-> You came to Tokyo for a semester, not a soulmate, then you got lost, met Mikey, and somehow became the one thing he refuses to let slip away. Between cherry blossoms, Toman’s chaos, and nights that stretch too sweet to end, you fall into something real.
Word Count: 5,483
P.S.: This is based on this request! <3
-----
Tokyo doesn’t feel real in the way you thought it would.
It’s real in the obvious ways, train announcements you can half-follow, vending machines that somehow have everything, the smell of coffee drifting out of a shop that looks like it belongs in a movie, but it’s also… too beautiful. Too bright. Like the city is trying to convince you it has never been sad.
You don’t fully believe it.
Maybe that’s why, on your third day, you get lost.
Not dramatically. Not “I’m going to die in a foreign country” lost.
Just… wrong-turn-lost. Side-street-lost. The kind of lost that happens when you’re staring at a map on your phone and it keeps recalibrating like it’s offended you’re not appreciating the scenery.
You stop outside a convenience store, phone held up, brows drawn tight. The street sign above you is perfectly legible if you stare long enough. The problem is, staring long enough is the only trick you’ve got.
You exhale, slow, and tilt your head back like the city might rearrange itself if you ask nicely.
“Hey.”
You blink and turn.
There’s a guy sitting on the curb like he’s part of the sidewalk. Like the concrete was poured around him and everyone decided, yeah, that’s fine, leave him. Legs stretched out. Hands braced behind him. A half-eaten taiyaki balanced lazily between his fingers.
He looks your age, maybe a little older, with messy blond hair that catches the sun in a way that feels unfair. His eyes are dark and calm and far too curious for someone who’s clearly been doing nothing for at least an hour.
“You look lost,” he says, like he’s commenting on the weather.
You laugh under your breath, embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Kinda.” His mouth quirks. “You keep looking up like the signs are gonna change.”
Your cheeks heat, because he’s right, and because he’s smiling like you’re not an inconvenience at all.
You clear your throat and hold your phone out a little, polite. “Do you know how to get to-” You say the name of your residence hall carefully, shaping the syllables the way you practiced.
He listens, actually listens, eyes narrowed in concentration like you’re teaching him something important.
Then he points down the street. “That way.”
You follow his finger. Pause. Check your phone.
“…My map says the opposite.”
He blinks, looks at your phone, looks at the street again, then says, “Huh.”
For a second you think he’s going to argue.
Instead, he pushes himself to his feet with a soft grunt, tosses the taiyaki wrapper into the trash, and stretches like he’s been waiting for a reason to stand up all day.
“Guess I’m wrong,” he says cheerfully.
You wait for him to sit back down.
He doesn’t.
He gestures with his head. “I’ll walk you.”
You hesitate.
You should hesitate. You know you should. You’re alone in a city you don’t know. He’s a stranger with an easy smile and a too-relaxed posture that screams confidence in a way that makes common sense whisper be careful.
But he doesn’t step into your space. He doesn’t crowd you. He just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking like he genuinely won’t be offended if you say no.
It’s disarming.
“…Okay,” you say.
His grin brightens like you just handed him a prize.
-----
He talks while you walk.
Not about anything important. Not the kind of conversation that feels like an interview.
He tells you he hates homework. That he likes sweet things more than he should. That he can judge a convenience store by its snack selection like it’s a moral test.
“What’s your name?” he asks, like it’s the next obvious thing.
You tell him.
He repeats it once, quietly, like he’s trying it on. Then he nods with the satisfaction of someone who has solved a puzzle.
“It suits you,” he decides.
You glance at him, startled. “It does?”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “Feels right.”
You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your mouth. “And yours?”
He pauses dramatically, like he’s considering lying for fun.
Then he says, “Mikey.”
It’s such a simple name, but the way he says it, like it’s a nickname everyone knows, makes it feel like a secret anyway.
“Mikey,” you repeat.
He hums. “You can call me that.”
“I wasn’t going to call you ‘sir,’” you say dryly.
He laughs, bright and sudden. “You’re funny.”
“I’m not,” you insist, but it’s too late. He’s decided.
By the time you reach your residence hall, the walk feels shorter than it should’ve been. Like the city’s edges softened for you because Mikey was there, keeping pace at your side.
You stop at the entrance and turn to him. “Thank you. For helping.”
He rocks back on his heels. “Anytime.”
You expect him to leave.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he tilts his head, studying you like you’re a detail he wants to remember. “You got plans today?”
You blink. “Plans?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Like… food. Something fun. You’re in Tokyo. You should do something fun.”
You glance at the building behind you, the safe option. Then at the street, the glittering unknown.
“I-” you start.
Mikey’s eyes soften, barely. “You don’t have to. Just… if you want.”
And somehow that’s what makes you say, “Okay. But I get to pick.”
His grin returns. “Deal.”
-----
You don’t mean for it to become a habit.
But Tokyo is smaller than it looks when someone decides to orbit you.
You run into Mikey again two days later, like the city is playing a joke.
You’re standing near the river, watching the water slide by beneath a bridge, when you hear a familiar voice behind you.
“There you are.”
You turn.
Mikey strolls up like you’re late to a meeting you didn’t schedule. He’s eating something on a stick, dango, maybe, and he looks absurdly pleased with himself.
“Do you… live here?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the entire river.
“Sometimes,” he says, chewing. “It’s nice. Not loud.”
You frown. “Tokyo is always loud.”
He shrugs like that’s not true. “Not when you know where to stand.”
He offers you the last bite of his snack like it’s normal.
You hesitate. Then you take it, because you’re starting to realize Mikey’s world runs on simple rules: eat good things, walk slow, don’t overthink.
The next time you see him is outside a tiny shop selling taiyaki. The time after that is under a line of trees just beginning to blush with pink buds.
Each time, he acts like it’s expected.
Like of course you’re here. Like of course he is too.
Eventually you stop questioning it.
You start looking for him without admitting you’re looking.
Mikey begins to show you Tokyo in pieces.
Not the tourist postcard version. Not the famous landmarks you can find on any list.
He takes you to the best fried chicken stand near a station entrance. A bookstore that smells like paper and rain. A quiet shrine tucked between buildings where the air feels cooler and calmer.
You don’t know how he knows these places.
You don’t know why he’s showing you.
But it feels like a gift.
Sometimes he’s chaotic. Sometimes he’s silent. Sometimes he says something so unexpectedly thoughtful you find yourself staring at him, recalibrating the way you see him.
One afternoon, you’re crossing a crowded street when someone bumps you hard enough that you stumble. Instinctively you reach out and grab Mikey’s sleeve.
Your fingers slide down and catch his wrist.
It’s barely a touch.
He freezes like someone hit pause on him.
You let go immediately, flustered. “Sorry-”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly.
But his ears are pink.
After that, he starts walking closer.
Not pressed against you. Not possessive.
Just close enough that you could reach for him again if you wanted.
And you do.
-----
You meet his friends on accident.
It’s a warm afternoon, the kind where the sun feels like it’s practicing for summer. Mikey insists you try a new dessert place, and you end up sitting on a low wall outside a parking lot, eating something sweet and ridiculous while Mikey licks sugar off his thumb like he has no shame.
Footsteps approach. Loud ones.
You glance up and see a group of guys walking toward you. They move like they belong together, like a pack that’s learned the rhythm of itself. Some of them are laughing. One of them looks like he’s already irritated and hasn’t even spoken yet.
The tallest one, sharp eyes, shaved sides, dragon tattoo, stops dead when he sees you.
His gaze flicks to Mikey’s face.
Then back to you.
“…Who’s that?” he asks.
Mikey doesn’t even look up from his dessert. “My girlfriend.”
You choke. Full on choke. Coughing, hand to your chest, eyes watering.
“What?” you manage.
Your heart does something stupid and dramatic, like it’s auditioning for a romance movie.
The guys behind him stare like they’ve just watched a miracle.
One with lilac hair and an easy smile steps forward first, breaking the silence before it gets weird. “I’m Mitsuya,” he says politely. “Nice to meet you.”
You introduce yourself, still recovering from the girlfriend comment.
Mitsuya nods like he’s genuinely pleased. “Exchange student?”
“Yeah,” you say. “Just for the semester.”
The tall one, Draken, Mikey calls him keeps looking at Mikey like he’s waiting for a punchline.
Another guy with wild eyes and too much energy leans in, grin sharp. “Baji,” he says. “So you’re the one who’s been stealing Mikey’s time.”
“I haven’t been stealing anything,” you say automatically.
Mikey tilts his head. “You kinda have.”
You glare. “I have not.”
Draken pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god.”
Mikey lifts your hand, just casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and laces his fingers through yours.
Not showy. Not possessive. Just… steady.
Every single one of them notices.
Baji’s jaw drops. Mitsuya’s smile widens.
Draken mutters, “No way.”
Mikey leans toward you, voice low. “They’re loud, but they’re not mean.”
“I didn’t think they were mean,” you whisper back.
Mikey’s thumb strokes your knuckle once, slow. “Good.”
Toman, because they apparently call themselves that, falls into a strange rhythm with you after that. They don’t treat you like a fragile outsider. They don’t hover. They just… absorb you into the chaos like you’re meant to be there.
Which is terrifyingly flattering.
-----
They also, unfortunately, have no shame.
The next time you see them, you’re sitting at a table in a small ramen shop while Mikey is in line ordering like he’s feeding an army.
Baji plops into the seat across from you without asking. “So,” he says. “How’d you do it?”
You blink. “Do what?”
“Get Mikey to act like…” He gestures vaguely at Mikey’s back. “Like that.”
“Like what?” you ask cautiously.
“Like a person,” Baji says, dead serious.
You glance at Mikey, who’s now pointing at the menu like he’s negotiating with the universe. “He seems like a person.”
Baji gives you a look that suggests you are naive in a way that endangers you.
Mitsuya slides into the seat beside Baji, calmer. “Ignore him,” he says. “Baji’s just-”
“Curious,” Baji finishes, grin sharp. “And also concerned.”
“Concerned?” you repeat.
Kazutora, sitting with his arms crossed, says flatly, “He’s obsessed.”
You nearly inhale wrong again. “Excuse me?”
Baji nods dramatically. “It’s true. He ditched us yesterday.”
Draken appears behind them like a shadow. “He said he was ‘busy.’”
You look between them. “Maybe… he was busy.”
“Busy doing what?” Baji demands.
Mikey returns at that exact moment, bowls in hand, and sets one down in front of you first. The gesture is small, but it lands like a statement.
Then he looks at his friends. “Eating.”
Draken’s eye twitches. “You know what we meant.”
Mikey sits beside you, shoulder bumping yours lightly. “I was with her.”
Baji makes a strangled sound like he’s witnessing something holy.
Mikey turns to you, completely ignoring the drama. “Try the egg. It’s good.”
You look down at the ramen, then back up at him. “You ordered for me?”
He nods like it’s obvious. “You said you liked rich broth.”
You did. Once. Three days ago.
Your throat tightens around something warm and unexpected.
Mikey starts eating like he’s starving, totally unbothered.
Across from you, Toman stares like they’ve never seen him chew with affection before.
You decide you love them a little for it.
------
Spring fully arrives without asking permission.
One day the trees are bare and shy.
The next, Tokyo is soft with pink.
Cherry blossoms blur the streets like a dream someone spilled across the city. Petals drift in the air like slow snow, catching in hair, collecting on sidewalks, clinging to the shoulders of strangers.
You didn’t expect it to make you emotional.
But the first time you stand beneath a fully blooming tree, you feel something shift in your chest.
It’s the kind of beauty that makes you remember you’re temporary.
Mikey finds you staring up at the blossoms outside a park, your expression gone distant.
He stops beside you, hands in his pockets. “You okay?”
“They’re…” You swallow, searching for the right word. “Beautiful.”
He hums. “Yeah.”
You glance at him. “Do you know why everyone loves them so much?”
Mikey looks up. His gaze follows the branches like he’s actually considering it. “’Cause they’re pretty?”
“Yes, but…” You lift a hand, catching a petal before it hits the ground. It lands in your palm like a sigh. “Because they don’t last. People gather to see them because they’re only here for a little while.”
Mikey’s eyes flick to your face.
The petal trembles slightly in your hand.
“That’s kinda sad,” he says quietly.
“It is,” you admit. “But… it’s also what makes it special. You notice it more. You remember it.”
Mikey steps closer without thinking. His fingers reach out and gently tuck a stray petal from your hair.
His touch is light.
But your body reacts like it’s heavy.
He doesn’t pull away right away. His hand lingers near your ear, like he forgot what he was doing for a second.
Then he drops it back into his pocket.
“Come on,” he says, voice a little rougher than usual. “Let’s walk.”
You fall into step beside him.
At some point, without either of you announcing it, his hand finds yours.
His fingers lace through yours like they’ve done it a hundred times.
You don’t say anything.
You just squeeze back.
-----
You don’t talk about your program ending.
Not because you’re avoiding it.
Just because it doesn’t feel real yet.
Right now, Tokyo is springtime and sunlight and the taste of street food on your fingers. It’s Mikey walking you home even when you insist you’re fine. It’s him showing up outside your residence hall with a bag of snacks like it’s an offering.
It’s Toman slowly warming up to you like you’re not just Mikey’s newest fixation, but someone they actually… like.
It’s the way Mikey’s hand is always there, steady, casual, like a promise he hasn’t put into words.
One evening, Mikey texts you a single line:
come with me
No punctuation. No explanation.
You stare at your phone, then type back:
where
He replies:
you’ll see
You should say no on principle.
You don’t.
When you meet him outside the station, he’s leaning against a pillar like he’s waiting for someone who matters. When he sees you, his expression softens in a way that still shocks you, even weeks in.
You stop in front of him. “You’re mysterious.”
He shrugs, not even pretending. “I’m romantic.”
“You are not,” you say instantly.
Mikey smiles, slow. “You came anyway.”
You scowl at him, but your face is warm.
He reaches out and hooks his pinky around yours. “Come on.”
-----
Tokyo Bay at night feels like a secret.
The city is loud behind you, but out here the sound changes. The water swallows it. The wind smooths it down.
You sit on a quiet stretch with Mikey beside you, your shoulders nearly touching. The lights reflect off the bay like someone scattered coins across the surface.
Mikey leans back on his hands, head tipped up toward the sky. “Nice, right?”
“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.
He hums like he already knew you’d say that.
For a while, you just exist. No pressure to fill the air. No awkward silence. Just the rhythm of water and the distant city and Mikey’s presence beside you like a constant.
Then he shifts, glancing at you.
“Do you miss home?” he asks.
The question is gentle. Not prying. Not loaded.
You swallow. “Sometimes.”
Mikey nods. “But you like it here?”
You look out at the water. “Yeah. I do.”
His voice is quieter when he says, “Good.”
You turn your head, watching his profile. The way the light catches his eyelashes. The way his jaw sets like he’s holding something back. Mikey is always so easy, so playful, that when he goes still like this it feels like catching a glimpse of his real center.
“What?” you ask softly.
He blinks, as if surprised you noticed. “Nothing.”
You don’t let it go. “Mikey.”
He sighs, dramatic and quiet at once, then reaches for your hand. This time he doesn’t lace his fingers through yours right away. He just holds it, palm to palm.
“I like you,” he says simply.
Your heart stutters. “You-”
“I know,” he says quickly, like he’s cutting you off before you can make it complicated. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… wanted you to know.”
You stare at him, stunned by the sincerity. By the way he looks almost nervous, like he’s braced for impact.
You squeeze his hand. “I like you too.”
Mikey’s shoulders loosen like he’s been carrying something heavy.
He turns his head, eyes on you now. “Really?”
“Really,” you repeat.
His smile is slow and bright, like sunrise. “Okay.”
“Okay?” you echo, half laughing.
“Yeah.” He squeezes your hand once. “Then we’re… like… together.”
You blink. “That’s your big romantic moment?”
Mikey looks offended. “This is romantic.”
“It’s very you,” you say, fond despite yourself.
He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “Good.”
You breathe in, steadying yourself.
Mikey’s gaze drops to your mouth for a split second, so quick you could pretend you imagined it, then lifts back to your eyes.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grab. Doesn’t take.
He waits.
Your chest tightens with something soft.
You close the distance.
The kiss is gentle. More question than answer. Warm and careful and real.
Mikey exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
When you pull back, he stays close, eyes half-lidded, like he’s memorizing the feeling.
“Cute,” he whispers, because of course he does.
You nudge his shoulder. “I hate you.”
He grins. “No you don’t.”
------
The weeks that follow feel like being wrapped in something soft.
Mikey starts showing up at your residence hall with offerings like a stray cat trying to bribe you into keeping him.
Sometimes it’s snacks.
Sometimes it’s a drink you mentioned liking once.
Sometimes it’s nothing at all, just him, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels like he was thinking about you and decided that was enough reason.
You go on dates that don’t feel like dates until you realize you’re smiling the entire time.
A late-night convenience store run turns into sitting on a curb sharing ice cream. A quiet walk becomes hand-holding becomes Mikey leaning his head against your shoulder like he’s tired but refuses to say it.
Once, you catch him staring at you under the blossoms like he’s trying to remember every detail.
“What?” you ask, self-conscious.
He blinks, then says, “You’re pretty.”
You sigh. “There it is again.”
“It’s true,” he insists.
“You need new material.”
Mikey thinks, genuinely. Then he says, “Your smile makes my chest feel weird.”
You freeze.
He watches your expression, then adds quickly, “Not bad weird.”
Your heart does a somersault.
“That’s worse,” you whisper.
Mikey grins. “It’s romantic.”
“You’re not romantic,” you repeat weakly.
He leans in, nose brushing yours. “I’m learning.”
-----
Hanami happens like the city’s biggest shared secret.
Mitsuya invites you, actually invites you, politely, like this is a normal friend thing and not a terrifying milestone. Toman shows up with too much food and not enough self-control.
Draken lays out a blanket like he’s the only responsible adult in the group.
Baji starts a fight with a nearby group over something you don’t even understand. Mikey, unbelievably, stops it with a single look.
You sit under the blossoms, surrounded by laughter and chaos, and you realize something strange:
He hums, pleased, then steals a bite of your food.
You smack his arm. “Mikey!”
He laughs, mouth full. “Sharing!”
“You have your own!”
“It tastes better from you,” he says, dead serious.
You stare at him.
He blinks innocently.
Baji leans over from across the blanket. “He’s flirting.”
“I KNOW,” you snap, flustered.
Mikey tilts his head. “It’s working.”
Mitsuya laughs. Draken shakes his head like he’s given up.
You bite back a smile. “You’re all dramatic.”
Baji points at Mikey. “He’s the dramatic one!”
Mikey rests his head on your shoulder like he’s proving a point. “No I’m not.”
Your face warms. Your chest aches in that soft, full way happiness sometimes hurts.
A petal lands on Mikey’s hair. You reach up and pluck it away without thinking.
Mikey goes still.
You pause, hand lingering for half a second.
His gaze lifts to you, quiet and heavy.
The noise around you fades.
You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How easy it is now.
“How’s your Japanese?” he asks, voice low.
You blink, thrown. “Better. Still not perfect.”
Mikey nods like he’s deciding something. “Good.”
“Good?” you repeat, confused.
He shifts closer, so only you can hear him. “Means you’ll understand me when I say this.”
Your breath catches. “Say what?”
Mikey’s eyes soften. His voice drops, steady and sure.
“Stay with me,” he says.
Not forever. Not as a demand.
Just… stay. Here. In this. With him.
Your throat tightens. “Mikey-”
“I know,” he says quickly, like he always does when things get too big. “You don’t have to answer right now. I just…” He exhales. “I like you. A lot. And I want you around.”
You stare at him, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to climb out of your ribs.
Then you reach for his hand under the blanket and lace your fingers with his.
“I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m staying. Right now. With you.”
Mikey’s shoulders loosen like he’s been holding something back for too long.
He smiles, soft, real.
“Okay,” he says, like it’s the best answer in the world.
And maybe it is.
-----
Tokyo Bay at night feels like a secret you’re allowed to keep.
The city is still there, always there, glowing behind you in scattered constellations of windows and streetlights, humming faintly like it can’t stand to be quiet. But out here the sound changes. The wind blunts it. The water swallows the sharp edges. Everything becomes softer, like the world is speaking in a voice meant only for the two of you.
Mikey sits beside you on the concrete, knees drawn up, an open convenience-store bag between you like evidence of a terrible crime: two canned coffees, a packet of mochi you absolutely did not need, and whatever Mikey grabbed because it looked “good.”
Which, based on his track record, means it’s either the best thing you’ve ever tasted or an immediate regret.
You pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders. “You brought me here again.”
Mikey hums, eyes on the water. “Yeah.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He shrugs like it’s obvious. “I like it.”
“You like… the bay.”
He finally looks at you, expression slow and warm, like sunlight through blinds. “I like you here.”
Your heart does that stupid thing again, kicking against your ribs like it’s trying to get your attention. As if you haven’t been paying attention this whole time.
“You’re not romantic,” you say automatically, because it’s tradition at this point.
Mikey’s grin is lazy. “I’m learning.”
You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t land the way it used to. It doesn’t feel defensive anymore. It feels like a game you both like playing because it keeps the sweetness from getting too sharp.
He pops open one of the coffees and hands it to you like he’s always known which one you’d pick.
You take it. “How do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Knowing,” you say, waving the can a little. “Like you’ve been paying attention.”
Mikey’s gaze dips to your mouth for half a second, so quick it makes your pulse jump, and then back to your eyes, calm and steady.
“I have been,” he says simply.
You swallow. “Oh.”
Mikey’s thumb brushes your knuckle, a small touch that feels louder than the city. “Yeah.”
For a while you just sit. The water moves. The lights shimmer. A breeze lifts your hair and Mikey catches a loose strand between his fingers before it can bother you.
It’s such a quiet little act, so gentle it almost hurts.
“You’re doing it again,” you murmur.
“Doing what?”
“Being…” You search for the word. Honest. Soft. Careful. “Like that.”
Mikey blinks slowly, like he’s deciding whether to tease you or tell the truth.
He decides on truth.
“I don’t wanna mess this up,” he says, voice low.
Your chest tightens. “You’re not.”
Mikey looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to have something good without it being taken away. Like he’s waiting for the universe to remember it owes him a lesson.
So you do the simplest thing you can.
You slide your hand into his.
His fingers close around yours immediately. Firm. Certain.
Like he’s been waiting.
Mikey exhales through his nose, almost a laugh. “See?”
“What?”
He lifts your joined hands a little like he’s presenting evidence. “That. That’s good.”
You smile despite yourself. “Yeah.”
You sip your coffee, and the warmth spreads through you, chasing the cool edge of the wind.
Mikey nudges the bag with his foot. “Try that.”
You peer inside and pull out the mochi packet. “This one?”
“Yeah.”
You open it and take a bite.
It’s… actually good.
You pause, suspicious. “Okay. That’s unfair.”
Mikey grins. “I told you.”
“You’re usually wrong.”
“I’m not usually wrong,” he says, offended.
You raise an eyebrow. “You literally got me lost the first time we met.”
Mikey stares at you like you’ve accused him of a felony. “That was on purpose.”
“It was not.”
He leans back on his hands, smug. “If I didn’t walk you, you would’ve left.”
You blink, caught.
He turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. “And I wanted to keep talking to you.”
Your throat goes tight.
“That’s… such a stupid reason,” you manage.
Mikey’s smile softens. “Yeah.”
A beat.
Then, like it’s the easiest confession in the world, he adds, “But I’m glad I did it.”
You stare at the water because if you stare at him, you might melt into the bay and become a cautionary tale.
You laugh quietly instead, breath fogging faintly in the night air. “You’re ridiculous.”
Mikey bumps your shoulder again, gentle. “You like it.”
“…I do,” you admit.
And Mikey looks so pleased with himself it should be illegal.
Time stretches.
The wind calms.
The city keeps glowing behind you, but it feels far away now—like the world has narrowed down to the space between your hands.
At some point, without either of you announcing it, you both shift. Mikey shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, grumbling something about you being “weak to cold,” and you swat at his arm, but you keep the jacket anyway.
You slide down until you’re lying on your back, staring up at the dark sky.
Mikey follows a second later, close enough that your shoulders touch.
“This is so not safe,” you murmur, only half serious.
Mikey turns his head to look at you. “I’m here.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He smiles anyway, like your worry is cute. “No one’s gonna mess with you.”
You want to ask how he’s so sure.
But Mikey’s confidence feels like a blanket. Heavy in a comforting way. Like he’s put his whole body between you and the world without even thinking about it.
Your eyelids start to feel heavy.
The water’s rhythm is hypnotic. The distant hum of the city turns into white noise. Mikey’s hand stays intertwined with yours like a promise he’s not even trying to make dramatic.
“I’m gonna fall asleep,” you mumble.
Mikey hums. “Okay.”
“You’re gonna fall asleep too.”
“Maybe,” he says, sounding entirely unconcerned.
“You’re literally the one who brought me here.”
Mikey’s voice is drowsy now, warm. “Yeah.”
“You’re so…” You yawn mid-sentence. “…something.”
Mikey shifts closer, his shoulder pressing into yours more firmly. His thumb strokes your knuckle once, slow, soothing.
“Go to sleep,” he murmurs.
You should argue on principle.
Instead you whisper, “Okay.”
And you do.
-----
The first thing you hear is birds.
Not one bird.
A whole chorus of them, loud and rude and absolutely convinced it’s their job to announce the sunrise to the entire planet.
You blink, disoriented, and immediately regret having eyelids because the light is bright.
“Ugh,” you groan, voice rough with sleep. “What is that.”
Beside you, Mikey makes a sound that can only be described as offended.
You turn your head.
He’s still on his back, hair a mess, eyes squinting as if the sun personally insulted him. His face is slack with sleep in a way you’ve never seen before, less “invincible Mikey” and more “a guy who absolutely just got humbled by nature.”
A bird chirps again, louder.
Mikey’s brow furrows like he’s about to fight it.
You stare at him for a second.
Then you start laughing.
It spills out of you before you can stop it, quiet at first, then bigger, because it’s ridiculous. Because you fell asleep at Tokyo Bay like you were in a music video. Because Mikey looks like he’s going to wage war on a sparrow.
Mikey blinks at you, still half-asleep. “Why are you laughing.”
“You-” You wheeze. “You look so mad at the birds.”
“They’re loud,” he mutters, voice gravelly.
“It’s morning,” you say, still laughing. “That’s what birds do.”
Mikey squints up at the sky like he’s considering filing a complaint. “I hate them.”
You laugh harder.
Mikey looks at you for a long second, like he’s trying to stay annoyed on principle.
Then his mouth twitches.
Then he gives up entirely and laughs too, soft and warm and stupidly sweet.
It’s not a dramatic moment. It’s not perfect.
It’s better than perfect.
Mikey turns his head toward you, eyes crinkled in a way that makes your chest ache.
“You’re cute,” he says, like it’s a fact.
You groan, rolling your eyes even though your face is burning. “You have one line.”
“It’s a good line,” he says smugly.
You sit up slowly, stretching, Mikey’s jacket sliding off your shoulders. The bay looks different in the morning, less secret, more honest. The water is a calmer blue, the city behind you waking up like a giant sigh.
Mikey sits up too, hair sticking up in a way that makes him look younger, softer. He reaches out without thinking and tugs you closer until your shoulder bumps his.
You glance at him. “So what now?”
Mikey yawns, then hooks his fingers in yours again like it’s reflex.
“Breakfast,” he says.
“You’re always thinking about food.”
He looks at you, eyes warm. “And you.”
Your heart trips.
You glare at him like it’s his fault you’re flustered. “You’re getting cheesy again.”
Mikey smiles like he doesn’t care. Like he’s proud of it.
“Good,” he says.
Then he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple, gentle, sure, before pulling back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Come on,” Mikey says, standing and tugging you up with him. “You pick.”
You dust yourself off, still smiling, still half-laughing. “I always pick?”
Mikey grins. “Yeah. ‘Cause you have good taste.”
You snort. “Flattery.”
“It’s true,” he insists.
And with your hand in his, birds still chirping behind you like they’re laughing too, you let Mikey lead you into the morning, Tokyo bright and blooming, and the two of you ridiculously, impossibly happy.
hallo !! i love your blog so much, it's so pretty ^o^ may i order some black and muted pink banners/dividers? something similar to the jirai kei fashion style :3 thank you so much in advance~ ❤︎
hi hii!! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა here’s your order of jirai kei banners and dividers! *adds extra pink frosting* :> I hope you like these and I hope you have a wonderful day!! (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡
free to use! credit would be appreciated :)
check the oven ꩜ .ᐟ there’s more dividers + resources! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ ♡︎
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