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preface ꩜ good evening this is different from my usual stuff (actual fanfiction, larping, and schizoposting) but i really wanted to explore something that's been bothering me for quite some time and thought this would serve useful especially fanfic writers. so um i hope you don't mind this small yap. tldr is down below if too lazy 2 read
಄ ⋆ PRELIMINARIES / ABSTRACT
this post examines the tendency of English-speaking fandom to reinterpret Japanese naming conventions through English-speaking linguistic frameworks. i will be using several different forms of Eastern media, such as Jujutsu Kaisen for case study. i'll be exploring why epithets are frequently mistaken for personal names, how Japanese naming works, how translation contributes to this misaligned phenomenon, and why these reinterpretations become normalized through fandom. while truthfully, triggered by one particularly frustrating fanfiction, i'll be arguing that the issue reflects a broader linguistic pattern rather than isolated author error.
಄ ⋆ BACKGROUND
to bring to light why i wrote this, while reading an otherwise enjoyable fanfiction, i encountered a line in which Heian-era sukuna was addressed by "ryomen" as though it were his given name, and this had been a repeated trend i've seen in Jujutsu Kaisen sukuna fanfiction. this tiny detail—which objectively should not have occupied my thoughts for as long as it did—sent me down an unfortunate rabbit hole regarding naming conventions in Japanese media, translation practices, and the tendency for English-speaking fandom to reconstruct unfamiliar linguistic systems into something more recognizable.
names are rarely "just names," even within simplistic language systems. across different cultures, they carry distinct systems, conventions, and social functions that determine not only what a person is called, but why they are called that in the first place. English-speaking fan communities frequently interpret foreign naming systems through familiar Western frameworks.
಄ ⋆ SIGNIFICANCE
i believe it is well known that fanfiction often rewards emotional accuracy over linguistic accuracy (not saying disparagingly). however, repeated reinterpretations of foreign naming systems can gradually become accepted as "common knowledge" within fandom. examining why this occurs reveals less about individual writers and more about how language shapes the way audiences understand unfamiliar cultures.
i believe it is well known that fanfiction often rewards emotional accuracy over linguistic accuracy (not saying disparagingly). however, repeated reinterpretations of foreign naming systems can gradually become accepted as "common knowledge" within fandom. examining why this occurs reveals less about individual writers and more about how language shapes the way audiences understand unfamiliar cultures.
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 1. WHAT DOES A NAME DO?
to start, i must quote unnecessarily, "i think therefore i am." this does not mean anything, i just really wanted to use it because it's funny.
before discussing why fandom repeatedly misinterprets foreign names, we first have to answer a surprisingly difficult question. what exactly is a name? a name, linguistically, is a term used for identification by an external observer and it can identify a class, a category of things, a single thing (people, places, objects) either uniquely, or within a given context. the entity identified by a name is called its referent. a naming convention is a set of agreed, stipulated, or generally accepted standards, norms, social norms, or criteria for naming things. it is important to note that names have rules.
at first glance, a name looks like a label. a chair is a "chair," a table is called a "table," it's a very simple concept. but people are not objects, human names do not just classify, they distinguish. when i say "dog," i've identified a category; when i say "hachiko," i've identified one specific individual. so therefore, names are referential rather than descriptive. their primary purpose is to let which person is being talked about, not what kind of person they are. that's why names can be completely arbitrary, because it's simply a pointer.
names also don't just identify people. they also encode relationships, telling you by who calls you what something about your relationship hence, the difference of someone calling you Jonathan, John, Johnny, Dad, Mr. Sherlock, Big John. They are all referring to the same person but every choice communicates something different; familiarity, hierarchy, affection, respect, distance, and intimacy. and i'm sure a bunch of other things.
English-speakers often unconsciously assume that [First Name, denoting who they are] [Middle Name, denoting a specifier] [Last Name, denoting from where they came] is the default and universal human format. it isn't obviously, different cultures answer completely different questions. some emphasize family, ancestry, then some emphasize birthplace or achievements. some religion, some ranks. that's why some cultures have patronymics, some don't have surnames, some have courtesy names, some names change throughout their life.
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 2. NAMES HAVE JOBS, NOT ALL JOBS ARE NAMES
there are several different categories in which names fall in (sources i'm using are very broad, but i'll link them below), that are often unused, unheard, or underutilized in the English language. having established that names are social tools rather than arbitrary labels, we now encounter another problem: English frequently treats every identifier attached to a person as though it were simply "their name." linguistically, however, many of these identifiers perform entirely different functions. They may indicate family lineage, social status, profession, achievement, respect, or reputation rather than personal identity itself.
the most important question isn't "what is this called?" when talking about names, but instead "what job is this word doing?" so consider the sentence, "Professor Smith spoke to John." both "Professor" and "John" identify the same individual in different contexts, but they do not perform the same linguistic function.one indicates institutional status, while the other functions as a personal identifier. so? words attached to people aren't interchangeable.
⋆ personal identifiers
a given name is a name that identifies the individual within their family or community, it's typically a name assigned to an individual at birth or later in life. in English, this is often the first name. it primarily serves toto distinguish them from other members of the same family. examples are John, Satoru (悟), Yor, Leon.
a family name (surname) is a name that identifies a person's family lineage and is shared among relatives. depending on the culture, it may appear before or after the given name (while stylistic choices are of course welcomed, standard practices adopt the original culture's naming order). examples are Gojo (五条), Smith, Liu (劉).
a middle name is an additional personal name placed between the given and family name. its purpose varies widely between cultures and may commemorate relatives, saints, or simply provide another identifier. examples include John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Leon Scott Kennedy.
a patronymic is a name derived from one's father (or sometimes a male ancestor). it indicates parentage rather than functioning as a hereditary surname. the female version, a matronymic, is derived from one's mother rather than father. it is less common globally but exists in several naming traditions. examples: Ivan Ivanonich ("son of Ivan").
a clan name identifies membership in a larger kinship group rather than an immediate family. multiple unrelated households may share the same clan. examples are Gojo (術師家) and the Uchiha (うちは一族).
⋆ social identifiers
a title is a name that denotes rank, occupation, office, or status rather than identity. titles answer the question of "what are you?" rather than "who are you?" examples include: King, Doctor, Professor, Lord, Captain.
an honorific is a word or title or grammatical form that conveys respect, familiarity, or social hierarchy between speakers. unlike titles, honorifics describe the relationship between people rather than the identity of the individual. examples include: in Japanese, -san (used to convey respect used between any age), -sama (used for individuals with a higher rank than oneself, -kun (used to refer to people of junior status or men in general), in English, Mr., Mrs., Sir, in Indonesian kak, mas, mbak.
a house name denotes the membership in a noble or dynastic house. example: House Stark, House Windsor. a courtesy name is an additional name adopted upon reaching adulthood or entering society. It is often used by peers instead of the person's birth name. this is historically common in Chinese naming traditions. example is Confucius' (Kongzi) courtesy name Zhongni (仲尼).
a temple name is a name bestowed after death upon monarchs in several East Asian traditions and is primarily used in historical or religious contexts. a posthumous name is a name granted after death and often reflects the person's achievements or character. unlike a birth name, it was never used by the individual during life.
a regnal name is a name adopted when someone ascends to a throne or other high office. example: Pope Francis, Queen Elizabeth II.
a religious name/dharma name is a name adopted upon entering a religious order or undergoing initiation. Ii often symbolizes spiritual rebirth or new identity.
⋆ descriptive identifiers
an epithet is a descriptive word or phrase attached to a person's name that highlights a characteristic, reputation, or distinguishing feature. unlike a given name, an epithet describes rather than identifies. examples: Alexander the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Richard the Lionheart, Ryōmen ("two-faced") Sukuna.
a sobriquet is an informal descriptive nickname earned through reputation, personality, or achievement. unlike a legal name, it develops through public use.
a byname is an additional identifier attached to distinguish someone from others with the same personal name. it often describes appearance, occupation, birthplace, or family. many historical epithets function as bynames.
⋆ chosen identifiers
a nickname is an informal alternative used by friends, family, or acquaintances. nicknames often shorten, modify, or replace a person's given name. examples: Jonathan → Jon, Katherine → Kate. meanwhile an alias is an assumed name used instead of one's legal identity, often for privacy, disguise, or professional reasons.
an art name is a name adopted by artists, scholars, or writers as part of their creative identity. this is a also called a pseudonym or moniker. examples are Su Shi also known as Dongpo Jushi, Takashi Murakami, KAWS.
a pen name (nom de plume) is a pseudonym adopted by an author for publication. a stage name is a professional identity used by performers instead of their legal name. a username identifies an individual within a digital environment. unlike legal names, usernames are chosen, platform-specific, and need not correspond to real-world identity.
notice that every category above identifies a person in some capacity, yet none performs exactly the same job. English often collapses these distinctions under the broad concept of a "name," whereas many other naming systems preserve functional differences between personal names, titles, honorifics, and descriptive epithets. while all of these may appear beside a person's identity, they are not interchangeable. some identify the individual, some identify their family, some describe their reputation, and others communicate social relationships. referring to all of them simply as "names" obscures the distinct roles they perform within their respective cultures.
if these distinctions are so common across cultures, why do English-speaking readers so frequently flatten them into a single naming system?
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 3. WHY ENGLISH SPEAKERS MISREAD FOREIGN NAMES
having established that names perform different social functions across cultures, we arrive at another question: if these distinctions exist, why are they so frequently overlooked in English-speaking fandom? the answer is surprisingly mundane. it is not usually a failure of research (though it's the second most common reason), nor a lack of intelligence. rather, it is a consequence of how humans process unfamiliar information.
the first reason is that our brains simply do this because of pattern recognition or schema activation, something i spend much time on in thinking. we as humans are extraordinarily good at categorization. we don't read every unfamiliar thing from scratch—we compare it to something we already know. linguists call these mental shortcuts schemas but for this, i simply call it 'already knowing enough' (larping). when English speakers encounter "Ryomen Sukuna," our brains don't consciously ask what naming convention is being used. they see two capitalized words and immediately retrieve the closest familiar template.
a lot of what contributes to the reason of why people mistake foreign names so badly, especially names with their own alphabet, and especially with vastly different scripts, is due to once transliterated into the Latin alphabet, these names become visually familiar to English-speaking audiences. they appear to follow the same structure as English names—two capitalized words separated by a space—despite often operating according to entirely different cultural conventions. this visual familiarity encourages readers to unconsciously apply English naming expectations where they may not belong. humans also do chunking. you don't read Tanjiro as T-a-n-j-i-r-o, but Tan-Ji-Ro. you don't read my username as kayuekou but it gets mentally segmented as kay-ue-kou. or if you come from a more East Asian linguistic background, ka-yue-kou.
and this isn't ...nearly all your fault. after being immersed in English naming conventions, ie. Jane Doe, Peter Parker John B. Smith, our brains automatically shove Ryomen Sukuna, Kuroki Tomoko, Kamado Tanjiro into the same system. Ryomen Sukuna is chunked into Ryomen (first name) - Sukuna (last name).
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 4. EVERYTHING GETS ENGLISH'D
so now, having established why English-speaking readers naturally reinterpret unfamiliar naming systems, it becomes apparent that this phenomenon extends far beyond Japanese media, my original grievance. whenever a naming system differs significantly from English conventions, readers often simplify, reorganize, or reinterpret it into something more immediately recognizable.
in practice, what does this look like?
first, mistaking family names as first names because of the Eastern name order (family name first, given name second), obviously this is most commonly seen in East Asian names. my examples will primarily derive from Japanese, mostly due to its almost uniquely similar structure to English when transliterated. this is often seen in Japanese fan media, which i found most prominent in fanfiction made pre-2021, such as mistaking Gojo for Satoru's given name.
specifically in Japanese, starting from the Meiji Restoration in 1868, the Western name order was primarily used among the Japanese nobility when identifying themselves to non-Asians with their romanized names. as a result, in popular Western publications, the order became increasingly used for Japanese names the following decades (Shinzo Abe, Osamu Dazai, Satoru Gojo). however! in 2020, the Government of Japan reverted the Westernized name order back to the Eastern name order in official documents, and has recommended that the same format be used amongst general Japanese public; they also requested Western publications to change this. this is a big reason why Japanese becomes quite confusing when you dip your foot in and understand what the Eastern naming order looks like, because sometimes you don't know if they're using the Western or Eastern order. unlike the Chinese and the Koreans who have never used Western name order (Chinese leader Xi Jinping not being referred to as Jinping Xi, Moon Jae-in is not Jae-in Moon).
second, names getting split strangely. i recently saw in a fanfiction (that i've put on hold simply because of this) that the author named the fanon interpretation of the Gojo twins as Sato and Toru. this is most likely because they assume those are natural halves of "Satoru." Except Japanese morphology doesn't work that way. likewise, my name has been mistakenly used quite a lot, my nickname from my moniker kayuekou sometimes become kay because "Kay" already exists in English.
but this is especially frustrating once you understand that the kanji system, derived from hanzi, uses a logographical system. meaning, the Japanese writing for a name, almost always has a set meaning. "五条悟" or Gojo Satoru is split into "Gojo" or "五条" meaning 五 five, 条 an article or clauses, and 悟 meaningly enlightenment or to understand. the second you strip away Satoru and become Sato, that has become a completely. new name. in some dictionaries, maybe Sato as 悟 could happen, and i've checked myself on jisho that there is a given name called Sato with that exact kanji, but now it's a matter of logic and accuracy. Sato is almost alway used as a surname; Sato as 葛巻, Sato as 郡, Sato as 慧. there are rules to what a kanji can or cannot do in a name, but i will not deep dive into that in this essay.
third, in Russian, and a classic example, Ivan Ivanovich Petrov is often frequently read by English-speakers as Ivan, Middle name Ivanoich, Last name Petrov when the "middle name" is actually just telling you whose son he is. fourth, a fascinating one because it almost flips the problem, are Thai names. Thai people commonly have long legal names (due to surnames needing to be legally unique, therefore combining many words and subsequently creating incredibly long surnames) and short nicknames, sometimes ones that don't have any relation to their legal name. many foreigners sometimes assume the nickname isn't their "real" name, when culturally, it's often the primary everyday identifier.
although each example arises from a different language, the underlying mechanism remains remarkably consistent. readers encounter an unfamiliar naming system, identify superficial similarities to English, and unconsciously reorganize it according to English expectations. the details differ; the cognitive process does not.
a worthwhile minor topic to touch is things that English speaking writers accidentally normalize. such as the tendency of first-name basis immediately, honorific inconsistencies, modern Western flirting in Eastern historical settings, school culture assumptions, legal names vs epithets. i would touch the topic but i'm no fiddler.
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 5. NOT EVERYTHING IS A GIVEN (NAME)
by this point, we have established three things. firstly, names are not merely arbitrary labels, but social tools that identify individuals within a cultural system. secondly, not every identifier attached to a person performs the same function. lastly, English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through frameworks they already recognize. we now arrive at one of the most common consequences of this process: assuming that every identifier attached to a person is a given name.
not every word attached to a person is attempting to answer the same question. like we discussed in the previous chapters, a given name answers, "who are you?" a family name answers, "which family do you belong to?" a patronymic answers, "whose child are you?" a title answers, "what is your rank, occupation, or position?" an honorific answers, "how should I address you?" an epithet answers, "what are you known for?"
these may all appear beside one another when referring to a single person, yet they are not interchangeable. they perform different linguistic and social functions despite identifying the same referent.
epithets are probably the clearest example of this distinction. an epithet is not another personal name, but a descriptive identifier attached to an individual because of a notable characteristic, achievement, reputation, or physical trait. history is full of them. Alexander the Great, Richard the Lionheart, Ivan the Terrible, Erik the Red, and William the Conqueror are all remembered through epithets. English speakers immediately recognize that "the Great" is not Alexander's surname, nor is "Lionheart" Richard's given name. these descriptors tell us something about the individual rather than functioning as the individual's personal identity.
the interesting part is that this intuition often disappears when the epithet originates from another language.
once romanized into the Latin alphabet, foreign epithets lose many of the visual and cultural cues that distinguish them from ordinary names. rather than seeing a descriptive title, English-speaking readers often see another capitalized word occupying the same position as a conventional first name. without consciously realizing it, the epithet is reassigned a new job. it is no longer interpreted as a description, but as a personal identifier.
this distinction matters because misunderstanding an identifier is not simply a matter of pronunciation or terminology. it changes the role that identifier plays within the naming system itself. an epithet interpreted as a given name no longer functions as a description; it becomes an identity. a title mistaken for a surname no longer indicates social position; it becomes ancestry. in other words, the word has not changed—but the job we assign to it has.
so anyway. this brings us to another important question. if these distinctions are meaningful, why do official translations, subtitles, and fan translations so rarely communicate them? more importantly, are translators responsible for preserving these naming systems, or are readers simply encountering the unavoidable limitations of translation itself?
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 6. TRANSLATION FUELS THESE MISTAKES
so now that we've established that identifiers perform different linguistic functions and that English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through familiar frameworks, another question inevitably follows: if these distinctions are important, why do translations so rarely preserve them?
the answer is not that translators are careless. rather, translation itself is an exercise in compromise.
contrary to popular belief, translation is not simply the process of replacing one word with another. every translator must constantly decide what should be preserved. should priority be given to literal meaning, readability, cultural context, historical accuracy, emotional impact, or natural dialogue? more often than not, preserving one inevitably sacrifices another.
names are particularly difficult because they rarely carry meaning in isolation. instead, they exist within larger cultural systems that are often invisible to those who already understand them. a Japanese reader generally does not require a footnote explaining the function of an honorific, the order of family and given names, or whether an identifier is an epithet rather than a personal name. these conventions are already understood. an English-speaking audience, however, approaches the same text without that shared cultural framework.
romanization further complicates this process. when Japanese is written in its native scripts, it is immediately recognizable as a different writing system. readers instinctively understand that they are encountering another language. once those same names are transliterated into the Latin alphabet, however, they become visually familiar. two capitalized words separated by a space resemble countless English names, despite following entirely different cultural conventions. the alphabet remains familiar even when the language does not.
this creates what i consider one of romanization's greatest paradoxes: it increases accessibility while simultaneously creating an illusion of familiarity. readers correctly recognize the letters, but unconsciously assume they also recognize the system behind them. translation, therefore, often preserves the words while inevitably losing parts of the framework that gives those words meaning.
again, this is not unique to Japanese. consider honorifics such as -san, -kun, or -sama. many English translations omit them entirely because there is rarely a natural English equivalent that carries identical social nuance. likewise, patronymics in Russian are frequently interpreted as middle names, while Chinese family names are often mistaken for given names simply because the translated text cannot pause to explain an entirely different naming convention every time a character is introduced.
doing so would be impractical. imagine a subtitle interrupting every conversation with a linguistic lecture explaining why a particular identifier is functioning as an epithet rather than a personal name. accurate? perhaps. readable? absolutely not. translation, after all, is intended to communicate a story—not to teach an entire course in comparative linguistics.
this is where fandom enters the equation. readers naturally fill in the missing pieces using the only framework they possess: their own. one fanfiction assigns an English role to an unfamiliar identifier. another writer adopts the same convention. a hundred readers encounter it repeatedly. eventually, what began as an unconscious interpretation slowly transforms into accepted fanon. the reinterpretation is no longer questioned because, through repetition, it begins to feel canonical. translation does not create these misunderstandings on its own. it merely provides the conditions under which they become possible. the actual reinterpretation occurs in the minds of readers, where unfamiliar linguistic systems are quietly reorganized into something that feels comfortably familiar.
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 7. CASE STUDY
which leads to a minor footnote, and the inciting example on why i made this post. one of my favorite little linguistic quirks in JJK is that "Ryomen Sukuna" isn't really a given name in the way a lot of English-speaking fans read it.
the historical figure that inspired Jujutsu Kaisen's Sukuna is traditionally known as Ryōmen Sukuna. the term Ryōmen (両面) literally means "two-faced" or "two-sided," referring to the figure's unusual appearance. rather than functioning as an ordinary personal name, it is widely understood as a descriptive epithet attached to Sukuna.
as discussed in chapter 2, epithets perform a fundamentally different function from given names. they describe rather than identify. however, once romanized into the Latin alphabet, "Ryōmen Sukuna" visually resembles a conventional English first name–surname pairing. the epithet is therefore reassigned a familiar role: first name. this interpretation is further reinforced through repetition. once a sufficient number of fanworks address Sukuna as "Ryomen," subsequent writers encounter the convention repeatedly and naturally assume it reflects canon. over time, the reinterpretation becomes self-perpetuating, not because readers consciously reject the original naming system, but because the English framework has already become normalized within the community.
modern AUs present a somewhat different situation. since these settings intentionally remove characters from their historical and cultural contexts, writers are free to assign entirely new naming conventions if they wish. someone may choose to reinterpret "Ryomen" as a legal first name simply because it functions conveniently within the world of their story (but still, when you take into account kanji, and you should, it becomes messy). fanfiction is, after all, transformative by nature.
admittedly, none of this prevents me from visibly twitching every time Heian-era Uraume solemnly addresses Sukuna as "Ryomen" with the energy of someone calling Alexander the Great "Great." that, however, is a personal problem rather than a linguistic one. not everyone is a nitpicker. ultimately, the question is not whether fanfiction is "allowed" to call Sukuna "Ryomen." fanfiction has never depended upon strict historical or linguistic accuracy. rather, this example demonstrates how easily unfamiliar naming systems become reorganized according to the expectations of another language. what appears to be a single naming choice is, in reality, the product of translation, cognition, and community convention acting together.
಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 8: WHAT CAN YOU DO?
if this essay has accomplished anything, i hope it has not convinced you that your fanfiction is "wrong." rather, i hope it has convinced you that naming conventions are often far more culturally complex than they first appear.
the purpose of this essay has never been to argue that every writer should become a historian, a linguist, or a professional translator before opening Google Docs. fanfiction is transformative by design. writers are free to alter names, settings, relationships, and entire worlds if doing so serves the story they wish to tell.
the distinction lies in intentionality.
there is a meaningful difference between deliberately changing a naming convention because it better suits your story and unconsciously changing it because you assumed it worked like English. the former is a creative decision. the latter is simply a assumption. fortunately, assumptions are surprisingly easy to challenge.
when writing characters from another culture—particularly historical settings—it is often worth asking a few simple questions before assigning an unfamiliar identifier a familiar role. is this actually the person's given name? could this instead be a title, epithet, clan name, patronymic, courtesy name, or honorific? am I following a convention because the source material suggests it, or because other fanfiction does? if i removed my English expectations, would i still interpret this name the same way? the answer, of course, may still be "I'm going to write it this way anyway." and that is perfectly acceptable.
the goal is not perfect authenticity. absolute historical accuracy has never been the defining characteristic of fanfiction, nor should it be. creative writing thrives on reinterpretation. what matters is understanding what you are reinterpreting.
once you recognize that names are cultural systems rather than isolated words, small details begin to reveal themselves everywhere. family names stop looking like first names. patronymics stop looking like middle names. epithets stop looking like legal names. romanized words stop feeling automatically familiar simply because they share the same alphabet. most importantly, you become aware of your own assumptions. language is remarkably good at making itself invisible. we rarely notice the frameworks through which we interpret the world until we encounter one that functions differently. by then, our brains have often already attempted to reorganize the unfamiliar into something comfortably recognizable.
that tendency is not a personal failing. it is simply how humans make sense of the world. the challenge—and, perhaps, the fun—is learning to recognize when our own language is quietly filling in gaps that another culture never intended to leave. and if nothing else, perhaps the next time you encounter an unfamiliar name in a piece of media, you'll pause for just a moment before asking the question that inspired this entire essay: "is that actually their name... or have i simply given it an English job?"
oh and start using dictionaries.
಄ ⋆ CONCLUSION / TL;DR
this essay began because one (1) line in one (1) fanfiction annoyed me far more than any reasonable person should probably admit. human beings are exceptionally good at recognizing patterns, therefore English speaking consumers and writers interprets foreign naming systems through a framework they're already familiar with. the result is not usually malice, laziness, or ignorance—it is simply the remarkably human tendency to organize unfamiliar things into familiar categories.
this essay therefore is not an argument for linguistic perfection, nor is it a declaration that fanfiction must adhere to strict historical authenticity. rather, it is an invitation to become more conscious of the assumptions we bring into the media we consume and create. understanding that names have different jobs, that translation cannot preserve every cultural nuance, and that fandom often reinforces its own conventions allows us to appreciate foreign naming systems on their own terms. and if, after reading all of this, you still decide to call Heian-era Sukuna "Ryomen" anyway... well, i cannot stop you. i can, however, quietly sigh, open another tab, and begin drafting the sequel to this essay.
this essay therefore is not an argument for linguistic perfection, nor is it a declaration that fanfiction must adhere to strict historical authenticity. rather, it is an invitation to become more conscious of the assumptions we bring into the media we consume and create. understanding that names have different jobs, that translation cannot preserve every cultural nuance, and that fandom often reinforces its own conventions allows us to appreciate foreign naming systems on their own terms. and if, after reading all of this, you still decide to call Heian-era Sukuna "Ryomen" anyway... well, i cannot stop you. i can, however, quietly sigh, open another tab, and begin drafting the sequel to this essay.
fanfics exist as reiterations that are almost separate from canon material, and the way non-western names operate in fanfiction can showcase how cultural differences are not (and, depending on a fic’s premises, cannot be) taken into consideration when writing
i think a small grievance of mine is when authors give characters nicknames that don’t necessarily work with the native alphabet of the character, exs: kats for katsuki, or megs for megumi. the japanese language doesn’t really have a letter ‘s’ that exists in isolation, hence the japanese versions of these nicknames end up reading as: kat-su or meg-su)
these don’t and shouldn’t take away from the art of writing fanfics, however! like mentioned, a lot of the points are just a reflection of a broader linguistic pattern—most, if not all people enter fandom spaces for the love of the game!
inspired by this clip of ronaldo bc it genuinely cracks me up - cw: fem reader, suggestive
you're no stranger to your boyfriend kaiser showing you off. michael doesn’t generally even like people, let alone love them, so the fact that he’s dating you really is a big deal to him. sure, he’s not the perfect boyfriend. he can be mean and he can come off as somewhat uncaring sometimes, but you know he loves you terribly, utterly and completely. you know it, and his fans know too.
ever since you two went public, his instagram page has been filled to the brim with pictures of you, maybe even to the point of exhaustion. his tough-boy instagram dumps are suddenly softened by candids of you laughing softly, or pictures of you two together. he does it to show you that he loves you, and he chose you, and that fuuuuuck is he proud to date a pretty girl like you.
so his fans have learned to know and love you as he does, and you’ve grown accustomed to their little comments, to that tiny, far presence in your life. after all, it’s michael you really care about. and he’s absolutely nuts about you, even though he tries to act like he doesn’t care. (he’s scared of all the warm, soft feelings he feels for you - but he tries his best.)
this balance has been more or less there for a while now.
that is, until you wake up one morning with your phone absolutely drowning in notifications, people tagging you nonstop. the second you see this, your heart drops, because something really bad must’ve happened.
instead, the comments just look… nice? amused, even?
confused, you gaze at your sleeping boyfriend next to you. he looks like a little angel, those unfairly pretty lashes of his casting a shadow on his cheeks, lips ever so slightly parted as he’s still deep into slumber, his hair all over the place. you almost feel bad for waking him. still, it comes out of your mouth so naturally.
“mihya, what did you do?”
he tosses a bit, stirs half-awake with a groan of protest.
“nothing,”
he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, eyes still closed. his arm wraps around your waist, trying to pull you down, “just come back to sleep, bunny.”
but you don’t. and there it is, that one single video everybody keeps tagging you in. and it’s… just your boyfriend? speaking in an interview?
naturally, you play it. it’s a very short clip, and there he is, your handsome boyfriend sitting with his legs spread and his elbow on the armrest as he talks about the hat trick he scored.
“yeah, yeah,” he nods, “i think i did a great job. of course i did. it felt pretty fucking great.”
“i bet it did,” the interviewer nodded, “what do you think, was it better than sex?”
michael’s brows shoot up in surprise, as if the question has him genuinely taken aback - because it does. it probably seems to him oh so incredibly unthinkable to fathom anything being better than having sex with you. his pretty baby blues widen ever so slightly - nobody but you would probably catch it - and he frowns. then, he shakes his head, that shit-eating grin of his making its way on his face.
“absolutely not. not with my girl, no.” a beat. “my god…”
he sighs, long and hard, and he seems to slip away for a second, as if he’s picturing you in front of him - maybe all sprawled out for him, maybe on your knees, maybe in his lap, who knows - and he smiles. genuinely smiles, as if the thought of you makes him flustered, his tattooed hand coming to cover his mouth.
he mumbles your name once, then shakes his head, fortunately remembering that yes, he is still in the middle of an interview.
the clip ends.
the second it does, you turn to him. you try to look angry, but you actually are kinda flattered and a bit flustered, a light flush staining your cheeks. he’s fully awake now, eyes fluttering open to stare at you, and he gives you a tiny, amused smirk.
“michael kaiser.”
“what? it’s the truth.”
you sigh, shaking your head - except it’s very, very hard to act annoyed when he’s right there next to you, tangled in the sheets like a prince, now finally staring at you. he’s not in the middle of an interview, he doesn’t have to imagine anything. there you are. all his. his big hands reach for you, a softness in his fingertips that’s only reserved for you making you immediately melt when you feel the warmth of his digits graze the skin beneath your shirt.
needless to say, both your phone and your anger are quickly discarded, and michael can confirm once again that what he said in his interview is nothing but the truth.
@yamsfrecklvs ★ ash’s note: okay guys hear me out - before any of you calls the nickname bunny cringe i’ll have you know that ‘hase’ (lit. bunny) is a very popular nickname in german and it’s the only one that doesn’t make my skin crawl ?? i love liebling and schatz but i wanted something different okay?????? k bye
☾ - summary: You ask Kita to marry you when you're children, because it only makes sense for your childhood friend to stay by your side for the rest of your life. You eventually forget your promise, but Kita always remembers.
☾ - pairing: kita shinsuke x reader
☾ - word count: 13.3k
☾ - tags: childhood friends, fluff, oblivious reader, romcom/shoujo vibes, vague haikyuu spoilers, inarizaki volleyball team as side characters
☾ - author's notes || read on ao3 - ☾
You ask Kita Shinsuke to marry you during the spring when you’re both eight years old, a bundle of roadside daisies clutched in your hands that you proffer like a gold ring.
“Please!” you say, holding out the flowers straight in front of you, screwing your eyes shut as you bow. “Marry me, Shin-kun!”
It’s the only step to take in your relationship that makes the most sense, according to your childish logic. Your grandmothers have been friends since they met in high school, inseparable old women with an unchanging weekly appointment to drink tea in your grandmother’s kitchen.
Even your parents are close; your fathers were childhood friends and grew up splashing by the riverbank and racing alongside empty stretches of open fields. Family holidays are often spent together, so it was an inevitability that you and Kita would end up being friends.
The two of you were born in the same hospital, and as your mother likes to joke, “When we put you two down on the same mat to play, you started reachin’ for Shin-kun instead of the toys! Ya even tried to bite him, and he didn’t cry a bit, just blinked real slow and let you nibble on his arm.”
And so the two of you are close, too. In cool, misty mornings, Kita waits outside your door so the two of you can walk to school together; he has an umbrella that he shares when it rains and a hat when it’s too sunny, and never misses a day to see you. During summers, you’re both sent up north to his grandmother’s home in the country, nothing to do but spend lazy days in the rice fields and taking Kita’s hand in your own as you come up with your own elaborate fantastical games.
A lot of times it feels like your relationship is the same as when you were babies: you drag Kita around and he follows willingly, the voice of reason to every impulsive plot you come up with. If Kita is popular with the neighborhood grannies for his manners and mature demeanor, then you’re popular with the other kids for your cheer and athletic prowess at every neighborhood game.
“What do I gotta do to keep Shin-kun with me?” you asked Kaasan once, as she trimmed edamame in the kitchen with a pair of scissors. “Why’s he gotta go home everyday? I wish he was around forever.”
“Why don’t ya marry him?” she said mischievously, tapping her chin with her free hand. “That made sure yer Tousan would come home to me every night.”
Her words lit a spark in your brain. You can’t imagine a life without Kita; he’s been by your side since you were born. To lose him would be like losing a limb, unimaginable and devastating. And since Kaasan is one of the smartest adults you know, this must be the best way to keep him with you.
This is how you find yourself, on a routine weekend playdate exploring the nearby park, with flushed cheeks and clammy hands, stems wilting from the strength of your grip. Kita is sitting crosslegged in the field, flowers in hand, considering your words with the same gravity he considers everything in life, from the instructions of his teachers to laminated menus at the local diner.
“I’m sorry,” Kita says seriously. His eyes are wide and piercing, and you can see the world reflected in them. “But we can’t get married. You gotta be an adult to get married. And Obaasan always says when you want ta do something, you gotta take yer time with it, especially if it’s something ya care about.”
“Oh. But I like ya, Shin-kun,” you add helplessly. But you already know that Kita makes decisions carefully, and once he makes up his mind on something, he rarely changes it.
“And I like ya, too,” Kita says.
“But we can’t get married?”
“We can’t get married now,” he says. “Because marriage’s a big decision. Ya can’t rush into it.”
“Okay, but do you still want my flowers? They’re the best ones I found. The biggest and prettiest,” you add hopefully. The fat white petals of the daisies droop in your hands, as if they, too, are dejected by Kita’s rejection.
“Yeah,” Kita says. He takes your flowers with a solemn reverence.
“Let’s make flower crowns,” you say. “I wanna make one for Kaasan.”
“Okay,” Kita says.
The sting of his rejection passes like a summer rainstorm, brief and temporary. Kita is still your friend, the one nearest and dearest to your heart, even if he doesn’t want to marry you. There are other things to worry about, anyways, like your homework and what sort of bento Kaasan is going to pack for lunch tomorrow.
(You don’t notice the way Kita glances carefully at you through his eyelashes, gaze thoughtful as he considers your question).
Kita’s hands are deft as he weaves your flowers together into a crown, braiding stems together with a careful, slow ease. The flowers are spaced evenly apart, bright heads facing outwards. In contrast, your work is swift but a tad more clumsy, and you rip more than one petal in your haste to complete your work.
“This is for you,” Kita says, placing it gently on your head. He adjusts the band so it no longer rests so lopsidedly.
“Thank you, Shin-kun!” you say. “Does it look good?”
He nods seriously. “Real good.”
“I made ya one, too!” You hold up your flower crown. The flowers are spaced unevenly and your weaving is loose in sections, but Kita regards it as if you’ve presented him with a priceless treasure.
“Thank you,” Kita says. “Will you put it on me?”
In response, you plop it on his head, where it tilts sideways, one end closer to his ear.
“We’re matching,” you say, smiling.
You spend another half hour in the fields before you tire of your work, eager to present the fruits of your labor to your parents, as you’ve made flower crowns for both of them. Kita’s crown is still placed on your head when you turn to head inside, waving vigorously at Kita as he waves back before turning and walking down the sidewalk towards his own home. He only lives a few minutes away, but still, you stand in the doorway until you can’t see him, not even blinking, eyes burning, trying to preserve the memory of his dear back.
(For the next few days after that, Kita painstakingly presses and preserves the flowers you’ve given him. The dried flowers sit on a shelf in his room, and whenever he passes them by, he considers them carefully. Marriage, after all, is a big decision).
—
“Shin-kun doesn’t want to marry me. I asked,” you tell Kaasan the next day, sitting at the dining table with your reading homework spread around you, your collection of colorful pencils rolling across the surface.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Kaasan says. She’s across from you, marking her own documents, laptop and manila files organized in a neat square on the table. “Are you sad about it?”
“I was but, but I’m not anymore.”
“What if Shin-kun marries someone else?” she teases. “Would ya be sad then?”
“Why would he?” you ask. “If he doesn’t wanna marry me, then he definitely doesn’t wanna marry anyone else. There’s no one he likes more than me.”
Kaasan bursts into laughter, shoulders shaking as she tries to cover her mouth, documents forgotten. “Oh, I see,” she says in-between a gasp.
You make a doodle of a flower on your homework. Really, you can’t understand what Kaasan finds so funny, when all you did was tell her the truth.
—
If there’s one thing you know about your childhood friend, it’s that Kita Shinsuke is a creature of habit. Everything he does, he does with the same precision and meticulous care: his chores, his studies, and even the way he organizes his playdates with the air of an office worker planning meetings.
It’s one of the things you like about him, how dedicated he is to everything. Even if the same can’t be said for yourself, as you love spontaneity too much to deny yourself the pleasure of a sudden impulse, you try your best to respect Kita’s routine.
“I’m going to play with Shiori-chan and Jun-kun today, but I’ll come find ya after I’m done,” you tell him, grip loose on your backpack as you bounce down the road.
“Okay,” Kita says. He’s walking at a steady pace, and you’re careful to match your strides to him, even if you want to run ahead. “How long are ya gonna take?”
“Maybe a few hours? Not sure yet! But I’ll definitely see you before I go home,” you say earnestly. “Because being with ya is a part of my routine!”
There’s a small smile on Kita’s face at your words, as faint and lovely as a pattern of frost on a window. “But ya don’t normally have a routine. Does it even count?”
“Shin-kun, that’s mean,” you whine. “I try to see ya every day!”
“We’re neighbors, and our families are friends,” Kita points out.
“Still! The effort counts!”
“Well, being with ya is part of my routine, too,” Kita says. “I like seeing you every day.”
You can’t help but skip down the street at that, backpack bouncing on your back at your sudden burst of energy, and Kita watches you, smiling all the while. Not that it’s unusual, though; Kita is always watching like that, everything and everyone.
When you drop Kita off at his doorstep, you give one giant wave at him, promising to stop by as soon as you can, before you turn down the street and head towards the nearby park.
(Kita likes to watch you from the window whenever you leave, waiting until you’re nothing more than a dot on the horizon before he turns away. This, too, is a ritual).
Shiori and Jun are already waiting by the time you drop your backpack off at home and rush over to the nearby park, a good fifteen minute run from your home. They live farther inside the neighborhood than you, but attend the same school, so you know them fairly well. Not as well as Kita, but you don’t know anyone else as well as you know Kita.
After a particular explosive game of tag (Shiori was it at first, and she knabbed you by the tail end of your shirt) and kick the can (you’d like to brag you valiantly defended the can quite well, which was a water bottle donated by Jun, as you hunted down Jun and Shiori), Shiori finally turns to you with cheeks rosy from exertion, her mouth opening into a question.
“Kita-kun isn’t here with ya today?” Shiori asks. “I feel like you two are always together.”
“He had ta go home,” you confirm. “And that’s not true! We’re not together right now, aren’t we?”
“Why’re you always with Kita, though?” Jun asks. He’s a little quiet, but there’s something in his tone that you try not to bristle at.
“Whaddya mean? Shin-kun is Shin-kun,” you say. “He’s the best.”
“But Kita-kun is kinda… quiet. And he’s always in the corner, just doing his work! He doesn’t really talk to us unless he has ta,” Shiori says, hesitant.
“Kita is boring,” Jun says bluntly. Shiori blushes at his statement, but makes no move to disagree. “He doesn’t seem like a lotta fun. What do ya even talk about with him?”
You pause. Kita, boring? The idea has never occurred to you before. Kita is steady, reliable, responsible, and chides you sometimes like your mom might do, but he’s not boring. Boring is for things like schoolwork, and chores.
“Shin-kun isn’t boring. If you’re mean to Shin-kun, I’m not going to play with ya anymore!” you say firmly. “He’s real fun and super smart. He knows everything, and he can do anything, and he works hard!”
“Aw, don’t be mad!” Shiori says hastily, elbowing Jun, who grumbles. “We didn’t mean anything like that. I guess he’s just a little hard to talk ta sometimes.”
“If it’s hard to talk to him, why don’t we play together next time?” you suggest. “I’ll make sure ya understand how great Shin-kun is.”
“Yer bragging about him an awful lot,” Jun says again.
“Shin-kun is Shin-kun,” you repeat firmly, as if that answers the question. And it does, in your mind, but Shiori and Jun glance at each other and say nothing more.
The rest of the time passes well enough, though you are perhaps a little too enthusiastic to win in seeing who can swing the highest and then leap off, because even though you’re the clear champion, you’re left with scrapped knees that Jun winces at. You, Jun, and Shiori wave at each other before heading home, the setting sun its own reminder to keep your promise to Kita.
Still, by the time you meet up with Kita, you’re kicking at the ground, smarting from your friends’ comments you can’t get out of your head. You knock on his door, once, twice, and Kita opens it as if he’s been expecting you.
It’s hard to hide the expression on your face, but even if you weren’t terrible at concealing your emotions, Kita would probably pick up on it anyways, because he always seems to know how you feel. Not that you could tell him what’s wrong, because you don’t want to repeat those awful comments.
After taking a few seconds to observe you, Kita asks quietly, “Do ya want something sweet? Okaasan brought back some madelines.”
You sniff. “Really?”
“Yeah. Come on,” he says, taking your hand, chubby fingers secure around your own. “Let’s get some together.” He then glances at your knees. “And ya gotta do something about that.”
A few cakes and bandaids applied to your skinned knees courtesy of Kita, and your troubles are forgotten. Even Kita seems to look a little more relaxed in the presence of your smile again, a sunflower turning towards the sun it can’t help but follow.
You really don’t get why people are incapable of understanding a simple fact: Kita isn’t boring at all. In fact, he’s the most wonderful person in the entire world.
—
Elementary school comes and goes, with a graduation full of classmates that cluster around you, begging for one last photo together. Your bouquet wilts from how tight you’ve clutched it as you run from camera to camera, but when Kita sees, he offers you a few pink gerbaras of his own.
(He’s also the first to take a picture with you, your families cooing as they crowd you close together, but he’s never needed to be told to stick close to your side. It’s simply what’s natural, and he frames the photo, keeping it near those dried flowers he still hasn’t let go of).
You have a longer commute in middle school, but it’s one you still share with Kita. It’s a precious period of your day where the two of you walk to school together, side by side. He shows up at the same time at your door like clockwork. You’re usually scrambling with a last-minute breakfast or putting your uniform together, your blazer slipping down your shoulders while Kita looks impeccable as always, not even a thread out of place.
“Ya should have learned to be more careful now,” he chides, even as he reaches out to smooth away the wrinkles with gentle hands, fixing the uneven knot of your tie. “‘s not a good habit to be sloppy.”
“Aw, but Shin-kun,” you say, “Ya always fix it for me!”
“Maybe I should stop.”
“Noooo,” you wail as Kita spins on his heel, collecting both your bag and his in one smooth motion, while you dart after him. “Don’t do that, Shin-kun! Then I’ll be even more of a mess!”
One of the great changes in middle school, besides the advanced curriculum and different uniforms and the evolving roster of classmates, are the inclusion of more involved clubs.
Of course, you already know what club you want to join, and have known it since the beginning: you want to join the boys volleyball club as a manager. As it is, you’re assistant to the current manager, Yuna, who jumps every time you speak up behind her, taking in your enthusiasm and loud voice with wide eyes.
You’re quick to brag about it to Jun and Shiori, too, who are in a class down the hall from you, popping in for a brief visit during lunch, pulling up a chair to huddle around Shiori’s desk. You have an armful of snacks from the cafeteria, unable to resist spending a few yen on baked goods.
“Always felt like ya should be on the team and Kita should be manager,” Shiori says. “Didn’t realize it’d be the opposite way ‘round.”
“Why’s that?” you ask, curious.
“‘Cause of… um… Just, you know, the sorta impression you and Kita-kun give off is a little different—”
“It’s ‘cause Kita is smart and yer a meathead,” Jun interrupts bluntly.
“Jun-kun, ya better be ready to back-up what you just said,” you threaten.
“See? Only a meathead would say that,” Jun says. “Aren’t ya faster than Kita, too? And during gym class, ya were always the one ta spike the ball over the most. Just makes sense, right?”
“Well,” you huff, flattered despite yourself at Jun’s acknowledgement of your prowess, “Being on the court is cool, but being a manager is real important too. They do a lot of work behind the scenes to support the players, like helping plan scrimmages and researching opponents. Without ‘em, the players wouldn’t be half as prepared as they are.”
“And,” you add, “They get ta tell people what to do! Shin-kun’s always lecturin’ me about this and that, but if I’m the manager, he’s gotta listen to me for once!”
“There it is,” Jun says. “Knew there was another reason.”
“Jun-kun,” you begin, but a quick glance at the clock has you straightening up, plucking a few wrapped bread from your arms and dropping them onto Shiori’s desk. “We’ll settle this later, but I gotta get back to class. I said I’d spend the rest of lunch with Shin-kun. This is for you two, though!”
(Shiori and Jun both sigh as you burst out of the classroom, Jun propping up his cheek with his hand. It’s obvious from your smile that you’re hoping to see a smile on Kita’s face or hear, at the very least, a quiet thank you. You’ve always been predictable in that way, chasing after your childhood friend with all the clumsy, floppy grace of a lovesick puppy.
“I just don’t get it, not them, or Kita-kun,” Shiori says. “Do ya think they really don’t know how obvious it is that they like him?”
“Ya know how they are. Kita has it rough,” Jun says, and leaves it at that.)
You trundle through middle school, easily collecting friends with your cheer, a parade of people greeting you every morning when you step through the gates. Kita is just behind, by your side as steadily as the way shadow follows light.
Kita is liked well-enough, you think, but people always seem to have difficulty approaching him. Maybe it’s his mature demeanor, or his steady gaze they can’t meet, as luminous as snowfall on a winter night, quiet and all-consuming. Or maybe it’s the way he’s consistently top of the class, pulling perfect hundreds, and the principled student all the teachers uphold as the model everyone should strive to emulate.
“If only you could be more like Kita Shinsuke…” is a phrase troublemakers hear in their nightmares.
You maintain decent grades, too, but you still badger Kita for his notes, if only because he keeps such meticulous, detailed ones, and his handwriting is prettier than yours with how graceful it looks, like the work of a professional calligrapher. He beats you out easily in class rankings, much to your chagrin.
The real highlight of your day is volleyball practice after school, to the point your friends in class offer to take over clean-up duty from you so you can get to the gym early. Your duties mostly consist of helping keep track of scores during games, managing player statistics, and refilling and passing out water and towels.
At times, you’ll help Yuna and the coach contact other schools for practice matches. Your role is mostly to observe how Yuna handles being manager, in preparation for when she graduates and you take on the role yourself.
That leaves a lot of time where you can stop to watch Kita. If he’s watching everyone else, who’s going to watch him? It might as well be you, his childhood friend, and it’s a habit you’ve maintained since you were children. Besides, it’s easy for your eyes to follow Kita, and you seek him out in every room before you’re even aware of what you’re doing.
Kita is diligent and steadfast, going through every drill without a word that the other students complain constantly about. He never takes shortcuts, and always does what’s required of him. He even stays after to help collect the balls and mop the gym with you.
You’re proud of him. There’s no way you wouldn’t be, but when two other first-years are selected as regulars for the team, you can’t help but feel slighted on his behalf. During games, sometimes you’ll end up side-by-side, watching rallies, though Kita always scolds you if you talk too much and end up distracting the benched players.
“Don’t ya wanna be on court, Shin-kun?” you ask, hands behind your back. Right now, your team is hosting a scrimmage with a local middle school, and one of your wing spikers pulls a sharp cut shot that leaves everyone cheering.
“Everyone wants ta be on court, but only the players who’ve proven they deserve to be there can stand on it,” Kita says. “I only do what I’m supposed to, and if I do it well, then that’s when I deserve ta be on court. That’s the proper way to go about it.”
“If that’s the case, then yer definitely gonna be a starting member one day,” you say. “Because I see ya, Shin-kun. Ya work hard, and you’re careful with everything that ya do. You never skip practice, or take shortcuts during laps, and you always do all your drills until ya can do the motions in your sleep! You’re gonna earn yer place there, I know it!”
Yuna calls your name and you scamper off before he can respond.
(Kita breathes in. Breathes out. Like Obaasan told him, so long ago: “The gods are always watching.” Someone will always notice. Someone will always see him, but she never said that when they did, there would be a miniature sun in his chest, overflowing gold that he can’t keep contained).
—
Middle school passes with its own routine, one that you settle into. Kita and you walk to school together in the mornings, rain or shine, eat lunch in his classroom and share parts of your bento with each other (he’s always putting vegetables on your plate), and then you attend volleyball practice, where you’ll mop the floors and wipe down the balls with Kita’s help and then walk home together. Kita will drop you off on your doorstep, and then head off to his own.
There’s little deviation to your routine, at least until your second year during lunchtime, when a boy approaches you when you’re halfway through your anpan. You’ve pulled up a chair right across from Kita, your bento and notebooks scattered across his desk. Though you’re in different classes this year, you still make an effort to bother him daily, and eating lunch together is one of your rituals.
“Can I talk with you?” he says. You try to place where you’ve seen him before; maybe in the class across from yours?
You’re still chewing and covering your mouth with your hand, trying frantically to swallow before responding. “Yes? Did ya need me for something?”
“There’s something I want to tell you. In private,” he emphasizes, flicking a glance at Kita.
“Sure,” you say. “But lunch is almost over, so we should hurry. I’ll be back, Shin-kun!” you add over your shoulder.
Kita only nods, watching you scamper off without a thought in the world as to what your classmate could want now. Maybe about homework? A shared classmate?
(Kita’s hands are steady, even as he grips his chopsticks tight enough that his knuckles turn white. A lot of people have been confessing to you lately, but it’s not surprising, not with how well-liked you are. Not that you ever seem to realize what’s happening, how the easy, careless charm of your smile, the way you always face the person you’re talking to like they’re the only ones in the world, is dangerous).
The boy guides you down hallways and stairwells until you’re in the courtyard, standing in a little alcove that shields you from views of most of the windows. Including, you think, the gaze of your own classroom’s.
Clouds swirl overhead, grey and heavy, a light breeze stirring the grass. Is it going to rain soon? You glance up, just as the boy in front of you wrings his hands and takes several deep inhales.
“I wanted ta say… I’ve noticed ya from the very start of orientation! Yer always so bright and cheerful, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you since then. When we pass by in the halls, I always look at ya and…!” his voice raises in a shout. “And I wanted to say I like you. Please go out with me!”
Your mouth works before your mind does, but even then, all you can say is a strangled little “Oh… erm?” You remember his name now, Eiji, but you’re still too startled by his sudden words, all your thoughts scattering like birds. This has happened a few times now, but it still takes you by surprise every time. You? Liked? It’s strange to think that people think of you in such a way, that they could hold such expectations for you, when you’re just going about your day.
He’s still staring at you expectantly, and it’d be rude to keep him waiting any longer. Your tongue is still glued to your mouth, but you manage to unstick it to croak out, “I’m sorry. I appreciate your feelings, but I can’t return them.”
Eiji hangs his head. “I figured. I wanted to let ya know, anyways, but ya already have Kita-san, right?”
“Huh?” you squeak.
“Huh?” He tilts his head. “Ya and Kita-san. Aren’t ya dating? Everyone says you are.”
“That’s not—we’re just childhood friends,” you say hastily. “I mean. It’s not as if I don’t like him, but—we aren’t—I mean, I think—he’s just my friend.”
Huh? Wait a moment. What do you feel about Kita, then? All your feelings for him have always been rolled into one glowing ball that you’ve termed “like,” but people like each other in different ways. Is the way you like Kita different from how you like Jun and Shiori, or your own parents? What does “liking” someone even mean, then?
Eiji must see the confusion mar your face because he sighs. “‘s all right. Thank ya for yer time. But I hope ya and Kita-san can work out whatever it is you have. You don’t want ta be leading him on, or anything.”
Eiji heads in first, ducking his head and running away as you stand in the courtyard for a moment longer, eyebrows furrowed. A drop of something cold splashes on your head. It’s raining, the clouds sending out a shy drizzle as a warning, and so you hurry inside, distracted for the rest of lunch.
After school, you’re standing by your shoe locker glumly. The rain has transformed into a monstrous downpour, causing squawking students to brave the weather with only their bags over their heads, or hang under dripping eaves as the world is washed clean.
You’re one of the people who didn’t bring an umbrella, and so you’re stuck contemplating your options. You can run out and hope to make it home, or stay behind until the rain clears a little. Either way, you’re most likely going to be soaked, and a trek in soggy loafers is not on your list of enjoyable post-school activities.
“Did ya forget your umbrella?”
It’s Kita, and though he’s a respectful distance away from you, as he always is, you jump as if he’s whispered right into your ear.
“Yes!” you say, with more force than necessary.
“Ya should have checked the weather report,” Kita says plainly. He has a clear plastic umbrella in his right hand.
“I shoulda…” you say morosely. Eiji’s earlier comments are still swirling around your head, and you let out a long sigh. Are you hurting Kita, somehow? At least the rain is as miserable as your mood.
You expect more admonishments or another remark about your lack of preparation, but Kita only unfurls his umbrella and says, “We can share.”
The umbrella is small enough that your shoulders are pressed side by side, and you can feel, distinctly, the heat from his body. Kita doesn’t run hot, and he’s always at a consistent, mild temperature. His hands are always cold, though, and you like to rub his fingers with your own until they warm up. You’re hyper-aware of his body now, and how much of it you know. Stupid Eiji.
“What did that guy want from ya?” Kita asks.
“Just confessin’,” you grumble. “But I wasn’t interested. I don’t know why people are so caught up in romance. Doesn’t make any sense. Relationships? Dating? Marriage? ‘S all ridiculous.”
“I see,” Kita says simply. “Did he say something to ya?”
“Just…” You let out another sigh. “I don’t know, Shin-kun. Am I hurting ya? Do ya feel like I’m leading you on? If I’m hurtin’ ya, you gotta let me know.”
“Yer not hurting me,” he says. “Yer my oldest and closest friend, and you’ve never done anything wrong. Ya don’t gotta listen to people like that; they don’t think before they speak, or consider how their words affect others. They just say what they want, so what they say doesn’t matter one bit as long as you know what you believe in and what’s true ta you.”
“Aw, Shin-kun!” You fight the urge to fling your arms around his neck, and settle for slapping his back empathetically as Kita lets out a quiet little “oomph” with each strike. “Yer right!”
Eiji’s comments don’t matter, you decide. Your relationship with Kita is no one’s business other than your own, and people can think whatever they want. It doesn’t really matter if you aren’t sure of the exact nature of your own emotions; you like Kita, no matter what it means, and that’s all that matters.
(Kita has heard what other people whisper in the hallways. You’ve never asked him how he views your relationship, but that’s all right. You don’t need to. What he feels is something he has nurtured for years. Step by step. Day by day. Ritual by ritual).
—
It’s the last volleyball match of your middle school careers. Kita has never played a game, never been on the starting line-up, but still people flock to him for advice or for his analysis on the other team’s plays. He’s often sitting with you on the bench, watching, quietly exchanging notes with you.
He’s your assistant, you like to joke, though you think you feel more annoyed than Kita over the fact he’s never been chosen. Even though he practices more consistently than anyone else. Even though everyone relies on him. He’s not flashy, sure, but he’s steady, and that’s more important than anything in a game where even the best-laid strategy can go awry.
“Are you Kita Shinsuke?”
You spin around, and through the half-open gym doors, you see a man dressed in a track suit, with glasses and a keen smile. He’s not immediately recognizable as one of the other middle school coaches. But he still speaks with a surety that makes you wrack your brains, regardless, trying to place him. It’d be awful to have met him and forgotten his name.
Kita looks up from his clipboard, gaze tranquil and steady. “Yes.”
“Have you thought about what high school you’d like to attend? What volleyball programs are you interested in?”
(Someone is always watching. Someone will notice).
And that’s how you and Kita end up at Inarizaki, a bus ride and fifteen minute walk away from your neighborhood.
—
You say goodbye to middle school in a deluge of tearful farewells and congratulatory wishes to classmates who’re attending different high schools. You’re encircled by admirers, take so many pictures your mouth starts hurting from how often you’ve had to smile. You’re given flowers, last-minute confessions, invitations to lunch and dinner and dates you have to refuse.
You’re just not interested, you explain. You don’t have the time for such things, but you appreciate their feelings regardless.
Jun and Shiori are attending a different high school, so you’re sure to squeeze them extra hard during graduation, handing them flowers from your own bouquets, yellow roses with stems stripped of thorns.
“Let’s still hang out,” you say. “We’re always going ta be friends! Don’t be afraid to say hi!”
“I’ll miss ya,” Shiori says sincerely. “I’ll stop by when I can, I promise!”
“Don’t forget to invite me to yer wedding in the future,” Jun adds.
“Wedding? We’re too young ta get married! I’m not even thinking about that right now,” you say. “Jun-kun yer so weird.”
He only shrugs. Really, what an odd thing to say, though it does give you a disconcerting feeling that you’ve forgotten something, some hazy, half-remembered flashback to flower crowns and a distant spring day. But it can’t be too important or you’d have remembered, so you tackle Jun and Shiori in another hug instead.
Your favorite picture from graduation, though, is the one you take with Kita, an electric smile on your face, your arm looped around his, your bodies leaning towards each other like flowers sheltering in a storm. When you line it up with your elementary school graduation picture, it feels like a perfect set, a history of your life so far with Kita.
Outside of your new uniform, high school proceeds much the same as middle school did. You and Kita have a routine, the precious rituals you’ve built over a lifetime of knowing each other, and those aren’t things that collapse so easily.
In the morning, Kita shows up at your door, albeit a little earlier than he did in middle school, smoothing down your rumpled tie without too much complaint. Kita always gives you the seat on the bus, standing in front of you, your knees knocking together when the bus lurches around a corner. He always asks if you’ve eaten, and if you’ve run out the door without any food, he pulls out packaged bread that you much on.
You share your first year class together, which means you only need to drag your chair to Kita’s desk and place your bento in your lap to see him. You flick crumpled-up notes at him, but he only reads them, smoothes them out, and places them within his notebook, sending you no reply in return. You chatter about your day at every opportunity, about the difficulties you face in lessons or the petty squabble between new friends that you’ve made.
In the afternoon, you and Kita head to the gym after school. You’ve applied to be manager of the Inarizaki volleyball team, though it seems plenty of other students in your grade have the same idea. You hear it’s a popular one to apply for but near impossible to get the position, if only because so many people want to join just to get close to the boys on the team. Which is ridiculous, because the boys on the team are just like the boys anywhere else: a little sweaty, a little rude, and wholly ordinary.
Kita might be the exception to that, but that’s because he’s Kita. Even when he sweats, he smells nice, and he’s always polite, and he’s the most wonderful person ever. It’d be hard for any other boy to beat that, really.
Suffice to say, you manage to beat out the other candidates and snag the spot. Much like in middle school, Kita is on the bench, not having made the starting lineup again, and you’re lugging around water bottles and tracking scores in practice games.
After school, you and Kita head home together, side by side. You match his slow, steady pace, and sometimes if the weather is nice, you’ll take a longer route home, just to see the scenery. Kita walks you to your door, and you wait in the doorway to see him enter his own before you wave goodbye for a final time.
The one thing that’s different about high school, though, is the confessions. Not to you, though you still get your fair share of them and have managed to tune them out as mild irritations in your day, but to Kita.
The first is a girl from the class across from you, clutching at the edges of her skirt during lunch. She went to your middle school, you think, but you were always in different classes and didn’t share any friends.
“Kita-san,” she says shyly, in a tone so full of longing it makes you want to take Kita’s hand and pull him away in the other direction, “Can I talk to you in private?”
Your classmates snicker around you as Kita calmly stands and says, “Okay.”
You stare out the window, unable to relax, bouncing your leg so nervously that the entire desk shakes. More and more catastrophic scenarios arise in your mind—of Kita accepting her confession, of distancing himself from you, of deciding to move away to another country with this girl—before Kita comes back and says, simply, “She asked me out and I turned her down.”
Then there’s a second-year, two weeks later, who even brought food with him as if a love confession was a bribe. And then someone from your own class, who Kita shared his notes with, shouting so loud you’re pretty sure the kids from the class next door overheard. The confessions pile up, little by little, irritating and spaced far apart enough that each new one feels like a bucket of ice water thrown at your head, even though you’d hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
Because of course people would like Kita. He’s wonderful, and kind, and smart, and the best person in the entire world. But no one has ever confessed to him before, or shown much interest in him, romantic interest, until high school.
The thought of Kita, your best friend, spending more time with someone else or just liking someone more than you makes you feel sour. Sure, you don’t like the idea of him with a partner, but you also can’t stand the idea that your relationship will deteriorate because he chooses to prioritize someone else in his life. He’s always been by your side, and you’ve always been by his. That’s not a position you ever want to relinquish.
The last straw is a pretty third year who corners Kita after practice and clean-up, leaving you behind to wait near the gym doors, glowering at the rocks near your shoes, as if they’re the world’s worst criminals.
“Let’s go home,” Kita says, when he returns. The third year is noticeably absent from his side, and he looks as unruffled as ever.
“What did she want?” you say, not moving, twisting your hands together.
“She wanted to say that she likes me. And wanted ta know if I was free to go to a cafe with her this week.”
“Oh. What did ya say?”
“I told her no,” he says plainly. “Volleyball practice takes up most of my time after school.”
“She was pretty,” you grumble. “And real nice. You really said no?”
“I’m not interested in a relationship with her,” he says.
“There’s been a lot of people who’ve been asking after ya these days, Shin-kun,” you press. “You really aren’t annoyed by it?”
“It’s not annoying because it’d be wrong of me to treat those peoples’ feelings carelessly. It takes courage ta tell someone you like them, and I want to respect that courage and their feelings, even if I don’t feel the same.”
Good old Kita, thoughtful as always. But you still feel petty, and small, and wrap your arms around yourself. How is it that he can look favorably upon these others, when all you do is feel rotten? He could stand to be less honorable, let them know that he isn’t available because—because what?
You shake your head, as if to clear yourself of your confusing thoughts. You try to pin a smile on your face, but it’s small, tight. “Okay. I get it. Let’s just go home, then. Before someone else tries to get ya.”
Kita doesn’t say anything for a while. He seems to be weighing his words in his mind, watching you with the same intensity he devotes to everything, and you hunch your shoulders, as if doing so will help you escape his scrutiny. Finally, he says, “Okkasan got some madeleines on sale last week. The kind ya like.”
“Ya can’t bribe me with cakes, Shin-kun! I’m not a kid anymore.”
“ Even if it’s yer favorite flavor?” he says.
“That’s not…” you say, pressing your lips together. “Well…”
“Ya can have as much as ya want.”
“... Fine,” you grumble.
“Not too much, though. It’ll spoil yer dinner.”
“Shin-kun!”
You swear you see him smile then, a brief flash like the glint of sunlight on water, but his face relaxes, falling back into its usual neutral expression.
(Kita’s just glad you’re the same as you always are. He’s had a lot more practice than you, after all, to exercise patience in the face of unwanted confessions directed towards someone he likes, even if you look awfully cute when you’re jealous).
—
Inarizaki High, you’ve come to learn, is a real powerhouse for volleyball, a school that regularly makes appearances at nationals, so practices are more intense than in middle school. Inarizaki also has its own marching band that comes to games, and the money to buy all its members, starting lineup or not, the same brand of athletic sneakers. And so there’s a certain pressure that comes with being manager and having to oversee a gaggle of rowdy teenage boys and wrangle them into practice and drills.
Everyone who makes it to the starting line-up, you’ve come to learn, is a bit of a personality. There’s Aran, who’s funny and reliable as their ace, and Omi, who reminds you of your grandmother, steady and stern. And, of course, there’s the upcoming batch of first years.
“Are ya and Kita-san dating?”
The question comes from one of your boldest newcomers, the starting setter, who has bleached blond hair and unrelenting cockiness in his own skills. The team is in the middle of serving drills, but he’s evidently taking a break from his current set, because he’s hounding you as you refill the water bottles, one by one.
“We’re not,” you say.
Atsumu curses under his breath. In the distance, you can see Osamu raise his eyebrows and Suna snicker. Is this a bet of some kind? But you’re used to these sorts of inquiries from middle school, the assumptions of everyone else.
You know what you and Kita are to each other. You’re best friends from childhood and… well, it’s better not to think about it too much.
“Did ya ever date him?” Atsumu presses. “Like in the past? Even just a little?”
“Hm? Not at all,” you say. “Shin-kun’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“Manangerrrr,” Atsumu groans, “Yer killing me here. I got my lunch riding on this. Yer really not together? Then why’re ya always hanging off each other?”
“We don’t hang off of each other,” you protest.
“Ya do! And Kita-san always gets this soft look on his face when he’s with ya, like–”
“Atsumu. Did ya finish your serving drills?” Kita cuts in, hovering somewhere over your shoulder, voice cold and direct. He must have noticed Atsumu’s absence on the court.
Atsumu visibly straightens under the force of Kita’s stare. As someone who’s been subjected to that cold stare for a majority of your life, you can’t help but pity Atsumu, who’s not used to it at all. “Er… ya see, Kita-san, I was just—”
“If you’re not finished, then why are you here?”
And with that, Atsumu trudges off back to Suna and Osamu, who both seem to be holding back laughter at Atsumu’s expression.
“Was he bothering ya?” Kita asks.
“Not really,” you say. “But I think the first years were bettin’ on whenever we’re together. Isn’t it a little silly? I don’t know why everyone assumes that.”
Kita gives a soft hum of acknowledgment, tucking a stray curl of hair behind your ear. “There’s no reason ta mind them. They should be focusin’ on practice, anyways.”
“Right, right,” you say. “Oh, Shin-kun. I just refilled the water bottles.” You pluck one off of the bench and hand it to him. “Have some. You’ve been running around so much, and ya gotta make sure yer staying hydrated!”
(There are few team dynamics that Suna and the others are quick to pick up on. For example, you’re popular on the team for your cheer and energy, but Kita is known for his cold perfectionism. No flaws, always diligent, never a single hair out of place.
Sometimes, it makes them all just a little curious to see where he trips up, because surely, someone like Kita must have one weakness, right? Whether it’s a silly habit, a dislike, or another person.
“I really thought they were datin’,” Atsumu groans.
“Too bad,” Osamu says unrepentantly. “Ya owe me yer lunch for that. I told you they weren’t.”
“Makes no sense! Didja see how he looks at them? And how they always dote on him?”
“That’s ya get for assumin’, ya scrub.”
“Yer the scrub!”
As the twins dissolve into another spate of bickering, Suna flicks a glance at you and Kita, the way he leans close to you, intent on catching every word, because he never gives you anything less than his full attention, no matter the circumstance.
When Kita glares at the three of them, though, the first years all jump and scramble to their feet, guiltily slinking towards the court to practice their next round of serves.
Troublesome. Just because Suna can pinpoint his weakness, doesn’t mean he can do anything with it).
—
It’s not until your third year that Kita is made captain, and he steps onto court for the first time, when Inarizaki down six points in a set during an Interhigh game. He’s subbed in for Aran, who rests on the bench alongside you and the coach, towel around his neck, hands folded in his lap as he intently watches the game resume.
“Are ya feeling okay?” you ask Aran, handing him a water bottle. “That was an intense rally.”
“I thought my hands were going to fall off,” Aran says, groaning. “But it’s a nice break. Can’t believe Atsumu kept settin’ on first touch.”
“He just trusts ya to always get the ball,” you say. “And he wants to make up for the point gap real bad.”
“Maybe he trusts me too much,” Aran grumbles.
Though you’re fairly friendly to everyone on the team, especially the third years, Aran is one of the people you’re most close to. It helps that he’s also friends with Kita and you’re in his class this year, so you gravitate towards his desk to trade silly jokes and steal pieces of his bento. Even though he groans, he lets you get away with it, and you’re sure to give him something from your own bento in return.
“Go Shin-kun,” you whisper under your breath, pumping your fist as he crouches and digs the ball with one perfect, fluid motion. “Ya got this!”
“Thought you’d be cheerin’ louder than that,” Aran says.“Haven’t ya been wanting him to be on court since our first year here?”
“I don’t want to distract him,” you say. “It’s his first time in a real match! Well, not that Shin-kun would get distracted by something like cheering, anyways.”
“First time in a match?”
“Yeah. Surprised no one told ya yet,” you say, eyes glued to Kita’s figure. He’s steady, reliable, and already the other players on court are relaxing their bodies, their focus sharpening. He’s lecturing them, you imagine, pointing out all the ways in which they’ve been overcompensating or slacking. “Never made it to the court in middle school. I knew he would, eventually. Shin-kun’s good, even if he doesn’t think so because he’s not flashy. But being diligent and doing things so consistently every time is real hard, and so that’s its own skill.”
“You’re… really paying attention to him, huh?” Aran says.
“Because he’s Shin-kun,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re up again, Aran,” Coach Kurosu calls. “Take yer number. We’re gonna put ya back in after this rotation. Think the team’s back on its feet, and Kita’s about to rotate to the front row.”
“Good luck, Aran-kun. I want ya to score at least ten points in a row!” you say, holding out your hands as he slaps them in a double high five.
“Yer asking for too much,” he groans, picking up the plastic sign with the number four emblazoned on it, raising it as he stands.
The whistle blows. Kita returns to you and the coach, covered in a light sheen of sweat, breathing harder than normal. Other than that, he looks calm, cool, as if this isn’t the first match in his high school career.
“How was it, Shin-kun?” you ask, handing him a water bottle. “Did ya have fun on court?”
“What I did on court was simply the product of all my practice,” he says. “No more, no less. But…”
“But?” you prod.
“I enjoyed it,” he says simply.
“Good! I told ya you would be out there one day! Next time yer out there, I hope you have even more fun, because we’re gonna go far! Take first place at nationals, even!”
You raise your hands in the same gesture you just did for Aran, both hands splayed out for a high five. Kita observes the movement, sets down his water bottle, and quietly, carefully, slaps your hands in celebration.
—
Your dreams at nationals end after three sets during your first game there. You’re walking off the court, away from whatever promises you’ve made, a stage you can only see for this one final time. The echo of your shoes on the hardwood, the parade of volleyball players chasing the same desire, the dome so high and so impossibly large you have to squint to make out the ceiling.
Inarizaki High stays until the end of the day, when the sea of crowds trickle into a stream of stragglers and most stalls close, the window to buy souvenirs shrinking. You want to stay until the last possible second but then the entire team is packing their bags, and the Miya twins catch you while you check for the location of all the players.
“Sorry, manager,” Atsumu whispers. He looks deflated, properly chagrined for once, none of the usual arrogance in his stance or words. “We were supposed ta show you the first place trophy.”
“It’s yer last year,” Osamu says simply.
“Then make sure you make it next year,” you say, clapping both of them on the back so hard that they jump. “I’ll be watching ya, okay? So don’t disappoint me! I wanna see ya take Inarizaki as far as it can go, and then beyond!”
“I promise,” Osamu says. There’s none of his usual relaxed, lazy drawl now, just a fervent honesty.
“Make sure ya come watch!” Atsumu says.
The last six years of your life, spent chasing after volleyballs and planning scrimmages, tracking player stats and filling water bottles, is over. You’ll no longer have to dedicate your afternoons to a gymnasium. You’ve managed to find a replacement, a kind first year named Ichika, so the team will be in good hands.
In the lobby, you run into Aran, who’s watching one of the last games of the day on a television monitor mounted on the wall.
“‘S disappointing, but I’m still gonna do volleyball after this,” Aran says quietly. “I’m thinkin’ about going pro.”
“Then ya better not forget me when yer pro, Aran-kun. I want your autograph. Maybe I can sell it for a lot of money,” you cheer.
“Don’t try one of yer get rich quick schemes with me,” he says, but he still slaps your hands when you hold them out in a double high five.
“You were good on the court,” you say. “So I know you can make it. It was a good game. A real good game, the most excitin’ one I’ve ever seen so far, and ya had a lot of good spikes.”
“Did ya have to say that now?” Aran says groaning, turning away, and you pretend not to notice as he scrubs at his eyes.
On the bus ride home the next morning, you and Kita sit at the front two seats. The bus ride home is quiet; everyone must be exhausted, because when you look back, all you can see are closed eyes and slumped bodies. Atsumu has an arm flung over Osamu, whose eyebrows are drawn in irritation. Suna huddles in a corner by himself. Gin’s mouth is wide open while Omi’s arms are crossed as he leans back next to him. Akagi is smushed against a window, and Aran’s head jostles with every turn of the bus.
But Kita is wide awake, watching the scenery flash past outside. Your hands rest lightly next to each other on the bus seat, just a centimeter of distance. It’s a strange thing to be aware of, but all you can think about is how his fingers must be cold, and you have to resist the urge to pick them up and rub them, curling up all your desire to touch him into your clenched fists.
“Yer not going to keep up with volleyball, right, Shin-kun?” you whisper. “This is yer last season.”
“That’s right,” he says. “But yer not either, are ya?”
“It was a good six years. But there are other things I want ta do. I’m gonna miss this, though.”
“I’m never gonna forget it. I wanted to stay on court a little longer,” he murmurs, voice dropping low as if his words are for your ears alone even though everyone else is asleep, “And show off the team, and everyone’s hard work.”
“I wanted everyone ta place first. Show all of Japan who we are,” you groan. “‘Cause everyone was good enough to make it! We got out too soon. But the other team was way too good too. Can’t believe we never heard of ‘em before this year.”
“But even if we can’t make it to first place, it wasn’t a bad experience. Built a lot of memories, and a lot of muscle,” Kita says. “I know the team always says we don’t need memories, but all our past actions make up who we are now. The me in the past that practiced and ate well and studied hard and got the me of today where I am now.”
You turn over his words. It’s true, after all. Everything you’ve built becomes a foundation for who you are now, and everything you want to build in the future.
“That’s just like ya to say! But ya know, I kinda like our motto. We don’t need ta worry about the past and the things we can’t change. We can only focus on now, and what we’re gonna do in the future. Because who knows what’s gonna happen tomorrow. ‘S exciting,” you say. “And Shin-kun?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for all yer hard work all these years,” you say sincerely. “I’m glad ya got to stand on court one more time, and that all of Japan could see just how awesome ya are! I wanted to show off and yell, ‘see? Isn’t my childhood friend the coolest?’”
Kita blinks, once, twice, and you wonder if you’ve caught him off-guard for once because he looks like a startled fox, fur bristling. There’s a faint pink tinge to his cheeks, but he only says, “But we wouldn’t get half as far without ya as support. If I looked cool, it’s only because ya and the others worked so hard to get us where we were. ‘S not just my effort alone. Ya were the one doing research and preparin’ all the supplies, so thank you for all of your hard work as manager.”
“Aw, Shin-kun,” you say, and this time, your hand reaches across the divide, forefinger loping around his own. Just this much should be okay, shouldn’t it? Kita has always had cool skin, but today, it burns with an intense heat that seeps into your skin. Or are you mistaking your own body heat for his? But isn’t it all the same warmth at the end of the day, because you’re always by his side? “I know all that! Ya should take the compliment. Ya don’t gotta find a reason for everything all the time.”
Kita laughs softly, a sound as gentle as the swirl of snow across a courtyard. “‘S habit. It’s important ta think through everything, and do it carefully and slowly. Especially for the important things. Ya don’t want to rush through those, even if no one notices.” His finger squeezes around yours. “I’m looking forward to seein’ what tomorrow looks like, after all that hard work.”
“Tomorrow will be good,” you say confidently, “‘Cause we built the foundation for it today. And ya don’t need to worry, Shin-kun. Even if yer watching everyone else, I’ll be watching ya, and I’ll see all the effort you put in.”
“I know ya will,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, the fondness, how it colors all of his words, the way it always has.
—
March arrives in a froth of cherry blossoms and pink petals that get caught in your hair, long-winded speeches during the graduation ceremony as you bounce in your seat, your juniors crowding around you with a bouquet of flowers they pooled their allowances together to buy. The flowers are vibrant reds and pinks and yellows, as vivid as the team you’re leaving behind.
“We’re going to miss you, manager,” Atsumu says. His eyes are rimmed in red.
“He cried thinkin’ about you and the other third years leavin’,” Osamu says bluntly. “Like a baby.”
“And Samu couldn’t even sleep ‘cause today was the last day he could see ya all,” Atsumu responds nastily. “Made him all worried.”
“I’ll send you the photos later,” Suna whispers, discreetly aiming his phone at the bickering twins, who look like they’re one step away from escalating it into a physical altercation.
“Thanks, Suna-kun,” you whisper in return, shifting the flowers to rest in the crook of one arm. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t slack too much.”
Suna hums noncommittally, eyes sliding away from you, but Ginjima pats his chest, standing straight.
“I’ll watch out for Suna,” he says, voice already strained with restrained tears. “Don’t worry, manager! I’ll work hard, so ya won’t have anything to worry about.”
“Thank you, Gin-kun,” you say. “But watch out for yourself, too!”
With graduation comes a last minute wave of tearful confessions, of promises to stay together, and a request for buttons. You navigate skillfully around an obstacle course of classmates clamboring for your second button or any buttons at all, turn down a wave of confessions, and skirt around anyone who seems like they’re eying you.
Is Kita getting the same influx of confessions? You really hope not. It takes you a few seconds to spot Kita hanging back from the mingling crowds, at a careful distance. For a moment, all you can do is stare. He looks pretty framed against the trees, like an ephemeral spirit watching over humanity, forever separated. But unlike a spirit, you don’t want him to fade away to a place where you can’t be with him.
“Shin-kun!” you say, running up to him. You flick a quick glance at his jacket; all his buttons are still there. “There you are!”
Kita reaches a hand to your head, brushing away a shower of petals that must have settled into your hair in your journey to find him. “Did ya talk to the second years? They were lookin’ for ya.”
“Just finished!” you announce, waving your flowers in front of him like a baton. “They gave me these. Aren’t they pretty?”
“They really like ya,” he says.
“Well, they like you a lot too! Are ya gonna give me something, Shin-kun? Since it’s our high school graduation?” you joke.
Kita regards you for a long moment. Then, his nimble fingers reach towards his uniform blazer, tugging out the second button, before he holds it out to you, button lying flat on his palm. “This is for you.”
“Shin-kun?” you say. Kita, who has never looked anything less than perfect, who keeps spare buttons in his bag in case he loses one and has to sew it back on, who never does anything unnecessary, is handing you a button. His second button, the one he ripped out of his jacket.
“It’s customary to do something like this,” he says. “Ain’t it?”
“It is, but ya know, giving the button… it’s like…”
“You don’t want it?”
You quickly snatch the button from his hands, your fingers grazing against his palm, and it feels like even that momentary touch has burned you, like you’re marked by him in a way no one else can ever do. “I didn’t say that! I’m glad ya didn’t give it to anyone else, but…”
“Ya didn’t give yers to anyone else, either,” he says quietly. “That’s good.”
“I didn’t want ta,” you stammer. It’s Kita. Kita, your best friend and childhood friend. The one you hold near and dear to your heart, who’s always gone along with your whims. But right now, it feels like he’s one leading you along.
You like him. Of course you like him. But the shape of his feelings are different from what you expected, or thought they would ever be. And what are your feelings? How do you feel about Kita? Kita, who you adore, who you like, who is the most important person in the world to you?
“So there’s no one ya want to give it to?” Kita asks.
You open your mouth, and you don’t know what you’re going to say, because Kita looks so serious, and he’s always serious, but today, he has an intensity that he only gets when he’s focused, when he really cares about what he’s doing, and you’ve never felt more flustered to be on the receiving end of such a penetrating stare—
“Kita! Manager!” Akagi calls, waving his arms. “There ya are!”
Startled, you whirl around, waving back to Akagi, who’s running towards you, and Omi and Aran, who stand a little ways back.
“Let’s go, Shin-kun. The others are calling for us!” You scurry off, your entire body fever-hot. For now, at least, you’ve been granted another reprieve from having to think about your feelings.
(“I told him not to interrupt ‘em,” Aran says, groaning, watching as you high five Akagi, Kita trailing just a bit behind. “Did ya see how Kita looked?”
“He looked fine to me,” Omi replies.
“Are ya kidding?” Aran says. Once again, he has to wonder if he’s the only sane one on the team, a thought he’s had many, many times before.
It’s obvious that Kita cares about you in a different way than he does for the others, a special regard that you yourself seem oblivious to, whether that’s purposeful or not.
Kita is perfectly polite, kind, and meticulous, the sort of boy that parents absolutely adore. Aran would struggle to come up with a single bad word to say about him, not that he wants to. They’re friends. They’ve spent three years together. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something that most people wouldn’t pick up on.
It’s just…
“Foxes mate for life,” he mutters, the fact springing into mind unbidden, from a nature documentary or class, he isn’t sure.
“Did ya say something, Aran?” Omi asks.
“‘S nothing. Let’s join them.”
It’s just a little possessive).
—
You squint up at the house in front of you, shading your eyes with your hand. It’s been a few years since you’ve visited Kita Yumie’s home, but it looks just as it did in your childhood: clean, small, well-maintained, curtains pulled back and windows open to let in a breeze, with a porch that you just want to sit on with a pot of tea.
The spring air is warm, inviting, as if winter had never shown its face and it’s always been such pleasant weather. Your suitcase rattles behind you as you pull it along the dirt road and up the house steps, knocking on the door.
It’s been a year since you’ve graduated college, and five years since you left high school. In the time since, you’ve landed a job at a wedding planning company, and you haven’t had time to rest. There’s always a last minute disaster to handle, an argument between the couple, or a mistake in booking. And just when you’re done smoothing out one problem, there’s always two more to handle, and a new wave of clients at your door.
But you’ve always wanted to work in hospitality, to connect with others, and the look of joy on your clients’ face when the wedding comes together gives you a satisfaction like nothing else. There’s something about connecting people, of watching people who want to spend their lives by each other’s side, that makes you feel as giddy as if you’re the one getting married.
You keep in touch with your classmates and the volleyball team members you once coached, though it’s still hard to wrap your head around the fact you know three professional volleyball players now. Osamu has a habit of giving you free onigiri whenever you stop by his shop, and Shiori and Jun still text you sporadically with updates on their lives.
But it’s Kita who you make an effort to call and text everyday. Even if you don’t live next to each other anymore, hearing from him is always a part of your daily ritual. He’s your best friend, and the two of you have only seen each other in person at family get-togethers during the holidays, or when you try to take a day off to see him on his birthday. It’s a little lonely to know he’s no longer just a few doors down, that if you looked out the window, you wouldn’t see him walking by.
Neither of you talk about high school graduation. You don’t bring it up, and neither does Kita, and your relationship is virtually unchanged. Even though you still keep his button, turning it over in your hands when you try to think about what you want. Even though you know both you and Kita are waiting for something. Even though you’re no longer a child and it’s been five years, and you’re just taking advantage of his kindness, because he always, always spoils you.
But there’s never been a good time to broach the subject, not with classes and now work, and you wonder if it’s too late now. If you imagined the whole thing, if you were wrong, if this is finally the one line you’ve crossed.
“Yer here,” Kita says, opening the door. “And yer early.”
“Hi, Shin-kun! I’m back!” you say, smiling. “The plane landed at the airport ahead of the scheduled time. Thanks for lettin’ me stay for the weekend.”
Kita is taller now, hair kept a little shorter than he did in high school. He’s dressed in a plain blue jumpsuit, muddy gloves tucked in his pocket. But he still has the easy, silent grace he always has had, the same intense stare and efficiency and purpose to his actions with no wasted movement. And he’s still Kita, dear Kita, and you know every inch of him, from past to present.
“Obaasan likes ya, so it’s no problem,” he says, picking up your suitcase before you can protest. “She started preppin’ your room as soon as I told her ya were visiting for a while. She’s out visitin’ friends now, though.”
“How’s the farm doing? Want me ta help out?”
“Farm’s doing great, so you should only help if ya want to. I know yer here on break.”
“It’s not a problem!” you say, flexing your arm. “I still keep pretty fit. And I’d feel bad if I didn’t help out at all, ya know!”
When you come downstairs after arranging your luggage in your room (Kita is right. Yumie still has your pair of faded yellow slippers set out, and she fluffed up the futon and set up a vase of pink flowers to brighten up the room), Kita is waiting for you downstairs. He pulls you into his arms for a hug as soon as your feet touch the floor, and you try not to squeak in surprise at the gesture, at the strength hidden in his arms.
“I missed ya,” he says. There’s a confidence to his movements, an openness that he didn’t have before. It would have been unimaginable as children, the idea of Kita hugging you first, as if you belong nowhere else but his arms.
You wrap your arms around him, his body as familiar to you as your own, sinking into his touch. “I missed you, too.”
And then he pulls away, leaving you with only the tingling memory of his warmth all over your body.
“Yer not too tired?” he asks. “Was yer flight long? Did ya eat?”
“I slept on the train,” you say, ticking off on your fingers each question that you answer, “The flight wasn’t too long, and I packed lunch that I ate on the way over. If I didn’t, ya would’ve lectured me again, wouldn’t you?”
“Yer an adult, with a difficult job,” he says simply. “I wantcha to take care of yourself. Ya used to walk out the door in the mornings without making sure ta eat properly.”
“You’re always like this, Shin-kun. But I promise I won’t give ya a reason to worry anymore. I’m not a kid, so I know how to be careful now,” you say playfully. “Why don’t ya show me around?”
The rice paddies sprawl for what feels like miles with pools that reflect the blue sky and billowing clouds, as if shards of the sky have fallen to the earth. New, tender green shoots shyly peek their heads out, the start of the growing season. You walk on the outskirts of the fields, the same fields you once visited as a child during vacation.
Even if it feels the same, the plants and the gentle hands working the land are different. Each meter of land and each budding stalk is a testament to Kita’s diligence, to the dedication and care he puts into each and every single action he takes everyday.
“It’s beautiful,” you say. “A lot nicer to look at than my cubicle, that’s for sure.”
“Do ya have any weddings coming up?”
“Yup! I have a lot of clients who’ve booked me for May next month. That’s when the wedding season gets busiest, so I figured I might as well take advantage of our slow months to come see ya. It’s been ages, Shin-kun.”
“Have ya thought about your own wedding?”
“Me?” you say, startled. “It’s not something that’s really on my mind. I mean, there’s so much work that goes into it. And can ya imagine me gettin’ married? It’s a little silly. I’m the wedding planner, not the person who throws a wedding.”
“I can,” Kita says quietly. “And ya used to want ta, didn’t ya? When we were little. Did that change?”
“Shin-kun,” you say. The two of you have stopped walking, and a spring breeze stirs your hair. “What do you mean? Did I say something like that?”
He takes a step closer to you. And wonderful Kita Shinsuke, your childhood friend, your best friend, the person you’ve always loved most in the entire world, pulls out a bundle of daisies from his pocket, green stem tied with a white ribbon, holding them out to you like a wedding ring.
“I want to marry ya,” he says plainly. “I’ve been waitin’ my whole life, ever since ya asked me when we were little. We couldn’t then, but we can now. I wanted ta make sure my finances were all right, and didn’t want to rush ya while you were still in school and settling into your job.”
“But–When did—How!” you say, words a jumbled mess. Your face is hot, hotter the sun, and you’re dizzy from the sheer intensity of Kita’s open, genuine affection. You take the flowers from him with trembling hands. They’re simple flowers, but you remember now, your childish eight-year-old self’s declaration, Kita’s response, an ordinary spring day. It was just a silly, impulsive choice, born out of the intensity of your affection for Kita, but Kita remembers, because of course he does. Because he’s always looking at you, as much as you’ve been looking at him.
“Did ya forget?” Kita says quietly, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips ghosting across your fingertips, the promise of a kiss. He lowers your hand, but doesn’t let go, your fingers hooked over the edge of his palm. You can’t shake him off, you could never even think about it, because it’s Kita, Shin-kun, the most wonderful person in the entire world. “But I didn’t forget all this time, ever since you asked me. Even if you didn’t mean it, I did. I wanted to take my time, court you properly, ‘cause that’s just the right thing to do.”
“Shin-kun, ya said you didn’t want to marry me,” you protest, but your voice is weak even to your own ears. “I remembered that you rejected me!”
“I said we can’t, not that I didn’t want to marry you. I meant that we should wait until we were old enough to. Kids can’t get married, but adults can.”
“You weren’t very clear on that! How was I supposed to know what ya met?”
“That’s why I’m telling ya now. Marry me,” Kita whispers. “I’ve been waiting for you all my life. I can wait as long as you want me to, but I’m not as strong as ya think. I’m a greedy man when it comes to you.”
“Shin-kun, yer not being fair,” you whisper. “We haven’t even dated.”
“We don’t have ta get married right now. We can date first, get engaged. Take the time to plan everything, do it in the proper way. I love you,” he says. “I’ve loved ya ever since we were kids. If ya don’t feel the same, then you can tell me right now, and I’ll still be yer best friend. That won’t change. I’ll always love you, even if ya don’t love me in the same way.”
He’s impossible. He’s impossible, and this isn’t real, it can’t be. You bring the bundle of flowers to your face, the smooth edge of a waxen petal pressed against your lips.
You can’t hide it anymore, even if you wanted to. You can’t lie to yourself, can’t pretend that your feelings are anything other than what they are. You have to stop running, because Kita is waiting for you, right here, right now, and he’s not going to leave.
“I love you,” you say, voice choking. “Shin-kun, I love you. What are ya saying? You really think I wouldn’t feel the same way? I’ve loved ya since before I knew what love even was. Yer the most wonderful person in the world. I’d choose ya, again and again. I want to marry you, Kita Shinsuke, even if we gotta wait another ten years.”
The flowers fall from your lips as Kita cups your face, cradling you as tenderly as he’s always treated you, because he’s always going along with all your whims while never straying from your side. His lips are on yours, soft, sweet, and he kisses you. Again, and again, and again, an endless shower of kisses that rain on you, as if he’s making up for the years in which he couldn’t. And you accept his kisses greedily, parched earth finally watered, because Kita Shinsuke is the most wonderful man in the world, your best friend from childhood, and the person you love more than anyone else.
(“Yer really not going ta ask them out? I thought ya liked them. Yer young, Shinsuke. Ya gotta be bold,” Obaasan asks. She’s washing vegetables over the kitchen sink, shirt sleeves rolled up, as he chops radish on the cutting board, an efficient system for dinner that they’ve worked out ever since he moved in.
Ever since high school, she’s been slyly dropping hints about marriage, eyes drifting towards you meaningfully or inquiring about how your relationship has been going. But it’s Obaasan, so Kita dutifully entertains her questions every time even though he can see her ulterior motives, plain as day.
“I’m courtin’ them,” Kita says plainly, “In the way that works best for us. Datin’ would only make it more complicated, and I don’t think they want any of that yet, not with their job. ‘S no good to rush things. Ya taught me that.”
“Do they know that? What if someone snatches them up? They’re so cute, and they’re young and alone in a big city. Since they’re visitin’ tomorrow, ya gotta take the chance to say something, ya hear me? I want ta see the two of you at the altar soon.”
He thinks about the daisies he’s grown and picked that are now waiting patiently for your hands, the photographs from your childhood together carefully framed on his dresser, the years he’s spent by your side, nursing his feelings day by day, ritual by ritual.
“I’m not worried,” Kita says. “Because we’re important ta each other. Even if they didn’t love me like I loved them and married someone else, that wouldn’t change.”
Obaasan chuckles. “Ya know, the two of you really think alike. ‘S like yer meant to be. When you were babies, they used ta reach for ya on the playmat and chew on ya, but ya wouldn’t let go once they did. Clung to them like ya were afraid of them disappearing, like they belonged right by your side.”
“Obaasan?”
“‘S nothing. As long as the two of you find yer way to each other, it doesn’t matter how bumpy the road is. All that matters is that day by day, moment by moment, yer building yer life and relationship together. And as long as the two of you reach each other in the end, you’ll be okay.”)
sae itoshi x gn!reader — everyone wants their love returned. you don’t know if you want that for yourself.
: 0.8k words, slight senpai!sae, slight dubcon (reader is confused with their feelings), a bit suggestive, canon-divergent (after the sae vs. rin), character/writing study, angst, avoidant/toxic feelings, zero beta
the world always had a nasty habit of reminding you that sae itoshi would never be yours.
you could recount every miniscule instance. from the news reporters, to the trophies, to the ticket that took him far away from you. there were the girls his age that fancied him, boys your age that were mesmerized by his skill, and all the adults that talked about his potential.
you were just like them, a few years younger than sae and just as spellbound—and who could blame anyone when sae’s brilliance naturally demanded recognition? who could blame you when you were enchanted first?
what separated you from the rest was proximity; the privilege of having him close, of having him choose you again and again because you were there first. everyone thinks you’re lucky.
you think so, too.
proximity meant borrowed umbrellas and strawberry milk from the convenience store. it meant finished homework at a house that wasn’t yours, sunsets where the ocean evens out to a deep indigo, sunday mornings watching a prodigy score goal after goal.
proximity meant he was yours to tend to, yours to keep and cherish. proximity meant the spaces outside of the fields, your time and memories intertwined with his until you didn’t know a life without him.
spain was cruel in that sense. it was the grand ambition that dissolved your proximity, nipped away the thorns for others to hold—thorns that kept him safe, thorns that you adored, thorns that made him your sae.
that doesn’t stop you from cherishing him still, but you feel like a part of you had just been cut out. you know it’s cruel to want him back, to keep him caged in kamakura, but you think it’s outright ruthless to have someone you cared about so much get whisked away to the other face of the planet. no amount of posters, interviews, or merchandise can hold a candle to who he is when he’s with you.
when memories are all you have left to bridge the distance, you might as well convince yourself that you’re in love with a stranger.
you let the seconds linger with the gentle cascade of snow. the air seems to clip the wings of your stomach butterflies, and you can’t recall if the temperature was meant to drop lower than usual. you aren’t nervous despite the fairytales of romantic confessions; all you want is to empty yourself until nothing of him is left.
“i like you, senpai,” you say. it slips out so naturally that you forget you were confessing for the first time.
to say you like him is an understatement, nearly fraudulent with the depths of your devotion and almost blind to the way you tethered into threads of obsession. you know love because you know sae, and you learn of love because all you want to know is sae.
sae is finally where you want him to be, and you think it’s all muscle memory to him—to give into your every whim, to pay the price of your time and loyalty with his service. you don’t recall a time where he had ever left you astray or confused, where he left your wishes unfulfilled.
even so, you don’t have it in yourself to hold his gaze despite your collectedness. his eyes are so solemn, the electrifying teal worn down by force and secrets you wish you knew. you know yourself enough to know that you’d get stuck if you stared into them.
he moves close enough to crowd your space, his presence bewitching you like clockwork, a magic trick that always works. then you feel it: his hands holding you by the waist, chapped lips against yours. an electrical short circuit that stops all the warning signs from entering your head.
and you kiss him back. of course, you do. this is everything you’ve ever wanted—no matter how haunting the pleasure feels, no matter how hollow the sparks measure, you’ve always known that you wanted this, wanted his affection, wanted him. he was simply making your wishes true, like he always does.
so you have to want this, even if this sae wasn’t yours. you have to, because you know more than anyone else that this is how he is with the things he loves. he ruins them.
you have to let him ruin you, because you still love him so much. because it’s a sign that he loves you.
you feel his warmth engulfing your body, solid against you but ghostly at the touch. it’s not enough to thaw the chill down your spine, but it’s searing through every other part of you with open flames. there’s spit when he pulls away, the phantom of his tongue lingering inside your mouth.
“pretty,” he mutters, his thumb dragging down the plush of your lip. he leans in to kiss you again, an addiction you’ve unlocked within him, and all you hear is the radio static in your head.
i’d also like to think that senpai!sae steps in only when he sees you’re uncomfortable (e.g. another senpai who’s being too pushy / a very overbearing neighbor / your gossipy colleague) ,,, he knows you can handle weird situations on your own + without his help but he wants to nip the bud himself because he believes you don’t deserve to ever feel discomfort
do you think sae would melt into the kiss immediately or would he take a lil longer (tiktok trend)
had to sit down and stare at the wall to think about this, but i would say sae takes a little longer.
why?
sae itoshi is not the “immediately folds” guy. he’s the one-second pause guy. the kind where you lean in, kiss him, and for a split moment he just freezes with eyes half-lidded, brain buffering like an old laptop. not because he doesn’t want it, but because his control just got snatched away and he hates that you caught him off guard.
if you linger, maybe kiss him again, a little slower, a little closer, that’s when he exhales. he doesn’t rush, doesn’t get sloppy (sae never does), but the tension drains out of him in real time. shoulders relax. forehead dips closer.
by the end of it? yeah. he’s melted. not dramatically, not in a way he’d ever admit.
and later, if you tease him like “you totally folded,” he’ll deadpan, “... you’re imagining things.”
but he does not pull you back in when you kiss him again.
obsessed with the idea of college!au yuuta with a gf who likes to party.
he doesn't mind partying—there's nothing wrong with it, and he understands the appeal of unwinding after a difficult week with a drink. he'd prefer to be at home with you, but he doesn't hate it. he'll gladly accompany you to whatever random house party you drag him along to, and he'll nurse his little red solo cup for a few hours while still maintaining enough sobriety to bring you home.
he has no shortage of people to talk to, either. you're popular, and he's pretty well-known by extension. everyone knows him as the nice, pleasant, relatively unassuming guy who likes to hang out in the corner of the room (whenever he's not dancing with you).
and every guy knows to steer far clear of you.
because though yuuta is so, so nice, they remember what happened to the last guy who wouldn't take your no for an answer.
yuuta doesn't mind that his reputation precedes him. doesn't mind that people remember the blood on the floor, the crack of his fist against the guy's jaw. it makes it easier for him to relax and enjoy the party.
and, most importantly, you don't have to worry—because you know yuuta is always watching.
a/n: half of these aren’t even crush types but oh well. lemme know which one u can relate to 😏
characters: i. sae, s. ryusei, m. reo, k. tabito, i. rin, i. yoichi, s. nagi, o. aiku, b. meguru and y. kenyu
THE SENIOR
Everybody has their senior.
For some, it’s their older siblings, clubmates, tutors, acquaintances. For you…well, it’s obvious.
The senior crush case.
Yours specifically?
Sae Itoshi.
He wasn’t sweet or approachable, nor was he there to hold anyone’s hand or hand out advice. No, this man was cold, confident, untouchable, and he knew it.
The kind of senior who walked through classrooms and grabbed everyone’s attention without even knowing, head high, shoulders relaxed, not a smile at the world.
People knew him within the first week of freshman year. Some admired, others feared him.
You saw him in different ways—passing by during club activities, showing up at school events, or gliding into parties you somehow ended up at as well. Parties where his gaze caught yours for a second and then moved on. Those fleeting moments that made your chest tighten without warning, which to him were probably weren’t even worth noticing.
THE DELINQUENT
Fierce spirit, insane moves and a punch that could drop anyone stupid enough to provoke him.
You learned early not to cross him.
Everyone did, especially after he beat up a senior for insulting his eyeliner, which was awfully perfect, by the way. The story spread fast, exaggerated with every retelling, until Shidou Ryusei became less of a student and more of a legend.
And then there was you.
His classmate, background character, sitting last row, right next to the empty desk he was assigned to but almost never used. On the rare days he showed up, he’d sprawl into the chair like he owned the room, legs stretched out, grin sharp and dangerous.
You never really spoke.
Barely even exchanged looks.
You didn’t really know him, only seeing tiny pieces. Still, something about him drew you in.
Maybe it was admiration, perhaps curiosity…or maybe you just liked watching chaos from a safe distance.
ACADEMIC RIVAL
Just like the book tropes you pretended not to like, you had your own academic rival.
The name was Mikage Reo—heir, millionaire, handsome and somehow disgustingly talented at everything he touched. Not that you were lacking—you were good, really good. Which made it even worse when you kept landing in second place.
One point behind.
Half a point.
Close enough to taste.
It drove you insane.
Especially because Reo never rubbed it in. He didn’t need to. He had a habit of leaning just a little too close when grades were handed back, eyes flicking to yours before the paper even touched his desk. “Close one,” he’d remark, like it wasn’t a calculated strike.
Sometimes he’d ask questions he already knew the answer to, just to hear you explain it—head tilted, smile lazy, clearly enjoying how worked up you got at his intense, judgmental gaze. Every reaction from you felt intentional on his part.
And he never even denied it. Reo would just stand there with that stupid grin and those knowing looks, like he was perfectly aware of the tension crackling between you—waiting to see who would fall first.
PROJECT PARTNER
You know what the worst thing in high school is?
Group projects.
And worse than that?
Projects where partners are assigned by some stupid online wheel, spinning your fate like it’s a joke.
You’ve never been a fan. Too many things can go wrong like getting stuck with someone who doesn’t give a flying fig or worse…a notorious ghoster who never replies and somehow still expects credit.
So imagine your shock as the wheel slowly lands on Karasu Tabito, your stomach immediately doing a small, inconvenient flip.
You’d noticed him before. Everyone had. It wasn’t a big deal—just a small, unimportant crush you kept tucked away. He was sharp, athletic, always one step ahead in class. The kind of person who looked like he had his life together, down to the way his hair never seemed out of place.
The kind of guy who always seemed a little out of reach…until fate decided to spin the wheel your way.
THE NEW CLASSMATE
Living in a village had its perks—you knew every street like the back of your hand, every neighbor and their family tree, and the air actually smelled like something alive. But to be frank…life was boring.
Predictable.
The occasional drama barely left a mark.
That’s exactly when Isagi Yoichi transferred.
At first, he was just another new face. Bright smile, awkward energy, soccer player, friendly. Normal, easy to like. You noticed him, sure, but it was harmless. Just curiosity.
But over time, he started showing up in your days more than anyone else. The way he laughed at small things, how he asked questions in class, how he somehow made even a normal day feel lighter. Little details, barely noticeable at first.
Then one afternoon, he offered to walk you home. You said yes without thinking.
The walk was quiet at first, easy. He talked about school, soccer, small plans. And then…his dreams.
Big ones. Really big ones.
He spoke about them with so much sincerity, so much hope, that you couldn’t help but listen closely. By the time you reached your street, the sun was low, painting the village in gold. You noticed how close your shoulders had brushed, how his laughter lingered in your ears, how your chest felt tighter than usual.
It wasn’t sudden.
You didn’t even notice the moment it started, but something about him…his energy, his hope, his laugh was slowly wrapping around you, sinking in, making ordinary days feel just a little extraordinary.
HALLWAY CRUSH
You always needed to find a fine shyt when you came to school—somebody you didn’t have classes with, never talked to, someone who was just really, really fcking fine when you passed them in the hallways.
That was Itoshi Rin.
Your target and eye candy from the first few weeks of high school. You spotted him standing by the lockers, and honestly…how could anyone not notice him? He moved through the chaos of the crowd without a single hair out of place, and those dark turquoise eyes of his—sharp, calm, unbothered—somehow made even the worst classes a little more bearable.
You saw him on certain days, passing by your classroom, maneuvering through the sea of students, leaning near the lockers, talking with someone. He had this effortless aura, like nothing in school could touch him, and maybe that’s why it was impossible not to watch.
Sometimes, it was just glances.
Sometimes, brief contact when your shoulders brushed on the stairs.
Small things, barely noticeable, but enough to make your chest do something weird. Enough to make you start looking forward to seeing him, even if it was only for a few seconds.
ASSIGNED DESKMATE
With every new school year came a new deskmate. Your homeroom teacher would scribble everyone’s names onto stupid little slips of paper, drop them into a jar, shake it, then pull them out one by one to decide where everyone sat for the next semester.
You’d had a crush on Seishiro Nagi for a while now.
Nothing worth mentioning, just one of those silly little crush things. The kind you barely acknowledged, thinking of it as passing boring time.
Freshman year, you sat two rows behind him. Sophomore year, you sat right in front of him, blocking his view of the board—not that he actually ever paid attention. Always close enough to notice him, never close enough for it to matter.
Then junior year happened.
Somehow, you ended up with him as your deskmate. At first, it felt the same. Casual, easy to ignore. He slept through lessons, gave you space, answered questions without batting an eyelash. The perfect deskmate. You told yourself that was all it was.
But sitting next to him every day changed things. The crush stopped being background noise and started demanding your attention. You noticed the way his snow-white hair fell into his eyes, the soft sounds he made when he slept, how warm his arm felt when it brushed yours. Moments that used to mean nothing suddenly lingered.
Not that he noticed.
He was usually too busy gaming or talking about soccer with his best friend.
THE STAR ATHLETE
Ah yes. The inevitable trope.
Liking Oliver Aiku meant watching more than participating. You knew him best from the benches, legs tucked in, cheering with everyone else while pretending you weren’t watching him specifically. Captain of the school soccer team, star athlete, always laughing like the world bent easily around him. From there, he looked untouchable.
In class, it wasn’t much different. You shared the same room, the same air, but not the same attention. He was popular, charming without trying, an effortless flirt.
You existed somewhere in the background, a familiar face he might recognize but never really notice. And still, you admired him. From the sidelines, from the crowd, from the quiet moments when he passed your desk or brushed by in the hallway. Little things you weren’t supposed to hold onto.
Aiku was the kind of crush that lived comfortably at a distance—one you carried quietly, from the benches to the classroom, knowing it was safer that way.
CLASS CLOWN
Every school has that trio.
The tallest one everyone agrees is the most handsome. The quiet, nerdy one. And then there’s your favorite—the goofball.
That was Bachira Meguru.
Class clown, loud laugh, zero shame. Always smiling like he had his own little sun following him around. His energy was infectious in the worst way, because once you noticed him, you couldn’t not.
His grin made your chest ache, his laughter stuck with you long after class ended, and whenever he leaned a little too close, your heart thumped embarrassingly loud. He didn’t even have to try. Just existing near you was enough.
And somehow, in all that chaos and laughter, you realized he wasn’t just funny anymore.
He was your favorite part of the day.
CLASS PRESIDENT
Being the class president’s assistant sounds impressive on paper.
In reality, it meant staying after class, organizing paperwork, sitting through meetings you barely spoke in, and spending an unreasonable amount of time next to Yukimiya Kenyu.
He took the role seriously. Too seriously.
Always thanking you, always apologizing when things ran long, always making sure you weren’t overwhelmed. He’d slide papers toward you neatly, lean just close enough to point things out, his voice low and calm like he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on other people.
“Are you okay with this?” he’d ask, earnest every time. “Let me know if it’s too much.” or “I really appreciate your help.”
It should’ve been nothin but professional mutualism.
Yet he remembered things like your schedule, which tasks you preferred, the way you liked your notes organized. Sometimes he’d bring you a drink without asking, already knowing what you liked. Sometimes he’d smile at you during meetings, small and private, like the two of you were sharing a secret.
You told yourself not to read into it.
He was kind to everyone. That’s just who he was. Still, when the room emptied and it was just the two of you, when he loosened his tie and sighed softly, thanking you again like it actually meant something—you felt it. That quiet, awful warmth in your chest.
Being his assistant wasn’t the problem.
Being close enough to see how gentle he was, how sincere, how easy it was to fall for him…now that was the real danger.
very late but happy 2026 to everyone who sees this! my goals for this year is to be more active on here & make friends hehe 🙂↕️ hope the year is starting off beautifully for you guys!
