something that blooms inside of me, so blue

Unfortunately for you, your parents are friends with his parents, so you can see why you're stuck in an apartment with him instead of having your own one.

Because they trust him.

Apparently they trust a frat boy who spends his time partying and sleeping around more than their own goody two shoes daughter who's scared at every white car she sees outside fearing that it might be her dad's.

So you're stuck with him as a roommate for the meantime for him to ‘keep watch’ of you while you're away from home.

You didn't complain much about it. If you were to choose between staying here with Sukuna or going back home, you'd choose to stay.

You are a junior in university. A junior. You are in your twenties and you don't want to be caged like a long lost princess in the dungeon of your parents house.

After a long deliberation with your parents, they'd finally agree to let you have your own place but only when you share it with some frat boy they glaze over.

Sukuna wasn't that strict compared to your parents. He just doesn't care, which again, you are not complaining about it.

The two of you maintain a friendly distance for the months you've been living with him. Barely strike a conversation with him. You spend most days locked inside your room, only leaving when it's time for you to cook or eat and that's about it.

You did go out with your friends to go clubbing occasionally, but deep inside your heart, you still feel guilty when you're not home. There's a sense of paranoia clinging to you like you'll get caught by your parents and dragged back to your old house, living with them.

It felt wrong, so wrong for you to be out that late.

There are a ton of other shitloads of bullshit your parents obsessed over you but you tried not to let it get to you. ‘Cause if you did, you'd lose it.

Tonight, you saw Gojo Satoru at a club your friend dragged you to. You used to like him a lot back when you were a freshman, but now seeing him again in person? Those feelings came crawling back.

You wonder what he's doing here all by himself. He's supposed to be at the frat house but who knows what he's up to.

Everyone on your campus knows him. He's well-off, good looking, knows how to charm girls, sweet, all the girls go crazy whenever he appears on campus.

He can have any girl he wants without trying. A trail of girls would follow him like a lapdog on campus and he can order them to do the most stupid shit and they'd cooperate immediately.

It was a Friday night and the club had hit its peak hour with more and more students passing out drunk on their tables.

So to your surprise, you were not expecting him out of everyone on campus to approach you. And you almost know where exactly this is going.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy with ivory hair sat next to your seat. He flashes you a grin and you smile back, not knowing what to do exactly. Your eyes constantly flick to the old clock hanging on the ceiling of the dim lit bar.

There's still a deep fear inside you that your parents might storm into your apartment randomly to find you missing instead of studying your ass off like they expected you to do.

You're not a drinker, not really. You never enjoyed the bitter taste of alcohol and how it burns your throat.

“No—”

“Yes! Yes, of course you can.” your friend stops you before you can blab out some nonsense. Gojo walked his way to the bartender and ordered some drinks for y'all.

“Babe. When a guy asks if he can buy you drinks in a bar, you say yes. Especially if it's Gojo, the guy you've been losing your mind over since freshman year?”

You look at Gojo standing at the opposite end slowly approaching with the drinks in his hands. You do like the guy since freshman year, but you just never really make an effort for him to notice you.

Looks like the universe is finally on your side today ‘cause Gojo just bought you drinks.

“Then what's next?”

“Uh, you hookup with him, duh!”

"Yeah, that's not happening."

Even as a junior in university, you still lack social skills and have no idea what to say at the appropriate time let alone have the experience.

Thanks to your parents for isolating you whenever they can.

“So what brings you here?”

What am I supposed to say?

The hottest guy on campus is trying to strike a conversation with you and you could barely form your words together.

“We just finished midterms for accounting, yeah? Came here to celebrate.” your friend saves you once again.

“My friend over here,” she tapped your shoulder as she took a sip from her drink. “She's the expert here. Ask her anything, she's like a walking search engine.”

“Right, I heard you're one of the best students in accounting.” Gojo gave you a wink and a thumbs up.

“I guess you can say that.” you shrugged. The clock is ticking and you seem to be more paranoid as each second passes by. Even with the loud music, you can mentally still hear the clock ticking.

“Mhm. If you need help you can hit me up, I offer tutoring.” you figure if you want to get closer to Gojo, you could always offer to tutor him.

Gojo’s eyes lit up, like he finally found his guardian angel that's gonna save him from his accounting horror stories.

Your friend then proceeds to ditch you once she figured out you're comfortable enough now on your own with Gojo.

“No way! Say, can you help me with some accounting stuff? I kinda flunk my midterm, the grades aren't released yet, but I gotta pull my GPA up, so…”

Well, since the semester break is happening next week and you have some time to yourself besides working, you figure why not? After all, it's Gojo Satoru.

Whatever it takes to spend more time with him.

“Yeah, sure. Which topic are you in need of help with?” you agreed.

It seems like your voice was just not loud enough. The party music drowned out your noise. Gojo leans closer to you to hear what you're trying to say.

“Hm?”

“I said sure. Which topic do you need help with?”

“I think,” Gojo held his hand to his chin, recalling what topics he needs help with before responding with, “all of them.”

Oh.

You can't just tell him that's too much information to cover up. Instead, you told him you'll try your best for him to work his way up.

Gojo flashed you the biggest grin he could make and pulled out his cell. You ended your night exchanging numbers and socials with Gojo and you are over the moon.

You've been out later than you should and your phone has long been dead after talking about random things with him. Let it be that accounting professor whose hairline seems to be begging for survival or how he missed half of his lectures ‘cause of his hangovers.

Gojo insisted on giving you a ride back home to which you refused initially, but then you agreed after he asked you for the third time.

Besides, it's safer compared to taking the Uber.

When you finally opened your apartment door, you expected to be greeted with the dark empty living room. Sukuna told you he's going to be at the frat house tonight and won't be home until midnight.

To your surprise, you found Sukuna laying on the couch with his arms thrown on the back cushions when you opened the door.

“Care to explain why you're back this late?"

a/n: here's the fratkuna fic since it wom the poll last time. also thank you for the likes and reblogs oml i appreciate y'all sm!! this is gonna have around 4-5 chapters so stay tuned!

one day, yuji had come over for dinner and he wouldn’t admit it, but he was starting to come over in hopes to see you instead of nagi.

but unfortunately for him, you were going out of town to visit your dad and his family for a few days.

“you don’t wanna stay and eat, honey?” your mom asked, taking a sip of champagne.

“i’ve gotta catch my train.” you smiled. yuji and junpei poked their heads out of his bedroom in unison.

“we’ll walk you, sis.” junpei said.

“where you going?” yuji asked.

“yokohama to see my dad.” you answered.

nagi stood up and brushed your hair behind your ear, kissing your cheek. “be nice.”

you lightly scoffed as she kept littering kisses all over your face.

“okay, okay!!” you whined, pulling away from her after she left one final smooch on the apple of your cheek.

eventually you said your last goodbyes to your mom while yuji took your bag.

at the station, yuji kept asking you to bring him back souvenirs and sweets. junpei told you to enjoy yourself and go to all the bookstores you could. he gave you his red hoodie because it was supposed to rain and he knew you. you never packed a “just in case” jacket, you always said it ruined the aesthetic of your travel bag.

when your train finally came, yuji hugged you, which wasn’t out of the ordinary but he hugged you like he would miss you and junpei saw it.

“hopefully you get taller by the time you come back.” yuji said into your hair and you pulled back.

“i’m still older than you.” you scoffed then turned to junpei. “take care of mom.” you smiled.

“i will.” he lightly grinned, pulling you into a hug with one arm. “have fun. don’t take any shit from anyone.”

“woahhh, junpei, you rarely cuss!!!” yuji exclaimed as he gave you your bag. “who are you and what did you do with junpei?”

“yuji, i’m seventeen…”

as they continued to playfully bicker, you didn’t realize that would be the last time you ever saw them together again.

ᥫ᭡₊⊹ˑ𓂃✦.˚೯⁺.

the news hit you when you were asleep.

in the middle of the night, your dad came into your room looking distressed.

he sat on the edge of the bed next to where you were curled up and gently shook you awake.

it took a second for you to register the words that came next. you wished it was a nightmare.

all you caught was ‘junpei and your mom’, ‘house fire’, ‘unknown cause’, ‘dead when first responders arrived’, ‘a few hours ago’.

you cried so loud it woke up the rest of the house, including your stepmom and stepbrother.

a few days later you return to tokyo after an argument with your dad. he argued that there was nothing left for you there. how could he be so insensitive during a time like this? the last thing you needed was someone telling you what to do after your whole world just crumbled into pieces.

its true, you did love your brother and mom more than you loved your dad. he walked out on you when you were younger and started a new family. he left you wondering if you weren’t enough. he just recently started to try to get more involved in your life but grudges like that are hard to let go of.

but he was right about one thing. there’s nothing left for you here. you have no idea where to go.

you end up walking back home. you didn’t really mean to. but your mind has been somewhere else. maybe making up delusions to cope with the loss of the only two people who stayed.

your feet carry you the whole way there like its muscle memory. you half expect to smell your mom’s cooking the closer you get to the house, or hear the sound of a movie blaring from junpei’s open window.

but instead all you’re met with is dust and ashes and a heavy force pressing down on your shoulders as you stare at the wooden skeleton of what used to be your favorite place to be.

curled up in your real bedroom, reading a young adult drama, your mom playing music downstairs, and junpei watching a movie in his room.

it’s cloudy and windy outside. the weather forecast said it would rain.

you slowly climb over the yellow caution tape draped over the fence by the police. you don’t care if this is considered trespassing on a crime scene. you grew up here. you didn’t even really get to say goodbye. because you thought you’d come back.

something gets wedged under your shoe and you lift your foot up. you see a cigarette crushed up and dirtied with mud.

for some reason, the sight of a simple cigarette makes your eyes well up with tears as a lump forms in your throat. your mom always did have a smoking problem and junpei always scolded her for it.

you’d give anything to hear that right about now. you bury your face in your hands and now, mean sobs from deep within your chest are coming out of you.

you didn’t allow yourself to cry like this at your dad’s house. you could never be that vulnerable around people who might as well be strangers.

it’s just you and the cold rain and the wind hitting your cheeks so sharp it feels like its cutting you apart.

“hey… (name)?”

you feel a hand on your shoulder and pull your hands from away your face. you look behind you to see yuji standing there.

he’s in a jacket with his hood up. he looks bad. he has dark circles under his eyes. he hasn’t been sleeping well.

you don’t bother to wipe your face. there’s no hiding it. it shouldn’t be sugarcoated. your brother and mom are dead and you can’t deny your grief for them.

“yuji.” you mutter. “what are you doing here?”

yuji opens his mouth to say something but shoves his hands into his pockets instead.

you look down at the cigarette and your lip trembles. you wrap your arms around yourself and you can feel yourself shaking.

yuji slowly lifts his hands up to your shoulders, looking at you for confirmation. you nod. that’s all you can bring yourself to do right now.

he gently fixes the collar of junpei’s red hoodie and pulls the hood over your head. he tucks your hair into the hoodie and tightens the strings a little.

the small gesture feels warmer than anything you’ve ever felt since you left tokyo on that train.

you close your eyes and lean into his touch. he completely envelopes you in his arms and rests his head on top of your chin.

“it’s-it’s not fair. this isn’t right, yuji.”

he can’t say anything. he just holds you tighter and places a hand on the back of your head.

your cries tear through your whole body and you wrap your arms around him. you fist the back of jacket into your hands like he’ll also disappear if you don’t hold on tight enough.

ᥫ᭡₊⊹ˑ𓂃✦.˚೯⁺.

you’re still shaking hours later in some 24 hour diner, your sleeves pulled over your hands and dey tears on your cheeks.

yuji thinks you’re getting sick. you think it’s because junpei and your mom took your heart with them when they left. but you can’t really say that.

you want to just go to sleep. anything to avoid feeling what this is.

your eyes are locked on the table and you can feel yuji staring at you. you shift in your seat and he quickly averts his gaze.

“sorry.” yuji murmurs.

“‘s fine.” you whisper, burying yourself deeper into your hoodie.

the waitress comes to take your orders and you tell yuji to not worry about yours. you know you’re in no mood to eat anything, just to risk it coming all back up.

“are you going back to yokohama?” he asks.

you shrug. “i don’t really want to.” you look up and rests your chin in your hand. “i don’t really fit in there.”

“how so?” you’re sort of surprised he actually wants to listen. but as long as you’ve known yuji he’s always been attentive and caring so it shouldn’t be much of a shocker.

“it’s like i’m forcing my way into a family that i have no place in. my dad started a new life without me. why am i forcing my way back in?” you sigh, swirling your straw around in your cup, watching the ice cubes dance around each other. “he left me for a reason.”

yuji looks down at his own cup, only because he’s fighting the urge to hold your hand. not in a romantic way, but in a “everything’s gonna be alright” way. he wants to make everything better. he doesn’t know how. he knows how to be there though.

“i think you’re more than enough. so much more than however he made you feel.” yuji says.

you lean back in your seat and barely nod in agreement. you don’t know if you’re trying to convince him or yourself. you fold your arms over your chest, trying not to cry in the middle of some greasy diner.

“your brother, um,” he begins and he notices the way something flickers behind your eyes. “junpei, he was supposed to start school with me after winter break.”

“my teacher loves me. and given your… um, circumstances,” your lips curve upwards at his hesitancy. “he’d definitely talk to my principal about it. if you want.”

“about… school?” you ask.

“yeah, school. but we also have dorms at our school. i’d ask if you could room next to me. if you want that. or my friend nobara.”

you stare at him as he keeps rambling and there goes that stupid warmth you felt when you first saw him earlier. how can he find the good in every situation?

“but now that i think about it you’d probably end up in the second year dorms.”

“(name)?”

“oh, sorry.” you swallow, quickly taking a sip of your water to wash down the tears building back up.

“would you want that?”

“yuji…”

“(name), tell me. any way i can help, tell me. please.”

“i would really, really like that.” you catch your teats with your knuckle before they fall and look up at him and it’s the most he’s seen you smile yet.

ᥫ᭡₊⊹ˑ𓂃✦.˚೯⁺.

yuji had to tell gojo at least ten times to not mention junpei at all before you arrived at jujutsu high. he especially said to not point out the strong resemblance between you two.

“i’m not really supposed to be in this wing but this is special.” yuji explains from where he’s walking in front of you.

“right…” you mutter.

“the uniform looks good on you too.” he turns around to look at you and begins walking backwards.

you look down at the uniform skirt peeking out from underneath your hoodie. yuji said he had your teacher design it personally for you. the hem of your skirt is lined with red. yuji’s hood is red.

you hum at the realization that you two are sort of matching. you then look out the window of the hallway you’re walking through. on the field, there’s two girls, a white haired boy, a black haired boy and…

“a panda?” you didn’t mean for that to come out. it was supposed to be an internal thought.

yuji perks up at the sound of your confusion and you both gaze out the window.

“oh yeah!! thats panda! he’s the principal’s son.” the pink haired boy grins and you look at him. “no, really. yaga won’t elaborate.”

“are these our classmates?” you ask.

“the brunette is my classmate. kugisaki nobara. she’s a bully. you’d like her.” you follow his finger as he points to the girl doing cartwheels across the grass.

“maki is a second year. she’s also a bully. you’d like her.” he points to the green haired girl sitting in the grass watching her.

“inumaki is also a second year. everyone likes inumaki.” he says and you look at the white haired boy laying on the grass.

“fushiguro is a first year. he’s my best friend, just don’t tell him i said that.” he grins, pointing to the black haired boy sitting on the grass drinking from a chocolate milk bottle.

“and panda is a…” you still feel weird calling this panda-hybrid-son thing ‘panda’.

“a second year!! he’s just a big ball of smiles and fun and hugs.”

“i can see that…” you mutter and you look up at him.

“you’ll fit in just fine here.” yuji puts his hand on your shoulder, although he knows that’s not your only worry at the moment. he just wants to do anything to distract you from the circumstances.

you don’t admit that the idea of being the new girl all over again makes you a little uneasy. it reminds you of the first time you visited your dad and his family.

but when you look at yuji and he smiles back at you and gives you a thumbs up, you can’t imagine an ounce of what your dad ever made you feel.

your room was at the end of the hallway. you didn’t know it but gojo, the head of the first years and the teacher who apparently loved yuji requested for it to be placed there.

after you got settled in, you two went down to the field where kugisaki, maki, inumaki, and panda were still hanging out together.

“guys! this is (name). she’s new and one of my favorite people so be nice.”

one of his favorite people? your step physically falters at those words and you softly clear your throat.

“hey. nice to meet you all.” you pull the hoodie sleeves over your hands and wave.

as they introduce themselves and sit in a cluster in the grass and begin talking around you, you can’t help but notice how casual they are. they have no idea your whole world fell apart not even a week ago.

everyone’s moved on. everything is still progressing like nothing happened, like the two most important people are gone from this world. life is moving on as it always does. why can’t you?

yuji watches as nobara and panda keep trying to include you in the conversation but you’re just sitting next to him, anxiously chewing on your lip and sinking into the hoodie that once belonged to your brother.

he opens his mouth to whisper to you and reaches out to gently take your fingers in his, when okkotsu approaches the group.

“hi, guys.” the black haired boy says, sitting in between maki and inumaki.

your eyes snap up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and your gaze immediately lands on the boy sitting across from you.

the black, messy hair. the dark eyes. that same expression.

everything seems to go in slow motion. your heart drops.

the way he slowly relaxes and loses the tension in his shoulders. that sheepish laugh.

you’d give anything to have him back. for it to be junpei sitting across from you instead of okkotsu.

the others are calling your name as you start to walk away. you don’t even know when you got up. all you know is your feet started carrying you away and you let it happen. because you don’t know what you’ll do if you go back. how do you ask a stranger for a hug? for random reassurance?

yuji’s voice is the most distinctive. you can’t bear yourself to turn around. your nose is red and your eyes are watering. you can see your breath in the cold air as you slam the door to the building open and quickly climb up the stairwell.

you’re biting your lip, trying to keep it from trembling as you go further up the staircase. you don’t even know where you’re going. you just move. move away from him. that’s all you can do.

suddenly, you grab onto the wall and let out a breath catching gasp. you squeeze your eyes shut and slowly lower yourself onto the stairs.

why does okkotsu look so much like him? why is he back after leaving you behind in this world? it’s so stupid when you think about it. your own classmate has sent you into a breakdown because he looks like your dead brother.

you press the heels of your hands into your closed eyes, trying to keep the tears from spilling out.

‘stop, stop, stop,’ you tell yourself. stop crying over someone you don’t even know. okkotsu isn’t even aware that you’ve associated him with someone completely gone.

you hear the same door you came through open and close. you look over the railing and see a blur of pink hair below.

you’ve cried in front of yuji at least three times already. but this one feels humiliating. like your pain is being showcased and taunted and torn into something completely irrational.

you sniffle as you climb further up the stairs.

“(name)? are you here?”

you hold onto the railing with both hands, sleeves wet with tears sliding over the miniature golden toad statue installed on the handrail.

“i mean, i saw you come in here.”

“actually, are you okay?”

you can’t even answer him. nothing can come out but tears. you push your hair out of your face after sticking to your cheeks

“(name), please answer me.”

you swallow that tension filled lump in your throat that you’ve been feeling more and more every day. but that doesn’t help. your throat hurts. it feels tighter. it feels like someone has stuck a million pins in you.

is this how it felt for junpei and your mom? when they were burning alive, what were their last thoughts? was it you? or did they think about each other?

did they die holding each other once they realized there was no way out? or did they die in their sleep, junpei asleep with his favorite movie playing on low volume, your mom curled up in her bed after too many drinks and her body warm, both dreaming of the next day when you would come home?

don’t think about that, (name), you think.

“do you want me to give you space?”

“no. no, yuji. just, shit—don’t go.” you choke out, finally stopping and slowly sitting on the steps.

“don’t leave.” you whisper, watching as he finally comes up the stairs and you can see his face soften.

“(name)…” yuji sighs, sitting down next to you. you instantly lean into him as his arm comes up to rub your back.

“i’m sorry,” you begin. “i didn’t mean to leave, i just,” you swallow to hold back your cries. “he looks so much like him.”

you take his arm and hold it with both of your hands, squeezing so hard he thinks you’ll cut off his circulation.

“please tell him i’m sorry.” you don’t know if you mean okkotsu or junpei.

sorry for associating you with a dead person.

sorry for being selfish and leaving you for someone who never wanted me in the first place.

“don’t do that. it’s okay. okkotsu is very understanding. he won’t mind.”

you let out a shaky breath and your eyes flutter closed. you shift and tuck your head beneath yuji’s chin. you can hear his heartbeat beneath the fabric of his winter coat.

you don’t want to admit it, you don’t want to burden him, but really you feel like he’s all you have. the only reliable force still in your life.

“i’ll make sure you’re alright here. i promise.”

ᥫ᭡₊⊹ˑ𓂃✦.˚೯⁺.

nights are easier than before. the first night at jujutsu high, when it was just you alone in your dorm room, curled up next to junpei’s—your hoodie that you refused to wash because it still smelled like him and cigarettes, you stayed up all night.

you just couldn’t stomach the idea of sleeping peacefully. rain hit the glass of your window. every thunderclap made you jump.

you hadn’t been afraid of storms since you were six. that was when your mom worked nights and you’d climb into junpei’s bed instead of her’s because she was gone.

you’d both wake up and nagi would be curled around you, one arm over you and stretching over to hold junpei as well. you’d wake up before both of them to look at the dark circles under her eyes. you’d also look at the faint smile she wore.

that was the thing. no matter how exhausted she was, she never let it change how much she loved you two.

that night you tried to listen to music but you found more comfort in silence. or, as silent as it could get with the weather.

every time you flinched under your blanket, you hugged your pillow tighter. the hoodie was draped over the pillow. at one point it really started to feel like him.

you felt hot tears coming down your cheeks, sliding sideways into your pillow.

you missed your mommy. you missed your brother.

it’s childish, really. you haven’t called her mommy in years.

you wish you had called her mommy one more time. you didn’t know it was going to be the last. one day you just grew out of the name, and the next she was dead.

maybe it was the sleep deprivation getting to you that night, but once you started crying you imagined the pillow half your size was actually a body holding your hand.

that’s how he would soothe you to sleep. at only eight years old, when he should’ve also been crying over the loud storm, he was instead comforting his little sister.

he would hold your hand and talk for hours about anything and everything. mostly about movies. plans to go to the movie theater. asking what kind of books you wanted to read next.

you’d answer, not knowing a few days later that same copy would be sitting on your nightstand when you woke up, waiting for you to run your fingers along the fresh pages and make your own little annotations.

your books.

your books are gone.

it’s all you can think about nowadays.

at least it’s not about junpei or your mom.

somedays you still can’t put it all together. accept the fact that everything you knew is gone. continue a life that they no longer have any part of.

today feels like one of those days.

kugisaki asked if you wanted to go shopping with her and maki earlier. you really wanted to.

you hate being the sad girl. it’s like, why even bother coming to this school just to drown in your own grief? your brain is foggy half the time. you barely learn anything.

you don’t dare talk to okkotsu. not after what happened. it feels like if you open your mouth around him, you’ll say something stupid or like, throw up or something.

you try reading on your phone. it doesn’t do much. you like the feeling of disconnecting. online books are the exact opposite of that feeling you’re chasing.

“hey, sleepyhead.”

you look behind you as you’re rubbing your eyes. yuji is standing there holding two mugs of hot chocolate.

“was wondering when you’d get up.”

“i stayed up all night again.” you softly reply, taking the mug from him. it warms up your palms in the best way.

he stands next to you, looking out one of the bigger windows in the hallway that overlooks the city.

“so, do you, uhhh,” yuji begins and you look at him. he quickly averts his eyes back to the glass. “winter break is starting soon. we’ll be free for around two weeks.”

“what are you trying to say, yuji?” you say, nudging your shoulder with his. he pauses. it might be the most playfulness you’ve shown yet.

“do you wanna go out somewhere and do something?” he asks. you look down at the mug. there’s two marshmallows floating around in there.

“you remembered.” you whisper. he catches it and proudly grins.

“yeah. last year, at that festival.” he chuckles.

“the one where we both got frostbite but junpei somehow didn’t.”

yuji falters again. you never mention them really. you both know that. but when he’s around, everything feels easier.

he has been making things easier. he knows nothing about this is linear. there’s days when you feel like you’re over it, and there’s days when you want to join them in the dirt.

he wants to make everything better. he doesn’t know how. he knows how to be there though.

“can we actually go to a bookstore?”

“definitely!” he answers almost immediately, way too excited. he doesn’t wanna ruin the vibe, so he refrains from saying ‘like a date?’ there’s no denying he’s really happy.

“do you have any in particular that you wanna get?”

junpei liked ‘the perks of being a wallflower’ and ‘carrie’. so that’s what you say. you don’t tell him the reasoning behind it.

“okay. well, you might wanna wear something other than that hoodie.” yuiji teases and you stare blankly at him. “wear a coat over it, i mean. it’s colder than usual.”

right. it’s getting closer and closer to christmas. panda says it’s supposed to snow one of these days.

“okay.” you smile.

at the bookstore, you’re in your element. yuji can tell. you slowly stop talking to him and decide literature is more interesting. he doesn’t blame you. he also likes literature, just animated.

his attention span isn’t long enough to stare at words on a page. you tease him and ask if he wants a picture book and he almost says yes.

yuji simply follows behind you as you scan the aisles. you’ve already gathered three books in your hands and he offers to carry them.

then you’ve suddenly chosen so many it’s getting too much for even him to carry. at that point, he’s instead carrying a handheld basket.

he doesn’t mind. in fact he’s got this huge smile plastered on his face. he didn’t know how much he could love this—just watching you wander around, stare at an item in adoration and heavy thought before handing it to him.

“hey, you two!” you both turn around at the sound of a voice that’s coming from someone tall, lanky, and unbelievably obnoxious.

“sensei!!!” yuji exclaims as gojo walks up to you, holding a cup of iced coffee and a shopping bag.

“you shop here?” you ask, glaring at the bag that says the name of the store you’re in.

“you read?” yuji asks.

“nah,” gojo smirks, pulling out a box of the pink calico critters family picnic van. “this place sells calico critters.”

“i love those!!! where’d you find that?” you ask, practically vibrating from excitement right where you’re standing.

gojo points in the direction behind him and yuji watches you wander off again.

“how is she?” the white haired man asks when you’re out of earshot, suddenly serious.

“better. i think.” yuji says and gojo looks at him, silently telling him to continue. “well, you know, there’s ups and downs. but there’s more good days than bad days now.”

“good.” gojo puts a hand on his shoulder. “i heard that kugisaki and maki invited her to go shopping with them today and she declined.”

“really?”

“and somehow she came out with you. and it’s the most i’ve seen her smile yet.” he looks at the younger boy knowingly.

“hmmm.” yuji hums, oblivious, deep in thought.

“itadori, i know you like her.”

“huh??? i mean, why would you think that? she’s my friend’s little sister—yeah, you caught me.” he sighs in defeat as you begin to make your way back over to them.

“yuji, look!” you smile holding two boxes, the sylvanian families strawberry set and the flora rabbit family set.

“cute.” gojo hums.

“yeah, cute.” yuji says.

“um, yuji, can we go to another store? i wanna get something for kugisaki and maki, to show my appreciation that they thought of me and apologize for being in such a bad mood earlier.”

ᥫ᭡₊⊹ˑ𓂃✦.˚೯⁺.

you feel a little better today. lighter. not in the empty way you usually feel.

gojo said kugisaki loves candy and watermelon, so you got her a handful of watermelon flavored candy because you couldn’t choose just one.

he said maki also loves junk food so you got her a bunch of different chips and candy you hope will last her a while.

you feel lighter after seeing the smiles on their faces. nobara was so excited, she grabbed your hands and started calling you her favorite second year after maki.

maki hugged you. not a casual side hug. she put down the food you gave her and pulled you into her arms. she rubbed your back and rested her chin on your head.

that hug almost triggered something in you. it used to be that whenever someone gave you a soul crushing hug like that, you’d cry. instead you hugged her back and smiled.

you shove your hands into your pockets, quickly getting indoors to escape the cold after a solo walk.

you push your hair out of your face, walking past all the empty classrooms. well, you assume they should be empty since winter break is coming up.

you notice okkotsu sitting on one of the desks, looking out the window. you pause, slowly walking towards the open door.

you barely lean on the doorway. “okkotsu?”

the black haired boy looks up at you.

“oh. hi, (name).”

the silence between you two is heavy. you know there’s something you need to say. he knows that there’s something you’ve been carrying ever since the first day you saw him.

“what are you doing in here alone—“

“i’m sorry.”

you furrow your brows in confusion and take a step forward.

“nobody will really tell me. they keep saying it’s not their place to tell me. all i know is that on that day i made you uncomfortable.”

“okkotsu, you didn’t do anything—“

“that must be why you stormed off, right?” he sheepishly grins. “sorry. again.”

“okkotsu, listen.” you sigh, finally able to get at least a sentence in. “you didn’t do anything.”

you walk over and sit down on one of the desks next to him.

“i can’t believe you don’t know. i thought it would’ve gone all around school by now.” you dryly laugh, already fighting tears, like the wound is too fresh to laugh about.

“(name), are you okay?” okkotsu asks.

“i wasn’t. when we met, i wasn’t okay at all.” you reply. “my brother…”

you look over at okkotsu and almost break. that hopeful expression. that soft, welcoming smile.

“he’s a year and a few months older than me. he likes movies. he’s the best. he takes care of me when our mom can’t.” you blink through the tears.

“he’s quiet even when you get to know him. he’s so different from me and my mom. like he’s always afraid of taking up too much space.”

“he sounds really nice.” okkotsu mutters.

“he is.” you grin, a few tears escaping from your eyes and landing on your hands resting in your lap. “i’m always so careless. he reminds me of things. like my homework… or giving me his jacket when i forget my own.”

“he’s older than us? so he’s graduating soon. or already graduated?”

“okkotsu, he won’t… be graduating.”

okkotsu’s smile barely drops. “what do you mean?”

“my brother and my mom died in a house fire two months ago.”

you feel a hand rest over yours. you don’t look up. you can finally realize that it’s okkotsu and not junpei.

“and he looked like you.” you nod. “he looked so much like you my heart almost broke when i saw you. because i thought you were him.”

“you mean, he looks like me.” okkotsu replies. “don’t talk about him in past tense, (name). he’s not gone. he’s still living on through you. you forget that you’re his sister… which means you also look like him.”

“yeah. i guess,” you sniffle, wiping your tears. “something like that…”

“hey, it’s snowing.”

you two look back at the window and watch as white flurries begin to pile up and coat the ground.

“so panda was right. i guess i owe him money.” okkotsu groans.

junpei loves snow.

ᥫ᭡₊⊹ˑ𓂃✦.˚೯⁺.

“wanna go to a festival together tomorrow???” yuji had asked. it was the middle of the night. he wasn’t supposed to be in the second year dorms hallway. but he said he just had to talk to you.

“this can’t wait till morning.” he explained.

“huh?” you hummed, groggy from sleep. you checked the date and time on your phone. it was 2 am, december 24th. “yuji, it’s so late…”

“i know, i know.” he couldn’t hide his smile. he was just so happy. about a lot of things, really.

even though he had woken you up from your sleep, it seemed like it was a good one. you looked like you couldn’t wait to go back to sleep. he remembered the time where you’d go days without sleeping.

not because you wanted to, but because you couldn’t bear seeing them in your dreams and having to wake up to the harsh truth that they’re gone.

he was also happy because december 24th was the most romantic day of the year. you were still half asleep so you hadn’t realized yet, but he had gotten help from panda, kugisaki, maki, and okkotsu to help plan this.

all you had to do was say yes.

and god, he hoped you would.

“you’re gonna get caught, i hope you know that…” you groaned, rubbing your eye.

“so? might as well give me an answer now.” he grinned, suddenly taking your hand in his.

“uh,” you looked down at your joined hands. “okay, yeah. i want to go to a festival tomorrow.”

“okay, great!!! be ready by five pm!”

and with that he hurried off back to his own dorm. you watched him until you could no longer see him in the dark hallway, peering over the corner with a small smile. then you shut the door behind you and immediately curled back up in bed, your red hoodie on the pillow next to you.

it wouldn’t be until you woke up that you realized he basically asked you on a date.

hours later, seeing you all bundled up to protect yourself from the frosty cold makes heat rise to yuji’s cheeks in a way that he has never felt before.

you wave at him as you rush over, slightly shaking from the weather.

“are you warm enough?” yuji asks.

“i should be asking you that!” you point to his bare hands. “where are your gloves?” you grab his hands and put yours on the outside of his.

“i, uh, forgot them,” he explains. “kugisaki must’ve taken them.” he watches as you rub your mittens along his hands, warming them up.

“that’s very careless of you, yuji.” you smile up at him and he swears his heart stutters for a second. “well, let’s go buy you some.” you tug him by his hand.

“yes, mom.” he rolls his eyes with a smile.

after you purchased gloves for yuji and helped him slip them on, you two walk around, pointing out the ice sculptures illuminated by colorful lights.

at some point, your hand slipped into his with the excuse of staying warm.

“woahhhh. look at that tree!” yuji exclaims, pulling on your hand.

you both look up at the fourteen meter tall christmas tree, with tons of decorative ornaments, shining and glowing in the night sky.

“we can make our own ornaments.” you say. “do you wanna put them on the tree?”

“why don’t we make them for each other? i promise i won’t do it bad.” he grins.

“okay.” you nod.

you two go to one of the stalls where you can decorate your own ornaments and stand across from each other. you shield your ornament from him with your hand after he tries to look over one too many times.

“yuji, stop.” you try to hold in your laughter.

“i’m just trying to get an idea!!” he whines. he then notices a container of some decorations and suddenly goes quiet, getting to work.

you fill your ornament with tons of green glitter and green sequins and seal the lid on it. you decide to make keroppi from sanrio because yuji reminds you of him.

you paint the white eyeballs and while you wait for the eyes to dry, you draw his pink cheeks and signature smile. you look up at yuji who is staring at his creation in intense concentration.

you lean over, catching eye of stars and pearls before yuji notices you looking.

“hey, get back.” the pink haired boy nudges your shoulder.

“looks nice.” you say, turning back to your ornament. you paint the final touches, two black dots before waiting for it to dry. you grab a hook and latch it onto the ornament, smiling in satisfaction.

“hey, i’m done.” you look up at yuji who is holding his ornament in his hands behind him.

“me too. reveal?” you nod, presenting your big-eyed, green frog ornament with a smile.

yuji has made an ornament that looks like the christmas tree you two saw. he used three seashells of different sizes, glued them together, and glued pearls on each of them. at the top he glued a small orange seashell to be the star on the tree.

“yuji!!! i love it.” you gently hand him his, careful not to break it.

“i tried my best.” he sheepishly chuckles, his cheeks and nose red, obviously trying not to get flustered. “but this is cute. i always watched these cartoons on vhs growing up.” he explains as he looks at yours.

“you remind me of him.” you explain as you grab a small bag, placing both of the ornaments in the bag. “cheerful, energetic, cute, loyal,”

“wait, what was that third one?” his lips curl into a smile as he pulls you closer to him.

“ummmm,” you hum, and grab his jaw, pushing him away. you look away and spot a food stand. “i’m hungry!!!”

“okay!” he grabs your hand and you both walk around, deciding what food to get. you both try lots of different foods, including western christmas treats.

yuji gets a reindeer brownie, it’s triangular with frosting for the eyes and red frosting for the nose. you get a chewy rice cake decorated with red and white frosting. it’s supposed to be santa clause.

“i think the one with the red nose is named rudolph,” you point to his brownie. “is it good?” you ask.

“mhm, yeah,” yuji nods, biting into his brownie then holding it out towards you. “want some?”

“really?” you ask and he nods harder. you lean forward, taking a small bite and red frosting smears on your cheek.

“(name), you have…” he laughs, pointing to his cheek.

“i have what??”

“picture!!!” a random voice shatters the bliss of the moment and you instinctually move closer to yuji. a man steps in front of you two with a camera. “picture for the lovely couple?”

“ummmm, but my face…!” you begin and you feel yuji throw his arm over your shoulders.

the white flash from the camera makes you jump and you never get to wipe the frosting from your face. how embarrassing.

as the bright light faded away, you rapidly blink as yuji leans forward, taking the printed picture from the man.

“look, (name).” the pink haired boy shoves the picture in your face. “hey, can we get two of these?”

in the picture, you’re pressed into yuji’s side, slightly squinting, nose and cheeks reddened from the cold, frosting on your cheek and lips as his arm is stretched over you and he’s smiling.

“yuji, i look so stupid!!!” you whine, finally wiping your face.

“stop it, you’re cute.” yuji says, tugging you closer. “one copy for you and one for me.”

“i’m hiding this.” you sigh.

“so you won’t display the first picture of us together?” he smirks, leaning down and taking a bite of your chewy rice cake.

“well… i mean, is it good?” you ask as he chews and nods in approval.

“you have good taste.”

within the next two hours, you and yuji have walked around at least three times, making sure you’ve visited every stand that caught your eye.

he begins to lead you by your hand up a hill where other couples are also sitting together.

“they’re having a fireworks show.” yuji explains with an excited look.

you two sit down next to each other and watch as people below start to disperse and also make their way up the hill.

for the first time tonight it falls silent between you two and you look at him. the lantern pole near you two illuminates his features, his sharp jawline, his wide, expressive eyes, the faint smile he has as he’s waiting for the fireworks to start.

you barely scoot closer, wrapping your hands around his. you slowly put your head on his shoulder, testing the waters before completely resting your head.

“yuji…” you mutter.

“hmm?”

“thank you.”

you feel him turn his head and you don’t dare look at him.

“for what?” he asks, looking down at you.

“you know. being a friend. being here. especially in these last few months.” you explain, swallowing. “i wouldn’t have made it this far without you. i’d probably be in yokohama right now living a life i didn’t want to live, or a runaway.”

“you’d really run away?” yuji lightly scoffs followed by a laugh.

“anything’s better than being with my dad.” you curl closer to him and look down at your lap at the thought of him. you’ve always been worried about boys ending up treating you just like your dad.

but then yuji came when you least expected it, and showed you something you had never experienced before.

“thanks for helping me with that too.”

“really, it’s okay, (name), it’s the right thing to do.”

you lift your head up and look at him, clenching your jaw. is he just being nice or something more?

“yuji. you could’ve left me to grieve by myself a long time ago,” one of your hands travel further up his arm. “but you didn’t. you stayed. with me. the ‘sad girl’.”

“because i care about you.” he replies. “you’re not the sad girl. nobody looks at you and thinks ‘that’s the girl who’s sad all the time.’ i especially don’t.”

you try to hold in your smile at that last sentence. “i-i care about you too… yuji.” you mumble.

the first firework explodes behind his head but neither of you can pull away from each other’s gaze. the pink and purple sparks dancing behind his head make him look even more attractive.

“last year, my grandpa died and his final wish was for me to help others. that’s all he wanted. for me to help others, save whoever i can, and spend my life surrounded by people.” he says barely above a whisper.

you swallow and nod, urging him to continue. all these weeks you spent venting, the least you can do is listen to him now.

“even if they’ll never thank me. he wanted me to save as many as i can.”

“yuji… your grandpa would be so proud of you right now.” you smile. “look at you. you did exactly what he wanted. you saved me.”

more fireworks erupt in the sky behind you two and he laughs, dropping his forehead against yours.

“don’t say it like that, (name)…”

“it’s true. i was hopeless.” you whisper. “i was depressed. i was considering joining them.”

he puts a hand on your thigh without pulling away from you.

“that’s how much i was hurting. there’s no denying that it still hurts, but being with you… makes everything so, so much more better.” you choke back tears and sigh.

“now i understand why junpei got so much more lively when you came around.”

“because you did the same for me. you gave my life meaning again.” you rest your hand on his shoulder.

yuji lifts his hand to rest on your cheek, then the nape of your neck.

“can i…?”

“yes, yuji.” you chuckle. “yes, you can kiss me.”

he quickly closes the space between you, like he’s been waiting for that confirmation this whole time. he pulls you closer and you smile against his lips.

his thumb wipes away a stray tear and you put both of your hands on his shoulders. he pulls away, kissing your cheek and temple a few more times.

“you’re amazing, (name).” he plants a kiss on your cheek. “i mean it. i’ll make sure to stay by your side and help you forever.”

you look at him as he continues, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you impossibly closer to him.

“even when it gets really bad, or on days when it’s really good. i’ll be there.”

“you wanna know something?” you lean closer, murmuring against his skin, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“i think junpei would be glad that i ended up with you.”

and from wherever he’s watching over you two, he definitely is.

━✧˖° ʚ🌠ɞ ✧･ﾟ : *✧ ･ﾟ: *. ・ ･ﾟ: ೃ࿔ *:･ *·˚ ᝰ̟۟

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.