had cleaned your room without being asked. He had made you breakfast. He had texted you with ridiculous fonts and too many emojis because he was trying to learn how to connect with people.

But Takao had said everybody doesn't know what he's done.

"I don't know," you said, the words coming out quieter than you intended. You looked down at your hands, at the loose thread you'd been pulling from the couch cushion. "I guess I've just been thinking a lot lately. About how people show you one version of themselves, but there's always more underneath. Things they don't want you to see."

Isaac held your gaze for a long moment. His expression was neutral, like he was processing your words from every angle before responding.

"People change, M/N," he said finally. "Sometimes for the better. Sometimes for the worse. And sometimes..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Sometimes they were never who you thought they were to begin with."

Your chest ached.

"But that doesn't mean you were wrong to trust them," Isaac continued, his voice softer now. "It means they were wrong to deceive you."

He looked away, his gaze drifting to the lamp in the corner. "I've known people like that," he said quietly. "People who wear masks and show one face to the world and keep another hidden." His fingers tapped against his knee — a nervous habit you'd never noticed before. "It's not your fault for not seeing through it, because some masks are very, very convincing."

You thought about Wren. About his perfect smile, his gentle voice, the way he could make everyone around him feel like they were the center of the universe. You thought about the look in his eyes today — it had made your blood run cold.

You looked up at him. His grey eyes were soft, but there was something guarded behind them.

"Do you have things you don't want me to see?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Isaac held your gaze. For a moment, the silence between you was heavy, charged with something you couldn't name. Then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing.

"Everyone does," he said simply. "Including you."

You wanted to argue. You wanted to say that you were an open book and you had no secrets.

But that wasn't true, was it? You were hiding the biggest secret of all — that you didn't belong here, that you were wearing someone else's skin, that every day you spent in this world was a day stolen from a life you might never get back.

So instead, you just nodded.

"I know," you said.

Isaac reached over and rested his hand on top of yours. "Whatever you're worried about," he said, his voice low, "you don't have to face it alone. That's what friends are for."

You stared at his hand on yours, the way his thumb was tracing slow circles on your knuckles without him seemingly realizing it.

"Isaac," you said, "if someone you cared about started acting differently and started saying things that worried you — what would you do?"

Isaac was quiet for a long time.

"Talk to them," he said finally. "Before it's too late and the mask becomes permanent." He turned to look at you, his grey eyes serious. "And if they won't listen or won't change..." He paused, his voice dropping. "Then you protect yourself. Even if it means walking away."

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling into your bones.

"Thank you, Isaac."

He nodded back, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "Anytime, M/N."

You stayed like that for a while, his hand on yours.

"Fun fact," Isaac said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence between you. He was still holding your hand, though you weren't sure if he realized it anymore. "Did you know that the longest-living cat, Crème Puff, lived for over 38 years, in part due to a daily diet of coffee?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden pivot. "Oh. Wow, that's cool."

Isaac nodded, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Then he pulled out his phone with his other hand, his fingers moving across the screen with practiced ease. You sat there awkwardly, still hyperaware of his hand on yours, unsure whether to pull away or stay perfectly still.

Isaac didn't seem to notice your internal dilemma. He dialed a number, lifted the phone to his ear, and waited.

"Hello, Kiori," he said, his voice shifting into something more formal. "I won't make it to the student council meeting tomorrow."

There was a pause. You could hear the faint murmur of someone speaking on the other end, though you couldn't make out the words.

"Yes," Isaac said. "I have a prior engagement." Another pause. His grey eyes flicked toward you, just for a moment, and something soft passed across his face. "It's personal. I'll review the minutes afterward. Thank you for understanding."

He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, his hand returning to rest on top of yours as if it had never left.

"Prior engagement?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Isaac looked at you. "We're going to a cafe tomorrow," he said. "I don't break my promises."

Your chest tightened.

"It's just coffee, Isaac."

"It's a commitment." He said it like it was obvious. "And I take my commitments seriously. Semi-colon parenthesis.”

”haha.. what?”

”It’s supposed to represent a smiling face.”

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 07 ; Volleyball Tryouts

Chapter 8

Ahhh here are the face claims all drawn by me!

It was 3:42PM. The gym was bigger than you expected — far bigger than the cramped panels of the manga had ever conveyed. 

Rows of empty bleachers stretched along the walls, and the air smelled faintly of floor wax and sweat.

You couldn't help but inhale a shaky breath. 

When was the last time you had tried out for sports? Maybe middle school. Or your younger days, back when your body had felt like your own and the world hadn't yet shrunk to the size of your cheap apartment. 

But those days were gone. You'd grown out of your athletic phase, let your muscles soften, let your lungs forget how to push past the burn. You'd shut yourself out of society, buried yourself in the internet and takeout containers until the person in the mirror was a stranger.

Now you were here, standing on a court that felt too big for you, wearing borrowed skin that remembered things you didn't.

You felt like you didn't belong. Like at any moment, someone would tap you on the shoulder and ask what you were doing here, ask why you were pretending to be someone you weren't.

But this was your life now.

Or you thought it was.

Would you ever make it out? Would you ever go back to your real life — your cramped apartment, your dead-end job, your lonely nights scrolling through fan edits of a dead side character? The thought made your stomach churn, but not with longing. Not with homesickness. You hadn't felt homesick once since you'd arrived, and that realization unsettled you more than anything else.

Would you ever get out? And did you even want to?

"M/N, you came! And you're early too."

Naoko appeared beside you, clipboard in hand. Her dark eyes looked pleased as she sent a smile your way, as if proud — like she'd known all along you would show up.

"Yeah," you said, shoving your hands into your pockets. "I made up my mind and decided to go for it."

Naoko's smile widened. "I'm so happy to hear that! Head inside and start stretching. We're going to start pretty soon with drills~!"

She walked away before you could ask what drills, her ponytail swinging behind her as she disappeared into the growing crowd of students gathering near the bleachers.

You sighed to yourself and stepped deeper into the court. The wood creaked beneath your sneakers.

You dropped your bag against the far wall and started stretching — tentatively at first, then with more confidence as your body seemed to remember movements you had never learned. Your hamstrings pulled. Your shoulders rotated smoothly. Your knees bent without complaint.

‘What does that even mean?’ you thought, frowning down at your hands. Takara's hands. Hands that had played this sport before, even if you hadn't.

Suddenly, the gym doors banged open — not a gentle push, but a full-force swing that sent them crashing against the walls. 

You flinched, your spine jolting, every nerve in your body firing at once. You'd expected loud noises, sure, but this rattled something deep in your bones.

"I'M SO EXCITED! NEW GUY! YOU'RE THE NEW GUY, RIGHT?!"

You looked toward the wide-open gym door, your eyes searching for the source of the sound, only to see a blur of motion launch toward you.

A figure sprinted across the court, sneakers squeaking against the wood, and then — bounced off the wall. Actually bounced off it, using the smooth surface to pivot mid-air. Then flipped backward, landed on one hand, springboarded off like a human rubber band  and crashed into you with the force of a small hurricane.

You stumbled forward, barely catching yourself on the wall, your palms slapping against the cool surface. 

An arm locked around your neck — not choking but it was clinging Like a koala.

"I'm Yufei!" the boy announced, his breath warm against your ear. "I'm on the team! Well, I will be again this year. Assuming I don't die during tryouts." He paused, then added, "I almost died last year. Not really. But I was really tired. Hi!"

You turned your head slowly, taking him in. 

The boy had messy black hair that stuck up in every direction, bright eyes that seemed to sparkle with their own internal light source, and a grin that took up his whole face. 

He was beaming at you like you were the best thing he'd seen all week.

"You're very close to me," you said.

"Yeah!" Yufei didn't move. "I'm a close person! Is that okay? Some people hate it. One guy said I have 'boundary issues.' I don't know what that means. Do you know what that means?"

You gently removed Yufei's arm from your neck. "It means you stand too close to people."

"Oh." Yufei thought about this for half a second. Then he stepped closer, eliminating what little space remained between you. "Is this better?"

He was now inches from your face. You could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.

You stared at him. Yufei stared back, still grinning, utterly unbothered.

"...No."

"Okay!" Yufei bounced back, flipping backward again just because he could, landing on his feet with a flourish. "I'll work on it! Maybe! No promises! Hey, do you want to warm up together? I know a really good stretch. It's my favorite stretch. I named it after myself. Yufei's Hamstring Hell. Want to try?"

You opened your mouth to say no.

"Great! Follow me!" Yufei grabbed your wrist and dragged you across the gym.

You didn't pull away. You told yourself it was because you needed to warm up. It wasn't.

Yufei dropped to the floor by the net and immediately folded himself in half, forehead touching his knees, his spine curved like a question mark. You stood over him, unsure if this was actually a stretch or some kind of ritual.

"You're not stretching," Yufei said, his voice muffled by his shins.

"I'd rather be observing."

"Observing is not stretching! Come on! Down here! Let's go!"

Yufei sat up, grabbed your wrist again, and pulled you down. You landed on the gym floor with significantly less grace than you'd hoped, your tailbone hitting the wood with a dull thud.

"Okay, okay, OKAYYY! NOW! Legs out. Straight. Good! GOOD! Now reach for your toes. But don't just reach — FEEL the stretch. Like really FEEL it. That's what makes it Yufei's Hamstring Hell!"

You reached. Your hamstrings screamed.

"I hate this," you said.

"That means it's working! Now hold it for thirty seconds and think about your life choices!"

"I'm thinking about the choice to come here."

"That's the spirit!"

Yufei held his own stretch, completely folded, face pressed against his knees. But he kept talking, his voice muffled but undeterred, words tumbling out like he was afraid they'd run away if he paused too long.

"So here's the thing," Yufei said, bouncing between stretches — transitioning from a hamstring pull to a quad stretch to something that looked like a yoga pose you'd never seen before. 

"Naoko told me about you. She said you used to play in high school and you're really good, but you don't think you're good, and that's called 'imposter syndrome.' I have that too, except I'm actually not good, so maybe it's not imposter syndrome — maybe it's just accuracy."

You paused mid-stretch, one leg extended, your hand hovering over your toes. "You think you're not good?"

"Hell yeah, because I'm fantastic at volleyball!" Yufei puffed out his chest. "I'm the captain, so no one can kick me off." He paused, then added, "I appointed myself last year. No one argued! Heh!”

"You appointed yourself captain?"

"Unanimously! In my own head! That counts!" Yufei grinned, unbothered by your skepticism. "But for real, I'm — how would you say it — energetically inconsistent! Some days I'm amazing. Some days I trip over nothing. Some days I do both in the same play. It keeps everyone on their toes. Including me. Oh, ESPECIALLY me."

He demonstrated by jumping to his feet, spinning in a circle, and dropping back down to the floor in a heap.

"See? Inconsistent. It's a brand."

You found yourself almost smiling — a small tug at the corner of your lips that you couldn't quite suppress. "You're very energetic."

"Yeah! I get that a lot!" Yufei beamed. "'Yufei, you're a lot.' 'Yufei, please lower your voice.' 'Yufei, why are you like this?' The answer is I don't know! I was born this way! My mom says I came out screaming and never stopped!"

He said it like a compliment as if it was the best thing anyone had ever said about him.

"Well," you said, switching to stretch your other leg, "it's certainly a gift. You know how to light up a room you step into."

Yufei's grin softened, just for a moment, into something warmer. "Thanks, new guy."

You two continued to stretch side by side, the squeak of sneakers and distant chatter of other students filling the gym around you. Yufei talked the entire time.

"I transferred here last year. My family moved because my dad got a new job. I didn't want to come at first, but now I love it!" He stretched his arms above his head. "Do you like dumplings? Everyone likes dumplings! If you don't like dumplings, we can't be friends." He paused, then added quickly, "I'm kidding! We can still be friends. But I'll be sad about it!"

“Sure, I like dumplings," you said.

"GOOD. Okay. Crisis averted." Yufei exhaled dramatically. "What's your favorite kind? Mine is pork and cabbage. But also shrimp. But also chive and egg. Actually, I just like all dumplings! I'm not picky. My mom says I'm 'categorically non-selective,' which is a fancy way of saying I'll eat anything." He leaned in conspiratorially. "One time I ate a bug, as a dare! It was crunchy. I DON'T recommend it."

You paused mid-stretch, your hand frozen above your ankle. "You ate a bug?"

"In my defense, I was seven."

"That's... not a defense."

"It's the only one I have!"

Yufei grinned, utterly unapologetic. You only shook your head, but there was a warmth spreading through your chest.

Across the gym, the doors opened wider, and more players started filtering in—some alone, some in small groups, their sneakers squeaking against the polished floors as they made their way toward the court.

A few of them glanced at you as they passed. Whispers followed. 

You were slowly getting used to that by now. The stares. The murmurs. It was typical now.

"Ignore them," Yufei said, suddenly serious. His bright eyes had dimmed just a fraction, his grin replaced by something firmer, almost protective. "People talk. They don't know you!”

"You don't know me either," you pointed out, catching another toss and sending it back to him.

"I know enough!" Yufei tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that felt out of place on his normally chaotic face. "I know you showed up. I know you're trying. That's more than most people do!”

You didn't know what to say to that. The words settled somewhere in your chest, warm and unfamiliar.

Yufei's grin returned, bright as ever. "Plus, you did Yufei's Hamstring Hell without crying. That's a green flag in my book of marriage!"

"There were tears," you muttered, reaching for the next toss.

"Those were sweat! I choose to believe they were sweat!"

Naoko walked over to the bleachers with her clipboard, her ponytail swaying as she moved. She started marking names, her pen scratching against the paper, her eyes scanning the growing crowd of players. 

Then she glanced up at you and Yufei. Her expression was unreadable at first— before she cracked into a bright smile aimed at the two of you. You frowned a little, suspecting what she meant.

Then she looked at Yufei, who was now using your shoulder as an armrest like you were a piece of furniture.

"Yufei~," Naoko called out, her voice sweet but sharp. "Personal space."

"I'm working on it!" Yufei didn't move.

"Work faster!"

Yufei still didn't move, and you didn't push him off. Something about his weight against your shoulder was grounding, anchoring you to the moment.

Naoko watched for another beat, then sighed and turned back to her clipboard.

Then she clapped her hands—once, sharp and loud—and the gym went quiet. 

Everyone turned to look at her.

"Okay. Tryouts! You all know the drills. Pair up for passing. After that, we're going to do all sorts of things—dynamic warm-up, partner ball control, and athletic testing."

Yufei's hand shot up before she even finished speaking. "I call the new guy! Captain's privilege!"

"His name is M/N," Naoko said flatly, not looking up from her clipboard. "And you're not officially captain."

"I'm captain in my heart! That's the only place that matters!" Yufei grabbed your wrist and started dragging you toward a spot near the net. "M/N! Come on!"

You stumbled after him, your feet barely keeping up with his enthusiasm. He stopped near the net and bounced on his heels, holding a volleyball like it was a treasure, cradled against his chest with reverence.

"Okay," Yufei said, his voice suddenly focused. "I'm going to toss to you. You pass back. Easy squeezy lemon peasy! No pressure, alright?" He tossed the ball.

It sailed over your head, arcing high and wide.

"Oops."

You caught it before it hit the ground, your fingers closing around the smooth surface. "You said no pressure."

"I lied!" Yufei bounced back into position, unashamed. "Pressure is good! Pressure makes diamonds! Or whatever the saying is! Try again!"

This time, the toss was better—cleaner, straighter, right into your passing zone. You sent it back to him, the ball flying in a smooth arc, and Yufei caught it with a grin.

Then he did a small victory backflip.

"YOU'RE SO GOOD! I KNEW IT! Naoko said you were good, but I didn't believe her because she says everyone is good and then they're not good, but YOU'RE actually good!" He spun in a circle, still holding the ball. "This is great! We're going to be the best duo! Let's be partners FOREVAAA! People will write fanfiction about us!" He paused. "Probably not. But they should!"

You passed another ball. Then another. Yufei kept talking the entire time, his voice a constant backdrop to the rhythm of the drill.

"Do you have a favorite color? Mine is yellow. But also blue because it's calm. Actually, I like all colors. I'm 'categorically non-selective' about colors too. That's my brand! Non-selective enthusiasm. I should put that on a shirt."

"You should," you said, sending another pass his way.

"Really? You think so?"

"No. But you're going to do it anyway."

Yufei laughed, it was sound that seemed to fill the entire gym and bounce off the walls.

Naoko watched from the bleachers, her pen moving across the clipboard, making notes. Her eyes drifted between pairs, assessing, calculating, filing away information for later.

Then her phone buzzed.

She glanced down at the screen, her expression shifting slightly.

"I'll be right back, you guys!" she called out, stepping off the court. "Please behave~!"

She walked toward the far wall, her back to the players, and checked her phone properly.

New application for Volleyball Team Manager Applicant: Wren Upton Status: approved

She stared at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the display. The gym noise faded behind her, replaced by the quiet hum of her own thoughts. Then, slowly, she put her phone away and walked back to the court, her expression carefully neutral, her smile back in place.

You were mid-pass when the gym doors opened yet again, the familiar creak of the hinges barely registering over the squeak of sneakers and the thump of volleyballs.

You didn't look up at first. People came and went all the time during tryouts; the doors were constantly swinging open as late arrivals trickled in, It wasn't unusual.

Then Yufei stopped moving.

The ball he'd been about to toss hung suspended in his hands. His bright eyes were fixed on the entrance, his grin replaced by something closer to confusion — or concern. "Uh," he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Why is he here?"

You looked behind you.

Wren stood at the entrance of the gym, a clipboard in one hand and a whistle around his neck. 

He wasn't wearing athletic clothes — no shorts, no sneakers, no t-shirt stained with sweat. Instead, he was dressed in a crisp manager's polo, the same deep navy that Naoko wore, with a name tag pinned to his chest. 

His copper-brown hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, and his bright yellow eyes scanned the room with an easy confidence that made several players straighten their postures and smile.

A few people waved at him. He waved back, flashing that signature gentle smile that made everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room.

Your blood went cold.

"Oh, attention!" Naoko called out, her voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "We have a new volunteer manager. Wren will be assisting with drills, hydration, and equipment. Please make him feel welcome!~" She clapped her hands together, her smile bright and professional, but her eyes flickered toward you for just a moment.

Yufei grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into your sleeve. "Did you know about this?" he hissed, his voice low.

"No," you said, the word coming out flat. "I didn't."

"Why would he want to be a manager?" Yufei's brow furrowed, genuinely baffled. "He's like... the MOST popular person on campus. He could do anything. Why laundry? Why water bottles? Why-“

You didn't answer. You were too busy watching Wren walk onto the court.

His steps were unhurried, almost casual, as he moved past the players who called out greetings and offered shy waves. He nodded at each of them, smiled at all the right moments, but his eyes never stopped searching. 

They scanned the players, the court, the bleachers, the net — and then they landed on you.

And stayed.

Wren's smile widened, bright and warm, like he'd just found exactly what he'd been looking for. He ran his hand through his already perfect hair — a gesture you'd seen him do a thousand times in the manga, in fan edits, in your own memories — and tilted his head slightly, as if to say, There you are.

You looked away.

Your hands were shaking. You pressed them against your thighs, willing them to still, willing your heart to stop pounding so loudly in your ears. Volleyball was supposed to be safe. Volleyball was supposed to be your escape, your fresh start, your way of building something new that didn't involve Wren or Luka or any of the chaos that followed them.

Now Wren was here. Standing on the court you'd chosen specifically because he wasn't supposed to step foot in it.

"Ah, Wren!" Naoko called out, her voice cheerful. "We're going to have a water break shortly. Would you mind filling up the water bottles for our players?~"

Wren turned toward her, his smile never faltering. "Of course," he said, his voice light and agreeable. "I'd be happy to."

He walked toward the equipment table, his clipboard tucked under his arm, and began gathering the empty water bottles. He moved with easy grace like he'd been doing this for years instead of minutes.

Yufei leaned closer to you, his shoulder pressing against yours. "Now our team is gonna go EXTRA down bad," he muttered.

 you didn't say anything back. You just picked up the ball that had rolled to your feet and held it tight, your knuckles white against its smooth surface.

Water break eventually came around, a collective exhale sweeping through the gym as players dropped onto benches, grabbed their bags, and reached for anything that could quench their thirst.

You sat on one of the wooden benches near the wall, your back against the cool surface, and drank from your own water bottle—the one Isaac had reminded you to grab before you left. 

The water was lukewarm now, but it didn't matter. It wet your throat and gave your hands something to hold.

Yufei dropped down next to you very close. His shoulder pressed against yours, his thigh bracketed yours, and his head tilted back against the wall like he'd been running marathons instead of passing drills.

"You're NOT moving away???" Yufei observed, his voice filled with mock offense.

"Neither are you," you said, not looking at him.

"I NEVER move away. That's my thing! Proximity without consent." He paused, his eyes widening. "WAITTT!! That sounded bad, man! I mean—I'm just friendly. Verrrryyyyy friendly."

"I noticed that."

"And you don't hate it?" Yufei's voice had dropped, just slightly, losing some of its brightness. He was watching you now, his bright eyes searching your profile.

You looked at Yufei. His messy hair was damp with sweat at the temples, sticking to his forehead in dark curls. His cheeks were flushed pink from exertion, and there was a small scratch on his forearm that he hadn't seemed to notice. 

He looked ridiculous and earnest and entirely too close.

Your grin softened. "No," you said. "I don't exactly hate it."

Yufei's breath caught. Just for a second—a tiny hitch in his chest, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. Then he grinned again, wide and bright, and bumped his shoulder against yours. "GOOD. Because I wasn't going to move anyway. This is my spot now! You're stuck with me."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wren start walking toward you.

He moved through the gym like water, weaving between players and benches with that effortless grace that made everyone turn their heads. 

He was holding a different clipboard now—or maybe the same one, you couldn't tell—and there were a few extra water bottles tucked under his arm.

Yufei bounced to his feet before Wren had taken three steps in your direction, suddenly positioned between you and the approaching manager like a human barricade.

"Hi!" Yufei said, his voice overly bright. "I'm Yufei! I'm the captain!"

Wren stopped a few feet away, his smile polite and pleasant. "It's good to meet you, Captain Yufei." He tilted his head, the picture of friendliness. "I'm the new manager, but you already know that, haha!"

"Cool!" Yufei didn't move. "We have a new manager now. Greaatttt. Love managers." His tone was cheerful, but his stance was solid, his feet planted. "You're not needed right now, though. We're on break."

Wren's smile didn't waver. If anything, it softened, like he found Yufei's hostility amusing rather than off-putting. "Water Break. I was just coming to hand M/N a water bottle."

"M/N's busy," Yufei said, still not moving.

"Yufei," you said quietly.

Yufei glanced back at you. You shook your head slightly—a small movement, barely noticeable, but enough. Yufei's jaw tightened. Then he stepped aside, reluctantly, his shoulder brushing yours as he settled back onto the bench.

Wren walked closer. He stopped a few feet away, maintaining a distance that felt intentional. He held out a water bottle, the plastic crinkling slightly in his grip.

"I'm so happy and surprised that you're here, M/N," Wren said, his voice warm. "I thought volleyball wasn't your interest at all."

You stared at the bottle. Then at Wren's face. His expression was friendly. But you knew better.

"I, uh... already have water," you said, gesturing vaguely at the bottle in your hand.

"Now you have backup water." Wren set the bottle on the bench next to you, close enough that you could feel the coolness radiating from it. "I'm looking forward to watching you play, M/N." He paused, his smile widening. "Good luck."

He walked away without waiting for a response, his footsteps light against the gym floor, already turning to wave at someone else who'd called his name.

Yufei stared after him, his bright eyes narrowed. "I don't like him."

"You just met him," you said, still staring at the water bottle.

"I don't like him," Yufei repeated, his voice flat. There was no playfulness in it now.

You almost laughed—a small huff of air that could have been amusement or exhaustion or both. "Chill out. He's new."

"I'm serious." Yufei sat back down, closer than before, his thigh pressing against yours. "I'm watching him. Captain's duty."

You looked at the water bottle Wren had left. Condensation beaded on its surface, dripping slowly onto the wood of the bench. The plastic was cold.

You didn't touch it. You couldn’t bring yourself to. 

"I don't think I should join the volleyball team."

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, quiet but final, dropping into the space between you and Yufei like stones into still water.

Yufei spit out his water.

A fine mist sprayed across the bench, across his own shirt and your arm. 

You jerked back, barely avoiding the worst of it, and stared at him with wide eyes. "Dude, what the hel—"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE NOT JOINING?!" Yufei's voice cracked on the last word, soaring into a pitch that made several players across the gym turn their heads.

"Yufei, calm down—"

"M/NNN..." Yufei whined, and then he was on his knees. He was actually on his knees right there on the gym floor, his hands clasped together like he was praying at an altar. 

His bright eyes were shining, wet at the corners, and you couldn't even tell if they were for show or if genuine tears were actually starting to spill. "We aren't even done with the tryouts yet! How could you say that?!"

His voice echoed off the walls, raw and desperate, and you felt your heart racing.

"I..." you started, but nothing else came out.

Yufei grabbed the hem of your shirt, his fingers twisting into the fabric. "PLEASE! M/N! You're already my favorite person here! I can't stand to lose you!" A tear slipped down his cheek—real or not, you couldn't tell anymore. "Please, please, PLEASE, STAY!" He tugged at your shirt, nearly pulling you off balance. "YOU'RE MY RIDE AND DIE BRO!"

The gym had gone quiet. Players were staring. Naoko was staring, her pen frozen above her clipboard. Even Wren, across the court with his armful of water bottles, had stopped mid-step to watch.

You looked down at Yufei—this dumbass who had declared himself your partner within minutes of meeting you.

He was still holding onto your shirt.

"Get up," you said quietly.

"Not until you say you'll stay!"

"Yufei."

"NO."

You sighed, long and heavy, and reached down to grab him by the collar of his shirt. You hauled him to his feet—he went willingly, stumbling into your space, his face inches from yours.

"I didn't say I was leaving," you said. "I said I didn't think I should join."

Yufei sniffled. "That's the same thing."

"It's really not."

"It IS in my head!" He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, still gripping your shirt. "So? Are you staying? Are you trying out? Are you going to be my partner forever and ever and ever?"

You stared at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks blotchy, his lower lip jutting out in a pout that was almost impressive in its intensity.

"I'll finish tryouts," you said slowly.

Yufei's face brightened.

"And I'll think about it."

"That's NOT a yes!"

"It's not a no either."

Yufei opened his mouth—probably to argue, probably to start crying again, probably to say something ridiculous about fanfiction or marriage—but Naoko's voice cut across the gym before he could.

"BREAK'S OVER! EVERYONE BACK ON THE COURT!"

Yufei didn't move. He just stood there, still holding your shirt, still staring at you with those wet, desperate eyes.

"Let go," you said.

"Promise me you'll stay."

"I promise I'll finish tryouts."

"That's not—"

"Yufei."

He let go. But he didn't step back. His hand dropped to his side, and his shoulder pressed against yours, and he walked with you back onto the court like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let even an inch of space between you.

You didn't pull away.

Across the gym, Wren watched. His smile was still there, but something in his eyes had shifted—sharpened, darkened.

Wren didn't know why he'd done it.

He'd woken up that morning with the word "volleyball" stuck in his head, bouncing around his skull like a pinball. He'd overheard someone say it yesterday at the library. He hadn't thought much of it at the time. Just filed it away, the way he filed away most information that floated past him.

But then he'd lain in bed that night, staring at his phone screen, watching the "seen" notification beneath his message to you. The message you hadn't answered. The message you'd left on read, like so many others over the past few days.

And in the morning, he'd walked to the athletics office and asked to be a manager.

They'd said yes. Because no one said no to Wren.

Except you.

You had said no to his snacks. His kindness. His attention. You had pulled your hand away from his in the hallway. You had run off to the library instead of hanging out with him. You had looked at him like he was a stranger, like all the years of devotion meant nothing, like the fire that had once burned in your eyes had been extinguished overnight.

And Wren couldn't stop thinking about it.

Now he stood at the edge of the gym, clipboard in hand, the whistle hanging cold against his chest. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, unforgiving glare.

Players ran drills around him, sweating and shouting, but his eyes were fixed on one person.

You.

You were warming up with some loud, bouncy guy who kept touching you. Grabbing your arm. Hanging off your shoulder. Bumping his hip against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And you didn't pull away.

You let him touch you. Let him crowd into your space. Let him drape himself over you like a blanket, like you belonged to him, like you were his.

But you wouldn't accept a basket of snacks from Wren.

Wren's grip tightened on the clipboard. The wood creaked faintly under his fingers, but he didn't notice. His jaw was set, his smile still in place—the same soft, approachable smile he wore everywhere, every day, like armor.

No one noticed anything was wrong.

No one ever did.

He needed to understand. That was all. He just needed to understand what had changed, what had shifted, what had made you look at him differently. You had been his for so long—his shadow, his reflection, the constant presence that never wavered. He'd taken you for granted, maybe. Assumed you would always be there, waiting in the wings, ready to worship him the way everyone else did.

But now the fire had gone out. And Wren didn't like that at all.

He couldn't help it. As soon as college started, you were slowly but surely drifting away from him. Wren thought you would come back around like you always had. Maybe you were being petty because he hadn't given you much attention lately—a test, a game, a way to make him notice you. He'd been willing to play along at first, to chase you a little, to prove that he cared.

But now it felt like... the fire had gone out. Not dimmed. Not flickering. Extinguished. Like someone had dumped a bucket of water on the flames and walked away without looking back.

Wren didn't like that.

He didn't like watching you laugh with someone else. He didn't like watching you let someone else touch you. He didn't like the way your smile softened when you looked at that loud, bouncy boy—a softness that used to be reserved for Wren and Wren alone.

And now, he would do whatever it took to rekindle the fire.

Whatever it took.

He watched you pass the ball back to the bouncy boy—Yufei, he'd learned his name, though he wished he hadn't—and his smile tightened at the edges. He would figure out what had changed. He would figure out how to fix it. He would figure out how to make you look at him again, the way you used to, with that desperate, devoted hunger that had made him feel like the center of the universe.

Because Wren had never realized how much he needed that hunger until it was gone.

And he would do anything to get it back.

Tryouts ended an hour later. The gym, which had been filled with the sound of squeaking sneakers and pounding volleyballs, slowly fell into an exhausted silence. 

Players collapsed onto benches, grabbed their bags, and headed for the doors in small, tired groups.

Naoko gathered everyone at center court, her clipboard held against her chest like a shield.

"Good work today," she announced, her voice carrying across the gym. "I'll post the team roster tomorrow. Those who don't make it—" she glanced at a few players near the back who had struggled through the drills, their shoulders already slumped in defeat, "—can try again next semester. No hard feelings~!"

Yufei's hand shot up immediately, waving like a flag in a storm. "Can I walk M/N back to his dorm?"

Naoko didn't even blink. "You can do whatever you want. I'm not your mother."

"You're not?" Yufei tilted his head, his brow furrowing in exaggerated confusion. "You look like a soon-to-be one! Actually, now that I think about it, you kinda look pregnant—"

Naoko's eye twitched. Her smile remained frozen on her face, but something dangerous flickered behind her eyes. "Go home, Yufei."

You were exhausted—sweaty, sore, and desperate to leave before Wren could corner you.

Your legs ached from the drills, your shoulders burned from the passing exercises, and all you wanted was a cool shower and the silence of your dorm room. You grabbed your bag from the bench, slung it over your shoulder, and started toward the exit, keeping your head down, your pace quick.

Too late.

"M/N!"

The voice cut through the gym like a blade. You froze mid-step, your hand hovering over the door handle.

Wren was walking toward you, clipboard tucked under his arm, his expression open and friendly, that perfect smile firmly in place. His manager's polo was still crisp, still unwrinkled, like he hadn't spent the past two hours running around filling water bottles and chasing down stray volleyballs. His hair hadn't even wilted.

Your chest tightened.

"You played well today," Wren said, stopping a few feet away. His bright yellow eyes scanned your face, looking for something you couldn't name. "I didn't know you were on the team."

"I'm not," you said, your voice flat. "I'm trying out."

"Well, you'll make it!" His smile widened, warm and encouraging. "You were so cute out there."

Your throat went dry.

"I'm so happy we'll see each other around more," Wren continued, tilting his head slightly. "Since I'm a manager now."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. He was here. He would be here every practice, every game, every time you stepped onto this court. Volleyball was no longer safe. Volleyball was no longer yours.

"M/N!"

Yufei appeared out of nowhere, latching onto your arm like a koala. His fingers curled around your bicep, his shoulder pressed against yours, his whole body leaning into you like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

"Walk with me!" he announced, already pulling you toward the door. "I'm starving! Let's get food! There's this place off campus that has dumplings the size of my face." He paused. "Well, not my face. Maybe half my face. Actually, let's not measure. Let's just goOO!"

He was already pulling you through the doorway, his grip firm on your arm, his legs moving faster than yours. You stumbled after him, barely managing to keep your balance, your bag bouncing against your back.

You let yourself be pulled.

"See you around," you called over your shoulder, not looking back. The words weren't rude, exactly. But they weren't warm either.

Wren didn't respond. He just stood there, watching you disappear through the doors, his smile still on his face but something dark pooling in his eyes.

"Wren!~" Naoko called out behind him, her voice cheerful. She was already walking toward him, her ponytail swaying.

Wren turned, his expression shifting seamlessly into something bright and approachable. "Hey, Naoko!"

"So, how was your first day as a manager here?" Naoko stopped in front of him, tilting her head. "Did everything go well? I hope they weren't bothering you as much as I expected, considering you're quite popular here."

Wren blinked, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. "Oh... no. I mean, I got less attention here than I usually get, but it's fine!" He laughed lightly, waving his hand like it was nothing.

Naoko hummed, her eyes studying his face. "I see. Well, I'm looking forward to seeing you every practice from now on~"

Wren nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes drifted toward the door where you'd disappeared, his thoughts circling back to the boy who had pulled you away. That loud, bouncy boy who touched you like he had the right to. Who hung off your shoulder like he belonged there. Who looked at you like you were something precious.

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 06 ; New Girl

Chapter 7

You slowly awoke to the sound of knocks coming from outside your door, the rhythmic tapping pulling you from a dream you couldn't quite remember. 

"M/N, wake up. I've made breakfast," Isaac's voice called out.

You only groaned in response, turning your head to the side and burying your face deeper into the pillow. The sweet coconut aroma of the freshly washed sheets filled your nostrils, and for a moment, you considered just staying there forever. 

Isaac had cleaned and organized your entire bedroom last night while you were out at the library — every book aligned, every piece of clothing folded, every surface dusted. 

‘I wonder what sorcery he has a hold on to make me want to eat my socks from how good his food smells’, you thought drowsily. ‘Hm, at least I get a high-quality, free cleaning service out of this arrangement.’

Your thoughts were quickly cut off by another knock, firmer this time. "M/N? Please get up, breakfast is still hot."

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep. 

You swiftly sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes as the morning sunlight streamed through the curtains and hit your face. 

You blinked a few times, letting your vision adjust, before hopping off the bed and slipping your feet into the bunny slippers that Isaac had gifted you. You had no idea where he'd found them, but they were absurdly comfortable.

You slumped toward your bedroom door, your movements slow and heavy, and checked the clock right above the doorframe: 7:02AM.

You opened the door to find Isaac already in the living room, a mop in his hands and a polite smile on his face. "M/N," he greeted, nodding at you as he pushed the mop across the floor in smooth strokes. "You're finally up. Come grab a seat."

"Alright," you said, shuffling past him toward the dining table. Your eyes landed on a plate of golden-brown pancakes, steam still rising from the stack, and you couldn't help the small noise of appreciation that escaped you. "Ooo, chocolate chip pancakes?"

Isaac widened his eyes slightly, almost nervously, before smiling. "I hope that isn't one of your dietary restrictions."

"No, no!" you assured him, already reaching for a fork. "I'm just really grateful for the effort you put into this, and last night's dinner as well."

"Of course, M/N." Isaac returned to his mopping, his voice softening. "I'm hoping this increases your likeliness of me."

"It certainly does," you chuckled, cutting into the pancakes and taking a bite. The chocolate melted on your tongue, it tasted warm and sweet,. "I really need to make it up to you for doing so much for me."

"You can start by cleaning the dishes." Isaac looked up at you expectantly, his grey eyes catching the light. Then, after a pause, he added, almost shyly, "And… I was hoping we could become friends."

You hummed thoughtfully, chewing on your pancake. "Hm. I'll need some time to think about that."

Isaac's brow furrowed. "About what?"

"Cleaning the dishes."

Isaac blinked. Then, after a beat, he let out a sound that was almost a laugh — a short, staccato "Hahaha. Hilarious," delivered in the same monotone voice he used for everything else.

You smiled, choosing not to question his laugh, and continued digging into your pancakes. They were perfect — fluffy, sweet, with just the right amount of chocolate. You were starting to suspect Isaac might secretly be a professional chef in disguise.

Isaac mopped in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the swish of the mop and the clink of your fork against the plate. Then, without looking up, he said, "Wren came by last night."

Your fork paused mid-air. That got your attention. You sat up straighter, your appetite suddenly fading. "Really? I thought you weren't there at the time."

Isaac tilted his head, still focused on his mopping. "It was really late, at around midnight or so. He brought a basket of snacks. You weren't here."

Your mind raced. ‘I thought… he already handed me a basket of snacks before the library. Why would he bring another one? Or did he bring the same one? Did he come back after I left?’

"He left the basket with me," Isaac continued. "I put it in our kitchen pantry."

You nodded awkwardly, setting down your fork. "I'll bring them back to him later."

Isaac's eyebrow rose, his mop pausing mid-stroke. "Why? I assume it was a friendly gesture from your…" He cleared his throat awkwardly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Friend."

"He's not my friend," you said, perhaps too quickly.

"Ah, my apologies… your partner?" Isaac nervously corrected himself, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't mean to offend you. I'll have you know that I'm completely supportive of same-sex relationships."

"No, I meant," you said, your voice firmer now, "I don't consider him a friend or anything else anymore."

Isaac was quiet for a moment, processing your words. "Oh.. I see." He leaned the mop against the wall and walked over to the table, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down. His grey eyes studied your face with an intensity that made you want to look away. "I don't want to pry any further, but I can't help but be curious as to why. Wren is quite popular here, and you had a.. history with him, no?"

You paused, your fingers drumming against the table. "I know," you said slowly, choosing your words with care. "Everybody knows about 'my' past, I guess, and I know there's nothing good about any of it. I…" You tried your best to explain, your voice softening. "I don't want to associate myself with my past. College is a huge step for me to.. move on and change. Wren is the biggest association of my past, and I don't feel right being around him."

Isaac was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours. His palm was warm, slightly calloused. "Listen, M/N. College is a fresh start that is entirely yours to shape. The discomfort you feel now is a sign of your growth and desire for something better for yourself. If you want to avoid Wren, then I respect that." He paused, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. "I suggest you join new groups to build a new social circle for yourself. Try new hobbies. Change your routine. I want to help you."

You absorbed what Isaac said before nodding slowly. "Clubs… yeah, I'll try that." You looked up at him, offering a small smile. "Thanks, Isaac, for listening."

Isaac brightened, his smile widening. "Of course, M/N. That is what friends do."

You thought about the snack basket sitting in the pantry. ‘I should throw it away’, you decided. ‘Or give it to someone else. Anything but accept it. Accepting it would be a mistake..’

The morning air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside, the sun still low in the sky.

The campus was slowly waking up around you — a few students shuffling toward buildings like zombies, someone yawning on a bench, the distant sound of a cart being wheeled across the courtyard.

Azure was waiting for you by his dorm, exactly where you'd agreed to meet. He was clutching his bag like a lifeline, his knuckles white around the straps, but his face instantly lit up when he spotted you approaching.

"M/N! H-hey!" Azure called out, waving awkwardly.

"Hey, Azure," you said, falling into step beside him.

You and Azure started walking toward the staircase that led to the main academic building. Azure talked softly about a game he'd been playing. You nodded along, half-listening, half-scanning your surroundings out of habit.

That's when you saw them.

Three guys, leaning against the railing of the building steps. The one in the middle spotted you first, his face splitting into a wide, ugly grin.

"Well, well!" he called out, pushing off the railing. "Look who's walking together. The stalker and his new bitch?”

Azure's voice died in his throat. His steps slowed, his shoulders hunching.

You kept walking, your pace steady. "Ignore them, Azure." You made sure to step in front of him, positioning your body between him and the three guys.

"Can't ignore me, M/N~" The leader blocked the stairs, spreading his arms wide like he owned the place. His friends snickered behind him. "You think just because Wren rejected you, everyone's going to forget how you used to be? You're still a monster."

Azure grabbed your sleeve, his fingers trembling. "L-Let's, er, g-go aroun—"

"Where?" The leader spread his arms wider. "There's only one way up these stairs."

You stopped. You were taller than the leader — not by much, but enough. You looked down at him, your expression flat. "Move."

The leader's smile flickered, just for a moment.

"Move."

A new female voice. 

You turned your head. A girl had appeared beside you — you hadn't even heard her approach.

She was holding a notebook against her chest, dressed in the college's standard uniform, her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

"Move," she repeated, looking at the leader with an expression of utter boredom. "You're blocking the stairs. Some of us have class."

The leader laughed, but it sounded forced. "And who are you? His new girlfriend?"

"Nope!" The girl didn't flinch. "I'm a transfer student, and I simply don't have time for this." She glanced at her watch — a cheap digital thing with a scratched face. "You have five seconds to clear the stairs before I find out who your advisor is and have a nice little chat with them about hallway harassment~!”

The leader's jaw tightened. He looked at you, then at her, then at his friends. His shoulders sagged.

"...Whatever." He pushed past you, his shoulder bumping against your arm hard enough to bruise. "This isn't over."

His friends followed, their footsteps echoing as they disappeared down the stairs.

The stairs were clear.

Azure let out a shaky breath, his grip on your sleeve loosening. "T-tha-thank yo-you," he stammered, looking at the girl with wide eyes.

The girl waved her hand dismissively. "Don't mention it! Bullies are lameeee." She turned to look at you, her head tilted. "You're M/N, right?"

"Uh, yes?"

"I'm Naoko!" She fell into step beside you as you started up the stairs, her notebook tucked under her arm. "The new transfer student. I've heard a lot about you."

"None of it good, I'm guessing."

"None of it accurate." She gave you a friendly smile . "I noticed you didn't fight them immediately. Most people with your reputation would have."

"Fighting does no good."

"So I've heard." She laughed, a bright, genuine sound.

You reached the top of the stairs. The building entrance was ahead, students streaming through the doors.

"What class do you have?" Naoko asked.

Azure blinked, startled to be included. "E-economics.."

"Same!" Naoko clapped her hands together. "Mind if I walk with you guys? Ugh, I hate being alone. New school, new people, no friends yet. But you two seem nice."

Azure looked at you, startled, like he couldn't believe someone was willingly choosing to spend time with him. You just shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

Naoko grinned.

They found seats at the end of the lecture hall, tucked into the back corner where fewer people would look. 

The spot was isolated, hidden behind a pillar and far from the professor's sight — which was perfect for someone who wanted to go unnoticed. 

Azure sat between you and Naoko, which seemed to make him feel safer; his shoulders were less tense than they'd been that morning, his hands less shaky as he set down his bag. 

The room filled up slowly as students trickled in, the low murmur of conversation swelling into a steady hum.

You noticed Takao enter. He walked in with his usual swagger, his bag slung over one shoulder, his expression carefully blank. Your eyes met across the room for a moment — just a brief flicker of acknowledgment. 

Takao didn't smile, but he gave a short nod, nothing more, before settling into a seat on the opposite side of the room. You nodded back and turned your attention to your notebook.

Then Luka walked in.

You were surprised to see him. ‘Since when was he in this class?’

 You'd never noticed him here before — had he always been here, hiding in plain sight? Or was this a sudden change in the plot?

Your shoulders tensed, your hand freezing over your notebook as the door clicked shut behind him. Luka's gaze swept the room and stopped on you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. 

The air between you felt thick, charged with something you couldn't name — tension? suspicio? maybe something darker?

His dark green eyes bored into yours, unblinking, and you felt your heart rate pick up despite yourself. Then Luka looked away and sat in the back row, his movements stiff and deliberate, his jaw tight.

You let out a slow breath, your fingers unclenching from your pen.

Naoko noticed. Of course she did. Her gaze flickered from Luka to you, her expression curious but carefully neutral. "Friend of yours?" she murmured, not looking up from her notebook.

"No."

"Ah. Enemy?"

"Eh… it's complicated."

She hummed thoughtfully but didn't push, returning her attention to the front of the room. You were grateful for that.

The professor arrived — and began the lecture. You took notes mechanically, your pen moving across the page without your brain really engaging. Your mind was elsewhere, stuck on the memory of Luka's gaze, the weight of it still pressing against your skin.

You could still feel eyes on you. Luka's, from the side. Watching.

As the lecture dragged on toward its end, Naoko turned to you, her chin resting on her palm. "So. Economics. Not your favorite?"

"It's fine, I suppose," you said, shrugging.

"Awe, you look bored."

"I always look like that."

She giggled quietly — bright and genuine, "You're funny! I didn't expect that."

Azure packed his bag slowly, his movements hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he should leave or stay. 

He kept glancing between you and Naoko, his expression uncertain. There was something in his stomach—a strange, fluttery feeling he couldn't quite name. It wasn't discomfort, exactly, but it wasn't ease either. It was like watching two people speak a language he was still learning, catching words here and there but missing the full conversation.

Naoko solved that for him.

"Soooo, lunch?" She slung her bag over her shoulder and stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "I don't know where anything is! You two can show me."

Azure looked at you, his eyes wide and questioning. You nodded.

"O-okay," Azure said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he zipped up his bag and stood

They met at the cafeteria, claiming the same corner table you'd sat at before. Azure fetched his sandwich while Naoko poked at a salad she didn't seem interested in eating. You had coffee.

"You're not hungry?" Naoko asked, looking at your cup.

"Not really."

"You should eat!”

"You should eat your salad instead of pushing it around."

Naoko's eyes narrowed — but she was smiling. "Touché."

Azure watched you two banter, a small smile on his face. You noticed he'd been smiling more lately, ever since you'd started hanging out. It was a good look on him.

"So," you said, turning back to Naoko. "Where are you from? You said you're a transfer student."

Naoko paused. Her fork hovered over her salad, suspended in mid-air. Then she laughed — a different laugh this time, it felt almost dismissive.

"Is that your way of making small talk?" She leaned her chin on her hand, grinning at you. "'Where are you from?' How original. What's next? My favorite color?"

You blinked. "It's a normal question..? You can't expect us to be socially good when we get picked on."

"Well, it's a boooring question." She set down her fork, her grin softening into something more genuine. "I'm from everywhere. I've moved around a lot." She tilted her head, her dark eyes studying your face. "Ask me again sometime when you actually want an answer."

Azure frowned. "T-that d-doesn't, er, mak-make sense."

"Good." Naoko winked. "I like keeping people guessing."

She turned to Azure, her tone shifting to something warmer. "So. What do you two do for fun? Besides getting harassed by idiots."

Azure lit up and took his chance to talk about his games — a long, rambling explanation about lore and mechanics and character builds. Naoko listened like she actually cared, asking questions, remembering details, nodding along at the right moments.

She had a way of making people feel heard, you realized.A rare skill.

Across the cafeteria, Luka sat beside Wren.

His tray held the standard cafeteria food — rice, vegetables, some kind of meat — and a small bag of BBQ chips. He hadn't meant to buy the chips. His hand had just reached for them, almost on its own.

He ate one. Then another.

He stared at the bag, turning it over in his hands. He'd never bought BBQ chips before. He'd never bought anything for himself before, not really. Everything he liked, he liked because Wren liked it. His music, his clothes, his food — all borrowed preferences snd tastes.

But Wren had never mentioned BBQ chips.

Luka looked up. Across the room, he could see you — sitting with Azure and that new girl, the transfer student. They were laughing about something, Azure's face bright with a smile you rarely saw.

Luka's jaw tightened.

He didn't know why he cared.

He ate another chip.

They walked out of the cafeteria together, Naoko still talking about the campus layout — which buildings connected where, which shortcuts she'd already discovered, etc. Azure was nodding along, looking more relaxed than he had all day, his hands swinging at his sides.

Then Naoko stopped suddenly.

"Oh. I almost forgot."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded flyer, bright orange paper with bold black text. She handed it to you.

"Ta-da~" she said, spreading her arms like a game show host. "The Men's Volleyball team! Tryouts are this week, I’m the new manager!."

You stared at the flyer, your brow furrowing. "I don't play volleyball."

"You used to. I checked."

You looked up. "You checked?"

"I'm thorough." She didn't explain, just crossed her arms and waited. "You're pretty tall. You have good shoulders. And you clearly need something to do!”

Azure leaned over to look at the flyer, his eyes scanning the text. "V-voll-volleyball, er, s-sounds fun," he offered.

"You should try out too," Naoko said.

Azure immediately shook his head, his curls bouncing. "O-oh! N-no.. I'm n-not athletic."

"Neither is half the team. That's why they're having tryouts." She looked back at you, her gaze steady. "Just think about it, okay?"

You looked up. Naoko was already walking backward, waving.

"See you around, M/N, Azure!"

She turned and disappeared into the crowd, her ponytail swinging behind her.

Azure blinked, staring after her. "Sh-she's pre-pretty badass…"

"Azure! Language!" you teased, reaching over to pinch his cheek. He yelped, swatting at your hand, but he was smiling. You folded the flyer and tucked it into his pocket. "There. Now you have to think about it too."

"Wha— M/N!" Azure's face flushed bright red, his hands flying to his pocket like he wasn't sure whether to guard it or pull the flyer back out.

You chuckled, wrapping your arm around Azure's shoulders and pulling him close. He stiffened for just a moment before relaxing into the touch, his weight leaning slightly against yours. "Where should we head now, Princess?" you asked, your voice light with teasing.

Azure's face somehow got even redder. "D-don't c-call me th-that," he mumbled, but he didn't pull away.

You just laughed and kept walking.

It was now 5:10PM. The paper was creased now from being folded and unfolded multiple times, the edges soft from your fingers tracing over the text. The tryout dates were circled in blue pen — Everyday except Thursday and Weekends, 4PM to 7PM.

Isaac was nearby, wiping the furniture with a soft cloth, his movements slow and methodical. He kept glancing over at you, his grey eyes flicking between your face and the flyer in your hands.

"You're actually considering it?" Isaac asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know yet," you admitted, turning the flyer over in your hands. The back was blank except for a small doodle of a volleyball that someone had drawn in pen.

Isaac set down his cloth and walked over, lowering himself into the armchair across from you. "Naoko," he said slowly. "That's the transfer student?"

"Yeah."

"She's interesting." Isaac picked up a book from the side table and opened it to a marked page, though his eyes kept drifting back to you. "She's very new, yet she's already quite popular. I'd say that's impressive that she made it to be the manager of the Volleyball’s team on her first day.”

You continued to stare at the flyer, your thumb tracing over the practice schedule. Everyday except Thursday and Weekends. 4PM to 7PM. Four days a week. It was a huge commitment.

"Try out," Isaac said simply. "Worst case, you don't make the team." He smiled — a small, gentle thing that softened his usually stoic features. "Best case, you find something you enjoy."

You set the flyer on the table, leaning back into the couch cushions. 

‘Maybe Isaac is right’, you thought, staring at the ceiling. ‘I need something to do for fun. I can't spend all my time here worrying about my life’. You reached over and picked up the flyer again, scanning the practice schedule. 4PM to 7PM.’ Your classes usually ended at 2PM or 3PM, depending on the day. You'd have plenty of time to make it to tryouts.

You remembered, suddenly, that Wren joined the gardening club in the manga. It was one of his early character beats — the kind, gentle soul who loved tending to plants and flowers. His club meetings were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, if you recalled correctly. Afternoons, usually.

Joining something sports-related would definitely help you avoid him. Volleyball practice would be on different days, at different times. You wouldn't have to worry about running into him at club events and having awkward encounters in the greenhouse or the garden beds.

You just hoped the practice schedule overlapped with his club's enough to keep you safely separated.

‘It's worth a shot,’ you thought, folding the flyer one more time and tucking it into your pocket.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed with a message notification, the screen lighting up against the dim evening light of the living room.

You glanced down and saw Azure's name appear.

Azure: r u really going to try out? :O

You smiled slightly, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard before you typed back.

You: Mmm maybe

Azure: I think u should :33 u seem fit for sports hehe ,not that I was staring at ur muscles (o///o)

You stared at the message, your face heating up slightly.  You felt something flutter in your chest that you didn't quite want to examine too closely. 

You typed back slowly, carefully, trying to match his casual energy.

You: Lmao okay, I'll go. I don't mind if you were actually staring

Azure: yayyy :D lemme hit haha jk… unless

You snorted at the message, earning a curious glance from Isaac, who was still reading his book across the room. You waved him off and turned back to your phone.

You: Anyway what about you? Are you joining?

Azure: Nope i don't think i want to sorryyy :< but i can watch ur matches

You: That's nice of you! I don't know if I'd make it to the team though

Azure: im sure u will make it :3 good luck thooo <333

You hearted Azure's message, the little thumbs-up icon appearing beneath his text. 

Then you set your phone down on the armrest and leaned back into the couch cushions, staring up at the ceiling.

‘Now, that project with Takao...’ you sighed, your mind drifting to the chaotic library session. ‘I think him and I are getting along better. Might just be in my head, though. It's not like he owes me kindness just because I saved him from a pile of books.’

But still. He'd bought you iced tea. He'd actually done his share of the project — more than his share, honestly.

It was a strange feeling. But not a bad one either.

You stared at the ceiling a little longer, your thoughts drifting between volleyball tryouts and project deadlines and the unexpected people who might actually be becoming your friends.

Maybe the isekai wouldn't be so bad after all.

‘Should I text Wren?’ The thought crept into your mind unbidden. You frowned at the ceiling, your phone resting on your chest. ‘No, that's silly. I told myself I wouldn't interact with him at all. I made a whole plan. Avoid Wren and Fade into the background.’

But then another thought followed close behind, sharper and more insistent. ‘But I don't want him to spiral like crazy if I keep not acknowledging him’.

You'd seen the look in his eyes at the dorm — the desperate way he'd asked if Luka was the reason you were avoiding him. Wren wasn't used to being ignored. He wasn't used to people pulling away. And you knew, from reading the manga, that Wren didn’t take rejections well since he was also sensitive.

’Maybe’, you thought, chewing on your bottom lip, ‘if I try to set myself on good terms with Luka and tell him I'm no longer interested in Wren, he'd no longer see me as a threat,’ It was a logical plan. Luka's entire obsession stemmed from competition — from the fear that someone else would take Wren away from him.

If you removed yourself from the equation entirely, if you made it clear that you weren't a rival anymore, maybe he'd lose interest in hurting you.

But then you remembered the manga. Takara and Luka had a long-term, violent war — a back-and-forth of sabotage and intimidation that escalated until one of them ended up dead.

You didn't have Takara's desperation, his single-minded devotion, his willingness to fight dirty. You didn't think you could bring yourself to physically fight Luka unless…

‘Unless I do more proper training.’

The thought startled you. Training? Like... fighting training? You barely knew how to throw a punch. You'd spent most of your old life sitting in front of a screen, not learning self-defense. But now you were in Takara's body — taller, stronger, more toned. Maybe you had more potential than you realized.

You suddenly stood up from the couch, the movement so abrupt that Isaac looked up from his book with raised eyebrows. "Crap," you muttered, your eyes wide. "The project."

You'd been so lost in your thoughts about Wren and Luka and potential training regimens that you'd completely forgotten about Takao. You were supposed to meet him to finish the remaining slides. He'd probably be annoyed if you were late — more annoyed than usual, anyway.

You quickly went back to your room and packed up your bag, your hands moving with hurried efficiency. Laptop, notebook, and wallet. You zipped the bag shut and slung it over your shoulder, then headed toward the room door.

Isaac stood up from his armchair, his book forgotten on the side table. "M/N? Where are you going?" His grey eyes were curious, tracking your movements.

"I have to go complete my project with my partner," you said, already reaching for the door handle.

Isaac nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I see. Have fun, M/N."

You gave him a quick nod before heading out the door and breaking into a run down the hallway. Your footsteps echoed against the polished floors, your bag bouncing against your back, your mind already racing ahead to the library and the project and Takao waiting for you there.

You panted as you made your way to the entrance of the library, your chest heaving from the run across campus. The doors slid open and you stepped inside.

"Oh, hello again, M/N!" Ms. Harper called out from behind the front desk, her kind eyes crinkling with a smile.

"Hey, Ms. Harper!" you said, barely slowing down. "Bye!"

You didn't wait for her response. 

The library was quieter than usual this evening — there were only a few students scattered at tables. 

You eyed the rows of shelves as you walked past them, your footsteps quick and urgent against the carpeted floor, before finally spotting a familiar jet-black haired buzzcut head in a familiar spot near the back windows.

Takao was sprawled across his chair like he owned the place, one leg dangling over the armrest, his laptop open in front of him. 

He didn't look up when you approached, just kept typing with one hand while the other rested behind his head.

"Takao!" you called out, "I'm so sorry for being late, I got caught up with—"

"Save the bullshit," Takao interrupted, finally glancing up at you. His expression was unreadable. "I finished your notes."

You blinked, your mouth hanging open mid-apology. "Wait— what?"

Takao laid back over the chair, stretching his arms above his head like a cat waking from a nap. "I arrived here hours before you did," he said, his voice casual, almost bored, "and decided to skim through your notes." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Turns out you made plenty of mistakes. And as much as I want to be humble to the person who saved my life, I couldn't help but upgrade the notes myself."

Your frown deepened, your brow furrowing. "You could've just told me about them when I got here," you said, dropping your bag onto the floor and sitting down in the seat beside him. The chair creaked under your weight.

"I couldn't help it," Takao said with a shrug, finally turning his laptop screen to face you. "I have a thing with correcting other people's mistakes."

You leaned forward and looked at the screen. Your heart sank. The document was completely different — the phrasing had changed, the structure had been reorganized, whole paragraphs had been rewritten. Your work was still there, technically, but it had been so heavily edited that it barely resembled what you'd written.

"You just completely erased every single trace of my work that I worked hard on!" you said, your voice rising.

"No," Takao said, shaking his head slowly, "I just rewrote what you wrote. I didn't completely erase everything."

"It's not that hard to just help me with them instead," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

Takao's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why are you so mad about this?" he asked, tilting his head. "Be grateful that I did something about your mistakes."

You groaned in frustration, running a hand through your hair. The familiar heat of annoyance was building in your chest. 

"I'm mad," you said, your voice tight, "because you're saying all my contributions are inferior and should be ignored. Group work is meant to be a shared effort. When one person dominates, it stops being a partnership and becomes micromanagement."

Takao stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he looked away, his jaw tightening. "You're really dramatic, you know that?" he muttered, but there was less bite in his voice than before.

"And you're really bad at working with other people," you shot back.

Takao didn't respond. He just turned back to his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. But he didn't start typing. He just sat there, staring at the screen, his reflection ghostly in the dark glass.

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.

Then, quietly, Takao said, "I'm not used to this."

You tilted your head. "Used to what?"

"Partnerships." He said the word like it was foreign, like it tasted strange on his tongue. "People just don't usually want to work with me. They just let me do everything and take the credit."

You were quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then you sighed, your shoulders sagging. "Well, I'm not most people," you said. "I actually want to do my share."

Takao glanced at you from the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm starting to see that."

"Tch. Whatever, screw all that sappy shit," Takao muttered, reaching into his bag and pulling out a cold bottle. He tossed it across the table, and you barely caught it before it rolled off the edge. "Here's your iced tea."

"Oh, thank you," you said, wrapping your fingers around the cool plastic. "You didn't have t—"

"I've already dealt with this lecture," Takao cut you off, waving his hand dismissively. "Just drink up."

"Alright…" You unscrewed the cap and took a sip, the sweet tea cold against your tongue.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, exactly — more like a waiting silence. You tapped your fingers against the bottle, thinking.

"So," you said finally, "if we're done, what now?"

Takao shrugged, leaning back in his chair until it balanced on two legs. "Let's just hang out here for now."

"Hang out?" You raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean to you?"

Takao's dark blue eyes side-eyed you, sharp and suspicious. "Excuse me?"

"Do you mean hang out as in committing a crime together? Or—"

"Oi, are you fucking serious?" Takao's chair dropped back to all four legs with a loud thunk.

"Okay, my bad," you said quickly, holding up your hands. "That was insensitive of me to say."

Takao shrugged, his expression relaxing slightly. "Whatever."

You studied him for a moment — the sharp line of his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his buzzcut was starting to grow out just a little at the edges. "Have you ever thought about giving your hair a fresh cut?" you asked. "Or are you planning to grow them out?"

"I like it this way," Takao said, reaching up to touch the back of his head absentmindedly. "I ain't planning to grow them out. Doesn't help in fights."

"Okay, so when you talk about violence it's okay," you said, pointing your iced tea bottle at him, "but when I do it's the end of the world?"

"Exactly." Takao's smirk returned, brief but genuine.

"Speaking of violence," you said, leaning forward, "where did you learn to train for fighting?"

Takao's smirk faded. He looked at you for a long moment, his dark blue eyes unreadable. "Oi what the hell are ya up to?"

"Nothing, nothing!" you said quickly. "I'm thinking about focusing on sports and training. I'm attending the volleyball tryout tomorrow."

Takao hummed, his gaze drifting to the window. The evening light caught his profile, softening the hard edges of his face. "I didn't really have a choice to train," he said quietly. "Happened at a young age. By my dad."

"Oh," you said, your voice softer now. "That's kinda sad."

Takao shrugged, but there was something tight in his shoulders. "It did help me in the long run, anyway."

You were quiet for a moment, watching the way his fingers tapped against the table — restless, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. "I like your heart ear piercing," you said.

Takao's hand flew to his ear, covering the small silver stud like he'd forgotten it was there. "What are you, analyzing me now?!"

Your eyes were glued on his face, taking in the faint flush creeping up his neck. "Have you ever thought of living a different type of life?" you asked.

Takao hesitated. His hand dropped from his ear, and he stared at the table, his jaw working silently. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "All the time." He paused, swallowing hard. "I couldn't afford to change it either way, so imagination was my escape."

The words hung in the air between you. You didn't know what to say to that — you didn't know if there was anything to say. So you just sat there, sipping your iced tea, and let the silence linger.

"hey.. about that bookshelf incident-" Takao started, his voice lower than usual, almost hesitant. 

He was leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his dark blue eyes fixed on something just over your shoulder. You could tell he was working up to something he didn't quite know how to say.

"Oh my goodness, M/N!" Naoko gasped as she walked up to your table, her ponytail swinging behind her and a stack of books clutched against her chest. "Funny seeing you here!"

You blinked up at her, startled by her sudden appearance. "Naoko? What are you—"

"I volunteered to help organize the library for today!" she announced, setting her stack down on the edge of the table with a soft thud. "Calming down my nerves for tryouts tomorrow." She pressed a hand to her chest and let out a dramatic breath.

"Oh, good for you," you said, nodding.

"What about you?" Naoko's eyes darted between you and Takao, her gaze sharp and curious.

You gestured vaguely at the laptop and scattered notes on the table. "I, uh, was here for my project, but turns out this fella, Takao, did the work for me." You reached over and ruffled Takao's head, your fingers brushing against the short bristles of his buzzcut.

Takao slapped your hand away with a scowl, his dark blue eyes flashing. "Don't touch me."

Naoko raised her brows at Takao, her smirk growing. "So it's just the two of you here?" She tilted her head,. "Alone?"

Takao stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. "Oi! What does that mean?"

Naoko giggled, pressing a finger to her lips. "Inside voices only," she whispered, her eyes wide with mock seriousness.

Takao rolled his eyes so hard his whole head moved. "Don't you have volunteering work to do?"

"I did," Naoko said, crossing her arms, "but then I saw my great friend M/N here!" She grinned teasingly. "No need to get so territorial. He's all yours."

"Oi—" Takao lunged toward her, his fists clenching, but you were faster. You grabbed him by the shoulders and held him back, your arms locked around his chest.

"Sh!" you hissed, your face close to his ear.

Takao froze. His chest was heaving beneath your arms, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His dark blue eyes locked onto yours, wide and startled, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the rapid thrum of his heartbeat through his back. Then, slowly, he relaxed — just slightly, just enough for you to feel the tension drain from his shoulders.

Naoko watched the whole thing with a knowing smile, her head tilted like a curious bird. "You two are cute," she said softly.

"Shut up," Takao and you said at the same time.

Naoko giggled, her laughter bright and genuine, before she cleared her throat and straightened her posture. She looked straight at you, her dark eyes sparkling. "So, M/N! Are you excited for the volleyball tryouts tomorrow?" She pointed a finger at your chest. "Don't forget — it starts at 4PM. Don't ditch out on us!"

You sighed, releasing Takao and stepping back. "I said I'd think about it."

"Thinking time is over!" Naoko declared. "You're going. End of discussion."

"You can't just—"

"Yes, I can." She picked up her stack of books and turned on her heel, already walking away. "See you tomorrow, M/N! And nice to meet you, Takao!" she called over her shoulder, not waiting for a response.

Takao stood there, his jaw tight, his ears red. He didn't look at you. "That girl is annoying," he muttered.

You snorted, “In a charming way.”

Wren had his face completely covered by an opened book, the pages pressed close to his nose like a shield, as he slowly crept through the library.

He moved with exaggerated caution, his footsteps barely audible against the carpeted floor, weaving between shelves and pretending to blend in like he belonged there.

The book's title — something about marine biology — meant nothing to him. It was just a disguise, a way to avoid being recognized as he made his way toward the nearby bookshelves where he'd spotted you sitting.

To his surprise, he heard a laugh. Not yours — a feminine voice, bright and teasing, cutting through the quiet hum of the library. "So, M/N! Are you excited for the volleyball tryouts tomorrow?"

Wren froze mid-step, his book lowering just an inch. Volleyball club? Since when were you interested in sports? In all the years he'd known you — or rather, known Takara — you'd never once mentioned athletics. 

You'd been too focused on him, too wrapped up in your obsession to develop hobbies of your own. The thought of you running, jumping, sweating on a court felt... wrong. Like an image that didn't fit.

"Don't forget — it starts at 4PM. Don't ditch out on us!" the girl continued.

4PM, Wren thought, his mind latching onto the time like a hook. He stood there behind the shelf, book still raised, his heart beating a little faster. Then, slowly, an idea began to form.

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 05 ; The Library

Chapter 6

discord.gg/Z5BQ3neFJ2 — Please feel free to join my Discord server to stay updated on new chapters, get early spoilers, and take part in discussions! The server is still under construction, so I'm also open to having volunteers and moderators who'd like to help out and build the community with me.

Wren bit his lip as he stared at his screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, anticipating your response.

The message was marked as "seen" immediately, which was typical coming from you — from Takara.

You always responded fast. You always answered within seconds, no matter the time of day or what you were doing.

His eyes lit up and his heart began to race faster as he noticed a small bubble forming at the bottom of the app, the little dots dancing across the screen.

You were typing! Finally, it had been so long since he had last hung out with you alone. He missed it — missed you — more than he wanted to admit.

He waited and waited, his breath caught in his throat, until he noticed the bubble suddenly disappear.

Maybe you paused mid-typing? He continued to stare at the screen, unblinking, until he realized you were no longer typing at all.

The bubble didn't come back. The message remained unresponded to. Just silence.

Wren stared at the screen, his reflection staring back at him in the dark glass.

What was going on with you? What happened? Were you mad at him?

The thought gnawed at his chest like a small animal. Were you no longer in love with him? That thought hurt more than he thought it would — a sharp, unexpected ache that bloomed behind his ribs and spread through his entire body.

He thought about that raggedy-haired guy you were sitting with at lunch, the one with the curly hair and the nervous smile. It seemed like he occupied all your attention now, taking up the space where Wren used to be.

Wren shook his head, trying to clear the thought.

No, that would be mean — to think badly of somebody he didn't even know.

Perhaps you just wanted to make new friends? It wasn't like you were the social type back then, after all. And you had pretty much tormented everybody who even looked his way, chasing them off.

He wished you could've gone to him for help instead of pushing him away, but he supposed it was nice to see you live independently from him for once.

Yet he couldn't help but miss the lingering presence — the shadow that had followed him everywhere, the eyes that had always been watching, the person who had always, always been there.

He tried to brush it off, telling himself you just wanted a new friend.

But then he kept thinking about it.

Over and over, circling the same thoughts like a dog chasing its tail.

You had always been a constant presence in his life.

You were inescapable — no matter where he went, no matter who he was with, you always found a way to be there. You always knew where he was, who he was with, what he was up to.

It was suffocating sometimes, even insufferable on certain days.

But he had grown so used to your presence that its absence felt like a missing limb. It felt wrong, seeing you not here with him right now.

It made him feel empty inside, hollowed out and cold. No matter how many people he talked to — no matter how he tried to replace your presence with Luka's infatuation, with the fans who crowded around him, with the constant adoration that followed him everywhere — it still left a cold, hollow feeling in his chest.

None of them filled the space the way you did.

And then Wren thought about the times you were there for him.

Not the obsessive chasing, not the desperate clinging, but the quiet moments.

You had always been able to read through him, see past the smile he wore like armor.

You could always tell when there was a flicker in his usual chirpy tone. You could always tell when he was hiding himself feeling upset, when he was pretending to be okay.

You could always tell. And you were always there for him — not demanding anything, not asking for anything in return, just...there.

Maybe something had happened. Maybe you needed somebody to talk to. After so many years of you relentlessly chasing him, loving him no matter if he exchanged the same gesture with you, you were always there for him.

And now, he realized with a start, it was his turn to be there for you.

Perhaps he could ask people around for your dorm number. He recalled you talking to Isaac at the front of the classroom earlier, the Student Council President with the grey eyes and the clipboard. Maybe he could ask Isaac about your dorm. That was it. That was the plan.

Wren got up from his couch, his legs carrying him toward the kitchen. Maybe he could prepare a basket full of your favorite snacks and drinks to hand to you once he had found you. That way, you would know he cares about you. He's a great friend and an even better person — that's what you had always told him, after all.

Wren smiled at the thought, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. 

He got to the pantry and opened the doors wide, revealing a huge row of snacks displayed beside each other — chips and candies and cookies and crackers, arranged in neat, color-coded rows. 

Now, he thought, his smile faltering slightly. What were your favorite snacks again? He realized, with a sinking feeling, that he didn't actually know. After all these years, he'd never bothered to ask.

You entered the door to your room and spotted the rest of your packed bags near the bed, still zipped up and waiting to be unpacked. 

Your suitcase, your duffel bag, a small box of miscellaneous items — all of it sat in a neat pile against the wall. 

You sighed to yourself, exhausted. You had spent around thirty minutes of your time listening to Isaac yap as he explained and chuckled while showing you minion memes on Facebook on his phone. He had been so genuinely excited, so earnestly enthusiastic, that you hadn't had the heart to cut him off.

It was really cute, to be honest. 

The manga writer didn't really explore the characters' personalities or interests further than being centered around Wren, so moments like this felt precious — like you were uncovering hidden treasures. 

It was refreshing, slowly seeing the sides of themselves you hadn't seen in the manga.

As you laid yourself in bed, the mattress soft and cool beneath you, you took out your — or Takara's — phone. The screen glowed in the dim light, and you stared at it for a long moment, your thoughts drifting.

‘Maybe it was fully charged because Takara charged it overnight right before the isekai,’ you wondered. ‘I wonder where the actual Takara is. Maybe he got transmitted into my world.’ The thought made your stomach clench uncomfortably. ‘Well, now I do actually feel bad for him. He's not going to be happy to live a life like mine for god knows how long. He's wandering around, lost without Wren in an unfamiliar environment.’ You paused, chewing on your bottom lip. ‘I'm going through the exact same thing, except it's actually pleasant here. Minus Luka and Wren.’

You suddenly got a notification pop up, the screen lighting up with a familiar name. It was from Azure. Your eyes lit up, a small smile tugging at your lips, and you clicked onto the notification without hesitation.

Azure: +5 images attached. Azure:  Heya sorry 4 the wait!11! 😣 here r the notes 4 economics

You quickly typed back, your thumbs moving fast across the screen. 

You: Thank you 🙏 appreciate it

Azure: ummm btw wanna hang out later 2day? If ur free ofc

You hesitated for a moment, thinking about your plans for the evening. The project with Takao loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You: I'll see, I was planning to go work on our project for economics

Azure: ooh its oki lol :3 I wish I was paired w u lowkey

You: same. Takao is really annoying so i dunno how im going to deal with him. Anyway, when is the due date for the project?

Azure: Ohoh!! It's js due in 2 weeks, I remember the professor assigning ur pair Green finance, the economy of sustainable investments.

You: Ah, I see. Thank you Azure!

Azure hearted your message.

You smiled before you exited out of Azure's contact, the warm feeling from your conversation still lingering in your chest. ‘Oh wait”, you remembered suddenly, your smile fading. ‘I forgot about Takao.’

You glanced at the time on your phone — 4:48PM. 

You still had plenty of time to work on the project today, given Takao's self-imposed curfew of 8PM. Three hours. Plenty of time to get a decent chunk of work done, assuming he didn't make every second of it miserable.

You pressed on Takao's contact — saved under "Assface" — and began typing a quick message.

You: hey, project?

Assface: oh hell no

You: I didn't even do anything?? You doing too much

Assface: k

You stared at the message, your eye twitching. K. Just k. The most infuriating response in existence.

You: Anyway I was thinking we should get started in the library. I can walk you from your dorm

Assface: I can go there myself dipshit

You: I'm still going.

Assface: then I'll get going before you even come

You: why do you hate me so much

Assface: loathe is the correct word

You: whatever. I'll share you the doc link and the slidesgo template I wanna use

Assface: why tf r u using slidesgo its not that hard to make a presentation

You: to make it look more pleasant bro how far is that stick up your ass

Assface: if u keep talking about a stick up my ass I'll genuinely shove my foot up urs

You: Chill

There was a pause, and you thought maybe he'd finally stopped responding. But then another message came through.

Assface: there's a small drinks vendor on the way to the library

You perked up slightly. ‘He's nearly there?’ You typed quickly, seizing the opportunity.

You: you're nearly there? Shit get me an iced tea quick

Assface: go die

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket. It was worth a shot, at least.

You sighed as you tried to grab some money from your bag to go buy the iced tea yourself, your fingers fumbling through the pockets until you found a crumpled bill.

You started to pack your laptop inside the bag, zipping it up carefully, before you slung it over your shoulder and got up from the bed.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Three sharp raps, followed by a pause, then three more.

You froze, your hand hovering over your bag.

‘Maybe Isaac would get it’, you thought, listening for the sound of his footsteps in the living room. But the knock persisted — louder this time, more insistent.

You groaned, rolling your eyes, and went out of your room. You headed down the hallway toward the front door, your footsteps echoing against the hardwood floors, and unlocked the deadbolt. 

You pulled the door open, already preparing an annoyed comment about people knocking too loudly, and froze.

Standing in the doorway was Wren.

He had a basket in his hands — a large wicker thing filled to the brim with snacks and drinks. Chips, candies, cookies, chocolates, sodas, juices, and what looked like at least three different types of drinks.

There was at least one of every snack and drink in the world, it seemed, all piled together in a chaotic, colorful mountain.

Wren was also just as surprised to see you. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly, and the basket dipped in his hands like he'd almost dropped it. "M-M/N?" he stammered, his voice high with shock. "What are you doing here?"

You froze on the spot, your brain scrambling for an explanation. "I.. I share a dorm with Isaac," you said finally, the words coming out awkward and stiff.

"What?" Wren exclaimed, his voice rising in shock. His eyes darted past you, into the dorm, like he was trying to spot Isaac hiding in the corner.

You looked around awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the other students in the hallway who were starting to glance your way. "Can you keep it down?" you hissed, gesturing for him to lower his voice.

Wren shook his head, trying to process this information. "How come you share a dorm with the student council president?" he asked, his voice quieter now but still tinged with disbelief.

You shrugged, not knowing how much to explain. "I don't know, Isaac offered to be my dorm mate."

Wren frowned at that, his brow furrowing deeply. His grip on the basket tightened, his knuckles going white. For a moment, he didn't say anything — just stood there, staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

Then, as if remembering why he'd come, he held the basket out toward you. "Anyway.." he said, his voice softer now, "I was planning on giving this to you."

You blinked down at the basket, then back up at Wren. "Oh- uhm, why, if I may ask?"

Wren's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I thought you were going through a hard time," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Since you weren't as... I mean, you were being distant from me. So I thought something bad happened."

You blinked, genuinely taken aback. Your heart did something strange in your chest and you began to stammer. "O-oh! Uhm, it's.. I-it's not really like that.. I didn't even notice! Haha.. ha.." Your laugh was forced, hollow. "I'm just settling down, y'know?"

"Settling down?" Wren tilted his head, his eyes searching your face. "You could've at least talked to me.." His voice cracked slightly. "I was really worried for you, M/N."

"Sorry for making you worry," you said quickly, the words tumbling out. "But nothing's wrong."

Wren opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted before he could get a word out. "So where's Luka?" you asked, the name slipping out before you could stop it.

Wren widened his eyes, startled by the sudden question. Then, almost too quickly, he replied, "He's not here, so we can hang out!" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

You shook your head, already backing away. "Sorry, I can't hang out right now. I'm on my way to the library."

"I could join you then!" Wren stepped forward, his eyes lighting up. "Remember when we always hung out at the library in high school? Because you said it was more peaceful for us there?"

"No, Wren," you said firmly, holding up your hand. "I'm going to the library to work on a group project."

"W-well maybe I can help!" he offered, clutching the basket tighter.

"Wren, you don't even attend the same class for the project," you pointed out, your voice gentler now. "Trust me, you don't need to help us."

Wren stayed silent for a while, his gaze dropping to the basket in his hands. His jaw worked silently, like he was chewing on words he couldn't bring himself to say.

"And you can take the basket and share it with Luka, yeah?" you added, trying to soften the rejection. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it more than me."

"Is it Luka that's making you avoid me?" Wren asked suddenly, his voice sharp.

"Wha-"

"Is it Luka?" He looked up at you, his eyes wide and searching. There was something strange in his expression.

"Wren, I'm not avoiding you," you said, but the words felt weak even to your own ears.

Wren didn't respond to that. He just stared at you for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, "If it's Luka, then I can take care of him." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Please, M/N, let's hang out soon."

"It's.. it's not Luka, Wren," you said, stepping past him into the hallway. "I have to get going now."

Wren stayed silent as he watched you leave. He just stood there in the doorway, basket still in his hands, staring at your back as you walked away.

"Wren, there you are."

Wren turned around at the sound of the familiar voice, his shoulders tensing slightly before he forced them to relax. 

Behind him stood Luka, tall and composed, with a stack of papers clutched against his chest. His dark eyes were fixed on Wren with that familiar intensity.

"Luka?" Wren said, blinking in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Luka gave a soft, warm, smile that only for Wren. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he said, stepping closer. He held out the stack of papers, revealing them to be flyers. The flyers were colorful, well-designed, with Wren's face prominently featured on each one. "Here are your 50 copies. I wish you luck for your club."

Wren hummed, taking the flyers with one hand while still holding the basket in the other. "Thanks~!" he chirped, his voice bright and cheerful, though something behind his eyes remained distant.

Luka's gaze drifted downward, landing on the basket in Wren's other hand. His brow furrowed slightly. "What are those?" he asked, nodding toward the assortment of snacks and drinks piled inside.

"Oh, these?" Wren looked down at the basket, then back up at Luka. For a split second, something flickered across his face — hesitation, maybe, or uncertainty? 

Then he smiled, bright and easy. "Uh, they're for you!"

Luka's cheeks flushed a deep pink, the color spreading across his cheekbones like wildfire. "For me?" he repeated, his voice softening. He reached out and took the basket from Wren's hands, cradling it like it was something precious. "Oh, thank you, Wren. It's an honor to receive such a thoughtful gift from you!"

"You're welcome!" Wren smiled, but his eyes drifted past Luka's shoulder, staring at the empty hallway where you had disappeared just moments ago.

You began to run your way to the library, your bag bouncing against your back and your laptop thumping with every step.

The hallways were mostly empty now, most students already settled into their dorms or hanging out in common areas. Up ahead, you spotted Takao standing right outside a double door under a large sign that read "LIBRARY" in bold letters.

‘Finally!’ you thought, relief washing through you. 

Just as you were about to slow down, Takao pushed open one of the doors — holding it open for himself, apparently, with no regard for anyone behind him — which led you to accidentally bump into the door face first.

"OOF-" The impact sent a shockwave through your skull, and you stumbled backward, your hands flying up to your face. You rubbed the spot on your forehead, already feeling a small bump forming, and looked up at Takao, who was doubled over, laughing at you.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" he wheezed, clutching his stomach.

You frowned, your brow furrowing despite the pain. "What the hell, Takao?! I could've gotten serious injuries!"

"And you didn't," he said, straightening up and wiping a tear from his eye. "What's the big deal anyway?"

"Don't do that again," you grumbled, still rubbing your forehead. "It actually hurts."

"Yeah, yeah," Takao waved his hand dismissively, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cold bottle. "Here's your iced tea."

You widened your eyes, temporarily forgetting about the pain in your face. "Oh? Uhm, thanks," you said, taking the bottle from his hand. The glass was cold and slightly wet with condensation. "But I thought you weren't going to actually buy me iced tea."

"I never said no," Takao shrugged, already turning toward the library doors.

"But you did tell me to go die," you pointed out, following behind him, your hand still pressed against your forehead, the cold bottle of iced tea clutched in your other hand.

The library was massive, even larger than you'd expected. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched out in every direction, filled with old leather-bound volumes and new paperbacks. 

"Hello, Ms. Harper!" Takao called out, approaching the front desk where a middle-aged woman sat behind a computer.

"Oh, goodness!" the librarian — Ms. Harper — exclaimed, her face lighting up as she spotted Takao. "It's nice to see you here, Takao. What brings you here?"

"Oh, well, I'm just working on a project in Economics," Takao said, leaning against the counter casually. "Mind sharing where there are any books on that?"

You frowned at Takao from behind, your eyes narrowing. ‘Since when were you this polite?’

"Such a smart cookie you are!" Ms. Harper reached across the counter to pinch Takao's cheeks, and to your shock, he let her. He even smiled. "It's over there in section five, to the right!"

Ms. Harper turned to look at you, her kind eyes studying your face. "And this is?" she asked.

"M/N," you said, offering her a small smile. "I'm Takao's project partner for his project."

"Ah, it's nice to meet you, M/N!" Ms. Harper clasped her hands together. "I look forward to seeing you study here often."

You sweatdropped, your smile becoming strained. "I look forward to that as well," you said, though you weren't sure if you meant it.

"Well, I hope you kids have fun," Ms. Harper said, already turning back to her computer.

"Okay, Ms. Harper!" Takao smiled at her — a genuine smile by the way — before gesturing for you to follow him.

You fell into step beside him, glancing back at Ms. Harper's kind face before turning your attention to Takao. "Are you familiar with Ms. Harper?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

"Yeah," Takao said, his voice softer than usual. "She's a really nice woman."

"I can see that," you hummed, taking a sip of your iced tea.

"Ms. Harper is like the mother I never had.." Takao mumbled to himself, his voice barely audible. You raised a brow at him but didn't reply back, since it seemed like he'd rather you not ask him about it. The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable.

"Ah, there it is," Takao said, his voice returning to its normal volume. He walked toward section five, a row of tall bookshelves filled with green-bound volumes and financial textbooks. You trailed along behind him, your eyes scanning the titles as you passed.

"Green finance, sustainable investments..." you murmured, running your finger along the spines. "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

You placed your bag down on a nearby chair before you took out your laptop, setting it on the wooden table with a soft thud. 

The library was quiet around you, just the occasional rustle of pages and the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the stacks. Takao did the same, dropping his bag onto the floor with considerably less care and pulling out a beat-up laptop that looked like it had seen better days.

"So…" you began, cracking your knuckles as you opened a new document. "I suppose we just start by writing down all the subtopics we need to cover first."

"Mk," Takao grunted, already on his feet. He wandered over to the shelves and pulled out a few books, stacking them in his arms like he was building a small fortress. 

He dropped them onto the table with a heavy thunk, dust motes swirling in the air around them, then opened his laptop and began typing. "I'll just write down points about half of the subtopics in the Google Doc," he said, not looking up from his screen. "You create the slides and continue to write points about the other half of the subtopics."

You shrugged, already pulling up Slidesgo. "Sure."

You both sat down and began to work. The only sounds were the clicking of keyboards and the occasional flip of a page as Takao skimmed through one of the books. It was almost peaceful, in a strange way — there wasn’t anybody hovering over your shoulder. Just you and Takao.

Takao was the classic nonchalant delinquent of the school. And yet, despite his rough exterior, there was something about him that drew people in.

He was also one of the love interests of Wren.

You remembered reading their first meeting in the manga like it was yesterday. It happened late one evening. Wren had been on his way to the nearby convenience store, probably to grab a snack or a drink or whatever it was main characters did in their off-panel time, when he found Takao slumped against the wall of a dark alleyway beside the store. 

There was blood — too much of it — seeping through Takao's shirt, staining his hands, pooling on the concrete beneath him. He'd gotten into another fight, as he often did, but this time he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

Although Takao refused to let Wren help him at first — shoving his hands away, spitting out curses, telling him to mind his own damn business — Wren was persistent. Annoyingly persistent, the way only Wren could be. 

He didn't flinch at Takao's harsh words or his sharp glares. He just kept kneeling there in the dirty alley, hands outstretched, voice soft and steady. "Let me help you," he'd said. "Please. I can't just leave you here like this."

Something in Takao's chest had cracked at those words. Something hard and guarded that he'd built up over years of being hurt, of hurting others, of never letting anyone close enough to see the soft parts underneath. And so, against every instinct screaming at him to push Wren away, Takao let him in.

Wren guided Takao back to the campus that night, one arm wrapped around Takao's waist to keep him upright, ignoring the blood that smeared across his own clothes. He helped nurse Takao back to recovery in the days that followed — changing his bandages, bringing him food, sitting with him in comfortable silence. 

It was the first time anyone had ever taken care of Takao like that. The first time anyone had looked at him and seen someone worth saving.

And that was how Takao fell for him.

You glanced over at Takao now, sitting across from you in the library, his eyes fixed on his laptop screen as he typed out notes for your project. His jaw was set, his brow furrowed, and there was a small crease between his eyebrows that you'd never noticed before. He looked so different from the manga panels — so much more real, more human.

And you couldn't help but wonder, as you watched him work, if you should interfere with him meeting Wren at all.

You shook your head and turned back to your slides, pushing the thought away. That wasn't your problem. You had a project to finish.

After a while, Takao groaned as he stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping audibly. 

He glanced over at your laptop screen and noticed you were scrolling down on Slidesgo, your eyes fixed on the endless rows of presentation templates, wondering which one to use.

"Oi!" Takao snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Quit looking at Slidesgo and do your part of the project."

"I want our presentation to actually look good!" you protested, not tearing your eyes away from the screen. "This one has animations. look, the text fades in and everything."

"Yeah, no," Takao said, reaching over and pushing your laptop screen down slightly. "Do your work."

"Since when did you care about schoolwork?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Takao stared at you like you'd just asked him if the sky was green. "You do realize I don't just fart around and pick my nose in class, right?"

"That wouldn't be so hard to believe," you muttered under your breath.

"Just do your fucking work," Takao said, his voice flat, "before I genuinely end you."

"Okay, okay!" you held up your hands in surrender, pushing your laptop screen back up. "Calm down."

"Do I always have to resort to threatening you to get you to do something?" Takao asked, shaking his head. He sounded almost tired.

"Maybe you could just ask politely?" you suggested, already pulling up a blank slide.

"I already got you your iced tea," Takao said, turning back to his own laptop. "Just do your work."

You didn't respond as you continued to write down your notes, your fingers flying across the keyboard. Every now and then, you glanced over at Takao's screen, watching him type with surprising speed. 

Despite his attitude, he was actually getting stuff done. You hated to admit it, but maybe this partnership wouldn't be a complete disaster after all.

You sipped on your iced tea from time to time, the cold liquid soothing your throat as you typed away at your slides. 

The library had grown quieter over the past couple of hours. You decided to check the time, glancing down at the corner of your laptop screen — 6:54PM. You'd been at this for a while now, but hey at least progress was being made.

"I'm nearly done," you said, stretching your arms above your head. Your shoulders cracked softly. "You?"

"I'm already finished."

You widened your eyes in shock, your arms freezing mid-stretch. "What?!" You whipped your head toward Takao, who was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

"You're really slow," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You decided to check on Takao's laptop screen, leaning across the table to get a better look. To your surprise, it was full of paragraphs — dense, well-structured paragraphs that covered a wide range of topics related to green finance and sustainable investments. 

Your eyes quickly skimmed through each paragraph, searching for any signs of bullshit, but to your further surprise, he'd managed to cover quite a lot of points without writing any gibberish. The information was accurate, relevant, and actually... good.

"How in the he-" you grabbed his mouse and began to scroll through his search history, your eyes narrowing. "You have to be using AI. You're not slick."

"Oi!" Takao swatted at your hand, but you pulled the mouse away before he could stop you. "I wasn't using AI."

You looked at the search history, scrolling through tabs and timestamps. There was no trace of any AI websites — no ChatGPT, no Gemini, no nothing. Just links to academic journals, news articles about sustainable investing, and a few YouTube videos explaining complex concepts in simple terms.

He'd done the research. Actually done it.

"I'm smarter than you think I am," Takao said, his voice flat. He didn't sound angry, exactly — more like he was stating a fact.

You huffed in annoyance, releasing the mouse and leaning back in your chair. "Fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "I'll let you have this one."

"Dude, I seriously didn't use AI," Takao insisted, his brow furrowing. "You're just doubting my capabilities."

You stayed silent for a moment, staring at your own laptop screen. The slides were nearly done — just a few more formatting tweaks and you'd be finished. But something gnawed at you, something uncomfortable that sat in your chest like a stone.

You'd judged him. Assumed he was lazy, stupid. But he'd done the work. He'd pulled his weight.

"Sorry for assuming then," you said quietly, not looking at him.

Takao was silent for a moment. Then, just as quietly, he said, "Yeah, well. Don't let it happen again."

"But you must've at least copy and pasted something-“

"Just finish your work!" Takao cut you off, pointing a finger at your laptop screen like he was about to physically shove your face back into it.

You groaned as you quickly typed in a few more sentences, your fingers hammering the keyboard with more force than necessary. "I've finished the second last subtopic," you announced, leaning back in your chair. "I'll work on the rest later."

"You were the one who was so persistent on getting it done," Takao said, raising an eyebrow, "and now you're lazing off?"

"I'm not lazing off!" you protested, throwing your hands up. "I just need a break every once in a while. Mental fatigue is a real thing, you know."

"Hm." Takao's smirk widened. "Looks like the tables have turned."

"Can we talk about something else?" you asked, desperate to change the subject before he could gloat any further.

"Alright then." Takao leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed behind his head. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, pretending to think. Then his gaze dropped back to you, and his smirk returned. "Hmm. I think you are gay."

You widened your eyes, nearly choking on your iced tea. "I'm not gay!"

"Who are ya tryna fool?" Takao snorted, gesturing vaguely at your entire existence. "Everybody knows your reputation here as Wren's lovesick stalker. Don't even make me pull up some of the least craziest things you've done." He held up his fingers, counting off. "The love letters. The gifts. The following him to every class. The-"

"Okay, okay!" You groaned in frustration, running a hand through your hair. "I know that, given my... reputation, you think I'm gay. But I've changed."

"Dude," Takao said, his voice flat, "you're saying it like being queer is an on-and-off switch."

You tried your best to think of an excuse, your brain scrambling for something — anything — that would make him drop the subject. "I guess.. I've lost interest?" you offered weakly.

Takao tilted his head, considering this. "See? That was more plausible than saying you're not gay."

"I just.. don't want people to bring up my past," you admitted, your voice quieter now.

"Your past was full of tormenting people your entire life," Takao snickered, though there was less bite to it than before. "Didn't someone say you once barked at them for looking at Wren?"

Your face flushed hot with embarrassment. "Okay, okay! Don't you also have a past of tormenting people? You probably get into fights and... whatever the stuff that delinquents do."

"It's not like I get into a fight with anyone I see over some guy," Takao shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, well, I've decided to rebrand myself!" you declared, sitting up straighter.

"But why?" Takao asked, and for once, he sounded genuinely curious. "You do realize it's not going to be easy at all to rebrand yourself given your past, right?"

"I know, I know." You sighed, your shoulders slumping. "I just.. wish I got to restart life and.. not make the past mistakes I did."

"You'll still make mistakes either way," Takao said, shrugging. "And there's no fun in trying to maintain a flawless life. You gotta get some experience."

"What experience am I supposed to gain from my mistakes?" you asked, frowning.

"I dunno." Takao tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Good parkour skills? Good senses?" He paused, then added with a grin, "As a stalker."

"I'm not an- ugh." You dropped your head onto the table, letting out a muffled scream of frustration into your arms.

Takao laughed , a real laugh, "I like ragebaiting you," he admitted, still chuckling.

"Glad someone's having fun," you mumbled into the table.

"Listen, man," Takao said, leaning forward with an almost conspiratorial look. "You're in denial about being gay, and it's a common thing for queer people. You just gotta explore before you finally accept it. It's fine."

You stared at him, your eye twitching slightly. "You're oddly supportive of queerness," you said slowly. "And I'm not in denial about being gay, because I'm not gay."

"What? You think I'm homophobic?" Takao raised his eyebrows, looking genuinely offended for a split second. "I'm not that horrible."

"Right." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. This conversation was exhausting.

"Sooo," Takao dragged out the word, a teasing lilt in his voice. "You say you've lost interest in Wren? What made you come to that conclusion?"

You paused, your brain scrambling for an answer that sounded believable. "Uhh, I guess I just… drifted apart from him," you said slowly, choosing your words with care. "I realized spending my entire life devoting to someone else would only, uh, make me miss good opportunities for myself."

Takao hummed, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he was quiet — just staring at the table, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the wood. Then, softly, he said, "I've been there before."

You raised a brow at him, surprised. "Really?"

Takao widened his eyes, like he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Oh, nah, ignore that," he said quickly, waving his hand dismissively.

"Well, don't leave me hanging like that!" you protested, leaning forward. "It's your turn to share stuff about yourself."

"Nah, dude, it's nothing. Really." Takao's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere over your shoulder.

You studied his face for a moment. Whatever he'd been about to say, it clearly wasn't nothing. But pushing him wouldn't help. "Well," you said finally, "if you're not comfortable with sharing, then I won't make you."

Takao nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're actually chill," he said, almost like he was surprised by the realization.

"Thank you," you said, offering him a small smile. "I'll think of something nice to say about you and I'll get back to you in a bit."

Takao rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. "You don't have to say something nice back," he said, his voice flat. "Complimenting somebody for the sake of expecting to get complimented back is bullshit to me."

"Oh." You blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. "That's... actually a really fair point."

"Yeah, well," Takao shrugged, turning back to his laptop. "Don't sound so surprised."

Suddenly, you sensed something wrong.

It wasn't a sound or a sight—more like a prickle at the back of your neck, your instincts that screamed at you to move.

Without thinking, you lunged forward, grabbed Takao by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him under the table.

"Oi! What are you-" Takao's protest was cut off by a deafening crash.

A bunch of books fell from the shelf right behind where you'd been sitting. More followed, a cascade of paper and leather and hardcover spines, until a small mountain of books lay scattered across the carpet. It was as if a huge force had pushed the bookshelf from behind, rattling the entire structure and sending its contents tumbling down.

You and Takao waited, crouched beneath the table, your breaths held in your chest. The library was silent now—no more books fell, no more crashes echoed. Just the distant hum of the AC and the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

You let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders sagging. "We're safe now," you whispered.

"You.." Takao's voice was strange, quieter than usual. "You actually have good senses. I'm impressed."

"Thanks, I-" You turned to look at him, and the words died in your throat.

Your faces were very close together. Inches apart, maybe less. The underside of the table was dark and cramped, forcing you both into a tight space where there was nowhere to look but at each other. Takao's gaze was pointedly away from you, fixed on the scattered books on the floor, but you could see the deep red flush spreading across his face—his cheeks, his ears, even the tips of his neck.

You felt your own face heat up in response. ".. just sensed something wrong," you finished lamely, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you alright? Did you get hit?"

"Uh, probably," Takao mumbled, still not looking at you.

You both sat there for a moment, frozen in the awkward silence. 

Then you cleared your throat and crawled out from under the table, brushing dust and stray bookmarks off your clothes. "Well, it's best if we try to tell the librarian about this," you said, gesturing to the mess on the floor.

"We can't just make her clean this mess up by herself," Takao said, finally emerging from under the table. His face was still flushed, but he was doing a good job of pretending it wasn't. "Let's just put the stuff back ourselves.”

"Alright then.." you agreed, kneeling down to pick up a fallen textbook. Takao knelt beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched, and together you began to stack the books in a neat pile, ready to be reshelved.

Neither of you spoke. But every now and then, you caught Takao sneaking a glance at you from the corner of his eye—quick, furtive looks that he quickly looked away from whenever you turned your head.

"Thank you for.. that, by the way," Takao said, his voice gruff as he stacked another book onto the pile. He still wasn't looking at you, his gaze fixed on the task at hand, but there was something softer in his tone than before.

"I don't like you or anything," you said quickly, perhaps too quickly, "but it's not like I'd let you get hit by a bunch of books."

Takao let out a short laugh. "I would've just left you there if I were you."

You snapped a glare at him, your mouth falling open in offense. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Takao held up his hands in surrender, a rare grin breaking across his face. "Relax, would you?"

You huffed, turning back to the books. "I wonder what caused that," you said, your brow furrowing as you scanned the shelf above. The structure was sturdy, bolted to the floor, and there was no visible reason for it to suddenly tip. "Whatever it was, it's too big of a force to blame it on the winds. The windows are big, but no way they let in that much wind."

"Maybe it was a ghost," Takao suggested, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Pfft, right," you snorted.

"The most plausible explanation," Takao said, stacking the last of the books onto the pile, "is that somebody bumped into the shelves by accident and scurried away in embarrassment."

You hummed, considering this. "Hm. Sounds like something I would do."

"When you stalk Wren, yeah," Takao said without missing a beat.

You threw a book at him. He caught it easily, laughing. "Shut it!" you snapped, your face flushing. "I don't stalk him anymore!"

"You're so easily ragebaited," Takao said, shaking his head. "You're fun."

"I'm not here for your entertainment," you grumbled, but there was no real heat behind it.

"Could've fooled me," Takao shot back, and for once, his smirk didn't feel malicious. It almost felt like... teasing. The way friends teased each other.

You didn't know what to do with that, so you just picked up another book and added it to the pile, your ears burning.

Luka stared at the basket of food and snacks in front of him. 

It was placed on his desk like a trophy — and to him, it was, since it came from Wren. All of it was precious because Wren's hands had touched it, because Wren had chosen it, because Wren had given it to him.

He smiled in awe, his fingers tracing the edge of the basket gently. ‘It's so nice of Wren to gift me,’ he thought, his heart swelling with warmth. ‘He didn't have to. He could have given it to anyone. But he chose me.’

As he stared at the basket, he began to think. He didn't even know which snack he liked. He'd seen these bags countless times in stores — during his trips to buy things for Wren, during the late-night runs to grab Wren's favorite drinks, during the endless hours he spent curating gifts and surprises for the person who meant everything to him.

But he had never gotten to try these himself. He'd never thought to. His own preferences had always been secondary, irrelevant, shoved into a corner of his mind that he rarely visited.

He supposed it would be impolite not to eat them, though. Wren had given them to him, after all. To leave them untouched would be disrespectful.

Luka took out his phone and snapped a quick picture of the basket, angling it carefully to capture the arrangement of snacks in the best light. He smiled at the picture — a soft, genuine smile that softened his sharp features — before he brought the phone to his lips and kissed the screen. "Thank you, Wren," he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

Then he set the phone aside and hesitated, his hand hovering over the basket. Which one should he try first? His eyes scanned the selection — chips, candies, cookies, chocolates, drinks — before finally landing on a bright yellow bag that read "BBQ Flavor" in bold letters. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, studying the ingredients list, the nutrition facts, the little cartoon chef on the front.

Luka realized, with a strange jolt, that he had never really thought about BBQ before. He didn't know if he liked it or disliked it. He didn't know how to feel about it. The concept of having an opinion on something so trivial felt foreign to him, like trying to read a language he'd never learned.

This was all new to him. How long had he gone without considering what he liked and didn't like? How many years had he spent pushing his own wants and needs aside? He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him what he wanted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd asked himself.

Luka shook his head, his jaw tightening. 

No. That didn't matter. It only mattered if Wren liked it or not. 

Wren was his savior, his one and only, the person who had pulled him from the darkness and shown him what it meant to be cared for. He worshipped the very ground Wren walked on. He didn't have time to figure out what he liked and disliked about each snack. That was selfish. That was wasteful. That was-

He tore open the bag, the sound of crinkling plastic loud in the quiet room. He reached inside and pulled out a single chip, examining it for a moment before putting it in his mouth. The flavor hit his tongue — smoky, sweet, a little spicy, with a hint of something tangy that lingered on his palate.

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 04 ; Project Partner

chapter 5

discord.gg/Z5BQ3neFJ2 — Please feel free to join my Discord server to stay updated on new chapters, get early spoilers, and take part in discussions! The server is still under construction, so I'm also open to having volunteers and moderators who'd like to help out and build the community with me.

Today had been a long day. 

By the time Economics rolled around as your last class, your brain felt like it was running on fumes. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the professor's voice droned on about something you'd already forgotten, and all you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a week. 

Fortunately, you shared the same class with Azure, who you'd recently befriended.

Having him nearby made the endless hours slightly more bearable.

You continued to scribble doodles in your notebook, your pencil moving absently across the page as you pretended to write notes. Little spirals here, tiny stars there, a small cat face in the corner.

The professor didn't seem to notice — or maybe he just didn't care. Either way, you kept doodling, your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

When you turned to Azure and fixed your gaze on his notebook, you couldn't help but smirk. 

He was writing so neatly. It was almost too perfect. 

Without thinking, you lunged your pencil onto his paper and drew two circles right beside each other, quick and deliberate.

Azure's head snapped toward you, his eyes wide with betrayal. "Wha-what are you-“

Just as you were about to draw the last scribble — Azure managed to push your hand away, a giggle escaping from him despite his best efforts to look annoyed. His shoulders shook slightly, and you could see the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

"I'm, er, ne-never ope- open- opening a book near y-you again," he pouted, his voice mock-serious as he frantically rubbed his eraser on your interesting piece of art. The pink eraser squeaked against the paper, smudging the graphite into a gray blur.

"I was just going to draw a bunny," you said, raising a brow at him, your smug smirk still firmly in place. You rested your chin on your palm, watching him struggle to erase your masterpiece.

You earned a side eye from Azure as he continued erasing, his movements quick and almost aggressive. "You're so immature, (M/N)," he huffed, but there was no real heat behind his words. If anything, he sounded almost fond.

"Like you're any better," you shot back, your smirk widening.

"Sh!" Azure made a shushing gesture at you, his finger pressed dramatically against his lips. His eyes darted toward the front of the classroom where the professor was still lecturing, completely oblivious to the chaos in the back row.

You rolled your eyes at him, a soft chuckle escaping your lips, and turned back to your own notebook. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Azure glancing at you with a small, genuine smile before he quickly looked away.

You stared at the smart board for a while, your eyes glazing over as the professor's words blurred into meaningless noise. 

The white text on the blue background swam in your vision, and before you knew it, a quiet yawn escaped your lips. Your jaw cracked slightly from the stretch, and you blinked heavily, trying to focus.

Azure noticed immediately. His head turned toward you, his light blue eyes scanning your tired face with concern. "Are, er, y-you feeling slee- sleepy?" he asked, his voice soft and hesitant.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to work properly. 

You rubbed your eyes with the heels of your palms, pressing down until you saw little bursts of color behind your eyelids, trying desperately to blink your sleepiness away. But it clung to you like a heavy blanket, weighing down your limbs and clouding your thoughts. You were too tired to respond orally, too tired to even form a coherent sentence.

Azure hummed thoughtfully as he glanced at the professor, who was too busy reading off the text on the smart board to notice anything happening in the back row. The older man droned on about sociological theories, his back half-turned to the class, completely oblivious.

"W-why don't you, er, rest?" Azure whispered, leaning slightly closer to you. "Lay yo-your head down. I'll, er, handle it!" He gave you a cheeky grin, his teeth flashing briefly, and you could see the excitement in his eyes — like he was proud of himself for coming up with such a brilliant plan.

You blinked at him, your exhaustion warring with your skepticism. "Are you sure?" you mumbled, your voice thick and groggy.

Azure nodded, his curls bouncing with the movement. "I'll, er, se-send you th-the notes after class," he promised, his voice firm despite the stammer.

You let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders sagging as the tension drained out of your body. You gave Azure a lazy smile, your eyes already half-closed. "Thanks, man," you said, the words slurring slightly at the edges.

Azure slightly furrowed his brows at the casual "man.” But he decided to let it go, shaking his head slightly as he fixed his gaze on his belongings scattered across his desk.

As you settled onto your desk, folding your arms into a makeshift pillow, you felt sleep wash over you almost instantly. Your breathing slowed, your muscles relaxed, and the world around you faded into a soft, muffled haze.

Azure made sure to quietly place his stacks of paper and notebooks in front of you, building a small wall of supplies that blocked the professor's view of your sleeping form. 

He arranged them carefully, adjusting the angles until he was satisfied that you were hidden from sight. As a cherry on top, Azure added his raccoon stuffed animal on top of the pile — a small, round plush with button eyes and a striped tail that peeked out from behind the notebooks. It looked well-loved, slightly worn at the seams.

He then leaned into your ear, his breath warm against your skin, and whispered, making sure not to wake you up. "I-I'll recollect m-my stuff after class ends an-and send yo-you the notes via messa-ages." His voice was barely audible, softer than a breath, and so gentle it almost made you stir.

You didn't respond. You were already too far gone.

A hard smack on the back wakes you up immediately. 

The force of it rattles your spine and sends a jolt of shock through your entire body. You jolt up in surprise, letting out a yelp that echoes through the now mostly empty classroom, and look up just to see Takao standing over you with that stupid, smug grin plastered across his face.

"Ouch?! What the hell was that for?" you grumbled, wincing as you gently rubbed the spot Takao had smacked.

"Jeez, you're finally awake," Takao said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was planning on throwing a brick at you."

You frowned, your brow furrowing deeply. "Again, what was that for?"

Takao groaned in annoyance, rolling his eyes like you were the most exhausting person he'd ever met. "Class is over, dumbass!"

"Yeah, I can clearly see that now!" you snapped back, gesturing to the empty desks.

"And you're my partner for a project!" Takao added, pointing a finger at your chest.

"Oh?" You raised a brow, your irritation momentarily replaced by curiosity. "What is the project about?"

"I dunno," Takao shrugged, looking completely uninterested. "Some presentation about green finance?"

You blinked at him. "I didn't even know you attended this class."

"Me neither," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Just as I thought my day couldn't get worse."

"Well, you're stuck with me, so the least you can do is at least be nice!" You crossed your arms, mirroring his posture.

"Over my dead bod-"

"Okay! Okay." You held up your hands, cutting him off before he could finish. "Let's just stop bickering and start planning."

"That's all on you, dumbass," Takao said, already turning away like the conversation was over. "I'm not doing shit."

You felt your eye twitch. "I'm not going to let that happen! Give me your phone number!" You stood up abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Takao turned back to look at you, his smirk widening. "If you were going to ask me out, you could've done it better," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

"I'm not asking you out," you snapped, your face flushing with frustration. "I'm not into men! I need your number to contact you for the project."

"Like I said," Takao repeated slowly, enunciating each word like you were hard of hearing, "I'm not doing shit."

"YES, YOU ARE!" you exclaimed, your voice bouncing off the classroom walls. You immediately widened your eyes in embarrassment, your cheeks burning. "Sorry," you mumbled, your voice much quieter now. "I didn't mean to yell."

Takao was frozen for a moment, his smirk gone, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. Then his lips twitched, and before you knew it, he burst into laughter . He doubled over slightly, one hand braced on a nearby desk, the other clutching his stomach.

You only stared at him with a deadpanned expression, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you waited for him to compose himself.

"It's so funny seeing you mad," Takao said between laughs, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Whatever," you muttered. "Just give me your number."

"Alright, you win." Takao smirked, pulling a pen from his pocket and scribbling on a torn piece of paper he'd ripped from a notebook. He wrote quickly, his handwriting messy and rushed, before handing it to you. "I wrote my dorm number there as well," he said, "just in case."

You nodded as you took the paper into your hands, carefully folding it and tucking it into your pocket. "Thanks."

‘I guess showing anger makes him cooperative’, you thought bitterly. ‘This is going to be a long project.’

"Oh yeah," you added, looking back up at him. "And when is it due?"

Takao shrugged, his shoulders lifting in a lazy motion. "Three weeks?"

"You sound unsure," you pointed out, narrowing your eyes.

"Could be longer or could be shorter," Takao shrugged again, like the due date was nothing more than a vague suggestion rather than an actual deadline.

He didn't seem to have a single care in the world, and it was starting to get under your skin.

"Then it's best if we get started earlier," you insisted, crossing your arms. "Are you free today?"

"Oi, I said it could be longer!" Takao threw his hands up, exasperated. "No need to rush this shit."

"And you also said it could be shorter!" you shot back, refusing to back down. "Wouldn't it be best if we get this done sooner? That way, we don't have to worry about it anymore once we're done.."

"Young Sheldon wannabe ass," Takao muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You gasped in offense, your hand flying to your chest like he'd personally insulted your entire bloodline. "Oh, I'm sorry for caring about my academic grades then!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't act so sensitive like a little girl over a joke," Takao said, waving his hand dismissively. "Man up a little, jeez."

Your eye twitched. "Didn't know I was paired up with one of you toxic masculinity guys," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't be so sexist, that's why you're always so miserable looking."

"Ay man," Takao raised his arms up in defense, though his smirk never quite left his face. "You found it sexist, I found it funny. I may be miserable-looking but I'm happier than you'll ever be." He paused, his smirk widening. "I'm not a Wren cult follower, unlike you."

You felt your jaw tighten. "At this point, you're just doing the most." You sighed heavily, shaking your head as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I don't know how far that stick is up your ass, but please, for the love of God, deflect yourself."

"Tch. Whatever." Takao clicked his tongue, finally starting to walk toward the door. He paused at the threshold, glancing back at you over his shoulder. "Just so you know, I'm free until 8pm sharp." And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared from view.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, your arms still crossed tightly over your chest. ‘Is it really worth it to lose my sanity over a project?’ you thought, your shoulders sagging with exhaustion. ‘Can't believe I'm stuck with this obnoxious guy.’

You stared at the phone number scrawled on the torn piece of paper, trying to familiarize yourself with the digits. Takao's handwriting was messy — but you managed to decipher it after a few seconds of squinting. You repeated the numbers in your head a couple of times, hoping they'd stick.

‘Oh crap’, you thought suddenly, your stomach dropping. ‘What about Takara's phone?’ 

You hadn't even considered it until now. In all the chaos of the day — you'd completely forgotten that you were walking around with someone else's phone in your pocket. Or at least, you hoped you were. 

You quickly went to your bag and rummaged through it, your fingers brushing against notebooks, pens, and loose change before finally grabbing a sleek black device.

To your surprise, it was fully charged. The battery icon sat at 100%, glowing green and healthy. ‘That is weird’, you thought, turning the phone over in your hands. ‘It also doesn't have a passcode.’ You swiped the screen and it opened immediately, no fingerprint required, no pattern to draw.

‘It's almost like... somebody purposely set this up for me.’

You pushed the thought aside for now and unlocked the phone, your eyes scanning the home screen. There weren't many apps — just the basics: messages, calls, a camera, and a few social media platforms you recognized.

You opened the contacts list and felt your heart sink.

At the very top was Wren, saved with a heart emoji next to his name. That was obvious, considering it was Takara's phone. But what made your stomach churn was the call history. The last time Takara had called Wren was a week ago, but the real kicker was the 57 missed calls — all from you.

Fifty-seven times Takara had called Wren, and Wren hadn't picked up once.

‘No wonder Wren doesn't like him back. But then again Wren isn’t the best option as a crush either’, you thought bitterly, scrolling through the list. ‘I'm starting to think Takara isn't as great as I thought he was.’

You sighed as you continued scrolling down, expecting to find at least a few other names — classmates, acquaintances, maybe a distant relative or two. But no. It was only Wren, your mom, and your dad. Three contacts. That was it!

‘What the hell?’ you thought, your brow furrowing. 

You checked the block list just in case, and your eyes widened at what you found. It was a long list — a very long list — of blocked contacts. Names upon names upon names, scrolling for what felt like forever. You didn't recognize most of them, but you had a sinking feeling that it was practically the entire school. 

Anyone who had ever interacted with Wren, anyone who had ever so much as looked at him the wrong way, had been blocked by Takara at some point.

‘Would it be too late to unblock them?’ you wondered, staring at the endless list. You sighed to yourself, deciding to deal with that another day, and typed in Takao's phone number instead. You saved it under a new contact name, fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before typing in "Assface." It felt fitting.

You were about to shut the phone off and shove it back into your bag when a notification popped up at the top of the screen. 

A message. 

From Wren.

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen. 

You knew you shouldn't look. You knew the best thing to do was ignore it, pretend you never saw it, and continue with your plan of fading into the background. But curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help but click on the notification. 

It's not like Luka could see your private messages, right?

My Soulmate💘: Hey (M/N)! Let's hangout :) My dorm or ur dorm?

You stared at the message, your heart pounding uncomfortably in your chest. 

‘My dorm or your dorm?’ The casualness of it felt wrong somehow, especially after everything that had happened today.

You sweatdropped, your thumb hovering over the keyboard for a moment before you made a decision. You locked the phone and shoved it back into your bag, screen down, notifications silenced.

You decided not to answer it.

You finally got out of the elevator and walked through the corridor, your footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors.

Room 101, you reminded yourself over and over, practically chanting it in your head like a mantra, as if afraid you'd accidentally walk into the wrong room and end up in some stranger's dorm.

The first floor housed the student council office, so it'd be no surprise for Isaac's dorm to be located near it — convenient for him, probably, since he seemed like the type who liked to be close to his work.

Your eyes locked onto a door that had a small brass sign reading "Room 101."

This was it.

Your new home for the foreseeable future.

You let out a sigh of relief as you made your way toward the door, your bag slung over one shoulder and your suitcase rolling behind you.

You had pretty much reread the manga multiple times back in your old life, enough to already memorize how each background setting looked in common scenes, so you were fairly familiar with your ways throughout most parts of the school.

The layout of the dorms, however, had never been shown in much detail — but you trusted your instincts.

As you unlocked the door quietly — the key sliding into the lock with a soft click — you pushed it open and stepped inside.

Your eyes widened instantly, your jaw going slack as you took in the room interior. It was massive. Not just large, but massive.

High ceilings, hardwood floors, large windows draped with velvet curtains, and furniture that looked like it cost more than your entire old apartment's yearly rent. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting soft golden light across the space. 

‘If this is the student council president's dorm’, you thought, your head swiveling around to take it all in, ‘then imagine how the regular student dorms look!’

As you made your way further inside, rolling your suitcase across the smooth floor, you noticed Isaac on the couch in the living room.

He had a blue durag over his head, the fabric wrapped neatly around his hair, and he was in pajamas — a simple white t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants. His back was facing you, so he had no view of you coming in

Apparently he couldn't hear you either, because he was very much distracted by the TV display in front of him, which was blasting at what seemed like the maximum possible volume. The sound shook the room, a cacophony of tiny meows and squeaks that echoed off the walls.

You narrowed your eyes at the TV screen, trying to make sense of what you were seeing.

‘It's an 11-hour compilation of cute kittens,’ you realized, your eye twitching slightly. ‘And so far, he has watched 7 hours in.’ A small progress bar at the bottom of the screen confirmed it — seven hours and twelve minutes.

‘Talk about dedication’, you thought, shaking your head in disbelief. The Isaac Kingston — stoic, untouchable, perfect Student Council President — was seven hours deep into a kitten compilation. In his pajamas.

Feeling awkward and not wanting to interrupt Isaac and his... entertainment, you decided to just walk past him.

You kept your footsteps light, your breathing shallow, hoping to slip into your room unnoticed. The suitcase wheels glided silently across the floor, and for a moment, you thought you might actually make it.

Just as you reached what seemed to be your dorm room — a door at the end of the hallway with a small plaque that had your name handwritten on it — your door somehow let out a loud creak.

The sound was sharp and piercing.

You froze, your hand still on the doorknob, and watched as Isaac snapped his head in your direction, his grey eyes wide with surprise.

"(M/N)?" he said, his voice barely audible over the TV. "I didn't hear you through the door."

You gave him a nervous smile, your teeth pressed together awkwardly. "Probably because the volume of the TV is at the max," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the screen where a tiny orange kitten was batting at a ball of yarn.

You turned back to your dorm, ready to escape into the safety of your new room, when Isaac called your name again. "(M/N), wait." His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. "Please. I have to... ask you something."

You turned to look at Isaac, raising an eyebrow. He looked rather flustered — his cheeks were slightly flushed, his grey eyes darting away from yours, and his fingers were fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. This was not the composed, confident Student Council President you'd met earlier.

"Yeah?" you said, your voice louder than usual so he could hear you over the relentless meowing.

Isaac swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. He hesitated for a long moment, his lips parting and closing like he was trying to find the right words. Then, finally, he spoke. "Could you, uhm..." He paused again, looking almost embarrassed. "Could you show me how to exit from the video and how to turn down the volume?"

You blankly stared at him for a while, your brain struggling to process what you'd just heard.

Isaac Kingston didn't know how to exit a video or turn down the volume on a TV. 

The irony was almost too much to handle. Your lips twitched. Then they curved upward. And before you knew it, you began to burst into giggles.

You couldn't help it. You sort of found it endearing, honestly. Isaac didn't know how to figure out a TV despite him being very smart, and there was something strangely charming about that contradiction. The great Isaac Kingston, brought low by a remote control and a kitten compilation.

"Sorry- I-" you continued to wheeze in laughter, doubling over slightly as you clutched your stomach. "I'm going to piss myself!"

Isaac only looked down even harder in embarrassment, his grey eyes fixed on the floor like he was trying to bore a hole through it with his gaze. He stood there awkwardly, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into his sweatpants pockets. 

"I do not wish to know about your bladder activities," he said stiffly, his voice tight.

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, still chuckling, and made your way toward the TV. 

You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and clicked the volume button repeatedly until the meowing faded to a reasonable level. The sudden silence was almost jarring.

"If you want to shut the TV down," you said, holding up the remote and pointing to the power button, "just click this button here. See? It's red. Hard to miss."

Isaac only nodded quietly, his jaw tight, clearly recovering from the embarrassment. 

He took the remote from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment, and studied the button like it was a complex puzzle he was trying to solve.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice soft. "Thank you, (M/N)."

"No problem, unc," you snickered, already turning back toward your room.

"Unc?" Isaac tilted his head slightly in confusion, his brow furrowing. "What does that mean?"

You brushed him off with a wave of your hand. "It just means uncle."

Isaac blinked, processing your words. "I do not have any siblings nor any nieces or nephews," he said slowly, like he was working through a logical equation. "Why should I be called uncle?"

You sighed, turning back to face him. "I didn't literally mean to call you an uncle."

"Then what does unc mean?" His grey eyes were genuinely curious, and it made you want to laugh again.

"It just means you have uncle-like energy," you explained, gesturing vaguely at his whole... presence.

"How so?"

"Ah, I'll just tell you all about it later," you said, waving your hand dismissively. "It's a whole conversation."

"Okay." Isaac paused, then added, "Thank you again, (M/N). I was stuck with the video on the screen and I thought I had to watch the entire video to get rid of it."

Your heart softened slightly at his words. "Awe, you poor thing," you chuckled, shaking your head.

Isaac blinked again, his expression completely serious. "I'm not poor," he said, "and I'm also not a thing."

"It's an idiom," you said, fighting back another grin.

"Okay. Understood." He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away for later.

Silence fell between you. It was thick and awkward and seemed to stretch on forever. 

You shifted on your feet, suddenly very aware that you were standing in the middle of your new dorm room with the Student Council President, both of you in casual clothes, neither of you sure what to say next.

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 03 ; A New Friend

Chapter 4

You were lost in thought throughout the rest of the lecture.

Your chin rested in your palm, your eyes staring blankly at the front of the room without really seeing anything. The professor's voice faded into background noise. As much as you wanted to pay attention — and maybe at least try to pass your classes so you didn't flunk out of this weird isekai nightmare — you couldn't help but wonder how much control you actually had over the storyline.

Unlike everybody else in this room, you were the only one who knew how this whole thing was going to go. You’d already read the chapters, studied the character arcs, watched the slow change from romance to horror. 

Everybody here (the love interests) would progressively grow more insane and deranged as their love for Wren developed into full-blown obsession. They'd start turning against each other all for the sake of winning the affection of one boy who didn't even seem to realize how dangerous his admirers truly were.

‘What if I just... change the plot anyway?’ you thought, your brow furrowing as you stared at the whiteboard without seeing it. ‘As soon as I got isekai'ed here, things have already turned into a different direction. Maybe I could somehow get everybody onto good terms with each other without any romance in between?’

You chewed on your bottom lip, turning the idea over in your head. ‘Is it possible for a yandere to stop their obsession for their darling? Huh, I've never considered that before. But how would I even do that?’

You rubbed your forehead out of frustration, the skin growing warm under your palm. ‘If I just try to distance Wren from Luka, that would make Luka more likely to kill me even earlier. Damn it.’You sighed, your shoulders slumping. ‘And if I just stay a background character, someone else will still get hurt anyway. So it's not really a win-win situation here. Someone always ends up dying or hurt in this story.’

You sighed again, deeper this time, as you pondered deep in thought. 

Your eyes grew heavy without you realizing it. Everything all blurred together into a lullaby. 

Time continued to pass, and before you knew it, your head dipped forward and you dozed off to sleep, your cheek pressed against your folded arms on the desk.

You were awakened by someone shaking your shoulder — gently at first, then a little more firmly. 

You blinked, your vision blurry and unfocused as you tried to clear the groggy fog from your brain. You looked up, still half-asleep, and noticed a familiar face hovering above you.

Wren.

You jolted right up, your heart slamming against your ribs as you nearly knocked your laptop off the desk. 

Wren flinched at the sudden movement, his eyes widening for just a second before he giggled, "Sorry to disturb you~" he said, his hand still hovering near your shoulder like he wasn't sure if he should touch you again. "You looked so peaceful when sleeping! But it's lunch time now, so come on!"

You blinked several times as you processed his words, your brain still sluggish from sleep. 

"Lunch?" you repeated, your voice rough and groggy. "Oh.. uh, yeah." You slowly got up from your seat, your limbs stiff and uncooperative.

Wren immediately reached out to help you, his hand finding your elbow and steadying you as you swayed slightly. "You were sleeping the whole lecture," he said, his tone light and almost impressed. "Somehow the professor didn't even notice!"

"Hm." You hummed in response, your voice flat and uninterested, before you continued walking past him on your way to the door.

 Your footsteps echoed in the now-empty classroom, the sound bouncing off the walls as you made your escape. But Wren quickly followed up behind you, his shoes tapping against the floor as he matched your pace. 

“What are they serving today?" you asked, not because you really cared, but because you didn’t really like the awkward silence between you two.

Wren gave you a closed-eye smile, his expression warm and familiar in a way that made your chest ache for reasons you didn't want to examine.

 "Well, they're serving us various types of pasta. There's many types of sauce to choose from!" Without warning, he grabbed your hand — his fingers lacing through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world and began to drag you outside.

This caught you by surprise, your feet scrambling to keep up as you trailed behind him. "Wa-wait, where's Luka?" you asked, your head turning to glance behind you as if expecting the tall yandere to appear out of thin air and stab you on the spot.

Wren rolled his eyes, the gesture so casual and unbothered that it almost made you relax. "Chillax, he's running some errands I gave him for my own club!"

"Oh." You mumbled in response, your voice barely audible over the chatter of students in the hallway. 

Wren slightly winced at your dry responses — you could see it in the way his smile flickered and the way his grip on your hand loosened for just a second — but he tried to drop it, forcing his expression back to something brighter.

As you and Wren made your way through the halls, other students noticed your intertwined hands. Phones came up and cameras clicked. 

People began to snap pictures while giggling amongst themselves, their whispers trailing behind you like a shadow. You could feel their judgmental eyes on your back prickling against your skin like tiny needles.

Wren paid no mind to them, only greeting others with his charming smile and a small wave. 

He seemed completely unfazed by the attention, like this was just another day for him. And, it probably was. 

This was the usual reaction whenever Takara was clinging next to him — ever since preschool, apparently. The stalker and his unwilling victim, everyone knew the dynamic.

However, when he turned to look at you, he noticed your discomfort. Your shoulders were tense, your jaw was tight, and your eyes kept darting to the side like you were looking for an escape route. 

“Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

You flinched at the sudden question, your whole body jerking like you'd been zapped. "Uh, yeah," you said quickly, pulling your hand away from his. The absence of his warmth felt strange against your palm. "I just don't want other people to see us with our hands... y'know, holding."

Wren scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. "Since when do you care about that stuff? Usually I'm the one running away from you!" He said it jokingly, a playful grin tugging at his lips, before he attempted to hold your hand again.

You pushed his hand away, gently but firmly. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice quieter now. "I don't think we should do... that... anymore."

Wren suddenly stopped mid-step, his body going rigid. 

He turned to look at you with an expression you couldn't quite read — something behind his eyes made your stomach drop. "What?" he asked, his voice losing its usual warmth. "Why? Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?"

You froze, your hands raising defensively in front of you like you were warding off an attack. "U-uh, it's not like that," you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I just don't want people to get the wrong idea."

"But—"

"Gosh, I'm craving some spaghetti right now!" You hurriedly ran downstairs, your feet pounding against the steps as you fled the conversation. 

You didn't look back. You couldn't bare the sight. You just kept moving, putting as much distance between you and Wren as possible.

Behind you, Wren only stared at the back of your head, his expression unreadable. 

His hand was still half-raised from where you'd pushed it away. He blinked slowly, confusion swirling in his eyes along with something else — something darker that he didn't quite have a name for. 

Then he glanced down at his empty palm, flexing his fingers like he could still feel yours intertwined with his.

After a long moment, he hesitantly trailed after you, his footsteps slower than before.

As you finally made your way to the cafeteria, you noticed how huge the place was. 

Your eyes widened, taking in the high ceilings, the rows upon rows of tables, the massive windows letting in streams of golden afternoon light. 

It was practically ten times bigger than your entire apartment space back in your old life!

‘Today's my chance to make some friends’, you thought, your chest fluttering with something that felt dangerously close to hope. ‘…With the background characters.’ 

You scanned the room, your eyes skipping over the tables where Wren's love interests would eventually sit and focused instead on the quieter corners. 

The tables full of people who didn't have glowing auras or dramatic introductions. Just regular students..

You braced yourself as you approached a nearby table full of people that looked like it was missing one spot. There were about five of them — two girls, three guys — all chatting and laughing together, their trays half-empty and their postures relaxed. 

‘This is my opportunity!’ You excitedly beamed at the students, your heart pounding with nervous anticipation.

"Hey there," you said, offering what you hoped was a friendly smile. "Can I sit with you guys?"

Surprisingly, the laughter stopped. The chatter died. All five of them turned to look at you with deadpan expressions — flat eyes and blank faces. 

One of them, a guy with sharp features and darker skin, spoke out first. "Excuse you?"

You sweatdropped, your smile faltering. "Uh, sorry?"

"You seriously don't remember?" A female student spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. Her eyes were glaring at you. She had long braids pulled back from her face, and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest.

"Remember what?" you asked, genuinely confused. Your mind raced through the manga's chapters, trying to recall if Takara had ever interacted with these people. Nothing came up. They were complete blanks to you.

"The audacity of you to come up to our table," the girl continued, her voice rising slightly, "when you've been tormenting us since middle school for your beloved Wren!" She practically spat the last words out, her lip curling in disgust. "Shame on you! Turning to us when you don't have anyone when you've treated us so badly in the past?"

You were taken aback by the sudden snap, your body recoiling like you'd been physically struck. Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as you tried to compose yourself. "Uhm," you said, your voice small and uncertain, "I know we have had our differences in the past, but-“

"We don't wanna hear it!" another student interrupted, slamming his hand on the table. "Wren's mad at you and ignoring you, so that's why you came to us, isn't it?"

"Get out of here," the girl added, her glare never wavering. "Seeing your face here makes me sick!"

You quietly stood there for a while, the weight of their words pressing down on your shoulders. Your face felt hot. Your hands were trembling slightly at your sides. You could feel other tables starting to glance over, drawn by the commotion, their curious eyes adding to your humiliation.

Without another word, you turned in a different direction and walked away. Your footsteps were steady, even though everything inside you felt shaky and wrong. You kept your head up, your jaw tight, refusing to let them see how much their words had stung.

‘I'm not sorry this time’, you thought bitterly as you disappeared into the crowd. ‘Screw you, Takara.’

As you were lost in thought making your way to the cafeteria line, your mind still reeling from the rejection at the table, you accidentally bumped into somebody's back. Your face smushed against their shoulder blade for just a second before you stumbled backward, your hands flying up in apology.

"Shit, sorry! I didn't mean t-“

"(M/N)."

The voice was low, smooth, and utterly familiar in the worst possible way. 

You widened your eyes as you looked up and saw Luka standing right in front of you, his tall frame blocking your path like a wall of ice. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, unblinking.

"Oh," you said, your voice coming out higher than you intended. "Lukas."

"Luka."

"Luka." You immediately corrected yourself, swallowing hard. 

Your heart was already racing, and you hadn't even done anything wrong. That was just the effect this guy had on you, you guessed. The knowledge that he was capable of murder and had committed murder, in the original story made every interaction feel like walking on thin ice.

Luka narrowed his eyes at you, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Just so you know," he said, his tone flat, "I already took care of Wren's lunch."

"Oh! That's good.." you replied, nodding a little too enthusiastically. "I was just grabbing lunch for myself." 

You tried your best to maintain a calm composure, your hands shoved deep into your pockets to hide their trembling, even though you felt very nervous on the inside. Every instinct was screaming at you to run, but you forced your feet to stay planted.

Your response gave Luka a flicker of confusion — just a tiny crack in his stoic mask, there and gone in less than a second. 

His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, like he'd been expecting a different reaction. Maybe he thought you'd argue and insist on handling Wren's lunch yourself, the way Takara used to. But you didn't. That seemed to throw him off… 

"Yeah, right," he finally said, his voice dripping with skepticism.

You raised your eyebrow at him, a spark of annoyance cutting through your fear. "Yeah, really."

"Tch." Luka clicked his tongue before he decided to quietly storm off and pick his own lunch meal as soon as it was his turn in the line. 

His shoulders were tense, his jaw set, and he didn't spare you another glance as he grabbed a tray and started piling food onto it with more force than necessary.

You quietly watched him from a few steps back, your eyes tracking his every movement. 

‘Maybe I should have a talk with Luka’, you thought, tapping your chin thoughtfully. ‘If I just tell him I'm no longer interested in Wren, he'll drop his attacks on me in the future. He won't see me as a rival anymore.‘ You hummed to yourself in delight, feeling proud of your brilliant plan. It was simple. It was logical. It might just save your life.

The next thing you knew, Luka was gone. 

He'd grabbed his tray, piled it high with food, and was already walking toward a table near the windows. But before he disappeared into the crowd, he made sure to send a glare your way. 

His green eyes lingered on your face for just a moment longer than necessary, and then he turned and walked off without looking back.

You sighed to yourself, shaking off the chill that ran down your spine, and decided to take a tray from the stack at the start of the line. 

The metal was cool against your palms as you moved along the buffet, your eyes scanning the options. You grabbed a decent chunk of spaghetti noodles, twirling them with the serving tongs until you had a good portion, before adding in some rich tomato sauce and a few meatballs that smelled absolutely divine. 

The aroma wafted up to your nose, warm and savory, and you couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight of the plate of food in front of you. ‘When was the last time I had something actually good?’ you wondered, your stomach growling in response.

"Student ID please," a monotonous voice rang out from behind the counter. The lunch cook held out her hand expectantly, not even bothering to look up from her register.

You quickly dug into your pockets, patting down your jacket, your pants, your other pocket. Nothing. You checked again, your heart starting to race. 

Where was it? Did you leave it in your bag? Did you drop it somewhere? Your face flushed with embarrassment as the cook's expression grew more impatient.

"I'll pay for it!" A cheerful voice chirped out beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of their breath against your ear.

You flinched in surprise, your whole body jerking sideways as Wren appeared at your elbow like a ghost. He was already handing the lunch cook his own ID card, his smile bright and easy as he watched it swipe through the machine.

"I've got it covered," he said, turning to flash you a grin that seemed to sparkle under the fluorescent lights. "Don't worry about it!"

You awkwardly returned a small smile back, your lips twitching with uncertainty. "Thank you," you said, your voice soft, "but you really didn't have to."

"Oh don't!" Wren waved his hand dismissively, brushing off your protest like it was nothing. "It's all on me."

The cook handed Wren his ID card back, and you picked up your tray of food, your fingers gripping the edges tightly. The spaghetti looked even more appetizing up close, but your appetite was starting to fade under the weight of the situation.

"Come sit with me and Luka!" Wren said, already starting to walk toward a table near the large windows. "And no fighting this time. Remember when it led to a whole food fight in high school?" He glanced back at you with a playful glint in his eyes, like he was reminiscing about a fond memory instead of a chaotic disaster.

You winced, your shoulders hunching. "Was I that much of a menace back then?"

Wren giggled, the sound light and melodic. "Well, I wouldn't call you a menace, but yeah!" He laughed again, completely unaware of the dread pooling in your stomach.

‘No wonder these people hate me so much’, you thought to yourself, your eyes darting around the cafeteria. ‘Takara really burned every bridge he ever had, didn't he?’

As Wren led you on your way to a table near the windows, you noticed Luka's stern stare fixed on you from across the room. His green eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight, and his hands were resting on the table like he was ready to spring into action at any moment. ‘Shit!’

You immediately pulled back, your feet skidding to a halt. "Sorry," you said quickly, already backing away, "I don't think I should disturb you guys!"

Wren turned around, confusion written all over his face. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"You and Luka have fun!" You nervously grinned at Wren, your teeth pressed together in a grimace, before you turned and scurried off in the opposite direction. 

Your heart was pounding, your tray shaking slightly in your hands as you weaved through the tables, desperate to put as much distance between yourself and Luka's murderous glare as possible.

Wren attempted to grip your arm as you passed, his fingers brushing against your sleeve, but you ran off before he could get a solid hold. 

He stood there for a moment, his hand still outstretched, his expression unreadable. Then he mumbled something incomprehensible to himself, his brow furrowing. 

What was seriously going on with you? Was it about Luka? Was it about him? He couldn't figure it out, and the not-knowing was starting to eat at him.

Out of defeat, Wren lowered his hand and made his way to his table with Luka, sliding into the seat across from him. He picked up his fork, twirled it absently in his pasta, and sighed. "Looks like (M/N) won't be joining us," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Luka couldn't help but smile — a small, satisfied curve of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "It's going to be a peaceful lunch at last, then."

"Don't say that!" Wren snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. The words cut through the air, and even he seemed surprised by them. His eyes widened slightly, his fork clinking against his plate. "Sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I didn't mean to yell.”

Luka was taken aback by the sudden retort, his smile faltering for just a moment. But then his eyes softened, his expression melting into something almost tender. "It's okay, Wren," he said quietly, reaching across the table to rest his hand on Wren's. "It's okay."

You noticed a singular empty seat right ahead of you, tucked away in a quiet corner of the cafeteria far from the bustling crowds and the prying eyes. 

‘Finally!’ you thought, relief washing over you like a wave. You walked ahead and sat down at the seat, setting your tray on the table with a soft clatter. The metal chair was cold against your back, but you didn't care. It was away from Wren, Luka, and everyone else.

From a distance, you noticed Wren's table, which was now packed with many of his fans. 

Students crowded around him like moths to a flame, their laughter and chatter blending together. You also noticed that Luka had changed his seat — he was no longer across from Wren but right beside him, his arm draped casually over Wren's shoulder in a possessive gesture that made your stomach clench. 

‘Perhaps it's too late to stop Luka from obsessing after Wren’, you thought bitterly, poking at your spaghetti with your fork. ‘Damn. I keep messing up my plans.’

You sighed to yourself, the sound soft and tired, as you picked on your food without really eating it. The meatballs looked good, but your appetite had vanished. You twirled the noodles around your fork, watched them slip off, twirled them again.

Your attention drifted when a figure made his way to the left side of the table. You looked up, expecting another background character looking for a seat, and felt your eyes widen when you saw who it was.

Azure.

He stood there awkwardly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller. His curly hair was slightly messier than it had been in class, and there was a nervous energy radiating off him that you could feel from where you sat.

"H-hey.." he mumbled, his voice soft but loud enough for you to hear over the cafeteria noise.

"Oh, hey there," you said, giving him a polite smile. You gestured to the empty seat on the left side from you. "You wanna sit?"

Azure hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around like he was checking for witnesses, before he slowly lowered himself into the chair. He kept his gaze down, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

"I, uhm.. I'm s-sorry for the way I acted back in class," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In general bio..? I-.. I just thought it was a prank you were pulling — er, on m-me — when you ask- a-asked to be dormmates."

You widened your eyes, genuinely taken aback. "A prank? Why would you think it was a prank?" you asked, tilting your head. ‘Was it my tone?’ you wondered. ‘Did I look funny when I asked him? Was my smile too weird?’

Azure averted his gaze, his eyes fixing on his spiked bracelet as he twisted it around his wrist. "Well, er.. one of your.. uh, friend? Wren?" He swallowed hard. "He kept staring at me weirdly when you talked to me. I just… I don't know. It made me anxious."

You were dumbfounded, your mouth falling open slightly. "Wren?" you repeated, the name tasting strange on your tongue. "Oh, he's not my friend."

Azure snapped his gaze at you, his eyes wide with shock. "What? Bu— but what about.." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand like he was trying to summon the right words.

"What the other students said about me?" you finished for him, your voice dry. "Yeah. I mean, ever since I stepped foot into this building, they've been mocking me about it." You shrugged, stabbing a meatball with your fork. "But I decided to change and.. get help?" It wasn't entirely a lie. You were trying to change — just not in the way he probably thought.

"Ohh.." Azure nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I understand. I've gone through severe bullying for the way I dress myself." He tugged at the collar of his shirt, a self-conscious gesture that made your heart ache.

You gave him a sad look, your chest tightening with sympathy. You reached across the table and gently patted his shoulder, the touch light and careful. Azure flinched at first, surprised by the contact, but he didn't pull away. "I'm really sorry that's happening to you," you said softly. "Bullies are real assholes."

"I.. well, yeah.." Azure's voice cracked slightly, and you watched as tears began to stream in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to blink them away, but they kept coming — fat, glistening drops that rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the table. "It's really scary to just walk an-anywhere in fear of getting made fun of.." He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "It's.. it's been damaging my mental and physical health."

Your heart broke for him. You knew Azure was one of the love interests in the manga, but sitting here now, seeing him cry, he felt so painfully real. "Well," you said, your voice firm and gentle at the same time, "it's not your fault you're being bullied. And you don't deserve it at all." You paused, thinking. "If you want, I can help you walk to classes or to your dorm. To make you feel safer."

Azure gasped in surprise, his tear-streaked face snapping up to look at you. "W-wait, what? You'd do that?" His voice was incredulous, like he couldn't believe anyone would offer him such a thing.

You nodded as you smiled at him, warmth spreading through your chest. "Of course! I want to be here for you and protect you. It's okay to feel sad. I'm here to listen whenever you want to vent." You offered him a big grin, hoping it looked reassuring. "May I hug you?"

Azure nodded, his face flustered and red, and you stood up from your seat to wrap your arms around him. He was trembling slightly, his body tense at first, but then he melted into the embrace. He returned the hug, only tighter, his fingers clutching at the back of your shirt like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You're really nice," he mumbled into your shoulder, his voice muffled. "Thank you."

”Let’s be friends.”

Wren watched the interaction between you and Azure from afar, his fork frozen mid-air over his plate. His eyes narrowed slightly, tracking every movement — the way you patted Azure's shoulder, the way you smiled at him, the way you stood up to offer a hug.

He watched Azure cling to you like a lifeline, watched your arms wrap around him gently, and felt something twist sharply in his chest.

It was an unfamiliar sensation, something hot and unpleasant coiling beneath his ribs.

His jaw tightened. His grip on his fork became white-knuckled. He didn't understand why his heart was beating faster or why his stomach felt like it was sinking into the floor.

He just knew he didn't like it.

He didn't like watching you touch someone else. He didn't like watching you smile at someone else. He didn't like watching you hold someone else the way you used to only hold him.

Jealousy. That's what it was. He just didn't recognize it yet.

"Wren?" Luka's voice cut through his thoughts, low and questioning. "You're not eating."

Wren blinked, forcing his gaze away from your table. He looked down at his plate, at the pasta growing cold, and realized he hadn't taken a single bite. "Not hungry," he muttered, pushing his tray away.

Luka followed his gaze to where you were sitting with Azure, and his expression darkened. "Don't worry about him," he said softly, his hand squeezing Wren's shoulder. "He's not worth your time."

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 02 ; Dormmates

Chapter 3

Unbeknownst to you, Wren stared hard into the back of your head as you scurried away from him. 

His chest rose and fell. His fist squeezed hard at his side — his knuckles whitening and nails pressing into his palm — before he slowly forced his hand to relax. 

And then his signature smile slid back onto his face as he turned to greet another student approaching him with a nervous wave.

Nobody noticed a thing.

You eyed your new class schedule, squinting at the tiny text. General Biology was the first class.

You visibly winced at the subject. Science had never been your strong suit back in your old life, and something told you that being isekai'd into a manga wouldn't magically make you understand shit.

Just as you walked past the reception desk, you noticed the clock on the wall reading 7:33AM. Class only began at 8AM, so you had plenty of time to kill even after arriving at your classroom. Maybe you could befriend a fellow background character while you’re at it. 

‘Hold on’, you thought, stopping mid-step. ‘Where is my classroom located?’

You rechecked the schedule paper, your finger tracing the tiny printed letters until you found the room number.

Room 214. 

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment. ‘Second floor, room 14? That makes sense, right? Most schools followed that kind of numbering system.’ you wondered to yourself before shrugging and making your way toward a staircase.

As you stepped through the stairs, your footsteps echoing against the concrete, you couldn't help but notice glances made your way.

Quick looks, side-eyes, hushed whispers among a few students. Their voices were too low to make out, but their eyes kept darting toward you.

You frowned in confusion, your pace slowing just a little. ‘What on earth are they whispering about?’ you thought to yourself, tugging at the collar of your shirt. ‘Is it how I look?’ You glanced down at yourself, wondering if Takara's shirt had a stain or if you had something on your face.

"Yo, (M/N)!" somebody called out from further up the stairs. "Aren't you supposed to be with Wren?"

The comment erupted a few giggles and playful gasps from the surrounding students. You felt your cheeks warm as you whipped your head toward the source of the comment.

Much to your surprise ( and dismay) — it was Takao.

‘Ah. I should've known.’

Takao leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, a lazy smirk stretched across his face. He was one of the popular delinquents at school, he had always caused trouble and had some sort of rivalry against the Student councils. In the manga, he liked to pick on Takara for his infamous obsession with Wren and for also having a similar name to his. The writer really tried to add a comedy element to the horror thriller, which wasn't as funny now since your life could possibly come to an end soon by Luka.

"You can clearly see that he's not with me," you retorted back, your voice sharper than you intended. "Mind your business."

A few "ooo"s echoed among the students, their heads swiveling between you and Takao like they were watching a tennis match. You resisted the urge to groan.

‘How long is this stairwell? Gosh. It feels like I’ve been climbing for hours.’

Takao snickered, pushing off the railing and taking a step closer. "What, he snapped at you for stalking him again or something?” His smirk widened, clearly enjoying himself.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes — a full, exaggerated roll that probably made you look more annoyed than ever. Without another word, you quickly made your way up to the second floor, your feet carrying you faster than before, desperate to escape the stares and the whispers and the suffocating feeling of being watched.

Behind you, Takao's laughter echoed up the stairwell, followed by the group of students who definitely weren't done talking about you.

‘Welp, making friends here is going to be harder because of my reputation here. Sorry for saying this, but screw you Takara.’

As you scanned through the room numbers along the hallway, ‘208.. 209.. 210..’ your eyes finally landed on the small sign that read room 14. You let out a sigh of relief so deep it felt like you'd been holding your breath for the past ten minutes. Finally. Somewhere to sit down.

You twisted the door handle before stepping in, pushing the door open slowly as you took in the whole view before you. Everything in the room screamed "fancy" as you noticed the smartboard that probably cost more than your old apartment's monthly rent. You weren’t used to it and it made you feel slightly out of place just by standing in it.

You noticed there were only a few students in the classroom so far, scattered across the rows in clusters. A couple of them glanced up when you entered, their eyes lingering for a moment before drifting back to their phones or to eachother.

You did a quick sweep of the room and felt a wave of relief wash over you when you spotted no sign of Wren or Luka. That alone made you feel lighter than you had all morning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a guy with raven-colored curly hair who was sat right at the corner back of the room. His head was slightly turned away, face partially hidden, but something about him tugged at your memory. ‘He looks familiar’, you thought, tilting your head as you studied him from across the room. You couldn't quite place where you'd seen him before, but you had a feeling it was from the manga. A background character, maybe? Someone unimportant?

‘I might as well just sit at the back with him’, you decided. ‘Better to hide in the corner than sit out in the open where anyone could approach me.’

You let go of the door handle before you made your way inside, your footsteps soft against the floor. 

The stares hadn't even stopped. You could feel them following you as you walked past row after row, curious eyes tracking your every move. They were all probably wondering what a rare sight it was for you- or Takara, to be without Wren clinging to his side like a koala.

You tried your best to brush them off, keeping your gaze fixed ahead as you finally reached the back row. You slid into the seat right beside the curly-haired guy, the chair creaking slightly under your weight. As you glanced over, you noticed he had his head pressed down against the table, his arms folded beneath him like a pillow. Possibly taking a nap.

‘I feel you, bro’, you silently commented, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. You pulled out your laptop from your bag, setting it on the desk with a quiet thud, and let out another breath.

‘So far, so good. There’s not anybody important from the manga here... Maybe this day wouldn't be a complete disaster after all.’

Speaking of the devil, Wren pushed past the door.

The wooden frame swung open with a soft creak, and there he stood. But you weren't looking at Wren. Your eyes immediately darted to the figure behind him.

You could see Luka right behind Wren, his tall frame looming just a step back like a shadow that refused to separate from its owner. He had Wren's bag in his hand — because of course he did — and was staring at him with soft, loving eyes that made your skin crawl. Those eyes followed Wren like he was the only source of light in a dark room.

And then those eyes looked up.

Luka's gaze shifted from Wren to you, and his expression changed in an instant. The softness vanished. In its place was a menacing glare that pierced right through you like a knife sliding between ribs. You felt a shiver run down your spine, your fingers instinctively tightening around the edges of your laptop.

This went unnoticed by Wren, who was too busy frantically waving at you with the biggest grin on his face. His arm moved like a flag in the wind, eager and desperate for your attention.

You snapped your head away from Wren's eyes, turning your gaze firmly toward your laptop screen. You pretended like he wasn't there.

Wren's grin faltered. You could see it from your peripheral vision — the way his smile slowly flattened and his arm hesitated before he put it back down at his side. Something flickered across his face. Confusion? Hurt? You didn't want to look long enough to find out.

Luka, however, raised his eyebrows a little. A tiny movement, barely noticeable. He was a bit surprised — you hadn't made a scene so far. You.. were just... sitting there. Acting aloof. Ignoring the very person you were supposedly obsessed with.

‘Did something happen between you two?’ Luka wondered, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your face. A small smile began to grow at the thought, it was subtle. The idea of you and Wren falling out was... interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Wren hesitated before walking up the seats, his footsteps uncertain in a way. He made his way into the next table over, settling into the seat at the same row as you. Luka followed silently, sliding into the seat beside him .

Usually, Wren sat at the front of the classroom. That was his spot - the center of attention of the place so that everyone could see him. Meanwhile, Takara (you) and Luka competed for the seat next to him. But today was… different. You were in the back corner hidden  away and not even looking in his direction.

‘Did i do something wrong?’ Wren thought, his brow furrowing as he stared at the back of your head. ‘Or is this just a sick prank?’

As he turned to look at you, he sent you a little wave with a hopeful smile. You barely acknowledged him with a nod. That was it. A nod…? Okay. Something was definitely wrong.

The thought of you being upset at him settled into Wren's chest. It was a very uncomfortable feeling.It felt... wrong. Whatever he did must've been a huge mess up for you to ignore him like this. He replayed the conversation at the lockers in his head, searching for anything he might have said or done. Had he been too demanding? Was it because he didn’t try to contact you back during the break?

As Wren was lost in thought, his fingers tapping nervously against the desk, Luka reached out for his hand. Long, thick fingers brushed against Wren's skin.

"Not now," Wren murmured, pulling away without even looking at him. His eyes were still fixed on you.

Luka frowned, his jaw tightening, but he complied anyway. He pulled his hand back and settled deeper into his seat, his gaze shifting back to you with renewed interest.

You opened your laptop and turned it on, the screen glowing to life as you waited for it to boot up. You glanced at the time in the corner of the screen. 7:48AM.

‘Damn’, you mentally groaned, fighting back a sigh of frustration. ‘Time goes so slow at the worst time.’

You couldn’t help but think about Luka. In the manga it revealed a quick flashback to when Luka and Wren first met in middle school. Luka was a meek, helpless nerd who was getting picked on by his classmates when Wren swooned in to save Luka. That was when Luka fell inlove and made a vow to train hard enough to protect Wren as payback.

‘There’s been a  lot of storylines with Wren saving others.. huh.’ You thought to yourself. 

Takara definitely wasn’t happy about it when Wren and Luka became friends, or rather he was jealous Wren seemed to enjoy Luka’s presence more than he ever enjoyed his. That lead to a long competitive rivalry between him and Luka full of violence and attacks towards eachohtler

Your eyes drifted away from the clock and over to the guy sitting beside you — the one with the raven-colored curly hair who'd been napping when you first sat down. He was still mostly facedown, but you could see more of his profile now. He had a Smokey eyeliner with glittery doodles on his cheeks, he had a neon green dyed layer of hair underneath his back hair, ‘that’s pretty sick.’

As you fixed your gaze on him, you began to analyze his face more carefully. The longer you looked, the more something nagged at the back of your brain. A sense of recognition, but from where..?

‘Hold on’, you thought, your eyes widening as the pieces suddenly clicked together. ‘Isn't this Azure?’

You felt your stomach drop.

Azure was one of Wren's love interests — introduced later on in the story, around chapter thirty or so. He was quiet, mysterious, and had some kind of dark backstory. The readers loved him however he was pretty much bullied by everybody in the story. He was the outcast as everybody avoided him like the plague, made fun of for the way he dressed. And now he was sitting right next to you, asleep, completely unaware that he'd become your new seatmate.

Sitting next to him would likely lead to him and Wren interacting with each other. The manga had them meet when Azure was being bullied by a group of bullies when Wren chased them away — you couldn't remember the exact details — but it was wayyy too early for that. If Azure woke up and Wren noticed him, the plot might go a different direction (which it already is).

You stared at Azure's sleeping face, your heart pounding in your chest.

‘Great’, you thought bitterly. ‘Just great.’

You sweatdropped as you glanced at the time again. 7:50AM. The air in the classroom was thick with tension — at least on your end.

You glanced at the empty seat in front of you. ‘Maybe I should just… move seats’, you thought, your leg bouncing slightly under the desk. ‘Yeah. That’s a good idea. I could just relocate to the front of the room, far away from Azure..’

You quietly got up, pushing your chair back as softly as you could manage. The legs scraped against the floor just a little, but you hoped no one would notice.

Unfortunately, your movement was quickly noticed by Wren.

"Are you moving seats?" he asked, his voice sharp with sudden alertness. His head tilted, his eyes locking onto you with an intensity that made you freeze mid-step.

You snapped your head toward Wren and Luka, who were both staring at you now. Wren looked curious, almost hopeful. Luka, on the other hand, had his eyes narrowed into thin slits, studying you.

"Uhm, yeah," you said, scrambling for an excuse. "This chair is a bit uncomfortable for me."

Wren instantly lit up, his whole face brightening like you'd just given him the best news of the day. "Mind if I sit with you the-"

Suddenly, the door barged open again, the wooden frame slamming against the wall with a loud CRACK. Everyone in the room jumped — including you — as a middle-aged woman strode inside, her heels clicking against the floor with authority. This seemed to startle Azure awake as well, sitting up as he looked around in a confused state.

"Hello everybody and welcome to your first day of college!" she announced, her voice booming across the classroom.

You awkwardly sat back down, sinking into your seat with a defeated sigh.

‘Or maybe not’, you thought, staring blankly at your laptop screen as the professor began rattling off attendance policies and syllabus details.

“So much for escaping.“ you mumbled to yourself.

Wren pouted and sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he sank back into his seat. You tried not to look at him. You really did. But you could feel his gaze boring into the side of your head like a persistent drill.

"So everybody," the professor continued, clapping her hands together with forced enthusiasm, "since this is your first day of college, what about we all individually do a self introduction! Say your name and at least give three fun facts about yourself, yeah?"

You winced at the mention of self introductions. ‘Gosh,’ you thought, your stomach doing a little flip, ‘I remember dreading doing that back in my school days.’

It seemed like everybody else had the same reaction as you. The classroom erupted with groans and weary complaints. The professor's smile twitched at the edges, clearly unamused by the lack of enthusiasm.

"Fine!" she huffed, crossing her arms. "Raise your hand if you want to skip out on this and get straight to the lecture."

Unsurprisingly, everybody in the classroom raised their hands. The professor stared at the sea of raised hands for a long moment before sighing in defeat.

"Alright then, let's get starte-"

"I want to participate in the introduction!"

A cheerful voice called out right beside you. The professor looked genuinely surprised, but she was amused and nodded in approval.

Wren stood up with confidence, smoothing down his shirt as he looked around the classroom like he was addressing a crowd of thousands. "Hello everybody! My name is Wren and I am 19 years old. I love to socialize with new people and make new friends, social media is my part-time hobby, and I wish that we all get along~!"

He winked before he sat back down, his smile never faltering.

You swore you could see the light reflecting on him and only him — like someone had aimed a spotlight directly at his face while dimming the rest of the room. ‘Main character perks’, you thought bitterly. ‘Ugh.’

Everybody praised and applauded him, including the professor, who was practically beaming. "Very well, Wren! It was very nice of you to participate! It's only the first day of school and you are starting off strong, young man!"

‘Praising him for the bare minimum is crazy’, you mentally rolled your eyes at the glaze. He literally just said his name and three facts. And everyone was acting like he'd cured a disease.

As the cheering slowly died down, there was a knock on the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Everyone's heads turned toward the entrance.

There stood Isaac, the President of the Student Council.

You couldn't help but be in awe at how good looking he was. You already knew he was charming in the manga — the panels did him justice, sure, but to see it in person was even more dazzling. His purple-colored cornrows were freshly done and neatly pulled back just enough to keep his face clear. The morning light streamed in through the windows, warming his deep brown skin to a rich amber that seemed to glow. His blazer was immaculate, not a single wrinkle in sight, and he held himself with confidence that made everyone else in the room quiet.

"Apologies if I was interrupting, ma'am," Isaac bowed to the professor, his voice smooth and polite. Then his grey eyes  turned to look at the students in front of him.

"Good morning, everybody. My name is Isaac Kingston, the Student Council President of Kat Academy. I am here to quickly announce that we need to sort out your roommate assignments for the dormitories. You will room in pairs of two. You may choose your own roommate, but there are two rules: no opposite genders together, and you must both agree. You have ten minutes to find a same-gender partner. Go ahead and quietly turn to the person next to you or scan the room. Remember: same gender only. If you can’t find a dorm mate, it will be randomly assigned instead. Thank you."

Isaac was another one of Wren's love interests — an unattainable enigma, captivating everyone with his stoic yet approachable demeanor. You remembered reading his introduction chapter like it was yesterday. The fandom had lost their minds over him and the writer had slowly peeled back his layers to reveal something darker underneath.

Isaac is the perfect example of someone with pretty privilege. A charming and good-looking rich boy with a bunch of opportunities and potential at his disposal, who has had everything in life handed to him on a silver platter. 

The girls fawn over him and the boys admire him from afar, all of them trying to catch his attention. He comes from a wealthy family who spoiled him rotten.

However, underneath it all, Isaac desperately wishes he could be treated like a person and not just a piece of eye candy. He knew everyone already likes him, but he still wanted to be liked — differently. Not for his looks, money, or his status. Just... for him.

When Isaac and Wren had their first encounter in the manga, Wren treated him with respect and kindness — treating him as a regular person and not a fragile vase to be handled with care. That made Isaac fall head over heels for Wren, his admiration bordering on obsession so quickly it gave readers whiplash.

And now here he was. Standing at the front of the classroom.

‘Great’, you thought. ‘Another one.’

The classroom began to be filled with chatter as students started wandering around the desks, pairing up with friends or awkwardly approaching strangers.

Wren bit his lip in frustration, his fingers drumming against his desk. His fans had paid for a private suite just for himself on campus — a luxurious little arrangement that meant he wasn't able to get a dorm mate at all. Not that he necessarily wanted one, but still. He couldn't just give the suite away either. That would do wonders to his reputation in a negative way. People would  say he was ungrateful or spoiled or both.

He gave you a sad smile as he turned his body toward you, his eyes soft and apologetic. "Sorry (M/N), I can't share a dorm with you because I have a private suite for myself."

‘What a way to flex your wealth on me.’ You mentally snorted. 

You nodded and shrugged, your shoulders lifting in a casual motion. "No worries," you said simply, before turning to look at Azure, who was busy on his phone with headphones plugged into his ears. His curly hair flopped over his forehead as he scrolled, completely oblivious to the world around him.

Wren was taken aback by your response. His eyes widened just a fraction, his mouth opening slightly like he'd been expecting something else entirely. He had expected you to full-on beg, whine, plead, or find creative solutions for this "problem" like Takara always did. Maybe offer to sleep on the floor or sneaking in after curfew. Something crazy like that.

"B-but (M/N)," Wren stammered, leaning forward in his seat, "don't you want to be dorm mates?"

You quickly turned to Wren, your expression neutral. "I mean sure, but your private suite doesn't allow dorm mates, right?"

"Well yes! But…" Wren trailed off, his words dying in his throat as you turned back to face Azure without waiting for him to finish. He couldn't help but feel frustrated — a tight, unfamiliar sensation twisting in his chest. You weren't giving him your full, undivided attention and that ticked him off.

You sighed as you reached out to tap Azure on the shoulder, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his uniform jacket. The touch caught him by surprise — he flinched slightly, his head snapping up like a startled deer. He took off his headphones slowly, letting them rest around his neck, before he mustered up a nervous smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Uh.. y-yes?" Azure stammered, his voice soft and shaky.

"Hey there!" you said, offering a nervous smile of your own. "I was wondering if you'd like to become dorm mates?"

Azure widened his eyes, the light blue orbs going comically large. "Oh, m-me?" He pointed at himself like he couldn't believe anyone was talking to him. He was surprised anyone would even offer him such a thing. "Well uh…"

A deep red flushed tint spread across his face like wildfire, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His eyes darted between you and Wren behind you — a quick, panicked glance that took in everything. Wren's blank, unreadable face staring directly at him.

Azure felt his stomach drop.

Wren had a blank expression on his face as he stared deep into Azure, his gaze unblinking and cold. 

‘Wait’, he thought, his heart sinking. “Was this a prank? Damn it.’ He should have known. He should have expected it. This was probably some kind of joke on him.

Azure thought this was his one and only chance to make a friend. And now that chance was crumbling right in front of him.

Azure's nervous smile dropped. It didn't fade slowly — it just vanished, replaced by a sad frown that tugged at the corners of his lips. "S-sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the classroom chatter. "I already have a dorm mate."

You blinked in confusion, tilting your head. "Oh, really? But you didn't even move or ask-"

"Just leave me alone," Azure quietly snapped, his voice sharp despite its soft volume. He turned away from you, shoving his headphones back over his ears with more force than necessary, and hunched over his phone like he was trying to disappear into the screen.

‘Geez’, you thought, awkwardly turning back to face the front of the classroom. ‘Guess I have nobody now.’ You glanced around the room, watching pairs form and dissolve, but no one was looking your way. ‘I suppose I just have to inform Isaac about this. I don't even think I'll consider asking Luka either. No way in hell.’

Not like you could ask Luka anyway. He had disappeared from his seat at some point. You didn't bother searching for him. The less interaction with that guy, the better.

You stood up from your seat, your legs feeling a little stiff from sitting so long, and started making your way down the aisle toward the front of the classroom where Isaac was still standing with his clipboard. 

But before you could take more than a few steps, there was a firm grip on your wrist.

You looked back down to see Wren, his fingers wrapped around your skin like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. His eyes were blank.

"(M/N)," he said softly, his voice almost fragile. "Are you mad at me?"

You blinked, processing the question. "Uhh… no? Why would you think that?"

Wren looked down, his lashes casting small shadows on his cheeks. His expression was blank. "I don't know," he admitted. "You just seem... different."

You sweatdropped, a nervous laugh bubbling up in your throat. "New year, new me!" you forced out, your smile strained and probably unconvincing. Before he could respond, you pulled your arm away gently and continued walking down the aisle toward Isaac.

Behind you, Wren sat frozen in his seat, his hand still hovering in the air where your wrist had been.

You made your way down to the front of the classroom where Isaac stood, his clipboard held against his chest like a shield. 

His grey eyes were scanning the room, taking note of who was pairing up with whom, his expression calm and unreadable. A few students had already approached him to confirm their roommate choices, and he nodded along patiently each time, marking something down on his paper with a sleek black pen.

"Excuse me, sir?" You called out quietly, stopping a few feet away from him. "I don't have a dorm mate for myself."

Up close, he was even more striking than he'd seemed from across the room. You noticed the sharp line of his jaw, the way his uniform fit perfectly across his broad shoulders, and the faint scent of cologne that clung to him — something woody and expensive. You swallowed down your nerves, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though every instinct was telling you to look away.

Isaac turned to look at you, his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise at being addressed as "sir."

 "Okay," he said, his voice calm and polite. "And you are?"

"(M/N) (L/N)," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Isaac glanced over your shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the room in a quick, practiced motion before returning to you. He didn't look surprised by your answer — if anything, he looked like he'd been expecting at least a few students to end up partnerless. 

"I see. That happens sometimes. Don't worry. We have a list of students who also haven't found partners yet. You'll be assigned randomly unless you'd prefer to wait and see if someone approaches you."

You frowned slightly, your brow furrowing. "Can I at least make a special request?"

Isaac's lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close. The corner of his mouth lifted just a fraction.

"Unfortunately, no. The dormitory assignments need to be finalized by the end of the day, and we can't hold up the process for unpaired students. But I can assure you, we try our best to match people with compatible schedules and habits." He paused, tilting his head slightly, and you caught the way his grey eyes softened just a little. "Unless there's someone specific you had in mind?"

"Uhhh... actually, can I be assigned with anyone else except for somebody with the name of Luka Davis or Wren Upton?"

Isaac raised an eyebrow at you, his pen pausing mid-air. "Sorry?"

"Yeah, it's nothing personal," you said quickly, waving a hand like you were brushing off the question. "Anyway, is it possible to hire extra security for myself or like at least outside my dorm?"

Isaac's expression shifted, his curiosity replaced by something more serious. His posture straightened, and his grey eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

"... is there somebody threatening you?" His voice was lower now, firmer. "I take that very personally to keep the students safe."

"Well, not really," you admitted, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. "Just in case a knife-slashing killer gets on the loose and goes mad, y'know?"

Isaac stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose, almost like a sigh. "Sorry, we don't offer extra security for specifically anybody here. But we can keep a closer eye on any potential threats for you?"

"Oh. That sucks," you said flatly.

Isaac nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. He seemed to be thinking something over, his grey eyes searching your face like he was trying to figure out if you were being serious or just messing with him.

After a beat of silence, he spoke again, his voice softer than before. "If you're feeling very paranoid about your own safety," he said slowly, almost hesitantly, "I can assign you a dorm with me."

You blinked at him, sure you'd misheard. "What?"

"I have a spare bedroom in my dorm," Isaac explained, his expression unreadable. "It's larger than the standard doubles. There's space for another bed. If you're genuinely concerned about your safety, staying with the Student Council President would be... logistically simpler than trying to arrange special accommodations." He paused, tilting his head again. "Unless you'd prefer the random assignment?"

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting. Isaac Kingston — the untouchable Student Council President, the rich pretty boy, one of Wren's future obsessive love interests — was offering to room with you? This wasn't in the manga. This wasn't supposed to happen! Takara never got this close to Isaac. The plot was already shifting, and you had no idea if that was a good thing or a terrible one.

“Are you sure, sir? That.. seems like a lot.” You shifted on your feet, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him, "I mean, you don't even know me. I could be some kind of crazy person! Where are your survival instincts? I could steal your stuff or-“

"I'm willing to take that risk," Isaac interrupted, his tone dry but not unkind. "Besides, you asked about extra security and seemed disappointed when I said no. This is the closest I can offer. Take it or leave it."

You sighed to yourself, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it. Whether you liked it or not, you were already changing the plot ever since you got isekai'ed. There was no undoing that now. 

The manga's original timeline had already been nudged off its rails the moment you opened your eyes in Takara's bedroom, and every choice you made from here on out would either push it further or somehow drag it back. But you were pretty sure you could still interact with the other characters as long as you weren't directly interfering in Wren's love life. That was the real danger zone because that was what got Takara killed in the first place. Stay away from that mess and maybe you'd survive.

You shrugged to yourself,. "Sure," you said simply. "Bye."

Isaac blinked at your abrupt response, clearly caught off guard by how quickly you'd shifted from hesitant to agreeable. His lips parted like he wanted to say something else — maybe ask for your dorm number, or clarify the details, or ask what the hell was going on with you — but you were already turning on your heel, already stepping back toward your desk.

Behind you, Isaac let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head as he marked something down on his clipboard. "Weird..," he murmured to himself, barely audible over the classroom chatter. 

Avidity : The quality of being extremely eager or interested

One late night, you drift off after binge-reading your favorite horror manga—only to wake up in another world. To your horror, you’ve been reincarnated as a minor side character who was originally killed off by the main protagonist. Determined to survive, you hatch a cunning plan: avoid the protagonist, dodge every love interest, and fade into the background as a forgettable extra. But fate has other plans. One by one, they start noticing you—and your quiet rebellion only makes you more irresistible.

Ch. 1 ; A New Beginning

Chapter 2

You blankly stared at the glowing screen in front of you, motionless, your eyes half-lidded and focused on an edit of your favorite character from a BL manga - Takara Kazuo. Considering he barely has any screen time, every single piece of media featuring him felt special to you.

Takara wasn't the main character. He was barely one of the love interests. He was a side character - barely a footnote in the grand, bloody tapestry of the story. The weirdo, obsessive fanboy who trailed after the popular guy with desperate eyes and trembling hands, used for exactly one major plot event before the writers carelessly ended him. Killed off mid-series like he'd never mattered at all.

It was a shame, really. You wished the writers had given more to Takara's character instead of leaving him in the main lead's shadow. He had so much potential to be one of the main characters, and yet he was thrown away once he served his purpose in the story - later replaced by another love interest like he never mattered at all.

Takara ended up being exposed as the one behind a smear campaign against the main character, Wren Upton. It was a twist that came out of nowhere apparently because Wren had rejected him beforehand for being a massive weirdo. The narrative framed it like some big betrayal, but anyone paying attention could tell it didn’t fit his character at all. Still, the story pushed forward, merciless. And as punishment for his so-called crimes, Takara was killed off by the main antagonist - who also happened to be the main love interest (aka yandere) of Wren.

That was the cruelest part! 

The same antagonist who murdered Takara didn’t just take his life - but had the nerve to take his role. His position as the obsessive, devoted character was quickly replaced, as if Takara had never even existed. And the story continued on like nothing had happened. 

You’d read that arc so many times it was practically burned into your memory. And every single time, it left you with the same hollow feeling in your chest.

You groaned to yourself, thumb swiping away the edit as you checked the time at the top of your bright phone screen.

3:04AM.

The numbers glowed back at you, really sharp annd contrasting against the dark of your room. Not that it really mattered anyway. You'd dropped out of school like a long time ago, no real reason to care about something as small as the hour.

These days, you'd been taking night shifts at some local convenience store just to scrape by. The pay was barely anything, sure, but it was enough. Enough to cover your tiny apartment and waste your paycheck on mangas and food. You didn't care enough to want more than that.

A degree? A career? A future that made your parents proud?What was the point?

You slammed your head onto your desk. The dull thud echoed through the quiet room, but you barely felt it. 

You wondered, not for the first time, what life would be like if you lived inside the manga world. If you had a life with cool people and actual things to look forward to - instead of just existing day after day, waiting for nothing in particular.

You began to drool at the thought, your cheek pressed flat against the cool wood of your desk. 

Wouldn't it be nice to have friends that actually cared for you? People who checked in on you not out of obligation but because they genuinely wanted to know if you were okay? The feeling of looking forward to each day that came rather than dreading the moment your eyes opened. Not having to come home to a messy house with takeout containers and instant noodle cups stacked up everywhere, the smell of stale food clinging to the air because you couldn't remember the last time you bothered to clean.

The thought made you feel so giddy, a small smile forming against your will. You knew it was genuinely impossible, of course. None of it was real. The characters, the world, the warmth you imagined - all of it existed only between pages and panels. But you didn't want to let reality ruin your dreams. Reality had already taken enough from you. So you let yourself sink into the fantasy, just for a little while.

As you continued to daydream, your eyes growing heavy and your breathing slowing, you felt yourself drifting. The edges of your room blurred before everything shifted into darkness.

"(M/N)! It’s time to get up!” A muffled voice yelled from somewhere far away, yet it was loud enough for you to hear. It sounded urgent, maybe even a little annoyed, but you couldn't quite place who it belonged to. 

“(M/N)!!!! Did ya hear me?!” The voice called out again, slightly clearer this time, and it was enough to cause you to slowly open your eyes…

You slowly opened your eyes - only to find yourself in a completely different room.

You jerked up in surprise, your heart slamming against your ribs as you looked around wildly. Countless pictures stared back at you from every wall, every shelf, and literally every other available surface. Photos taped up with obvious care, and they were all of the same person…

Wren. It was all Wren Upton.

Wren laughing with his highschool buddies, Wren being asleep. Wren lost in thought, unaware he was being watched.

Your once blurry vision became 20/20 clear as day as you vigorously looked around, your head snapping from one corner to the next as you tried to process what was going on. 

Hold on- This looked familiar…

The messy arrangement of photos. The desk covered in sketches and scribbled notes. The way the lighting came through the single window just so.

You furrowed your brows, your lips parting as the pieces slowly clicked together in your brain.

"Hang on," you muttered under your breath, your eyes widening as the realization hit you like a truck. "This is… Takara's bedroom.. from the manga!"

You paused for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as the realization crashed into you like a wave of ice water.

"I’m in… the manga!?" you whispered-yelled louder and more frantically —“How is this possible?!”

You audibly gasped in horror as you bolted up from the bed and started pacing around, your bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. Your hands in your hair as you took the view in — the shrine of Wren was somehow even more intense in person than it had looked in the panels. Photos layered over photos. Little hearts drawn in every photo with crosses marked onto other people in the background.

"Okay, so…" you mumbled to yourself in an eerily calm voice that did absolutely nothing to hide the internal panic churning inside your stomach. You could feel it twisting and knotting, a cold dread spreading through your chest even as your voice stayed steady. 

“I just.. need to go wake myself up. This is a dream, (M/N). You are in a dream.”

You tried your best to convince yourself as you hurried out of Takara's bedroom and into the attached bathroom, your footsteps fe fi fo fum’ed. The tiles were cold beneath your bare feet- or Takara's feet, you reminded yourself, glancing down at unfamiliar socks and unfamiliar pajama pants. 

You shook your head and focused on the sink, twisting the handle to the coldest temperature possible until the water ran icy and sharp.

You poured water into your cupped hands and splashed yourself with it frantically over and over again, each splash more desperate than the last. The cold stung your cheeks, dripped down your chin, soaked into the collar of your — TAKARA’S — shirt. You rubbed your eyes hard, blinked a few times, and then looked up at the mirror.

‘I’m still here… I’m STILL HERE?’

‘Damn, this is a long dream!’ you groaned, frustration bubbling up in your chest. You hesitated for just a second before slapping yourself on both sides of your cheeks, again and again.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The sting was real. The heat spreading across your face was real. But nothing changed. The bathroom tiles didn't fade. The mirror didn't melt away. You were still here.

"(M/N)-? what the hell are ya doing?!"

You froze mid-slap. A woman appeared right before the bathroom door, arms crossed and hip leaning against the doorframe. She stared at you with a deep scowl etched into her features, her sharp eyes scanning you up and down like you'd lost your mind entirely. Which, to be fair, you were starting to think you had.

"This is your first day of college and you're acting all looney toons?!" she continued, her voice rising with each word. "What is this, another excuse of yours to skip school and break into Wren's house? This isn't high school anymore!"

She kept going, her mouth moving faster than you could process, but you barely heard the rest of it. Your brain had snagged on something else entirely.

‘First day of college?’

You stared at the woman — Takara's mother, you realized with a jolt, recognizing her from a single panel in the manga — and felt the panic in your stomach spike to new heights. You were in the very start of the whole story.

Which meant Wren's first day. Which meant HIM. The main antagonist. The one who would eventually kill you — kill TAKARA— without a second thought.

"Oh," you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper. "Oh, I'm so screwed."

"Well damn right ya are. Now get dressed, you have to start packing! I'll pack up your breakfast so ya better eat them on yur way!"

Takara's - or.. your… mom hissed before turning on her heel and disappearing from the doorway. You could hear her muttering something under her breath as she walked down the hall. Funnily enough, she reminded you of your REAL mother. 

You motionlessly dropped your hands to your sides, your palms still stinging slightly from all the slapping, and slowly turned back toward the mirror. For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at yourself in the harsh bathroom light.

You still looked like yourself. Same eyes, same nose, same everything. But somehow, there was a radiant glow to your face that had never been there before. Your skin looked clearer. Your cheeks had a little color in them. Your eyes, usually tired from too many late nights actually seemed bright for once.

For the first time in a long time, you didn't hate every single feature about yourself as you stared at your own reflection. That was … strange.. — yet it felt kinda good. You tilted your head left, then right, noticing your jawline was more defined. You actually considered yourself decent looking for once.

‘Maybe this isn't too bad after all..’

You took a deep breath and straightened your shoulders, your mind already racing ahead.

‘Okay. So this must be a rare case of isekai. Or just a messed up dream I can’t wake up from. Either way, I’m not about to risk my ass getting clapped in any way possible. I know how this story went so I might as well avoid Wren and everybody else.’

You watched as the car slowed down in front of a huge building.

"KAT ACADEMY," it wrote in huge, bold letters stretched across the entrance. Students were at about the front gates, some laughing with friends, others dragging their fancy ol’ suitcases, and a few just standing around looking as lost as you felt.

You felt your heart race, the familiar thumping against your ribs growing louder the closer you got to the drop-off zone. 

‘Just stick to the plan, (M/N)’, you reminded yourself, gripping the strap of your bag so tight your knuckles went white. ‘Ignore the characters and get to the huzz.’

The man in the driver's seat glanced over at your nervous state, his eyes soften, "You got this, champ," he said, reaching over to ruffle your hair. "And oh, don't forget to say hi to Wren for me, will ya?" He gave you a warm smile, "I'm gonna miss ya. I hope you get a nice dorm for you and your roommate."

You couldn't help but smile back at the man — Takara's father, you reminded yourself, though something about him felt familiar in a way. Maybe it was the genuine care in his voice, it felt really comforting when you’ve never been spoken to like that before in a long time. Either way, you found yourself relaxing just a little.

"Uh, thanks… dad," you said, the word feeling strange on your tongue but not entirely unwelcome. "I'll try to contact you and ma from time to time."

"You better," he joked, chuckling as he put the car in park and turned to face you fully. "Alright now, make the best of yourself."

You nodded, took a deep breath, and opened the car door. The moment your feet touched the pavement, the plan solidified in your mind again. Avoid Wren. Avoid everyone important. Get through the first day unnoticed and find a quiet corner of the academy to hide into.

‘How hard could it possibly be?’

You walked to the back of the car and popped open the trunk, revealing your loaded suitcase sandwiched between a spare tire and an old rag. With one quick lift, you were able to haul it out and set it down on the pavement without nearly throwing your back out. 

‘Huh’, you thought. You blinked down at your arms, then at the suitcase, then back at your arms.. ‘It's way easier to lift things now.’

You glanced at your arms, flexing them slightly out of sheer curiosity. Your eyes widened a little. They were slightly more muscular now, more toned than you'd ever been in your entire life. Not bodybuilder levels or anything dramatic to be exact, but definitely noticeable.

‘Damn’, you thought, a small grin tugging at your lips. ‘They made me jacked.’

You couldn't help but admire your arms as you continued lifting your stuff out of the car trunk — each item felt lighter than it should have, and you found yourself almost enjoying the small thrill of realizing you weren't as pathetically weak as you used to be.

Finally, at last, you closed the trunk door with a satisfying thunk before making a hand gesture to your dad. He was watching you from the driver's seat with that same warm smile still on his face. 

You waved him one last goodbye, and he gave a little nod before pulling away from the curb and driving off slowly, his car disappearing around the corner until all that was left was the distant shape of the car.

You sighed to yourself, turning back to look at your pile of bags scattered across the sidewalk. Students passed by, some glancing at you, most too absorbed in their own first-day chaos to care. 

You were just about to figure out how to carry everything when you noticed a volunteer worker walking over with a luggage cart, her bright orange vest stood out.

"Need any assist?" She asked, already reaching for your suitcase.

You awkwardly smiled and nodded, feeling a little embarrassed but mostly relieved. "Oh, yeah, uh- thanks."

The worker just nodded and began loading your bags onto the cart with ease. You followed behind her like a lost duckling, already scanning the crowd for any familiar faces. Wren. The love interests. Anyone who looked like they belonged in a manga panel (which wasn’t so hard because they would have any unnatural, brightly colored hair)

As you looked around the front entrance of the college, following behind the volunteer worker with your luggage cart, you noticed something from a distance. A crowd of students had gathered near the drop-off zone, their voices rising in excited chatter.

They were welcoming and encircling someone as he stepped out of his car.

”OH MY GAWDDDD, IT’S WREN!!!”

”IS IT JUST ME OR HAS HE BECOME EVEN MORE HANDSOME, GAH!~”

”Yoooo it’s Wren! It’s been so long since I’ve last seen him!”

”I heard his followers paid for his private suite in this campus! Mad respect to him!!!”

Wren. Of course it was Wren.

‘Ah,’you thought to yourself, stopping in your tracks for just a moment. 

This was his first introduction to the story. You could practically hear the manga panel narration in your head, something flowery and dramatic about how he glowed under the morning light.

Wren was supposedly your childhood best friend, at least according to Takara's backstory. But you knew the truth —or rather, the manga's version of the truth. Takara wasn't really his best friend. He was just some obsessed weirdo who was always in Wren's space and forced his way into every moment with Wren ever since primary school. That was how the narrative framed it, anyway.

Everybody knew Takara as the obsessive stalker who devoted his entire life to Wren, and Wren was the sweetheart victim who was under his control. It’s a calssic dynamic!

You watched from a safe distance as Wren stepped fully out of the car, his uniform somehow already looking perfect. He smiled at someone in the crowd, soft, gentle, almost shy — and a few students actually gasped like they'd witnessed a miracle. 

Wren was not only popular for his looks, but his genuine kindness that caused everybody in school to hump his leg like a feral chihuahua. You'd seen it a hundred times in the manga panels, but witnessing it in person was somehow even more grating.

’I can practically see a halo over his head… it’s actually so nauseating.’

You remember not really liking Wren back when you were just a reader. Something about him always felt off to you. Snobby and out of touch, even when he was playing the role of the angelic sweetheart. 

One time, you'd been apart of this whole speculation that Takara's character was only used as an excuse by the writer to present Wren as an absolute angel. Like Takara existed solely to make Wren look better by comparison. The obsessed stalker trope, the false accusations, the whole smear campaign reveal — it was all just fuel to make Wren shine brighter.

You watch as Wren lap up the attention now like an attention wh*re with that practiced gentle smile and soft eyes with a disgusted look on your face. You didn’t like Wren as a reader, now you certainly didn’t like him in person.

As you were lost in thought, Wren catches you staring at him.

You don't even realize it at first. But then his gaze shifts, just slightly, and his eyes lock directly onto yours.

And immediately, his whole face lights up.

A joyful grin spreads across his features. He raises his hand and frantically waves at you like you're a long-lost friend he's been waiting to see. The crowd around him barely notices, too busy buzzing with excitement over his presence to question who he's waving at.

Your stomach drops.

You immediately snapped your head back to the volunteer worker, who was already heading inside with your luggage cart.

You didn't hesitate. You quickly followed inside, practically speed-walking through the front doors, your heart hammering so loud you were sure someone would hear it.

Behind you, Wren's smile slightly falters.

It's subtle, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips, a brief flicker of confusion in his eyes. But it goes completely unnoticed by his crowd.

‘Hm’, he thought to himself, tilting his head just a fraction as he watched your back disappear through the doors. ‘That's odd.’

He replayed the moment in his head.

You'd been staring at him. You'd made eye contact. And then you just walked away…? No wave back? No excited smile? No rushed approach to greet him?

Wren blinked, processing the unfamiliar feeling of being ignored. 

It wasn't something he experienced often. Actually, it wasn't something he'd ever experienced from you before.

But then, as quickly as the confusion came, his expression lit up again. ‘Perhaps’, he thought, the joyful grin returning to his face, ‘he's off to go prepare his welcome gift and speech to me! Yes, that's it!’

Because that's what Takara always did, wasn't it? 

Every every single time they crossed paths, Takara had something prepared. A gift. A note. A bunch of praises annd words about how much he'd missed Wren and how excited he was to spend time with him.

Wren nodded to himself, satisfied with the explanation. ‘He's just making everything perfect for me. How sweet!’

He turned back to the crowd, his smile brighter than ever, completely oblivious to what has actually happened to you.

As you found your way to your locker, you looked back over your shoulder every step you took,  and you mean EVERY step. 

You probably looked insane to anyone watching, but you didn't care. You just needed to make sure there was no one coming to approach you or even look at you. Absolutely nobody.

You were feeling pretty paranoid, your nerves strung so tight that every little sound made you flinch. A locker slamming shut? You jumped. Someone laughing too loud? You tensed up. A pair of footsteps walking too close behind you? You practically broke your neck turning around to check who it was.

It was so unfortunate that your character had the negative reputation as a stalker weirdo, because that only meant the other love interests were likely to be your opps already. In their minds, you were just some obsessive creep who needed to be put in their place. 

And among all of them, there was one name that made your blood run cold just thinking about it.

Especially… Luka.

The thought of Luka sent shivers down your spine..

Takara and Luka were basically having a yandere-off as far as he was in the story before he got defeated and Luka took his place as THE yandere of the story. 

You shuddered, gripping the handle of your locker a little tighter.

But here was the thing. One major difference between you and Takara was that you were an absolute wimpy bitch. You weren't about to get into some obsessive competition with a guy who had murder in his eyes.

You wouldn't even consider confrontation. The second things got tense, you'd be running in the opposite direction!

That was it!! That was the whole plan.

All you had to do was rebrand yourself as an unknown background character.

Don't draw attention. Don't talk to anyone important. Just blend into the wallpaper and watch the drama unfold from a safe distance. 

Let Wren and his collection of love interests do their thing while you quietly existed so you never ever become relevant enough to get killed off.

You let out a slow breath and opened your locker, already planning your first few moves. 

‘I just have to find my dorm, avoid everybody in the whole manga, and just isolate myself. My whole life is depending on me playing my cards right so I genuinely can’t mess this up!!!’

You tried to let out a deep sigh as an attempt to calm yourself, your chest rising and falling slowly as you stared into the empty space of your locker. ‘Just breathe. Just focus. You can do thi-‘

Two hands gripped onto your shoulders from behind.

"(M/N)!"

The voice was bright, cheerful, and way too close.

‘This son of a b*tch.’ You winced internally, your entire body going stiff as a board. You stood there frozen, your hands still gripping the edges of your locker like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

And then Wren walked around to face you, his expression shifting from playful to slightly scolding as he tilted his head. "Where were you? I was waiting for you at the entrance, y'know!"

He pouts playfully, his bottom lip jutting out just enough to look cute rather than annoying. 

Without warning, he reached out and pinched your cheek, his fingers gentle but firm as he gave it a little tug. "Sorry I didn't answer to any of your messages during the break," he continued, his tone softening into something apologetic. 

"I was loaded with traveling and stuff." He paused, then brightened again. "I got you a few gifts, though."

Wren grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with that signature warmth that made everyone else melt. He stood there, clearly expecting some sort of response from you.

"Oh," you managed to force out, your voice strained and unnatural. "That's… nice."

You tried to cover your nervousness with a tight, awkward smile, but you could feel how fake it looked. Your lips felt wrong. Your cheeks felt wrong. Everything about this interaction felt wrong because you weren't Takara snd you didn't know how to be Takara.

As he kept talking, something about the gifts he'd brought and where he'd traveled, your eyes darted to the sides. Left. Right. Down the hallway. Past the clusters of students chatting by their lockers. Desperately looking for any signs of Luka.

Because if Luka saw you and Wren together, you were as good as dead.

"So," Wren cleared his throat, trying to draw your attention back to him. His eyes searched your face, clearly noticing that your focus kept drifting elsewhere.

"I'm so happy you got into this college! You're the only person I can trust with managing all my stuff~" He winked at you with a playful smile.

You responded by nodding subtly, your body already tensing up for an escape. "Hm?"

Wren's brow furrowed slightly, the playfulness fading just a little. "Is… everything okay?" His voice dropped, softer now, almost concerned.

You reverted your gaze back to Wren's worried eyes, forcing yourself to make eye contact even though every instinct was screaming at you to look away. "Mhm!" You gave him the most unconvincing nod in the history of nods, your smile still stretched thin across your face.

Wren had an uncertain look on his face, his lips parting like he wanted to press further. But then he seemed to decide against it, dropping the subject as he continued talking.

"Anyway," he said, his cheerful tone sliding back into place like a mask, "I need you to convince the school to start a club after me so I can connect with my friends more! After that, I expect you to print at least 50 copies of a poster of my club and you should paste them around the school!" He tilted his head, his closed-eye smile beaming with absolute confidence. "Can you do that for me?"

You blinked at him. ‘50 copies?!? Convince the administration to start a club centered around him?!? Who fed this dude’s eg- oh right, me, technically.’

"Thank you so much!" Wren continued before you could even open your mouth, his voice dripping with gratitude. "You're the best, (M/N)!"

"Wait- no-" you squeaked out, your voice coming out higher and smaller than you intended. "I don't think I have the time for that, sorry."

Without giving Wren a chance to react, you quickly closed your locker and sped off. Your feet moved faster than your brain, carrying you down the corridor and around the corner before you could even process what you'd just done.

Your heart pounded as you disappeared into the crowd, not daring to look back at the expression on his face.

(My Project Hail Mary inspired story! Sorry if the tail end of this draft goes kinda off the rails, it's almost 1am and I had to finish it now before the willpower to write drained out of me <3 If you want something explained/want more of these two, feel free to drop an ask. I'm gonna go to bed now.)

You remember the exact place you were when you learned the sun was dying. You had been in the hospital, volunteering. You had been playing UNO with one of the younger patients, who was mercilessly beating you, when there was a sudden hush.

The TV, normally playing cartoons for the kids, had switched over to an emergency broadcast. There, it had been announced to the entire world that the sun was dying, and no one knew why. Or, the exact wording they had used had been ‘the reason is under investigation by the brightest minds of this generation, with the hope to create a solution soon’.

Still, you weren’t sure how that had anything to do with your current situation.

.𖥔 ݁🪐✩˚ ˖ִ🛸༄˖°.

You’d woken up in the middle of space approximately three weeks ago. In that time, you’d 1) panicked, 2) cried, like a lot, and 3) nearly jumped out of your skin when your sister had jolted awake from her coma, looking like a monster with horrible bedhead.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

hello hello!! glad u requested <3 hope u enjoy!

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you slouched in your chair, eyes half-lidded with boredom.

History class dragged on, the professor’s voice a dull monotone that barely registered in your skull.

You stretched, arms arching over your head in a lazy yawn—mouth wide, throat exposed, the softest hint of a sound escaping you before you slumped back down, indifferent to the world.

And that was it. That was all it took when Rowan’s pen snapped between his fingers.

He didn’t react—couldn’t react—not here, not now, not with everyone watching. His face remained smooth, the same cold mask he wore every goddamn day, the one that made girls sigh and guys clap him on the back like he was some untouchable prince.

But beneath the desk, his thighs trembled. His nails dug crescent moons into his palms. His cock throbbed so hard it ached, trapped in the confines of his slacks, already leaking against the fabric just from that fucking yawn.

It wasn’t fair.

You didn’t even look at him. You yawned like it meant nothing, like you weren’t carving him open with every careless flick of your wrist, every lazy blink of your eyes.

He was Rowan, student council president, and captain of the debate team. How could you just ignored him?

Perfect scores, perfect posture, perfectly untouchable— wasn't he perfect?

Well maybe except for the way he laid in bed, fucking himself to the thought of you.

Midnight bled into the walls of Rowan’s bedroom, thick and suffocating. The air clung to his skin, sweat-slick and feverish, as he sprawled across his ruined sheets, legs spread shamelessly wide.

His fingers—long, elegant, the same ones that wrapped around lacrosse sticks and dismissively pushed admirers away—were buried inside himself now, fucking in and out with a desperation that would’ve disgusted him if he could think past the static in his brain.

But he couldn’t.

Not when your name spilled from his lips in a broken whine, muffled by the bodypillow with a picture of you he’d crushed against his face.

Not when his hips jerked helplessly, chasing the drag of his own fingers, imagining it was you—your hand, your mouth, your anything—fucking him open like he was nothing, like he was yours.

“F-fuck,” he gasped, voice wrecked, thighs shaking as he crooked his fingers just right. His other hand palmed his cock, stroking in tight, frantic pulls, precum smearing hot and slick over his stomach. “God, please—hnn—‘s not enough, need— need you—”

He didn’t even know what he was begging for. Your attention? Your touch? Your foot on his throat while you laughed at how pathetic he was? He’d take anything.

The memory of your yawn flashed behind his eyelids again—the stretch of your lips, the way your tongue curled just slightly, the way your eyelashes curled when you swallowed afterward.

He whimpered, high and pathetic, pushing a third finger in alongside the others, stretching himself obscenely wide.

"I’d let you ruin me," he babbled, words sticky with want, "wanna—wanna swallow your cum, wanna wear your marks where everyone can see—"

The thought of you leaving bruises on his throat, dark as ink against his too-pale skin, sent him careening toward the edge.

His back arched off the mattress, toes curling as he fucked himself faster, sloppy and uneven, chasing the fantasy of your hands holding him down.

His orgasm ripped through him like a fucking lightning strike, leaving him gasping, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

And when it was over—when his body sagged into the mess of his sheets, spent and shivering—he did it all over again, insatiable.

Rowan showed up to class the next morning looking immaculate, as always. His blazer was perfectly pressed, his tie knotted with precision, his expression colder than ever.

No one would’ve guessed that his thighs still burned from how hard he’d rubbed them together last night, that his ass still ached from how desperately he’d fingered himself open.

No one would’ve guessed that when you yawned again—lounging in your seat like goddamn royalty—he had to bite his tongue until it bled just to stop himself from dropping to his knees in the middle of the lecture hall.

And rowan knows, it's only a matter of time till that finally happens.

timothee at the knick games omg he's so cute

hope y'all like this idk how I feel at this

Yandere x Lookalike!Reader

When he was a volatile, impressionable teenager, he didn't just have a crush, he had an awakening. His first love was a whirlwind who completely rewrote his internal chemistry, introducing him to an intensity of emotion he had never known before. When their family abruptly moved away across the country, it didn't just break his heart; it halted his psychological growth. He became a man perpetually frozen in unresolved grief, forever searching every crowded street, campus courtyard, and office hallway for a specific tilt of the chin or a familiar laugh.

When he first saw you sitting at your desk on your first day at the company, his entire world completely stopped spinning. It wasn't just a casual resemblance; you were a living, breathing ghost. You shared the exact same structure of the jaw, the same shade of hair under the fluorescent lights, and a laugh that sent a physical jolt straight through his spine. He didn't see you; he saw a second chance given to him by the universe. His courtship of you was incredibly intense from day one, driven by a desperate, frantic need to lock you down before you could ever disappear like the original.

During the initial months of dating, the cracks in his perception were small enough for you to look past. You’d mention your intense seafood allergy, yet two dates later, he’d enthusiastically surprise you with reservations at a high-end sushi bar, looking entirely deflated when you reminded him. He’d casually drop off a lavender-scented candle at your apartment, despite you explicitly telling him you preferred vanilla. You played it off as standard relationship jitters or a busy work schedule, making him a bit scatterbrained. In reality, his brain was actively overriding your actual identity, forcing the preferences of a ghost onto your shoulders.

Once you finally moved into his apartment and shared a bed, the haunting became a nightly occurrence. He was an incredibly restless sleeper, his fingers constantly tangling into your hair with a tight, almost painful grip as if ensuring you wouldn't vanish into the mattress. In the dead of night, his breathing would hitch, and he would muffle broken, frantic whispers into the crook of your neck. You’d lay awake in the dark, listening to him beg a phantom not to pack her bags, his voice dropping into a raw, pathetic whine you never heard from him during the day.

When you finally confronted him about his late-night mumblings, he didn't panic. He sat you down, held your hands tightly, and spun a beautifully curated, vulnerable story about his teenage heartbreak. He admitted that the family moved away, that it shattered him, and that he had carried the weight of that loss for years. He looked directly into your eyes, his expression full of a tender, manufactured sincerity, and told you that meeting you was what finally allowed him to heal and move on. You felt a deep wave of sympathy, completely reassured that you were his present and his future. You didn't realize it was a calculated lie to keep you from digging deeper.

A few years into the relationship, his behavior quietly mutated from romantic to deeply controlling. He started taking over your personal aesthetic entirely under the guise of "spoiling you." He would come home from business trips with expensive garment bags, presenting you with structured, vintage-style dresses and heavy cardigans that completely clashed with your casual, modern style. If you hesitated to wear them, his polite demeanor would instantly freeze, his eyes going entirely dark and hollow. "I spent hours looking for this specific cut, love. It would look so perfect on you. Just put it on for me. Please." You’d change into them just to keep the peace, unaware that you were literally dressing up in a dead relationship's uniform.

The true horror of your reality didn't hit you until a quiet Sunday morning in your kitchen. You were pouring coffee, chatting about a mundane work project, when you accidentally dropped a mug, sending ceramic shards across the tile. He instantly bolted out of his chair, his face pale with a frantic, unhinged panic. He grabbed your waist, pulling you away from the mess, his voice cracking with a terrifyingly familiar terror as he checked your hands for cuts. "Oh god, are you okay? I’ve got you, [First Love's Name]. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear—"

The kitchen went completely dead silent. The wrong name hung heavily in the air between you, absolute and undeniable. When you froze, staring at him with a look of pure, creeping dread, his grip on your waist didn't loosen it actually tightened, his knuckles turning white. He didn't apologize. He didn't look remorseful. Instead, a slow, dark, and utterly consumed smile spread across his face as he leaned down, burying his face in your hair, entirely indifferent to the fact that his mask had completely shattered. "Ah... you heard that, didn't you? It doesn't matter, sweetheart. You're here now. You look just like her. You dress just like her. You're never going to leave me like she did."

The first escape attempt happens less than forty-eight hours after the kitchen facade shatters. You wait until his breathing evens out into that heavy, restless rhythm, carefully unpeeling his white-knuckled grip from your waist millimeter by millimeter. You don’t grab shoes, you don’t grab a coat, and you certainly don't grab your phone, you know he monitors the GPS. You manage to unlock the front door and sprint three entire blocks into the freezing night air before a sleek black car quietly pulls up to the curb beside you. The door clicks open, and he looks out at you from the passenger seat, his expression completely blank, holding the very jacket you left behind. He doesn't yell when you get in; he just wraps the coat around your shivering shoulders and sighs against your hair. "She tried running away into the rain once, too. You really are identical to her in every single way, aren't you?"

The security in the apartment upgrades immediately, turning your living space into a high-tech fortress. The physical keys are replaced with biometric scanners that require his fingerprint, and the windows are fitted with reinforced safety glass that only opens a few inches. He frames this extreme lockdown as a profound act of devotion, telling you that the world outside is simply too dangerous for someone as fragile as you. He begins working entirely from home, setting up his laptop right across from wherever you are sitting. If you try to slip into the bathroom for too long just to catch your breath, he will knock softly on the wood every two minutes, his voice a sweet, chilling purr through the paneling. "Just checking on you, sweetie. Don't fall asleep in there."

Your second attempt is far more calculated, taking weeks of quiet compliance to make him lower his guard. You memorize the schedule of the grocery delivery person, and when the door scanner clicks open for a brief ten seconds, you dive past the delivery rack and sprint down the emergency stairwell. You make it all the way to a crowded train station, your heart hammering against your ribs as you blend into the sea of commuters. But before you can even step onto a train, a hand tightly slips into yours, locking its fingers with yours in a brutal, unyielding grip. You look up, terrified, to find him standing right beside you, smiling warmly at a passing elderly couple as if you're just a normal, affectionate duo. He leans close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Did you really think I wouldn't track my own heartbeat? Let's go home, [First Love's Name]. You've had your fun."

The psychological punishment for your resistance is a slow, suffocating erasure of your actual self. He doesn't use physical violence; instead, he completely replaces your remaining personal belongings with her history. You wake up one morning to find your entire makeup vanity cleared out, replaced by the specific vintage perfume she used to wear. Your favorite books are gone from the shelves, replaced by journals filled with poetry and notes written in her handwriting from years ago. He will sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a silver hairbrush through your strands, forcing you to listen to endless stories about her childhood. He is systematically drowning your identity, using your physical body as a canvas to paint a dead relationship back to life.

By the time your third escape attempt fails after you try to scream for help from the apartment balcony, only for him to effortlessly pull you back inside and lock the glass, something inside you completely snaps. The constant exhaustion of fighting a man who views you as a literal reincarnation wears your nervous system down to nothing. You stop fighting the vintage dresses he lays out for you. You stop flinching when he uses the wrong name in his sleep. When he holds a spoonful of soup to your lips or pins a specific cameo brooch to your collar, you just stare blankly ahead, letting him mold you into his perfect, silent doll.

Inspired heavily by a post from the pillowfort system on tt

Contains- dental trauma, abuse, dead dove do not eat, body horror.

If under any other circumstances you'd not be shaking to wake up with your head cradled on your boyfriend's lap.

Only you're on the kitchen floor with shattered glass surrounding you. A violent headache and the taste of rust in your mouth as though you've bitten your tongue. He's not meant to be home yet, and his hands hold you as though you might slip out at any moment.

“I don't remember,” you mumble, shaking on the cold floor. You've never been so cold “I think, something, some animal got in-” he cuts you off with a crooning lilt to his voice.

“Shush baby, shh” his hands card though your hair, sticky with blood. You don't know who's blood this is, oh god you don't know who's blood this is. “I can fix it, everything will be okay”

For a moment the silver glint above you had you reciting prayers you never believed in. Until your vision stills, rather than a knife he is wielding a pair of pliers.

“Just open your mouth and it's gonna be fine,” his eyes are locked on your closed mouth. On the rusted smear of blood against your lips “I will fix this and you will be alright.” His hand hovers above you, still. Despite the tone in his voice he is resolute in what needs to be done. “Baby please,” he leans down close to begging but you can see the fanatical bloom within his iris “let me just see.”

“Open your mouth.” His voice breaks, the grip his left hand has on the back of your neck tightens. Fingernails digging into a new raw weeping gash, you can't help but scream as the pain awakens again.

And you remember in waves of what happened. Of the shattered window. Of the beast that pinned you to the floor. Of the searing pain that burnt into you when it began to devour your flesh. Of the cut palm pressed against your mouth forcing its blood on your tongue. Of the interruption when your boyfriend came home early. Of the beast screaming in pain before your boyfriend ran to your side.

He doesn't waste time between you opening your mouth to scream and the pliers finding themselves on your incisors. One twist and the tooth will be ripped out root and all. A slight bit more pressure and the tooth will shatter in his grip.

“I just need to ask you some questions baby, alright?” His eyes- feverishly bright flicker to yours to make sure you still have the cognition to understand him “all you got to do is nod or shake your head for me, you can do that right?” You nod, not recognising at all who this man is before you. “Did you drink any of its blood?”

You falter, “I dont-”

“That's not what I asked for,” he hisses grip tightening so hard you feel your tooth splinter. As you howl with pain he repeats himself “I didn't ask for any excuses,” his breath heaves as he hovers above you “did you swallow the blood?”

Swallow. Think, think , think, the blood was pooling in your mouth when your boyfriend returned back home. You can't remember how much you spat back up over yourself and how much was forced down your mouth. He spots the fear in your eyes and lessens his grip.

“Im not blaming you I just need to know. It makes you drink from it right?” you nod and watch as he twitches in response. “How much did you drink? How many mouthfuls did you swallow” you freeze trying to remember “tell me the truth before I start assuming the worst.” he orders, carefully you put up once shaking finger. You only swallowed once, on instinct as you slipped between the light and dark.

“Good, that's good, so very good,” he rambles the hold on your neck strengthening as he confirms what's to be done."I can fix this, I can fix it all and we will be happy. You didn't take enough to turn properly. I can fix this and bring you back to me.”

There's no chance to scream before he twists the wrist, ripping out your canine like he's done this so many times before. There's no moment for it to register before he moves to the other one. Leaving you with a mouthful of your tainted blood, trying not to choke as you scream out as though someone will hear you. Only there's your boyfriend, pocketing your teeth as if they are a treasure.

He holds you. Bringing your bleeding mouth firm against his chest, staining his clothes in a waterfall of red as you silently cry against him. Even sound hurts more than you can bear. Crooning over you like a child at their first dentist appointment. “Not losing you” he mumbles “you'll be grateful for what I've done eventually” a hand comes to cradle your flooded chin “give me a smile won't you let me see?”

Obediently you open. Teary eyed and flooding your lap with warm spit-twisted blood. Two black holes where your canines used to be. He presses his thumb against the absence feeling the hollow gums in its wake. His thumb leaves your mouth sticky with your blood.

“Its still the loveliest smile I ever saw”