something that blooms inside of me, so blue

toji fushiguro

suguru geto

kento nanami

itadori yuji

megumi fushiguro

yuta okkotsu

toge inumaki

sukuna ryomen

choso kamo

hiromi higuruma

“dear students, this semester we’re doing the baby project,” you hear a loud sigh coming from the back. she rolls her eyes, a little smile on her lips. “yes, mr. kang, the one you’ve all heard horror stories about. you’ll be paired randomly across grade levels. and you'll be given one electronic doll per pair. it cries, it needs feeding, changing, burping, playing — on a completely random schedule, including nights and weekends. just like a real baby,” she explains as she walks around the class. “you’ll keep a shared digital logbook. your combined grade depends on how well you cooperate and how high the doll’s health score stays by sunday night next week.”

“but ms. choi,” yunjin starts, raising her hand. “we're so busy! the drama club is starting rehearsals on monday, and it's 2 hours every day. how can i take care of the baby if i'm supposed to be singing?“

“yeah, same with the debate club. we're going on a tournament next weekend.” sunoo adds.

“and what about the football team?” jay, one of the seniors sitting on the back, cuts in, leaning back in his chair but clearly tense. “nationals are in three weeks. scouts are going to be there.” he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “if i mess that up, i can kiss my scholarship goodbye.”

then, the chaos starts. everybody is talking. there are so many voices in the room you can't even tell what they're saying.

ms. choi claps her hands once, sharp enough to cut through the noise. “alright, alright — everyone, that’s enough.”

the room slowly quiets. she softens her expression slightly.

“you’re all proving my point for me. you’re busy, stressed, juggling a hundred things… welcome to real life, where responsibilities don’t wait until it’s convenient. this is exactly why you’re doing this project. life doesn’t pause when things get busy,” she continues. “you learn how to manage responsibility alongside everything else.” she gestures toward the class. “and just to remind you — this is a paired assignment. so instead of complaining to me, start discussing how you’re going to handle it with your partner.”

yunjin opens his mouth, ready to say something.

“no 'but's,'” she cuts her. “my decision is done. now, let's go with the pairs!”

a collective groan rolls through the room. someone in the back actually whispers “please no.”

ms. choi ignores it and picks up the small bowls of folded papers.

“again, the pairs will be randomly assigned. one junior, one senior. and before you ask, mr. sim, no, there won't be changes accepted.”

“but mr. choi,” you hear jake, one of the seniors, speak. “i'm sure sunghoon and i would make great parents! look at us, handsome, funny, and very good at ta—”

then there's a loud sound, like a smack on the back of his head. then an “ouch!” coming from jake's mouth.

“seems like mr. park. doesn't agree,” ms. choi laughs, shaking her head. “let's keep going then. now, please, when i call your name, come sit with your partner at the front tables so we can go over the rules together.”

your stomach twists. you hate the idea of group projects. even more if you can't go with one of your friends. even more if you have to interact with a senior, as you don't know any of them personally. you glance sideways at kazuha, who is already giving you a sympathetic look from two seats away.

you watch ms. choi rummaging through the papers of each bowl. then, names started getting called.

“kim sunoo and kang taehyun.”

“nakamura kazuha and kim gaeul”

“huh yunjin and park sunghoon.”

you gasp, and yunjin’s eyes go wide.

park sunghoon is the captain of the football team, the 'popular guy.' he's the acclaimed king of the whole school. he's everything, and he can get everything he wants — for example, permission to celebrate private football events at the the covered courtyard behind the school. and yunjin, the president of the drama club, who had been trying to convince the director for months to be able to perform the christmas play at that exact same spot, can't stand him. at all.

you mouth “good luck” at her while she stands up, shoulders squared like she's heading into battle.

then, more names.

you don't pay attention to them. you just glance around the room, making a quick mental list of every single senior who hasn't been named yet.

you see ningning, one of the head cheerleaders. she isn't exactly mean — in fact, she gifted you her lipstick once, saying 'it suited you better' — but she just doesn't talk too much with others outside her friend group. there's jisung, known for being the president of the dance club. he's charismatic, and, according to yunjin who once shared a class with him, very responsible. he'd make a good partner, you think. even tsuki, the bubbly girl from the art club would be a better partner than some irresponsible football player who only thinks about running behind a ball!

but you hear your name, and time stops.

and then—

“…and park jongseong.”

your heart drops straight to your shoes.

park jongseong.

known as jay.

you know the name, of course. everyone does. senior. football player. not the captain — that's sunghoon — but still one of the core guys. tall, dark hair that always looks a little messy after practice, quiet confidence that makes him stand out without trying. he's sitting two rows behind you, same aisle. you have never once spoken to him. not a single word in your entire high school career.

you hear the scrape of a chair behind you. then footsteps.

when you turn, jay is already walking toward the front tables, hands in the pockets of his school jacket. his expression is calm, almost neutral, unfaced, but you catch the tiniest furrow between his brows. like he's processing the same information you are.

ms. choi points at the two empty seats side by side.

“go ahead and sit together.”

you stand up on autopilot, legs feeling a little unsteady. when you reach the table, jay is already there, pulling out the chair next to his. he doesn’t say anything at first — just gives you a small nod.

you sit.

up close he smells faintly like fresh laundry and the mint gum he probably chewed between classes. his knee accidentally bumps yours under the table and he pulls it back quickly.

“uh… hi,” he says, voice low so only you could hear. “i’m jongseong. but you can call me jay.”

you swallow.

“i know,” you answer, then immediately regret how that sounded. “i mean— hi, nice to meet you.”

he gives you a tiny half-smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “nice to meet you, too.” he pauses, staring at you.

after some seconds, you realize he's waiting for you to introduce yourself. “shit, sorry,” you laugh and tell him your name.

when she finishes making the pairs, ms. choi starts explaining the rules to the whole group again, but you can barely focus. the doll will be handed out first thing monday morning. you and jay will have to figure out a schedule for who takes it home each night. the logbook has to be updated every single time the baby needs care — with timestamps and who did what. if the doll’s “health” drops too low, it affects both your grades. no exceptions, even for football practice or club activities.

“cooperation is the whole point,” ms. choi says cheerfully. “this isn’t about being perfect parents. it’s about learning how to work with someone you might not know.”

you risk a glance at jay. he's listening, jaw set, fingers tapping once against the table. when ms. choi finishes and tells everyone they can talk with their partners for the last ten minutes of class, he turns toward you.

“so… we’re doing this,” he says, almost like he's confirming it to himself.

“yeah,” you breathe. “looks like it.”

an awkward silence stretches for two whole seconds.

“i can take it— well, him? her? i don't know, the baby,” you both laugh. “friday night and saturday next week if you want,” he offers. “i have a game on sunday morning, so i can give you the baby then.”

you nod a little too fast. “that works. i can do sunday night. no problem.”

“cool.”

another pause.

“i think i’ve never actually talked to you before,” he admits quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry if this is weird.”

“it’s okay. i haven’t talked to you either.”

he lets out a short laugh under his breath. “great. we’re starting from zero then.”

the bell rings before either of you could say anything else.

you stand up quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. jay does the same, hesitating for half a second like he wants to say more, but then just gives you another small nod.

“see you monday, then.”

“yeah… see you monday, jay.”

you practically run outside the classroom.

the second you step into the hallway, yunjin is already waiting, kazuha and sunoo right behind her like backup.

“oh my god,” yunjin says, eyes sparkling with pure chaos. “you got paired with jay? that jay? senior football jay? he’s on the team with sunghoon, right? you know how much i hate that cocky, arrogant guy. and now i have to deal with him for a whole week because of this stupid doll.” she sighs. “he’s probably going to act like the baby is beneath him or something. i swear if he tries to boss me around i’m going to lose it.”

sunoo grabs your arm, practically bouncing. “i've heard he’s so handsome up close, is that right? did he smell good? tell me he smelled good. but also — taehyun already told me we’re both screwed. he said he doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby, and that we are going to tank the grade if the doll starts crying during his football practice or something.”

“you looked like you were about to pass out when ms. choi called your names.” kazuha is quieter, but her lips are twitching into a smile. “for my part… at least gaeul seems really nice — she’s super calm and organized. we were already talking about making a schedule right away. she even offered to take the first night so i can finish my dance practice.”

you groan, covering your face with both hands. “i literally never talked to him before today. he said ‘hi i’m jay’ like we were meeting for the first time at a funeral. and now i have to figure out nights and weekends with a senior who’s worried about scouts and nationals.”

yunjin laughs loudly. “this is going to be the best week of my life. you should’ve seen sunghoon when he realized it was me. he looked traumatized. good. he deserves it after stealing the courtyard spot from drama club twice.”

the four of you start walking toward the lockers, your friends still peppering you with questions.

meanwhile, on the other side of the building, jay is leaning against the wall outside the senior lockers while his friends immediately swarm him.

jake throws an arm around his shoulders, grinning like an idiot. “dude. you got paired with that quiet junior girl. she seems normal enough.”

“you better get along with her, man. nationals are in three weeks and scouts are coming,” sunghoon raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. “you can’t afford to lose points on some dumb project. if that doll messes with your sleep or makes you miss extra training, your scholarship is on the line.”

taehyun smirks, leaning against the locker. “exactly. i already told sunoo we’re both screwed if you don’t figure out how to keep that thing quiet during practice. coach is not going to care that you’re playing house.”

jay shoves jake’s arm off, but there’s no real heat in it. his ears are a little red.

“shut up. it’s just a project. we’re not even friends. she seems… normal. nice, i guess. i’ll just make a schedule and get through it. i can’t let this mess with training.”

“still,” sunghoon says, more serious now, “make it work with her. we need you sharp for nationals. don’t blow the scholarship over a fake baby.”

jay rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “you guys are the worst. it's just a doll. it can't be that bad, can it?”

still, as he walks toward the parking lot for practice, he can’t stop replaying the short conversation in his head — the way you’d looked a little nervous but tried to play it cool, the soft way you’d said his name.

he shakes the thought away.

it's just a week taking care of a fake baby.

nothing more.

-------

MONDAY. DAY 1:

the alarm on your phone goes off way too early, but you are already wide awake, stomach twisting with nerves. monday morning. baby project day one. you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror while brushing your teeth, trying to convince yourself it's just a stupid doll. nothing to freak out about. you grab your bag, double-check you have a charger and your notebook, and head to school.

the hallways are louder than usual — everyone buzzing about the pairings from friday. you spot sunoo waving frantically from across the corridor, but you only manage a weak smile before slipping into ms. choi’s classroom.

the seats have been rearranged overnight. instead of the usual rows, there are double desks pushed together. a small sign on the board reads “sit with your assigned partner — no exceptions.”

your eyes find jay immediately. he's already at the desk near the middle, one leg stretched out, scrolling on his phone. his hair looks a little damp from morning practice, and he's wearing the school hoodie with his jersey number on the sleeve. when he notices you, he straightens up and gives you a small nod.

you slide into the seat next to him, bag dropping to the floor with a soft thud.

“good morning, partner,” he says quietly, voice still rough from sleep or maybe from shouting on the field earlier.

“morning,” you reply, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “ready for this?”

“not even a little.” he lets out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “are you?”

“i barely slept. i kept imagining the baby crying at 3 a.m. and my mom killing me.”

before he can answer, ms. choi walks in carrying a stack of papers and a large box that definitely has the babies inside.

“good morning, parents,” she announces cheerfully. the whole class groans. “yes, i said parents. you’re sitting with your partners because today we start officially. first, fill out this information sheet together. it helps you treat the project seriously. you need to know your child before taking care of them.”

she passes the sheets down the rows. you take one and lay it flat between you and jay.

the questions are exactly as expected, printed in neat black ink:

fill out the birth certificate! 1. name of the parents: 2. is your baby male or female? 3. what is their name? 4. how did you pick out the name? 5. include a picture of the baby with each parent!

jay leans closer to read it, his shoulder brushing yours for a second. “okay… so we need a name. any ideas?”

you shrug, trying not to overthink how close he is. “i don’t know. something simple? like… minjun if it’s a boy, or jiwoo if it’s a girl?”

he nods slowly. “jiwoo sounds nice. easy to say when it’s screaming and crying at midnight.”

you both laugh a little, the sound awkward but genuine.

ms. choi starts handing out the dolls one pair at a time. each comes in a soft gray carrier with adjustable straps and a small blanket tucked inside. when she reaches your desk, she places the carrier in front of jay.

“here you go. treat her gently.”

the second the doll leaves ms. choi’s hands, it lets out a loud, realistic wail — high-pitched and demanding.

jay’s eyes go wide. “holy shit—”

he fumbles with the carrier, nearly knocking it over. you react fast, reaching over and gently lifting the doll out. its tiny plastic face scrunched up, mouth open in another cry. you rock it automatically, the way you saw in those parenting videos online over the weekend.

“shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, bouncing it lightly against your shoulder. the crying stops after a few seconds, leaving only soft cooing sounds from the speaker inside.

jay stares at you, impressed and a little relieved. “you’re good at that.”

“i have a cousin who’s two. lots of practice.” you carefully place the doll back in the carrier, adjusting the blanket. “your turn next time it cries, though.”

he gives you a mock salute. “yes, ma’am.”

ms. choi claps to get everyone’s attention again. “now, while you fill out the sheet, i’ll go over the basics. you must bring the baby to class every single day. you also need to cover the basics. feeding: there’s a bottle in the carrier. hold it at the right angle or the sensor won’t register. diapers: the back panel opens — velcro, very simple. burping: pat the back firmly but gently after feeding. the doll will let you know when it’s done. and, in case you were thinking about it, no, mr. sim, the baby is neither a football ball nor a maraca,” some students laugh. “you can't shake it, play with it, or whatever strange things you're thinking about. you'll lose points for that.”

“what if it doesn't stop crying?” kazuha asks.

“well, you can try a lot of things for that! babies get sleepy, hungry, gassy… you never know! you can also try to get others to stop the crying,” she walks as she explains. “however, if it's too much and you just can't stop it, there's a hidden button on the battery's case. if you press it, the baby will shut down completely. however, it'll mean the project is over, and you'll be penalized for that.”

you look at the baby in the carrier. you don't exactly need a good grade, but it'd help you with . a lot. and, according to what jay mentioned the other day, he needs to get his scholarship. and that involves his grades. so… yeah, shutting the baby down early isn't an option.

“any questions?” ms. choi looks around the class.

sunghoon raises his hand from the back. yunjin, by his side, scofs as she tries to calm the baby. “what if it cries during nationals warm-up?”

ms. choi smiles sweetly. “then you learn to multitask, mr. park. life doesn’t stop for football. and miss huh won't be there to help you all the time.”

jay mutters under his breath, “great. exactly what i needed.”

you both turn back to the sheet, grabbing a pen.

you write down your names as the parents' names.

2. is your baby male or female? female 3. what is his/her name? jiwoo 4. how did you pick out the name? we wanted something simple and easy to say when she’s crying at 3 a.m. and we want to bury her in our backyards

you laugh as jay writes. “you can't say that! we're supposed to be loving, responsible parents!” he hands you his pen. you cross it and write down:

5. how did you pick out the name? we wanted something simple and easy to say when she’s crying at 3 a.m. and we want to bury her in our backyards it just felt right 6. include a picture of the baby with each parent!

jay pulls out his phone. “we should take the pictures now so we don’t forget.”

you nod. he holds the carrier between you while you both lean in. the first photo is awkward — you look tense, jay’s smile is too forced. the second picture comes out better: you are smiling softly at the doll, and jay has relaxed, one hand resting on the edge of the carrier like he's already protecting it.

“that one’s good, way better. we look more… parent-like,” he says, showing you the screen. his thumb hovers near your shoulder in the frame.

you feel your cheeks warm. “yeah. send it to me later? so i can print it out and all that.”

“sure, no problem.”

ms. choi continues explaining the logbook app everyone had to download on friday. “update it every single time. who fed, who changed, how long it took. wednesday’s class will be a parent support group — each pair shares one challenge and one win from the first days. be honest.”

the rest of the period passes in a blur of demonstrations. you practice feeding jiwoo with the bottle while jay times it. he changes the first pretend diaper, cursing softly when the doll makes a fussy sound halfway through. by the end, both of you are laughing more than you expected.

when the bell rings, you pack up quickly. jay lifts the carrier.

“i’ll take her first period. you can have her after lunch. is that okay?”

“sounds good.”

you both head for the door. the second you step into the hallway, jiwoo starts crying again — louder this time, like she's testing you.

“oh no—” jay shifts the carrier, trying to rock it while walking. some students turn their heads to stare at both of you.

you took over, bouncing her gently. “shh, jiwoo, it’s okay. we’re right here.”

the crying doesn’t stop. you and jay end up standing against the lockers for a full five minutes, taking turns rocking and patting her back. by the time she quiets, the hallway is almost empty.

“we’re late,” you say, checking your phone.

jay grimaces. “yeah. coach is gonna kill me if this happens during practice later. come on — i’ll walk you to your next class.”

you end up sitting together again in the shared second-period room. you hold the carrier the entire time, heart racing every time jiwoo makes even the smallest sound. jay keeps glancing over, ready to help, but the doll stays quiet. his friends who also share this class — jake and taehyun — are sitting a few rows back and keep whispering jokes you can’t quite hear, but jay shoots them a glare that shuts them up.

lunch is the real test.

you decide to have lunch together. “just in case the baby decides to cry more,” jay says.

you find an empty table near the windows. jay sets the carrier between you, and you both stare at the food on your trays like it's a peace offering.

“so,” he starts, poking at his rice, “how’s your morning been besides the crying?”

“terrifying. i kept thinking she was going to start during the quiz in history.”

he chuckles. “same. i had her during math and she made this little whimper right when i was solving an equation on the board. the whole class turned around.”

before you can reply, jake walks closer, sunghoon and kai trailing behind.

“look at the happy little family,” jake teases, leaning on the table. “jay, you holding up okay? or is the scholarship already crying?”

sunghoon smirks, arms crossed. “don’t drop her during practice, man. coach said no excuses.”

“she’s cute though. jiwoo, right? suits her. loud like you on the field.” kai grins.

jay rolls his eyes but there's no real annoyance. “go away. we’re trying to eat.”

your friends appear seconds later. yunjin slides into the seat next to you, carrying her own baby, eyeing the boys warily.

“everything okay here?” she asks, voice loud enough for them to hear. “need me to scare them off?” she grins. “by the way, sunghoon, sunghoon jr. says he wants his dad to change his diaper. right now.”

“the baby can't even ta—”

“i said right now.” yunjin's expression is serious. sunghoon rolls his eyes but takes the carrier. “he says 'thanks, daddy!'” she smirks.

kazuha sits more gracefully, glancing at the carrier with soft eyes. “she’s quiet now. good job. gaeul has our baby, so i'm off-duty. for now.”

sunoo plops down across from you, already pulling out his phone. “can i take a picture for the group chat? you two look like exhausted parents already.”

“sunoo, no.” you groan, trying to stop him.

but he snaps one anyway, jiwoo sleeping peacefully between you and jay.

the boys eventually wander off after more light teasing, leaving you and jay alone again with your friends hovering protectively nearby.

“they’re not that bad,” you say quietly once they were gone.

jay raises an eyebrow. “they’re idiots. but yeah… they mean well. they're mostly worried about nationals. scouts are coming, and i can’t afford to look sloppy because i’m sleep-deprived from a doll.”

you nod, understanding more than he probably realizes. “that makes sense. i… didn’t know the scholarship part was so serious.”

“it is. football is my way out — better college, better future. my dad travels all the time for work, so it’s mostly on me to make it happen.” he shrugs, but his eyes stay serious. “that’s why i was stressing in class on friday. if this project tanks my focus…”

“we’ll make it work,” you say softly. “i don’t want to mess it up for you either.”

he looks at you then — really looks, like he's trying to decipher something — and his expression softens. “thanks. most people would just complain about the extra work.”

the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. after lunch, jay takes jiwoo to his remaining classes. you keep checking your phone for updates in the logbook app. he is surprisingly diligent — every feeding and diaper change logged with short notes like “took 8 minutes, she calmed down fast” or “almost dropped the bottle when jake scared me.”

when the final bell rings, you meet him by the main entrance. he is waiting with the carrier slung carefully over one shoulder, looking a little tired but steady.

“hey,” he says. “are you done for the day?”

“yeah.”

he hesitates then, shifting his weight. “look… i drove here today. my car is in the lot. if you want, i can give you a ride home. so you don’t have to take the baby on the bus. it’s probably loud and crowded.”

you blink, surprised. “really? you don’t mind?”

“not at all. plus, it gives us time to figure out the rest of the week’s schedule without rushing.”

you nod before you could overthink it. “okay. thank you.”

the walk to the parking lot is quiet at first. jay carries the carrier the whole way, checking on jiwoo every few steps. his car is a simple black sedan — nothing flashy, but clean inside. he opens the passenger door for you, then carefully places the carrier in the back seat, buckling it in like it was a real child.

once you are both settled and he starts the engine, the silence feels heavier.

“so,” he says after pulling out of the lot, “real talk. how are we actually doing this? i have practice every day after school until six or seven. sometimes later if coach is pushing us for nationals.”

you turn slightly in your seat to face him. “i can take her most school nights if you need to stay late. but weekends might be trickier. you have that sunday match, right?”

“yeah. early morning. i can do saturday daytime if you want the evening.”

you pull out your phone and open the notes app, making a quick shared schedule. “okay… you take friday night and saturday like we said. i’ll do sunday night. then we can switch off during the week depending on practice.”

he glances over at you, one hand on the wheel. “you’re really organized about this.”

“i overthink everything,” you admit with a small laugh. “plus, i don’t want to be the reason you lose sleep before scouts come.”

jay is quiet for a moment, eyes on the road. “i thought you’d be annoyed getting paired with some random football guy. most juniors don’t really talk to us.”

“i thought you’d be annoyed getting paired with a quiet junior who doesn’t know anything about football.”

he smiles at that — a real one this time, small but warm. “you’re not what i expected.”

“what did you expect?”

“someone who’d complain the whole time. or… try to flirt to make it less awkward.” he shrugs. “instead you’re just… calm. you calmed jiwoo down like it was nothing this morning.”

you feel your face heat up. “i was panicking inside.”

“it didn’t show.”

the conversation flows easier after that. he tells you about how he moved here four years ago, how football became his main focus because it gave him structure when his dad was always traveling. you share how your parents work long shifts, so you are used to handling things on your own. how your small friend group — yunjin, kazuha, sunoo — is basically your second family.

“yunjin’s already plotting how to survive sunghoon,” you say, laughing. “she keeps saying he’s going to act like the baby is a football he can just hand off.”

jay chuckles. “sunghoon’s actually decent when he’s not being captain mode. he’s just stressed too. we all are. scholarship stuff hits different when you’re the one who has to make it happen.”

you nod. “i get that. i’m not on any big path like that, but i still stress about grades and what comes after high school. this project feels like a sneak peek at how messy real life is.”

“exactly.” he pauses at a red light and looks over at you. “thanks for not making it weird. or at least… for making the weird parts manageable.”

“same. i thought you’d be all stuck-up jock energy. but you’re actually… nice. and you care about the project even if it’s because of football.”

he rubs the back of his neck again, a habit you are starting to notice. “yeah. can’t let a doll ruin my shot. but… it’s not just that anymore. it’s kind of fun figuring it out with you.”

the light turns green. he drives on, but the air in the car feels lighter somehow.

when he pulls up in front of your house, he parks but doesn’t unlock the doors right away.

“i’ll text you the log updates tonight if she wakes up. and… thanks for the ride. seriously.”

“anytime.” he reaches back and carefully hands you the carrier. jiwoo is sleeping soundly. “see you tomorrow.”

“see you tomorrow, jay.”

you step out, carrier in hand, and watch him drive away. your heart is beating a little faster than usual, but not from panic this time.

maybe this week won’t be so bad after all.

-------

TUESDAY. DAY 2:

the soft glow of your phone screen cuts through the darkness of your room at exactly 2:07 a.m. jiwoo’s cry blares through the speaker — sharp, insistent, and way too real for a plastic doll. you groan, rolling over and fumbling to grab her from the carrier beside your bed. your eyes are blurry, your hair is a mess, and every muscle protests as you sit up.

“shh, jiwoo, please,” you whisper, rocking her gently against your shoulder while you tap the feeding button on the app. the doll quiets for a few seconds, then starts up again. you try burping her next, patting her back with careful, practiced motions. it takes almost fifteen minutes before the crying finally stops and the logbook updates with a green checkmark.

you snap a quick screenshot of the timestamp and the note you type in — “2:12 a.m. — fed and burped, took 14 minutes, i handled it” — and send it to jay with a simple text.

you: jiwoo decided 2 a.m. was party time. screenshot attached. hope you’re sleeping better than me.

no reply. his status shows “last seen 11:47 p.m.” he is probably dead asleep after practice. you sigh, set the phone down, and try to drift off again, but jiwoo fusses twice more before your alarm finally goes off at 6:30 a.m. by the time you drag yourself out of bed, you feel like you have already lived a full day.

the morning air is crisp as you walk to school, carrier strapped across your chest like a tired parent. jiwoo stays mercifully quiet for the walk, but your eyes are heavy. you spot your friends near the main gate and wave weakly.

kazuha stands there first, her posture still graceful even with dark circles under her eyes and the carrier holding baby eunchae balanced on her hip. she offers you a small, exhausted smile.

“morning,” she says softly. “or… whatever this is.”

you let out a tired laugh. “exactly. jiwoo woke me at 2 a.m. and then again at 4. how’s eunchae?”

kazuha adjusts the blanket around her doll. “she was perfect until 3:30. gaeul texted me the whole time though. she said she'll take her tonight so we take turns. she’s really good at this. we even made a shared playlist of lullabies last night.”

sunoo appears next, practically dragging his feet, baby carrier slung over one shoulder like it weighs a thousand pounds. his usually bright face looks pale and puffy.

“taehyun is the worst,” he announces dramatically, flopping against the wall beside you. “he had the baby last night and barely slept. he texted me at 1 a.m. saying ‘how do you make it stop’ with like ten crying emojis. i had to walk him through feeding and burping over voice notes while half-asleep. this morning he looked like a zombie in the hallway and told me we’re both going to fail if this keeps up.”

you wince in sympathy. “at least he tried. jay didn’t even answer my text at 2 a.m. since he was probably dead asleep.”

yunjin storms up last, her carrier bouncing with every angry step. baby sunghoon jr. — he had insisted on the name yesterday just to annoy her — is tucked inside, quiet for once.

“that idiot sunghoon,” she starts immediately, voice rising. “he promised he’d meet me right at the school door this morning to take the baby for first period. i waited five whole minutes like an idiot while sunghoon jr. started fussing. nothing. no text, no sign of him. when i finally found him near the lockers he just shrugged and said ‘practice ran late, sorry.’ sorry? i had drama rehearsal notes to review! i’m so tired i could cry, and he’s acting like the baby is not a demonic object capable of breaking your eardrums.” she huffs, crossing her arms. “we’re supposed to be a team and he’s already dropping the ball. literally.”

kazuha places a gentle hand on yunjin’s shoulder. “i mean… at least you got through the night. gaeul and i split everything evenly. it actually felt… nice? like we were figuring it out together.”

sunoo nods, yawning widely. “taehyun kept apologizing in the chat this morning. he said he’ll take extra nights this week to make up for it. still, i feel like a single parent already.”

you adjust jiwoo’s blanket, smiling tiredly at their complaints. “jay at least offered to take her during his morning classes. but yeah… 2 a.m. hits different when you have to be functional by 8.”

the four of you stand there for a few more minutes, trading war stories like exhausted parents at a playground. yunjin keeps muttering threats about making sunghoon do all the night shifts, sunoo dramatically reenacts taehyun’s panicked voice notes, and kazuha quietly suggests making a group chat just for “surviving the project” tips. the conversation feels comforting in its shared misery, and for a moment the weight of the carrier on your chest feels a little lighter.

the morning classes drag. you sit with jay in mr. kim’s room, but he arrives a minute late, hair still messy from rushing. he slides into the seat beside you, eyes apologetic.

“sorry about last night,” he whispers as soon as mr. kim starts talking. “i crashed hard after evening practice. saw your text this morning — you handled it like a pro.”

you shrug, keeping your voice low. “it’s fine. she settled eventually. how did your night go?”

“pretty good, slept a lot. but… i took care of everything on the app. when you fed jiwoo, when you changed her, the whole thing. logged it all.” he pulls out his phone and shows you the app. “see? i even added a note that you did the 2 a.m. burping.”

you smile despite the tiredness. “thanks. teamwork, i guess.”

he nods, but his expression turns more serious. “i’m trying not to let this mess with training. coach already warned us about distractions before nationals.”

throughout the rest of the morning, your phone buzzes every so often with texts from jay.

jay: she’s being good in history. just made a small fuss during the quiz but i rocked her under the desk.

you: lucky. she’s sleeping now but i keep checking the health score every five minutes.

jay: same. we’re at 92%. not bad for day two.

jay: by the way, are you free after lunch? i have optional practice at 1 but i can skip if we need to handle something.

the messages feel easy, almost natural now. you catch yourself smiling at your screen more than once.

right before lunch ends, disaster strikes. you check the app while walking to your next class and freeze. jiwoo’s health score has dropped sharply to 76%. a red warning flashes: “baby showing signs of illness — needs immediate care and rest.”

your stomach sinks. you text jay quickly.

you: jiwoo’s sick. health at 76%. what do we do?

jay: meet me at the lockers after the bell. we’ll figure it out.

when you reach the spot, he is already there, carrier in hand even though it is your turn. his face is focused, brows drawn together.

“the app says she needs quiet time and extra feedings today,” he explains, voice low. “if we ignore it, the score keeps dropping. i already told coach i’m skipping the 1 p.m. optional session. i’ll make it up at the 6 p.m. full practice — extra sprints or whatever he wants.”

you bite your lip. “i was supposed to go to foreign language club. but i can skip too. we can take her somewhere quiet.”

he nods, relieved. “music room is usually empty after lunch. let’s go there.”

the two of you spend the next hour tucked away in the small practice room at the end of the arts hallway. jiwoo fusses on and off, but you take turns holding her, feeding her the special “medicine” drops from the kit, and logging every action. jay sits cross-legged on the floor beside you, back against the wall, gently rocking the carrier with one foot while you update the logbook.

“this feels weirdly real,” you murmur after a while, watching jiwoo’s lights finally shift back toward green. “like we’re actually worried about her getting better.”

jay chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “tell me about it. i keep thinking if her score drops too low it’s going to look bad on my record. but also… i don’t want to let you down either.”

you glance at him, surprised by how honest he sounds. “you’re not. we’re both trying.”

he offers a small smile. “yeah. we are.”

by the time the health score climbs back to 89%, the afternoon is half gone. you both head to your separate classes, but the shared worry lingers like a quiet thread between you.

after school, jay finds you near the exit.

“practice is at 6,” he says, shifting the carrier to you. “but come watch if you can? the field’s open. you can bring jiwoo and hand her off to me after. that way i get some time with her before the real session starts, and you don’t have to wait around alone.”

you hesitate only a second. “okay. i’ll be there.”

the bleachers are mostly empty when you arrive, just a few other students scattered around. you sit a few rows up, carrier beside you, watching the team warm up. jay spots you almost immediately and jogs over during a water break, sweaty and breathing hard but grinning.

“you came,” he says, wiping his face with the bottom of his jersey. up close you notice the way his shoulders look broader in the practice gear, the small scar on his nose you had never noticed before.

“figured it was only fair after you skipped optional practice for her,” you reply, carefully handing over the carrier. jiwoo is quiet for now, lulled by the fresh air.

he takes her gently, adjusting the straps like he has done it a hundred times already. “thanks. i’ll bring her back after this set. coach is letting me sit out the last drills if i do extra conditioning later.”

you watch as he jogs back to the field, carrier carefully set down near the bench where the manager can keep an eye on it. the boys notice immediately. jake yells something teasing across the grass, sunghoon shakes his head with a smirk, but jay just flips them off without missing a beat. seeing him balance football and the doll makes something warm settle in your chest.

practice runs long, but right at 7:30 jay waves you down. he is breathing heavily, hair sticking to his forehead, but he looks energized rather than exhausted.

“we’re done for now,” he says, slinging his duffel over one shoulder and taking the carrier with the other. “my house is closer than yours. do you wanna come over? my mom’s home and she’s been dying to see the baby everyone’s talking about. plus we can eat something real before i drive you back.”

you agree before the nerves can talk you out of it. the walk to his car is short, and soon you are pulling up to a neat two-story house on a quiet street. jay parks in the driveway and kills the engine.

“warning — my mom is going to be excited,” he says with a sheepish smile. “my dad is traveling again, so it’s just us.”

the second you step inside, the smell of something warm and savory greets you. mrs. park appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, eyes lighting up the moment she sees the carrier.

“oh my goodness, you must be her!” she exclaims, voice bright and welcoming. “jay told me all about the project. come in, come in. and this must be little jiwoo!”

she coos over the doll immediately, asking to hold the carrier while you both take off your shoes. jay watches with an embarrassed but fond expression, rubbing the back of his neck.

“mom, please stop acting like that's a real baby. and please, don’t scare her away on day two.”

“nonsense. this is my grandaughter now. and that poor girl is already surviving parenting with you — i'm sure she’s tough.” mrs. park winks at you. “you two look exhausted. sit down. i’ll heat up some ramen. real food, not that cafeteria stuff.”

jay leads you to the living room, where you both collapse onto the couch. he takes jiwoo for a bit, rocking her absently while you text your friends quick updates. the house feels lived-in and comfortable — football trophies on a shelf, family photos on the wall, a stack of textbooks on the coffee table.

“this is nice,” you say quietly, watching him with the baby. “different from school.”

he glances up, a softer look in his eyes. “yeah. at school everyone sees the football guy. here it’s just… me trying to cook the best ramen ever.”

true to his word, he heads to the kitchen a few minutes later and returns with two steaming bowls of instant ramen, perfectly prepared with an egg and green onions on top. he sets one in front of you, then sits close enough that your knees almost touch, still holding jiwoo in one arm.

“here. eat before she decides it’s crying time again.”

you take the bowl gratefully, the warmth spreading through your tired body. “thank you. seriously. i didn’t expect any of this today.”

he shrugs, but his smile is genuine. “neither did i. but it’s not so bad having someone to do this with. makes the scholarship stress feel a little less heavy.”

you talk while you eat — about his upcoming match, your favorite subjects, the way yunjin is plotting revenge on sunghoon, how taehyun apparently sang lullabies badly over voice note last night. jay laughs more freely here, in his own space, the reserved jock facade melting away into someone thoughtful and a little shy when he catches you watching him.

after dinner, mrs. park insists on taking a photo of the three of you — you, jay, and jiwoo — for her own memories. jay protests half-heartedly but ends up smiling anyway.

when it is finally time to leave, he drives you home through the quiet streets, windows down just enough to let in the cool evening air. jiwoo sleeps in the back the whole way.

“thanks for today,” he says as he pulls up to your house. “skipping practice, coming over… all of it. i know it’s extra for you.”

you unbuckle, turning to face him. “i wanted to. you're… pretty nice, actually.”

he meets your eyes, something soft and new flickering there. “you’re pretty nice, too.”

the moment stretches for a second longer than it should. then jiwoo makes a small sound in her sleep and the spell breaks.

“text me when you get her settled tonight,” you say quietly.

“i will. goodnight, sleep well.”

“night. try to sleep.” you laugh softly.

you step out and walk toward your house, watching his taillights disappear down the street. your heart feels fuller than it did this morning, the exhaustion mixed with a quiet, growing warmth. day two is over, but something between you and jay has quietly begun to shift — slow, steady, and surprisingly real.

-------

WEDNESDAY. DAY 3:

the morning light filters through your curtains as you get ready for school, jiwoo’s carrier already waiting by the door from last night’s hand-off. jay had taken her after he dropped you home yesterday, and you had fallen asleep surprisingly fast, knowing she was with him. your phone buzzes with a single text from him at 7:12 a.m.

jay: on my way to school. jiwoo survived the night. barely. see you in class.

you smile at the message, a tiny flutter in your chest that you quickly brush off as leftover tiredness. you grab your bag and head out, the carrier feeling lighter today for some reason.

when you walk into ms. choi’s classroom for first period, jay is already there, slumped a little in his seat at your assigned double desk. his eyes have dark circles underneath, his hair is messier than usual, and he is rubbing his face with both hands like he can wipe the exhaustion away. the carrier sits between your spots, jiwoo quiet inside for now.

you slide into the chair next to him, setting your bag down gently.

“morning,” you say softly, studying his face. “you look… really tired.”

he lets out a low chuckle, voice rough and sleepy. “yeah. i didn’t sleep much. jiwoo decided 1:30 a.m., 3:45 a.m., and 5:20 a.m. were all perfect times to scream. i fed her, changed her, burped her — the whole routine. at one point i had to knock on my mom’s door and ask for backup because she wouldn’t settle. mom rocked her for like twenty minutes while i logged everything.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “why didn’t you text me? i could’ve talked you through it or at least stayed up with you over messages.”

jay shakes his head, offering a small, genuine smile that makes the tiredness in his eyes soften. “i thought about it. but you handled the 2 a.m. shift on monday night, and you have her all day today. i wanted you to actually sleep. you’ve been good about this whole thing — didn’t seem fair to drag you into another rough night when i could handle it.”

you feel a warm pull in your chest at his words, something gentle and considerate that you hadn’t expected from the quiet football senior. “that’s… really sweet of you. but next time, text me anyway. we’re supposed to be a team, right?”

he nods, leaning back in his chair. “yeah. a team. i’ll remember that.”

before you can say more, ms. choi claps her hands at the front of the room, her usual bright energy filling the space. the desks are arranged in a loose circle today, pairs sitting side by side.

“good morning, everyone! welcome to our first parent support group session. today we’re going to share — honestly — one challenge and one win from the first two days of the project. no sugarcoating. this is about learning how to communicate and support each other through real-life messiness. we’ll go around the circle. volunteers first, or i’ll pick.”

the room fills with a mix of groans and nervous laughs. sunoo raises his hand immediately, looking like he has been waiting to vent.

ms. choi nods at him. “kim sunoo and kang taehyun — go ahead.”

sunoo sighs dramatically, gesturing to taehyun who sits beside him with equally tired eyes. “our challenge is that we’re both terrible at this and might actually fail. taehyun had her monday night and texted me panicked voice notes because he couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t stop crying. i had to guide him like a customer service rep at 1 a.m. last night she woke up three times and we both barely slept. we’re worried we won’t make it to the end of the week without the health score tanking.”

taehyun rubs the back of his neck, adding in his calm but deadpan voice, “yeah. the challenge is sleep deprivation and my complete lack of baby instincts. the win is… we’re still at 84% health and we haven’t thrown the doll out the window yet. small victories.”

the class laughs lightly. ms. choi smiles encouragingly. “honest. good. next?”

yunjin jumps in without waiting, her voice sharp but tired. baby sunghoon jr. rests in the carrier between her and sunghoon, who looks mildly guilty.

“challenge: my partner thinks the baby is an optional accessory he can pick up when it fits his football schedule,” yunjin says, shooting sunghoon a pointed look. “he promised to meet me at the door yesterday morning and didn’t show. i waited, the baby fussed, and i had to handle it alone before rehearsal. he’s great on the field but apparently coordination off it is a struggle.”

sunghoon clears his throat, voice low. “challenge accepted. i messed up the hand-off. win is that last night i took a night shift so she could sleep, and the health score actually went up. we’re learning… slowly.”

yunjin huffs but there’s a tiny reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “fine. that part was decent.”

next come kazuha and gaeul. kazuha speaks first, her voice calm and measured as always.

“our challenge was the random crying during my dance practice yesterday, but we worked around it. win is that we actually enjoy teaming up. gaeul is super organized — we made a shared calendar and even a playlist of soft songs for when the baby gets fussy. health score is at 95%. it feels nice working together.”

gaeul nods, smiling warmly at kazuha. “exactly. no big drama, just steady progress. we’re both getting better at reading the cues.”

more pairs share — some funny stories about dolls crying in the middle of tests, others about late-night arguments over whose turn it was. then ms. choi’s eyes land on you and jay.

“go ahead — your turn.”

you glance at jay. he gives you a small nod, like it’s okay if you start. you take a breath.

“challenge… the nights are harder than i thought. jiwoo woke me at 2 a.m. monday, and jay had a rough one last night too. we’re both tired, and balancing it with classes and his football schedule is tricky. but the win is that we’re actually communicating. he skipped optional practice yesterday to help when she got ‘sick,’ and we got the health score back up together. we’re… managing. better than i expected.”

jay leans forward slightly, voice steady but quieter than usual because of how worn out he is.

“yeah. challenge is the sleep and making sure this doesn’t mess with nationals prep — scouts are watching. win is she’s really good at calming jiwoo down fast, and she’s been flexible with the schedule even when i have practice. we’re figuring it out as a team. health at 89% this morning. not perfect, but we’re not failing.”

ms. choi nods approvingly. “honest and balanced. that’s what this is about — supporting each other when life gets busy. good work, you two.”

the support group wraps up with a few more pairs, and then ms. choi reviews some tips for the rest of the week. the rest of the morning feels lighter after the sharing session. you and jay sit together in the next class, trading quiet comments about the other pairs’ stories. he looks less weighed down now that he has talked about the rough night.

lunch arrives, and instead of sitting with your separate friends, you both naturally head to the same table near the windows again. jay carries the carrier this time, setting it carefully between you. jiwoo stays mostly quiet, and he handles a small fuss with surprising ease — rocking her gently while you unpack your food.

“you’re getting really good at that,” you say, watching him pat her back with the right rhythm.

he shrugs, but there is a small proud smile on his lips. “practice makes perfect, i guess. last night was rough, but this morning she only cried once and settled fast when i fed her. mom helped with tips too — she said i was holding her too tense at first.”

you laugh softly. “your mom seemed really excited about the project yesterday.”

“she is. keeps asking for updates like it’s a real grandkid.” he pauses, glancing at you. “she liked you, by the way. said you seem kind and level-headed. high praise from her.”

your cheeks warm a little at that. “tell her thanks. the ramen was good too.”

the conversation flows easily over lunch — about how sunoo and taehyun are dramatically bonding over their shared exhaustion, how yunjin is slowly warming up to sunghoon despite her complaints, and how kazuha and gaeul make the whole thing look effortless. jay talks a bit more about football, the pressure of the upcoming match, and how skipping optional practice yesterday actually made him focus better in the evening session because he wasn’t resenting the project.

“it’s weird,” he admits, taking a bite of his food. “i thought this would be a total distraction, but having someone to share the load with makes it feel less like a chore.”

you nod, feeling those small butterflies again as you watch him interact with jiwoo. “same. i was nervous about being paired with a senior i didn’t know, but you’re… easy to talk to.”

he meets your eyes for a moment, something soft flickering there before he looks back at the carrier. “you too.”

the afternoon classes pass without any major jiwoo meltdowns. you take her for most of them while jay attends his, but he texts you updates and silly memes about tired parents whenever he can. by the final bell, the day feels surprisingly nice — productive, calm, and warmer than the chaotic start of the week.

as you pack up for the last class of the day, jay appears beside your locker.

“i’ll walk you,” he says simply, taking the carrier from you even though it is your turn.

you blink. “it’s out of your way though. your class is on the other side of the building.”

he shrugs, adjusting the straps on his shoulder. “doesn’t matter. we can talk a bit more. plus, jiwoo’s been good all afternoon — i want to make sure she stays that way until the hand-off.”

you fall into step beside him, the hallway buzzing around you but feeling distant. the conversation stays light — favorite snacks for late-night study sessions, funny stories from his team practices, how you and your friends sometimes do convenience store runs at midnight. every so often his arm brushes yours when he shifts the carrier, and each time a small spark of butterflies flutters in your stomach.

when you reach the door of your classroom, he stops and hands the carrier back carefully.

“here. she’s all yours for the rest of the day. text me if she gives you trouble.”

you take it, fingers brushing his for a brief second. “thanks for walking me. and for last night… even if you didn’t text.”

he smiles, that half-smile that is becoming familiar. “anytime. see you tomorrow.”

“see you tomorrow, jay.”

you watch him walk away down the hallway, shoulders a little straighter despite the tiredness. as you step into class and sit down, the butterflies linger — quiet, unexpected, but definitely there. the project is forcing you two to spend time together, but the way he chose to let you sleep, the way he walks you even when it is inconvenient, the easy conversations… it is starting to feel like more than just a shared grade.

wednesday ends on a gentle note, the kind that leaves you replaying small moments in your head long after the final bell.

-------

THURSDAY. DAY 4:

the night passes smoother than the previous ones. jiwoo only wakes you once, around 1:40 a.m., with a short, fussy cry that you handle quickly. you feed her, burp her, and rock her back to sleep in under ten minutes, logging everything neatly in the app before crawling back under the covers. when your alarm goes off in the morning you actually feel somewhat rested — a small win that makes the walk to school feel lighter.

you meet jay at the usual spot outside ms. choi’s classroom. he looks better today, the dark circles under his eyes faded a bit, and he gives you a genuine smile when he sees you approaching with the carrier.

“morning,” he says, voice still a little husky from sleep. “how was she last night?”

“surprisingly good,” you reply, handing the carrier over for his morning classes. “only one wake-up and she settled fast. i think we’re getting the hang of her patterns.”

he nods, adjusting the straps carefully. “that’s a relief. i had a decent night too after the rough one yesterday. thanks for taking the full shift today — practice is going to be brutal later.”

the morning classes go by without any major incidents. jiwoo stays mostly calm in your care, and jay texts you occasional updates from his side, including a funny photo of her “sleeping” on his desk during a break. the shared logbook fills with small notes back and forth, and the health score hovers steadily in the high 80s.

by the time lunch ends and afternoon classes begin, the schedule clash becomes obvious. jay has mandatory football practice starting at 6 p.m. — right when jiwoo’s app starts giving warning beeps about needing attention. you check your phone during the last period and see the health score dipping slightly. you make a quick decision.

after the final bell, you grab the carrier and head straight to the football field instead of going home. the late afternoon sun is warm on your back as you walk across the grass, the distant sound of whistles and shouts growing louder. a few players are already warming up, stretching and jogging drills.

you spot jay near the bench, helmet off, talking to coach. he turns when he hears footsteps and his face lights up the moment he sees you — eyes widening slightly, shoulders relaxing, a bright, surprised smile breaking across his face.

“hey,” he calls, jogging over immediately. sweat already dots his forehead, and his practice jersey clings a little to his chest. “you came all the way here?”

you shrug, trying to play it casual even as your heart does a small flip at how happy he looks. “the app said she needs care soon, and your practice clashes. figured i’d bring her so you can take a turn during water break. didn’t want the score to drop because of timing.”

he takes the carrier gently from you, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. “you’re a lifesaver. seriously. coach is strict about focus today, but water breaks are every twenty minutes. i can handle her then.”

before you can respond, sunghoon and jake wander over, helmets tucked under their arms, matching grins already forming.

“well, well,” jake says, voice loud and teasing. “look who decided to bring the baby to practice. jay, you lighting up like that when she shows up? that’s new.”

sunghoon crosses his arms, smirking as he eyes the way jay is carefully adjusting the carrier on his own shoulder. “yeah. i’ve never seen you smile that big during warm-ups. usually you’re all focused and grumpy. now one junior with a doll shows up and suddenly you’re glowing.”

jay rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn pink. “shut up. we actually care about this project. unlike some captains who can’t even meet their partner at the door on time.”

sunghoon laughs, not bothered. “touché. but seriously, man — you two are starting to look like actual parents showing up to support each other. it’s cute.”

jake wiggles his eyebrows. “cute and dangerous for your focus. coach is gonna notice if you keep glancing at the bleachers every five seconds.”

jay shoves jake’s shoulder lightly, but he is smiling despite himself. “you two are the worst. go run laps or something.”

the teasing intensifies for a few more seconds until coach blows the whistle, calling everyone back to drills. jay hands the carrier back to you for now, giving you a quick, grateful nod.

“i’ll come find you at the next water break. thanks again for coming.”

you find a spot on the lower bleachers, close enough to watch but not in the way. practice is intense — sprints, tackling dummies, passing routes. you keep an eye on jiwoo, feeding her when she starts to fuss and logging it right away. the health score climbs back up steadily.

during the first water break, jay jogs straight over, breathing hard, grabbing his bottle with one hand while reaching for the carrier with the other. he handles jiwoo with surprising gentleness for someone who just finished running drills, rocking her lightly while taking quick sips of water.

“is she good?” he asks between breaths, sweat dripping down his temple.

“yeah. she calmed down fast when i fed her. you’re getting really natural with her now.”

he grins, tired but proud. “thanks to you. team effort, remember?”

the break ends too soon, and he hands her back before jogging off again. you watch him rejoin the team, noticing how sunghoon claps him on the back and says something that makes jay shake his head with a laugh.

the second water break comes, and this time ningning — one of the head cheerleaders — walks over just as jay approaches you. she is in her practice uniform, ponytail swinging, bright smile on her face. she stops right beside jay, barely glancing at you or the baby.

“hey jay,” ningning says, voice sweet and flirty, tilting her head. “you looked really good out there today. that last route you ran? impressive. maybe after practice you can show me some tips? i’ve been wanting to get better at… coordination.”

she steps a little closer, ignoring the carrier in your hands and the way jay is clearly focused on you. a tiny, unexpected spark of jealousy flares in your chest — sharp and warm at the same time. you hate how it feels, but you can’t stop it. ningning is confident, popular, the type who fits perfectly with the football crowd. you are just… you, standing here with a fake baby like an awkward parent.

jay barely hesitates. he shifts closer to you, one hand lightly touching the edge of the carrier as if to anchor himself.

“thanks, ningning, but i’m good,” he says politely but firmly, voice steady. “i've got practice, then i have to handle this project with her. we’re kind of busy with the baby schedule.”

ningning’s smile falters for a second, her eyes flicking to you and then to jiwoo. “oh… right. the doll thing. well, if you change your mind later—”

“i won’t,” jay cuts in gently but clearly, offering her a small nod. “but good luck with your cheer stuff.”

she walks away with a little wave, but the flirtation is obviously shut down. jay turns back to you immediately, expression softening.

“sorry about that,” he says quietly, taking the carrier again for the last few minutes of his break. “she’s always like that. doesn’t mean anything.”

you swallow, the jealousy fading as quickly as it came, replaced by a warmer flutter. “it’s fine. you didn’t have to… i mean, you could’ve talked to her.”

he shakes his head, looking at you directly. “nah. we’re doing this together. plus, i’d rather figure out how to keep jiwoo’s score up than worry about cheer tips right now.”

coach’s whistle blows again. jay hands the carrier back, his fingers brushing yours once more.

“stay if you can? after practice i’ll drive you home again — unless you have plans.”

you nod, heart beating a little faster. “i’ll stay.”

the rest of practice drags on, but you find yourself watching jay more than the drills — the way he moves with focus and energy, the quick smiles he shoots toward the bleachers when he thinks you are looking. when practice finally ends, he jogs over, hair damp with sweat, grabbing his bag and the carrier in one smooth motion.

“ready?” he asks, voice tired but content.

“yeah.”

as you walk toward the parking lot together, the teasing from sunghoon and jake echoes faintly behind you — “look at the happy family leaving together!” — but jay just laughs it off, shoulder bumping yours lightly.

thursday leaves you with a quiet realization: the jealousy you felt was small, but real. and the way jay shut it down without hesitation makes those butterflies feel a little stronger, a little harder to ignore.

-------

FRIDAY. DAY 5:

the night slips by in a haze of quiet routine. jiwoo wakes only once, around midnight, with a soft whimper that you soothe almost instantly. you rock her against your shoulder in the dark, whispering nonsense words until she settles, the carrier lights blinking green again. the logbook entry feels routine now — “12:07 a.m. quick rock and burp, settled in 4 minutes.” you fall back asleep faster than you have all week, the exhaustion from earlier days softening into something almost manageable. when morning comes, the house is quiet, your parents already gone for their shifts, and you feel a strange sense of calm as you prepare for school.

friday had left a lingering warmth in your chest — the way jay had shut down ningning so quickly at the field, the easy way he had handed jiwoo back with that soft half-smile, the texts that kept coming even after practice. you catch yourself replaying those moments while you walk to school, the carrier light on your chest. your friends are waiting at the gate again, their faces a mix of tired smiles and dramatic sighs.

“jiwoo was an angel last night,” you tell them, adjusting the blanket. “only one wake-up and it was over fast. i actually got decent sleep.”

kazuha nods, her own carrier steady. “same with eunchae. gaeul and i are in a good rhythm now. she even sent me a good-morning text with a lullaby suggestion.”

sunoo groans theatrically but grins. “taehyun took her again and only panicked once. he’s starting to brag about his burping technique. it’s cute in a chaotic way.”

yunjin crosses her arms, though her eyes sparkle with reluctant amusement. “sunghoon actually texted me at 11 p.m. asking if the baby needed anything before he crashed. progress? maybe. but he still calls her ‘the tiny distraction’ when he thinks i’m not listening.”

the conversation flows easily as you all head inside, trading more stories about night shifts and health scores. the shared exhaustion has bonded the group in a way that feels almost familial now, and you laugh more than you complain. the morning classes pass in a blur of notes and occasional glances at your phone. jay texts you a couple of times from his own classes — short updates on jiwoo’s schedule and a silly meme about sleep-deprived parents that makes you smile in the middle of english.

by the time lunch arrives, you meet him at the usual table near the windows. he looks focused but relaxed, the carrier already between you as he rocks it gently with one foot while eating.

“was she good for you last night?” he asks, voice low so the nearby tables don’t overhear.

you nod, taking a bite of your food. “yeah, really calm. only one quick fuss. you?”

“perfect. slept straight through after practice. thanks for handling the full day yesterday — it helped a lot with an essay i had to hand today.” he leans in a little closer, eyes meeting yours. “we’re actually doing okay with this, aren’t we?”

the question feels heavier than it should, laced with something unspoken. you feel the tension from yesterday’s field visit linger in the air between you — the teasing from his friends, the way he had chosen to stay focused on the project, on you. “yeah,” you reply softly. “better than i expected. you’re not as bad at the dad thing as you thought.”

he chuckles, the sound warm and low. “don’t give me too much credit yet. tonight’s my full night with her, right? after practice.”

you confirm the schedule you had texted earlier. practice is running late again — coach pushing hard for nationals — so it will end around 8 p.m. jay offers to pick you up from your house once he’s done, since he will be taking jiwoo for the night anyway. the idea of seeing him after dark, outside of school, sends a quiet thrill through you that you try to ignore.

the afternoon drags a little, jiwoo staying mostly cooperative in your classes. you update the logbook diligently, and jay keeps the texts coming — casual questions about your day, a photo of his lunch tray with a caption about missing “family lunch,” and a reminder about the pickup. each message builds the tension a little more, the easy rhythm between you feeling less like a forced project and more like something you both look forward to.

when the final bell rings, you head home, jiwoo in the carrier. you do homework, help with a few chores, and wait for the evening to unfold. around 8:15 your phone buzzes.

jay: just finished. showered quick. heading your way now. still okay if i pick you up?

you reply instantly. the wait feels longer than it is, your heart picking up pace when headlights finally sweep across your driveway. you grab the carrier — jiwoo quiet and ready for the hand-off — and step outside. jay’s car idles at the curb, him leaning over to open the passenger door from inside.

“hey,” he says as you slide in, the familiar scent of his mint gum and fresh laundry filling the small space. he looks tired from practice but his eyes brighten when they land on you and the carrier. “she been good?”

“perfect,” you answer, buckling in while he carefully takes the carrier and secures it in the back. “how was practice?”

“brutal but good. coach had us running extra for conditioning. nationals nerves are real.” he pulls away from the curb, the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face. “i was thinking… instead of just dropping you off right away, do you want to grab dinner somewhere? nothing fancy — there’s that 24-hour diner a few blocks from here. we can eat quick, update the log together, and then i’ll take her for the night.”

the invitation catches you off guard in the best way. the tension that has been building all week — the shared glances, the protective way he handled ningning, the easy conversations — tightens in your chest. “yeah,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual. “that sounds good. i’m actually hungry.”

he smiles, that small half-smile that makes the butterflies stir stronger. “cool. my treat. you’ve been carrying a lot of the load this week.”

the drive is short, filled with light talk about practice drills and your last class quiz. jay parks near the diner, a cozy spot with neon signs and the smell of burgers and coffee drifting out. he insists on carrying the carrier inside, his free hand brushing yours accidentally as you walk through the door. the place is half-empty at this hour, soft music playing in the background.

you slide into a booth across from each other, the carrier placed carefully on the seat beside you. a waitress drops off menus and water, cooing briefly at jiwoo before taking your orders — simple burgers, fries, and shakes for both of you.

conversation flows naturally at first. jay talks more about the scholarship pressure, how scouts will be at the sunday match, and how the project has surprisingly helped him manage stress by forcing him to schedule everything better. you share stories about your friends’ drama — yunjin slowly softening with sunghoon, sunoo and taehyun turning their panic into a running joke. the food arrives warm and comforting, and you both eat while taking turns glancing at jiwoo, who stays peacefully asleep.

halfway through the meal, an older woman at the next table leans over, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the carrier. she has kind wrinkles around her eyes and a gentle smile.

“oh, what a beautiful little family,” she says warmly, clasping her hands. “you two look so young to have such a precious baby. how old is she?”

the question hangs in the air. you open your mouth to correct her — “oh, no, she’s not real, it’s a school project” — but jay speaks first, his voice smooth and playful, leaning into the moment with surprising ease.

“she’s almost a month old now,” he says, reaching over to gently adjust jiwoo’s blanket with careful fingers. his tone is soft, almost proud. “our little jiwoo. she’s the most precious thing ever — keeps us up at night but we wouldn’t trade it for anything.” you can't help but laugh quielty.

the old lady beams, eyes crinkling. “she has your eyes, young man. and you, dear, have such a gentle way with her. new parents are always so sweet together. cherish these moments — they go by so fast.”

you feel heat rush to your face, the tension spiking sharply. your heart pounds as you glance at jay, expecting him to laugh it off or explain. instead, he just nods along, that soft smile still in place.

“we will,” he says sincerely. “thank you. she really is everything to us.”

the woman wishes you well and turns back to her own table, leaving a charged silence between you and jay. you stare at him, eyebrows raised, the butterflies turning into something heavier, warmer, more insistent.

“what was that?” you whisper once she is out of earshot, half-laughing, half-flustered. “i was about to tell her it’s a doll for school.”

jay rubs the back of his neck, but his eyes meet yours without embarrassment. “i know. sorry— it just… felt harmless. she looked so happy thinking we were this cute young couple with a real baby. i didn’t want to disappoint her. plus…” he pauses, voice dropping lower, the tension thickening the air around the booth. “it wasn’t entirely weird to play along. we’ve been doing this all week — the hand-offs, the late texts, the worrying together. it kind of feels like we are figuring out the parent thing. even if it’s fake.”

his words settle over you like a blanket, heavy with implication. the project has forced proximity, but moments like this — the field visit, the car rides, now dinner — are turning it into something more. you feel the pull stronger than before, the way his gaze lingers on you a second longer than necessary, the way your skin tingles when his knee brushes yours under the table.

“you’re quite dangerous when you decide to be charming, aren't you?” you murmur, trying to keep it light even as your pulse races.

he laughs softly, but there is a new intensity in his eyes. “only with you, apparently. the project’s messing with my head a little. or maybe it’s just making me notice things i didn’t before.”

the rest of the meal passes in a haze of charged conversation — lighter topics mixed with quieter admissions. he asks about your plans after high school, you ask about his football dreams beyond the scholarship. every shared laugh, every accidental touch while reaching for fries, builds the tension higher. jiwoo stays quiet, almost like she is in on the moment, her presence a constant reminder of the fake life you are building together.

when the check comes, jay pays despite your protest, waving it off with “you’ve earned it after all the night shifts.” outside the diner the air is cooler, the streetlights casting a soft glow. he drives you the short distance home, the car filled with comfortable but electric silence. jiwoo is secured in the back, ready for her night with him.

he parks in front of your house but does not unlock the doors right away. the engine hums low, and he turns slightly in his seat to face you.

“thanks for tonight,” he says quietly. “dinner, the company… all of it. i know it’s late and you could’ve just handed her off at the door.”

you unbuckle slowly, heart still racing from the old lady moment and everything unsaid. “i had fun. even when you decided to play happy family with a stranger.”

he chuckles, but his expression turns more serious, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “about that… i wasn’t completely joking. this week has been weird, but in a good way. being paired with you — it’s made me realize i like spending time with you. not just for the grade or the schedule. more than that.”

the confession hangs there, raw and tentative, increasing the tension until it feels almost tangible. you swallow, the butterflies now a full storm in your stomach. “i… feel the same. it started as awkward, but now it feels like we’re actually connecting. the project’s forcing us to be honest in ways we probably wouldn’t otherwise.”

jay nods, his hand resting on the gear shift close to where yours lingers on the console. for a moment it seems like he might reach over, close the small distance, but he holds back, respecting the slow pace you both seem to need.

“get some rest,” he says finally, voice gentle. “i’ll handle jiwoo tonight and text updates.”

you step out, the cool air hitting your flushed cheeks. “night, jay. drive safe with her.”

“night.”

he waits until you are inside before pulling away, taillights fading down the street. inside your room you collapse onto the bed, replaying every second of the evening — the old lady’s assumption, jay’s easy play-along, the quiet admissions in the car. the tension has shifted tonight, no longer just friendly cooperation but something deeper, sweeter, full of possibility. the fake baby has cracked open real feelings, and as you drift off, you wonder how much longer you can both pretend it is only about the project.

the week is winding down, but whatever is growing between you and jay feels like it is just beginning — slow, tentative, and impossible to ignore.

-------

SATURDAY. DAY 6:

saturday morning arrives with a silence that feels almost foreign after a week of being woken by high-pitched digital wailing. when you finally blink your eyes open, the sun is streaming through the curtains in long, dusty bars of gold. you reach for your phone instinctively, your thumb hovering over the baby app before you remember: jay has her.

you scroll through your notifications and find a string of texts from him, sent in the quiet hours of the early morning.

at 3:14 a.m.:

jay: she’s finally out. took her twenty minutes to settle after a diaper change. why does she look so peaceful when she’s been a menace for two hours?

jay: also, i think i’m hallucinating from sleep deprivation, but i’m pretty sure she just made a sound that sounded like 'ball.' she’s going to be a star athlete.

then, the last one, sent at 8:30 a.m.:

jay: morning. we’re alive. barely. i’m caffeinated and jiwoo is currently staring at a wall. park at 11 still on?

you smile into your pillow, typing back a quick confirmation. the butterflies that settled in your stomach at the diner last night are still there, humming a low, steady tune.

the park is halfway between your houses, a sprawling green space filled with families and dogs catching frisbees. you spot jay almost immediately, leaning against a large oak tree near the pond. he’s wearing a simple black hoodie and joggers, the baby carrier strapped to his chest. he looks like he belongs in a catalog for 'world's most attractive tired dad.'

when he sees you, his face breaks into that wide, genuine grin that always makes your pulse skip a beat.

“look who it is,” he calls out as you get closer. “jiwoo, look, your mom is here to save us from this boring tree.”

you laugh, stepping into his space. the scent of his laundry detergent and a hint of coffee hits you. “morning. how are the 'star athlete' and her exhausted father doing?”

“she's being suspiciously quiet today,” jay says, looking down at the doll. “it’s like she knows it’s the weekend. she’s been in 'easy mode' since 9:00 a.m. i’m actually a little scared she’s plotting something big for later.”

“maybe she just wants us to have a nice day,” you suggest, reaching out to adjust the tiny hat on jiwoo’s head. your fingers graze the fabric of jay’s hoodie, and for a second, your gaze catches his. the air between you feels thick and sweet.

“i’d like that,” jay says softly.

you spend the next two hours wandering the paved paths of the park. without the pressure of school hallways or the rush of practice, the conversation feels effortless. you talk about everything and nothing. he tells you about his favorite childhood dog — a golden retriever who was terrible at fetching — and you tell him about the time you tried to dye your own hair in middle school and ended up with a patch of neon orange that took months to fade.

“no way,” he laughs, his shoulder bumping yours as you walk. “i need to see pictures of that. please tell me your parents have evidence.”

“buried deep in the family archives,” you say, shaking your head. “you have to earn the right to see the orange hair phase, park jongseong.”

“oh, so we're on a points system now?” he teases, his eyes sparkling. “how do i earn points? do i get some for being a solo parent last night?”

“maybe a few,” you admit.

eventually, you find a wide, flat stretch of grass away from the main crowd. jay drops his duffel bag — which you realize is filled with both baby supplies and football gear.

“alright,” he says, pulling out a well-worn football. “since we have some peace and quiet, and since you've spent all week watching me run around a field, it's your turn. i’m going to teach you how to throw a proper spiral.”

you eye the ball skeptically. “jay, the last time i threw something, it was a crumpled piece of paper at a trash can and i missed by three feet. i don't think this is a good idea.”

“trust me,” he says, stepping closer. he stands behind you, his presence warm and grounding. “it's all about the grip. here.”

he reaches around, his hands covering yours as he guides your fingers onto the laces of the ball. his chest is inches from your back, and you can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. your heart is doing triple-time against your ribs.

“fingers on the laces,” he murmurs, his voice right next to your ear. “don't grip it too tight. you want a little space between your palm and the ball. see?”

you nod, your voice feeling trapped in your throat. his hands are large and calloused, a contrast to the gentleness of his touch.

“now, bring it back by your ear,” he instructs, moving your arm with his. “step forward with your opposite foot, and when you release, flick your wrist. like you're pointing at the target.”

he steps back, giving you space to try. you take a breath, step, and throw. the ball wobbles through the air, traveling about ten feet before thudding unceremoniously into the grass.

jay lets out a snort of laughter.

“don't say it,” you warn, pointing a finger at him.

“i wasn't going to say anything!” he says, holding his hands up in defense. “it was... a very brave first attempt. the target was the ground, right? because you hit it perfectly.”

“you're the worst,” you laugh, picking up a handful of grass and tossing it at him.

“hey! i'm the coach!” he jogs over to retrieve the ball. “again. focus. imagine ningning is standing right where the ball lands and you're trying to— no, wait, that's mean. imagine there’s a scout there. or just imagine i'm there waiting to catch it.”

the next twenty minutes are a blur of laughter and terrible throws. jay is patient, constantly encouraging you, and eventually, you manage a throw that actually spirals, landing right in his outstretched hands.

he let out a loud “yes!” and jogs back to you, lifting a hand for a high-five. “see? natural talent. scholarship is basically in the bag.”

“i think i'll stick to my day job,” you pant, your face flushed from the exertion and the fun.

“which is?”

“come on. i'll show you.”

you lead him to the far edge of the park, where a small, hidden trail winds through a patch of dense trees. it opens up into a tiny clearing overlooking a quiet creek. there’s an old, sun-bleached wooden bench tucked under a willow tree.

“this is it,” you say, sitting down and patting the spot next to you. “my quiet spot. i come here to read when everything feels a bit too loud.”

jay sits, careful of jiwoo in the carrier. he looks around at the dappled sunlight on the water and the way the willow leaves sway in the breeze. “it's nice,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer register. “it's really peaceful. i get why you like it.”

“it’s the only place i can actually hear my own thoughts,” you admit.

“what are your thoughts saying today?” he asks, turning his head to look at you. the light catches the amber flecks in his eyes.

you feel the weight of the question. your thoughts are currently a chaotic loop of his hand felt warm on mine and i don't want this project to end.

“mostly that i'm glad we got paired together,” you say, choosing the safest version of the truth. “even if ms. choi is a madwoman for doing this to us.”

jay laughs, but it’s a quiet, thoughtful sound. “yeah. she’s definitely crazy. but i think... i think i owe her a thank you note. i don't think i would've ever had the guts to just come up and talk to you otherwise. i always saw you in the halls, and i thought you seemed... cool. but you were always so quiet and had that 'don't bother me, i'm reading' look.”

“i do not have a 'don't bother me' look!” you protest, nudging him with your elbow.

“you totally do. it’s intimidating,” he insists. “but i’m glad i got past it. i like the 'bothering you' part of my day the best now.”

the afternoon fades into a soft orange glow. eventually, hunger wins out, and you head back to his house. mrs. park is out running errands, so the house is quiet and cool.

you end up in the kitchen again, making simple sandwiches while jay gives jiwoo a “bath” (wiping the doll down with the designated kit wipes). it feels domestic and easy. you find yourself humming a song as you plate the food, and jay catches your eye, a small, knowing smile on his face.

“what?” you ask, feeling your face heat up.

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “just... you're a good mom, jiwoo. your dad is lucky.”

“jay!”

“what? i'm just stating facts for the logbook,” he teases.

after eating, you sit on his living room floor, surrounded by textbooks you’re both pretending to read. in reality, you’re mostly talking. the conversation shifts to tomorrow — the match.

“it's at 10:00 a.m.,” jay says, his expression turning a bit more serious. “the scouts from the state university are going to be there. it’s the biggest game of the season so far. i’m... i’m actually pretty nervous.”

“you'll be great,” you say firmly. “i've seen you practice. you're the most dedicated person on that field. they'd be idiots not to see that.”

“will you really be there?” he asks, his voice low. “even though you don't have to be? the project is technically 'at home' on sundays.”

“i'll be there,” you promise. “front row. i’ll even bring a sign if you want, although sunghoon might try to steal the spotlight.”

“please don't bring a sign,” he laughs. “but just seeing you there... it'll help. a lot.”

as evening settles in, he drives you back to your house. the car ride is quieter than the one to the park, a comfortable, heavy silence filling the space. he pulls into your driveway and kills the engine, but neither of you moves to get out.

the streetlights are just starting to flicker on. jiwoo is asleep in the back, her little electronic breathing the only sound in the car.

jay turns in his seat, his arm resting on the back of yours. he looks like he wants to say something — his mouth opens, his brow furrows slightly, and his eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“hey,“ he says, his voice barely a whisper.

“yeah?“ your heart is thundering.

he reaches out, his thumb catching a stray lock of hair near your ear and tucking it back. his touch is lingering, his hand staying near your jaw for a second too long. the tension is so thick it feels like a physical thing between you, a cord pulling you closer.

“i...” he starts, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes. he looks almost pained, like he's fighting an internal battle.

he stops. he swallows hard, his hand dropping back to the steering wheel.

“i'll... i'll see you tomorrow morning,” he says, his voice a bit strained. “10:00 a.m. don't forget the 'medicine' drops for jiwoo, just in case she gets fussy in the stands.”

you feel a wave of disappointment, followed by a rush of affection. he's chickening out. but in a way, it's endearing — the confident star athlete, reduced to nerves by a quiet junior.

“i won't forget,” you say, reaching for the door handle. “good luck tonight with her. and good luck tomorrow. you've got this.”

“thanks,“ he says, his eyes still fixed on you as you step out of the car.

you walk to your front door, feeling his gaze on your back. when you get inside, you watch from the window as his car pulls away. your heart is still racing, the memory of his hand near your face burning on your skin.

tomorrow is the last day. the project ends, the doll goes back, and the 'fake' family is over. but as you look at the last text he sends you before you go to bed — get some sleep, partner. see you at the kickoff — you know that whatever this is, it isn't fake at all.

-------

SUNDAY. DAY 7:

sunday morning arrives with a sky so blue it feels intentional, a backdrop designed for a series finale. you wake up before your alarm, the silence of the room feeling heavy now that jiwoo is with jay for the final morning. today is the day. the last day of the project, the big game, and the unspoken deadline for whatever has been growing between you and park jongseong.

you dress carefully — denim jacket, comfortable shoes, and your hair done just the way you know he likes it, even if he hasn’t said it out loud. your heart is already doing a nervous dance in your chest as you grab your bag and head to the stadium.

the high school bleachers are already filling up when you arrive. the air smells like cut grass, popcorn, and that electric, high-stakes tension that follows the football team everywhere. you spot the junior-senior crew almost immediately. yunjin is there, wearing a drama club hoodie but sitting suspiciously close to where sunghoon’s jersey is draped over a seat. sunoo is waving a literal foam finger, and kazuha is looking calm as ever, baby eunchae resting in the carrier between them.

“there she is!” sunoo yells, beckoning you over. “the woman of the hour! how are the nerves?”

“awful,” you admit, sliding into the seat beside them. “where’s jay?”

“down by the locker rooms,” yunjin says, nudging you with her elbow. “he’s been looking at the entrance every thirty seconds. you better go say hi before he pulls a muscle from craning his neck.”

you laugh, but you don't need to be told twice. you head down the bleachers toward the gated area where the players are doing their final warm-ups. jay is easy to find. he’s in full gear — jersey number tight across his shoulders, pads making him look even more imposing, cleats clicking on the pavement. he’s holding the carrier in one hand, looking slightly out of place amongst the hyper-masculine energy of the pre-game huddle.

when he sees you, the focused, 'footballer-mode' mask he wears completely shatters. his eyes light up, and he breaks away from a conversation with jake to jog toward you.

“you’re here,” he says, his voice a little breathless.

“i promised, didn’t i?” you smile, your heart doing a somersault.

he holds out the carrier, looking relieved. “coach said i have to hand her off now. i was worried you’d get stuck in traffic or something.”

you take the carrier from him, the weight familiar and grounding. you look down at the doll, then back up at him. a bit of mischief sparks in your brain, fueled by the adrenaline of the morning. you lift the carrier slightly, tilting jiwoo’s head toward jay.

“alright, jiwoo,” you say, pitching your voice into a high, silly, muppet-like squeak. “tell your dad what we practiced.”

jay blinks, a surprised laugh bubbling out of him.

you wiggle the carrier’s handle so the doll bounces. “you’re gonna do great, daddy!” you squeak in the cute voice. “go kick the ball really hard! make sure the scouts see how fast you are! we believe in you!”

jay is clutching his stomach, laughing so hard his ears have turned a bright, endearing shade of red. “oh my god, stop. you’re killing me.”

“we have a bet with sunghoon jr. that you’ll score two goals!” you continue, the muppet-voice getting even more ridiculous. “don’t let us down, big guy!”

jay reaches out, his hand covering yours on the carrier handle for a brief, warm second. his laughter subsides into a soft, glowing look that makes your breath catch. “thanks, jiwoo. and thanks... for being the weirdest, best partner ever.”

“go,” you say, your normal voice returning, soft and encouraging. “we’ll be right there in the front row.”

“watch me,” he says, and it feels like a promise.

the game is a blur of noise and color. you sit with the carrier on the seat beside you, your hands clenched in your lap. every time jay gets the ball, the crowd erupts, but your world narrows down to just him — the way he moves with a blend of power and grace, the way he communicates with his teammates, the sheer determination in his stride.

halfway through the second half, the score is tied. jay breaks through the defense, the ball a blur at his feet. he maneuvers past two defenders, the stadium holding its collective breath, and then — thud. the ball hits the back of the net.

the roar is deafening. jay is swarmed by his teammates, jake jumping on his back, sunghoon ruffling his hair. but as the team head back toward the center line, jay turns. he scans the bleachers with a frantic intensity until his eyes land right on you.

he raises a fist in the air, a bright, triumphant grin directed straight at your section. you’re blushing so furiously you feel like you might actually catch fire, but you’re cheering louder than anyone, holding jiwoo up like a tiny trophy.

by the time the whistle blows, they’ve won. the field is a sea of people, but you stay in your seat, waiting. you watched the scouts talk to him, watched his mom hug him, watched the team celebrate. slowly, the crowd thins out. your friends head to the parking lot, yunjin giving you a knowing wink as she drags sunoo and kazuha away.

“we’ll see you tomorrow at the hand-off!” she calls out.

finally, it’s just you, sitting in the quiet of the cooling afternoon, with jiwoo resting in her carrier. the shadows of the goalposts stretch long across the grass.

you hear the gate creak. jay is walking toward you. he’s changed out of his jersey into a simple school tee, his hair damp from a shower, his jacket slung over one shoulder. he looks exhausted, but there’s a glow about him that has nothing to do with the win.

he climbs the bleachers and slides into the row behind you, sitting so his knees are right next to your shoulders.

“hey,” he says, his voice low and intimate in the empty stadium.

“hey, star player,” you turn slightly to look at him. “the muppet-voice worked, i think.”

he laughs, a tired, happy sound. “it definitely did. i kept hearing it in my head every time i got near the goal.” he reaches down, his hand resting on the back of the seat next to yours. “scouts seemed happy. i think... i think the scholarship is safe.”

“i never doubted it,” you say softly.

the silence that follows isn’t awkward; it’s heavy. it’s the silence of a countdown.

“so,” jay says, his voice dropping an octave. “tomorrow morning. 8 a.m. ms. choi’s room. we give back the doll, she checks the final health score, and that’s... that’s the end of the project.”

“yeah,” you swallow. “back to normal life. no 2 a.m. logs. no shared calendars. no medicine drops.”

jay stares out at the empty field for a long time. his fingers trace the edge of the bleacher. “i was thinking about that. the 'back to normal' part.” he looks back at you, his expression guarded, shy in a way you’ve never seen him. “i don't think i like it.”

your heart starts to thud against your ribs. “you don’t?”

“no.” he lets out a sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “this week was supposed to be a nightmare. i was so stressed about nationals and my grades, and then i got paired with this quiet girl i’d never spoken to, and i thought... great, another thing to juggle.”

he leans forward, his face closer to yours now. the scent of his soap — something clean and citrusy — drifts over you.

“but then we started talking,” he continues, his voice steadying. “and i started looking forward to the 2 a.m. texts. i started looking forward to walking you to class. i even liked the weird dinner at the diner where we pretended to be a real family.”

he pauses, his eyes searching yours, searching for permission to keep going. you can’t speak; you just nod, your pulse racing.

“i know the baby was fake,” jay says, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. “the project was an assignment. the schedule was a requirement. but... i don’t think what happened between us this week was fake. i don't think the way i feel right now is part of the grade.”

you feel a tear prick at the corner of your eye — a mix of relief and overwhelming warmth. “jay...”

“i really like you,” he says, the words coming out in a rush, raw and honest. “not as a partner. not as 'the girl who’s good with dolls.' just you. i don’t want to go back to being the senior who only sees you in the hallway. i don’t want to stop having an excuse to talk to you.”

you reach out, your hand finding his on the bleacher. his skin is warm, and his fingers immediately lace through yours, tight and grounding.

“i was so scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i thought as soon as we handed jiwoo back, you’d just... go back to being the popular football guy and i’d be the quiet junior again. i didn’t want the week to end either. i like you too, jay. so much.”

the tension that has been building since monday — the accidental knee bumps, the car rides, the protective glances — finally snaps. jay leans in, his free hand reaching up to cuppe your cheek. his thumb brushes over your skin, his touch so gentle it makes you melt.

“is it okay if i kiss you?” he asks, his eyes searching yours one last time, his breath warm against your lips.

“yes,” you whisper.

he starts to lean in, his eyes fluttering shut. you close yours too, leaning forward, the world falling away until it’s just the two of you in the quiet stadium—

WAAAAAAAH! WAAAAAAAH! WAAAAAAAH!

the sound is like a physical blow. you both jump, nearly knocking heads. jay yelps, his hand flying back to the bleacher, while you scramble to look at the carrier.

jiwoo is screaming. not just a little fuss — this is the full-volume, 'i-haven't-been-fed-in-years' digital tantrum. her red lights are flashing like a police siren.

“no!” jay groans, throwing his head back and laughing in pure, frustrated disbelief. “not now! jiwoo, are you serious right now?”

you’re laughing too, doubled over, the tension broken by the sheer absurdity of it. “she knows! she’s jealous! she wants the attention back!”

“she’s a cockblocker,” jay mutters, though he’s grinning. “a plastic, electronic cockblocker.”

you fumbled for the bottle in the bag, clicking it into the doll’s mouth. the screaming stops, replaced by the aggressive, rhythmic sucking sound of the sensor registering the 'feeding.'

jay leans his forehead against your shoulder, still chuckling. “i can’t believe her. we were this close.”

“well,” you say, looking down at the doll, then back at the boy who just confessed his heart to you. “it’s part of the project, remember? 'responsibilities don’t wait until it’s convenient.'”

jay lifts his head, his eyes soft and bright. he reaches out, taking the bottle from you to hold it himself, his other hand moving back to your waist.

“fine,” he says, his voice low and playful. “we’ll finish the feeding. we’ll finish the project. but tomorrow, after we hand her back...”

he leans in again, this time stopping just an inch from your ear.

“...i’m taking you on a real date. no dolls. no logs. just us. and i’m going to finish what i started.”

you shiver, a smile spreading across your face. “i’d like that, jay.”

the sun disappears behind the horizon, leaving the stadium in a soft, purple twilight. as the doll makes a satisfied burp sound, jay pulls you into a hug, his chin resting on top of your head. the project is almost over, but as you sit there in the quiet together, you know that the 'real life' ms. choi talked about is just beginning. and for once, you aren't nervous about it at all.

-------

MONDAY. THE PROJECT ENDS:

monday morning feels different. the usual heavy dread that accompanies a school week has been replaced by a strange, bittersweet hum of finality. you stand in front of your mirror, adjusting your uniform one last time, and for a moment, your room feels too quiet. the gray carrier is gone — jay had it for the final night, even though you had originally planned on taking her — and the absence of that small, plastic weight on your chest feels like losing a limb.

as you walk to school, you see other juniors and seniors trudging toward the entrance, all of them carrying their respective 'babies' for the last time. the atmosphere in the hallways is a chaotic blend of relief and mourning. sunoo passes you near the lockers, looking like he’s aged ten years in seven days, but he’s wearing a triumphant grin.

“we’re free!” he shouts, pumping a fist in the air. “taehyun and i checked the score at midnight. 86%! we survived the apocalypse!”

you laugh, but your eyes are already scanning the crowd for a specific messy-haired senior. you find him standing right outside ms. choi’s door. jay is leaning against the wall, the carrier slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the star player who just won a game — relaxed, confident, and glowing. when his eyes land on you, that lopsided half-smile appears, the one that makes your heart do a triple-backflip.

“morning, partner,” he says, his voice low and warm as he steps away from the wall to meet you.

“morning,” you reply, feeling your face heat up as you remember what happened on the bleachers. “how was the final night?”

“she was an angel,” jay says, looking down at jiwoo. “i think she knew it was moving day. she stayed quiet all night. either that, or she felt bad for ruining the moment at the stadium.”

you giggle, nudging his arm. “don’t blame the baby. maybe she was just giving her dad some space to think.”

jay’s expression softens, and for a second, the bustling hallway fades away. he reaches out, his pinky finger hooking into yours for a brief, hidden moment. “i did a lot of thinking. and i’m ready for this to be over. the project, i mean. not the rest of it.”

the bell rings, sharp and insistent, breaking the spell.

ms. choi’s classroom has been transformed. the double desks are back in their original rows, and a large table at the front is lined with empty cardboard boxes, waiting to receive the electronic residents. ms. choi herself is practically vibrating with energy, wearing a bright floral dress and holding a clipboard like a trophy.

“alright, parents! settle down, settle down!” she claps her hands, the sound echoing with finality. “it’s the day we’ve all been waiting for. the day of liberation! please, bring your children to the front and place them in their respective bins. and don’t forget to leave your shared logbooks on my desk.”

the room erupts in a flurry of movement. it’s a parade of tired teenagers. jake and sunghoon walk up together, looking like they’ve just returned from a war zone.

“she called me ‘handsome’ in the logbook,” jake whispers loudly to ms. choi as he hands over his doll. “i think she’s going to miss me, ma'am. can i get a visitation schedule?”

ms. choi laughs, shaking her head. “sit down, mr. sim. your ‘child’ needs a factory reset, not a visit.”

you and jay walk up together. you place the logbook — filled with a week’s worth of late-night notes, frantic updates, and the occasional silly doodle jay had added during history — onto the stack. then, jay carefully lowers jiwoo into the box. for a second, he lingers, his hand resting on the doll’s head.

“see ya, kid,” he mutters.

as you head back to your seats, ms. choi starts pulling up the final data on the projector. the room goes silent as the health scores and participation metrics flicker across the screen.

“i have to say,” ms. choi begins, her eyes scanning the class with genuine pride. “i am incredibly impressed. every single year i do this project, and every year i expect chaos. but this group? you’ve shown remarkable maturity. even those of you i was… shall we say, concerned about.”

she looks pointedly at sunghoon and yunjin, who are sitting as far apart as possible while still sharing the desk.

“ms. huh, mr. park… a final health score of 82%. considering you spent half the week arguing over courtyard permits in the comments of your logbook, that is a miracle. i’m glad to see you could put aside your differences for the sake of your ‘son.’ although, sunghoon, perhaps next time don’t try to use the doll as a football? it was logged as a ‘high-impact incident.’”

the class roars with laughter as sunghoon turns a bright shade of red. yunjin just smirks. “he tried to teach him a header, ma’am. i had to intervene. i worry about sunghoon jr.'s safety.”

“and mr. kim, mr. kang,” ms. choi continues. “the most frequent loggers in history. 400 entries? i didn’t realize a doll could be fed every fifteen minutes. but your dedication to communication was top-tier.”

she moves down the list, teasing each pair with a mix of affection and wit. then, she stops. she looks at the top of the chart, where one pair sits with a staggering 96% health score.

“and finally… our star parents.” she gestures toward you and jay.

you feel every eye in the room turn toward you. jay shifts in his seat, clearing his throat, but he doesn’t look away.

“96%,” ms. choi muses, a playful glint in her eye. “not only was the health near perfect, but the logbook was… well, it was a narrative. i particularly enjoyed the entry where mr. park explained the history of football to a doll at three in the morning to get it to stop crying. and the photo of you two at the diner? very authentic.”

she leans against her desk, her smile turning soft. “it’s clear that some of you took the ‘life skills’ part of this assignment very seriously. you didn’t just manage a doll; you managed each other. and i think,” she looks between you and jay, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, “that some of those skills might translate quite well into the real world. wouldn't you agree, jay?”

jay rubs the back of his neck, his ears turning pink, but he catches your eye and winks. “best partner i could’ve asked for, ms. choi.”

“well!” ms. choi claps her hands again. “the grades are posted. you are all free to go. but remember — life doesn’t stop being busy just because the doll is gone. keep looking after each other.”

as the bell rings, the room explodes. people are hugging, high-fiving, and sprinting for the door. it’s a mass exodus of relief.

you and jay take your time packing your bags. the silence between you is heavy again, but it’s a good kind of heavy. the “fake” part of your life is officially over, and the “real” part is waiting outside the door.

“so,” jay says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “no baby. no logbook. no ms. choi breathing down our necks.”

“yeah,” you say, looking up at him. “what now?”

jay reaches out, taking your hand in his — not for a moment, and not hidden. he laces his fingers with yours right there in the middle of the empty classroom.

“now,” he says, his eyes focused on yours with that same intensity from the stadium. “i take you to the courtyard. we sit in the sun. and i don’t have to check a phone once.”

the walk through the hallways feels like a victory lap. you see jake and sunoo arguing about who had the harder night shifts, and you see yunjin and sunghoon actually talking — really talking — near the drama hall. the school feels smaller, friendlier.

when you reach the courtyard, the spring sun is warm on your skin. you find a quiet bench under a cherry blossom tree, the petals beginning to drift down like pink snow. jay sits close, his shoulder pressed against yours, his hand still holding yours tightly.

“it’s weird, isn’t it?” he asks, looking out at the grass. “not having to worry about a crying sound every five minutes.”

“it’s a little too quiet,” you admit. “i keep thinking i hear her.”

jay pulls your hand up, resting it on his knee. “i’m glad we did it. even the 3 a.m. shifts. it was the best week i’ve had since i moved here.”

“even with the football stress?”

“especially with the football stress,” he says, turning to face you. “because i wasn’t doing it alone. i’ve spent four years trying to be the guy who has everything under control by himself. the project showed me that... i’m better when i’m half of a team.”

he reaches up with his free hand, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, just like he had at the stadium. but this time, there are no bleachers, no crowds, and no electronic babies waiting to interrupt.

“i really meant it, you know,” he whispers, his face inches from yours. “what i said yesterday. i don't want to go back to how things were.”

“me neither,” you breathe, your heart pounding a rhythm of pure, unadulterated joy.

jay leans in, and this time, the world stays silent. when his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, tentative, and tastes like the mint gum he always chews and the promise of something real.

when he pulls back, he’s grinning, his eyes bright. “ninety-six percent health score,” he mutters against your forehead. “but i think the relationship score is a hundred.”

you laugh inevitably, leaning your head on his shoulder as the cherry blossoms fall around you. the baby project is over, but as you sit there in the sun with jay, you know that the real work — the beautiful, messy, wonderful work of being together — is only just beginning.

© jongst4r, 2026

toru gojo doesn’t make it past rule number one.

he fails because he doesn’t know how to not bite his cheek & choke on the blood when you stroll in with four inch heels & glossy lips & nails that toru prays will gouge his eyes out. he can’t fucking think. his throat’s all achey & you smell like sugar & his tongue dries so hard he swallows blood to keep it wet.

he tries to say you look beautiful. the words dribble off his tongue & plunk into his drink.

“—earth to toru? it’s really rude to stare.”

how shameful of him! he should dig his knees into the tile. grovel & beg till your pout dissolves & you decide you can forgive him for making you even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

but instead he shifts his arm over the booth seat. clenches his throat. reminds himself of the training toji worked oh-so hard to give him & pinches his thigh so his foot stops tapping so hard,

“s’not much to stare at.”

what ?

in front of him you’re fawn freckled & doe eyed, lashes fluttering like—heaven forbid—you hadn’t even heard him.

so he says it again. “uhm, there’s nothing much to stare at—“

“i heard you the first time.”

your tone cuts him like a knife. toru’s not sure when you start packing, but suddenly your purse is half full & your fork’s on the table & say her name—say her name—”

he calls your name & screams an apology. you leave as the words plunk into his drink.

TOJI’S REMARK : SON, I AIN’T TEACH YOU ALL THAT.

PLAYBOY TACTICS #2: GOOD GIRLS LIKE BAD BOYS

taught by: sato gojo

“girls don’t care about that ralph lauren shit. take off that polo and get in this tech, man.”

⎚-⎚

toru gojo’s room reeks of fratboy & paint thinner.

there’s two pizza boxes & a beer can rotting; sugar in sato’s molars & suguru’s piercings glimmering in the heat. & sukuna is here; lately he always is, laid up in toru’s bed with his phone raised over his head & palm inching dangerously towards his waistband. toru gojo knows better than to comment.

“you’ve got no game, twin. how are we even related?”

sato speaks with a mouthful of popcorn. beside him suguru’s snacking too, shoving things in his backpack & parting lips so sato can feed him the occasional kernel.

suguru scoffs, teeth sticky. “it’s a miracle she even lets herself be seen with you. poindexter looking ass.”

“i know, right? mr. bean ass closet. he won’t spend money on clothes and wears the same shirt in different colors everyday.”

“that’s not true—“toru grips his neckline. “—i’m not even wearing the shirt right now!”

he gestures to the material but geto only wrinkles his nose.

“can you please stop moving? i can hear the polyester in your hoodie..”

sato snorts. sukuna grunts & it’s not due to the joke.

suguru’s done packing now. he kisses sato’s cheek. ruffles toru’s hair. turns to dap up ryomen sukuna before deciding he probably shouldn’t. he takes his exit with a palm waving goodbye.

sato turns to his twin. “you know what you really need, man?”

“the ability to set boundaries? i don’t know why ryomen thinks it’s okay to fap in my sheets.”

“that,” sato nods, ignoring the wet sounds that leave toru’s bedside, “and a new fucking wardrobe.”

ⵌ SHOW TIME ! tw: satirical references to suicide.

toru gojo looks like a fucking idiot.

glasses half-foggy. nose cherry pink. dark jeans with too many rips & chains dangling everywhere. sato’s jacket has zippers that don’t actually zip anything, and the nicest thing about the outfit are the ugly birkenstocks that show his flushed pink toes.

toru greets you with a smile. eyes bright, just happy to look a mess.

“hey, y/n!”

“Hello. Are you mad?”

your tone is clipped & makes toru flinch. he swallows, blood sticky in his jugular. your nose is wrinkled & lashes fluttering & your gaze flits to the library exit like you might run away.

he won’t let that happen. not again.

so he clears his throat. pinches his wrist. pretends his brother’s jacket doesn’t fit too loose & itch at his chin: “nope, just trying something new! shall we get started on the project ?”

his smile stretches like plastic. there’s sweat on his chin & you think he has too many teeth.

—-

toru gojo keeps tap tap tapping.

birge-carnegie library is oakwood old & glimmering with glory. the air is heavy with heat & coffee shells & the bitter realization that toru gojo is never getting the girl.

at least, not at this rate.

it’s been twenty minutes & yet all toru can do is stare. god, you’re so pretty. swollen cheeks, pretty gaze, cherry coke lips pressed into a pout & clicky nails that stab toru in the gut as you tap at your keyboard. you’re so pretty & it’s fucking killing him because you’re pouting & toru swears you don’t even want to be here.

toru can only bite his lip. mind racing, heart aching.

you’re shivering now.

and it’s not quite obvious, & if toru wasn’t staring at you like you were girl turned god he probably wouldn’t have noticed. but he sees it. the way your lip quivers. the way you tug your sleeve over your wrist & pout when it flicks back into place. the way your shoulders squeeze like they’re clinging to the heat.

you don’t even know how you make toru’s chest hurt.

& before he can think it through he’s leaning over to place his—well, sato’s—jacket over your shoulders. he can only pray it doesn’t still smell like suguru.

“this smells like suguru.”

oh, well.

but you’re softening now; settling into your seat. lashes fluttering as you push your arms into the holes & turn back to him with gentle gaze & eyes star-achingly bright.

“thank you,”

your voice is too soft. his heart is too sticky.

sato’s jacket swallows you whole.

toru thinks it’s cute. you think it’s annoying. it’s been five minutes & you’re still shifting it over your skin, pulling & tugging & pouting when you discover yet another zipper.

you frown. “i feel like a jingle bell.”

“merry christmas.” “it’s a tuesday in may..”

it is. toru doesn’t know why he said that. he’ll likely hang himself when he gets home.

but the embarrassment doesn’t end there. you stand up—just to tug the jacket over your thighs, just to straighten it out—but toru gojo doesn’t know any better so he fucking lunges—

“toru!” you gasp, startled.

toru freezes; glasses tilting off his face, mouth part open. & he looks at you, eyes wide & cheeks flushed & so fucking startled, & he thinks he’ll definitely be seeing that noose when he gets home.

“sorry—i’m sorry—i didn’t mean to—“

“you scared me.”

you’re gripping the hem of your jacket now—his jacket, sato’s, whatever—and god, he’s such an idiot. so fucking stupid & can never do anything right & will likely die knowing he was born into this world just to leave as his brother’s shadow. and worst of all, that he will never, ever, get the girl.

“i’m so sorry,” he trembles. he doesn’t look at you, he can’t & he doesn’t deserve to, so it’s fine. “i wasn’t thinking. i just saw you standing up and i thought—i thought—“

he swallows. looks away.

but you don’t let him off that easy.

“you thought what ?”

he doesn’t answer. god, he looks ridiculous. curled into himself, palms on his knees all stupid & polite. cheeks flushed, glasses foggy. lips half-bitten & a flushed gaze that never meets yours.

giving you his jacket left him in a wife beater two sizes too big. he looks small & scrawny & you think you want to kiss him.

“toru.”

he exhales, long & slow. he still doesn’t look at you. you wish he would.

“i thought you were gonna leave again.”

“what ?”

he continues, “like at the restaurant. when you—when you stood up. walked out,” he swallows. “i didn’t want you to leave again. i didn’t want to watch you go.”

god. your throat is far too tight. your nails itch at your wrist like you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself.

“i’m not gonna leave,”

your voice is too sweet, too gentle. it sounds like honey & it spoils in the heat.

“you promise?”

you only sigh, walk over and slip into the seat beside him. you don’t say you promise but toru thinks he’ll be fine for now.

SATO’S REMARK : KINDA PITIFUL, BUT HEY, IT’S SOMETHING !

PLAYBOY TACTICS #3: NEG NEG NEG

taught by: geto suguru

“it’s all about the mystery, man. you gotta lower her value to make her see yours.”

⎚-⎚

“so how do you neg?”

“well personally, i’d start with calling her a monkey,” geto has his tongue in his cheek, desk chair groaning with a creaaak as sato spins him playfully. “unless she’s black. you shouldn’t say that if she’s black.”

“i don’t think i should say that either way..”

sato rests his chin on the chair head, cheeks peach-tinged & grin clumsy.

“probably shouldn’t!”

geto shrugs, tapping at toru’s keyboard. it’s 12 PM monday & the gang’s all here: suguru’s playing the sims 4 on toru’s new PC. sukuna is asleep with his dick in his hands. sato is whining because suguru doesn’t want to have a gay love story with him in the sims. and toji’s not here—12 PM monday means a new shift at his new job. toru hopes skai jackson will take it easy on him—working as her personal AI prompt writer must certainly be exhausting.

“the logic is simple—” suguru smacks sato’s hand away from the keyboard, “if you subtly insult her, she’ll feel the urge to prove herself. and her trying to prove herself—” another smack to sato’s stubborn hands, “tricks her brain into thinking you’re worth impressing.”

“and eventually, that she likes you!” sato cheers. “woah, sugu—when did you install wicked whims?”

“huh—? what the hell? why does my sim keep trying to fuck bob pancakes!”

“make him fuck mine instead.” / “please slit your throat.”

toru breathes, drags a palm over his face. his brother & best friend are fighting now—god knows about what—but he’s more concerned about the fact that he’s got a movie date with you in two hours and today’s game plan is far from complete.

“suguru’s right. and for a feisty bitch like y/n ? negging is even more crucial.”

sukuna’s voice is close to guttural & has all eyes snapping towards him. he’s awake now, cheeks flushed & bleary gazed & eyes half-lidded. his cock is sticky on his stomach & his palm strokes it lovingly.

toru frowns. “don’t call her a bitch. i’m serious.”

“and don’t talk with your dick in your hands. i’m disgusted.” suguru snarks.

sukuna shrugs, still lazily palming himself for the world to see. suguru wrinkles his nose in disgust & turns his head back to the game. he rage quits when he turns to find his sim palming himself too.

“neg her as much as possible,” sukuna breathes, toes curling. “humble her, make her second guess—shit.” he’s pumping faster now, gasps short & breath heavy. “make her—fuck! m’gonna cum—!”

sukuna blows his load. suguru & sato have long left the room, & toru is still searching for that noose.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

cineplex at yonge-dundas is too-bright screens & overpriced popcorn. even now, toru’s got caramel sticky in his teeth & palms crossed in a silent prayer. there’s blood in his throat & an ache in his ribs & he’s got a tie on his neck for no fucking reason.

you walk in looking like a midsummer dream.

toru really does think you’re girl turned god. after all, most girls his age aren’t honey-mouthed or starry-eyed or flush-cheeked like you are. you walk in in tight top & short skirt, lashes fluttering as you glance around the room in quiet search of him. your eyes are all big & your lips all pouty & toru bets you don’t even notice. bets you don’t even know how you leave him sweat-soaked & feverish.

“toru!”

you’ve sauntered up to him now, purse in your hands & grin on your lips. your smile is clumsy & satoru’s heart must be too because it swells over & bursts like overripe fruit. his vocal chords slosh against his throat like blood.

“hi,” he blurts. “you look pretty.”

you tilt your head & look up at him all warm-cheeked & doe-eyed. “thank you.”

it’s silent for a beat; toru’s eyes boring into yours with two cracked teeth & a kernel in his mouth. you’re so pretty & you look so sweet & he wants to kiss you so fucking bad.

you break the silence. “you like my outfit?” you step back, voice soft. “i went shopping yesterday.”

toru wants to ask if you did that just for him—just for today’s date with him—but he doesn’t. he knows better so he doesn’t.

instead he drinks you in. he looks like a butterfly trapped in a hazy addiction: pupils blown & bleary eyed, jam smeared cheeks & a quickly reddening nose. his lips are half-parted / his mouth is half-dry.

your outfit’s simple but oh-so effective: denim skirt too short on your thighs, black off-shoulder with ruffles on the sleeves, kitten heels to match your top. god, you’re so fucking cute.

and because you’re so cute, toru can’t fuck this up. so he decides it’s time to implement suguru’s lesson from earlier in the day.

“you look incredible,” he swallows, knuckles shaky. “did you—uhm. did you pick black to hide your stomach rolls?”

toru gojo shouldn’t have said that.

he knows because your lips part immediately. cheeks flushed, eyes wide. you’re frozen in front of him, lips quivering with something toru recognizes as embarrassment.

oh jesus—ya allah—great universe—what has he done?

before toru’s joints can unfreeze you’re already turning away, & toru swears there are tears in your eyes. he’s sworn he’ll never let you leave again without a fight so even though his vocal chords slosh against his throat like blood, he manages to speak.

“y/n, wait!” he gasps, already moving. “i didn’t mean that—! your body is tea! your body is tea!”

GETO’S REMARK : MAN, CALL YOUR FUCKIN’ UBER.

PLAYBOY TACTICS #4 : GET YOUR GAME FACE ON !

taught by: ryomen sukuna

“you know your problem, man ? you’re not taking this seriously, not locked in at all. let me put you on, friend.”

⎚-⎚

sukuna sighs, flops out of toru’s bed with his dick hanging out of his boxers. he has his elbows on his knees & a palm on his chin & precum sticky on his abdomen.

“i think it’s time i stepped in and gave you some advice.”

“you have a porn addiction. i think i’m good.”

PLAYBOY TACTICS #5: OR MAYBE…BE YOURSELF ?

taught by: nanami kento

“you’ve been taking advice from those idiots all this time? oh…”

⎚-⎚

in the men’s bathroom of birge-carnegie library, toru gojo has his pulse in his teeth & his heart in the sink.

4PM today toru gojo walked into the library with too many books in his hands & glasses begging to tilt off. you sat at a table near the center, & when toru walked past he saw it: your gaze meeting his before burying itself between a thick book. the bite of your lips & the way your nose crinkled with disgust.

did you pick black to hide your stomach rolls?

how embarassing! toru gojo should hang himself now—or at least after returning his library books. the overdue fees were no joke. his life was one however, & the heavy realization has his knuckles rousing white on the bathroom sink as he sheds his nerves by the pint.

his eyes are red tinged. cheeks bloody. nose too red & throat too sticky so when he tries to breathe it comes out as a hiccup. toru gojo is truly pathetic. he’s known it his whole life but now the fact has chewed him up & won’t spit him back out.

“hello. what is your problem.”

kento nanami has a tone too clipped. he’s standing at the bathroom door & his mere presence has toru gojo startled. toru jumps back, face contorting in alarm, tears still sticky on his lashes. “kento!”

“in the flesh,” nanami pushes up his glasses. he’s in pressed suit as always, looking years older than toru & his age mates. “why are you loitering in the bathroom? this is very unsanitary.”

toru sniffles, wipes his eyes. “i’m sorry—” he tries for a swallow but it comes out as a hiccup & his eyes are burning all over again because he can’t even fucking breathe right. “—i’m sorry, i’m sorry for everything. i fucked up like i always do and i should’ve used that noose ages ago and i, and i—“

nanami’s brows knit in alarm. toru’s sobbing now, and kento joins him at his side.

“toru,” his voice is soft. “tell me what’s going on.”

if you told nanami kento that going to the carnegie library today would mean comforting one of the gojo twins in the men’s bathroom instead of picking up the new BL manhwa he’d requested the library to stock, he would’ve looked you in the face & laughed.

but here he is, awkwardly patting toru’s back & not reading the latest volume of nerd project.

in his shaky distress, toru recounts everything—the lessons with the sigma-chi boys. sukuna’s refusal to stop jerking off in his bed. him pointing out your stomach rolls—& kento can only shake his head. how ridiculous. he should be reading about andrew young & luke davis right now!

but kento gently wipes toru’s tears. he’s always been rather fond of the younger twin anyways. “have you tried being normal? as in, being yourself?”

toru’s eyes swell, big. he looks stunned—why didn’t he think of that?

but he quickly deflates. he had thought of it. but he’s much too uncool—scrawny & weak & only good for reading textbooks & mediating fights between geto & his dumb brother. he had no choice but to lean into the larp.™

“i can’t—“ he gasps. “—she wouldn’t like me. i’m not cool—“

“and you think the others are cool?” kento raises a brow. “toji, whose a deadbeat dad while in college and sells himself to earn money—“

“he doesn’t do that anymore,” toru gulps. “he works for skai jackson now.”

nanami nods. “and sato, who has a gambling addiction and loses thousands to hakari every week,” toru flinches.

“suguru, who’s addicted to the sims and is in a homoerotic friendship with your brother.”

another flinch.

“sukuna, who is—“

“i didn’t take any advice from sukuna.”

kento nods, “well done. but you know he has a porn addiction and an exhibitionist kink.”

toru gulps, “yes.”

“so no more listening,” kento claps his back. “you apologize. explain to her what you’ve been doing all this while, but also take accountability. you’re smarter than this. you should’ve known better.”

“i’m sorry. she makes me stupid.”

“i know,” kento sighs, softening. toru’s wiping his eyes now. “but you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. go out there and make things right. and wash your hands first.”

toru nods eagerly. he doesn’t even remember to wipe his hands dry, and nanami can only shake his head half-fondly as he watches the younger twin go.

—————

when toru finds you, there’s a pen in your teeth & you won’t meet his eyes.

toru knows you see him standing there beside you. but you don’t flinch. your lashes flutter & you blink slow like you’re totally engrossed in whatever you’re reading. is that percy jackson?

toru shakes his head. then wishes he didn’t, because he must’ve looked really stupid physically shaking his thoughts away. “y/n.”

you don’t respond. his throat folds.

but he keeps going anyways. “y/n, i owe you an apology,” he clears his throat, & he thanks god because he doesn’t hiccup this time. “i’m sorry. i’m really truly sorry. especially for yesterday,” he gulps. “—and your body is tea.”

irritation rises in your features & quickly dissolves.

“uhm,” he’s still standing there, arms behind his back, feet shuffling. “i didn’t—i don’t actually think you have stomach rolls.”

you shut your book with a bam! “can you please stop talking about my stomach?”

“i’m sorry! oh my god i’m so sorry, i’ve been taking advice from my brother and the others on how to be cool and make you like me back but i just ended up being a total idiot! and it’s stupid! it’s so stupid and i should know better but i like you so much that i can’t fucking think and i’m so sorry for hurting you and i’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it if you’d let me and—“

“toru. you’re rambling.”

“i’m sorry!” he panics. “please forgive me!”

“oh my god,” you sigh, palm dragging over your face. “can you please sit down first?”

he sits across from you; hands digging into his knees, back too straight to be healthy.

“so you’ve been taking advice from sato and the others all this time?”

“uh, yes.”

“in what universe is that wise?”

he deflates. “i don’t know how to be wise when it comes to you.”

your tongue’s in your cheek. right now, toru gojo is something akin to a kicked puppy. he’s got a gaze that won’t meet yours & his neck is rash red & you think he might explode.

you click your tongue. “i had my suspicions.”

his head snaps up. “you knew?”

“no, i suspected it,” you tuck a book into your bag, then another, and another. “i first thought so when you showed up at the library looking like ken carson. sato set you up, by the way. even he left his opium era back in 2023.”

“he said girls like guys who dress like that..”

“he lied,” you hum, “i prefer your usual button ups anyway. you look all smart and sexy.”

“thank you. wait—what?”

“mhm,” toru’s not sure when you get up, but now you’re sitting beside him; and god, you’re in a skirt again, and toru wishes you wouldn’t wear skirts. his brain acts all funny when you wear them. he gulps.

“for a smart guy, you’re awfully slow,” your thighs are touching his & your perfume’s in his lungs & fuck, his heart is doing that funny thing again! “do you think i would’ve asked you to dinner that first night if i didn’t like you?”

“the night i said you weren’t much to look at and you left?”

you grit your teeth. “yes, toru. that night.”

he swallows, pupils shifting because he can’t handle your pretty eyes glaring at him. “i thought you did it for a dare.”

you poke his temple & he winces. “i would never do that. you idiot, i’ve liked you since you bumped into me at the library and accidentally said ‘pretty’ instead of apologizing!”

“oh.”

“‘oh’ is right,” you sigh, falling into his shoulder. you don’t miss the way he freezes under your skin. “you’re such an idiot…”

“i really like you.” toru blurts, cheeks pink. “and uhm, i’m happy you like me back. and i think you’re beautiful. so beautiful. you’re probably the most beautiful girl in the world.” he swallows. “and i’m happy you like me back. did i say that already?”

you tilt your head to look up at him from his shoulder. his gaze is trained on his knees, neck flushed, ears pink. & you’re a devil of a girl so you stroke his arm when you purr:

“look at me when you confess. please?”

toru squeaks. because you sound so pretty when you say that in his arm. because the heat of your touch sends shockwaves to his spine & his sleeve is likely sticky from your gloss but he doesn’t care. he doesn’t fucking care.

he turns to you, slow. and you’re already gazing up at him, cheeks flushed, lashes low, sun-soaked & bleary eyed. your lips are so pretty. you’re so pretty. he can’t believe he almost wanted to kill himself. what an idiot.

he clears his throat. “i like you. i wanna kiss you so bad.”

toru’s eyes widen. he didn’t mean the last part—well he did, but he didn’t mean to say it & oh god he’s fucked up again & he felt you tense against him & he’s made you so uncomfortable & you’re gonna leave him again and—

“kiss me,” you breathe. “please, toru?”

his heart hammers. you sound so pretty when you say that. why do you sound so pretty when you say that?

& more importantly, who is he not to obey? so he does as you ask—cups your cheeks oh-so softly with rouge knuckles & gentle hands. and your lashes flutter shut, & oh my god he’s really doing this.

he presses his lips to your own. you sigh into his mouth.

——-

oh, but the story doesn’t end there.

four bookshelves behind & a corner to the right, the gang’s all there. sato & suguru are leaning over the corner, stacked over each other like this is some sort of cartoon. sukuna has a granola bar in his hand instead of his dick. toji’s still not here, still slaving away typing AI prompts for skai jackson’s snapchat stories. nanami kento is here though, standing just enough to the side so no one can mistake him as friends with these idiots.

“what the hell,” sato whispers. “did he just kiss y/n?”

“no way. i think he actually did.”

“why are you guys whispering? you look fucking stupid.”

“says the guy who talks with his dick in his hands.”

“i’ll put it in your mouth next, bastard. or you only like sato’s cock in it?”

“ayoooo. you right but not too much, not too much.”

“who the hell said he was right?!”

nanami takes his leave. that’s enough stupidity for one day.

SIGMA-CHI’S REMARK: HEY, HOW’S HE DONE THAT ?!

𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𖨆𐀪𖠋.

CASANERDVA, end.

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.

“Late again, Peter?” Your teacher, Miss Belluva, asked.

You turned around to find a very dishevelled Peter Parker stumbling through the doorway. A couple of papers fell from his grasp, and he reached down to pick them up quickly.

His clothes were crumpled and in desperate need of ironing, and his hair was sticking up in a manner so muddled that you almost wanted to fix it for him. He looked as though he had only just woken up. Given there were only 30 minutes of school left, and you were sure you had seen him this morning, you figured this possibility was unlikely. What else he possibly could have been doing was beyond you.

You weren’t sure what was wrong with Peter, but ever since Junior year, he seemed different.

He used to be a perfectly respectable, quiet boy who kept his head down and worked hard. You two weren’t ever friends, but you considered yourselves friendly. You sat with his friend, Ned, in English class last year and each time you heard Ned talk about how his plans with Peter suddenly fell through or how Peter had ‘accidentally’ stood him up at lunch, you couldn’t help but pity Ned and grow a small (truly quite tiny) hatred towards Peter.

That small hatred quickly grew.

It doubled when you saw Ned sitting alone at lunch, his head turning around each time the cafeteria door swung open.

It tripled when you saw Ned lingering by Peter’s locker with a look of disappointment.

And it finally turned into a completely full-blown hatred when you overheard Peter cancelling on Ned for the third time in a week.

Admittedly, he seemed to be a bit better this year. Ned claimed that Peter had apologised profusely and had a perfectly reasonable explanation for his absent nature. Ned explained that Peter promised to be better, and his actions lined up with that promise. While you were happy for Ned, you were already set on hating Peter and instead turned your hatred towards different behaviours of his.

Like his arrogance, knowing he could pay no attention in class, yet still passed all his classes.

Or his disrespectful habit of being late for class, that is, if he even showed up.

Sometimes you’d pass him in the hallways, and he would give you a small, shy smile, and it almost made you forget about all the built-up hatred you held for him. Almost. For now, you were set on hating him.

“I’m sorry, Miss Belluva,” he winced weakly before sitting down at an empty table in the back. “I had an appointment.”

A couple of students snickered, looking to their friends with amusement. Everyone knew Peter’s habit of coming to class late. Your teacher, of course, did not care. She was extremely laid back and had a whimsical manner of running her classes. It almost irritated you how much Peter got away with.

“That’s alright, Peter, perhaps next time try to schedule your appointments outside of class time, hm?” Miss Belluva spoke, her voice light and airy.

You rolled your eyes. She was too kind, too flippant. Of course, her kindness was usually something you appreciated, but she let Peter get away with one too many things for your liking.

“I was just telling the class about our new assignment, it’s a partner project,” She smiled kindly in Peter’s direction, her eyes practically sparkling.

Peter offered a tight-lipped smile in return. He ran a hand through his messy hair; his eyes darted across the room until they landed on you. You turned away quickly, facing the front of the classroom again.

A partner project sounded like torture, and you dreaded the idea of having to choose the partner yourself. You weren’t friendless – you had a tight-knit trio consisting of girls you had known since First Grade. The problem was that neither of them were in this class, and you hadn’t exactly made much of an effort to form new friends in this class aside from smiling at a couple of people you thought seemed nice enough. Shockingly enough, those smiles did not make you suddenly form a friendship with the recipients.

Your teacher proceeded to drone on about the importance of teamwork and the necessity of forming strong bonds, neglecting to mention what the assignment was actually about. Your bit your cheek, contemplating whether Miss Belluva would allow you to do the assignment alone.

“Oh! Would you look at the time? We’ve only got five minutes of class left,” your teacher tutted with a surprised glance at her watch. “Alright, everyone, find yourself a partner, quickly now.”

The classroom was filled with loud chatter, and when you dared to turn your head to look behind you, you realised nearly everyone was partnering with whoever they were sitting near. You frowned to yourself, your palms quickly becoming slick with sweat. You loathed partner assignments. You mentally kicked yourself for not thinking to sit beside someone. What were you thinking, sitting alone?

You slumped back in your seat, trying to make yourself as small and unnoticeable as possible. You honestly almost felt like crying. Maybe it was time to look into homeschooling.

You quickly blinked your eyes tightly together, unsure where to go from there. Miss Belluva was kind enough, and you were sure she would be fine if you did the assignment alone. Digging your nails into your palm, you decided that’s exactly what you would do.

And just as you were about to go talk to her, you heard a small voice from behind you.

“Do you have a partner yet?” Someone asked you in a soft and apprehensive tone.

You turned around, eager to see who had finally saved you from the humiliation of doing a partner assignment alone.

There stood a blushing Peter Parker, brown eyes wide and fixed on you. He looked almost nervous, tightly clutching the pile of his clearly well-used textbooks and nervously fiddling with the pages.

You were ready to tell him you didn’t need a partner, that you were perfectly content doing the assignment yourself, and it had already been worked out. But there was something about his furrowed eyebrows of concern and his eyes staring down at you with a look of extreme desperation that you couldn’t help but take pity on him.

“No, I don’t,” you sighed begrudgingly.

“Would-you-like-to-be-partners-with-me? If you’re okay with that?” He asked, his words rushed and merging together, making it hard to decipher what he was actually saying.

“Uh, sure,” you nodded, pursing your lips. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he smiled at you. “Thank you. For being partners with me, I mean.”

Peter was probably the worst possible option for people you could get paired with. He was disorganised and didn’t seem to take anything seriously enough to do it right.

He slid into the seat beside you, still smiling in your direction.

Peter seemed oblivious to your attitude towards him, leaning in closer to shyly whisper to you.

“What’s the assignment actually on?” He asked sheepishly.

You turned toward him with an irritated frown.

“Maybe if you were ever on time, you would know.” You responded curtly.

Peter spluttered, searching for a reasonable excuse for his repeated tardiness.

“I just lose track of time sometimes,” he explained weakly.

You almost laughed; it was quite possibly the worst excuse he could have given you.

“Can you tell me what the assignment’s on, please?” Peter asked, his voice kind.

You hesitated.

You had been so eager to rub in Peter’s face the cost of slacking off, you forgot you didn’t actually know what the assignment was on.

“I think…” You started, unsure of how to get yourself out of this. “Well, I’m sure she’ll repeat her explanation. For the late-comers, like yourself.”

You smoothed your clothing, attempting to seem casual and sure of yourself.

“If she doesn’t, could you tell me, please?” Peter asked, clearly not picking up on your flustered excuses.

“Perhaps,” you slowly nodded. “If I’m feeling nice.”

“Okay,” Peter replied, a hint of amusement laced in his voice. “Thank you.”

You would never dare talk to anyone else like this, but someone had to put Peter in his place, and you quite enjoyed the feeling of having something to hold over Peter’s head.

“Alright, guys, come collect one baby between each pair,” your teacher called out, pulling a box out from the corner of the room.

The sound of confused chatter filled the classroom, and you cocked your head with uncertainty.

“Oh, silly me! I haven’t explained the assignment yet, have I?” Your teacher laughed lightly.

Well, there went your leverage.

You ducked your head, not keen to see Peter’s reaction.

Peter, of course, was too nice to mock you and instead kept his head facing the teacher, biting his lip to control his laughter.

“Shut up,” you murmured.

“I didn’t say anything,” he spoke in a hushed tone.

“She just forgot she already explained it,” You weakly offered, turning back to face the teacher. “She’s like that, y’know?”

“Oh, sure,” Peter nodded.

You couldn’t quite tell if his tone was sarcastic or genuinely forgiving. In every interaction you had with Peter, he had been a bit of a people-pleaser. Smiling at you, pulling out chairs and asking how your day was. You weren’t sure what possessed him to submit to you (and presumably everyone else) so shamelessly.

“Well, congrats, guys! You’re all parents.” Your teacher exclaimed with a grin.

To describe her as eccentric was the least insulting way to explain her teaching style.

“Your pair will be in charge of one of these robotic babies, and you’ll have to care for your child until the coming Monday.” Your teacher started. “Keep them happy, and you’ll get an A!”

Public schooling was a joke.

“Alright, guys, I’ll come around the room and give you each a baby,” she continued. “I just need to record the code for each baby assigned to your pair, and then you can all leave.”

"I'll give you guys some supplies as well. You'll need to bottle-feed water to the baby, change them, and give them naps. Nothing too complex!"

This assignment sounded truly awful.

Despite being at the front, you and Peter received the toy baby last. In her typical, peculiar fashion, she had zigzagged across the room ever so impractically, making you and Peter the last two students left in the room.

“Oh, perfect!” Your teacher exclaimed when she finally reached the two of you. “You two will make great partners.”

Peter had to stop himself from cheering with delight.

On the other hand, you had to stop yourself from scowling.

You were sure Peter would make an awful partner, considering he could barely so much as show up to school on time.

“You two will have to spend the vast majority of the weekend together, no shared custody where one has it at a time,” Miss Belluva explained with a nod.

You were actually about to start twitching with annoyance.

She lowered the last robotic baby on the desk in front of you and Peter, scribbling in her book the code written on the baby’s plastic foot.

“I want both of you putting in equal efforts for this baby,” she nodded, handing you guys a small bag of supplies.

You muttered a small “ew” underneath your breath, conscious of making it too quiet for Peter or your teacher to possibly hear.

Peter frowned.

You assumed he wasn’t too impressed at the idea of being stuck with you all weekend either.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys Monday,” she smiled as she finished writing down the code, before turning to Peter and pointing the pen in his direction. “Class is at 9:30am, understood?”

“Understood,” he nodded quickly. “I’m really sorry for being late.”

She tossed her head back with a laugh, swiping her hand as if brushing him off.

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold yourself back.

“Thank you,” you said with a quick smile directed at the teacher.

You scooped up your books and nodded at Peter to hold the baby, which he of course quickly did. He gave you a happy smile, his chocolate-coloured eyes glistening with a gentle kindness.

You felt mean.

You were pretty sure your reasoning for hating Peter (while possibly valid last year) was worn out and no longer fair. If you gave him a chance, you were sure he would prove you wrong.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

This was a mistake.

He proved your initial judgment of him more correct than you ever could have anticipated.

It all fell apart in a matter of seconds.

As soon as the two of you had exited your classroom, he looked down at his phone, and his eyes widened.

“Uh, actually, I thi-,” he paused for a moment, scrolling back on his phone. “Yeah, I definitely have to go.”

You scowled as he pressed the robot baby into your arms.

“Sorry!” He called out as he ran off. “Just text me plans!”

That boy was impossible. You wanted to throw that doll at his figure, but you were sure you’d miss – since when could Peter run so fucking fast?

Before you could put much more though into his weird athletic ability, the baby began to wail, and you realised just how long of a week this was going to be.

You didn’t even have his number to text.

That was two hours ago. You were now sitting on the floor of your bedroom, leaning against your bedframe while you waited for Ned to respond to your text.

Your phone pinged beside you.

The robotic baby was cradled in your arms, finally quiet after a painful two hours of sobbing. While unbearablely annoying, you had to admit the doll was quite cute. With brown hair painted on and brown eyes, she wore a pink onesie with a little bunny embroidered on the front.

Uncertain on how the technology exactly worked and scared you might have woken her back up, you tried to reach your phone without moving too much.

‘hey! i sent thru peter’s number :)’ Ned’s message read.

You sighed with relief.

You were sure Peter had intentionally left without giving you his number in some stupid attempt to get out of doing work, but you refused to let it slide. Sending a quick and rather passive-aggressive text to Peter, demanding that he meet you at your apartment as soon as possible.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

Finally, an hour later, he replied.

‘Srory!! Il be ther in5 munits ;)’

His grammar was truly abysmal, looking as though he was jumping on a trampoline while he texted you. Your phone pinged againn and you found another message from Peter.

‘Wastn meanttobe winky facesoryr!’

You rolled your eyes and switched your phone off.

The baby was turning out to be much harder work than you had expected. The nap had only lasted thirty minutes, and she had been crying for the past thirty minutes. You were more than eager to pass the baby off to someone else and hoped that Peter would come in a hurry.

You had a very strong urge to throw the toy in a cupboard and be done with it. While the idea of failing pained you, the idea of Peter getting a bad grade was also extraordinarily tempting.

Before you could give it much further thought, you heard a light tap on the door and a pause, which was then followed by three loud and hesitant bangs. This must’ve been Peter.

Baby in hand, you stormed to the door and swung it open with an accusatory frown.

“What could you possibly have been doing for the past three hours?” You scowled, immediately pushing the baby into his arms. “Last time I checked, your only friend is Ned, and I know your social life is extraordinarily quiet, Peter, so don’t tell me you were busy with friends.”

Peter immediately went to cradle the crying baby with a concerned frown.

“I was, like, just really busy,” Peter sputtered with a wince. “Really… urgently busy.”

You gave him a doubtful glare and pulled him inside. Just as you were about to lecture him on his inconsiderate nature and how irresponsible he was, you scrunched up your nose.

“Have you been working out?” You asked with a scrunched up frown, looking him up and down.

He smelt strongly of sweat, and his hair looked slightly damp. Not to mention, dirt was etched in his forearms.

“What?” He asked, leaning back with an insecure frown.

“You literally look filthy.” You looked at him. “Have you been rolling around in dirt or what?”

“Uh, sorry, yeah, I’ve been working out.” He replied hesitantly, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“You couldn’t have taken five minutes longer to shower?” You looked at him with a judgmental frown.

“Well, you seemed eager for me to come!” He protested defensively.

“Whatever, you can shower here.”

“I don’t have a towel, though,” he frowned.

“I can lend you one,” you offered casually.

“I can’t use your towel,” Peter widened his eyes, his cheeks bright red.

“Not my own towel, you idiot,” you scowled, looking at him as though he were stupid. “We have spare towels, obviously.”

“Oh! Right,” he scratched his head awkwardly. “Obviously.”

You snickered at his awkward disposition. “Whatever, Parker. Jeez, you’re really on edge, huh?”

Before Peter had a chance to respond, you had already begun talking again.

“Here, I’ll take the stupid baby, and you can have a shower, just don’t take ages,” you spoke solemnly, walking towards the linen closet to fetch him a towel.

With one hand now cradling the baby, you used your free hand to push the door next to the closet open to reveal the bathroom. You gently put your hand on his back to push him forward. His back was damp with what you assumed to be sweat, so you quickly moved your hand off. Despite the short contact, the tingling feeling your touch had left on his back made Peter extremely flustered.

“Thank you, this is really nice of you,” Peter nodded as you pushed the soft, white towel into his arms.

“Helps me more than it helps you,” you shrugged, before swiftly closing the door in his face.

The door clicked shut, and the baby immediately started to cry again. You weren’t sure how you were gonna survive this weekend.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

About ten minutes later, you could faintly hear the sound of the shower’s water stopping. Peter had stuck to your instructions and been relatively fast. His shower had actually given you a bit of time to sort yourself out. The baby was handled, you had gotten out some clothing for Peter to change into (an oversized graphic-tee, a pair of unisex tracksuit pants and socks with a penguin pattern on them), and you got the chance to continue watching the show you had started last night.

You got up off the couch, grabbed the pile of neatly folded clothes from beside you and went to knock on the bathroom door.

“I’ve got you clean clothes,” you called out through the door.

“Oh, uh, okay, thanks,” Peter called back.

Before you had the chance to leave them on the floor in front of the bathroom door and instruct Peter to fetch them once you had left, the bathroom door swung open, and you were faced with a half-naked, dripping wet Peter Parker.

You gaped slightly, caught completely off guard. Your eyes not-so-subtly looked him up and down. His hair was dripping with water and slicked back from his face. This wasn’t as interesting as his muscles, which were significantly more prominent than you could’ve guessed. You couldn’t help but ever-so slightly admire them, taking notice of the gleam from water that highlighted his muscles perfectly. The towel was hanging from his waist, and droplets of water were running down his torso, meeting the soft fabric of the towel and soaking into it.

You almost felt like laughing in an awkward attempt to diffuse your obviously flustered state. You forced your eyes to look back up at Peter’s, hoping he hadn’t noticed you checking him out. He looked at you with slightly wide eyes, and you forced your mouth shut.

“I was just going to leave them here,” you spoke, not an ounce of emotion identifiable in your voice. “On the floor.”

“Oh,” Peter looked slightly dazed, staring into your eyes before realising what you were saying and getting a hold of himself “Oh. Oh! I’m sorry.”

His voice was high-pitched and awkward, his eyes wildly blinking in embarrassment.

“Wha-, well–,” Peter started, scrunching up his face. “I thought you wanted me to come get them now.”

“Uh, no, not quite,” you gulped.

You were sure he could hear how hard and fast your heart was beating.

“It’s fine,” you shook your head, as if trying to shrug off the misunderstanding. “Here.”

You thrust the pile of clothes into his chest and spun around.

“Thanks,” he called out.

You took a deep breath, trying to recollect yourself as you sat back down on the couch.

He got changed relatively fast; you could hear him open and shut the bathroom door, hesitate, then start walking into the living room where you sat.

“Hey,” he spoke, sounding almost shy.

“Hey,” you replied plainly.

He stayed silent and unmoving, causing you to roll your eyes and turn around to face him.

“Are you just gonna stand there or what?”

“Oh, no, sorry,” he hurried, moving to where his backpack was placed by the front door as he awkwardly shoved his clothes inside it.

You turned back to the TV before he interrupted you again.

“Where’d you put the baby?” He asked, walking over.

“Freezer.”

Peter side-eyed you hesitantly. “What?”

“It keeps her quiet.”

“How’d you discover that?” Peter looked at you with uncertainty.

“I got ice from the freezer, I saw a space, I shoved her in the space, shut the freezer door, and the cries stopped,” you shrugged.

There was a beat of silence as Peter looked at you quizzically.

“Should I take her out?”

“She likes it in there, it’s fine.”

“I think maybe we should still take her out.”

“Do what you want, but she doesn’t cry when she’s in there,” you shrugged.

He moved to the freezer and took the doll out; she hadn’t been in there long, so she wasn’t too cold. Immediately, the baby started crying again, robotic and glitchy whines coming from the doll.

“Told you she liked it in there,” you pointed out.

“I was worried it might break her battery or something if we kept her in.” He murmured, awkwardly cradling the doll against his chest.

He looked good in your clothes, not that you would ever tell him that.

“This baby’s really loud,” Peter frowned.

“It’s been really loud,” you scoffed. “That’s why she was in the freezer.”

“I’m sorry for not being here to help,” he offered apologetically.

“Don’t pull that disappearing act again.”

“I won’t, I’ll be really present – honestly,” he eagerly nodded. “It’s just the Stark internship.”

“Thought it was the gym?” You stared at him pointedly, switching the TV off so you could focus.

“It was both,” he spoke, his voice uncertain and slightly wavering.

“What could Stark possibly be needing you so urgently for anyway?” You scoffed. “Are you telling me an 18-year-old who’s still in school is better at building robots or whatever than the billionaire inventor himself?”

“Really, he’s helping me more than I’m helping him,” Peter reasoned. “Mister Stark sa-,”

“Mister Stark?” You laughed, cutting Peter off. “That’s what you call him?”

Peter looked taken aback.

“Well, yes,” he looked at you, an embarrassed blush flushing his cheeks. “Stop laughing, it’s upsetting the baby.””The baby’s been upset, Peter,” you quipped. “It’s got a deadbeat father; I would be crying as well.”

“Psh- what! I’m not deadbeat,” Peter scoffed, hugging the baby closer to him. “I was working to support the child like a good parent would.”

“Okay, I’m not interested in roleplaying parenthood with you,” you cut him off with an uninterested tone, causing Peter to purse his lips in shame as you stood up. “Have fun with the crying, I’ll be in my room.”

“Wha-? Aren’t you going to help?” He recoiled, lowering his voice when he spoke again. “I can’t just free roam in your house. What if your parents come out and talk to me?”

“My parents aren’t home.”

“When they get home, then,” Peter corrected.

“Won’t be until Wednesday, I should hope you’re not planning on staying that long.”

“Well, of course not, but still, this is a partner project,” Peter reasoned.

“Okay, and my partner was absent for three whole hours. It’s well and truly your turn.” You sighed, turning away from him.

“I’m really sorry,” Peter repeated.

“You’ve said that,” you sighed.

“You’re still mad, though.”

“Whatever,” you groaned, not looking to have a heartfelt discussion. “I’ll stay out here and help you.”

Peter grinned to himself, happy you were giving him a chance.

“But, only if you take her for the night.” You added on with a stern look.

“For the night? Aren’t we both supposed to be with her, though?” Peter gave you a confused frown.

“Well, you’re not sleeping over, so one of us has to take her, and it’s not gonna be me,” you raised your eyebrows at him.

“But Miss Belluva said th-,”

“Miss Belluva said that rain is the tears of dead puppies. I don’t care what that crazy lady says,” you cut Peter off.

“Okay, I’ll take her for tonight then,” Peter compromised.

“Great, glad that’s sorted.” You nodded.

A slightly awkward silence fell between the two of you; the baby seemed content in Peter’s arms and had quietened down while the two of you bickered. This surprised you, considering the idea of being in Peter’s arms made you want to throw up, but to each their own.

You were content with sitting in silence, but Peter appeared eager to make conversation despite how awful he was at doing such a thing.

“Would you uh- like water or something?” Peter awkwardly offered.

“What?” You turned your head to face him, staring at him blankly.

“Do you want water?” Peter repeated, with an uncertain smile.

Based on your perplexed expression, he was pretty sure silence would have been a better choice at this point.

“Do you have like a stock of water in your bag, or are you offering to get water from the kitchen for me?” You cocked your head, too thrown off to even be annoyed. “My kitchen, mind you.”

“Er- get it for you from the kitch- your kitchen.”

You looked completely bewildered. Peter winced.

“Uh- I’ll pass, thanks though.” You replied slowly.

“That’s okay!” Peter hurried.

“Thanks for letting that one slide,” you grimaced.

Peter hated himself.

After a beat of silence, you figured it would be better for you to say something before Peter spewed some nonsense again.

“Would you like any water?”

“No, I’m go–,” Peter started, his voice cracking, causing him to cough to clear his throat. “I’m good, thanks though.”

“Alright,” You nodded slowly. “Well, I might get some just in case. You sound… thirsty.”

You didn’t even know the half of it.

Peter was so desperate to impress you, and while he had thought this was the perfect chance, he realised he would probably have a better chance if he never interacted with you.

You got up off the couch and began walking to the kitchen. Watching you with desperate and longing eyes, Peter realised that Ned was right. You were well and truly out of Peter’s league. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from you and forced himself to look down at the toy baby in his arms.

He had to get a hold of himself.

He had the perfect chance to impress you now. He was in your apartment, one-on-one, and with nothing else to do but cradle a toy baby. This was basically his version of third base, and he was wasting it by being awkward and annoying.

Unsure of what else to do, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Ned.

‘Dude, help. I’m at her apartment and I dont know what to do.’

Thankfully, Ned seemed active and was already typing a message back.

‘are you not doing an assignment lmao??’

Peter groaned to himself, desperate for real advice before you returned from the kitchen.

‘The baby’s asleep i need to actually talk to her!!’

To this, Ned replied with: ‘baby? waht are you guys doing what type of school assignment is this 💀💀’

Peter was bouncing his leg; he could hear you pouring the water and he knew he didn’t have much more time to sort himself out.

‘Forget the assignment!! just tell me what to do I’m totally blowing it’

‘your chances have beennn blown lmao’ Ned replied. Peter frowned, waiting for Ned to send another message.

‘just wtahc a movie or smth?? ask her about her life. treat her like a NORMAL HUMAN’ Ned texted.

‘Okok, is it lame to ask her what her life plan is? like with college apps and stuff???’

‘💀💀💀’

Peter huffed, waiting for Ned’s next message, hoping it would be a tad more encouraging.

’do not phrase it like that.’

Ned was right, Peter would sound like a guidance counsellor.

‘What about: “how are you going with college applications?” is that good??? Quick she’s coming’ Peter typed out.

‘yeah that’s fine jst act normal ur overthinking it dude. also do u wanna come over and build lego next week? i got a new set’

Peter replied with a quick ‘Thx!! i’ll come over next week text later’ before switching his phone off and turning up to face you as you entered the room.

He must’ve looked pretty suspicious, turning his phone off in such a hurry because you looked at him with an uncertain frown.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Peter nodded. “Just texting Ned.”

“Oh, right,” you passed the glass of water to Peter before sitting down beside him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, been busy with school work, but otherwise stuff’s been fine.” Peter smiled at you.

“I meant with Ned,” you tilted your head, trying to conceal your smirk.

“Oh,” Peter hesitated, feeling painfully embarrassed. “Yeah, I know, that’s what he was texting about.”

“Right.”

“And Lego,” Peter added.

“What?”

“We were talking about… Lego,” Peter explained, trying to give you a look he thought appeared cool and relaxed.

“Cool,” you nodded, seemingly uninterested and unimpressed.

Peter frowned to himself, trying to think back to Ned’s advice.

“So, how have you been going with college applications?” Peter asked.

“Fine, I think I know a couple of places I’m gonna apply to that aren’t too out of reach,” You shrugged.

“Oh, cool, that’s good,” he nodded.

A moment of silence passed as Peter desperately tried to think of something else to say.

“I think the baby’s asleep,” he started. “It’s actually not too hard to take care of her.”

“That’s because I’ve already done the hard stuff,” you pointedly raised your eyebrows at Peter.

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You could tell Peter was internally freaking out; his leg was bouncing, which was sort of shaking the baby and no doubt the reason the robot had fallen asleep. You couldn’t help but find his awkward disposition slightly amusing. Taking pity on him, you decided to try to smooth over the awkward silence.

“So, what type of stuff do you do for Stark?”

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

The baby started crying again after about forty minutes of semi-awkward small talk. You and Peter had covered a wide range of topics. You learnt about one another’s favourite movies, music tastes, hobbies, and favourite school subjects, as well as what he did for Stark.

Quite frankly, you felt a lot closer to Peter than you were comfortable with.

Hearing these personal details about him made you feel guilty for hating him so strongly. Really, what was so bad about him?

He was reasonably polite despite his poor social skills, and he made an effort to ask about your interests, never just talking about himself, which you appreciated.

But just when you found your dislike for him fading, all the old feelings came back when his phone lit up with a message, and he looked back at you with a guilty expression.

“Are you kidding me?” You asked with an annoyed stare. “Don’t tell me that’s Stark.”

“He needs my help with something,” Peter reasoned, his eyebrows pinched with a guilty expression.

“Bullshit. It’s nearly 8:00pm, you’re telling me your boss is texting you this late outside of work hours?” You stared at him in disbelief.

“He doesn’t really work traditionally like that,” Peter winced.

He could feel his progress with you slipping away.

“Well, that’s very unethical,” you sneered.

“I know, I’m sorry,” his voice was soft, and his eyes were wide.

His eyes were rather dreamy, but you refused to let yourself give in.

“Okay. Whatever. You’re still taking the baby when you’re done,” your voice taut with frustration.

“Yeah, of course,” he hurried. “I’ll swing by– come by and pick it up later. I’ll text you when I’m here. I’ll try not to come too late.”

“It’s fine, I stay up late anyway.”

“Okay… Alright,” He stood up from the couch, passing the baby to you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yep,” you nodded, clearly annoyed.

Peter grabbed his backpack, and you unlocked the door for him.

He looked at you hesitantly.

“Bye,” you spoke before he had a chance to say anything more.

“Bye.”

And with that, he left, shutting the door behind himself.

He had never hated being Spider-Man more.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

Three hours, one fight and an extra shower later, Peter arrived at your building.

He had made a conscious effort to use both deodorant and cologne after his shower so that he looked and smelled more presentable than earlier. He had changed into clean clothes and put yours in the laundry at his house, hoping you preferred receiving them back clean and late rather than worn and soon. He was slightly disappointed he had to stop wearing the clothes and wash them, knowing your sweet scent would be washed out with his laundry detergent, but he was too desperate to please you to dare keep them longer than necessary.

Texting you ‘Hey! I’m at your apartment now, just coming up :)’ as he waited for the elevator to reach your floor. Popping a mint in his mouth and smoothing his hair with his hand, he couldn’t help but feel nervous to see you again. He knew you were annoyed at him for leaving, and he honestly couldn’t blame you.

The elevator pinged when he reached your floor, and he stepped out and hurriedly made his way to your apartment, not eager to make you wait any longer.

As your apartment came into view, he noticed a weirdly shaped object resting by the door, which caused him to pick up his pace with a drive of curiosity.

He felt his heart and smile drop when he reached your door and saw what was sitting there.

The toy baby was sitting outside your front door, slumped against the door, with a yellow sticky note pressed to its chest that read ‘cu tmr at 11am’. He assumed this meant he would have to deal with the baby until then. The baby wasn’t crying, so he realised you must have just placed it down there. He had half the urge to knock on your door and beg and plead for your forgiveness, but he didn’t want to risk making you annoyed.

With a dejected sigh, he picked up the baby and cradled it to his chest. Biting his lip and feeling the slightest bit like crying because of how stupid he felt, he made a shameful walk down the hallway back to the elevator so he could make his way back home.

He wasn’t sure how he could make up for this.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

part 2: coming soon!

a/n: sorry for the depressing ending, but part 2 will be out soon! i’ve already started on it and will add the link when it’s done <3 i know y/n seems a tad mean, but it will all be sorted in due time! tag list is open for anyone interested!!

“megumi-chan!! don’t fall behind!”

gojo’s voice tore through the quiet like a siren.

megumi flinched immediately, shoulders tensing and brow twitching as if the sound had physically struck him. if he had to describe it, ear-bleeding would still be the most accurate term. he exhaled slowly through his nose, already irritated before he even turned his head.

That’s when he realized that the others were further down the path and somewhere along the way he had stopped walking entirely.

megumi frowned, his gaze drifted to the side, pulled there by something that had caught his attention without him consciously noticing. just beyond the low wooden fence of someone’s garden stood a tangerine tree, its branches thick with glossy leaves dotted with bright fruit. one of the tangerines had fallen, rolling just close enough to the fence that it rested in the grass along the edge of the path.

it was perfectly intact; round, bright and glowing against the green.

megumi stared at it for a moment, then he glanced toward the quiet house behind the garden.

no movement.

his eyes returned to the fruit.

slowly, he crouched, pushing his hand through the fence just enough to reach it. the tips of his fingers brushed the warm skin of the tangerine. he hesitated there, hand hovering for a second longer than necessary.

it was ridiculous.

he had faced curses that could flatten buildings without a second thought, yet somehow picking up a fallen fruit felt like committing an actual crime.

megumi frowned at himself, grabbed the tangerine, and stood up. by the time he looked up again, the group had gotten even further ahead. he sighed, jogging after them.

his steps were quiet but quick, the tangerine resting loosely in his palm as he caught up to the others. yuji was the first to notice, glancing over casually before his attention immediately locked onto the fruit in megumi’s hand.

“huh?” yuji slowed a little, pointing. “where did you get a tangerine?”

megumi didn’t answer. instead, he pressed his thumb into the rind and pushed his nails into the skin. it split open with a soft snap, releasing a sharp mist of citrus oil that briefly hung in the air.

nobara turned around so fast it looked like she’d heard a gunshot.

“wait,” she said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. “did you steal that from somewhere?!”

“megumi-chan has become a thief,” maki snickered from ahead, glancing back at him with clear amusement. “oh-ho.”

yuji leaned in closer, “did you actually?”

before megumi could respond, gojo slid into the conversation with dramatic timing.

“megumi!,” he announced loudly, placing a hand over his chest in mock heartbreak, “this isn’t how i raised you!”

he shook his head slowly, the picture of theatrical disappointment. “after everything… my own student… reduced to petty theft…”

“you’re being dramatic again,” maki said flatly.

“again?” gojo gasped.

megumi felt a vein pulse faintly in his forehead. “…shut up.”

he continued peeling the tangerine calmly, pulling the rind away in loose curls. the fruit separated easily in his hands, revealing the neat cluster of orange segments inside. he expected the usual sting when the juice touched the torn skin around his cuticles. instead, a warm sweetness drifted up.

he paused briefly. “…sweet,” he muttered.

“tsk,” nobara clicked her tongue immediately, crossing her arms with a scowl “didn’t even get some for us.”

beside her, inumaki nodded in quiet agreement. “shake. shake.”

the village unfolded around them in quiet, sun-warmed stillness as they walked.

narrow paths stretched between small colorful houses, their walls adorned by creeping ivy and the shadows of overhanging trees. bicycles rested against fences and porch railings. gardens spilled over their boundaries with careless abundance, patches of bright flowers, tangled greenery, and fruit trees heavy with color. somewhere nearby, the sea made its presence known even without being seen, the air carrying that faint, salty breath.

it felt slow here, quiet. the kind of place where footsteps and bicycle bells echoed more than engines ever would.

against that calm backdrop, the group from tokyo felt almost painfully loud.

the slap of flip-flops and loose sandals echoed along the path, a lazy rhythm broken constantly by the thud of bags bumping against yuji’s legs as he walked. their voices carried through the street, drifting past open windows and garden fences where a few curious locals occasionally glanced up at the commotion.

yuji groaned dramatically for what had to be the tenth time.

“why do you have to overload your bag?!” he huffed, shifting the straps digging into his shoulders. two bags hung off him awkwardly. one clearly nobara’s and the other unmistakably maki’s. “we are just going to the beach!”

nobara spun around while still walking, nearly making yuji trip as she pointed at him accusingly.

“you men only think a pair of flip-flops and your swim shorts are enough for the beach?!” she snapped. “completely wrong! going to the beach for women is a sport!”

her voice rose enough that a couple of people across the street turned their heads to look.

yuji frowned, clearly offended. “it is enough!” he argued. “the only thing i’d bring besides that is sunscreen—” he paused, thinking. “ or a shovel.”

beside him, inumaki immediately nodded with enthusiasm. “shake! shake!” he lifted his fist and bumped it against yuji’s, who grinned like he had just received the highest form of validation.

a few steps ahead, maki sighed deeply. “like children,”

megumi quietly ate another slice of his tangerine behind them, listening to the argument continue like background noise.

maki slowed slightly, glancing over her shoulder toward gojo, she raised a brow, “we are not actually here to spend a fun summer near the sea, are we?”

“we are!” gojo clasped his hands behind his head as he walked. “nanami was given the decision to go on this little vacation,” he continued with a shrug, “but he didn’t accept it.”

he paused for effect, then spread his arms wide. “but then your amazing, incredibly good-looking sensei gojo satoruuuu decided to take his vacation and generously bring all of you with him!”

“resulting in us having a wonderful summer by the sea!” he declared proudly. “aren’t I just amazing?!”

nobara immediately clasped her hands together dramatically. “thank you nanami-san for not taking the vacation!”

“oi!” gojo whined instantly, pointing at her in betrayal. “you should be thanking me!”

yuji snorted with laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained as it spilled into the open air.

the walk carried on like that for a while; with the constant rhythm of their voices. the slap of sandals against pavement mixed with bursts of giggles and playful bickering, the conversation jumping from one idea to the next without ever settling.

yuji whined loudly, tipping his head back in exaggerated suffering. “how much more?!”

gojo chuckled beside them, clearly entertained.

“i’d say,” he began casually, lifting one long finger and pointing straight down the road ahead of them, “if you made a run for it—” his finger followed the path forward between the houses. “—you’d be there in less than a minute.”

maki narrowed her eyes, leaning slightly to the side to look past one of the houses ahead. then her expression sharpened. “oh,” she said, pointing suddenly, “i can see it beyond that house!”

a faint shimmer of blue was just barely visible past the rooftops, the distant line of the sea catching the sunlight.

nobara didn’t hesitate for even a second. “last one there is a rotten egg!” she bolted forward immediately, her sandals slapping loudly against the ground as she sprinted down the path.

maki grinned. “i like the sound of that!” she took off after her, her stride quick and athletic as she easily closed the distance.

“tuna mayo!” inumaki pumped his fist into the air and darted after them with surprising speed.

behind them, yuji stared for exactly half a second before yelling in outrage. “this isn’t fair!” he shouted, already starting to run after them despite the bags swinging violently from his shoulders, thought it didn’t slow him nearly as much as it should’ve. “i’m carrying all your stuff!”

gojo laughed openly, watching the chaos unfold as the group tore down the path like a pack of overly excited children. (a/n: i love them happy, your honor.) their laughter echoing as they raced toward the faint glimpse of ocean waiting at the end of the road,

behind them, the sudden quiet felt almost unfamiliar.

megumi remained where he was, walking at the same steady pace as before, his footsteps unhurried against the path. gojo strolled beside him with the same loose ease, hands tucked into his pockets like he had nowhere else to be.

“you aren’t going to run with them?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting slightly above the edge of his glasses.

megumi didn’t even look up, he simply shook his head once.

gojo hummed thoughtfully, “sucks to be a rotten egg.”

megumi scoffed under his breath. he lifted the last tangerine slice to his mouth and bit into it slowly, the citrus bursting sweet against his tongue. his thoughts drifting somewhere distant while the noise of the others faded further and further down the road.

he brushed the remaining threads of white pith from his fingers. “…what’s the mission?” he asked at last.

gojo’s head tilted slightly. “hm?”

his gaze shifted down toward the dark-haired boy beside him, taking in the messy spikes of hair and the thoughtful crease between his brows.

“i know you wouldn’t bring us on a vacation without an actual reason,” he said evenly. “or rather… the higher-ups wouldn’t let us go.”

they passed a small garbage can sitting near the path, its metal sides layered with faded stickers and messy graffiti left by years of bored teenagers. megumi flicked the empty tangerine peels into it, landing inside with a soft rustle.

the scent of salt hung more clearly in the air now. the ocean was close.

gojo watched the peels disappear into the bin before letting out a quiet chuckle. “you got me.”

“well,” he said finally, casual in that way that always made it hard to tell how serious he actually was, “this works out. i was planning to assign this mission to you anyway.”

megumi glanced sideways at him.

gojo tilted his head slightly, then added almost lazily “just to you.”

megumi’s steps slowed for half a beat.

“we’ve had reports about a curse whose activity suddenly spiked,” gojo continued as they walked. “looks like it manifested sometime within the last few months. before that, nothing. no incidents, no disturbances, no signs.”

megumi’s brows knit slightly. “what kind of spike?”

“some kind of cursed illness.”

megumi’s breath caught.

“ah.”

the sound slipped out of him before he could stop it, quiet but sharp. he swallowed, throat suddenly dry. cursed illness. the phrase pressed somewhere deeper than it should have, dragging up a familiar knot that had never really loosened.

tsumiki.

the memory of her pale face in the hospital bed flickered across his mind without permission. the unnatural sleep she hadn’t woken from, the doctors’ useless explanations, the quiet suspicion he’d never voiced out loud.

gojo glanced at him from the corner of his eye, catching the subtle tighten in megumi’s jaw. the corner of his mouth lifted into a small, knowing smirk as he reached out and ruffled megumi’s already unruly hair with easy familiarity.

“i’m trusting you with this one,” he said lightly. “so take care of it, yeah?”

then he stepped ahead, his longer stride carrying him forward like the conversation had already been neatly wrapped up.

megumi stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary. the faint scent of citrus still clung to his fingers, the breeze carrying the distant breath of the sea toward them.

something settled quietly in his chest.

he didn’t say anything about it.

“i’m going into town to buy something to drink,” megumi called out as he stepped out of the water, brushing wet strands of hair away from his face. each drop struck the hot sand with a soft pat before vanishing almost instantly beneath the afternoon heat. “anyone want anything?”

behind him, yuji was still waist-deep in the water, breathing hard and grinning like he’d just won a championship match. “you gave up already?” he shouted. “i thought you were getting serious!”

megumi glanced back at him flatly. “you’re splashing like a toddler.”

yuji gasped in mock offense, already preparing another handful of water to launch in retaliation, but toge pulled itadori into the water by his neck.

megumi crossed the sand toward the cluster of towels where the girls had claimed their spot, the grains warm and fine beneath his feet. maki and nobara were stretched out comfortably, soaking in the sun as though they had absolutely no intention of moving for the rest of the day. megumi crouched beside his bag, unzipping it to retrieve his wallet— well, technically gojo’s wallet.

“i want a lemonade,” maki said without opening her eyes, one arm draped lazily across her forehead.

“me too,” nobara added immediately from beside her, sunglasses perched neatly over her nose and a wide straw hat casting shade across her face. “extra icy.”

megumi hummed in acknowledgment as he stood, a few stubborn droplets from his hair slipped free and landed on the edge of nobara’s towel.

“hey!” she hissed, jerking the towel away from the offending moisture. “watch it!”

megumi didn’t bother apologizing. he simply grabbed his sand-coated flip-flops, slipping them on as the warm rubber pressed into the soles of his feet, and started off toward the path leading back into town.

gojo had vaguely pointed in the direction of the market earlier.‘somewhere that way!’ he’d said, waving a hand.

the path leading there was quieter than the beach, winding gently between clusters of trees and thick greenery that leaned inward as if trying to meet over the road. leaves shifted lazily in the breeze, scattering patches of sunlight that danced across the ground beneath megumi’s feet.

the shade was immediate relief after the open heat of the shore.

somewhere above him, birds chirped lazily between branches, their calls echoing softly through the leaves. the air smelled different here too; less salt, more earth and greenery, the faint sweetness of fruit trees lingering somewhere deeper in the village.

megumi walked slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts as his flip-flops slapped lightly against the ground.

it was peaceful in a way tokyo never was.

his thoughts drifted easily in the quiet, eventually circling back to the real problem at hand. ‘extra icy.’ megumi frowned. how exactly was he supposed to bring two “extra icy” lemonades all the way back to the beach without them turning into lukewarm sugar water halfway there?

maybe they sold bottled ones.

he turned a corner where the path narrowed slightly, the shade deepened there, leaves whispering softly against each other while the breeze carried the distant hum of cicadas. the calm almost made him close his eyes. and for a brief second, he did— just long enough to enjoy the cool shade and the quiet rustle of greenery around him.

“WATCH OOOOUT!”

huh?

before the word even fully registered, something slammed straight into his chest.

the impact knocked the breath from his lungs as a sharp ring-ring! of a bicycle bell exploded in the air. megumi staggered backward instinctively, his feet sliding against the path as he absorbed most of the force, but momentum still sent him falling, his tailbone protesting immediately.

for a moment, the leaves above him swayed lazily against the bright sky, their edges glowing softly where the sunlight slipped through them. the metallic rattle of a fallen bicycle settled against the quiet of the path and some small objects bounced along the ground.

megumi squinting slightly as he pushed himself up on his elbows, momentarily forgetting he was standing in the shade rather than the harsh glare of the open beach.

“i’m so sorry!” the voice was bright, breathless, and very close.

he looked up just in time to see a girl leaning toward him, one hand already reaching out. he took it automatically, allowing her to help pull him upright, though he didn’t put much weight into the gesture. the last thing he needed was dragging her down with him.

“it’s fine—” he began.

“it’s not!” the interruption came so quickly that megumi’s eyes widened a fraction.

“i’m so clumsy!” she continued, words tumbling out in a rush as if once they started they couldn’t possibly stop. “i always forget to ring the bell when i go down this path. it’s just—” she gestured vaguely around them with both hands, like the scenery itself was part of her defense, “it’s so nice here, you know? the trees and the shade and the way the sun comes through the leaves. i always get distracted!”

she laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “i swear i mean to signal, but then i start looking at the greenery and the wind in the branches and— well— this happens.”

she pointed at him, then the ground, and then the toppled bicycle. “it’s not even the first time i’ve hit somebody here— ha, ha…”

what is this… feeling?

megumi stood there, momentarily rooted in place, watching the girl in front of him continue her breathless explanation about leaves, sunlight, and the dangers of scenic bicycle paths. her words spilled over each other as if silence itself embarrassed her, hands moving wildly.

the warm afternoon light filtered through the canopy above them, breaking into soft fragments that shifted across her face and shoulders whenever the breeze moved the branches. it wasn’t a strong wind, just a gentle current passing through the trees. but somehow it felt like it had swept straight through megumi himself.

his mind stalled.

his throat felt dry.

the girl kept talking, completely unaware of the effect she was having. the colors she wore seemed almost chosen by the scenery around them; soft oranges and leafy greens that echoed the fruit trees and the shade overhead. when she moved, the little woven hat perched on her head wobbled slightly, the painted orange patterns catching the sunlight. and on top of it, fixed proudly like a tiny flag, was a handmade leaf stem.

megumi blinked slowly.

who the hell are you?

“you are not from here, no?” you asked suddenly, tilting your head at him with open curiosity.

megumi opened his mouth to answer.

nothing came out.

he tried again, and immediately coughed, clutching briefly at his throat like the words had gotten stuck somewhere halfway up. after a second of struggling, a hoarse reply finally slipped free.

“…no.”

you blinked.

“god, you sound terrible.”

the blunt observation landed without hesitation, and megumi felt the tips of his ears heat instantly. he looked away, scratching the back of his neck with awkward stiffness, suddenly very aware of how rough his voice had sounded.

you crouched down to gather the fallen fruit, lifting your bicycle upright again. it had a small basket attached to the back, half-filled with tangerines that glowed brightly against the woven straw.

you picked one up and turned back toward him. “here, for that sore throat!”

before megumi could react, you threw a fruit toward him. he caught it a little too quickly. fumbling the citrus before managing to steady it in his palm. staring at as if it had personally put him in this awkward situation, silently cursing himself for nearly dropping it in front of you.

‘seriously?’

a soft chuckle slipped from you as you crouched beside the bicycle, reaching down to gather the tangerines that had rolled along the path when the basket lid flipped open during the collision, when you dropped them back into the basket they made soft, hollow thuds against the others already inside.

megumi glanced down at the one in his own palm. without really thinking, he sank his nails into the rind.

the peel split open with a soft tear, releasing that same sweet citrus aroma he had noticed earlier that morning.

normally he would take his time and separate the segments, slowly pulling away the thin strands of white pith until each slice was perfectly clean. but doing that while you stood there watching felt… weird. so instead he peeled the fruit quickly, pulled apart a slice, and popped it into his mouth without bothering to remove anything.

the bitter hint of pith hit immediately, and he grimaced slightly as he chewed. it still helped his throat though.

“you eat the pith?” you asked, blinking in mild horror as you stood again. “man, i could never.”

you laughed lightly, brushing your hands against your clothes before continuing. “i mean, i could if i had to. but i like the task of picking it apart, you know? like peeling all the little white strings off one by one.”

megumi froze mid-chew.

“…i do too,” he admitted quietly after swallowing, his voice still rough but a little steadier now. “but my throat’s too dry right now… and i like tangerines no matter how i eat them.”

the words came out softer than he meant them to.

you chuckled again turning back to your bicycle rummaging through the basket for a moment, moving aside a few loose items before pulling out a small mesh bag. then you walked right back up to him and held it out. “well, in that case, here!”

you held out the bag toward him, the tangerines inside complimenting the red of strings. megumi instinctively started to shake his head. “you don’t—”

but before the protest could fully form, your hand closed around his, guiding the bag firmly into his palm. the contact was quick and warm, your fingers curling briefly over his knuckles to make sure he didn’t refuse it.

megumi’s entire body stiffened for half a second he looked like he might actually squeal.

“don’t you dare not take it!” you warned, pointing at him with exaggerated seriousness before breaking into a laugh. “i’ll curse you.”

the threat was clearly playful, your shoulders shaking slightly as you laughed. “have this as a welcoming gift to the town.”

megumi stared at the bag in his hand as if it had suddenly gained weight. after a moment, he gave a small nod.

“woah— hold on.” your tone shifted with sudden curiosity as you leaned closer, squinting slightly at his face. “did you put on any sunscreen? your face is really red.”

you pointed toward the skin beneath his eyes. “you’ll get sunburnt at this point.”

megumi instinctively raised his hand and brushed his fingers across the spot you indicated. the skin stung immediately and he hissed softly at the contact. he was already preparing to mutter something about itadori using half the bottle earlier and leaving him with barely any when—

plop.

something landed squarely on top of his head.

megumi blinked.

the faint clinking of metal and the soft crunch of gravel followed as you began wheeling your bicycle away.

he lifted a hand to his head and felt the woven texture of something unfamiliar. when he pulled it off, he found himself staring at the orange-painted hat you’d been wearing earlier. the little handmade leaf at the top wobbled gently in the breeze.

megumi turned quickly. “hey!” he called, waving it towards you. “your hat!”

“keep it for now!” you called over your shoulder, laughter bright in your voice as the bicycle bell jingled softly with the motion. “you need it more than me!”

the distance between you grew quickly as you pedaled away, your voice floated back one last time. “plus! let that be a reason for me to see you again if you want to return it!”

your giggles faded gradually into the quiet of the path, swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of cicadas hidden somewhere in the greenery. megumi stood there for a moment longer, the hat still in his hand. the warm breeze moved through the trees again, carrying with it the scent of salt from the ocean and the lingering sweetness of freshly peeled tangerines.

later, when megumi returned to the beach, he was holding a mesh bag full of tangerines.

and absolutely no lemonade.

a few days passed after that and somehow, the hat had never left megumi’s possession.

it sat beside him when he slept, hung loosely from the strap of his bag during the day, and more often than not he found himself turning it over in his hands without even realizing it. his fingers tracing the the rough weave of the orange painted straw and the little handmade leaf that wobbled slightly whenever he tilted it.

“somebody put it on my head as a free gift,” he had said when nobara inevitably noticed it. “i left before he could scam me.” the lie had come out flat and quick.

nobara squinted at him like she didn’t buy it for a second. “who gives out free hats?”

“tourist traps,” megumi replied without missing a beat. she had clicked her tongue and dropped it soon after.

still, the hat stayed.

the days themselves passed slowly and warmly, the beach becoming their routine. mornings filled with the sound of waves folding against the shore, afternoons thick with sunlight and the constant scent of sunscreen drifting from the cluster of towels where they usually sat. somewhere in that mix, the bright sweetness of tangerines seemed to linger everywhere now.

strangely enough, megumi slept better.

for the first time in a long while, his nights passed quietly, without the usual restless dreams clawing their way into his sleep. the only thing that occasionally dragged him back to consciousness was toge’s snoring from the other side of the room. which, honestly, might have qualified as its own kind of nightmare.

today was another beach day.

but megumi wasn’t walking the path at the same relaxed pace he had before.

his steps were quicker now, his eyes drifting constantly along the edges of the road, scanning the shaded paths between houses and the narrow lanes lined with trees. the breeze shifted softly through the leaves above him, and every now and then his ears perked slightly, almost expecting to hear the faint ring of a bicycle bell.

nothing. only birds, the rustle of branches, and the distant murmur of the sea behind him.

megumi exhaled quietly and continued forward until the path widened into the town’s small square.

the market was already alive with movement.

stalls lined the open space beneath colorful cloth canopies, their tables crowded with baskets of vegetables, bundles of herbs, fresh fish resting over crushed ice, and rows of fruit that glowed like little pieces of sunlight. the air carried a mixture of scents that hit all at once; sharp green herbs, salty fish, ripe tomatoes, citrus oils, and the faint sweetness of baked bread drifting from somewhere nearby.

megumi paused for a moment, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number of smells. he hadn’t even realized a place could smell like so many things at once.

around him, the locals moved through the square with an easy rhythm. some vendors raised their voices enthusiastically, calling out to passing customers and waving them closer to inspect their produce:

“fresh tomatoes! picked this morning!”

“best fish you’ll find this side of the coast!”

others were quieter, sitting behind their stalls with patient calm. one older woman knitted slowly beneath the shade of her umbrella, occasionally glancing up between stitches. another man leaned back in his chair reading a wrinkled magazine, pencil tapping against the page where a crossword puzzle waited half-finished.

megumi instinctively gravitated toward the quieter side of the market. he pulled the folded paper from his pocket, flattening it in one hand as he walked. nobara’s handwriting was aggressively large across the page.

‘since you forgot the ONE thing i asked you for, ‘she had snapped earlier that morning, shoving the list into his chest, ‘i’m sending you back with this. now when you mess it up again we can just blame it on you being stupid.’

he walked between the stalls, scanning the items one by one as he mentally sorted through what he needed.

then something bright caught his eye.

a small stand sat near the edge of the square, its table covered almost entirely with tangerines. piles of them filled shallow baskets, their skins glowing a rich orange beneath the sunlight that slipped between the market canopies.

megumi stopped mid-step.

then, almost without thinking, he darted straight toward it.

the small wooden stall looked almost like it had been decorated by someone who couldn’t stop thinking about tangerines. little doodles were carved and scribbled across the surface of the wood; tiny round fruits with leaves, simple smiling ones, some drawn with quick, messy lines that made them look like something a child had drawn. a few were painted in faded orange, others barely visible where the wood had been worn smooth by years of use.

for a second, he just stood there, staring at the stand and the piles of glowing fruit stacked in shallow baskets across the table. he hoped—

“oh my god, it’s you!”

the voice exploded from behind the stall before he could even finish the thought. megumi’s head jerked up, eyes widening.

there you were, popping out from behind the baskets as if you’d been waiting there the whole time, your grin stretching impossibly wide. the sunlight caught your face, lighting it up in a way that made the entire stall seem warmer, brighter, almost like the tangerines themselves had blushed.

your outfit was the same aas last time. soft oranges and greens that blended perfectly with the fruit around you. and perched atop megumi’s head was the familiar woven hat, slightly tilted from his awkward handling of it earlier.

for a heartbeat, megumi completely forgot how to speak.

“…hello.” the word came out small, clipped, and unsure. he dipped into a polite bow, clutching the bag of groceries to his chest as if it were a shield.

“i’ve come to bring you your hat back,” he added, fingers brushing the brim awkwardly, confirming it was still there.

you leaned on the stall, a soft chuckle escaping, and immediately megumi felt that familiar, strange dryness creeping into his throat, his heart thudding a little faster.

“wow,” you said lightly, tilting your head and squinting at him through the sunlight. “you were that eager to see me?”

megumi shook his head quickly. “n-no, i just—”

he stopped.

because the moment he looked up again, you had pushed your lower lip out in a exaggerated pout, eyebrows lifted as if disappointed in the world itself.

his brain short-circuited entirely. “well— i mean—” he stuttered, words tangling and tumbling over each other. “y-yeah— i mean—sure…”

the pause that followed lasted only a second, but it felt like the world had frozen around him.

then you laughed. it spilled out of you; bright, musical, completely unrestrained. and it made megumi’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand. your shoulders shook, your eyes twinkled, and for a moment, all he could do was watch.

“god, you are adorable!” you managed between breaths of laughter. “you should see your face.”

you dabbed at the corner of your eye with a finger as if the moment amused you as much as it terrified him.

megumi dropped his gaze instantly, the heat rushing to his cheeks. he pulled the brim of the hat down over his face, trying desperately to hide the flush, his fingers curling around the straw like it could shield him.

“please… stop it,” he muttered, voice quiet.

you inhaled slowly, trying to calm yourself. “okay, okay,” you said, still smiling as you waved your hands in surrender. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”

you leaned forward across the stall, reaching out toward him. megumi instinctively bent slightly so you could reach the top of his head without stretching too far. your fingers brushed lightly against his hair as you lifted the hat away, the woven straw sliding free with a soft rustle before you settled it back onto your own head. the tiny leaf at the top wobbled proudly.

“thank you very much!” you said brightly, flashing him another grin.

megumi straightened slowly. “…you’re welcome.”

the words came out softer than he intended, and for a moment the space between you filled only with the quiet rustle of the market. the distant murmur of vendors, the shifting of baskets, the faint scent of herbs and citrus drifting lazily through the warm air.

you tilted your head slightly, watching him with that same curious brightness in your eyes.

“though,” you said after a moment, resting your elbows lightly on the edge of the stall, “i am a bit sad now.”

megumi blinked.

you puffed your cheeks out in a small pout, fingers tapping against the wood covered in tiny doodled tangerines. “now we don’t really have a reason to meet again.”

megumi’s brain promptly stopped working.

“e-eh?!”

the sound escaped him before he could stop it. he quickly scratched the back of his neck, clearly scrambling for something.

“i don’t really have anything on me to give you…” he admitted awkwardly, glancing down at the bag of groceries still clutched in his hand.

you hummed thoughtfully for half a second. then your expression brightened. “well, you have your word!”

“my word?”

you chuckled lifting your hand and extending your pinky finger across the stall toward him. “just promise you’ll come see me one more time before summer ends.”

megumi stared at your pinky for a moment like it was a surprisingly serious contract. the market noise faded slightly around him, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves somewhere beyond the square and the warm scent of fruit stacked around the stall.

after a second, he slowly raised his own hand. his pinky hooked around yours. the contact was light but deliberate, the simple gesture sealing the promise in a way that felt oddly significant.

a small smile appeared on megumi’s face before he even realized it.

you noticed immediately. and it felt like you had just won the greatest prize imaginable.

“here,” you said suddenly, pulling your hand back and turning to the baskets beside you. “before you go.”

you grabbed a mesh bag and began dropping several bright tangerines inside, the fruits landing with soft, hollow thuds before you held the bag out toward him. “for the number two tangerine lover!”

“number two?” megumi raised an eyebrow, though a quiet chuckle escaped him as he reached forward to take it. “who’s number one?”

you straightened dramatically, placing a hand over your chest with exaggerated pride. “me, of course! who else?”

“of course…” megumi shook his head lightly, the corner of his mouth lifting again.

megumi had barely adjusted the bag of tangerines in his hands when something suddenly nudged hard into his side. he shifted instinctively, stepping a half step away, and an old man pushed himself into the space beside him like he owned the ground beneath his feet. his finger shot forward immediately, pointing straight at you across the stall.

“i told you not to put your stall here. this is my spot!”

his voice cut through the gentle noise of the square, sharp and loud enough that a few nearby heads turned.

you didn’t flinch, you simply stared at him, your brows slowly knitting together while the little orange leaf on your hat wobbled slightly as you tilted your head.

megumi felt a faint tension creep up his spine. instinctively, he shifted his weight forward, the urge to step in flickering briefly in the back of his mind. but a tourist arguing with a local in the middle of a town square was a terrible idea.

before he could decide anything, you spoke.

“this isn’t anybody’s place,” you said, crossing your arms calmly over your chest. “unless you bought this exact patch of dirt, then sure, it can be yours.”

the old man’s face twisted immediately. “i fucking swear,” he spat, glaring at you with open irritation. “you’re just like your grandmother.”

your arms tightened slightly against yourself. megumi noticed it, the smallest shift in your posture, barely there but real.

the man jabbed a finger toward the stall again. “if i see you here tomorrow,” he barked, “i’ll smash this damn thing to pieces!”

for a moment, the threat hung heavy in the air. megumi’s confusion only grew when you suddenly smiled. it was bright, almost exaggeratedly cheerful as you lifted both hands in a harmless little gesture.

“alright, alright,” you said lightly, waving him off with fake patience. “no need to get so aggressive, old man!” the man muttered something under his breath, clearly a string of curses, and turned as if ready to storm away. “wait!”

your voice stopped him, he paused with visible annoyance, turning back halfway. you leaned down behind the stall, grabbed one of the bright tangerines from the basket, and held it out toward him with a wide grin. “here,” you said sweetly. “a peace offering!”

for a split second megumi thought he might slap it straight out of your hand.

his arm twitched.

but instead the man snatched the fruit roughly from your fingers, gripping it tight as if the poor thing had personally offended him. he scoffed loudly before turning again and stomping off through the square, his footsteps sharp against the stone.

megumi stood there, completely still.

did you just… curse somebody?

the evening draped itself like a soft, warm blanket. the last traces of sunlight lingering on the wooden balcony while the faint sound of waves brushed against the shore somewhere beyond the trees. gojo lounged back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, sunglasses slipping slightly down his nose as he regarded the boy beside him.

megumi barely moved, elbows resting on his knees, a single tangerine turning slowly between his fingers, the only movement betraying the storm of thought inside him. his grip tightened slightly as gojo spoke:

“i got information today,” gojo said, his voice calm but carrying a quiet weight, “another person died from the illness. older male.”

megumi’s fingers clenched harder around the fruit, and gojo let his gaze linger, noting the subtle tremor that ran through his hands. he didn’t flinch, didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders said enough.

after a moment, gojo let out a long, soft sigh, tilting his head as he watched the sky darken, the first stars beginning to prick the dusky blue. “i know this whole mission touches a nerve for you,” he said, words measured, careful, “i didn’t give it to you to torture you.”

megumi’s hands shook slightly, and gojo’s eyes softened behind the lenses of his glasses.

“i gave it to you because i trust you,” gojo continued, letting the weight of the words hang between them. “because facing something like this… it’s not about punishment. it’s about growth. it’s about becoming the kind of person who can carry the weight, no matter how heavy it gets.”

he leaned back further, hands resting behind his head, voice steady but gentle, letting the space stretch between them.

“you can handle it,” gojo added after a pause, “and it’s exactly the kind of thing that makes you stronger as a person.”

the summer night had cooled just enough for the air to feel soft against the skin, a quiet breeze drifting in from the ocean and brushing through megumi’s hair as he walked along the empty stretch of shore. the tide rolled in slow, steady breaths, each wave pulling moonlight across the water until the sea shimmered like scattered glass beneath the pale sky.

megumi walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, head lowered, his gaze fixed on the sand at his feet rather than the wide horizon in front of him. every few steps he nudged a stray pebble forward with the tip of his sandal, letting it bounce ahead before kicking it again without really thinking about it.

his mind was somewhere else entirely.

he had to find you and execute you.

the thought sat heavily in his chest, heavy enough that even the salty night air felt difficult to breathe.

how was he supposed to do that?

the question circled endlessly in his head as the waves crept up and retreated along the shore. it wasn’t the act of killing itself that troubled him. megumi had been a sorcerer long enough to understand what needed to be done when curses were involved.

but this wasn’t simple. because the more he thought about it, the less it made sense.

did you even know you were cursing people?

he replayed the memory again, the image sharp and impossible to ignore. the moment when you had handed that tangerine to the old man in the square, smiling so brightly it almost felt ridiculous and for the briefest second, megumi had seen it.

a shadow behind your back.

something thin and writhing, like a knot of blackened roots crawling out from your spine. it had appeared only for a moment, stretching outward with the tangerine as cursed energy seeped into the fruit. then it curled back in on itself, wrapping around your body again like a second skin before vanishing completely beneath your warmth and laughter.

you hadn’t reacted.

megumi had stood there frozen, realization settling slowly and horribly in his mind. the curse wasn’t just near you. it was attached to you.

worse than that, he was almost certain the two of you were bound together. the way the cursed energy moved, the way it fed from you and returned. if he destroyed the curse directly, there was a very real chance that the backlash would take you with it.

killing the curse might mean killing you.

megumi exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. he hadn’t eaten a single tangerine you’d given him since that day. the small bag still sat in his room at the apartment, untouched.

was he afraid they were cursed too?

…no.

he didn’t think that was it.

still, every time he reached for one, something stopped him. an invisible hesitation that made him pull his hand back before the peel could even break beneath his fingers.

he kicked the pebble ahead again, watching it bounce across the damp sand. his thoughts spiraled deeper and deeper until—

a quiet sound cut through the night.

sniffling.

megumi stopped walking.

his head lifted toward the sound, eyes scanning the dim shoreline until they landed on the small wooden bench near the path.

you were sitting there. the moonlight fell across you in pale streaks, catching the shine of wet tears on your cheeks as you blinked at him, clearly startled to see someone there at all. for a moment neither of you moved. the waves rolled quietly behind you, the wind tugging gently at your clothes.

you just stared at each other.

then, almost immediately, you groaned and covered your face with both hands.

“don’t look at me!” you whined miserably, rubbing at your eyes in a frantic attempt to wipe the tears away. megumi stiffened where he stood, caught completely off guard. “i’m all teary-eyed and snotty and fucking gross,” you complained through your hands, voice thick as you tried to scrub your face dry.

megumi blinked once, then raised an eyebrow slightly. “…yeah. because you’re crying.”

you peeked through your fingers immediately. “are you lecturing me?”

“uh— no,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly very aware that he had absolutely no idea how to handle a crying person. especially you. his mind ran through a dozen useless options: say something comforting, offer help, do something normal.

instead he just stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before blurting, “hold on.”

and then he turned and ran.

down the path, sandals kicking up bits of gravel as he sprinted toward the nearest open market stall he remembered passing earlier. a few minutes later he came rushing back, slightly out of breath, carrying a plastic bottle of cold water, a small pack of tissues, and almost instinctively a couple of fresh tangerines tucked under his arm.

by the time he reached the bench again, you had calmed down a little. your shoulders weren’t shaking anymore, though your eyes were still red and your nose slightly pink from crying.

megumi slowed his steps as he approached.

you glanced up at him just as he reached the bench and he gently pressed the cold water bottle against your cheek. you flinched immediately from the sudden chill. “hey!”

but the protest faded almost as quickly as it came. the coolness seeped into your warm skin and you leaned into it without thinking, your cheek pressing softly against the plastic as if you’d suddenly decided it was the most comforting thing in the world.

you didn’t take the bottle. you just stayed there, nuzzling slightly into the cold surface with a quiet sigh.

megumi hesitated. then sat down beside you on the bench, holding the bottle in place against your cheek so you wouldn’t have to move. his arm would probably start cramping soon. but as you leaned there against him, megumi found himself thinking that even if his arm started cramping, he probably wouldn’t put the bottle down.

“do you want to talk?”

you shook your head immediately; cheek still pressed against the cold plastic.

“alright,” he said simply.

he shifted his grip on the bottle slightly so it rested more comfortably against your face.

“do you want me to wait until you want to talk?”

you sniffled and nodded.

a quiet scoff slipped out of him, though the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

“alright.”

he pulled the bottle away after a moment to twist the cap open, you reached over and took it from his hand, lifting it to your lips. the cold water slid down your throat and you hummed softly, the chill easing the dryness that crying had left behind.

megumi watched for a second before looking down and rummaging through the plastic bag he’d brought. it rustled quietly in the night air as he searched through it and eventually pulled out a tangerine.

your eyes brightened instantly.

“they’re not… yours,” he said, glancing at the fruit in his hand, “but it’s better than nothing.”

he sank his nails into the peel. the skin split with a soft tear, releasing a faint, sharp citrus scent into the air. he winced slightly when the juice brushed against the small cut near his cuticle, though he quickly masked it, continuing the task with quiet concentration.

you watched him the whole time.

his hands worked slowly and carefully, peeling the skin away in curling strips before placing them neatly back into the bag. once the fruit was bare, he began separating the slices one by one, methodically removing the thin white pith from each segment with surprising patience.

the ocean breeze tugged lightly at his dark hair as he focused, brows faintly drawn. when he finally held out the first slice toward you, you didn’t move.

you just stared at him. the look on your face was soft, almost stunned, as if he’d just done something far more impressive than peeling fruit under the moonlight.

megumi shifted slightly, a faint grimace crossing his face. “…are you… going to take it?”

you still didn’t move.

his ears warmed.

after a second he sighed quietly and extended his hand a little farther, bringing the tangerine slice closer to your lips.

you leaned forward and took it gently from his fingers with your lips, your teeth breaking the thin membrane as the slightly sour juice spread across your tongue.

you didn’t seem to mind the taste at all.

your attention remained fixed on him instead. the dark-haired boy beside you, carefully peeling another slice of fruit as if it were the most important task in the world, the tips of his ears faintly pink and his eyes stubbornly focused on the work in his hands.

he handed you another piece. this time you took it with a small smile, a quiet chuckle slipping out as you chewed.

megumi glanced at you.“do tangerines cheer you up that much?”

you nodded immediately,

he looked back down at the fruit in his hands. “…i’m glad.”

for a while after that, neither of you said much.

then your voice came, quieter than before.

“my grandma…”

megumi’s hands slowed.

he didn’t interrupt, but the way his posture shifted made it clear he was listening now, fully.

“she loved tangerines,” you said softly. “so much that when i was little there wasn’t a single dish she made that didn’t have at least a little bit of the juice in it. rice, soups, marinades… everything.” you let out a small chuckle, your gaze drifting toward the ocean. “the kitchen always smelled like tangerines too.”

megumi handed you another slice.

you took it absently.

“i loved it when i was little,” you continued, rolling the slice between your fingers before eating it. “but when i got older… i guess i got sick of it. the smell followed me everywhere.” you pulled your knees up onto the bench, wrapping your arms around them as the breeze tugged lightly at your clothes. “in school people said i smelled like tangerines all the time. some of my classmates started making fun of me for it.”

you huffed quietly. “which is stupid, right? but bullies always find the dumbest things to pick on.”

megumi didn’t say anything, he just kept peeling the fruit slowly beside you.

“one day i snapped,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. “i told her i hated tangerines. that i hated the smell and that it was her fault everyone made fun of me.”

you paused.

“do you know what she did?” you glanced sideways at him, expecting boredom or polite disinterest.

instead you found his gaze already on you.

his eyes traced your face carefully, like he was memorizing every small shift in your expression. the attention made a faint warmth rise to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away again before continuing.

“she just laughed,” you said, a small breath of amusement leaving you. “she told me that one day i’d love tangerines just as much as she did.”

you stared out at the ocean again.

“and before i knew it… i did.”

megumi’s hands stilled slightly on the fruit in his lap.

“the house didn’t smell like tangerines anymore,” you continued quietly. “the pots weren’t warm when i walked into the kitchen. the food wasn’t sitting on the table waiting for me. there wasn’t her voice telling me not to turn out like my dad.”

your fingers tightened slightly around your legs. “there wasn’t her laughter anymore either.”

“the village hated her,” you murmured. “because of what her son— my dad, did. people looked at her like she was something rotten… like she carried the same stain he did.” your voice faltered slightly. “and because i was his daughter… they looked at me the same way.”

megumi’s chest felt tight.

“like we were something cursed.”

your shoulders trembled as you pressed your face briefly against your knees.

“and i just…” your voice cracked. “…i just wished they would all die.”

megumi went completely still beside you.

the words sank into the quiet between you, heavier than the humid night air and the slow rhythm of the tide. the ocean rolled in and out against the shore, each wave brushing the sand with a soft sigh, but megumi barely heard it anymore.

his fingers stopped moving, the peel hung loosely between them, a thin strip of orange skin dangling as his grip tightened without him realizing.

his breath caught in his throat.

how— how was he supposed to execute you?

how was he supposed to do it now?

his gaze drifted toward you without fully turning his head. you were still curled in on yourself, arms wrapped around your legs on the bench, shoulders trembling faintly in the moonlight. the silver glow from the water reflected softly across your face, catching in the tear tracks along your cheeks.

megumi’s mind tried to reach for something solid, logic. the cold certainty he usually relied on when dealing with curses. but everything tangled the moment it circled back to you.

his fingers curled tighter around the fruit until the thin skin creased under the pressure.

he should do it.

that was the mission.

he had seen it with his own eyes. the curse that clung to you wasn’t subtle; it had slipped from your back like smoke the first time he noticed it, stretching and twisting before wrapping itself around your body again, possessive and intimate in a way that made his stomach twist.

you didn’t even know it existed. you moved through your days like any other person, laughing, talking, offering him tangerines with sticky fingers and a crooked smile, completely unaware of the thing that breathed alongside you.

you were simply… living.

so why— why were you the one who had to die for it?

megumi swallowed hard, jaw tightening as the questions churned through his mind with nowhere to land. the scent of citrus felt suddenly overwhelming in his hands, sharp and sweet and impossible to ignore.

then your voice broke through his thoughts.

“are you okay?”

you were staring at him, brows drawn together in quiet concern, your earlier sadness momentarily forgotten as you leaned a little closer.

it took him a second to realize what had caught your attention.

his lip.

megumi felt it then; the dull sting where his teeth had been digging in too hard, the metallic taste of blood spreading slowly across his tongue. when he pulled back slightly, a thin line of red had already formed where the skin had split.

“oh— shit.”

he quickly dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping the blood away like it was nothing more than an absent habit. his shoulders shifted in that subtle way he always did when he was trying to brush something off.

you watched the motion carefully, for half a second you didn’t say anything, then your shoulders tightened. “i’m sorry.”

“what?”

you rubbed the back of your neck, the movement awkward and restless as your gaze dropped to your shoes. grains of sand clung to the edges of them where the tide had brushed up earlier, and you nudged one foot into the ground like you suddenly found it very interesting.

“i just kind of dumped all that stuff on you. about my grandma… the village… everything. i didn’t even stop to think about how you might feel hearing it, or if you even wanted to listen in the first place.” your words started to tumble out faster the longer you spoke, the way they did when embarrassment got the better of you. “i mean, we barely know each other and i just—”

“stop that.”

the words cut cleanly through your rambling.

you froze mid-sentence, your head lifting in surprise.

his expression wasn’t sharp or irritated the way it sometimes got when people talked too much; if anything, it had softened in that quiet, unreadable way of his. the wind stirred through his dark hair, pushing a few stubborn strands across his forehead as he watched you.

“if i didn’t care,” he said simply, “i wouldn’t be here right now.”

the honesty in the statement settled between you more heavily than he probably intended.

you looked at him for a long time.

“…but you don’t know me,” you murmured eventually, your voice quieter now.

megumi hesitated.

something flickered behind his eyes, uncertainty, maybe, before he slowly lifted his hand and held it out toward you. the gesture was simple, almost awkward. you stared at his hand, confusion flickering across your face as your gaze moved back up to him.

“megumi,” he clarified quietly. “my name.”

for a moment you just looked at him.

then something in your expression softened, and a small, surprised laugh slipped from you before you could stop it. you reached forward and took his hand without hesitation, your fingers curling around his as you told him your name in return.

megumi repeated it under his breath once, like he was committing it carefully to memory.

“megumi, huh?” you said after a second, a soft grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

he immediately looked a little awkward about it. his free hand lifted to scratch at the back of his head, shoulders shifting as a faint flush crept up along the tips of his ears. “i know,” he muttered, glancing off toward the water. “it’s… a girl’s name.”

“no,” you said gently.

the way you said it made him look back at you.

you were smiling. there was something so open and sincere in the expression that megumi suddenly didn’t know where to put his eyes. “i think it suits you.”

the ocean stretched endlessly behind him, moonlight scattering across the slow-moving waves in long silver streaks. the wind lifted your hair slightly as you tilted your head, studying him with a quiet sort of curiosity, like you were trying to understand something that had only just revealed itself.

then you said, almost thoughtfully,

“you feel like my blessing.”

ah.

megumi felt something shift deep in his chest, something warm and unfamiliar that spread outward before he could stop it. it was the kind of feeling that made his ribs feel tight, like his heart had suddenly grown too large for the space it lived in.

he looked at you sitting beside him, the faint redness still lingering around your eyes from earlier tears, the smell of tangerines clinging faintly to your hands, the night breeze tugging softly at your clothes as you smiled at him like he was something unexpectedly good that had simply appeared in your life.

like he belonged there.

maybe…

maybe he could allow himself something small.

after all, everyone was selfish sometimes.

and so, that summer.

megumi let himself be selfish.

megumi will never get used to the way you say his name.

it always sounds a little different when it leaves your lips, as if you’re trying out all the possible ways it could exist in the world.

sometimes it comes out stretched and playful, the syllables rolling lazily off your tongue as laughter follows right after, usually when your bicycle bumps into him for the third time that week along the narrow path leading into town. the bell on your handlebars always rings too late, and the soft thud of the tire against his leg is almost routine by now.

you always wobble, nearly tipping the bicycle over in your hurry to steady yourself, your hair falling into your face as you grin sheepishly.

megumi stands there with that same unimpressed look he tries very hard to maintain. he points toward the wheels with mock threat, something about popping your tires but the words never hold any real bite. if anything, his scolding always circles back to you. how you’re the one who’ll get hurt riding that recklessly, how the path isn’t wide enough for your terrible biking skills.

other times it’s quieter.

softer.

the kind of way that belongs only to the two of you when the day settles into evening and the shore grows still beneath the fading sun. the ocean breathes slowly beside you, waves curling against the sand while the sky deepens into colors that melt from gold into violet.

you always insist your hands are freezing and megumi never argues for long. his hands end up covering yours eventually, his fingers awkwardly wrapping around them as the cool sea breeze brushes against your skin. the smell of salt and damp sand lingers in the air while the two of you wander along the shore until you inevitably claim the same weathered bench near the water.

you curl against him there without hesitation, your head resting on his shoulder as if the space was made for you. megumi sits still at first, a little stiff, but it never lasts long. eventually he’s peeling a tangerine, his fingers working carefully through the bright skin while the sharp citrus scent mixes with the ocean air.

slice after slice disappears between your lips as he hands them over. sometimes he pulls one back at the last second just to eat it himself. the offended noise you make afterward always dissolves into laughter, your breath warm and shaky against his shoulder while the waves continue their slow rhythm beyond the sand.

megumi finds that he likes that sound more than he expected.

then there are the afternoons when you drag him somewhere new along the coast, slipping away from the busier parts of the beach and weaving through narrow rock paths until the two of you find the hidden stretch of water you like best. the rocks there rise tall enough to block the wind, forming a quiet little pocket of ocean where the water glows clear and blue beneath the sun.

megumi steps carefully along the wet stones, watching where he places his feet.

you, however, move like you’ve known the place your entire life.

your laughter echoes between the rocks when you reach back to grab his arm, tugging him toward the water before he can protest. the stones are slick with dark green algae and he nearly slips more than once, earning a dramatic look from you each time as if you’re personally offended by his lack of balance.

your silent scolding always comes with narrowed eyes and a firm grip on his sleeve, pulling him farther away from the sharp edges until the two of you finally dive beneath the cool surface together.

the water wraps around you instantly, muffling the outside world into quiet blue stillness.

beneath the surface the light bends through the water in soft shifting patterns, illuminating small clusters of coral where schools of fish dart back and forth like flashes of living color. sometimes they move so quickly that they brush against megumi’s arms or legs, their tiny bodies flicking past his skin before disappearing again into the reef.

you always surface first, pushing your hair back as you laugh quietly, the sound echoing between the rocks while droplets of seawater catch the sunlight around you.

megumi never quite knows what expression he’s wearing in those moments.

he only knows that the sound of his name always seems to follow right after.

megumi pushes wet hair out of his eyes just as a bit of seawater slips the wrong way into his nose. he turns his head immediately, sneezing once, then again, blinking hard as the sting fades.

the reaction earns a bright burst of laughter from you.

megumi looks over at you, brows knitting together in mild offense even though the corner of his mouth has already betrayed him.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, irritation carefully placed into his tone.

you tilt your head, still laughing.

“you.”

that’s it.

just you.

your laughter lingers another second before it abruptly cuts off when a splash of water hits your mouth. you cough slightly, blinking as you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, clearly offended.

you squint.

“you little—”

your hands smack down onto the surface of the ocean, sending a wave of water straight toward him. megumi recoils half a second too late, and then the retaliation begins in full.

water slaps loudly against the rocks as the two of you start splashing back and forth, each attack more aggressive than the last. droplets glitter in the sunlight as they fly through the air, catching in your hair and clinging to megumi’s eyelashes while your laughter mixes with the crashing of water.

eventually you’re the first to break.

you cough again between breaths, lifting both hands in the air in defeat.

“i surrender!” you wheeze, waving one arm dramatically above the water. “i surrender!”

megumi finally stops, chest rising and falling as the adrenaline of the moment fades.

then he laughs.

not the quiet scoff he usually hides behind his sleeve, but a full, genuine laugh that escapes him before he can stop it. it rolls up from his chest, warm and unguarded, and the sound lingers between the rocks as the last ripples of the water settle around them. (a/n: hes so pretty it’s unreal)

you stare at him for a moment. your hair has fallen completely over your face by now, strands sticking to your cheeks and eyelashes as you squint through the mess.

without really thinking about it, he reaches forward.

his fingers slide through the damp strands, brushing them gently away from your eyes and tucking them to the side. somewhere in the motion his hand ends up cupping your cheek, cool seawater dripping from his wrist while his thumb rests briefly near your temple.

he doesn’t seem to notice.

“you look like a wet poodle,” he says, the teasing edge in his voice softer now.

you blink up at him, unimpressed.

“says the one whose family relative is a sea urchin.”

megumi’s brows lift slightly.

“oh-ho,” he says, leaning a little closer with mock curiosity. “little missy’s starting to bite back now?”

his fingers pinch your cheek lightly.

you smack his hand away instantly, cheeks puffing in protest. “cause you suck!”

megumi grins, his eyes glinting as he extends both hands toward your shoulders. you lean slightly, curiosity painted across your wet, glowing face. your eyes widen as he smirks, leaning closer, and you start to protest, “wait—”

before you can finish, he pushes down, dunking you under the water just like you had done to him a few minutes ago. bubbles rush past your nose as you resurface, sniffling and coughing lightly, water clinging to your lashes.

“you know what,” you gasp, water dripping from your hair, “i’ll give you that one.”

you extend a hand, and megumi meets it with a high five, but his palm lingers against yours a second longer, fingers brushing and holding in a way that makes your chest flutter slightly.

then, you remember something, eyes lighting up. “oh! i have to teach you something!” you exclaim, bouncing slightly in the water.

“oh, what now?” he scoffs in irritation. but you know better, his tone means nothing.

“okay, so,” you start, splashing your hands for emphasis, “you take a deep breath,” demonstrating with a long inhale, “then you dive as far down as you can, twist your body so you’re facing up, and open your eyes! trust me, it’s so freaking cool!”

megumi presses a hand over his face, shielding his eyes from the splashes and the sun, a half-grin tugging at his lips.

he huffs out a shaky laugh, “okay, okay! let me try. but if my eyes sting from the salt, it’s your fault,” the corner of his mouth quirking despite the warning in his voice.

he inhales, chest swelling with the deep pull of the sea air, then plunges beneath the surface. the water envelops him, cool and dense, pressing softly against his skin. he twists, turns his body as you instructed, and slowly opens one eye, then the other.

everything blurs at first; the shifting currents, the way the sunlight fractures into dancing shards through the water. his eyes sting lightly, a sharp reminder of the salt, but he can’t pull away from the sight before him. the light filters through the waves in streaks of gold and sapphire, moving like liquid fire across the dark blue expanse. in that moment, it’s as if he’s floating in the sky, weightless and untethered, drawing closer to the sun with each heartbeat.

then a shadow passes over him, soft and deliberate, and his chest tightens. you swim above, backlit by the sun, hair clinging to your face and shoulders, the light haloing around you like an angel.

compelled by some strange gravity, he extends his hands, tracing the curve of your shoulder, letting the tips of his fingers brush your skin, and then moving higher to graze your cheek. through the blur of water and the sting in his eyes, he sees your smile, small but utterly luminous, and his lids droop slightly, savoring the image like sunlight stored in memory.

you lean closer, and without thinking, he mirrors you, letting the distance collapse, the tip of your nose nearly brushing his. time seems to stretch, the water holding them suspended.

and just as the space between you narrows, a small rush of bubbles escapes his lips, a sharp reminder of the air he’s running out of. he kicks hard with his legs, shooting upward, and breaks through the surface in one hurried rush.

the heat of the afternoon pressed gently against megumi’s skin as he lay sprawled on the balcony, the wooden boards warm beneath him. the sun spilled over the edge of the roof, slipping past gojo’s shadow as he leaned lazily against the railing. a faint breeze rustled through the leaves nearby, carrying the mingled scent of salt from the sea and the faint sweetness of tangerines still lingering in his senses from earlier days.

“where have you been off to, megumi-chan?” gojo’s voice sliced through the quiet, drawing him from the haze of memory.

megumi squinted, letting the warmth press against his face, a faint crease between his brows. “i got sidetracked in town,” he said flatly, eyes closing again, offering nothing more.

the rhythmic chirping of crickets filled the air, a sharp, high-pitched symphony that grated against his ears. he could almost hear the memory of your voice explaining how the insects’ song had marked your childhood afternoons, the sound weaving into the heat of the sun itself.

gojo scoffed, grinning, and with a casual flick he tugged megumi’s shirt up and shoved a packaged popsicle against his bare stomach. the cold hit instantly, he yelped, pulling it free, grumbling under his breath, but the pale green treat gleamed in the sunlight, and the sweet, frosty scent made him pause. he tore the wrapper carefully and let the ice melt slowly on his tongue, the cool mint cutting through the warmth of the day.

the balcony fell silent, save for the distant crash of waves and the persistent chirping.

“i know you’ve been seeing her.” gojo’s face was unreadable behind the dark lenses of his glasses, his voice quiet, almost heavy. “why?”

megumi stayed silent for a long beat, the popsicle melting faster in his hand, its cold dripping onto his palm.

finally, his voice, soft and shaky, broke through. “you always tell me to be selfish… so i decided to take it into action.”

gojo’s reply came slow, deliberate, as if weighing the weight of every word. “are you willing to be selfish… enough for another, so much so that you will destroy yourself afterward?” there was a tremor in his tone, one that suggested he had felt the same.

megumi’s head bowed, voice barely more than a whisper, unstable in the edges “just this summer… let me…”

“please… satoru.”

the popsicle in his hand softened, its shape collapsing in the sun, melting faster than he could notice. the sweetness dripped down his fingers, sticky and fleeting, and somehow mirrored the ache in his chest.

gojo said nothing. silent in a way he never had before.

for a moment, megumi felt utterly alone and completely seen all at once.

“she’s sick?”

“yes, young man,” the old woman beside your stall looked up from the bundle of dried herbs she had been tying together with thin twine. adjusting the little round glasses perched low on her nose.

megumi stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the empty stall spot.

without the wooden counter that was covered in the faded doodles of tangerines you had once proudly told him about, the little uneven tangarines drawn by your younger self when your grandmother had decided the stand needed “more personality.”

normally you were there.

perched behind that counter with that bright tangerine-colored hat on your head and sleeves rolled up, greeting every passerby with a grin that showed all your teeth.

megumi swallowed, something uneasy settling in his chest.

“she’ll be fine,” the old woman added casually, waving a hand as if it were nothing serious. “caught a bit of a fever. happens when people forget they’re human and try to work every day.”

megumi nodded once.

then, somehow. he found himself standing in front of your house.

he wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened.

one minute he had been walking through the market, the next he had a bag clutched awkwardly in his hand, stuffed with things he barely remembered buying; cold tablets, instant soup packets, bottled tea, and a few other things the pharmacist had recommended while eyeing him suspiciously.

now he stood at your front door.

the house was small and warm-looking, tucked quietly along the narrow street. wind chimes hung from the porch roof, swaying gently whenever the breeze drifted through, their soft clinking mixing with the distant sound of cicadas buzzing in the afternoon heat.

megumi stared at the door like it had personally offended him.

what was he doing?

megumi stood on your small wooden porch with his hand lifted halfway toward the door, fingers hovering uncertainly in the air like he had forgotten what they were supposed to do. after a moment the courage drained right back out of him, and his hand slowly dropped to his side again.

instead of knocking, he started pacing. the porch wasn’t very big, which made the movement almost ridiculous. three steps forward, turn, three steps back, turn again, over and over until the soft creak of the boards beneath his shoes began to repeat in a quiet rhythm.

his thoughts spiraled faster with every lap.

you two were… close.

right?

close enough to sit on the beach for hours talking about nothing and everything at the same time. close enough to share tangerines and stupid stories and long stretches of silence that somehow never felt uncomfortable. close enough that your laugh had started living somewhere in the back of his head without his permission.

but were you close enough for this?

close enough that he could just show up at your house uninvited after asking random market ladies where you lived? megumi slowed his pacing, glancing down at the bag in his hand like it had personally betrayed him.

this looked bad.

actually— this looked really bad.

what if you thought he was stalking you?

what if you thought he was some weird guy who had followed you home and was now standing outside your house with a suspiciously thoughtful get-well package?

what if you thought he was trying to murd—

the door suddenly opened.

megumi froze mid-step.

you stood there in the halfway open doorway with one hand still resting on the handle as you blinked up at him slowly. your face was half-hidden behind the frame. your hair looked messier than usual, like you had only half bothered brushing it before giving up, and you were wrapped in an oversized shirt that slipped lazily off one shoulder.

for a moment neither of you spoke.

then you tilted your head slightly, studying him.

“you think loudly,” you said.

“…huh?” megumi was still standing there like someone had paused him mid-animation.

you pushed the door open a little wider with a soft creak, leaning your shoulder against the frame.

“i could hear you from the living room,” you explained, your voice rough with the remnants of your cold. “the pacing gave it away. you walk in circles when you overthink.”

megumi blinked. “…you could hear that?”

“very dramatic pacing.” you nodded with complete seriousness.

his ears turned red immediately. “i wasn’t pacing dramatically,”

he shifted the paper bag in his hand before awkwardly extending it toward you, the crinkle of the paper loud in the quiet doorway.

“the ladies at the market told me where you lived,” he explained, words coming out a little clumsier than he meant them to. “they saw you hanging out with me before and… told me i should bring you something to help you get better. so i— yeah. i did.”

you looked down at the bag. then slowly back up at him. “…are you going to leave when i take it?”

for a brief second he simply stared at you. at the small pout forming on your face, the way your shoulders were wrapped tightly in that oversized t-shirt. the faint redness around your nose and eyes that made you look both miserable and unfairly cute.

‘you are god’s strongest soldier, megumi.’ he told himself.

“i— should probably leave,” he said, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “i have something planned with my friends, so—”

the door shut directly in his face.

megumi blinked. his hand was still raised in the air where he had been holding out the bag.

your muffled voice came from the other side. “i won’t take it then.”

megumi lowered his hand slowly. a quiet chuckle slipped out of him before he could stop it, warm and a little helpless. he stepped forward again and placed his hand lightly against the door, knocking once.

“i won’t leave,” he said. “open up.”

the door creaked fully open again a second later.

and there you were; nose pink from your cold and eyes just slightly glassy from fever or allergies or whatever had knocked you out for the day. you sniffled once as you looked up at him, clearly trying to maintain the same offended expression from earlier.

in megumi’s mind you looked like you were glowing. it was ridiculous. you were sick, sniffling, clearly exhausted, and yet somehow you still managed to look completely adorable standing there.

a quiet laugh slipped from him again. your pout deepened immediately, already suspicious that he was about to tease you. megumi reached forward before you could protest and lightly flicked the tip of your nose. “rudolph.”

behind him the door shut with a soft thud as you groaned dramatically. “that’s such a lame joke.”

“for you,” he replied easily, already wandering further inside like he belonged there.

the moment he stepped past the doorway, the house seemed to unfold around him in color.

it was bright, almost overwhelmingly so, but not in a messy way. it felt warm. alive. like every corner had been touched by someone who believed the world should be cheerful even when it had no reason to be.

wind chimes hung near the windows, their soft notes clinking together whenever the breeze slipped through the open panes. threaded between them were thin slices of dried tangerines, translucent in the sunlight as they swayed gently back and forth like little amber coins. strings of beads hung in place of door curtains, brushing lightly against megumi’s shoulders and tapping against his back as he walked through them. sunlight streamed through colored glass set into the windows, scattering warm patches of gold, orange, and pale green across the walls.

and everything, everything smelled like tangerines.

bright, sharp citrus that lingered in the corners of the room, layered over the warm, familiar scent of a house that had been lived in for generations.

and beneath it— you.

megumi froze mid-step, the world narrowing to that realization.

wait.

you?

it hit him all at once. holy shit. he was inside your house. your house. where everything, every surface, every corner, every stray thread of warmth in the air, smelled like you. he inhaled without thinking, chest tightening instantly, and immediately regretted it. his shoulders stiffened.

‘holy shit, i smell her everywhere. why does it smell so much like her? am i going to throw up? no— no, that’s not it—'

then his heart started racing, fast and loud enough that he could feel it in his throat.

‘oh god. why is my heart beating this fast? holy shit. am i going to have a heart attack—'

you nudged his side with your elbow, soft but firm. megumi jumped slightly, blinking down at you, eyes wide, chest still hammering. somehow his face was even redder than yours now.

“are you okay?” you asked, squinting up at him suspiciously.

“yeah— just…” he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the room again like it had personally overwhelmed him. “…a lot to take in.”

“grandma always wanted everything to be bright,” you said, voice softer now. “even if it didn’t really match or make sense.” your fingers brushed lightly along the edge of the counter as you walked.

“she said you can’t stay sad if there’s color in your life.”

megumi looked back at you.

even sick, you were still dressed like you had walked out of the house with your eyes closed and somehow made it work anyway. your sshirt didn’t match your pants, and both had little stitched patches and patterns scattered across them in different shades.

meanwhile he stood there in his usual dull color palette. dark pants, and a grey t-shirt that only stood out because of the cartoon character printed on the front. (itadori’s shirt that that idiot had left it in his dorm and megumi mixed it up.)

“your grandma is right.” he simply said.

he set the paper bag down on the counter and began pulling out the things he’d brought.

“she is, isn’t she?” you said proudly.

you drifted over beside him, your nose was still red from wiping it too much, and your lips looked dry, but the excitement in your expression made it obvious you were enjoying this far more than someone sick probably should.

you started opening cupboards one by one, pointing lazily inside them as you went.

“bowls are here.”

another cupboard opened.

“spoons are here.”

then a drawer.

“and that’s where the good spoons are, but grandma says i’m not allowed to give those to guests because they’re ‘ceremonial’ or something.”

megumi nodded slowly, committing the information to memory like it was a mission briefing. once he seemed to have everything figured out, megumi glanced over his shoulder and pointed toward the couch in the living room.

“lay down, i got it from here,” he said, his voice low but firm, like there was no room for argument.

“no, i want to keep you company,” you protested.

“you can keep me company once you lay down,”

“but i can’t see your face from that angle,” you whined.

megumi fumbled with the pot in his hands, almost dropping it, and shot you a glare sharp enough to make you giggle.

“what got you so clumsy, gumiiii?” you teased.

he muttered under his breath, “shut up and sit down on the couch,” before taking a careful step toward you.

“no, i— ah!” you yelped as he scooped you up effortlessly in a smooth, bridal-style lift, carrying you over without so much as a pause.

he set you down gently on the couch, fluffing the pillows around you with precise, practiced movements. you pouted, trying, and failing to glare at him in retaliation, while he quietly fought the damn urge to bite your cheek out of sheer irritation at your adorableness.

his hand brushed over your forehead, smoothing away strands of damp hair stuck to your skin, and he felt the warmth radiating from your sickness. a soft tsk escaped him, and he grabbed the thermometer from the table, giving it a quick shake before extending it to you.

“rest. i’ll go make the soup,” he murmured, fingers lingering for a moment on your cheek.

you let out a small, drawn-out huff, “fineeee…”

he offered a faint, almost shy smile and turned to his task, moving through the kitchen like he belonged there. you called to him every now and then from the couch, a soft voice carrying over the space, until exhaustion finally pulled the words from you.

megumi paused mid-motion, noticing the sudden silence. worry knotted in his chest, and he padded back to the living room to check on you. and when he saw you curled up, eyelids heavy, the faint rise and fall of your breath steady, he let himself relax.

the smell of the soup made your nose twitch, pulling you awake just enough to peek at megumi. he was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you, spoon in hand, swirling it gently in the steaming bowl, blowing over the surface in careful puffs before pressing his lips briefly to the spoon to check the temperature. his brows were furrowed in concentration.

he extended the spoon toward you once he seemed satisfied. you sat up on the cushions, letting him guide it to your lips, trusting that he had cooled it just right. the warmth slid down your throat, soothing and gentle, and a soft hum of contentment escaped you.

“is it good?” his voice was tentative, almost shy.

“perfect,” you said, thought it wasn’t really aimed at the soup. then a thought struck you. “wait— did you put tangerines in here?”

megumi tilted the spoon, swirling the soup again. “you mentioned once that your grandma used to put a bit of citrus in,” he said, then blew across the surface and pressed his lips to it once more before extending it toward you.

you watched him in quiet awe, marveling at how he repeated the process with such care, each small motion precise, deliberate, as if tending to a fragile ritual. he hummed softly in delight as he offered each spoonful, his lips brushing the surface before you tasted it, until finally, the bowl was empty.

he pushed back, reaching for the dishes, but you waved him off with a small laugh. “don’t. come here.”

he hesitated, then obeyed, letting himself slide closer to the couch. you motioned for him to sit beside you. he did, still leaning in slightly, eyes flicking to your flushed face as if measuring your temperature again even though he had already checked twice while you slept.

“yeah?” he prompted, quiet but steady.

you looked at him for a long moment, taking in the scene.

the boy you had crashed into with your bike, the one who had argued and teased and disappeared so easily from your life, was now here, in your home, cooking soup for you while you were sick. the sun’s last rays filtered through the colorful paned glass of your windows, painting warm streaks of orange, green, and gold across his skin. the light caught the small dust motes in the air, making it feel as if the room itself was holding its breath.

slowly, you extended your hand, letting your fingers brush against his cheek, the warmth of the sun blending with the warmth of his skin. the colors of the light mixed on his face, yellow and blue merging into soft green, like a quiet painting come alive.

“i’m being real selfish keeping you with me,” you murmured, voice barely above the hum of the evening.

megumi froze for a heartbeat, then shifted closer, his head finding the edge of the couch right beside yours. he didn’t care about how stiff his neck would get. he didn’t care about anything but the quiet closeness of you. “no, you aren’t,” he said softly. “if anything… i’m the selfish one.”

“can you… stay?”

“for as long as you want me to,” he replied, voice gentle and unwavering.

at some point, your eyes closed, surrendering to sleep. megumi watched you with careful attentiveness, memorizing the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft furrow of your brow in dreams, the way your lashes cast tiny shadows on your cheeks. his heart thudded in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar. he swallowed hard against the strange tightness in his throat.

leaning in slowly, he brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear with delicate fingers. then, cautiously, he lowered his head. his lips hovered over yours, a whisper of warmth against your skin. barely touching, just a hint of pressure, soft and deliberate, testing, savoring. the brush of his mouth against yours sent a shiver through him.

he held it there selfishly for a few seconds, long enough to feel the softness of your lips, the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his own, careful not to wake you. the world outside, all of it, melted into the small, intimate space between your faces.

when he pulled back, it was just enough to rest his forehead lightly against yours as his eyes drank in every detail of your sleeping face.

he committed it all; the curve of your lips, the tilt of your nose, the softness of your expression. to memory, precise and unshakable, like a photograph etched into the center of his chest.

megumi fushiguro let himself be selfish that summer.

selfish in the way he stole away his friends summer with him. choosing instead to linger beside you on the beach, inhaling the warm, sweet scent of your sunscreen as you lay close. your oversized tangerine hat dipped over your face, and when he leaned down to tug it just enough to shade his own eyes, you giggled, and the two of you ended up hidden under the straw, a little sun-shielded world of your own making.

selfish in the way he insisted it was too hot on a chilly night by the shore, just to press his jacket around you and breathe in the lingering smell of you afterward when he returned to the rented apartment, cradling the jacket to his chest as if he could somehow trap that warmth forever.

selfish in the way he found himself at your house more often than not, drawn in by the scent of tangerines mingling with whatever you had prepared for lunch. portions slowly became meant for two, and the two of you would sit beneath the tangerine tree in your garden, sunlight warming your shoulders, content simply in each other’s presence.

he never spoke of you to the others, except gojo, who already knew. he wanted this, this summer, entirely to himself. the others’ reactions, frustration, worry, confusion, when they saw him less and less, wondering where he went might have eaten at him if he had noticed.

megumi appeared happier than ever, though a faint sadness clung to him like a second skin.

“just a little more,” he whispered to himself, “just for this summer.”

and as summer edged toward its end, faster than he had ever noticed, megumi realized that he had given his entire summer to you, and he would never take it back.

he kept his mind off the thing clinging to your soul, lingering in shadows he didn’t want to face, and instead let himself sink into these last golden moments. watching your hair tangle in the wind, the sun glint off your skin as you walked together along the shore, sticks in hand from doodling hearts, dogs and tangerines into the sand.

he extended his hand behind him without thinking, and reached out to catch it instantly, intertwining your fingers. you lifted your intertwined hands to warm them with your breath, his thumb brushing your skin with a gentle familiarity that had become second nature.

“can’t believe you got outsmarted by a seagull!” you teased, laughter bubbling as the memory from that morning replayed.

“hey,” he protested, puffing out his chest just slightly, “that seagull was clearly experimented on by humans to reach that level of intelligence.”

you laughed, lifting your free hand to pinch his cheek. “just keep telling your pride that, gumi.”

he made a face of mock disgust, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling into a quiet smile.

oh, how he loved when you called him that, the nickname rolling off your tongue like a soft melody he wanted to memorize forever.

his phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it, letting the rhythm of your steps along the shore fill his attention instead. he knew this path by heart now, just as he knew you. the sun had nearly sunk behind the horizon, and the warm glow of town lamps flicked on, signaling the end of the day for the local children, their laughter fading as they were called home.

you reached into the pockets of his jacket, draped comically over your shoulders and pulled out a few dried tangerine peels. “ah, wait— i’ll toss these,” you said, stepping behind him toward a trashcan you’d spotted earlier.

megumi stayed in place, watching you walk, the jacket slipping slightly as it hung on your small frame. he couldn’t wait for tonight when he’d come back to the apartment, letting sleep take him with your scent pressed against him from the jacket.

“fushiguro?”

he froze.

“…itadori?”

the familiar voice carried a strange weight. megumi’s gaze flicked to him, taking in the furrowed brow, the tight jaw, the sudden tension coiling in itadori’s posture. frustration? worry? fear? the mix made his chest tighten. why was he worried about him?

“what are you doing with the curse?” itadori demanded, eyes sharp.

megumi’s lungs seemed to seize; the air around him thickened. he stood rigid, heart hammering, thoughts scattering in panic.

“w-what?” he stammered, voice low and unsteady.

“gojo-sensei told me—”

“megumiii!”

he turned sharply, watching you rush toward him, not registering the chaos around him nor itadori standing a few feet away. your hand stretched out before you even reached him, fingers ready to tangle with his once more.

from all the memories he’d held that summer, that one burned the brightest.

he remembers the smell of salt in the air, the feeling of the wind that tugged at his hair and yours, the way it quickened as it swept across the beach. he remembered your smile, wide as always, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard, those little lines at the corners of your eyes he loved so much.

he remembers the metallic scent, sharp and unmistakable that clung to his skin. sticky and warm. he felt as if your blood burned his fingers.

he remembered it all, though he wished he couldn’t.

megumi hates tangerines.

not the casual kind of hate, the kind people speak of when a fruit is too sour or sticky, but the kind that wraps around your chest and squeezes until it hurts. he hates the peel curling between his fingers, the scent burning too sweet into his nose, the way the juice stings the small cuts along his nails. he hates the careful, meticulous work of separating each segment, picking away the white threads like some cruel ritual he cannot stop. he hates the glow of the fruit in his palm, how it seems almost alive, how it fills the room with a light that makes everything else feel too sharp, too real.

the tangerines, the way they fill the air with that faint citrus scent, everything about it is a cruel echo of a memory he can’t let go of.

he hates how his body betrays him, how he lifts a slice to his side as if expecting your lips to wrap around and hum in delight, head leaning on his shoulder as you chew.

and still, when he finishes the last piece, the room faintly scented with sugar and sunlight, the tears he’s been holding back spill anyway. his hands tremble, and he inevitably retches it all out of his system as if it’s some poison.

he hits gojo’s chest, each strike harder than the last, feeling the taut muscle beneath, refusing to use his technique. gojo takes it all. the punches, the grief, the tears because he knows this pain all too well, knows it far too intimately.

and each night, megumi presses that damn hat to his chest, the one little thing he allows himself to keep. he falls asleep, hoping something, anything, could take him away.

let him live one more summer day with you.

‘just one.’

‘please, just give me one more.’

‘please, let me peel one more tangerine for her.’

"𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙡𝙡." — 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪

FRATBOY!SUKUNA forgets entire conversations in the middle of his sentences when he catches a glimpse of you moving around in your seat in the front. his friends are nudging him, asking if he’s even listening, and he just grunts with those red eyes still locked on you.

“yeah, no. sounds good.”

“the fuck? i asked what we’re doing after class.”

“yeah, no. that’s fine.”

most of his mates give up at that point.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA finally sits next to you one day. shit, he doesn’t even really process walking down to the front row. one second he’s in the back, the next he’s plopping into the seat beside you like it’s nothing. obviously not thinking about it was the method, since overthinking only made him more nervous every other time he’d tried. you look up at him with a cute little confused expression, and he feels the rush of the blush hit him all at once, the fact that you’re right there, close enough to touch. he clears his throat and leans back trying to act like he’s totally normal about you.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA tries to make some easy small talk but immediately fumbles the bag. he taps his pen against the desk, glancing at your notes inquisitively.

“you always write this much? fuck.” he asks with a nervous laugh, like he’s not hanging on your answer.

you look at him a bit startled that not only was he still sitting there, but he was also talking to you. you nod, starting to explain the topic in that quiet voice of yours. he listens with open ears, your speech like gospel, the tone of your voice now engrained in his mind. he’s never been lucky enough to hear your voice before, but as of now it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA tries to keep up the conversation, but now he has a million things to worry about. does he look okay? is there potentially something in his teeth? fuck, what did he have for breakfast? but most of all, he can’t stop gawking at you, you’re way prettier up close. he keeps clocking the way your eyes flutter down when he looks at you too long. you smile shyly when he thanks you for explaining something, and the way you had your notes set out really impressed him. everything about you felt all but too overwhelming, he wasn’t sure if he could keep this up any longer without throwing up from the nerves.

nevertheless, FRATBOY!SUKUNA tries with all he is to keep you on the hook. “you’re such a clever girl, you ever… study somewhere else? like, not here?” he asks awkwardly in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. you blink at him, then mention a café you like to visit on occasion. he jumps at the opportunity and nods too fast, “we could go, like, together. or whatever. maybe.” real smooth, ryomen.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA then asks for your number all nonchalant. he slides his phone across the desk toward you, trying to keep his face nice and neutral and not dusted with pink. “y’should put your number in,” he says with a smirk, masking the goofy smile he wants to let out. “so we can arrange n’ shit.” you hesitate for sec, then take it, typing your number in with a small pull to your lips. he watches your fingers, not even pretending to look away. when you hand it back, he feels very weirdly proud, like he just won the golden lotto.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA walks into the frat that night with a fat grin on his dumb face. he kicks the door open loudly, calling out to everyone, “oi, guess who got her number.” the boys present in the house erupt with sarcastic cheers and praise, and gojo stalks up to him and pats him on the back.

“m’ gonna be honest i didn’t think your dumb, loser, good for nothing ass would ever-”

“shut the fuck up.”

FRATBOY!SUKUNA, after all the commotion of the evening settles, is back in his room alone. to be honest, he’s kinda stressing over whether to send you a message or not. i mean, he really, really wants to, but what if you think he’s a loser for texting you not even five hours after meeting?

he's sprawled back on his bed, phone in hand, your contact open on his screen. he’s been staring at it for a good five minutes and decides that he’s just gonna bite the bullet and stop being a pussy.

sukuna [9:42pm]: yo, its sukuna

sukuna [9:42pm]: from class today

you [9:43pm]: i know who you are 😭

sukuna [9:43pm]: okay damn

sukuna [9:43pm]: i'm glad you said yes to going out

you [9:44pm]: oh? i didn’t know it was like that

sukuna [9:44pm]: like what

you [9:45pm]: like a date..?

he pauses with his thumb hovering over the screen, staring at your message a second too long with an increasingly reddening face before typing again.

sukuna [9:46pm]: depends

sukuna [9:46pm]: you want it to be a date?

you [9:47pm]: mmm

you [9:47pm]: do you?

sukuna [9:48pm]: wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t

you [9:49pm]: i seee

you [9:49pm]: first date... kinda nervous...

sukuna [9:49pm]: oh wow, your first one? i'll make it good, promise.

there’s a small bit of time, then three dots that come and go about three times.

you [9:50pm]: why did you even ask me

you [9:50pm]: you’ve never talked to me before? 😭

sukuna [9:51pm]: been looking at you for a while icl

sukuna [9:51pm]: just never did anything about it till now

you [9:52pm]: oh i see

you [9:52pm]: why me?

sukuna [9:53pm]: don’t know

sukuna [9:53pm]: you’re quiet but not in a boring way

sukuna [9:53pm]: you actually know what you’re doing in class

sukuna [9:54pm]: kinda into that

you [9:54pm]: kinda?

sukuna [9:55pm]: mkay

sukuna [9:55pm]: very

you [9:55pm]: ahh

sukuna [9:56pm]: what

sukuna [9:56pm]: you asked

you [9:56pm]: i didn’t think you’d give me a legitimate answer

sukuna [9:57pm]: i don’t lie about that stuff

...

sukuna [9:58pm]: you got insta?

you [9:58pm]: mhmm

sukuna [9:59pm]: send it overr

you [9:59pm]: wow ure bossy

sukuna [10:00pm]: sorry sorry

sukuna [10:00pm]: please send me your instagram?

he doesn’t know it, but you too are smiling sweetly at the messages.

you [10:01pm]: okay okay it’s @/y/n

sukuna [10:01pm]: got it

a second later.

sukuna [10:01pm]: followed

you [10:02pm]: i see it

you [10:02pm]: don’t stalk too hard

sukuna [10:03pm]: no promises

you [10:03pm]: 💔💔

sukuna [10:04pm]: i’ll text you tomorrow, yeah?

sukuna [10:04pm]: we’ll figure out when to go

you [10:05pm]: okay :)

sukuna [10:05pm]: night sweetheart

you [10:05pm]: goodnight sukuna

FRATBOY!SUKUNA immediately stalks your instagram. his phone’s now mere inches from his face as he scrolls slowly. every single photo gets a long, long look. there’s ones of you in cafés, you with your friends, you smiling up at the camera like you don’t know how good you look. he zooms in on stupid details, your pretty little outfits, your coffee order in one pic, the way you pose so sweetly. god, why did you have to be cool and cute? the swag gap was getting bigger.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA can’t stop thinking about you in the lead up to your little date. he gets a haircut and tells his barber to make him look ‘sexy as fuck,’ makes sure to go to the gym the morning of your little date so he has a nice pump, and takes the time the night before to lay out a nicely curated fit. (he couldn’t let you fit mog him on the first date, but by the looks of your instagram, that seemed highly likely.)

“nanami! c'mere.” he yells down the hall an hour before what might have been the single most important outing of his life.

“what?”

“do i look good?”

nanami rolls his eyes and begins to leave, not in the mood for sukuna’s little ego boost shenanigans.

“wait! no, no. m’ serious. i’ve got a date with that girl i told you about.”

this piques the blonde’s interest, and he takes the time to actually look his friend up and down. he smiles at the air of nervousness he can sense and pats the tatted man on the shoulder.

“you look ‘sexy as fuck’, ryo.”

FRATBOY!SUKUNA 's at that cafe a full twenty minutes before you'd planned. first date nerves, or whatever. he’s picked a booth that's tucked away and ordered the coffee he’d remembered from your instagram to arrive at the table in time for when you were supposed to get there. and when you do get there, the man has to say a prayer and thank his lucky stars that he’d worked up the courage to ask you out, because holy shit, you looked perfect. (swag gap, definitely still there.)

after standing up far too abruptly, he apologises to the chair he’d almost toppled over then walks up to you, a bashful smile on his face.

“yo, you look real pretty.” he mentally slaps himself for how gojo that sounded, but it was the most prominent thought up in his head.

“oh... thank you.” you reply softly, toying with the fabric of your shirt and avoiding his eyes with a flush.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA thinks he might just implode with cuteness aggression. that easy tone from your texts was gone, left with your careful, slightly anxious voice. he was gonna change that.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA talks your ear off in an attempt to ease both yours and his nerves, but just ends up totally fumbling every single sentence.

“so... d’you go to the gym? i mean, not that you need to. i do. even went this morning to get a good pump for you, could ya tell?”

“oh, you like mitski? that’s cool, that’s cool. i like druski, they kinda sound the same.”

“your hair looks real nice, does mine? i got a haircut for this by the way, needa look good for you.”

FRATBOY!SUKUNA thinks he’s totally fucked this up by now. but when he’s done rambling and winces to look back at you to see how you’re taking his horribly embarrassing monologue, you’re staring up at him with a fond smile, and he softens up and relaxes.

“do i.. make you nervous, sukuna?” you tease.

that starts the ice breaker conversation that kicks off the next three hours of non. stop. talking.

you two discuss everything and anything there is to discuss, you take turns telling each other what your favourite such and suchs are, and most importantly, the awkwardness from before is nowhere to be seen, you were meshing well.

in the final moments of the stellar date he’s almost sure he dreamt up, FRATBOY!SUKUNA sits and stares at you for a second. you're all smiley from talking, looking down at your mug, swirling the liquid in your cup, and both you and the cozy cafe background look so pretty. so, he snaps a picture.

“ah! did you just-”

“sorry, sorry. you just looked really good.” he flips the phone to show you, and it might’ve been the nicest candid anyone’s ever taken of you. “i can delete it if you want, just thought it’d match the vibe you’ve got goin on on your instagr-”

“please send that to me.” you interrupt, staring in awe at the photo.

the man just smiles, loving the way you perk up. “i’ll do you one better.”

and just like that, that photo is sitting on his story, your handle tagged at the bottom with a white heart.

you felt like crying, he had to be really down bad to be posting you this early on, but you weren’t complaining.

that night, FRATBOY!SUKUNA's phone explodes with countless dm's asking him about the cute girl in his new story. friends, friends of friends, friends of friends of friends, old flings, recent flings, his mum, everyone. he ignores them, though, silencing his instagram notifications. he had better things to do, like text you.

sukuna [11:12pm]: that was the best date i’ve ever been on

you [11:13pm]: you’re so right actually

sukuna [11:13pm]: nh i’m so serious

sukuna [11:14pm]: like

sukuna [11:14pm]: i was lowkey stressing all day for that icl

sukuna [11:15pm]: but i had a really good time

sukuna [11:15pm]: so thanks for saying yes to coming

you [11:16pm]: that’s freaking cute omg 😭

you [11:16pm]: i also had a lot of funnnn!!

you [11:17pm]: i liked hearing you talk about your interests and such

you [11:17pm]: you’ve got a lot of unexpected interests, i love it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

well i love you... too early? yeah, maybe.

sukuna [11:18pm]: unexpected is crazy

sukuna [11:18pm]: how fratty do u think i am

you [11:19pm]: nooo that's not it, shuddup

you [11:19pm]: it was really nice

sukuna [11:20pm]: well you’re nice

sukuna [11:20pm]: and you dress nice

sukuna [11:20pm]: actually

sukuna [11:21pm]: you dress really nice

sukuna [11:21pm]: i noticed that straight away

sukuna [11:21pm]: you’ve got like

sukuna [11:22pm]: a really cool thing going on im kinda jealous

sukuna [11:22pm]: don’t know how to explain it

sukuna [11:22pm]: but yeah

you [11:23pm]: oh my gosh thank you so much

you [11:23pm]: thank you thank you thank you

you [11:23pm]: i try so hard, its good to have a little recognition 💪

sukuna [11:24pm]: nah you don’t even try

sukuna [11:24pm]: that’s the annoying part istg

sukuna [11:24pm]: you just look like that

you [11:25pm]: oh my gosh

you [11:25pm]: stop i will cry

sukuna [11:25pm]: i’m being so serious

sukuna [11:26pm]: you gotta help me dress better or something

sukuna [11:26pm]: i can’t be showing up next to you looking stupid

you [11:27pm]: you don’t look stupid!

you [11:27pm]: your outfits are always nice ive thought that for ages, even before we talked

you [11:27pm]: you don’t need my help

sukuna [11:28pm]: i do actually

sukuna [11:28pm]: c'mon i’m asking nicely

you [11:29pm]: mm

you [11:29pm]: i mean

you [11:29pm]: i could help you

sukuna [11:30pm]: yeah?

you [11:30pm]: help you get undressed LOLLL

FRATBOY!SUKUNA's never felt his cock throb as hard as it just did. girls have sent him videos with sound and he's never popped a boner that quick. one, flirty message from you and boom, rock hard erection in the span of ten seconds. he has to take a breath, throw his phone away, and look up at his ceiling for a good five minutes to calm down.

sukuna [11:37pm]: lol you want me bad

you [11:38pm]: first time flirting... kinda nervous...

FRATBOY!SUKUNA comes to class, he completely ignores his friends and plops down next to you with your coffee in hand. his boys boo him later for it and call him a love-struck loser, but he just tells them to shut up, and doesn’t move back.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA starts bringing his school shit to class. notebooks, even pens that actually have ink in them. he leans over your notes more than his own, asking questions under his breath and nudging your arm when he misses something the prof says. you start expecting him now, shuffling your stuff to the side to make space before he even sits down.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA follows you to the library one afternoon when you mention you’re heading there to study. he just blurts, “i’ll come,” and boom, study partner. he hates the place, it’s far too quiet for him, but he sits across from you anyway with his long legs stretched out under the table, trying his best not to get bored. and to his surprise, he doesn’t. he watches you all pretty and focused, and it makes his heart thump with affection, that cute way you tap your pen when you’re thinking and how you push your hair back when it falls forward. he ends up actually doing some work. not great work, but still.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA starts making it a routine centered around you. go to class, then the library, then drive you home. every day. you mention that you could just take the bus once, but he cuts you off with a foul look. “don’t be stupid, i’ve got a whole ass car,” he says it flippantly and yet, he’s grabbing your bag for you, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing. the drives get longer each time, and it’s not because of traffic, but because he takes the long way on purpose. he plays music he knows you like, the windows are cracked, and you end up talking about everything. he definitely doesn’t rush to drop you off, no. petrol was expensive, but you were worth every cent.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA’s smoking up on the porch with choso one night when he gets a ping from you and fumbles to answer it.

choso watches with a tired smile and chuckles, “grown ass man,” choso mutters, nudging him with his foot.

sukuna scoffs weakly. “shut up.”

“you’re so into her.”

“really?” sukuna rolls his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “i am. like… a lot.” he sighs. “she’s not like anyone i’ve messed with before. i just... i adore that girl.”

choso hums in acknowledgment.

“i think she’s a real keeper,” sukuna adds. “it’s just... never had something like this before.”

“like... a girlfriend?”

“mhm.”

“the fuck?”

FRATBOY!SUKUNA rolls his eyes again and explains, “dunno, just never really felt a connection with anyone like that before. her, though? fuck me....” he blows smoke into the starry sky, thinking a little longer before adding, “scared i’m gonna fuck it up.”

choso takes a second before answering, calm as ever. “just don’t overthink it, yeah? be yourself, you’re already doing fine. treat her right, that’s all there is to it.”

sukuna lets that sit, nods slowly. “yeah.” he glances over, bumps his shoulder into him. “thanks.”

FRATBOY!SUKUNA takes that advice and runs with it. he starts asking you out more, not just study sessions, but actual plans. food after class, quick stops at random places he thinks you’d like, late night drives just because you both feel like talking together. he pays every time without making it a big deal, just taps his card and moves on. he remembers little things you mention and brings them up later, making your head dizzy with adoration.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA gets closer to asking you the big question every single time he drops you off. it sits right there on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down at the last second. not yet... he wants it to be just right. he wants you to look at him like you already do, just a little more.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA drives you home one afternoon after a particularly long sesh in the library. the sky’s turning shades of red and orange, that late golden kind of light. you slide into his car, smiling, and he just stares for a second before shaking himself out of the daze. “you hungry?” he asks, already starting up the engine.

“i meannnn,”

he smiles at your cheek and takes you to your favourite drive thru without needing any directions.

“you remember my favourite place?” you ask.

he shrugs. “yeah. you talk a lot.”

you talk a lot now, at least.

you laugh, and he thinks he’d come here single every day if it meant hearing that beautiful sound.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA doesn’t head straight to your place after, he drives up this hill just outside town and parks facing the blooming horizon. it’s pretty, you even comment that it’s pretty, but when you look to him to see if he’s agreed, he’s looking at you instead.

“hm, what’s up?” you query.

he exhales like he’s been holding it in all day, then he turns his whole body to you, one muscular arm resting on the wheel.

“i wanna be your boyfriend,” he says. there’s no joke or some inside gag you didn’t know about, no. he’s being one hundred percent honest and you can tell by the way he’s looking you dead set in the eye.

“genuinely. i want that. really fucking bad.”

although you’re terribly caught off guard, you still smile, looking up at the man who’s staring at you so utterly in love.

“yeah? well i’d really like that,” you reply.

FRATBOY!SUKUNA lets out a breath and a laugh of relief. his shoulders drop, the harsh tension easing up, and there’s this small, disbelieving smile pulling at his mouth.

by now you’re both just cheesing at one another, laughing in short bursts and looking away shyly. but when your eyes lock again, you can’t ignore the pull that drags you close.

closer, and closer, until your eyes are shut and his lips are pressing ever so gently to yours.

the sunsets in it's last phase, the red and pinks painting the car in a deep, warm ambiance. he pulls back, then cups your cheek softly.

“you’re my girlfriend now, yeah?”

“yes, ryo. m' all yours.”

“first girlfriend.. kinda nervous...”

“we hang out too much.” you giggle, and he kisses you again.

"that's a problem i always wanna have."

a/n: i missed writing this dumb stupid guy