Untitled

[armeenzlover]

COMPUTA, how to get ISHIGAMI SENKU to like you?! COMPUTA???

Pairing: Senku x reader

COLLEGE AU

Synopsis: you were done getting done dirty so, you ask your good ol buddy Senku to whip you up a love potion by Valentine’s Day.

Has poorly written smut at the end, 💚 that will be my indicator for the scene.

A/n: enjoyyyyyyy this very rushed piece of literature!

W/c: 15k

I apologize in advance for grammar mistakes as I barely proofread it cause I skimmed going crossed ! And I apologize if I made Senku too ooc!

you chewed on your cheek as you tapped the tip of your pen on the paper. "What is it about me that's just so…" Your words trailed off because you couldn't find the appropriate phrase for your love life situation.

Case one. In other words, situationship one. You started talking to this guy from one of your classes.

What went wrong? You found him kissing another girl at a party is what went wrong. And that was AFTER he stood you up for your arcade date the very same day, saying he forgot about it 20 minutes after you'd been standing at your meet up spot and a hour after your conversation about said date.

Safe to say you but tapped him once or twice… okay three times. Anyways he was K.O. And the girl well she was pissed and ended up curb stopping him into the floor.

Case two. You really liked this guy, it was like he was made just for you. Best dates, beautiful face, nice body. And he was well versed in romance books as well as the females in taste books. You could only imagine how he was in bed. And you wouldn't have had to imagine it had you not seen his phone buzz with a pizza delivery contact.

The fuck kind of pizza delivery says "I miss you baby. When can I see you again?" Piece of shit.

You texted his phone and he had your contact name as Uber Eats . Fucking Uber Eats.

You may have gotten very violent but it was okay-cause, fucking Uber Eats? Did you look like a bitch who Ubers people food?

Those were your first and so far last… whatever you can call those and that was a year ago and you were sick and tired of being single.

Especially with Valentine's Day coming up in a month and 7 days. You would hate to have to stop your roomies fun time cause your stuck in the dorm cause your single.

Your friends are out the question cause surprise, surprise, every single one of them have someone and you have no one.

"Hey nitro." You rolled your eyes, looking up from the empty paper. "I told you. Stop calling me nitroglycerin man, it cringe and ugly as hell."

He cracked his neck, pulling out the chair beside you to take a seat. "Shouldn't you be in a lab somewhere making love to the chemicals and those excruciating formulas?"

He gave you a look of almost pure disbelief. "Never in my 20 years of living, did I ever expect to here someone sexualizing science. Something is seriously wrong with you. You need to stop reading or watching whatever it is that you're watching."

You took a sip of the latte. "Then I'd be just as boring and annoying as you." He scoffed, "you already have both of those checked off." Before you could curse him out he started speaking again. "Anyways, what are you doing with this paper? Another assignment?"

Your eyes trailed off from his down to the paper. "Sort of…" Your voice was quieter than before.

You both sat in silence as Senku watched you stare at the blank paper with a troubled look on your face.

He propped his elbow up on the table to hold the weight of his face as he continued to stare, wondering what's got that violent hot head so somber and quiet.

"Hey," his voice was soft. The back of his index and middle fingers tapped against your soft cheek. "What's wrong."

You pursed your lips, crossing your arms. "I just don't get it." You glared at the blank piece of paper. "Do I have, 'cheat on me or waste my time' written on my forehead?"

"Of course you don't, i'd tell you that much if you had that written on your head. But…" he trailed off rummaging through his bag to pull out a magnifying glass. "Let me see if it's written in your foreheads discoloration."

"Senku Ishigami—"

you were cut off by him grabbing your jaw turning your face towards his as he actually inspected your forehead.

You couldn't help but smile seeing his eye so magnified by the magnifying glass as he inspected your skin.

"No." He said in a sigh, "I don't see anything of the sort on you." He put it away. "Though of course I wasn't expecting to see something like that written on you anyways."

"I didn't either, so I was wondering why you actually checked."

He smiled letting your face go. "Just to make sure. You didn't get it tatted in your skin color on your forehead. I don't put that pass you when you're drunk."

"I wouldn't do something so degrading." He hummed, "maybe for a billion dollars you would."

"Hell yeah I'd tatt that on me for a billion dollars!" You smiled.

He stared at you for a moment, then let out a short exhale through his nose—not quite a laugh, but close. "Tch. That's exactly the kind of short-sighted thinking I'd expect from you." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Let me break this down in terms your impulsive little brain might actually absorb."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.

"A billion dollars is just a number. A human construct. It can be printed, inflated, burned, rendered worthless by a market crash. But you—" He pointed at you, index finger aimed directly between your eyes. "—are a one-time biological event. Your exact neural architecture, your muscle fiber ratio, the way your ridiculous temper spikes your cortisol levels faster than a lab rat on stimulants... There is no currency, no amount of gold, no digital number in a bank account that can reproduce you. Your genome alone contains roughly 3.2 billion base pairs. You're already worth more than a billion dollars just in raw genetic data, and that's before factoring in consciousness."

He picked up his own drink and took a sip, utterly casual.

"So no. Don't degrade yourself by slapping a price tag on your forehead. It's scientifically inaccurate, and if you aren't buying me some savy tech to mess around with then there'd be no point." He shrugged.

Your eye twitched. "You know, had you left that last bit out I probably would've kissed you out of impulse."

He gave you a look of distaste. "I'm glad I added that on then."

"Ugh, I'm seriously convinced you're asexual at this point." He hummed, "I mean I just don't see the point in it. And you, no doubt show me exactly why, time and time again, that it is infact pointless. The only how it would be is if two people were to drink a love potion and fall in love with each other."

You could only agree with his statement. He was right to see no point in love. College sure as hell wasn't making it look any more appealing with your love life troubles.

"I guess you're right. If only I did have one though that would be cool…" your head whipped in his direction with a face full of glee and anticipation.

"Senku could you—"

"No."

"You asshat! You didn't even let me finish!"

He stood up from his chair shaking his head as he grabbed his bag. "I already know what your gonna say and it's preposterous."

You slammed your hands on the table as you stood up, your chair pushing back in the process. "Just think Senku do you know how well it would sell?! What kind of Nobel peace prize you'd get for making a freaking love potion?"

"No, no, no. The closet thing to a love potion is aphrodisiac. I'm a scientist but I'm not a crazy scientist out of touch with reality."

"I'll say." You muttered not so quietly. He flicked your forehead and tossed his empty cup in the trash.

"Come on Senku! Just do me this one favor pluh-ease! Man!" You tugged on his arm practically yanking him back into you.

You frowned, tugging him with a bit more strength and he crashed into you his nape hitting your nose and forehead.

He snatched his arm from you. "Stop pulling me like a damn ragdoll!"

"Dude you are seriously like… ridiculously light. Are you malnourished or something??"

Senku knew he didn't have the capacity to put up with too much more of your stupidity. Especially since he had Anatomy class with the big oaf next.

"Fine, i'll make the damn love potion just stop being so damn annoying." He dug in his ear in frustration with his hand on his hip.

Your eyes lit up just as much as your smile did. You couldn't contain your excitement and you jumped on the man, completely tackling him to the floor. "Thank you Senku! Can you try to have it done before Valentine's Day?"

"I can try but no promises alright? Now get your heavy ass off of me." Your mouth dropped open. "I'm not heavy you're just weak abnormally weak, actually." Your tone changed to that of a worried one mid sentence.

You picked yourself up off of him. "Alright, in return for making the love potion you are to come with me to the gym 4 days a week."

"I'll be damned if I go in that bacteria infested place." He said follows by a small, 'thank you'. As you helped him off the floor.

"Fine then, in your dorm. You probably can't even lift your body weight."

Great now he felt like he was talking the taiju. Senku shook his head. "Fine I can work with that." He said softer, more exhausted.

"Now I'm off to class, don't cause any trouble or hit anybody."

You smiled, "I won't!"

You didn't cause any trouble.

You did, however, become completely insufferable to one Senku Ishigami.

It started the next day, when you showed up at the chemistry lab with two coffees and an aggressively cheerful, "Good morning, partner."

He didn't look up from the beaker he was sterilizing. "I don't recall agreeing to a partnership."

"Too bad. I'm your project manager now." You set the coffee beside his elbow and pulled up a stool far closer than strictly necessary. "What are we working on?"

"We aren't working on anything. I'm working on isolating a dopamine agonist. You're working on being quiet."

"I can do that."

He shot you a deeply skeptical look. "You've never been quiet in your life."

"That's not true. I'm quiet when I sleep."

"You talk in your sleep. You told me this yourself."

You opened your mouth, closed it, and settled for pouting into your coffee. Senku made a small sound, not quite a laugh, but adjacent and returned to his work.

You didn't stay quiet, obviously. But you did learn to be useful in small ways. You handed him pipettes when he asked. You scribbled notes when he muttered observations aloud. You wiped down the counter when he spilled something that smelled aggressively like burnt sugar.

. . .

Three days into the "love potion project," Senku had officially commandeered a corner of the campus chem lab with a quiet, terrifying intensity that made other students avoid eye contact. Beakers. Burners. A centrifuge he definitely didn't have permission to use after hours. His notebook was a mess of formulas you couldn't begin to decipher, but you'd appointed yourself Head Note-Taker anyway, which mostly meant leaning over his shoulder and asking questions that made his eye twitch.

"Is that supposed to be pink?"

"No. Move your head, you're blocking the light."

"Can I add the next thing?"

"You can add nothing. You can sit there and not touch anything. That's your contribution."

You huffed, plopping onto the stool beside him and propping your chin in your hand. "I'm helping."

"You're helping a ton by hovering, thanks," he sarcastically praised without looking up. His fingers moved with surgical precision, pipetting a clear liquid into a vial. "There's a difference. Hovering introduces variables. Your body heat alone is raising the ambient temperature by approximately zero point three degrees."

"You're welcome. I'm keeping your samples warm."

He finally glanced at you, and there it was — that flat, unimpressed stare he wore like armour. But you were learning to spot the cracks. The slight downturn at the corner of his mouth that meant he was suppressing something. A smirk, maybe. Or just a obnoxious sigh.

"You want to help?" He slid a blank sheet of paper toward you. "Write down anything I say that sounds like a side effect. If this works — and it won't — it'll probably cause cardiac arrhythmia or temporary blindness."

You scribbled SIDE EFFECTS: heart explosion, blindness at the top. "Got it. Very love potion like."

"Romance is just a dopamine cascade with a cultural narrative slapped on top," he muttered, turning back to his vials. "The narrative is the problem. The cascade I can engineer."

You paused, pen hovering over the paper. "Wait. You actually think you can engineer the cascade?"

He didn't answer right away. His hands slowed over the equipment, and you watched something shift behind his eyes, that rare, hungry spark that only appeared when a problem was just out of reach. When it was actually worth solving.

"Dopamine, oxytocin, norepinephrine," he murmured, half to himself. "If I can create a compound that triggers simultaneous release — timed release, that's the hard part — it wouldn't be love. It would be the chemical experience of what humans mislabel as infatuation." He pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and turned to you, and the intensity in his gaze pinned you to your stool. "The question is, can I isolate that experience without the irrational attachment that follows. Because that's the part that makes people stupid."

Your mouth went dry. You weren't sure when he'd gotten so close — maybe he'd leaned in, maybe you had, but you could count his eyelashes now. The fluorescent lab lights made his red eyes look almost translucent at the edges.

"What about the part that makes people happy?" you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He stared at you for a beat too long. Then he turned back to his vials, but his voice had lost its clinical edge. "That's just serotonin. Boring."

You wrote SIDE EFFECT: emotionally constipated scientist under your other notes. He pretended not to see that, for now at least.

The first workout session was, objectively, a disaster.

Senku's dorm room was too small for two people to exist in comfortably, let alone exercise. You'd shoved his desk against the wall to clear a patch of floor barely big enough for a yoga mat, and he was currently staring at it like it might bite him.

"I can't do a push-up."

"Everyone can do a push-up."

"I've never had to do a push-up. My body is optimised for cognitive function, not gorilla activities."

You crossed your arms. "You called me heavy. Now you have to pay the price."

"That was a factual observation based on gravitational force and—"

"Drop and give me five, Senku."

The glare he leveled at you could have stripped paint. But he lowered himself onto the mat with the enthusiasm of a man approaching his own execution, and you absolutely did not stare at the way his shoulder blades pressed against his t-shirt when he positioned his hands.

It was... bad.

His arms shook. His back arched in all the wrong places. By rep two, he was making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a death rattle, and by rep three, he collapsed flat onto the mat with a dull thud.

"I'm done."

"You did three."

"And now I'm done. The human body has limits. I've found mine." He rolled onto his back, one arm draped dramatically over his forehead. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of stomach , a pale strip of skin just above his hipbone and your brain short-circuited for exactly one second before you wrestled your gaze to the ceiling.

"Okay, new plan." You dropped down beside him on the mat, deliberately leaving space between you. He didn't close it. Neither did you. "We're doing assisted push-ups."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I help." You hovered your hands over his back, not touching. "When you go down, I'll make sure you don't die. When you come up, I'll give you a little boost."

He turned his head on the mat to look at you, and the angle was dangerous. Red eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion, watching you with something unreadable. "This seems pointless."

"Shut up and push."

He pushed. And you touched him.

Your palms settled on his back — light at first, barely there — and his muscles tensed under the contact. You felt the heat of him through his shirt, the subtle shift of bone and sinew as he lowered himself down. Down. Up. Your hands rose and fell with him, guiding, steadying.

"Three," he counted, strained.

Your fingers pressed slightly harder on the ascent, giving him the barest lift. You felt his breath hitch.

"Four."

You realized you'd moved closer without meaning to. Your knee was pressed against his hip now. Your shadow fell across his back, and you could see the individual hairs at the nape of his neck, slightly damp with sweat.

"Five," he exhaled, and collapsed.

Your hands slipped (or maybe you let them slip) and you caught yourself with your hands, braced on either side of his waist. He was flat on his stomach beneath you, breathing hard, and you were hovering over him. Your chest nearly touched his back. Your lips were level with the curve of his ear.

Silence. Nothing but his breathing and yours.

"Your hands are still on me," he said, muffled against the mat.

"Do you want me to move them?"

A pause. Longer than it should have been.

You were so close could hear his heartbeat through his ribs, too fast for someone who'd only done five assisted push-ups. Or maybe that was your own pulse, hammering in your ears.

"Your heart rate is elevated," you murmured.

"Yours too."

"I just did push-ups."

"So did I. Metaphorically."

Something shifted in the air between you. He turned his head, just enough that one red eye caught yours over his shoulder. His lips were parted. His cheek was flushed. And you were close, so close you could see the faint ring of darker red around his iris, close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough that if you just leaned down—

His phone buzzed on the desk.

You scrambled off him with a speed that was frankly embarrassing, and he sat up with a sharp inhale, running a hand through his hair. His shirt was still rucked up. You stared pointedly at the wall.

"That's enough for today," he said, his voice rougher than usual.

"Same time tomorrow?"

He didn't look at you. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

. . .

Three weeks in and the love potion wasn’t cooperating. Senku’s notebook had tripled in size, and the trash bin was full of shattered vials. Every failed batch made him crankier, but it also made him more absorbed, which meant he stopped swatting you away when you leaned over his shoulder to read his notes.

“That’s phenylethylamine ,” he muttered, pointing at a formula. “Naturally occurring. Found in chocolate. It’s part of the infatuation cascade, but it metabolizes too fast. I need a stabilizer.”

You nodded like you understood. “So… chocolate’s a love drug?”

“Barely. It’s a marketing gimmick.” He pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. “The real trick is oxytocin. The bonding chemical. But that’s typically released through physical touch, not ingestion. I’d need to trick the brain into producing it without the actual contact.”

You propped your chin on his shoulder without thinking. “Couldn’t you just, like, synthesize it?”

He went very still beneath you. “I could. But nasal sprays are inelegant. I’m aiming for an oral compound. Delayed release. Targeted receptors.”

You hummed against his shoulder blade, and you felt his spine straighten almost imperceptibly. “You smell like chemicals,” you murmured.

There was a faint hint of something crisp underneath.

“That’s acetone.” He answered.

“Smells good.”

He turned his head just enough to side-eye you. “Acetone is a solvent. It dissolves things. That’s not ‘good,’ that’s olfactory confusion.”

But he didn’t tell you to move. And you stayed there, chin on his shoulder, breathing in acetone and something warmer beneath it, until the timer on the centrifuge beeped and he shook you off with a grumble.

Later that night, after all your classes and a shitty workout that could barely be called such, you were lying in your dorm bed, you stared at the ceiling and replayed the moment. The stillness of him. The way his voice had dropped half a register when he said olfactory confusion.

You pressed your palm to your chest. Your heart was doing the skip again. "ah shit…" you muttered pulling the blanket over your head. You definitely had a crush on this little quirky science nerd.

. . .

"You have a crush on the mad scientist?" Kohaku seemed genuinely stuck. "But how? Why? he's not even your type— Wait—"

"Right I don't have a type. Good looks and a nice personality are the winners every time."

She tucked her lips raising her eyebrows in a motion of disbelief. "Yeah and the shit heads before were good looking with a nice personality." The sarcasm was practically oozing out of her pores right now. You took a long sip of your drink as she continued.

"Senku also is not good looking and his personality is shitty as hell." You disagree with a shake of your head, "sure he's blunt and doesn't have a romantic bone in his body but honestly out of everyone here who isn't taken, I'd bet my life Senku wouldn't even have the thought to cheat if we did get together. I'd be competing with the lab not a person."

She gave you a look similar to this flight streamer meme you saw on Tiktok, she was so done with your bullshit. "But I wouldn't be competing much because, I mean being in the lab with him isn't bad. I've actually learned more with Senku than I did in chemistry in high school. And it's a lot more fun just seeing him so… I dont know… passion driven?"

"Name one thing you've learned about that I wouldn't know." You smacked your lips, "You're a phys ed major. You would know everything about the body and hormones and all that stuff!" You tried to reason.

"Yeah don't give me that bullshit, name one."

You huffed, Your eyes wondering and falling on the cookies on your plate. "Oh!" You started with a snap of your fingers. "Did you know Phenylethylamine is a naturally occurring monoamine alkaloid and trace amine that acts as a central nervous system stimulant in humans? I mean most of it breaks down and metabolizes before it reaches the brain but yeah, did you know that?"

She pursed her lips trying to hide the smile. "No I didn't." You did a mini celebration of stuffing a chocolate chip cookie in your mouth. "I told you I was learning stuff with him."

She let out a sigh. "Alright I'll trust you on it but if he hurts you I'm not letting it slide." You smile. "I wouldn't stop you." You reassured her, placing your hand on top of hers giving it a squeeze.

"Well there's not much to stop, because Senku is like… Seriously… Weak." You winced even having to have those words come out your mouth. And Kohaku was back to looking at you as if you'd grown two heads.

"Oh hell no! No friend of mines is gonna be with some dude who can't even throw a proper punch let alone keep up with you in the bedroom." She whispered the last part you could feel the heat rising up your neck. "Kohaku! I'm not some rabbit in heat!"

"Girl I seen you're tumblr account. You follow Tonycries and Sweetheartucism. I know what you are." She sounded so sure of herself. And you were nothing but jaw dropped at this information that was supposed to be yours only.

"How did you know?" She shook her head, "If you didn't want people to know you really should turn off your tumblr notifications."

Thats a no can do.

You gasped. "He also knows practically everything about me so I don't have to explain." You smile as the pros just kept stacking themselves only heightening your fondness in the male.

Kohaku pursed her lips once more, propping her chin on her palm. "When you put it like that I guess you two weirdos are a match made in weirdness."

You flipped her off.

Still although you had this new found information about yourself you had no plans on confessing to the boy at least not any time soon, you think.

. . .

The weeks settled into a rhythm before you realized you had started looking forward to it. Lab sessions turned into workouts( that kohaku decided to join in on to help him and you), which turned into half-finished conversations over text, the kind that started with some random fact Senku sent like it was urgent and ended with you waking up to your phone slipping from your hand.

He was still Senku. Blunt, sarcastic, impossible to impress intentionally. He still acted like sentiment was some useless variable that only got in the way.

But there were little changes.

A stool already pulled out beside his worktable when you came in.

An explanation repeated a second time, slower, without making you feel stupid for needing it.

The brief glance he gave you after something finally worked, like he wanted to see if you had caught it too.

And before you knew it you were just 3 weeks away from valentines day.

. . .

You were planted on the stool, hunched over his notes, trying to decipher a formula that looked less like chemistry and more like greek language. Senku had been muttering to himself for the last twenty minutes, pacing behind you, his footsteps a steady pace you'd grown weirdly comforted by.

Then the pacing stopped.

"You've been staring at that page for forty-three minutes," he said from directly behind you. "Your retention rate is probably abysmal right now."

"Maybe your handwriting is abysmal."

He ignored that. You felt him lean down, his presence a sudden warmth at your back. "Move over."

You scooted sideways on the stool, expecting him to correct your notes. Instead, he reached around you and slid a clean Erlenmeyer flask onto the counter, followed by a small beaker of clear liquid and a glass pipette.

"I think it's time you graduated from passive observer to active participant," he said, his voice closer to your ear than strictly necessary. "You're always complaining about not understanding the practical applications."

"Because you never let me touch anything."

"Correction. I never let you touch anything unsupervised." His hand appeared in your peripheral vision, gesturing toward the setup. "This is a phenolphthalein titration. A classic acid-base reaction, but the indicator makes it worth watching. Phenolphthalein is colorless in acidic conditions, but once the solution becomes even slightly basic—"

"It turns pink," you finished, remembering a vague high school demonstration. "Right?"

"Magenta, technically. And don't interrupt." But there was no bite in it. He moved closer, his chest grazing your shoulder blades as he positioned the flask in front of you. "The sodium hydroxide is already in the flask. You're going to add the hydrochloric acid, drop by drop, until you hit the equilibrium point. The endpoint is sharp. You'll know it when you see it."

He placed the pipette in your hand, and before you could fumble it, his fingers wrapped around yours. His palm was cool against your knuckles, his grip precise and steady.

"Slowly," he instructed, guiding your hand toward the flask. "One drop at a time. Don't rush it."

You exhaled. You hadn't realized you'd been holding your breath.

Drop. The solution swirled, clear as water. Drop. Still clear. Drop. You felt Senku's other hand settle on the counter beside you, caging you in on one side, his body a warm line of pressure against your back. You could feel his breathing: measured, even; and it was completely at odds with the way your own pulse was hammering.

"Wait for it," he murmured, and you felt the vibration of his voice travel down your spine.

Drop.

The liquid in the flask erupted into a vivid, brilliant magenta so sudden and so saturated it looked like a gemstone catching light. You gasped, a small, genuine sound of delight, and your free hand flew up to grip his wrist without thinking.

"Pretty," you breathed.

"Precision chemistry. The color change indicates a pH shift of exactly—"

You turned your head to look at him, and the explanation died on his lips. He was already looking at you.

Not the flask.

You.

His face was inches away. You could count his eyelashes. See the ring of darker crimson around his irises. Your hand was still in his, the pipette frozen mid-air, and his other hand had somehow shifted to rest on the edge of the stool beside your hip.

"Your pupils are dilated," he observed, his voice lower than before.

"So are yours."

"That's—"

"If you say 'data,' I'm going to hit you."

His lips curved, a barely-there smirk that softened the sharp lines of his face. "I was going to say 'unexpected.'"

"Liar."

Neither of you moved. His thumb traced the back of your hand deliberate, or maybe unconscious, you couldn't tell anymore. The magenta liquid glowed softly in your peripheral vision, but you couldn't look away from him. His breath fanned warm across your cheek. His forehead almost brushed yours.

"Senku."

"Yeah."

His forehead touched yours. His eyes fluttered half-closed. You felt the tip of his nose graze the side of your own, and your lips parted on a shaky exhale, and he was right there, close enough that if you just leaned forward the barest fraction of an inch—

A timer beeped.

You both jolted. The pipette slipped from your slack grip and clattered onto the counter, spattering tiny magenta droplets across the notes you'd spent forty-three minutes staring at.

"That's the centrifuge," he said, his voice rough at the edges. Hoarse.

"Better get that."

"Yeah."

Neither of you moved for a long, aching second. His hand was still curled around yours. His forehead was still pressed to yours. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your shoulder, faster than it had been a moment ago.

Then he pulled away. The cold air rushed in where his warmth had been, and you sat there on the stool gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

He crossed to the centrifuge without looking back. But his ears were pink. Pink enough that phenolphthalein would've had nothing on them.

You looked down at the scattered magenta droplets on his notes, and you pressed your fingers to your own lips. Oh, how bad you wanted to press your lips against his.

The following morning your phone buzzed with a invite from a widely know sophomore, Ryusui Nanami. The nepo baby, and the only nepo baby you actually liked. It was a birthday bash.

Later that day you sat in a chair opposite to the one and only—

"If you have something to say, say it woman. You'll go crosseyed with all that looking up and down." Senku looked at you through his black frames, finger now hovering over the keys on his computer. "Are you going to Ryusui's party?"

Senku gave you a knowing look. "Do I look like the type to waste my time on that?"

Obviously not, but it didn't hurt to ask. "I figured I'd ask since Ryusui is a friend of yours too." He gave you that familiar half-smirk without looking away from his screen. “Ryusui knows me well enough to know I don’t do parties. Especially not ones with zero practical benefit. You have fun, though. I’ll probably be in the lab, so you can tell me how it went when you get back.”

"I'll think about it." you leaned back with a lazy smile.

. . .

You said that but here you were standing in front of your mirror all dolled up and looking beautiful for the party. Sure you looked pretty but now that it actually came too it. You weren't exactly feeling a party. Plus what was the point?

 You didn’t want the noise, the sweat, the small talk shouted over bass. You didn’t want to watch your friends pair off into corners or dodge the third guy in a row who’d ask for your number and then forget your name two minutes later.

Now you wanted to take it all off and crawl into bed.

You sit down on the edge of your bed and stare at your phone. Your thumb hovers over the group chat. Then it drifts, almost involuntarily, to a different thread. One with a lot fewer emojis and a lot more dry one-liners.

The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again. You don't hesitate to click on the chat now, a smile already making its way to your face before you even see his message.

Senku: I ordered some pizza, no pineapple on it, and a two litter of you know what. Come over so we can share and talk about the love potion.

You immediately reply 'omw!! You better not be lying about my favorite drink!' And kick off your heels and undress and dress into something more comfortable, some sweats and a cute quirky hoodie you snatched from Senku. You slipped into your slides and you were off with a text to your friends telling them not to wait for you.

The apartment door swings open before you even knock.

Senku is standing there in sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, his glasses slightly askew, his hair pulled back with a few look white to green strands framing his face. He couldn't help the smile smile that you pulled to his face when he saw you saw excited at his door step. He quickly stepped to the side letting you in.

"We're not talking about the love potion. I wanna give it a rest for tonight. Instead You can find something for us to watch, Since I don't think you'd like my choices all that much." You walked in taking your shoes off at the door. "Thanks cause, Although i like bill nye the science guy I don't think I want to watch that while I'm eating, no offense."

He shook his head closing the door. "None taken." He said and placed a pair of house shoes in front of you to put on, which you easily slipped into and walked deeper into his apartment styled dorm.

His apartment was quiet. Not the sterile, empty quiet of a place that wasn't lived in, but the comfortable quiet of a space that had settled around its occupant. The main room was a modest living area with a small kitchenette tucked into the corner—full-size fridge, two-burner stove, a rice cooker on the counter that looked more used than the actual stove. A futon couch faced a low coffee table cluttered with a laptop, a stack of journals, and the pizza box he'd promised. The lighting was warm, not fluorescent, and there was a throw blanket draped over the back of the futon couch that you were pretty sure his dad had sent him. (really nice man btw)

Your eyes drifted to the hallway branching off from the living room. Two doors. One was slightly ajar, his room, you assumed, from the glimpse of a desk and more books stacked in precarious towers. The other door was closed.

Oh, how you sometimes wished you'd applied yourself more in high school. Your dorm was a shoebox with a microwave and a roommate whose boyfriend practically lived there. This—this was a palace. A quiet, lavender -scented palace.

You sat on the couch, immediately grabbing the throw blanket to toss over your shoulders and get comfortable. The fabric was soft, worn-in, and smelled faintly of lavender—which surprised you, honestly. You'd expected Senku to be the type to buy whatever detergent was cheapest.

"Your roommate go to the party?" you asked, tucking your feet up under you.

"My roommate moved out a while ago. It's just been me."

You paused mid-blanket-adjustment. "Wait, seriously? He just... left?"

"End of last semester. He said he couldn't sleep when I was running simulations at three in the morning." Senku shrugged, setting two glasses on the coffee table. "His loss. The university never bothered to reassign anyone, so I've had the place to myself."

You looked around the apartment with fresh eyes—the two closed doors in the hallway, the full-size fridge, the bathroom you didn't have to share with twelve other people. "So you've just been here. Alone. In a two-bedroom apartment."

"That's what I said."

"Do you know how much I would kill for this kind of setup? My dorm is literally a closet with a microwave."

"I've seen your dorm. It's not a closet. Closets have better ventilation."

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it without looking.

You laughed and clicked on a rom-com you'd seen a dozen times but never got tired of. Light, familiar, easy to half-watch while you ate. Senku didn't comment on the choice, just handed you a glass of Sprite and settled back into the couch cushions.

The movie started. You ate pizza straight from the box, licking grease off your fingers, and Senku made a comment about how napkins existed for a reason, and you told him to stop being a neat freak, and he said he wasn't a neat freak, he just didn't see the point in making a mess when the solution was right there, and you shoved a napkin in his face and told him to relax.

At some point, your head ended up on his shoulder. You weren't sure when exactly it happened—one minute you were sitting up, the next you'd sort of... leaned. He didn't push you off. After a moment, his arm shifted along the back of the couch, not quite around you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him near your shoulders.

You smiled against his shoulder and turned your attention back to the screen. The couple on-screen was having one of those big, dramatic fights where everything was a misunderstanding that could've been solved with a single conversation. Usually, you found those scenes frustrating. Tonight, they just made you feel grateful. Whatever this thing with Senku was—friendship, something more, something you hadn't named yet—it was straightforward. No games. No wondering where you stood.

"Hey," you said, not lifting your head.

"What."

"I'm glad you texted."

He didn't say anything. But his arm slid down from the back of the couch to rest across your shoulders, light and careful, and you felt him exhale, long and slow, like he'd been holding something in without realizing it.

"Me too," he said.

Somewhere between the next two movies you found yourself on top of senku laying on his chest in a half asleep state.

"Hey." Your name fell off his lips softly, barely above a whisper.

You made a sound that was supposed to be "yeah?" but came out more like a hum.

"If you wanna get out of that shoebox of a dorm..." He paused. You felt his chest rise beneath your cheek. "My door is always open."

The words hung in the quiet of the apartment. You blinked, sleep retreating just enough for you to process what he'd said. My door is always open. Not "the spare room is available." Not "you could crash here if you need to." His door. Always open.

You lifted your head just enough to look at him. His face was closer than you expected—your noses were inches apart. His glasses were crooked. His hair was a mess against the couch cushion. But his eyes were steady on yours, and there was something in them you hadn't seen before. Something careful. Something that looked a lot like hope trying not to show itself too loudly.

"You mean that?" you asked, your voice scratchy with sleep.

"I don't say things I don't mean."

"Like, move in? For real?"

"For real." He said it casually, like it wasn't a big deal, but his hand still rubbing circles on your back.

"For real." He said it casually, like it wasn't a big deal, but his hand was still rubbing slow circles on your back, and his heartbeat under your palm had picked up just enough to betray him.

You let the offer hang there for a second, letting yourself actually imagine it. Your own room. A real kitchen. A bathroom you didn't have to share with half the floor. And Senku. Coffee in the mornings. Pizza at midnight. The quiet, lavender-scented hum of this place that already felt more like home than your dorm ever had.

"Okay," you said.

His hand paused on your back. "Okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're offering me a bedroom and a kitchen and no roommate's boyfriend walking around in a towel. Why would I say no?"

"There are probably reasons."

"I don't care about those." You dropped your head back down to his chest, your smile pressing into his shirt. "I care about having a bathroom I don't need flip-flops for. I'm in."

He didn't answer right away. Then his hand started moving again on your back, and you felt his chest rise with a breath that came out just a little shakier than usual.

"That was fast."

"I'm a decisive person."

"You cried over which cereal to buy last week."

"Decision-making is different from cereal. Cereal is important." You tilted your head up just enough to catch his eye. "This one was easy."

His expression flickered, something soft, something he didn't quite hide fast enough. And then he looked away, reaching up to adjust his glasses even though they were still crooked.

"And you can't complain about the acetone smell. It's a non-negotiable."

"I've never complained about the acetone smell."

"You made a face once."

"I made a face because you almost set the counter on fire. That had nothing to do with the acetone."

He huffed, and you felt it more than heard it, a soft rush of air that might have been a laugh if he'd let it be one. His arm tightened around your shoulders, just a fraction.

"You're really moving in," he said, quieter now.

"Looks like it."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Neither of you moved. The movie had ended a while ago, the screen dark, the apartment quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of wind against the windows. You should probably get up. Go back to your dorm. Start figuring out boxes and move-in dates and whatever else came with upending your entire living situation.

Instead, you let your eyes close again, your cheek pressed to the soft cotton of his shirt, his heartbeat steady under your ear.

"Hey, Senku?"

"What now."

"Thanks for not going to the party."

His thumb traced a slow arc across your shoulder blade. "Parties are overrated."

"You've never even been to one." You smile.

"I don't need to go to know they're overrated. I have evidence."

"You have assumptions."

"I have you, showing up at my door in my hoodie instead of at Ryusui's with a champagne glass. That's enough evidence."

You smiled against his chest. "That's almost sweet."

"It's just an observation."

"Sure it is."

He didn't dignify that with a response. But his hand kept moving on your back, slow and steady, and you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, into the warmth, into the quiet certainty that for the first time in a long time, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The following day was a blur of boxes and dust and running up and down stairs that, by hour two, you were genuinely starting to resent.

Packing had been easier than you'd expected. Your dorm was tiny, a shoebox, as Senku liked to remind you, so there wasn't much to pack. Three mugs. Your microwave. The ice maker you'd splurged on last summer. A lamp shaped like a mushroom that you'd found at a thrift store. Your fluffy rug, the pink one that shed everywhere. Your TV, which was small enough to carry under one arm. Clothes. Photos. A polaroid of you and Kohaku at last year's spring festival. The throw pillows you'd bought specifically because Senku said he hated them.

That was it. That was your whole life, boxed up and ready to go.

Kohaku showed up at nine in the morning, hair pulled back, looking like she was ready to run a marathon.

"You're really doing this," Kohaku said, lifting a box labeled MUGS + KITCHEN STUFF like it weighed nothing. "Moving in with the guy."

"He's not 'the guy.' He's Senku."

"That's what I said."

You grabbed your lamp and the rug, leaving the desk where it was—it belonged to the university anyway. "Are you going to be weird about this the whole time?"

"Probably." She started down the hallway. "Has he always looked that tired, or is that new?"

"That's just his face."

"Hm."

The walk across campus was cold. Your breath fogged in the air. You'd made this walk so many times before, but today your arms were full of your belongings, and the weight of it felt significant in a way you couldn't quite name.

When you got to the apartment, the door was propped open. Senku was inside, dragging the spare room's old desk into the hallway. He'd already cleared out the broken lamp and the boxes of his old roommate's stuff that had been sitting in the corner. His hair was messier than usual, and there was a dust smear across his forehead.

"Your stamina's improved," you said, stepping over the threshold.

"Kohaku's been making me do lunges." He took the rug from your arms without asking and carried it into the spare room. "She said my form was a disgrace to human physiology."

"I heard that," Kohaku called from the stairwell.

"It wasn't a secret." He said louder

Yuzuriha floated in behind you, already unwrapping the onigiri. "I brought snacks. Where should I put them?"

"Kitchen counter's fine." Senku reappeared, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Fair warning, the cabinet space is limited. I have beakers in the top shelf."

"Why do you have beakers in your kitchen?"

"They're clean."

"They're still beakers."

"Beakers are just cups with measurements on the side."

You left them to that debate and went into the spare room. It was small but bright—a window facing the campus green, a closet with actual doors, a light fixture that didn't flicker. Your mushroom lamp was already plugged in by Yuzuriha, casting a warm yellow glow across the bare floor. Your rug was rolled out in the center of the room, pink and fluffy and completely at odds with Senku's aesthetic. It was perfect.

Kohaku appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Not bad."

"Right? I have a closet. A real closet."

"I saw." She crossed her arms and watched you unroll the rug the rest of the way. "You know, I was skeptical."

"About whate?"

"About him." She jerked her chin toward the living room, where Senku was explaining to Yuzuriha why beakers were objectively better than regular cups. "I thought he was all ego. Too much brain, not enough heart. But he's different with you."

You sat back on your heels and looked up at her. "Different how?" You knew he was different with you, you were just a sucker for hearing how much your soon to be boo adored you so much.

"Patient. Attentive. He actually listens when you talk." She shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "I still think he needs to work on his core strength, but... he's not an asshole. Not to you, anyway."

"That's so sweet."

"It's an observation, not a compliment. Don't get used to it."

You smiled and went back to arranging your rug. But you caught Kohaku's expression before she pushed off the doorframe, the faintest hint of approval, quickly hidden.

…

Your new living arrangements were, in a word, heavenly.

The apartment was quiet when you needed it to be. The bathroom was always free. The kitchen had a full-size fridge that didn't hum like it was on its last legs, and you could cook at two in the morning without worrying about waking up a roommate who had an 8 a.m. class. The lavender-scented throw blanket had somehow migrated from the back of the futon to your bed, and Senku hadn't mentioned it. Either he hadn't noticed or he'd decided it wasn't worth the argument.

You'd expected to see more of him. That was the whole point, wasn't it? Living together, sharing space, the easy domestic rhythm you'd both slipped into so naturally. But the universe had other plans. The week after your move-in was brutal. Two major projects landed on your desk at the same time, both with deadlines that made your stomach clench. Your classmates, predictably, were useless. One of them kept promising to finish his section "by tonight" and then went radio silent. Another submitted work so sloppy you had to rewrite it from scratch. Your group chat was a graveyard of unanswered messages and passive-aggressive thumbs-up reactions.

And then there were the discussion posts. God, the discussion posts. Two hundred words on a topic you couldn't care less about, plus two replies to classmates whose posts were just as uninspired as yours. You found yourself typing phrases like "I really appreciated your perspective" and "you raised some interesting points" while your soul slowly left your body.

Senku was just as buried. You heard him leave early most mornings, the soft click of the front door, the shuffle of his bag, and he didn't come back until late. His own project load was apparently monstrous. Something about simulations that kept failing and a professor who didn't believe in extensions. He'd text you sometimes, a dry observation about a classmate or a complaint about the lab equipment, but actual face-to-face time was rare.

You'd cross paths in the kitchen at odd hours. Him, bleary-eyed, waiting for the coffee maker to finish. You, hunched over your laptop at the counter, typing furiously while a microwave burrito spun in circles. He'd grunt. You'd grunt back followed by a lazy chuckle. It was practically a love language at this point.

One night, you came home close to midnight, your bag heavy with textbooks and your brain feeling like static. The apartment was dark except for the lamp in the living room. Senku was on the futon, his laptop open, his glasses reflecting a spreadsheet you couldn't begin to parse. He looked up when you walked in.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"2 days I havent slept a wink." He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. "There's leftover rice in the fridge. I made too much."

You dropped your bag by the door and shuffled to the kitchen. The rice was still in the cooker, warm and waiting. You didn't bother with a plate. Just grabbed a spoon and ate straight from the pot, leaning against the counter with your eyes half-closed.

Senku appeared in the doorway. "That's unsanitary."

"You're unsanitary."

"Brilliant comeback." He grabbed a spoon of his own and joined you at the pot. No plate for him either. "How's the project?"

"One teammate ghosted. Another one sent me a paragraph that looked like it was written by a chatbot. I have three discussion posts due tomorrow and I haven't started any of them." You took another bite of rice. "You?"

"Simulation crashed again. Lost six hours of data. Professor wants a revised proposal by Friday." He paused. "I also forgot to eat lunch. And breakfast, probably."

"Senku."

"I had coffee. Which has calories." he quickly added the last part.

You didn't have the energy to lecture him. So you just pushed the rice pot closer to his side of the counter, and the two of you stood there in the dim kitchen light, eating cold rice at midnight, too tired to talk but too tired to be alone.

It wasn't romantic. It wasn't anything like the movies. But it was real, and when Senku's shoulder bumped yours and stayed there, you didn't move away.

"Two more days," he said quietly. "Then the deadline's over."

"Two more days for me too," you echoed.

"We should do something after. Get out of the apartment."

"Like a date?"

He didn't answer for a moment. Then: "I was going to say 'get pizza,' but if you want to call it a date, that's acceptable."

"You're such a romantic." You roll your eyes.

"I'm pragmatic. Pizza is efficient."

You smiled into the rice pot and let your head drop onto his shoulder. He didn't tense up. Didn't pull away. Just shifted his weight slightly so you fit better against him, and kept eating rice like this was the most normal thing in the world.

The next two days passed in a blur of deadlines and caffeine. You submitted your last discussion post at 11:47 PM with all the enthusiasm of someone signing a terms-and-conditions agreement, then closed your laptop and stared at the ceiling for a solid ten minutes. Done. Finally done.

Senku's deadline had wrapped up the same evening. You knew because you'd come home to find him passed out on the futon, his laptop still open on his chest, a half-empty mug of cold coffee on the floor beside him. You'd pulled the throw blanket over him and gone to bed.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of actual breakfast. Eggs. Rice. Something sizzling in a pan.

You shuffled into the kitchen in your pajamas—his hoodie, sweatpants, hair stuffed away in your bonnet, and found Senku at the stove. His hair was pulled back, kind of messily. He was poking at a pan of scrambled eggs like he wasn't totally sure what they were supposed to do.

"You're cooking," you said, your voice still scratchy.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Trying to. Sit down."

You sat. The table had two plates on it, two mugs, and for some reason your mushroom lamp was in the middle. The rice cooker was going. The eggs looked a little uneven but they smelled good.

"When did you learn to make eggs?"

"Taiju's mom sent me a cookbook a while back. Figured I should probably use it at some point." He scraped the eggs onto your plate and sat down across from you. "Eat. Before it gets cold."

You picked up your chopsticks. He did the same. Neither of you talked for a bit. The eggs were decent—maybe a little too much salt, but you weren't about to complain, you'll just wake up earlier to help next time. The rice was warm. The coffee was fresh.

It was weird, how much had changed. A month ago you were in a shoebox dorm eating microwave ramen and dodging your roommate's boyfriend. Now you were here. Real kitchen. Real breakfast. A guy who made you eggs even though he'd clearly rather be sleeping.

"You're staring," Senku said, not looking up.

"I'm thinking." You took a sip of coffee. "Hey. You said something about pizza earlier this week. Before the deadlines hit. Is that still happening?"

"If you want it to. Or..." He set his chopsticks down and leaned back in his chair. "There's a meteor shower tonight. Peak visibility is around 10 PM. The observatory's open to students, but most people don't bother because it's cold and 'stargazing is boring' or whatever." He adjusted his mugs position. "I was going to go either way. You're welcome to join." "Senku Ishigami, are you asking me on a stargazing date?" "I'm asking you to observe a predictable astronomical event in the company of someone who won't ask stupid questions about aliens." He paused. "If that fits your definition of a date, then yes." You grinned into your coffee. "What time should I be ready?"

"Nine-thirty. Bring a jacket. It's cold out there."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll go." You reached over and stole a bite of his eggs. "But you're buying me pizza tomorrow."

"I already bought you pizza last week."

"And now you're buying it again."

He looked at you for a second, something soft flickering behind his tired eyes. Then he pushed his plate toward you. "Just take the rest. You're already stealing it anyway."

You didn't argue. "Oh and next time just be straight about taking me on a date no need to beat around the bush. You know I'll say yes."

"I was beating around the bush?"

You smiled into your next bite, "yes, you were."

…

The observatory was at the edge of campus, perched on a hill that overlooked the whole town. You'd walked past it a hundred times but never gone inside. Tonight, the main telescope was open to students, but Senku bypassed it entirely and led you to a flat patch of grass just outside the dome.

"The telescope's fine, but the real view is better with the naked eye," he said, spreading a blanket on the cold ground. "Meteor showers are about breadth, not magnification. You want to see as much of the sky as possible."

"I'll take your word for it."

You settled onto the blanket beside him, your shoulders touching, your breath fogging in the cold air. The sky was impossibly clear. No clouds, no moon, just an endless sweep of stars with the faint, dusty ribbon of the Milky Way cutting through the center.

Senku pointed. "There. That's the radiant. The Perseids. Well, not the Perseids, wrong time of year, but a smaller shower. The meteors will look like they're coming from that point."

You followed his finger but didn't see anything yet. Just stars. So many stars…

"How come you know so much unrelated to science?"

"Well, science explains a lot of things. There's always more knowledge to be learned."

"Most people just look at stars and think they're pretty."

"Most people are intellectually lazy." He glanced at you. "You're not most people."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't let it go to your head."

The first meteor streaked across the sky—a quick, silver flash that was gone almost before you could register it. You gasped and grabbed his arm without thinking.

"There! Did you see that?"

"I saw it. There'll be more."

There were. Every few minutes, another streak of light, so fast and bright it felt like the sky was putting on a show just for the two of you. You lay back on the blanket, your head pillowed on your arms, and Senku did the same beside you. His hand found yours in the dark. His fingers were cold, but his grip was steady.

"Hey," you said quietly.

"Hm."

"Thanks for this. For the stars. For the eggs this morning. For..." You gestured vaguely at everything. "Being you."

He was quiet for a moment. Then his thumb brushed across your knuckles.

"You've been happier lately. Since we started spending more time together. Since you moved in. Your mood's improved. You're not snapping as much. Less stress-eating at midnight." He paused. "I know I said I couldn't make a love potion. That the whole thing was a failure. But I think maybe I was overcomplicating it. Love isn't something you can synthesize in a lab—I already knew that. But it's also not some big dramatic thing you have to prove. It's just... this. Being around each other. Paying attention. Showing up."

He turned his head on the blanket to look at you. His face was half in shadow, but his eyes caught the starlight.

"Listen. You know I don't care much for grand gestures. They're inefficient and usually performative. But I know if I want to make you feel secure in all of this, I have to actually ask. So." He adjusted his grip on your hand, a nervous habit you'd catalogued weeks ago. "Can I be your boyfriend?"

You stared at him for a second. Then you laughed—not at him, just at the wording, the way he'd flipped it around like he was applying for a position.

"Usually people say 'will you be my girlfriend.'"

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed by now that I'm not exactly categorized with the regular masses."

"No," you said, squeezing his hand. "You're not. And yeah. Of course I'd love it if you were my boyfriend."

He exhaled, and some of the tension left his shoulders. "Okay. Good."

"Good?"

"That's what I said."

…

The week before Valentine's Day, Senku finally finished the love potion.

Not the love potion, he'd been clear about that from the start. What he'd actually made was something closer to a highly targeted oxytocin-dopamine compound, designed to temporarily mimic the neurochemical state of early infatuation without the irrational decision-making that usually came with it. He'd spent the last two weeks refining it, running simulations, documenting every failure and near-success in a notebook that had grown to twice its original size.

You'd watched him work on it in fragments, an hour here, a late night there, but mostly you'd been buried in your own deadlines. So when he walked into the living room holding a small, sealed vial of faintly shimmering liquid and announced, "It's done," you almost didn't believe him.

"It's done?"

"Done enough to submit. I'm not calling it a love potion. The official name is 'Synthetic Infatuation Cascade Inducer, Batch 7.' But it's stable. It works. Animal testing would be the next logical step, but since I don't have access to lab rats and I'm not about to test it on a human without ethics board approval, I'm handing it over to Professor Hayashi. She has contacts in the neuroscience department who might actually be able to do something with it."

He set the vial on the coffee table and dropped onto the futon beside you. He looked exhausted, purple shadows under his eyes, his hair a disaster even by his standards, but there was a quiet satisfaction in his expression that you'd only seen a handful of times before.

"I already started drafting the thesis," he added, almost as an afterthought. "For my doctorate program applications. It won't be relevant until I'm actually applying, but having preliminary research on the books won't hurt."

"Senku. You're not even a junior yet."

"And?"

You stared at him. Then you leaned over and kissed his cheek, quick and light. "You're so prepared, man I really need to step up my game."

"If you need any inspiration let me know, I'll be more than happy to help." You smiled smothering him in kisses for a good 3 minutes before you finally let him off, not that he minded in the first place.

…..

It was finally that day, drum roll please……

VALENTINES DAY!!

You woke up to a campus that had gone aggressively, nauseatingly pink.

Hearts dangled from every lamppost. Someone had draped a giant banner across the student center that read LOVE IS IN THE AIR in glittering red script. Couples were already out in full force—holding hands on the quad, exchanging stuffed animals outside the dining hall, kissing on benches like they were filming a montage for a rom-com. One guy was literally serenading his girlfriend with a guitar outside your building. At 8 a.m.

You pulled your hood up and walked faster.

It wasn't that you hated Valentine's Day. You'd had good ones before; cheesy high school dates, flowers delivered to your locker, the year your mom sent you a care package with heart-shaped cookies and a card that made you cry. But those memories felt distant now, buried under the last year's worth of situationships and disappointments. And this year, you had Senku. Real, official, boyfriend Senku. Which was great. It was more than great.

But you also knew exactly what kind of boyfriend he was.

He wasn't going to serenade you. He wasn't going to fill your room with balloons or write your name in rose petals across the quad. That wasn't him. It had never been him. And you'd made peace with that. You had.

At least, you thought you had.

The morning passed in unremarkable fashion. You had one class at ten, then another at noon. Senku was already gone by the time you woke up, a note on the counter in his terrible handwriting: Lab. Centrifuge broke. Don't wait up. You crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.

Your friends texted you photos of their Valentine's Day hauls. Yuzuriha sent a picture of a massive bouquet with the caption "from taiju. he picked them himself. they're all weeds." Kohaku sent a more elegant arrangement, pale pink roses in a ceramic vase she'd probably made herself. Even your old roommate, the one whose boyfriend had practically moved into your shoebox dorm, posted a photo of a candlelit dinner with the caption "so lucky 💕." And that was the night before valentines day.

You double-tapped it and kept scrolling.

By the time you met Senku at the lab that afternoon, you'd managed to lower your expectations to something approaching realistic. A box of chocolates, maybe. A card if he'd remembered. Nothing extravagant. Nothing performative. Just... something.

He was hunched over his laptop when you walked in, the centrifuge humming in the corner, his goggles pushed up into his hair. He looked up briefly. "Hey. The centrifuge is fixed. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"There's a 12% chance it explodes. I'm willing to risk it."

You stood there for a moment, waiting. He didn't get up. Didn't pull anything out from behind his back. Didn't even say happy Valentine's Day.

"Anyway," he said, turning back to his screen, "I'm almost done here. Give me twenty minutes and we can walk back together."

"Sure," you said. "Take your time."

You sat on your usual stool and pulled out your phone. A new post from Kohaku: a video of Taiju trying to bake heart-shaped cookies and setting off the fire alarm. You smiled, but it didn't reach your chest.

How did I even start liking him? The thought surfaced before you could stop it, quiet and unwelcome. He's nothing like what I thought I wanted.

It wasn't cruel. It wasn't even untrue. Senku wasn't romantic. He wasn't demonstrative. He didn't bring you flowers or write you love notes or do any of the things you'd grown up dreaming about. He was blunt and sarcastic and sometimes so buried in his own head that you had to physically wave a hand in front of his face to get his attention.

But then you thought about the cold rice at midnight. The mushroom lamp on the breakfast table. The way he'd offered you a room in his apartment like it was obvious, like you belonged there. The way he'd asked to be your boyfriend instead of the other way around, because he'd never done anything the usual way in his life.

You pocketed your phone and waited.

Twenty minutes later, you were walking back to the apartment in silence. The sun had set, and the lampposts had switched on their twinkly heart-shaped lights. A couple passed you on the sidewalk, giggling, their arms linked. You looked away.

"You've been quiet," Senku said.

"Just tired."

"Hm."

He didn't push. You didn't elaborate. The silence stretched until you reached the apartment door.

He unlocked it and stepped aside. "After you."

You pushed the door open, and the first thing that hit you was the smell. Lavender. Stronger than usual, like someone had just spritzed every surface in the apartment. You frowned and took a step inside—

And stopped.

Rose petals. A trail of them, soft pink and cream, scattered across the floor in a winding path that led down the hallway toward your room. The lamp on the coffee table was lit, casting a warm glow over the petals, and the whole apartment smelled like lavender, something faintly sweet and something reallyyyy good.

"What—"

"Go," Senku said behind you, his voice quiet. "I'll be right here."

You followed the petals. Your heart was hammering now, confusion and disbelief tangling in your chest. The trail led past the bathroom, past his bedroom, and stopped at your door, which was slightly ajar.

You pushed it open.

On your bed was a plushie, the round, soft, ridiculously cute one you'd pointed out at the campus bookstore three weeks ago and immediately put back because it was too expensive. Beside it, a bouquet of flowers. Not red roses, you'd never been a red roses person, but a wild, colorful arrangement of daisies and sunflowers and lavender sprigs that looked like it had been put together by someone who actually paid attention. A box of your favorite chocolate. A DoorDash gift card with a sticky note on it that said $100 in Senku's terrible handwriting. A small velvet box.

And next to the box, a portable charger. Pink. Compact. Exactly the brand you'd been complaining about needing for the past month.

You picked it up, your throat tight. "You got me a portable charger."

"Your phone is always dying," Senku said from the doorway. "It's inefficient. Now you have no excuse to disappear for three hours."

You turned around. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral. But his ears were red. Bright, unmistakable red.

"Senku."

"Open the box."

You did. Inside, nestled on a small cushion, was a necklace. Delicate. Silver. A tiny pendant shaped like a star—or maybe a molecule; at this point it could have been either, with a small clear stone in the center that caught the lamplight.

"You did all this," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you meant. "The petals. The flowers. The plushie. You don't—this isn't—you don't do stuff like this."

"No," he agreed. "I don't."

"Then why—"

"Because you do." He pushed off the doorframe and took a step toward you. "You pretend you don't care about this stuff, but you do. I've watched you. You get this look on your face when you see couples doing the big gestures. Not jealous. Just... wistful. Like you're happy for them but you're also wondering why nobody's ever done it for you."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. He wasn't wrong.

"I don't care about grand gestures," he continued. "They're performative and inefficient and most people do them for the wrong reasons. But you're not most people. And if there's one thing I've learned from all those weeks in the lab, it's that love isn't about what makes sense to me. It's about showing up for the other person in the way they need to be shown up for." He adjusted his glasses. "You needed this. So I did it. Simple."

"It's not simple," you managed. "This is—Senku, this is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Then your previous partners set a depressingly low bar."

A laugh burst out of you, wet and unexpected. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm accurate." He took another step closer. "You want to know what I would have put on the card?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

He pushed off the doorframe and took a step toward you. Then another.

"You know the lab's been quieter lately. Since you stopped coming as much." He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could see the nervous bob of his throat. "I used to think I preferred the quiet. Fewer distractions. More work gets done. But now I'll be in there running a simulation or whatever, and I'll catch myself staring at the door. Waiting for you to walk in and ask a question you should already know the answer to."

A laugh hiccuped out of you, half sob. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering.

"I'll be at my desk and I'll hear someone laugh down the hall and for a second I think it's you, and then it's not, and the whole room feels... I don't know. Dimmer. Less interesting." He tilted his head, studying your face. "You did that. You made my favorite place boring when you're not in it. That's annoying, by the way."

"Senku—"

He kissed you. Soft. Quick. Right between your eyebrows.

"Your voice is the loudest thing I've ever heard and I miss it when it's gone." He kissed your forehead. "You hum when you're concentrating. You don't even notice you're doing it." He kissed your temple. "You scrunch your nose up when you think something's stupid, which is often, because you have a low tolerance for nonsense." He kissed the corner of your mouth.

You were crying now. Not the ugly kind, just tears slipping down your cheeks while you stood there holding a portable charger and a velvet box and trying to remember how to breathe.

"You make everything louder," he said, quieter now. "Brighter. More chaotic. I didn't know I wanted that until you started showing up in my lab with your terrible handwriting and your coffee orders and your chin on my shoulder." He wiped a tear off your cheek with his thumb. "I don't know what I did before you moved in. I think I was just... working. Existing. It was fine. But it wasn't this."

He kissed your cheek. Your nose. The corner of your mouth again.

"You're the best variable of my life, that i hadn't accounted for," he murmured against your skin. "And I don't ever want to go back to a lab that doesn't have you in it."

The tears were still slipping down your cheeks, and you were about to pull him closer—actually pull him in, your hands already fisting the front of his shirt—when he suddenly pulled back.

"Hold on."

"What?"

"The timer." He was already stepping toward the door, adjusting his glasses with the hand that wasn't covered in your tears. "I put something in the oven before we left the lab. It should be done in about—"

The kitchen timer beeped, right on cue.

"You timed this," you said, your voice still thick.

"I time everything." He glanced back at you from the hallway, and his expression flickered—softer, just for a second. "Wash your face. It'll be ready when you come out."

You stood there for a moment, surrounded by rose petals and sunflowers and a plushie that was softer than anything you'd ever owned, and you pressed your fingers to your lips where his had just been. Then you did what he said. Washed your face. Took a breath. Walked out.

The apartment smelled incredible. Savory and warm and familiar—your favorite. You didn't even have to ask what it was. You just stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched him plate it with the same concentration he usually reserved for pipetting chemicals.

"You made my favorite."

"I noticed you hadn't had it in a while. The ingredients weren't hard to source." He handed you a plate without looking at you. "Go sit. Pick a movie. Something that won't annoy me."

"You're so bossy."

"You're so slow."

You grabbed the plate and settled onto the futon, pulling the lavender throw blanket over your lap. He sat beside you—closer than usual, his knee pressed against yours—and you put on something light, something you'd seen before, something that didn't require much brainpower. The food was perfect. Exactly what you needed. You ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the movie flickering in the background.

Then you set your fork down.

"Hey."

"Hm."

"I was really sad today."

He didn't say anything, but his hand found yours under the blanket.

"Not because of you," you continued. "Well. Kind of. I just—I woke up and everyone was posting their Valentine's stuff and I thought... I knew you weren't going to do any of that. And I'd made peace with it. I thought I'd made peace with it. But then I saw you in the lab and you didn't even say happy Valentine's Day and I just..." You shook your head. "I had this moment where I forgot why I liked you. Like I actually forgot. I was walking home thinking, 'He's nothing like what I wanted.'"

Senku was quiet. His thumb traced your knuckle.

"And then I walked in and it smelled like lavender and there were rose petals on the floor and you'd gotten me the stupid plushie I wouldn't shut up about three weeks ago." Your voice cracked. "You remembered. All of it. Even the portable charger. Even the DoorDash gift card because you know I hate cooking when I'm stressed. You remembered everything."

"I pay attention," he said quietly. "It's not that hard."

"It is, though. For most people. My ex didn't even remember my coffee order, and I dated him for four months. You remembered my Sprite. You remembered my favorite food. You remembered the plushie." You turned to look at him, and your eyes were wet again, but this time it didn't feel heavy. It felt light. "You saw me. All day, I felt invisible, and you saw me."

He didn't answer with words. Just reached up and tucked that same strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your jaw.

"Thank you," you whispered. "For seeing me."

"I always see you." His voice was barely above a murmur. "I can't not see you. You're the most noticeable variable in any room."

You laughed—wet and bright and full—and leaned forward until your forehead touched his.

"I love you," you said.

His breath caught. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

"I know," he said. And then, softer: "I love you too. Obviously."

💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 S M U T 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 (I listen to west coast by lana on repeat to write this)

And he kissed you, slow and sure, his hand sliding into your hair, your fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt, the movie forgotten, the plates half-empty, the apartment warm and quiet and full of lavender.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath to look at the needy, furrowed expression growing on his face.

He let out a small sigh as you climbed on to his lap, one of his hands settled on your waist as he pulled you in again. His other hand traveled slowly up your shirt…

the pad of his fingers brushing so softly, tracing up your spine. And his hand settled on your nape pushing your face closer to his.

Your mouth watered you could feel your eyebrows furrowing with need, God, how beautiful this man was…

His head was tipped back against the futon cushion, eyes half-closed, lips parted as he dragged air into his lungs. The line of his throat was exposed—pale, elegant, a little damp with the sheen of effort. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

you shifted on his rolling your hips back as you lowered your lips to his throat.  When you leaned in and brushed your lips just beneath it, he inhaled sharply, and you felt the vibration of the sound travel through his skin to your mouth. You kissed it again, softer, and this time he made a noise low in his chest, half surprise, half something else entirely, and his Adam’s apple jumped under your lips like it was trying to escape your attention. You smiled against his throat.

"Are you nervous?"

You nudged his chin up with your knuckle, and he let you—surrendered, actually, with an exhale that was almost a sigh. The lamplight spilled down the newly exposed expanse of his throat: smooth skin, the subtle ridges of his trachea, the dip right above his collarbone that looked like it was made for your mouth.

He tried to blow his nervousness off with a easy chuckle, but it came out raspy, barely even considered a laugh as it settled into a slight groan when you placed wet kisses from his lips…

to his jaw….

his adams apple…

His grip on your nape tighten for a nanosecond when you kisses his ear. You titled your head just enough to watch his lips part, his adams apple bob, and his eyes to flutter at the feeling.

Your name barely sounded out of his lips. "Yes? Senku." You whispered so soft.

A groan ripped from his throat when you sucked on the skin just behind his ear. "StasticAClly speaking," his voice cracked.

"Senku don't start you bullshit." You said not-so-softly. Your hips rolled against his. "I don't get turned on by talking stats." You explained.

You weren't even gonna let him finish explaining, so he'd just have to show you without the explanation.

His hand slipped down from your neck and out of your shirt. He nudged you off of him.

Had you ruined the moment?

Senku stood up grabbing your wrist. You were yanked up from the couch, to your surpise, and led to his room.

As soon as he cross the threshold you were yanked into the room with strength you didn't know he had. The door slammed close as your back hit the door.

His teeth hitting yours as he smashed his lips against yours. Your hands pinned down on either sides of your head.

Your legs pressed into his leg that separated yours.

His hands dragged down your wrists, tracing your curved until his hands looped under your shirt and pull it right off of you.

His knee shifted higher as his hand came up pulling at your hips by your belt loop. A soft sound falls from your lips as his knee rubs against your aching heat, while he unbuttons your pants and move to pull them down revealing a light pink lacey set.

Senku noticed how you tried to hide away, averting your eyes subtly trying to hide yourself from his gaze.

The pad of his lower thumb brushed against your bottom lip, your jaw going slack in his hold. He tilts your head up, it felt as if his crimson eyes were devouring you.

He brought his mouth down to yours moving his hand to cup your jaw as he kissed you, slow, deep. His tongue pushing to brush against the roof of your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers combed through his hair scratching at his scalp trying to pull him impossibly closer.

"Open." He kissed, "your eyes." He kissed through. And you opened your eyes letting his gaze drink in your every reaction.

The kiss parted with a string of saliva And he kissed wet slow kisses on your neck allowing your eyes to flutter closed and your head to fall slack against the door with a soft thud.

Your name rumbled low from his lips, "Tell me… What are you thinking about right now."

What were you thinking about?

His tongue pressed against your ear, that tingle in your throat finally eased with a soft moan. "I'll stop if you don't say anything." Your nails dig into his scalp as if to keep him there.

He rubbed slow circles on your hips. "N— othin'," the word barely comes out.

"Are you sure?" He asked again his lips stopped, they hovered over your kiss. His hand ran over your stomach your body flinching in as he skips your pussy and goes for your clenched thigh, prying his two fingers between to go up… and up to press while he traced his thumb up your pink centre.

You push your hips against his hand. He watches you, he could tell by the whine in your voice, the desperation in your expression, you were close.

Senku pulled his hand away and you opened your eyes, only for him to cover them. "Don't open them."

It was dark, the heat of him was inches away, and your whole body was straining toward it like a plant toward light. Your lips parted. "Your breathing's changed," he murmured. "Deeper. Slower. Your lips just parted. Are you imagining something?"

"Yes."

"Tell me." His voice was so soft.

You swallowed as your mind wandered off or maybe it didn't. you couldn't tell if it was him actually touching or if your mind was playing trick on you.

"Described it." His voice guided you. "More detail. What are my hands doing? Where? What does it feel like?" — until you were trembling, until the fantasy was so vivid behind your closed eyelids that you could almost feel his fingers on your skin even though he still hadn't moved.

"Good," he breathed. "Now open your eyes." You did. He was right there, inches away, his pupils blown wide, his expression caught between clinical fascination and something much hungrier.

"You're so worked up right now that a single touch might send you over the edge," he said, his voice rougher than before. "I could kiss your neck and you'd probably—" His thumb brushed the hollow of your throat, feather-light, and your whole body shuddered. "—yeah…. Like that…That's exactly the response I was looking for."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. Your eyes rolling shut. You felt his head dip as he hooked his arm under one of your legs and threw it over his shoulder. He hooked two fingers on the side of your panties and tugged them to the side.

His adams apple bobbed again, his mouth watering. He pressed a wet kiss to your clit, then another, longer the second time. Your lips parted curses falling from your lips when his tongue lapped and pressed between your folds right underneath you clit.

You pushed your hips into his face and his face deeper into your hips "Fu—fuck." You whimper grinding down on his face. You grabbed the door handle so tight your knuckles turned a lighter shade as you stared down at him.

His face between your legs, smushed against the fat of your thighs, the blush on his cheeks and his hurried gaze.

You threw your head back getting louder, pitchier. buckling and rolling your hips.

Almost, you were almost there…

His cheeks hallowed as he sucked on your clit prodding at the bud it felt so good there was a tinge of pain. He pushed your hips more into his face as he slides down to your hole. His tongue lapped up your slick, his adams-apple bobbing up and down with every slurp.

his tongue felt so good but it wasn't enough it only made you more needy. You needed something bigger, thicker. Fuck you were past the point of desperation.

You pulled him up and back him up on to the bed as you tugged as his belt then his pants buckle and zipper. He raised his hips, making it easier to pull him from his restraints.

You would take a proper look at his dick later. You climb on his lap, reaching behind you to grab his dick and line him up with your hole and your sat down.

Your eyes rolled close. You were seeing flashes of white, gasping for air. Senku let out a groan broken into a whimpering moan at the end his head fell back against the plush of the bed.

You placed your hands on his chest, moving your hips up and down. His hands came to your hips to pull you back down to meet his hips thrusting up.

Your thighs were starting to burn but you were getting closer the more his tip prodded at your spot. "Sen—" You couldn't even finish saying his name.

The coils in your lower stomach were tightening and tightening. Senku's dick throbbed and twitched in you. He was close, his pace got sloppy more desperate just as your did.

Senku clenched his teeth throwing his head back a loud groan cutting through the air as you squeezed around him trembling coming undone. He road you through your high and quickly pull out cumming all over his stomach.

You fell forward a wave of exhaustion coming over you.

That was the best. You thought, it was the best sex you ever had.

You let out a sigh as he kissed your forehead. For a moment you both laid there in silence threatening to fall asleep just like that.

"Come on, You have to use the bathroom and take a shower." He rasped

He was right but man you were exhausted, and your legs felt weak.

You both showered together and… Somehow ended up going another round in the process and when you finally got out. Senku had to haul you to your room and help you put on some pajamas and he did the same, crawling into the bed right next to you.

THE END FOR NOW MAYBE

Chat how did I do??? genuinely, it's been so long since I tried to write sex, the shame and embarrassment were almost too much but i pushed though can gave you as much as I could with no sleep and about 2 hours of going through: how to write smut/sex for dummies, sex dictionary and a few other things. I would love pointers if you're open to giving them. I have to say although its not a long drawn out slow burn college au with academic rivals to lovers, sharing a dorm room cause iit was included in their scholarship. I still like it... It's sersously better than nothing... Finding senku college au's is so hard for me usually they're all cannon and long extremely old but if i do find a good one the author stops upload (save me from this senku drought)

Thanks for reading my banter! Have a Bless better day lovlies!