Warnings: It’s a little suggestive at the end, some insecurities from Fuma’s side but nothing much, I think that’s it
Summary: Murata Fuma is hot, and he knows it, everyone knows it, especially his newfound girlfriend, (Y/n), one thing no one but the absolut closest people to him know though, is just how much of a nerd he is, what will his girlfriend think when she finds out just how much he likes Pokémon?
Please reblog and comment! Hope you enjoy!
Third Person POV
Murata Fuma is hot, and he knows it. Everyone knows it. It’s not arrogance, it’s just a simple fact, backed by the kind of confidence that comes from years of being effortlessly cool. With his tall frame, broad shoulders, and the kind of jawline that could have been sculpted by the gods themselves, he had no shortage of admirers. But right now? Right now, he was a bundle of nerves.
Because Murata Fuma, the hot guy everyone fawns over, is hiding a secret. He’s a huge nerd. And not just any kind of nerd. A Pokémon nerd.
Not the casual, “Oh yeah, Pikachu is cute” kind. No, Fuma was full-on, encyclopedic-knowledge, merchandise-collecting, shiny-hunting, emotionally-attached-to-his-favorite-team kind of nerd.
And no one outside of his inner circle really knew the extent of it. Most people just saw the charm, the looks, the muscles, the dancer. Not the guy who still kept his Game Boy Advance SP charged for nostalgia or who got teary-eyed when he rewatched the episode where Ash lets Butterfree go.
The only one who might find out now… was her. (Y/n).
They’d been officially dating for a month now, it was intense, fun, and sweet. Everything felt new and exciting. She was funny, smart, confident, and she made him feel like he could breathe. He’d been to her place a few times already, her aesthetic was clean but warm, a few bookshelves stacked with novels, plants thriving on windowsills, a throw blanket that always smelled faintly like lavender, like her. He liked it there.
But he hadn’t invited her to his place yet. Until now, when she was coming over for the first time.
~~~
Fuma sat at the edge of his bed, glancing around his room like it was enemy territory. There was a big plush Lucario on his dresser. Framed limited-edition artwork of legendary Pokémon lined one of the walls. His Nintendo Switch dock was flanked by tiny figurines, Eevee, Gengar, Charizard, and a few others. His closet? Well, there were Pokémon shirts. Several. Some still in their packaging. Of course, he had his ‘normal’ shirts as well, the ones he wore outside of his own home.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair, “this is fine. You’re fine. She likes you. Right?”
As if on cue, his phone buzzed.
(Y/n):
“I’m heading over in about an hour 🫶 Should I bring snacks or anything?”
He smiled a little. She was always thoughtful like that. But the knot in his stomach tightened.
Fuma:
“Nah, I got it covered! Can’t wait to see you 😊”
After hitting send, he flopped backwards onto his bed, hands covering his face. “What if she hates it?” he mumbled. “What if she walks in and just turns around and leaves? What if she thinks I’m a man-child?”
A knock on his door made him jump. He sat up quickly as his neighbour and friend since many years back, Kei, poked his head in. “You good, man?” Kei raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been pacing like you’re about to go into battle.” Kei had heard it all the way into his own apartment.
“I am going into battle,” Fuma replied solemnly. Kei stepped inside and looked around. “Against what? Team Rocket?” Fuma shot him a look. “Against my girlfriend potentially discovering that her cool boyfriend is secretly a dork.” Kei snorted. “Hey, it’s not a secret to me. And honestly, that’s what makes you cool. You’re passionate about something. That’s attractive.” “Not to everyone,” Fuma answered.
“Have you met (Y/n)?” Kei folded his arms, sitting down beside Fuma on the bed. “She seems pretty chill. I don’t think she’s the ‘ew, Pokémon’ type.” “But I’ve downplayed it! Like, I told her I ‘grew up with it’, not that I still play, or that I spent a ridiculous amount of money on that life-size sleeping Snorlax.” “Yeah, that thing’s absurd, by the way. Comfortable, though.”
Fuma groaned and buried his face in a pillow. “I’m not ready.” “You don’t have to hide this part of you, man. If she likes you, and she clearly does, she’ll like this, too. Or at the very least, she’ll think it’s cute.” Fuma peeked up at him. “Cute?” “Hot nerdy guys are a thing now. Embrace it.”
He sighed, but it was a little less heavy this time. “You think so?” “I know so. Worst case scenario? She teases you about it for like, a week. Best case? She asks to play with you.” Fuma gave a small, nervous smile. “I guess…” Kei clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself. The rest will sort itself out.”
As Kei left the room, Fuma stood slowly and glanced around once more. Maybe he didn’t need to hide everything. Maybe he could let her see the real him, nerdy, awkward moments and all.
He picked up his Lucario plush and set it gently on the bed. “She’s gonna be cool with this, right?” The plush stared back silently. Fuma checked the time. Thirty minutes until she arrived.
~~~
Fuma paced around his apartment like a man awaiting judgment. He checked the clock again, six minutes had passed since the last time. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “To hell with it,” he muttered and turned toward the kitchen. Distraction. That was the goal now.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of chilled drinks, one peach soda, one lemon sparkling water, remembering that (Y/n) said she liked both but never could decide between them. He placed them carefully on the counter and grabbed bowls for snacks. Chips, some chocolate-covered almonds, and those little gummy candies she loved.
Totally casual. Super chill. The very picture of a man not internally spiraling. As he turned to grab some glasses, a knock at the door made him flinch. His heart jumped into his throat.
The glass in his hand nearly slipped from his grasp and he barely caught it against the counter. “Holy, okay, okay, it’s fine,” he whispered, placing it down with both hands like it was a sacred relic. He wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans and stared at the door.
This was it.
He took a deep breath, then another. “You’ve got this,” he told himself under his breath. “Just be cool. Be normal. Do not start talking about Pokémon evolutions five minutes in.” As he made his way to the door, a quiet thought popped into his head, and for once, it was a relief.
At least he’d kept his Pokémon shrine of sorts confined to his bedroom. The living room looked like a regular guy lived there. Minimalist decor. A few band posters. A record player he barely used but liked to keep out for aesthetics. Nothing that screamed nerd alert.
One more breath. He opened the door. And there she was. (Y/n), with that easy smile he liked way too much, standing in one of his hoodies and a pair of jeans, a small bag slung over one shoulder and her hair a little wind-tousled. She looked like home. He felt his nerves loosen slightly at just the sight of her.
“Hey,” she greeted, her voice warm. “Hey,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped aside to let her in. “Come on in.” She walked past him with a little grin. “You okay? You look like you just ran a marathon.” “I’m fine,” he said quickly, then winced. “Okay, not fine. Nervous. But not like bad nervous. Just, you know, first-time-you’re-here kind of nervous.”
(Y/n) gave him a curious look as she set her bag down. “You’re nervous about me seeing your place?” “Yeah. Kinda.” She tilted her head. “Why? It’s nice. Smells good. You have snacks.” “I do,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen with mock drama. “Behold, the effort of a man trying very hard to impress his girlfriend.”
(Y/n) laughed and stepped over to the counter, peeking at the drinks and snacks. “Well, you succeeded. These are my favorites.” “I remember.” He tried to play it cool, leaning on the counter casually, but there was a clear flicker of pride in his voice. She glanced around, taking in the room. “You know, I expected your place to be messier.” “Wow. Rude.”
“I mean it in a nice way,” she said with a teasing smile. “Like a little chaos to match your energy.” “Excuse you, I’m extremely composed.” She snorted.
They stood there for a moment in the soft lighting of the apartment, the music from his playlist humming gently in the background. Fuma watched her closely as she took it all in. She hadn’t seen the bedroom yet. That was where the real test would be. But for now, she was smiling. Comfortable. And he could breathe. Maybe this wouldn’t be as terrifying as he thought.
The couple sat comfortably on the couch, snacks and drinks spread across the coffee table like a casual little feast. A movie played softly in the background, mostly forgotten as (Y/n) leaned into Fuma’s side, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. Her voice was animated as she told him about a customer from the day before, some irate man who had stormed into the store demanding a refund for something they didn’t even sell.
“I swear, he looked like he was two seconds away from flipping a display table,” she said with an exasperated laugh. “All because another store messed up his order. Like, what was I supposed to do? Teleport him to the correct branch with the power of retail rage?”
Fuma chuckled, eyes warm as he looked down at her. “You didn’t? Wow. I thought you were the best employee there.” “I am,” she shot back with a playful smirk. “But even I have limits.”
His arm rested snugly around her waist, his fingers toying absentmindedly with the hem of the hoodie she wore, his hoodie, though she’d claimed it so casually he hadn’t bothered to ask for it back. Not that he minded. She looked good in it. Too good, if he was honest.
For a while, he felt completely relaxed. Her laugh, her warmth against him, the softness of the moment, he didn’t think about his bedroom, or the Lucario plush, or the looming possibility of her discovering that he was, in fact, a massive nerd.
Until she shifted slightly, stretching her legs before sitting up a bit straighter. “Hey,” she said, brushing a crumb from her lap. “Mind if I change into my comfier pants? These jeans are plotting my demise.” Fuma blinked. “Oh, uh, yeah. Totally. You can use the bathroom.” “Cool. Where is it?”
And just like that, the bubble popped. His heart skipped a beat. The bathroom was at the end of the hallway. Right past his bedroom. Which currently had the door wide open and full view of a world he hadn’t yet revealed.
“Oh,” he said, trying to sound normal. “It’s, uh, down the hall. First door on the left.” (Y/n) started to get up, stretching again as she grabbed her bag. “Awesome, thanks.” Fuma stood too, a little too quickly. “I’ll walk you over, just in case you get lost in the hallway of mystery,” he joked weakly. She arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Wow. That long, treacherous ten-foot walk? Thank god I have a guide.” He laughed, nervous, but he hoped she didn’t notice. “Hey, you never know. Could be traps.”
She rolled her eyes fondly, waiting as he stepped ahead to lead her down the hall. But as he took the first step, Fuma’s mind raced. Was the plush on the bed or the chair? Did he leave his binder of Pokémon cards open on the desk? Did he put away that Poké Ball replica or was it still sitting on his nightstand like some kind of nerdy trophy? As they neared the hallway, he subtly glanced toward the bedroom door. Still open. And she was walking right behind him. His stomach twisted again. “Traps,” he muttered under his breath. “Yeah. Starting with this one.”
Each second stretched like taffy as they reached the open doorway.
Fuma’s breath hitched slightly. His bedroom door stood wide open, betraying him. The Pokémon posters, the plushies, the neatly arranged figurines on the shelves, they were all right there, glowing under the soft ambient lighting like they were proud to be seen.
And then, she looked.
(Y/n) paused at the door, peeking inside. Her eyes flicked over the room quietly. Fuma’s pulse thudded in his ears as he watched her expression closely, searching for a sign, laughter, shock, horror, anything. But she didn’t say a word.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly and asked, “Can I go in?” Fuma blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, of course.” She stepped inside, and he stayed behind in the hallway for a moment, frozen. Why wasn’t she teasing him? Or backing out slowly with a polite “I just remembered I left the oven on”?
(Y/n) walked calmly around the room, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of a shelf. She picked up a small Pikachu figure, studied it with quiet curiosity, then set it back down gently. Her gaze wandered across his framed art, the plush collection stacked neatly in one corner, his Switch and special edition controller, and the binder on his desk, before moving on like it was all just interesting.
Fuma still hadn’t moved. He hovered near the door like some kind of awkward hallway ghost. She finally turned, walked over to the bed, and sat down casually, as if she’d done it a hundred times before. With a small, amused smile, she reached for the Lucario plush and picked it up, hugging it gently to her chest.
That did something to him, seeing her like that, perfectly at ease in a space he’d built but always felt a little too embarrassed to share. She looked up and gestured. “Come sit.” He hesitated for half a second before stepping forward and joining her at the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his knees, shoulders just a bit too tense.
Then, her voice came, light and teasing. “So, you just grew up with Pokémon, huh?” Fuma groaned softly, covering his face with one hand. “Okay, okay, I might’ve undersold it a little.” “A little?” she laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “I didn’t want you to think I was, like, I don’t know. A man-child or something.”
She gave him a look. “Fuma. You dance in glitter and so many different things on national television, I already know you’re extra.” He barked out a nervous laugh. “That’s different! Glitter is cool.” “So can Poké Balls be,”
He looked at her, surprised. She was lying back now, arms stretched above her, holding the Lucario plush as high as she could without dropping it. The soft light from the hallway pooled around her, catching the edges of her smile.
“This is cute,” she said simply. “All of it.” His brows knit together. “You’re not… weirded out?” She turned her head to look at him, still holding the plush above her like a floating guardian.
“Fuma, honey, I love hot nerdy guys. You think this makes me like you less? If anything, it makes you even more adorable, you’re muscles are nice, sure, but this, the cute adorable side or you, that’s the best part,”
Fuma didn’t respond at first. He just stared at her, stunned into silence. “You’re serious?” She dropped the plush onto her chest and propped herself up on her elbows. “Dead serious.” The wave of relief that hit him was so strong it nearly knocked him off the bed. He let out a breathy laugh, hands running through his hair again.
“You have no idea how much I stressed over this.” “Yeah,” she teased. “I noticed. You walked me to the bathroom like I was headed into a dungeon.” He flopped backward onto the bed beside her, staring up at the ceiling. “I kinda felt like I was.” (Y/n) turned her head, grinning at him as she reached out and poked his side. “Well, good news. You survived.”
He smiled back at her, the tension finally melting from his shoulders, and reached over to gently take the Lucario plush from her chest, moving it away from the two of them before he leaned over, putting his arms around her, pulling her along with him until she ended up on top of him.
(Y/n) laughed as she stared down at him, her hands propped beside his head to keep herself up. His hands rested on her hips, her knees on either side of his torso. “Well, hello there, my confident, Fuma, welcome back,” She joked, his face still a little red from the embarrassment; however, he composed himself, pulling her back a little until she was sitting up, and he held her tightly as he sat up as well. Her arms now rested around his neck, their faces close.
“What can I say, you bring out the best in me,” (Y/n) chuckled before leaning in and kissing him, Fuma quickly reciprocated the kiss, his hands holding her waist just a little harder. As their kissing continued, Fuma’s hands soon ended up moving under her hoodie, resting on the skin of her waist. Her hands migrated to his hair, gently raking through it.
And so it continued for quite some while, non-stop kissing, until the two were out of breath. “If I knew, showing you my nerdy side would lead to this, I would have done it weeks ago,” Fuma joked. “I meant what I said, I love hot and nerdy guys, and that, my darling, describes you more than anyone,” (Y/n) poked his nose at the end of her sentence, causing Fuma to scrunch his nose before laughing heartily, hugging (Y/n) tightly before releasing her and helping her get off his lap. “Okay, I’ll show you the bathroom now so that you can actually change pants and we can get back to our movie date,” Fuma said, scratching his neck a little in slight embarrassment. “Sounds like a plan, oh, and-” Fuma looked at (Y/n) with a questioning face, “-I claim the plushie for tonight,” She gave him a teasing smile.
“Fine, as long as I get to claim you,” Fuma joked back, once more his confident usual self, (Y/n) gasped and jokingly hit his chest before turning and walking back out into the hallway, Fuma followed behind, much calmer now that he knew, his girlfriend still loved him, despite his pokemon obsession.
[ author's scribbles ! ] i was inspired by a rb of my work that said fuma is so husband and yk what. he literally is.
[ extras ! ] @lune-net, @kstrucknet + wc 546. hurt2comfort/angsty (its a married couple fight but they resolve it<3)
the air was stuffy and almost suffocating, sticky between you two. but not the good kind, no. not the 'i will kiss you until you're out of breath' kind of sticky.
it was like the calm before the storm, thunder already cracking in the dark sky.
"are you even listening to me?" fuma growled and you grunted in response. your arms were crossed and shoulders slumped, digging fingers into your own flesh for the past twenty minutes.
"i am! and i told you, repeatedly: i have a right to be angry, fuma!" your voice went up but it wasn't quite enough a yell.
you were furious, frankly speaking. fuma's work kept him busy despite it being your anniversary dinner with your families. everything booked, yours and his parents already at the restaurant and him… not showing up. five minutes turned into thirty, only to end up on two hours. when he showed up, you all already went home. it was the one day you expected him to remember, to be present. when marrying him, you know what you are agreeing to: the busy idol life. but today was supposed to be different.
"then how many times do i have to tell you it's out of my control?" he sighed heavily. as if he wasn't feeling guilty enough for letting this happen, you just had to make a fuss out of it. you just had to… "are you crying?"
you didn't have to reply. your shaking body and choked sobs were enough. in a blink of an eye, all the anger evaporated from fuma's body.
"hey. hey, baby…" his voice softened, walking up to you. you didn't buldge, just swallowing hards.
"i just wanted to spend a pleasant evening. our second anniversary. and you didn't even get to eat the cake i ordered… i was so angry i forgot to take out. i…" words died in your throat.
fuma's arms wrapped around you, gently pulling you closer. as if afraid not to enrage you more.
"i'm sorry" he whispered, heart heavy. he hated to see you cry and never had he imagined he would be the reason of your tears.
"it's okay. i'm sorry, i know your job is harsh" you mumbled, sniffing.
"no. you were right, you have all the right to be angry. it was i who messed up. i should've said i had plans" fuma's hand rested at the back of your head, caressing your hair. "don't cry, please. i'm sorry. it won't happen again"
"it's okay" you said once again, weakly. your hands grabbed his tshirt, gripping it for security.
"do you want to order some food? or go grab ice cream? we still have three or four hours to celebrate before the day ends." fuma offered. you roose your head up, teary doe eyes looking at him. fuma pouted at the sight and his hand travelled to wipe your tear-stained cheeks.
"ice cream" you mumbled in response before nuzzling your face into his hand. the cold material of his wedding ring made you realize that no matter the ups and downs, he will be your husband nonetheless. "let's just… stay like this for a little longer, please."
and who was fuma to say 'no' to his wife who he cherished so dearly?
A/n: And here is the Fuma ff as promised. I was thinking of something else but I just magically got this idea lol!
Genre: Supernatural au, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Pairings: Neighbour!Fuma x Saya (named reader/fem oc)
Warnings: none
Fuma was halfway through folding laundry when he heard it.
A sound so sharp, so high-pitched, it sliced straight through the walls of his apartment.
“S—!”
He froze.
Another screech followed. Louder. Panicked. Almost… feral.
Fuma dropped the towel in his hands and rushed out, barely remembering to slip on his slippers as he flung his door open.
Across the hall, Saya stood frozen in place, one trembling finger pointed downward.
On the floor.
Was a baby.
No—
A toddler?
The child was sitting awkwardly on the hallway tiles, drowning in an oversized hoodie and pants that clearly did not belong to him. The sleeves dragged on the floor. One pant leg was completely folded over itself. His cheeks were round, eyes wide, hair unmistakably messy.
Fuma blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“…Whose baby is that?” he asked cautiously.
Saya didn’t look at him. She looked like she was seconds away from either crying or combusting.
“I don’t know,” she said, voice cracking, “but that’s Maki’s clothes!! I saw him wear that this morning!!”
She gestured wildly at the giant hoodie draped over the small body.
Fuma frowned. “And you’re saying that because…?”
She grabbed his arm so suddenly he nearly jumped.
“What if that’s Maki?” she whispered.
Fuma stared at her.
“That isn’t possible, Saya,” he said slowly. “Maki is nineteen.”
“I thought so too!” she cried. “Before I saw Maki’s clothes!!”
The toddler let out another shrill noise, wobbling slightly as he tried—and failed—to stand.
Fuma sighed, rubbed his face, and stepped forward anyway.
He crouched and gently lifted the child up with ease, one large hand supporting his back.
“Hey, kid,” Fuma said softly, instinctively bouncing him once. “Whose baby are you?”
The toddler stared at him. Blinked.
Then grabbed a fistful of Fuma’s shirt.
Saya slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Fuma,” she hissed, “he’s a baby. He can’t talk.”
She leaned closer, squinting at the child’s face—
And screamed.
“NOOOO! HE LOOKS LIKE MAKI!!!”
The toddler frowned at the sudden noise.
Then—
“Maki,” he said.
Clear as day.
The hallway went silent.
Fuma’s entire body stiffened.
“…He just said his own name,” Saya whispered.
The toddler nodded proudly, then leaned his forehead against Fuma’s chest like he belonged there.
Fuma swallowed.
“…Okay,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “Okay. Let’s not panic.”
Saya was already panicking.
They moved inside Fuma’s apartment without even discussing it.
The moment Fuma set the toddler down on the couch, the child toddled straight toward Saya and latched onto her leg, burying his face into her jeans.
“Oh,” she squeaked. “Oh—okay—hi—”
She instinctively bent down, scooping him up.
The toddler immediately relaxed.
Fuma watched from across the room, heart doing something strange.
“…He likes you,” he said.
“I did nothing,” she said weakly. “I’m literally just standing here.”
The toddler curled closer, tiny fingers clutching her sleeve.
“Why is he so warm,” she muttered.
That was when the crying started.
The moment Fuma stepped into the kitchen to grab water, the toddler stiffened—
Then wailed like the world was ending.
“Oh—oh no—no no no—!” Saya panicked.
Fuma rushed back instantly.
The crying stopped.
Immediately.
The toddler reached for him, arms up.
Fuma froze.
Saya stared.
“…You too?” she asked.
Fuma carefully took him back. The child settled between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They looked at each other.
Silence.
“…We’re in trouble,” Saya said.
Night came faster than either of them expected.
Maki—baby Maki—refused to sleep alone.
Refused the couch.
Refused the floor.
Refused Saya’s place entirely.
The only place he stopped crying was—
Fuma’s bed.
With both of them there.
They lay stiffly on opposite sides, Maki in the middle, sprawled sideways like a starfish, one tiny hand gripping Fuma’s shirt and the other tangled in Saya’s sleeve.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them breathed properly.
“…If I move,” Saya whispered, “he cries.”
“Yes,” Fuma whispered back.
“…If you move?”
“He cries louder.”
Maki snored softly between them.
Saya stared at the ceiling.
“…Fuma?”
“Yes?”
“…Why does this feel like we’re doing something illegal.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Between them, Maki shifted, kicking Fuma in the ribs and headbutting Saya’s shoulder.
Neither complained.
Eventually—without realizing it—Saya drifted closer, her forehead brushing Fuma’s arm.
He froze.
Then, carefully, slowly, he relaxed.
“This is so awkward,” Saya whispered, barely daring to move, “but I know this baby is Maki.”
Fuma exhaled softly through his nose.
“Saya,” he murmured, voice calm but firm, “that isn’t possible. Grown-up Maki can’t just turn into a baby. That’s… unheard of.”
She slowly turned her head to look at him.
Her stare was sharp. Flat. Unamused.
“…Are you for real right now?” she whispered back.
She shifted just enough to peek down at the toddler between them.
“Look at him. He looks like Maki,” she hissed. “He smiles like Maki. We found him in clothes that are literally Maki’s. Outside Maki’s door.”
She gestured vaguely with one hand, careful not to wake the child.
Fuma opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“When you say it that way…” he trailed off, brows knitting together.
Then he shook his head, as if physically rejecting the thought.
“Still not possible,” he insisted quietly. “Tomorrow morning, when we check, Maki will be fully grown and perfectly fine in his apartment. And maybe—just maybe—this baby is some little cousin. Or a nephew.”
Saya stared at him for a long second.
Then she rolled her eyes.
“Yeah. Right.”
She carefully untangled her sleeve from the toddler’s grip and slowly sat up.
“Well,” she whispered, swinging her legs off the bed, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The moment she stood—
The toddler’s eyes flew open.
His lower lip wobbled.
“Sa…ya,” he whimpered.
And then—
He screamed.
A full-volume, heartbroken wail echoed through the apartment.
“Oh—no—no no no—!” Saya panicked, immediately turning back.
The baby sat up, tiny hands reaching out desperately.
“Saya!” he cried again, tears already spilling.
Fuma was on him instantly, lifting him up, bouncing gently.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured instinctively.
It did not help.
The baby twisted in his arms, stretching toward Saya like his life depended on it.
“Saya! Saya!”
She froze halfway to the door.
Her shoulders sagged.
“…He said my name,” she muttered.
Fuma looked at her.
Slowly.
“…He said your name,” he repeated.
She walked back to the bed.
The second she sat down again, the crying stopped.
The toddler immediately curled into her side, fingers clutching her shirt like a lifeline.
Silence filled the room once more.
Saya stared down at him, then up at Fuma.
“…Still think he’s Maki’s nephew?” she whispered.
Fuma watched the way the child relaxed between them, how familiar it all felt—too familiar.
“…Let’s,” he said carefully, “revisit that theory tomorrow.”
She sighed and carefully lay back down.
“Fine. But if he wakes up and calls you annoying tomorrow morning, I’m saying I told you so.”
A tiny voice mumbled sleepily between them.
“Fuma…”
Both of them froze.
Slowly, very slowly, Fuma lay back down too.
“…Good night,” he murmured.
Saya smiled in the dark.
—
The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through Fuma’s kitchen window.
Saya stood by the counter, arms folded, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she stared at Fuma.
“There is one thing,” she said slowly, “that Maki would absolutely do. And if this baby does it too, you’ll finally believe me.”
Fuma hummed, amused. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, lips curved into a faint smile.
“Oh?” he said. “And what would that be?”
Saya straightened.
She turned toward the toddler, who was sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys he definitely did not need but insisted on touching all at once.
She suddenly jumped, raising her hand high in the air.
“Who’s Maki?!” she asked cheerfully.
The baby’s face lit up.
He raised his hand just as enthusiastically.
“Me!!”
Saya whipped her head toward Fuma.
Her expression screamed victory.
“I told you so!”
Fuma clicked his tongue.
“He’s just saying that because you said it in an exciting way,” he argued calmly. “Babies respond to tone.”
Saya groaned loudly.
“Maki,” she said flatly, crouching down. “Are you Maki?”
The toddler beamed.
“Yes!” he said proudly.
That was it.
Saya scooped him up immediately.
“He is Maki!” she declared. “We can go check his apartment. I bet he won’t be there.”
Fuma sighed, rubbing his temple.
“I still think—”
“Shoes. Now,” she cut in.
They stood outside Maki’s apartment minutes later.
Saya knocked once.
Nothing.
She knocked again.
Still nothing.
Then—
The door slowly creaked open.
Both of them stared.
“…Ugh. Maki,” they said at the same time.
Of course.
The door had been unlocked. Again.
They stepped inside, baby Maki perched on Saya’s hip, looking entirely unbothered.
The apartment was exactly how Maki left it.
Messy. Chaotic. Snacks everywhere. Half-finished assignments on the table. His bag tossed carelessly on the couch.
They searched the bedroom.
The bathroom.
The kitchen.
Nothing.
Saya slowly turned to Fuma.
“…Told you,” she whispered.
He exhaled deeply.
“…Okay,” he admitted. “This is… concerning.”
They stepped back into the hallway—
And nearly collided with two familiar faces.
“Hey!” Taki said brightly. “Have you guys seen Maki?”
Harua peeked around him, phone in hand.
“He didn’t come to college yesterday,” Taki continued, frowning slightly. “And he hasn’t replied to any messages since then.”
Saya stiffened.
She slowly turned her head toward Fuma.
Fuma looked down at the toddler in her arms.
The baby waved happily at Taki and Harua.
“Hi!” he said.
There was a beat of silence.
Harua blinked.
“…Why does that baby look like Maki?”
Taki squinted.
“…And why is he wearing Maki’s hoodie?”
Fuma closed his eyes.
This was officially a problem.
“I think this is Maki,” Saya said carefully, tightening her hold on the toddler, “and he magically turned into a baby.”
There was half a second of silence.
Then—
“AAAAAAAHHHHH—!!!”
Taki and Harua screamed at the exact same time.
Fuma winced.
“Quietttt,” he dragged out, reaching forward and pressing both their shoulders down like that would physically lower their volume.
The two of them immediately went stiff, shivering in place.
Saya blinked. “What’s wrong with you two?”
Taki slowly raised a trembling finger and pointed at the baby.
“T-the other day…” he stammered. “The other day, Maki was talking about cursed chocolate that turns people into babies!”
Harua nodded furiously beside him.
“And the last time we saw him,” he added, clutching his head, “he said he found a place that actually sells it!”
Saya’s blood ran cold.
She looked down at the toddler, who was chewing on the drawstring of Fuma’s hoodie.
“…Oh no.”
Taki suddenly dropped to his knees dramatically and grabbed the baby’s tiny shoulder.
“MAKI!” he cried. “Why did you have to be so adventurous?!”
Harua wailed beside him. “You always do this! You never listen!”
The baby giggled, clearly enjoying the attention.
Fuma stared.
“…Cursed chocolate?” he repeated slowly.
Both boys nodded.
Saya turned to him, eyes wide and serious now.
“Oh gosh… what do we do now?” she said. “Fuma, come on. This is serious. This baby is Maki.”
He looked at the toddler again.
At the familiar messy hair.
The identical smile.
The way he tilted his head when confused.
Something in Fuma’s chest finally shifted.
“…It really could be him,” he admitted quietly.
The baby chose that moment to reach up and pat Fuma’s cheek.
“Fuma,” he said happily.
Fuma froze.
Saya stared at him.
Taki gasped.
Harua whispered, “He knows your name…”
Fuma slowly exhaled.
“…Okay,” he said. “Then we’re not panicking.”
Saya blinked. “You just accepted it now?”
“Yes,” he replied calmly. “After confirming the chocolate part.”
Taki sniffled loudly. “So what do we do?”
Fuma straightened, looking at all of them.
“We find the shop,” he said. “We get the antidote.”
The baby clapped his hands.
“Chocolate!”
Everyone groaned at once.
Saya cradled Maki against her chest as they searched his apartment again, this time more carefully.
“Wrappers,” she muttered. “Receipts. Anything.”
She checked the table.
The couch.
The trash can.
Nothing.
Maki suddenly shifted in her arms, face scrunching up.
Uh-oh.
His lip began to wobble.
Then he cried.
“Oh—no, no, no,” Saya panicked immediately, bouncing him gently. “What are we supposed to do?”
Fuma watched him for a second, thinking.
“…He hasn’t eaten anything yet,” he said. “Maybe he’s hungry.”
Maki sniffled and nodded vigorously.
“Hun’gry.”
Saya blinked. “He nodded.”
“…Let’s go back to my place,” Fuma said. “I have food.”
Back in Fuma’s apartment, they settled Maki into a chair with a ridiculous number of cushions.
Saya fed him carefully, guiding the spoon while Fuma hovered nearby like a worried parent.
Maki ate enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically.
Food smeared his cheeks. His nose. Somehow his hair.
“Slow down,” Saya laughed softly.
When he finally finished, she lifted him up again and gently patted his back.
“Babies need to burp,” she said matter-of-factly.
Taki and Harua watched with wide eyes.
There was a small pause.
Then—
Burp.
A loud one.
The room went silent.
“…Whoa,” Taki said.
Saya froze, then burst out laughing. “There we go.”
Maki grinned proudly.
Taki stared at the three of them—Saya holding Maki, Fuma handing her a napkin, the baby happily leaning between them.
“…You guys look like a family,” he said.
Harua nodded seriously.
“You should get married.”
The room exploded.
“WHAT—?!” Saya squeaked.
“Absolutely not,” Fuma said instantly, turning red. “That’s not—”
Maki clapped his hands.
“Mar’ried!”
“No—!” Fuma and Saya said together.
Taki crossed his arms. “I’m just saying.”
Harua nodded again. “He even fits in the middle.”
Saya buried her face in her hands.
“…This is a disaster.”
Fuma, however, couldn’t stop staring at the way Maki leaned comfortably against her.
And for just a second—
He wondered what it would be like if that weren’t pretend.
Evening settled in quietly, warm orange light spilling through the windows.
Fuma was standing near the couch now, Maki balanced easily in his arms. The toddler had one arm draped around Fuma’s neck, the other clutching his shirt like it was a safety rope.
Taki sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“We still couldn’t find anything,” he said apologetically. “But don’t worry. We’ll keep looking for where he got the chocolate from.”
He straightened and bowed deeply.
“Until then, please take care of Maki.”
Harua nodded beside him, just as serious.
“Yes. We’ll message you the moment we find something.”
Saya glanced at Fuma, then at Maki, who was already half-asleep against his chest.
“…Of course,” she said softly. “We’ll take care of him.”
Maki yawned.
Taki squinted at the scene in front of him.
Then smirked.
“Just don’t get baby fever,” Harua added casually. “You guys aren’t even dating yet.”
The words hit like a bomb.
Saya choked on air. “W-we’re not—!”
Fuma’s ears turned red instantly.
“That’s not what this is,” he said quickly, adjusting his hold on Maki a little too stiffly.
Maki looked between them.
“Da…ting?” he asked curiously.
“No,” Saya said immediately.
“Yes—no—!” Fuma said at the same time.
Taki laughed.
“We’re trusting you,” he said, backing toward the door. “Good luck.”
“Night!” Harua waved.
The door closed behind them.
Silence.
Maki shifted, curling closer into Fuma’s chest.
Saya exhaled slowly.
“…This is our life now, isn’t it?”
Fuma glanced down at the sleeping toddler, then at her.
“…For now,” he said gently.
Maki mumbled sleepily.
“Together…”
Both of them froze.
Saya felt her heart flutter.
“…Yeah,” she whispered. “Together.”
The room was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlight slipping through the curtains.
Maki slept soundly between them, small chest rising and falling evenly, one tiny hand curled around the edge of the blanket like he might lose it otherwise.
Saya shifted slightly, careful not to wake him.
She stared down at his peaceful face for a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.
“…I always despised the thought of being a mom.”
Fuma’s breath hitched.
“But taking care of Maki,” she continued softly, a small smile tugging at her lips, “kind of makes me want to change my mind.”
She let out a quiet chuckle.
“It’s stressful,” she admitted. “Exhausting. But… it’s also fun.”
Without realizing it, her head settled more fully against Fuma’s outstretched arm.
He didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Fuma turned his head slightly to look at her.
In the dim light, she looked so real. So warm. Completely at peace.
Her lashes rested gently against her cheeks. Her breathing slow and even.
His heart did something unfamiliar—tightened, then leapt.
And for a fleeting, dangerous second…
He imagined a future.
Not just tonight.
Not just this moment.
Mornings like this.
A small body between them.
Her laughter filling a space that felt like home.
His throat tightened.
He forced himself to breathe evenly.
“…You’d be a good mom,” he whispered, barely trusting his voice.
Maki shifted, murmuring something unintelligible before settling again.
Saya smiled in her sleep.
Fuma stared up at the ceiling, heart racing quietly in his chest, and realized something terrifying.
This wasn’t pretend to him anymore.
And he wasn’t sure how he was ever supposed to let it go.
Fuma shifted slowly, careful not to disturb either of them.
With his free hand, he reached for the blanket and gently pulled it higher, tucking it more snugly around Saya’s shoulders. She instinctively leaned closer, a quiet hum leaving her lips, completely unaware.
His chest tightened.
He adjusted the blanket around Maki next, smoothing it carefully, making sure the toddler was warm and comfortable, small body nestled safely between them.
It felt… domestic.
Real.
Too real.
Fuma paused, eyes lingering on the scene in front of him.
Saya, peaceful and warm.
Maki, sleeping soundly.
His heart softened completely.
He leaned down first, pressing a soft kiss to Maki’s head.
“Good night,” he whispered.
Then, hesitating only for a heartbeat, he leaned just a little further and brushed a gentle kiss against Saya’s hair.
Barely there.
As if afraid the moment would shatter if he lingered too long.
She shifted slightly but didn’t wake.
Fuma turned off the light, the room falling into quiet darkness.
Carefully, he lay back down, closing his eyes at last.
And for the first time in a long while—
He slept peacefully.
—
The loud banging echoed through the apartment.
Fuma frowned in his sleep, brows knitting together.
Again.
Bang bang bang.
Saya groaned beside him, face buried in the pillow.
“Fuma… go open the door,” she mumbled lazily.
He let out a tired sound of protest.
“Mhm… give me a minute,” he replied, voice thick with sleep.
He stayed perfectly still for a few seconds.
Then a few more.
The banging grew louder.
With a sigh, Fuma carefully slipped his arm out from under Saya’s head, making sure Maki stayed asleep, and dragged himself out of bed.
He shuffled to the door and opened it—
Only to be met with Taki and Harua, both out of breath and holding something up like it was evidence in a crime drama.
“We found it!” Taki exclaimed.
Harua unfolded a crinkled wrapper dramatically. “This morning we went searching places Maki usually goes and found this chocolate!”
Fuma blinked.
“What—”
Taki shoved it closer.
On the wrapper, in bold, ridiculous letters, were the words:
REVERSE CHOCOLATE!
AGE 17 YEARS BACKWARDS WITH JUST A BITE!!
“…Considering Maki looks about two,” Harua added seriously, “this must be his.”
Any remaining sleep vanished from Fuma’s face.
“Oh my god,” he breathed.
Saya appeared behind him, hair messy, wrapped loosely in a hoodie.
“What’s going—”
She leaned in.
Read the wrapper.
Gasped.
“That’s it?!” she exclaimed.
They gathered around the table with breakfast soon after, Maki sitting happily between Saya and Fuma, chewing on toast like none of this concerned him.
Harua tapped the wrapper.
“It says here that eating the whole bar makes the person stay young for a week,” he explained. “But half of it is gone.”
Taki nodded. “So he’ll probably be like this for three and a half days.”
Harua continued, “Since two days already passed… he should be back to normal by tomorrow afternoon, maybe.”
Fuma stared at Maki.
“…There’s no way to turn him back now?” he asked quietly.
Taki shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Fuma exhaled slowly.
“But,” Taki added, forcing a smile, “it’ll be fine, right?”
Saya looked down at Maki, who looked up at her and grinned, crumbs on his cheeks.
She smiled back, softer.
“I mean,” she said gently, “if we’re sure he’ll be back to normal… then I don’t really see a problem with it.”
Maki clapped his hands.
“Stay!” he announced happily.
Fuma felt something warm twist in his chest.
“…Yeah,” he said after a moment. “We can handle one more day.”
Saya glanced at him and smiled.
Neither of them said it out loud—
But part of them wasn’t ready for it to end just yet.
After Taki and Harua left, the apartment grew calm again.
Too calm.
Fuma stood by the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers still resting on the handle.
This is probably the first and last time, he thought.
The first—and only—time he’d get to wake up like that.
To share quiet mornings.
To feel like he belonged in a small, fragile version of a life he wasn’t meant to have.
He looked over at Saya, kneeling beside Maki as she wiped crumbs off his cheeks, laughing softly when he squirmed away.
His chest tightened.
In his eyes, she deserved someone better. Someone lighter. Someone who could give her everything without hesitation.
Not him.
He turned away before the thought could hurt more than it already did.
A soft sigh filled the room.
Saya stood up, stretching her arms above her head, bones popping slightly as she relaxed.
She glanced down at Maki, who was poking at a toy with intense focus.
“Totally out of pocket,” she said suddenly, turning to Fuma, “but can we go to the aquarium today?”
Fuma blinked, pulled from his thoughts.
“The aquarium?”
She nodded, smiling.
“Since, you know… it’s probably his last day as a baby. We might as well let him experience something fun.”
Maki looked up at the word.
“Fish,” he said confidently.
Saya laughed. “See? He already agrees.”
Fuma looked between them.
Between the hopeful look in her eyes and the tiny hand reaching out toward him.
His heart gave in quietly.
“…Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Let’s go.”
Saya’s smile brightened.
“Really?”
He nodded. “Really.”
Maki cheered, throwing both arms in the air.
“Fish!”
And just like that, Fuma realized—
Even if it hurt later…
He wanted to remember this day forever.
—
The aquarium was alive with color and sound.
Blue light washed over everything, reflections dancing across the glass as schools of fish glided past like living paintings.
Baby Maki had completely lost his mind.
“FISH!” he squealed, pressing both palms flat against the glass, nose nearly smushed as he followed a cluster of shimmering fish swimming by.
Saya laughed, utterly enchanted.
“Oh my god, look at him,” she gushed, crouching down beside him. “Fuma, he’s so cute. I can’t handle this.”
Without even realizing it, her hand slid up and grabbed Fuma’s arm.
Firm.
Excited.
Her fingers curled around his bicep as she leaned closer, eyes sparkling.
Fuma stiffened.
Not because he disliked it.
Because he liked it far too much.
He looked down at the small hand clutching his arm, then back at Maki, who was hopping in place, giggling as a stingray drifted overhead.
To anyone else, it must have looked obvious.
A family.
And the thought hurt more than he expected.
This—
This was probably the closest he’d ever get.
He smiled anyway, because that’s what he was good at.
They moved through the tunnels slowly, Maki darting from one tank to the next, alternating between squeals and dramatic gasps.
Saya held Maki’s hand as he waddled along, keeping him steady.
At one point, she glanced back.
Fuma was walking slightly behind them now, gaze unfocused, shoulders relaxed but eyes distant.
She slowed down.
Still holding Maki’s hand, she reached back and squeezed Fuma’s arm.
Just once.
Firm enough to pull him back.
He blinked, startled, and looked at her.
She smiled—soft and knowing.
“It’s totally fine to feel a little sad,” she said gently. “But we still have until tomorrow afternoon.”
Her thumb brushed his arm reassuringly.
“So be happy,” she added lightly. “And enjoy the moment.”
Her smile widened just a bit.
“You look better when you’re happy.”
Something in Fuma’s chest loosened.
He exhaled, a real smile finally breaking through.
“…Okay,” he said quietly.
Maki tugged on both their hands.
“Fish!” he demanded again.
Saya laughed. “Alright, alright.”
And for a little while longer—
Fuma let himself pretend.
They stopped near the wide tunnel tank, light rippling over their faces as fish drifted slowly above them.
Saya looked down at Maki, then up at Fuma, eyes bright with a sudden idea.
“Fuma,” she said softly, “lift him up from your side a little. I’ll lift him from my side.”
Fuma blinked.
Then realization hit.
A slow smile spread across his face.
“…Okay.”
He adjusted his grip on Maki’s hand, lifting gently as Saya did the same on her side.
The moment Maki’s feet left the ground—
He squealed.
“Goooo!” Saya laughed.
“Go!” Fuma echoed.
They started running, careful but playful, Maki dangling safely between them as his laughter rang through the tunnel.
His legs kicked wildly, joy spilling out of him in uncontrollable giggles.
“Again!” Maki shrieked.
Saya was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
“Oh my god—again, again!”
They slowed, then ran once more, laughter echoing, strangers smiling as they passed.
For that brief moment—
There was no curse.
No ticking clock.
No tomorrow.
Just the three of them.
When they finally stopped, breathless, Maki collapsed against Fuma’s leg, still giggling.
Saya wiped tears from her eyes, cheeks flushed.
“That was worth it,” she said, grinning.
Fuma looked at her—really looked at her—and felt something warm and painful bloom in his chest.
Worth it.
Every second.
By the time they headed home, the sky had dimmed into soft blues and purples.
Maki was completely passed out on Fuma’s back, small arms looped loosely around his shoulders, breathing slow and even.
Saya walked beside them quietly, the day replaying in her head.
“…I had fun,” she said at last.
Fuma hummed in response, adjusting his hold on Maki so he wouldn’t slip.
She glanced at him, then reached out, fingers squeezing his bicep lightly.
“I’m happy it happened with you, Fuma,” she said softly.
He stopped walking.
Slowly, he turned to face her.
And then—before fear or reason could stop him—everything spilled out.
“Saya… I—I adore you,” he said, voice shaking. “I care for you… so much. You don’t even understand how long…”
He swallowed.
“…how long I’ve wanted to live like this. With you. For as long as I can remember.”
His breath trembled.
“I just… love you so much.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and bare.
It was only after he said them—after he heard them—that realization crashed down.
His eyes widened.
Saya stood frozen, eyes wide, heart pounding.
“Fuma…” she started.
Panic seized him.
He looked away, chest tightening painfully.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to cross a line. Forget I said that.”
“Fuma—”
He turned and started walking again.
“We should get home,” he said, voice strained, pace faster now.
Saya lifted her hand, wanting to stop him.
But she didn’t.
And the rest of the walk passed in silence.
At home, the distance felt heavier than any words.
Fuma avoided her eyes as he settled Maki into bed, moving with quiet care. When they finally lay down, Maki asleep between them as always, Fuma stared up at the ceiling, unmoving.
Saya watched him for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
“Fuma.”
He hummed softly, still not turning.
“Fuma… look at me.”
Nothing.
“Fuma.”
This time, her voice was firm.
He finally turned his head.
“Don’t avoid me,” she said quietly.
“I’m not,” he replied, but his eyes dropped to Maki instead.
She shook her head.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “What you said back there… are you really just going to let it go?”
He stayed silent.
“Why won’t you look at me properly?” she asked, voice trembling just slightly.
“Why?”
She took a breath.
“Because I love you so much,” she said honestly. “But the way you’re acting right now… it makes it feel like you said it as a prank.”
That did it.
Fuma’s head snapped back toward her.
“What?” he whispered, hurt flashing across his face. “No—never. I would never joke about something like that.”
“Then don’t run away,” she said softly.
He swallowed hard.
“I just… didn’t think you’d want to hear it,” he admitted. “I thought I scared you.”
She stared at him for a long second.
Then she reached out, gently taking his hand.
“Fuma,” she said, voice warm and steady, “I wasn’t shocked because I didn’t feel the same.”
His breath caught.
“I was shocked because you said out loud what I’ve been feeling quietly for a while.”
His eyes widened.
“…You have?” he whispered.
She smiled, small but sincere.
“Yes,” she said. “I have.”
Between them, Maki shifted in his sleep, completely unaware of the world changing around him.
Fuma squeezed her hand back, carefully, like he was afraid it might disappear.
And for the first time that night—
He finally looked at her without fear.
He looked at her then—really looked at her.
Not with fear.
Not with doubt.
Just love.
A soft smile curved on his lips as he leaned closer, careful not to disturb Maki between them.
“I love you, Saya,” he whispered. “More than you think.”
Her chest warmed, eyes softening as she smiled back at him.
“I know,” she said gently. “And I love you too.”
She shifted closer, her hand finding his, fingers threading together.
“No more running,” she added quietly. “Please.”
He nodded, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“No more,” he promised.
Between them, Maki sighed in his sleep, rolling slightly until his small hand rested over both of theirs, as if sealing it.
Saya let out a quiet laugh and rested her forehead against Fuma’s shoulder.
The future was still uncertain.
Tomorrow still waited.
But for now—
They stayed.
Together.
—
The next day passed quietly.
Almost too quietly.
Maki slept through most of it, curled up between them, barely stirring except to mumble something unintelligible before sinking back into sleep. Fuma had mentioned it earlier—side effects before turning back. Exhaustion. Deep sleep.
So they let him.
Saya and Fuma moved around softly, whispering, stealing glances at the small body between them like they were guarding something fragile.
When the afternoon light began to shift, they felt it.
“This should be it,” Saya murmured.
They sat on either side of Maki, watching closely.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Maki stirred.
His limbs stretched—too long. His face shifted, sleepily scrunching before relaxing into something familiar.
Normal.
Saya smiled instantly. “He’s back.”
Fuma let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah.”
Maki groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“…Why am I in your apartment?” he asked groggily. “And why do I feel like I slept for a year?”
They helped him back to his place later, Maki yawning the whole way.
“I don’t know what that was,” he said once they reached the hallway, stretching his arms, “but damn. I feel rejuvenated.”
Fuma smiled at him.
“We love you, Maki.”
Maki froze.
Slowly, his face twisted into pure disgust.
“…What the hell was that for?”
Saya leaned in brightly.
“We love you, Maki,” she said sweetly. “You’ll always be our little baby.”
Maki shrieked.
“WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG WITH YOU GUYS?! EWW!”
They both laughed.
“We love you, Maki!” they said in unison.
He fake-gagged dramatically.
“You’re so CRINGE!” he yelled, already backing away. “I’m moving. I’m changing floors. I’m changing names!”
He turned and ran down the hallway.
“Ew! You guys are so CRINGEEEE!”
The echoes faded.
Saya sighed contentedly, watching him disappear.
“…Ah,” she said softly. “They grow up so fast.”
She leaned back into Fuma’s arms without thinking.
He wrapped one arm around her waist easily, pulling her closer.
“Too fast,” he murmured.
They looked at each other.
Then laughed.
And without another word—
They leaned in and kissed, slow and sure, the kind that didn’t rush because it didn’t need to.
tw: death, angst, probably inaccurate to both the manga and anime, bad grammar
A/N. I’m so happy with how this turned out one of my best pieces yet🤍
The war left a massive impact not only on the citizens, but the city as well.
The lively streets of Musutafu, Japan, once filled with laughter and the peace of knowing heroes were there, ready to strike at all cost was now replaced with an unmistakeable dread— people drowning in the sorrow of losses, yet the hope of a new beginning began to shine in most hearts as the war had been declared to be over.
Ruined buildings and craters filled with stains of blood or crushed cars littered the streets, people shouting names— those who were capable helped heroes with carrying the injured and those who didn’t make it to the makeshift medical camp they had been able to set up on short notice.
People were either sobbing, holding onto the memory of what once was a happy life, and others laughed bitterly with their friends or strangers who were seeking solidarity in one another during a tragedy like this.
A bitter sight indeed— a traumatizing event that would take years for the people to get through and forget, although the damage would never be fully repaired again.
The students of class of 1-A and B were gathering their classmates, everyone yelling to see if they had any losses, but thankfully there were none for their class— or at least they thought.
Yaoyorozu quickly realized their teachers— Aizawa and [Last Name] hadn’t shown up at all since the war had ended.
She panicked and screamed in terror— “Where’s Mr. Aizawa and Ms. [Last Name]?!” Tears flowing down her cheeks as the panic spread like wildfire through the others.
Iida— trying to calm everyone had yelled; “Everyone please calm down! They’re pros for a reason! We have no reason to worry they most likely ended up fighting on a different front than us!” Everyone nodded, but there was still a feeling of dread inside them— but hope flickered in their hearts aa they finally relaxed and got their wounds treated.
Present Mic, Hawks, and Vlad King set out to search for the heroes who didn’t show up for the calling. They had a list of heroes who were fighting on their front, and there was no sign of exactly two heroes Present Mic had hoped would be the first to show.
Aizawa and [Last Name].
They searched for hours, Hawks flying over the buildings that still stood strong, while Vlad and Present Mic searched the grounds and narrow alleys, their anxiety ticking as they felt like time was running out.
Hizashi couldn’t bear the loss of his friends, and knowing one of the two possibly was sentenced to a life without the other sickened him even more. “Damn it, Shota. This is no time to be hiding from a crowd.” Hizashi whispered, a rare thing for the loud man whose voice was unlike today always heard throughout the whole of Japan.
“Here! I found them— They’re over here!”
Their blood ran cold as Hawks sent his feathers to guide the two to him— but they both stopped dead in their tracks as Hawks fell to his knees, wings slumped.
Hizashi’s knees gave out the moment his eyes landed on the two of you, his best friends since his high school, laying there— lifeless.
[Flashback, first year of UA]
The hallway buzzed with the usual chaos of first year students, all nervous with fresh ambitions, but Hizashi Yamada’s voice somehow managed to rise above it all.
Hizashi slid through the hallways, having his eyes on a certain black haired boy who looked like he wanted to dissapear into the air— but little did he know a certain blonde had an imaginary light aimed right at him like a target.
“HEEEYYYY, YOUU! With the black long hair!” He yelled, emphasizing his greeting with his quirk. “I’m Hizashi Yamada! Future beloved Voice Hero of Japan!” He flashed a grin so bright it almost blinded Aizawa. “And you’re—?”
“…Trying to walk,” Aizawa muttered, turning away.
Most people would’ve taken that as “go away.” Hizashi took it as, “Yes! Let’s be best friends.”
“HEY WAIT—!” He jogged next to Aizawa, walking backwards so he could keep talking. “Come on maaaan, don’t be cold! You look cool! Brooding! Mysterious! Bet you’ve got a tragic backstory or something—”
“Or something..” Aizawa scoffed.
Before Hizashi could latch onto him again, he bumped into someone— You. “Oof— sorry!” He yelped, steadying you and himself. “It’s fine, you should watch where you’re going tho.” You smiled softly, looking between the two. “Are you two.. friends?” “No..” “Hell yea we are!” The two say simultaneously, which made you quirk a brow. “Oookay..?” You laugh awkwardly, walking beside them. “We will be! And I’ve decided you’re our friend now too…” “[Name] [Last Name].” You add, making him grin, “Yes! [Name]!”
“And you are?” You ask curiously, looking at the antisocial looking boy. “Shota Aizawa..” He muttered, walking into your classroom. He sat in the left, back corner— so you sat beside him to his right while Hizashi sat in front of him.
“Okay, okay, guys, listen to this,” Hizashi said, spinning around in his seat. The grin on his face definitely meant trouble even if you’ve known him for barely 5 minutes there was no denying that.
“I’ve been working on a new catchphrase for my hero persona ever since I got my acceptance letter.” Aizawa looked at the boy in front of him, sighing as he brushed through his messy locks of hair. “I’m already regretting being here.” You leaned your cheek on your hand. “This can’t possibly end well.”
“It’s gonna be AWESOME,” Hizashi declared. He stood dramatically, one foot on his chair, posing as if cameras were already surrounding him. “AND I’m going to test it live. You two get the honor of being the first to hear it!”
Aizawa sighed. “Please don’t—”
Hizashi sucked in the biggest breath you’d ever seen. “CAN YOU FEEL THE—”
Nothing.
Silence.
His expression froze mid yell, mouth open, pose held dramatically in place. You blinked, raising a brow. “Did he break?” You asked, shifting your gaze to look at Shota, whose eyes were glowing red— faint but noticeable, hair floating as he stared daggers into the blonde. “Yamada,” he muttered, “sit down.”
Hizashi slowly lowered his arms, stunned. “BRO— DID YOU JUST— DID YOU TAKE MY QUIRK?!” He yelled, throwing his arms up dramatically. Every head in class turned. Aizawa calmly blinked, his hair falling back around his shoulders. “You were being loud.” “‘LOUD’ IS MY BRAND DUDE!” He whined, making you giggle quietly. “You don’t need to shatter everyone’s eardrums to prove it.” you say in between giggles, putting a hand over your mouth.
Hizashi dramatically clutched his chest, rambling about how Aizawa crushed his spirit and how if he turned into a villain this moment would’ve been his 13th reason.
You bit back a laugh, covering your mouth. “Hizashi, sit down before the teacher gets here.” He flopped into his seat, sulking. “I can’t believe you silenced the future Voice Hero. My voice. My beautiful voice.” “It’s really not that beautiful,” Aizawa mumbled.
“EXCUSE ME?!”
Aizawa smirked softly, his unemotional facade cracking for a mere second— but you caught it. Hizashi gasped, slamming his hands onto Aizawa’s desk dramatically. “ARE YOU SMILING?! AT MY SUFFERING?!” He pointed at you for backup, stunning you in the process. “You saw that! He SMILED. He SMILED at me. Take note— this is literally a historic event.”
You giggled. “To be fair.. it is kind of funny.”
“YOU TOO, [Name]?!” Hizashi clutched his chest again. “BETRAYED BY MY OWN FRIENDS!”
The teacher finally entered, Hizashi spinning around to face the board— not before whispering a quiet; “This betrayal will not be forgotten.”
Aizawa stared blankly at his notebook. “I’m sure I’ll lose sleep over it.”
You tried not to laugh, smiling warmly at the two. This was perfect. You found your people in the frisr few hours of school— and you wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.
[End of flashback]
[Second flashback— your hero years]
The trio you formed back in U.A. stayed the same even as life pushed you all in different directions— Hizashi becoming the hero everyone recognized in an instant, while you and Aizawa kept yourselves on the quieter side of things. There weren’t as many flashing cameras for you two, little to no interviews, but the people who mattered knew you. Veterans respected you. Young heroes whispered about you like legends.
Despite the different paths, the three of you always found your way back to one another— late night meals after missions, exhausted laughter in your shared agency office, quiet moments where it felt like you were sixteen again, sneaking around dorm hallways.
As the years passed, something else began to take brew between you and Aizawa— something that had been there longer than either of you realized.
You’d catch him looking your way more often than not, his bored expression softening whenever you walked into a room. He’d stand a little closer to you during missions and he always checked if you were behind him before sprinting into action, always holding onto your wrist a second too long when pulling you away from danger.
Hizashi, of course, saw all of this from a mile away. He spent months pestering his best friend, slapping his back, elbowing him, throwing not so subtle smirks his way every time he’d turn red while interacting with you.
Eventually, after Hizashi had practically ripped out his own hair trying to convince him, Aizawa finally decided to confess.
The mission that day was supposed to be easy— a quick response, an evacuation, nothing you and Shota hadn't handled before. But the moment the villain set the bank ablaze, everything spiraled.
Fire erupted through the building, glass shattering, alarms blaring while heroes rushed inside to get civilians out before the structure gave out.
Smoky air burned your lungs as you guided the last few people down the stairs, ignoring the sting in your eyes. Outside, the firefighters’ panicked orders echoed through the collapsing structure. “The building’s collapsing— everyone OUT, now!”
You pushed the final civilian toward the exit, stumbling after them as the heat and exhaustion swallowed you whole. Your knees buckled, and you barely shoved the person into another hero's arms before everything blurred. “[Hero name]!” Shota yelled, his voice laced with raw emotion as his capture scarf shot forward just as a massive slab of rubble came crashing down; the scarf wrapped around you, jerking your body toward him. Your legs gave out entirely, and you fell into his arms, coughing violently as soot covered every inch of you.
“I need a medic— NOW!” he yelled, panicking as he saw you slip in and out of consciousness. After that, everything became a blur.
The ambulance doors slamming shut, Hizashi’s frantic voice somewhere behind him, and a soft, trembling whisper from someone near your stretcher; “I don’t think she’ll make it.”
Aizawa and Hizashi refused to leave your side, not even after being told visiting hours were over, the two stubbornly never leaving your side.
Shota sat hunched over your hand most nights, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he was terrified you’d fade away if he let his grip on you falter even for a second.
Days passed, heavy and cold, until finally, your fingers twitched around Shota’s hand. Hizashi almost tore the door off its hinges calling for the doctors. After they ran their tests, asked their questions, and finally left the room, the three of you breaking into relieved laughter. The fear drained from the room like water down a sink, replaced with warmth and memories and the familiar teasing that glued you all together.
Later that day, when Hizashi stepped out to give Aizawa a moment alone with you, a quiet confession filled the space between you— something shy, trembling, but honest. And when Shota stepped out afterward, face flushed and eyes refusing to meet anyone’s, Hizashi instantly knew, nudging him with the smuggest grin imaginable. “Finally,” he whispered, unable to keep the pride hidden from the tone of his voice.
[End of flashback]
[A few hours earlier]
You winced as you sprinted toward the enormous pit of smoke blooming across the battlefield, panic tightening in your throat. Shota hadn’t answered a single one of your calls over the earpiece he’d insisted you wear before the war began.
You’d been separated within minutes after Kurogiri warped the battlefield, scattering heroes across the city and dropping each exactly where they’d struggle the most. You were trapped with a Nomu built to make your quirk do little to no damage to it and a villain whose attacks kept you from fleeing. You managed to defeat the villain with everything you had left— your body screaming, lungs burning— just barely dodging the Nomu’s heavy swing that cracked the ground where you had been a second earlier.
“Shit, Eraser.. please tell me you’re doing better than I am…” You groaned, stumbling around a corner and pressing a shaking hand to the wall for balance. Smoke clouded your lungs, forcing a painful cough out of you.
You ripped a strip from your tattered costume, tying it around the lower half of your face as a makeshift filter before running again.
You finally saw the man you’ve been hoping to see for hours. Aizawa was fighting a Nomu just like you had been minutes ago, struggling to keep it at bay with his capture scarf. You noticed an opening for you to jump in, and so you took the opportunity.
Using the shattered remains of a nearby building as leverage, you launched yourself forward, slamming your heel into the Nomu’s face. Pain shot through your legs— your thighs burning, your body screaming at you to stop— but you refused. You struck again and again, giving Aizawa the opening he needed. His scarf tightened brutally around the Nomu, binding it until it finally collapsed.
The moment the creature hit the ground, you felt your vision warping at the edges. You were slipping, zoning out, adrenaline draining too quickly as you ripped the piece of fabric off of your face, gasping for air when a sudden embrace snapped you back.
“You’re such an idiot [Name]. You’re just like those problem children— I could’ve, it coul’dve..” You cut him off with a soft smile, cupping his cheek with a gentle rub of your thumb. “I’m fine Shota calm yourself.” You whispered, clinging to him as if he’d dissapear any second. “I’m glad we’re both okay.” He stayed silent, only tightening his hold on you which made you chuckle. You loosened your grip, walking the way you came from. “Come on, we should try and find Hizashi. I bet he won’t be hard to find with how loud—”
You’re sentance got cut short as a sudden punch blew you away and into the building ahead. You wheezed, your vision bluring as you slipped in and out of consciousness. “No.. not now, I can’t— Shota.” Your thoughts raced as you tried to get up, but your body was weak and your head was pounding.
Shota was on high alert, the moment he saw your body get hit by the giant monster, he was fuming. [Name]!” He yelled, running to you. “[Name], love, darling, wake up.” He tapped your cheek, brows furrowed with concern. He cursed, pulling you onto his back and pulling the two of you away with his scarf. You guys flew for only a minute when the Nomu appeared right in front of Shota, the hair on his neck sticking up as goosebumps prickled his skin.
He had no time to react, the giant hitting you both to the ground. Shota flipped you around so you were on top of him, grabbing the nearest thing with his scarf to lessen the fall, but it was of no use.
The moment he hit the ground his back broke, head just barely getting saved from the impact. You let out a pathetic whine, the only sound you managed as the pain coursed through your whole body. Your legs were broken and your back no doubt too.
“Shota..” You sobbed weakly, slowly turning your head. The black haired man locked eyes with you, slowly reaching out his hand towards yours. “[Name].. th—ank you.. for everything.” He whispered, hoping you could hear him over the loud footsteps of the Nomu. Tears streamed down your face as a dreadful feeling of fear drowned you. “Shota.. Prom—ise me…” You coughed, choking on a sob. “Promise that.. you’ll find me.. in the next life.” Shota smiled weakly, even now in your last moments he looked ethereal, like he didn’t belong to this world. “Of course I will, my love.” Your fingers touched for a second, but in that moment, you felt at peace, your vision blurring as the life you’ve learned to love had come to an undeniable, cruel, end.
[After they found your bodies]
The students were shattered once they saw your bodies getting carried by the only hero left of the old trio, everyone shocked and frozen in what felt like denial.
Their teachers who pushed them to be the strongest? Dead?
No..
No, that wasn’t possible. Heroes like you didn’t die quietly. Heroes like you didn’t fall so unceremoniously.
But the world kept spinning without hesitation.
There were no headlines. No speeches. No towering statues immortalizing your sacrifice. Just a few short reports filed away like any other casualty of war. You were pros— another pair of names in a long, endless list of losses.
It infuriated everyone, especially Class 1-A.
How could the world brush you off like dust?
How could so little be said about people who shaped the future of hero society?
However Hizashi knew you’d be happier this way. Left unknown, only surrounded by the people who really knew you and cherished who was under the hero costume you had once strived and also unfortunately fallen in.
Unfair? Yes.
But grief rarely followed rules, and the absence you left behind was sharper than any blade.
[Four year later]
Musutafu had fully recovered from the damage done by the war, civilians slowly got back into their day to day lives and the students graduated and carried what they’ve learned into practice in honor of their departed teachers and other brave souls who unfortunately hadn’t made it to see the war end.
People moved on, even class 1-A had accepted the quiet tragedy that left a scar deep in their hearts, but one that was healing over time.
They met each year without fail on your death anniversary, leaving fresh flowers and lighting candles before catching up with each other and remembering on their high school memories when you still walked the same halls as they did.
Meanwhile Hizashi retired from hero work far earlier than anyone expected. He wasn’t old— not even close— a big hole was left in his heart the day he lost his dear friends. Maybe it was trauma or maybe it was the simple fact that the people who once kept him grounded were no longer there to cheer him forward.
So he stepped out of the spotlight and opened his own radio show— a quieter, gentler life. It helped him breathe again. It helped him heal.
And every year on the same day, he dedicated a short segment to “two anonymous friends” he had lost in the war. His voice always softened as he described how peaceful and in love you both looked, even in death— how your hands had been intertwined, a bittersweet image he carried like a scar on his heart.
Then, he’d always play “Join Me in Death” by HIM, letting the song fill the studio as he looked through old photos and videos from when you were alive.
During that song, his two cats— a black Persian and orange tabby he adopted for comfort— always behaved strangely. They’d curl up beside each other, tails gently intertwined, heads resting close as they drifted into sleep. It made him smile every time, a small, sad warmth blooming in his chest.
Sometimes he wondered.. No.. he hoped..
Some things were meant to remain mysteries— soft, quiet blessings whispered by the universe.
And in those moments, watching the two cats sleep in perfect harmony, Hizashi allowed himself to believe— even if just for a breath— that maybe, somewhere beyond this life…
dabi—no, todoroki touya has a visitor from the past.
NOTE. slight(ish) spoilers from the new ep! chap 426 and 427 reference.
Dabi—no, Touya wakes up like taffy.
The world stretches around him in slow, sticky strands, pulling him out of sleep with the same reluctant heaviness that clings to his lungs each time the machines get a little louder. The glass of the room reflects back a warped version of him—pale, patched, hardly alive but not allowed to die. The wires coil around him like thin metal serpents, sunk into ruined skin; the monitors blink in faint greens and sickly yellows, the colors of a life forced to stay.
He hears footsteps sometimes—well, not footsteps, but the sound of his wheelchair as his mother wheels him around.
His father’s are the easiest to recognize—hesitating, heavy, like each step is a punishment he gives himself. Enji always stands just outside the light, hands useless at his sides, breathing hard like words hurt more than burns. Touya lets him talk, if only because silence feels thicker with him around. But today, the steps are wrong—lighter, quicker, less afraid of the echoing hallways. He tries to lift his head, but the neck brace keeps him still; all he can do is move his eyes.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Which means his father isn’t here yet.
He tries not to think about that.
A shadow moves at the edge of his vision—small, hesitant. Not a doctor. Not a nurse. Not the man who visits every day with guilt folded into his shoulders like a second coat.
He lifts his gaze and sees you.
For a moment, memory fails him.
You stood in the doorway as if you’re not sure you’re allowed to come closer. You have grown—taller, sharper, older—but your expression is the same one you used to wear when asking if he wanted to share your snacks after school. Your face is still glowing in a way that makes him feel thirteen again—or maybe that’s just because he may have had a crush on you once, when everything hurts but nothing has yet shattered.
“Touya,” you breathe out, as if the name is both a wish and a question. “It’s really you.”
He tries to speak; it comes out as a rasp too thin to be a word. The nurse adjusts something beside you.
“Only a few minutes,” she warns you gently. “Keep him calm. His vitals spike easily.”
You nod quickly, then step closer, fingers twisting around the strap of your bag. You stop just short of touching the glass, eyes trembling as you take him in fully.
“Nene.”
Ah, that nickname he gave you. It’s familiar in a way—like always on the tip of his tongue.
“You recognized me,” you sighed in relief.
He wants to laugh. Or cry. He’s not sure which wins. “Not that burned.”
A startling puff of laughter leaves you, trembling at the edges. Then you pressed your lips together as if trying not to fall apart in front of him. Touya wants to say how stupid you look right now. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be here long. They said only a few minutes. They said you shouldn’t talk too much.”
He grunts. “Doesn’t stop my old man.”
Your eyes soften, but you don’t comment. Instead, you exhale shakily and look at him like you’d been carrying years of words with nowhere to place them.
“I didn’t get to visit your grave,” you said quietly. “When I heard you died… or they said you died… it didn’t feel real. None of us believed it. Our old classmates—we kept messaging each other, trying to find out if it was true. And I kept thinking, ‘No, that can’t be him. Touya can’t just… disappear like that.’”
Touya blinks slowly down at you. His vision swims.
“Didn’t think anyone… remembered.”
“Of course we remembered,” you told him, voice cracking now. “You were—gods, Touya, you were always loud. And stubborn. And you drew these really ugly comic strips on the back of your notebooks.” A watery laugh spills out. “You told me once that when you became a hero, I should be your sidekick. And I said no because I wanted to build buildings, not blow them up while fighting.”
Touya feels something burn in his chest—not fire, not anymore, but something just as sharp.
His throat tightens painfully, hot air scraping up like fire. “[Name]...” It’s barely a whisper, raw and small. But your eyes widen anyway, as if he’d shouted.
“I’m here,” you said quickly. “You don’t have to talk. I just… I wanted you to know that even when everything fell apart, even when I saw you on the news as Dabi and the world hated you… I kept thinking about that kid who tied my shoelaces because I didn’t know how. I kept thinking—Touya’s not gone. He’s just lost. Like how I did when they told us they didn’t find your body.”
A tear slips down his cheek before he feels it. His whole body trembles, the monitors beeping higher, warning. The nurse steps forward, but you shake your head and speak softly, urgently.
His eyes sting. Damn it.
You saw.
“Touya, it’s okay. Please, it’s okay. You don’t have to cry.”
He can’t stop. His breath hitches in short, painful bursts. He hasn’t cried in years (does crying just a few days ago from seeing his family all together count for him?)—not well, not fully—but the sight of someone who knew him before burns more than the blue flames ever did.
“I… didn’t…” He stops, chest heaving. “Say… things.”
You leaned closer, both palms gently resting against the glass now. “You don’t have to. I know. I know you didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t either.”
He wishes he could extend his hand to match yours, but the most he can do is twitch his fingers against the restraints. You see this, of course. And Touya notes the way your eyes soften in a way that lights something small and fragile in him.
He tries to lift a hand, but the restraints, the tubes, and the sheer weakness hold him down. His fingers twitch against the metal bed.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
It’s instinct.
His whole life is an instinctive apology.
“For what?”
“For… becoming this.”
You shake your head. “You’re still Touya. That’s all that matters.”
The nurse at the door signals at you—two minutes left.
You wiped your eyes quickly and leaned just a bit closer to the glass. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to visit again. But… if I can, I will. And even if I can’t… I’m glad I got to see you. Really see you.”
Touya swallows painfully. “Yeah… me too.”
Your voice softens into a whisper. “You always mattered. Even back then, you know? And I’m sorry too, if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me what’s on your mind.”
Something warm, something unbearably gentle, unfurls in his chest.
It hurts.
It heals.
It burns.
Fuck, he wanted to say something—to also scold you for apologizing when you’ve done nothing wrong. But the words are at a loss on his throat.
Touya musters what little strength he has and presses his own hand against the metal restraint and imagines what it’s like to match yours that leaned against the glass. Your hands don’t touch—but Touya wants to think they almost do. And somehow, that almost feels like everything.
“Bye, Touya,” you heaved in a heavy breath.
He forces his eyes to meet yours, every ounce of strength funneled into a single look—desperate, hopeful, clinging. He watches you leave, the white lights reflecting in his damp eyes, and for the first time in a while, the sound of the machines doesn’t feel as lonely and annoying.
“Come back,” he whispers after you, voice barely a thread.
the pages are worn, smudged with dirt and the faintest traces of dried blood. katsuki’s hands shake as he flips through your diary, the one they found in the rubble, tucked away in the remains of your dorm. it’s stupid, really. stupid that he’s doing this now, when it’s too late. when you’re already gone.
he sees his name written more times than he can count. and at first, it pisses him off. pisses him off because you were supposed to tell him. you were supposed to be here.
he reads.
“first day at ua! there’s this really loud, really annoying guy in my class. bakugo. he’s cute as hell for someone so rude.”
his breath catches. his fingers tighten around the worn edges of the pages as he keeps going.
“he’s amazing. the way he moves, the way he fights—he’s going to be number one, i know it.”
“i think i might like him.”
and then it gets worse. because it’s all there. every thought, every little moment he never noticed, or maybe he did and just never let himself think too hard about it. the way you admired him, the way you saw him for more than just his explosions and his anger.
“i know he’d never feel the same. katsuki bakugo doesn’t fall for people like me.”
summary! gojo's slowly realising how bad of a boyfriend he is when he walks into the most gut wrenching scene he's ever witnessed, his beautiful, shy girl, upset over his party animal lifestyle choices. but, instead of comforting her, for reasons not even he can comprehend he gets really, really mad. (angst to (not really) comfort, messy, toxic relationship dynamics, gojo is a fuckwit but he learns ig) !! so ooc
disclaimer: this is not a healthy relationship dynamic, i don't feel like i need to explain how rage bait i made this on purpose bc i love to get you guys heated, but yeah, this is not something you should chase.
wc: 4k || pt.2!! || inspo from my mean!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader || CW: suggestive
dating you was already wayyy out of fratboy!gojo's comfort zone.
don't misunderstand, he loved you. he just had a really fucked up way of showing it.
never had he ever been in a relationship before, his experience hadn't gone past messy hookups followed by an empty bed in the morning.
so, when you came along, or should he say, when he charmed you into this new fancy thing called a 'relationship', he was far from the perfect boyfriend. like, far, far from it..
you were at the other end of his spectrum, where he was a wild party animal, you were soft and quiet. that's what drew him in, you sitting alone in the front row of his economics class, how different you were to his usual indulgences. your pretty outfits and shy demeanor knocked him off his feet, so he sat next to you and that was that, you'd been dating for around five months now and all was going smoothly... well, smoothly by satoru's standards.
the thing was, he'd still attend his insane ragers where almost everyone was half naked, fucking around like rabbits upstairs.
ah, the high life.
he thrived in this setting, grinding and dancing, laughing and talking shit with his friends, it was his perfect sanctuary.
he could have you at home, waiting for him to come back with open arms and dinner in the oven, as well as doing whatever the fuck he wanted at the frats.
you'd never told him he couldn't after all, so what was the issue? obviously not because you were just too shy to? right? obviously not because you were a complete push over and he
knew that. nah, you were most likely just a chill girl! that's gotta be it.
pffft, whoever said you couldn't have your cake and eat it too was so wrong.
.
gojo slips his key into the lock, he misses it once, then gets it the second time. he cracks a laugh at himself, he's not drunk just tipsy from whatever garbage punch they served at the mixer.
the hallway light outside your apartment shines behind him, catching on his chain when he leans forward. he giggles something under his breath about the silly maintenance never fixing anything, then pushes the door open with his shoulder.
your place is so quiet, so pretty. he’s gotten used to your decor, the air warm from the little heater you always turn on at night. god, you were so cute.
he scuffs off his jordans at the front door and steps inside, reaching back to tug the door shut.
he pictures you asleep, snuggled up in his shirt that swallows you whole. he smiles a little as he imagines it. cute, sweet, soft. all his.
except, as he draws closer inside, the light from the living room is still on?
"hmm." he pauses.
the tv is off and the candles are unlit. but you’re on the couch with your legs tucked under you and your shoulders curved in like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.
your phone glows against your pretty little face, you’re so focused on whatever's on the screen you don’t hear him.
your lips are pouty and sad, that alone guts whatever leftover buzz he had going. your eyes look swollen, your lashes wet, cheeks a little blotchy. he’s never seen you like that. never seen that kind of silent with you, it's not the shy kind, it makes his chest feel off balance.
“oh… shit,” he whispers under his breath.
because now he sees the screen.
it’s him shirtless, beta cap turned backward and his chain dangling against his chest. he’s smiling that charismatic smile, mouth open like he just said something funny that made everyone laugh. that one girl in the tiny bikini he barely remembers presses her fingers to his shoulders, leans down, body tilted against his, she takes a shot off his collarbone while her friends cheer. he throws his head back laughing.
oh fuck..
really, it was just another moment in the mess of the party. someone yelled his name, shoved salt into his palm, the girl had licked it from his fingers like some pornstar then she poured the tequila and leaned in.
shit.
your thumb shakes as you close your phone and stare at the ground.
gojo feels his stomach rip in two, but he forces himself to breathe normal. he lifts his chin, and lets that fratboy grin slide into place.
just act normal. that’s his first instinct. be goofy, be loud, be charming! pretend nothing’s wrong. that always works.
“baby!" he calls lightly, stepping toward you. “you’re up? what’re you doing awake? it’s late, y'know."
you jump a little but you just hum very shyly and don't look at him.
he comes around the side of the couch, he plops down behind you, slipping his arms around your shoulders from behind like he always does when he wants to distract you from something. stretching over the back of the couch, he nuzzles your cheek with a grin.
“i missed you,” he says brightly.
you shudder against his arms.
his smile ticks.
“hey,” he says leaning a little to see your face. “what’s wrong?” like he doesn't know.
you keep looking down at the floor like looking at him would really break you.
“nothing, toru,” you whisper.
that hits him in a place he seriously doesn’t like.
“doesn’t look like nothing.”
you set your phone on the cushion beside you, eyes stuck on your knees.
gojo watches every tiny move you make, feeling something yucky pull tight in his aching chest. he swings himself over the couch so he’s sitting next to you, one knee bumping yours. he smells like sweat, cheap liquor, and someone else’s perfume. he doesn’t realise it. he doesn’t notice the way you subtly lean away.
gojo drags in a slow breath and leans back against the couch with his legs spread, he feels the tension humming through the room but refuses to let it land anywhere close to him. gross. his irritation rises really fast, he was never good at dealing with girls who don't fight back.
he stares at your knees, not your face, the smile gone. “so,” he drawls, “you gonna tell me what's wrong, y/n? or are ya just gonna sit here and mope.”
you hesitate before trying to respond to him, but that tiny silence ignites something unsavoury.
he scoffs under his breath and sits up straighter. “come on. seriously? you’re acting like i fucking murdered someone.”
you've entered that state where you want to talk, but your throat just won't let you speak.
and god, that sets him off even more. his patience fractures clean down the middle.
“i don’t get why you’re so sad,” he says, louder this time. “like, genuinely. i don’t get it.”
you squeeze at your hands, trying to stay small. trying not to take up space.
"i... that girl, she-"
“it was just a body shot,” he interrupts. “big deal. everyone does them. it’s not like i kissed her, it wasn’t even fun. the tequila probably tasted like sprax.”
you softly flinch again when he raises his voice. he acts like he doesn't notice as irritation swells in him like static.
“why are you acting blindsided? you know who i am. you knew before you dated me.” he throws his hands up. “i’ve always been like this. i go to parties. i drink. i mess around with my friends. i’m not some stay at home boyfriend who knits blankets on weekends.”
still nothing from you.
you sit still and small, taking every word. you feel like you deserve it.
it makes him angrier, he can’t explain why. something about the sadness on your face, something about how soft you look, something about how he’s too aware of his own guilt, makes him latch onto the only thing he knows how to do when cornered.
he lashes out.
“god, are you really this insecure?” he snaps. “over a party? over something stupid like a shot? this is what college is like, babe. people have fun. you wouldn’t know because you never go to shit like that, you wouldn't have a fucking clue.”
your chin falls as your shoulders tuck in even tighter.
“you just… sit here at night,” he says, waving an arm at the room, “you study, you cook, you watch shows, you bake, you… whatever. you stay in your little routine. and that’s fine, that’s you, but don’t project that shit on me.”
you try so badly not to cry, he hates how that looks on you. it makes his neck muscles jerk.
he leans foward “you don’t get it. you don’t get my life! you don’t get how things work with my friends. you don’t get how parties are. you never have. you’re a shut in, babe. you barely talk to anyone unless they come up to you first. you get nervous around people you don't know.”
your hands get clammy and you squeeze your knees tighter..
but he just keeps on going.
“you think i’m cheating on you? is that it?” he challenges. “you think i’m out there hooking up with girls just because they’re pretty and wearing tiny outfits? you think i’d cheat over some girl licking salt off my hand? seriously?”
your lip tucks inward for a second.
“say something!” he demands. “come on. don’t just sit there like a kicked puppy. if you’ve got something to accuse me of, spit it the fuck out.”
you shake your head frightened. “i’m not... i'm not trying to.. accuse you, toru, i-.”
“then what?” he bites. “what are you so upset about?”
your voice is barely there. “i just… didn’t know you still let girls do things like that.”
he groans and drops his head back against the couch. “oh my god. it’s not deep! why do you always assume the worst?”
your body starts to subtly shake.
“i’m not assum-" you whisper.
“yeah, you are,” he throws back. “you wouldn’t be whining if you weren’t.”
you stiffen but don’t sob.
he digs the heel of his palm into his brow, frustration pulsating through him. “you’re so dramatic sometimes.”
your breath stutters, but you swallow it down fast. your hands tremble just once before you force them still again.
“god,” he mutters, shaking his head.
"...maybe this was a mistake.”
the second the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re cruel. he knows they’re a lie but he’s too far into his childish anger to stop.
that one hurt, because that's all you'd been thinking lately. maybe this was all too much for a girl like you. you'd be a better fit for someone softer and quieter like you...
he stares at you expecting you to argue back or something. to deny it, to grab his sleeve and plead the way past girls did trying to get him to love them, to give him something he understands.
but you never do.
you weren't like them, you were shy and sweet. you hated how hard it was for you to speak up and express how you felt, but that's just how you were.
and something about that makes him crash out harder.
“say something,” he barks. “stop acting like i’m some monster for having a life outside of you!"
you open your mouth but no words come out. you just shake your head softly.
that subtle movement ignites him again.
“you can’t just sit here and look sad every time i go out,” he says. “you can’t expect me to change everything about myself because you get overwhelmed by basic social shit. you’re dating me. me! not some guy who stays home reading textbooks every night.”
your shoulders rise a smidge, then drop.
his stress and confusion doesn’t know how to handle you. he feels cornered by emotions he’s never dealt with before.
“god, you’re impossible,” he mumbles. “i can’t deal with this shy routine when it’s twisted around like this. it’s like talking to a wall. do you even hear me? do you even care how insane this looks? you’re acting like i fucked some chick over a body shot! you need to grow up,” he says sharply.
“seriously. this is college. this is how it works. people party. people have fun. people get stupid sometimes. you can’t expect me to act like some perfect boyfriend when i don’t even know how to be one. i’m trying! okay? this stuff is normal. it’s harmless. you’re just… sensitive. too fucking sensitive.”
your lips open for a second. you want to say something.
again, nothing comes out.
you just nod once, heartbreakingly polite.
and that’s when it all hits him.
not slowly.
not gently.
it slams into him like a fucking semi truck.
your cheek glistens with one tear.
then another.
they slip down your face without a sound, falling over your jaw and landing on your lap, darkening the fabric.
your shoulders don’t shake. your breath doesn’t hiccup. you don’t sniffle or wipe them away.
you just let them topple downward.
gojo stops talking in the middle of his forest speel. the last word dies on his harsh tongue.
your tears keep flowing, you don’t defend yourself. you don’t argue. you don’t yell back. you don’t move away from him or push him or tell him to fuck off like any normal person should of.
you just sit there.
letting him rip your heart out and pummel it on the ground over and over and over.
letting him say awful things because you’re too gentle to fight back.
and suddenly he can hear his own voice echoing in his head. every insult. every jab. every cruel, thoughtless messed up word.
fuck, his stomach had never dropped quicker.
he stares at your beautiful face covered in salted tears, at the way you hold yourself so small and polite even while he ripped into your chest.
his throat tightens up, his hands go limp and his whole body goes scarily still.
what the hell did he just do?
the sniff he hears you swallow so fast it barely comes out gouges a deep hole through his brain.
his chest caves in.
oh no.
oh no no no.
“baby…” he whispers.
you don't dare look at this man's face. you only wipe at your cheek with the sleeve of your sweater, like you’re apologising for making a mess.
gojo’s breath pulsates in his lungs as if he was about to start sobbing aswell.
he feels sick.
he feels cold.
he feels like he'd be better off jumping out the window to put you out of your misery.
what the fuck was he doing?
what kind of guy yells at his girlfriend like that?
what kind of boyfriend calls his shy, gentle girl insecure?
what kind of person tears apart someone who wouldn’t dream of hurting him back?
he thought he was irritated. he thought he was defending himself. he thought he was justified.
now he just feels disgusting.
you sniff again as quietly as you can, gojo’s heart implodes and chokes him up.
he presses his knuckles to his mouth, eyes burning while he stares at you while he tries to figure out how to speak without making things worse. he doesn’t know how to say sorry without choking on the words. he doesn’t know how to own what he just did without wanting to shove a knife down his throat.
he tries to open his mouth but he knows if he speaks again he'll sob.
he hates himself for that.
you feel so bad, you feel like you'd just made gojo feel terrible, stressed, like you were an anchor he wanted to free himself from.
before satoru gets the courage to try again, he feels the couch dip as you move closer.
he wants to run away, never burden you with his egotistical attitude ever again, then your arms slip around his bulky side, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt.
he goes completely stiff, you’re... hugging him?
after everything he said, after all the mean ugly things he tossed at you, you’re the one reaching out? he stutters, stunned. he expects you to say you’re leaving his sorry ass, that you’re scared of him, that you don’t want this relationship anymore.
hell, that's what you should say.
“i’m sorry.”
his breath stumbles in his throat. he turns to you fast, eyes wide. “what?”
you sniff quietly, still not looking up at him. “i’m… i’m sorry for being clingy. and annoying. and making you feel stressed. i didn’t mean to ruin your night. i... i didn’t know i was doing something wrong.”
fuck he was such an asshole. he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he can’t believe that after everything, you still think it’s your fault.
“hey,” he says, voice cracking. “no. no. stop. baby, no.”
but you keep whispering shakily. “you’re right. i don’t really know how frats work. or parties. i don’t know what’s normal for you. i just… i saw the video and i got overwhelmed. i shouldn’t have made you feel guilty, toru.”
never in his messed up life had he experienced such a pain in his gut.
“sweetheart…” his hand rises halfway, then falls because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you without shaking. “please don’t say that. please don’t apologise. you didn’t do anything wrong.”
you keep clinging to his side gently. it's as if you’re trying to make him feel better about the pain he gave you.
“look at me,” he chokes out.
you don’t, or, you can't. so he moves slowly, tipping his head down until he can see your face. your lashes are stuck together with tears. your eyes stay lowered. your mouth keeps trying to stay steady for him. he hates himself so much he feels nauseous.
he cups the side of your head with a trembling hand. “you’re not annoying. or clingy. or anything like that. i swear, sweetheart... i swear.”
more quiet sobs rack your body as you squeeze him tighter. “no. hey. baby, no, listen. i messed up. this whole thing is on me... just.”
he leans closer pressing his cheek to your forehead. “i shouldn’t have yelled. i shouldn’t have said any of that shit, y/n. i shouldn’t have talked to you like that. i’m… i’m so sorry.”
he feels like scraping his eyes out, he wants to tie his throat closed, but the words spill out, “i’ve never been in a relationship before. i know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. i didn’t know how to handle… feelings. yours or mine. i freaked out and i took it out on you, y/n. i'm just... i'm an insecure piece of shit, i don't deserve you."
you can't handle this, you really can't handle anymore of him on the verge of tears.
“i’m really sorry you saw that video. i'm sorry i was even in it, that i ever did it,” he says. “and i’m sorry i did something that made you feel small. i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t even trying to hurt you. i was just being self centred... y/n, you have every right to be upset about it.”
when you finally look up his blue eyes are glossy with tears.
“you didn’t deserve a single thing i said,” he whispers. “you didn’t deserve any of it.”
you part your lips, but he shakes his head before you can talk.
“don’t say sorry again,” he mutters. “please. i can’t handle hearing that from you.”
his arm wraps around you, pulling you into his chest. the moment your face tucks against him, he breaks. a wet sound escapes him before he can swallow it down. his arms lock around you tighter as he hides his face against your shoulder.
“i’m sorry,” he borderline croaks. “i’m so sorry, baby. i didn’t mean any of it. not one word. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i treated you like that. i’m sorry.”
your hand rises hesitantly and rests over his heart. he clutches your waist like he needs you to breathe.
“i’ll stop,” he says suddenly, desperate. “i mean it. the parties. the dumb shit i do. i’ll stop. if something makes you sad, i don’t want it anymore.”
“i’m not trying to change you, satoru.”
“i want to change,” he insists. “i want to be better. for you.”
he lifts you up, arms sliding under your legs holding you against him. he stands and you cling to his shoulders, he carries you down the hall, steps steady like he’s afraid to jostle you.
when he sets you gently on the bed, he sits beside you, hands resting on your thighs.
“i’ll never talk to you like that again,” he promises. “i swear. i’ll never yell at you. i’ll never make you cry like that. i’ll learn how to be a real boyfriend. i’ll learn how to communicate. i’ll tell you where i’m going, what i’m doing. i’ll cut off anything that disrespects you.”
yeah, you could tell by the tone of voice that he really meant this.
“you can tell me anything,” he sighs, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “no matter how small it feels. even if it’s just that something made you uncomfortable. i want to hear it. i want to know. you matter to me.”
you can see how hurt he looks, how badly he regrets what he did.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers again. “i’m so sorry, baby.”
satoru kisses your cheek, then you wrap your arms around him. he pulls you into his lap, holding you close.
his fingers drift through your hair in slow careful ministration. “you’re my girl,” he murmurs. “my sweet girl. i’ll take care of you. i’ll be better, y/n, i swear.”
...
he whispers praise until your eyes shut..
gojo slips out of the bed once your breathing settles into a soft, sleepy sound he knows off by heart. he pulls the blanket up to your shoulders, then stands there for a second just staring at you with immense guilt twisting through his bones.
he pushes a hand through his fair hair and lets out a tight breath before heading to his drawer. the cigarette box inside is old, the last time he touched it was months ago, the last time he felt this same sort of self loathing itch.
he grabs one and steps out onto the cold windy balcony, and clicks the lighter with a horribly shaky thumb.
the city vibrates below with the windows of far away apartments glowing, cars driving by, shit, he can't even look at any of it. he just stands there leaning on the railing with his head bowed deep, smoke puffing out of his lip.
every sentence he spat at you floating through his mind, munting him harder each time. he can’t believe how easily he slipped into that revolting version of himself, the one who never cared who he screwed over. he swears he left that guy behind the day he met you. tonight proved he hadn’t.
he takes another puff.
he hates himself for yelling.
he hates himself for making you cry.
he hates how small you tried to get and how you tried to comfort him even when he was the one who mercilessly ripped you down.
he flicks ash over the railing... no one’s ever trusted him the way you do. he doesn’t get how someone like you ended up loving someone like him.
he lets loose a stray sob, he won’t let tonight happen again. he’ll learn. he’ll grow the hell up. he’ll earn you. he’ll become the boyfriend you deserve, because you deserve the world, everything he can give you.
he makes himself that promise right there on the balcony, whispers it into the night like a vow. he'll never treat you like that, never again.
PART TWO
oou he doesn't deserve us 👎 chat do not take this disrespect from anyone. this is just fiction ! results from the poll !
You and Jay have been secretly dating for years, but his group doesn’t know you live with him. When you finally meet, they’re cold and suspicious—Jay stays clueless, happy to see you together. You keep the peace, but after one tense dinner, you disappear, leaving Jay stunned and alone.
word count: 9.6k
content warning: ANGST!! (with fluff ending), shift of perspectives, arguments, basically all of enhypen being cold and rude at some point, and jay getting mad and depressed.
authors note: ahh i loved writing this one <3
The sound of keys jingling in the lock was your cue to put the kettle on.
Jay always came through the door like the world outside was a costume he could finally peel off. Here, in the apartment nobody knew he shared with you, he didn’t have to be Park Jongseong, idol, performer, Enhypen’s beloved ace. Here, he was just Jay —your Jay. The one who danced with you while brushing his teeth, who left shoes scattered in the hallway, and who whispered stupidly sweet things into your shoulder when he couldn’t sleep.
No one knew.
Not really.
No one knew. The members knew he had a second apartment. A “quiet place.” They didn’t know about your toothbrush beside his, or the cardigan hanging off his desk chair, or how your presence had quietly settled into every corner of the space. Two years of careful balance. Secret. Contained.
Until tonight.
“Wifey,” Jay called from the front door, voice already smiling, “you didn’t burn the place down while I was getting the groceries, right?”
You laughed, meeting him halfway to steal a quick kiss and grab a bag from his arms. “Not yet. But there’s still time.”
He grinned. That same soft, boyish grin that made your chest ache.
The members were coming over for dinner —for the first time. The idea had started as some hopeful wishing, then turned into Jay sitting on the edge of the bed one night saying he was tired of splitting his life in half. He wanted the people he loved in the same room.
You’d hesitated. You understood what secrets cost in this industry.
“They’ll like you,” he’d said, stubborn and hopeful. “They just don’t know it yet.”
You weren’t convinced.
----------------------------------
When the doorbell rang, you forced yourself to breathe before opening it.
Jungwon. Heeseung. Jake. Sunghoon. Sunoo. Ni-ki.
Polite greetings. Polite smiles.
Their eyes moved slowly over the apartment. Your shoes by the door. The framed photo turned slightly toward the wall. The lived-in warmth that didn’t match the story they’d been told.
Jay, oblivious, clapped his hands once. “See? Not a cave.”
You offered drinks. Jake thanked you with an easy smile. Sunoo complimented the smell of the stew. Heeseung nodded warmly.
Sunghoon’s gaze lingered.
He stepped closer to the shelf, fingers brushing the edge of the photo frame before straightening it —just enough to reveal it fully.
A candid of you and Jay on the couch, his head tipped toward yours.
Sunghoon’s expression didn’t change. “Didn’t know this place was… decorated.”
His tone was cold. Too cold.
Jay laughed from the kitchen. “What? I live here.”
Sunghoon hummed softly. “Right.”
The word wasn’t agreement. It was assessment.
Jay returned with side dishes and slid an arm around your shoulder. “This is who I’ve been talking about,” he said proudly. “My wife—okay, not legally, but basically in my heart.”
You laughed, but you felt it—that slight tightening in the room.
Ni-ki muttered something under his breath. Heeseung shot him a look.
Sunghoon leaned back in his chair. “That’s a bold title.”
Jay grinned. “I’m a bold guy.”
Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you. “I guess so.”
Jay didn’t hear it. Or pretended not to.
A few minutes later, Jay stood abruptly. “I forgot the sides. You guys talk. I’ll be right back.”
The second he disappeared into the kitchen, the air shifted.
You folded your hands in your lap. “So… schedules have been intense lately?”
Jake nodded politely. Sunoo smiled faintly. No one elaborated.
Sunghoon tilted his head slightly. “How long has this been going on?”
His voice was calm. Casual.
“Two years,” you answered, because lying would be worse.
His eyebrows lifted —just a fraction. “Two.”
There was something sharp in the way he repeated it.
“That’s… impressive,” he continued. “Keeping something like this hidden.”
You couldn’t tell if it was admiration or accusation.
“We were careful,” you said quietly.
Sunghoon’s gaze held yours. “You’d have to be.”
Jungwon stood then, muttering something about getting water. You excused yourself soon after, heart beating too loud in your ears.
The hallway felt narrower.
You’d barely taken two steps before Jungwon’s voice stopped you.
“You know this could ruin his career, right?”
His words were steady, controlled. Protective.
Your stomach dropped, but you kept your voice even. “Jay wanted you to meet me.”
“And if someone finds out?” Jungwon pressed. “You think the company’s going to protect this?”
The words hit like a slap.
You blinked. Swallowed. Your heart thundered behind your ribs, but you kept your voice calm, light, like you didn’t feel like throwing up.
“Jay’s been really excited for this dinner,” you said simply.
And then you slipped past him without another word.
You didn’t cry. Not when Jay returned to the table and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. Not when he laughed with his members, completely unaware of the tension you were wading through. Not even when he kissed your temple and whispered, “See? I told you they’d love you.”
You smiled and nodded and laughed at the right times.
You even helped clean up when they left.
And when Jay, blissfully unaware, fell asleep beside you that night, arm slung across your waist and smile still ghosting his lips
you got up. Quietly.
Finally letting the tears fall.
By the time the sun rose, your side of the bed was cold. Your toothbrush was gone. Your keys were missing from the hook.
And the apartment —the secret home you’d built together— suddenly felt a little too big for one person.
----------------------------------
The morning light slipped gently through the blinds, drawing soft golden lines across the bedspread. Jay stirred, groaning as he rolled over, expecting to bury his face in your shoulder, to feel your warmth curled into him like always.
But you weren’t there.
His arm stretched across the sheets, landing in the dip where your body should’ve been —but there was only the faint warmth left.
Still half-asleep, Jay blinked his eyes open, the smile already forming.
“Babe?” he mumbled into the pillow.
No answer.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The covers were still in place, the pillow you always used still nestled beside his —creased, slightly indented. Like you had only just left. It still smelled like your shampoo.
For a second, he closed his eyes again and inhaled the scent of you. He smiled faintly, thinking maybe you were in the kitchen. Maybe you were making toast, humming something off-key.
But something felt… off.
Jay stood, letting the blanket fall away as he padded out into the apartment.
No music. No tea kettle. No faint tapping of your feet on the floor.
He moved through each room, slower now. A creeping heaviness pulling at his limbs.
The mug you always used —gone. Not just in the sink. Gone.
He turned to the coat rack. Your favorite jacket? Missing. The hoodie you always said he stretched out too much when he wore it? No longer slung over the back of the couch.
He blinked rapidly, heart thudding harder.
He rushed back to the bedroom, flinging open drawers.
Empty.
Not completely —but enough.
Enough to know this wasn’t some morning errand. This wasn’t a walk to clear your head.
This was intentional.
The bathroom counter didn’t look like you brushed your teeth there this morning. The book on the nightstand you’d been halfway through? Gone.
Jay’s throat tightened as he looked around the space that was no longer a shared home —but just a place where you used to be.
His phone buzzed, dragging him out of the haze.
A group chat notification.
Jungwon [8:03 AM]:
Thanks again for last night. Good food. Hope you got some rest.
Jay barely read it.
He opened your contact instead.
Jay [8:03 AM]:
Princess, where are you?
Jay [8:04 AM]:
Are you okay?
Jay [8:07 AM]:
Please just tell me you’re safe.
He stared at the screen.
Nothing.
He sank back onto the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress, his knuckles white.
----------------------------------
Inside the dorm, he didn’t even take off his shoes. Just stormed in like a man possessed.
The air was off immediately.
They were all there. Relaxed. Normal.
He wasn’t.
“Where is she?” he demanded, eyes sweeping the room.
Confused glances. Uneasy shifts. A tension that wasn’t new—but now he could feel it like static in his chest.
Jake looked up from his phone. “What?”
“Y/N. She’s gone.” Jay’s voice cracked, but he kept going. “She left last night. Took her things. No note. No text. Nothing.”
His phone buzzed in his palm again.
He didn’t even try to hide it this time.
He looked.
Missed call: Mom
Not you.
His stomach twisted.
“She wouldn’t just leave.” His voice was softer now. “She wouldn’t do that unless something happened.”
He scanned their faces. Heeseung looked down. Jake bit his lip. Jungwon wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Jay’s heart sank.
“You knew something was wrong last night,” he said, realization hitting like a brick to the ribs. “You all knew, and you didn’t tell me.”
No one answered.
He looked around at them, at the silence that followed. Their guilty eyes. The way Jungwon didn’t even try to look surprised.
And that’s when it clicked.
He felt it like a slap.
“You knew,” he said, voice low. “You knew something was wrong last night.”
Jungwon finally stood. “Jay, you lied to us for years.”
“I protected her,” Jay snapped. “Because this world is brutal, and you know it. I wanted her to be safe. I never thought I had to protect her from you.”
His phone buzzed again. He fumbled for it this time, breath hitching
Random Email Notification
He shut his eyes, pressing the phone to his forehead like it could stop the ache crawling through his chest.
“I let you guys meet her because I thought you’d love her,” he said, voice tight. “Because I love her.”
Sunghoon stepped forward cautiously. “We were hurt. It felt like you shut us out.”
“You think this is about you?”
Jay turned on them, rage and grief mixing in his throat.
“She sat at that table smiling through every cold stare. She went to that dinner knowing it might not go well —but did it anyway. For me. And when you guys left, she pretended it didn’t bother her. She kissed me goodnight like everything was fine.”
His voice cracked.
“And I believed her.”
He looked down at his phone again. No messages. No missed calls. No signs of you.
“Every time my phone buzzes,” he said quietly, “I pray it’s her.”
The screen lit up again.
Another random email.
He shoved it into his pocket.
“I don’t care what any of you think,” Jay said, backing toward the door. “I’m going to find her. Even if I have to check every café, park bench, and corner of this city.”
And before any of them could speak, he was gone.
----------------------------------
The soft hum of Chae’s hair dryer in the bathroom was the only noise in the apartment.
You sat on her couch, knees tucked under your chin, one of her oversized hoodies drowning your frame. Your duffel bag sat by the door —half unpacked, but still zipped just enough to suggest this was temporary.
Because part of you kept waiting for yourself to go back.
To him.
Your phone buzzed.
Again.
You didn’t have to check it. You already knew who it was.
Jay [11:03 AM]
I don’t know where you are, but I need you to know I’m sorry. If something happened last night that hurt you… please just tell me. Please.
You stared at the screen.
You had read every single one.
You just couldn’t bring yourself to answer.
Chae emerged from the bathroom, towel-wrapping her damp hair, eyeing you from across the room. “You’re gonna make a hole in the floor if you keep staring like that.”
You managed a weak smile. “Sorry.”
She plopped down next to you, pulling her legs up. “You don’t have to apologize to me. But maybe you should to yourself. For holding it all in that long.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line.
“I really thought they’d like me,” you said quietly.
Chae’s gaze softened. “I’m sure some of them do. But let’s be real, Jay dropped a bomb on them and expected them to throw a party.”
You stayed quiet.
She glanced down at your phone, which was now lighting up again.
Jay [11:10 AM]
I swear I didn’t know they treated you like that. I thought last night was perfect. I was so happy. I was so happy…
You locked the screen again.
“I don’t want to ruin his life, Chae,” you said, voice barely a whisper.
“You didn’t,” she said gently. “You were his life.”
You looked down at your hands. “Then why did it feel like I was the one being punished for it?”
Chae leaned her head on your shoulder. “Because people don’t like being left out of things that matter. And you mattered. A lot.”
You felt your throat tighten.
“I didn’t want to leave,” you whispered.
“I know.”
You turned your phone over so the screen faced down.
“I just don’t want to be the reason his dream fails...he works so hard.”
And finally, for the first time since you left, the tears came. Quiet and slow. The kind that didn’t demand attention but dragged every ounce of hurt to the surface.
Chae didn’t say anything more.
She just stayed with you —still and safe.
Outside, the city moved on. The world didn’t know anything had fallen apart.
But in Chae’s tiny living room, curled up in borrowed clothes and borrowed time, you felt like you were still holding on by a thread.
Your phone buzzed again.
But this time, you didn’t look.
Not yet.
----------------------------------
One Month Later
The dorm felt smaller somehow.
Louder. Heavier. Even when no one was speaking.
Jay sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed, fingers absently curling into the hem of an old t-shirt that didn’t belong to him.
It was yours.
Soft and worn, the faded fabric still held your scent —barely, but enough that he kept it close. He hadn’t washed it. Couldn’t. Like it would erase the last piece of you that clung to him.
Your pillow was behind him, propped against the dorm mattress like it didn’t belong there —because it didn’t. It looked wrong surrounded by his things. Out of place, like you were now.
He hadn’t gone back to the apartment.
Not since that morning.
He moved back in with the members after you left. Said it was just temporary. Said he needed “a change of scenery.”
But they all knew the truth.
He couldn’t bear waking up in that place without you.
Still, he hadn’t canceled the lease. The rent quietly left his account every month, untouched. The fridge was still stocked. Your slippers were still by the door.
He didn’t even know where to start looking.
You had friends, of course. A few he remembered from stories you’d told him in passing. But no one close enough that he knew their address.
He’d texted. Called. DM’d. Nothing.
He even emailed.
Nothing.
And every time his phone buzzed, he dove for it like a mad man.
One new notification
He looked.
A label reminder for a livestream.
Not you.
He tossed the phone down.
Then picked it right back up.
Opened your chat thread again.
Jay [9:17 AM]
I’m sorry. I know I said that a hundred times already but I need you to know I mean it. I’d say it a thousand more. Just tell me where you are. Please.
No reply.
The members had noticed.
Heeseung said nothing at first, but started showing up at his door with coffee.
Jake checked on him constantly, always trying to get him out of the dorm —even just to walk.
Sunoo tried to make him laugh, but even he started giving up when Jay’s smiles never reached his eyes.
And Jungwon…
Jungwon watched him like someone waiting for a string to snap.
“You should go back to the apartment,” Jungwon had told him once.
Jay shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Jay’s voice had been quiet. “It still feels like hers.”
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“Okay, no offense, but you’re starting to blend into the couch.”
You didn’t even look up from your spot, curled into Chae’s throw blanket like a blanket burrito, half-scrolling, half-sulking. “It’s a nice couch.”
Chae dropped beside you with a thud, tossing a pillow at your legs. “It’s a couch that’s seen you in the same hoodie for five days straight.”
You grumbled into the cushion. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”
“Exactly the problem.” She sighed. “Y/N, I love you, but this isn’t healthy. You barely go outside, you haven’t touched your makeup bag, and you’re on your fourth rewatch of weightlifting fairy kim bok joo.”
You tried not to smile, but your lips betrayed you just a little.
“Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll get out. But I’m only going for snacks. Your snacks, by the way. I’ve been stress-eating all your chips.”
Chae rolled her eyes, “As long as sunlight or moonlight hits your skin at least once today, I’ll allow it.”
You threw on a baseball cap, hoodie, and sunglasses —just in case. Not because you expected to see anyone you knew.
Especially not them.
The walk to the convenience store was quiet, the way you liked things now.
No questions. No stares. No reminders of the life you’d walked away from.
You wandered through the aisles aimlessly, grabbing a drink, a few bags of chips, and the candy you love. The place was mostly empty —just you and a guy grabbing ramen cups near the back wall.
It was peaceful.
You turned the corner toward the refrigerated drinks and froze.
There he was.
Jungwon.
Baseball cap pulled low, black hoodie, earbuds tucked in. He hadn’t seen you yet.
You ducked, heart slamming in your chest. Of all people —why him?
You turned fast, heading for the register.
“Y/N?”
Your name cracked the air like a whip.
You didn’t turn around.
Just dropped your items on the counter, trying not to shake as the cashier scanned them.
“Hey—wait! Y/N, it’s me!”
His voice was louder now. You could hear his footsteps behind you, closing in.
You tossed a crumpled bill onto the counter and grabbed your bag, mumbling a thank-you before turning sharply toward the door.
“Y/N, please—can we just talk for a second?”
You didn’t answer.
Just shoved the door open and walked faster.
Maybe if you could get around the corner. Maybe if you just made it to the end of the block—
“Y/N!”
You glanced back for half a second.
He had dropped the basket he was holding. Left it right there in the middle of the store. He was coming after you.
You turned back around and started walking faster.
But it was too late.
Jungwon was already jogging to catch up, calling your name like he has any right to.
“Y/N—wait, please.”
You kept walking, arms crossed tight over your chest, shoulders hunched like you could fold yourself into invisibility.
But Jungwon caught up anyway.
He slowed beside you, breathing lightly, trying to keep pace without crowding you. “I just want to talk—just for a second.”
You said nothing.
“I didn’t know you were staying around here,” he said, cautiously. “Jay’s been trying to find you.”
You flinched at the name.
He saw it.
“Y/N,” Jungwon said, softer now, “he’s not okay.”
“Stop.”
Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
He blinked. “What?”
You turned to face him for the first time, your chin trembling even as you held your ground.
“Don’t,” you said. “You don't get to talk to me about him.”
He froze. You weren’t yelling. You were hurting.
Tears had begun to form at the corners of your eyes, glistening beneath your lashes, but you refused to let them fall.
Jungwon stepped back like he’d been slapped. “Okay. I won’t.”
Silence settled over both of you, thick and heavy. Cars passed on the street behind you. The city moved on, uncaring.
You took a breath.
Then another.
Then, without saying a word, you turned and started walking again —back toward Chae’s apartment.
But behind you, after a few seconds, you heard his footsteps again.
Still there.
Still following.
You kept your pace steady, trying not to let the tears fall as you walked back toward Chae’s apartment. Jungwon matched your steps without a word.
The streetlights flickered on as dusk crept in, casting long shadows over the cracked sidewalks. The city buzzed faintly around you, but all you could hear was the steady sound of your own breathing —and the soft footsteps behind you.
As you reached the building, your heart hammered harder. You slowed, then stopped just before the entrance, the familiar doorframe suddenly feeling too heavy.
You turned quickly, catching Jungwon’s gaze.
His eyes were steady, calm —no judgment, no expectation. Just watching.
No words passed between you.
Jungwon nodded, then stepped away into the darkening street, his figure blending into the shadows as you pushed open the door and disappeared inside.
You didn’t look back.
But you knew he was still watching.
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The next day, the apartment door clicked open and Chae stepped inside, dropping her bag by the door with a tired sigh.
“You won’t believe this,” she said, toeing off her shoes as she crossed the room. “Some weird guy’s been hanging around the building all afternoon.”
You glanced up from the couch. “Weird how?”
She tossed her keys onto the counter, brow furrowing. “Black hoodie. Mask. Just pacing near the entrance like he’s waiting for someone.”
Your chest tightened before your brain caught up.
Jungwon.
You swallowed, the memory of his voice from the night before settling heavy in your stomach. Without thinking, you leaned forward and reached for your shoes. “I’m just going to check something.”
Chae blinked. “Check what?”
“I’ll be back,” you said, already standing.
Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, the sky just beginning to darken. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, your pulse loud in your ears. And then you saw him —leaning against a lamppost near the entrance, hood pulled low, posture tense but patient.
He looked up when you approached, surprise flickering briefly across his face before smoothing out.
“Y/N,” Jungwon said quietly.
“What are you doing here?” You kept your voice even.
He hesitated, then straightened. “Can we talk? It’s not about Jay. I promise.”
You studied him for a moment, weighing exhaustion against curiosity. Finally, you nodded. “Okay.”
You walked together, not back inside, but away from the building —toward a small park a few blocks down, half-forgotten and mostly empty. The city noise dulled there, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the low hum of traffic in the distance. A few streetlights cast soft circles over empty benches.
You sat beneath a large oak tree, the space between you careful, deliberate.
“I want to know who you are,” Jungwon said after a moment. His voice was low, cautious. “Not just… who you are to him.”
You let out a tired breath. “Yeah. I guess to you I’m just ‘Jay’s girlfriend.’”
He shook his head slightly. “That’s not fair. To you. Or to him.”
You stared at your hands, twisting the hem of your sleeve. “I just try to keep him grounded. That’s all. It’s harder when the people he trusts don’t even know I exist.”
Jungwon didn’t interrupt. His expression softened, not pity, but something closer to understanding.
You found yourself talking anyway. Small things at first. Your favorite coffee shop tucked between two bookstores. Your love for old movies with terrible endings. How you once tried to learn guitar and gave up because your fingers hurt too much.
For a few minutes, it didn’t feel like a confession. Just conversation.
Then you smiled faintly and added, “Jay tried to teach me once. I got the pick stuck between the strings and panicked like the guitar was attacking me.”
Your laugh came out uneven.
“He looked so offended,” you continued, voice wavering. “I laughed until I cried.”
The memory settled heavy in your chest. Your eyes burned, and you turned your face away before the tears could spill.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured.
Jungwon reached out, resting his hand lightly against your arm. He didn’t grip it. Didn’t push. Just there.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly.
You stood abruptly, brushing at your face. “I should go.”
He rose too, hesitating. “Can I walk you back?”
After a beat, you nodded.
The walk back was quiet —not awkward, just careful. When you reached the building, he stopped a few steps short of the entrance.
“Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me.”
You nodded once and went inside.
Over the next seven days, it became routine.
Each evening after practice, Jungwon would wait near Chae’s building. No messages. Just a shared understanding. You’d walk together to the same small park, sit on the same bench beneath the oak tree, talk about nothing and everything until the city lights felt softer.
Day 1
You talked about your childhood —the small town, the slow afternoons, the music that first made you believe there was more out there. Jungwon listened with genuine focus, asking questions, smiling at the right moments, laughing softly when you shared stories you hadn’t told in years.
Day 2
He opened up in return. About the weight of leadership, about how being relied on so heavily sometimes left him feeling unsteady and unsure. You didn’t interrupt, just nodded, letting him speak. It felt like trust was being built, piece by piece.
Day 3
The conversation lightened. Movies, shows, half-serious debates over characters and endings. Jungwon admitted he was terrible at binge-watching but promised —hand to heart— that he’d try your favorites anyway. You teased him for it, and he laughed, unguarded.
Day 4
That night was quieter. He spoke about missing normalcy —walking without being watched, existing without expectation. You didn’t offer solutions or reassurance. You just stayed, shoulder close to his, letting silence do what words couldn’t.
Day 5
He told you stories from the group’s early days, the embarrassing ones he clearly didn’t share often. You laughed until your sides hurt. By the end of it, the other members felt less like distant figures and more like people you almost knew.
Day 6
You brought snacks as a peace offering. He showed up with coffee from a nearby street cart, slightly too sweet, still warm. The exchange was small, almost trivial, but it felt like a bridge —something solid between two very different worlds.
Day 7
By the end of the week, words came easier. You talked about Jay —not the idol, not the image, but the person he was when no one was watching. Jungwon didn’t comment, didn’t judge. He just listened. When your voice wavered and you wiped at your eyes, he passed you a napkin without a word.
That quiet understanding stayed with you long after the night ended.
----------------------------------
The dorm felt quieter than he remembered.
Not because it actually was —someone had music playing down the hall, laughter drifted in and out from a late-night game— but because everything reached him like it was underwater. Muted. Distant. As if the world had lost saturation.
Jay sat on the edge of his bunk, the familiar creak of the mattress barely registering. In his lap was the hoodie you used to steal, fabric worn soft from being claimed as yours. Beside him lay a pillow he’d taken from the apartment, still holding the faintest trace of you.
He’d tried washing one of your shirts once.
The scent disappeared too fast.
He never made that mistake again.
It had been over a month.
He still paid the rent on the apartment. Still transferred the money on time, every time. But he hadn’t gone back —not once. The thought of stepping inside felt unbearable. Every room existed in his mind as it was the last time he saw it: untouched, suspended, full of echoes he couldn’t face.
The guys didn’t mention you.
Not directly.
They spoke carefully, like your name was something fragile, something that might break him if handled wrong. And maybe it would have. But Jay wasn’t angry. He couldn’t be. Anger required direction.
What he felt was hollow.
He knew he’d missed something. More than one thing. He’d been so wrapped up in finally letting himself be happy that he hadn’t noticed the cracks forming around him. The way your voice tightened around his members. The way your smile stayed polite instead of warm. How your laugh that night never quite reached your eyes.
He should have known.
Every day, he checked his phone too often. Every vibration made his heart jolt before reason caught up. But it was never you. No texts. No calls. Nothing to explain the silence.
At night, he played guitar quietly, careful not to wake anyone. He’d started writing again —lyrics that weren’t meant for stages or albums. Just fragments. Lines about the way you used to curl into his side. About the empty space you left behind.
Sometimes he dreamed of you coming back, standing in the doorway with that familiar smile, teasing him for losing his keys again.
Other nights, he stayed awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment he realized you were gone.
He didn’t know where you were. He didn’t know how to fix what he’d broken.
But every day, without fail, Jay still waited.
Just in case you came back.
----------------------------------
Jay came back from practice exhausted, sweat clinging to his skin, limbs heavy, head still pounding from a full day of pretending he was fine.
The dorm was unusually quiet. Most of the guys were still out or or haven’t left their rooms yet. He barely registered it as he pushed open the door to his shared room —until he stopped short.
Something was wrong.
His bed was… neat. Not the way he left it.
The blanket was tucked in, smooth in a way it never was. The sheets were freshly changed. His pillow —your pillow— sat fluffed at the head of the bed, perfectly arranged.
His stomach dropped.
“No,” he muttered, crossing the room in two quick steps. “No, no—”
He grabbed the pillow and pressed it to his face without thinking, breathing in desperately.
Nothing.
The warmth was gone. The faint scent that had lingered for weeks —yours— had been stripped away, replaced with clean cotton and lavender detergent. Sterile. Wrong.
His chest tightened. His breath came shallow, uneven.
“Jay?” Jake’s voice came from the doorway.
Jay turned sharply, eyes wild. “Did you do this?”
Jake froze. “Yeah—I mean, yeah. I thought it needed to be washed. It hadn’t been touched in weeks, and you’ve been looking wrecked, so I just… I thought I was helping.”
“You washed it?” Jay said, his voice cracking before he could stop it. “You washed her pillow?”
Jake took a cautious step forward. “Jay, I didn’t know—”
“That was the last thing I had that still really smelled like her,” Jay said quietly. Too quietly. “It was all I had left.”
The words hung there, heavy and unmoving.
Jake’s expression shifted, guilt settling in fast. “Shit. Jay… I’m sorry. I really didn’t know.”
Jay didn’t respond. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, staring at the pillow in his hands like it had betrayed him.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he murmured.
Silence filled the room. Jake stayed near the door, unsure whether to leave or stay, the weight of it pressing in on both of them.
Jay hunched forward, the pillow still in his lap, his thumb tracing the seam absently, like muscle memory might bring something back.
Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “I bought her a ring.”
Jake looked up sharply. “You—wait. You were going to propose?”
Jay let out a hollow breath, shaking his head. “Not like that. Not… officially.” He swallowed. “We knew marriage wasn’t possible. Not publicly. Not like normal people.”
Jake didn’t interrupt.
“I just wanted her to have something real,” Jay continued, voice strained. “Something that meant I was serious. Even if no one else ever saw it.” His jaw tightened. “We joked about being married all the time—‘wifey,’ ‘hubby’—but I didn’t want it to just be a joke to her.”
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. “I was waiting. I thought after she met you guys—after everything went well—I’d give it to her.”
A bitter laugh slipped out. “I didn’t even notice how uncomfortable she was that night. I didn’t see it. I just kept smiling like an idiot, thinking it was the best night of my life.”
His voice dropped. “Meanwhile, she was already halfway gone.”
Jay shrugged weakly, eyes glassy. “Because if it got out… if the company found out… I couldn’t let her become a secret someone else exposed. I couldn’t do that to her.”
He reached for the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small velvet box. His hands hesitated before opening it.
Inside lay a simple gold band, a single diamond catching the light. Elegant. Unworn.
Jake stared. “She doesn’t know?”
Jay shook his head once. “She never even saw it.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Loud voices cut through the room before either of them could speak again.
A door slammed. Sneakers scraped hard against tile. Something hit the wall with a dull thud. The sound shattered the fragile quiet Jay and Jake had been sitting in, the room suddenly too small, too thick with unspoken pain.
Jay blinked and snapped the ring box shut on instinct. He didn’t put it away. The weight of it stayed pressed into his palm.
Jake stood first, already turning toward the door. “What the hell was that?”
Jay followed without answering.
They moved down the hallway, the voices growing sharper with every step. When they turned the corner into the main room, Heeseung stood near the front door, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Jungwon had just come in. His shoes were half off, hair damp from the humid night air, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He didn’t look defensive.
He looked guilty.
“Are you serious right now?” Heeseung snapped. “It’s past midnight. You left without telling anyone. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“I’m not a kid,” Jungwon muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.
“That’s not the point,” Heeseung shot back. “You disappear constantly lately. No texts. No location. Nothing.”
Jay stepped forward, his voice low. “What’s going on?”
Jungwon looked up, startled to see him. His gaze flicked between Jay and Jake, lingering a beat too long on Jay before dropping again.
Jake glanced between them. “You okay?”
Jungwon didn’t answer.
Jay’s chest tightened. Something felt wrong —more wrong than it already had. “Where were you?”
“I just needed air,” Jungwon said quietly.
The answer was too careful.
Jay narrowed his eyes. “That’s all?”
Silence.
Jungwon’s gaze lifted again, sharper this time —and then dropped.
To Jay’s hand.
The ring box.
Jay hadn’t even realized he was still holding it, thumb pressed into the velvet lid like it might disappear if he let go.
Jungwon’s breath caught.
Jake noticed too and stepped forward quickly. “Okay—let’s not do this right now. Everyone’s exhausted. We can—”
“What is that?” Jungwon asked, already knowing.
Jay lifted his eyes slowly. “It’s a ring.”
The room went dead quiet.
Heeseung looked between them, confused. Jake winced.
“For her?” Jungwon asked.
Jay nodded once.
“Jay,” Jake tried again, gentler. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” Jay cut in. “I do.”
He looked at all of them now —eyes tired, hollow, stripped bare. “I bought it before dinner. Before everything fell apart. She never knew. None of you did.” His voice faltered just slightly. “Because I didn’t trust anyone else to keep it safe.”
Jungwon dropped his gaze, guilt curling tight in his chest.
“I thought if she met you guys, it would finally feel right,” Jay continued. “Like the two best parts of my life could exist in the same room.”
He exhaled sharply. “I was wrong.”
No one spoke.
Jay turned toward the hallway, the ring box clenched hard in his hand. He needed air. Silence. Something that didn’t hurt this much.
He barely made it two steps.
“I know where she is.”
Jay froze.
The words were quiet, almost gentle —but they split the air cleanly in two.
Slowly, Jay turned back.
Jake tensed. Heeseung went still.
“What?” Jay asked. His voice was flat. Dangerous.
Jungwon met his gaze. “I know where Y/N’s been staying.”
Jay’s grip tightened. “How long?”
“A little over a week,” Jungwon admitted. “I ran into her. By accident.”
Jake dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”
“And you didn’t tell me,” Jay said.
“I didn’t know if I should,” Jungwon replied. “She didn’t want to see you. She didn’t even want to talk about you.”
Jay took a step forward. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t,” Jungwon said steadily. “I kept it quiet. She was hurting, hyung. And I was part of why. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
Jay’s breath came fast. “You’ve been seeing her.”
“I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“And is she?”
Jungwon didn’t answer.
Jay’s voice broke. “You don’t get it. I lost the only person that mattered. And you knew.”
“I know,” Jungwon said softly. “That’s why I’m telling you now. She’s not okay. But neither are you.”
Jay laughed once —short, hollow. “So what? You sneak out every night to see my girlfriend?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?” Jay snapped. “You know where she is. You talk to her. You’re the one she trusts now—not me.”
Jungwon didn’t raise his voice. “She didn’t choose me over you. She needed space.”
“Then why keep going back?”
“Because she’s hurting,” Jungwon said quietly. “And because after I understood her… I realized you needed to understand too.”
Jay shook his head. “I don’t need—”
“Tomorrow,” Jungwon interrupted. “Go tomorrow. I was supposed to meet her. You should go instead.”
Jay stared at him. Raw. Unsteady. “She won’t want to see me.”
“She will.”
Jay looked down at the ring box, knuckles white around it.
“She still loves you,” Jungwon added, gentler now. “She just thinks she’s the problem.”
Jay didn’t respond.
He stood there, the weight of everything pressing in —grief, anger, longing —all of it tangled around a small velvet box in his hand.
And for the first time in weeks, hope hurts worse than the silence.
----------------------------------
You go to the park the same way you always do.
Same path. Same bench beneath the crooked tree with the peeling bark. Same time of night, when the air is still cold and the city is sleeping.
You sit, hands folded in your lap, eyes drifting across the walking trail.
The park is almost empty at night, but that doesn’t make you feel safer.
Streetlights cast uneven pools of yellow across the paths, and every passing car makes your shoulders tense. You sit on the familiar bench anyway, hands tucked into your sleeves, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds.
Jungwon is late.
He’s never late.
Your stomach twists. You tell yourself not to read into it, not to spiral—but the quiet feels heavier tonight, like something is about to break.
Then you sense him.
Not footsteps. Not movement. Just that pull you’ve never been able to explain.
You look up.
Jay stands half-hidden beneath a tree near the edge of the park, hood pulled low, mask on, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He hasn’t stepped into the light. He’s watching you like he’s afraid you might disappear again if he blinks.
Your breath catches.
“No,” you whisper.
You stand immediately, heart racing —not because he’s here, but because someone else could be. Because this is exactly how things go wrong.
You cross the distance quickly, keeping your voice low and tight. “What are you doing here? You can’t —Jay, this is insane.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure.”
“That doesn’t matter,” you hiss. “One person. One phone. That’s all it takes.”
He steps closer, careful. “I missed you.”
Your chest aches at how small his voice sounds.
“That’s not a good enough reason,” you say, even as your hands curl into fists to keep from reaching for him. “You have too much to lose.”
“I already lost you.”
“That’s different,” you say immediately. “I chose to leave. Your career didn’t.”
Jay exhales, slow and shaky. “Do you really think loving you was ever a risk I regretted?”
You shake your head, blinking hard. “I love you too much to let you ruin your life for me.”
The words hurt both of you. You can see it on his face.
You take a step back, forcing space between you. “We shouldn’t be standing this close.”
He doesn’t move. “I didn’t come to pull you back into something you’re not ready for.”
You look at him again, surprised.
“I came to ask for a redo,” he continues. “That night. Meeting everyone. I failed you. I was so focused on how happy I was that I didn’t see how scared you were.”
Your throat tightens.
“I want another chance,” he says. “But this time, I promise I won’t let you disappear beside me. I’ll see you. I’ll protect you.”
You shake your head instinctively. “Jay… that’s dangerous.”
“I know.”
“You can’t promise things like that.”
“I can promise to try,” he says. “And if I can’t do it right, I won’t do it at all.”
Silence stretches between you, filled with the hum of the city and the distant sound of traffic.
“I shouldn’t,” you whisper finally.
His shoulders drop, just slightly. “Okay.”
The disappointment in that single word hurts more than anything else.
You step forward before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing his sleeve. “I didn’t say no.”
He looks up, eyes wide in the dim light.
“One redo,” you say softly. “That’s it.”
Jay lets out a breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob. “I swear I won’t waste it.”
You glance around the park again, anxiety spiking. “You need to go. Now.”
“I will,” he says quickly. “I just—”
You step closer, heart pounding, and press a brief kiss to his cheek. It’s soft, familiar, and far too intimate for how dangerous this moment is.
“For your walk home,” you whisper.
You pull away immediately and walk back toward the path, not daring to look back.
Behind you, Jay stays where he is, fingers lifting to his cheek like he needs to remind himself it was real.
You don’t breathe properly until you’re back inside Chae’s apartment.
The door clicks shut behind you, locks sliding into place, and only then do your shoulders finally sag. Your heart is still racing, hands trembling slightly as you slip off your shoes and pad down the hallway. Chae’s bedroom door is closed, the apartment dark and still.
Safe.
You sit on the edge of the guest coach, phone resting in your palm like it weighs too much.
You stare at the screen for a long moment.
Then, before you can overthink it, you type.
I made it back.
You hesitate, then add:
Please be careful getting home.
You hit send and immediately regret how fast your heart jumps afterward.
Jay is still awake. He’s lying on his bunk, phone face-down on his chest, staring at the ceiling like sleep might eventually take pity on him. His mind is still in the park —your voice, the kiss, the way you walked away without looking back.
The vibration against his chest makes him freeze.
He grabs his phone so fast it almost slips from his hand.
Your name.
For a second, he just stares at the screen to make sure he’s not imagining it.
Then he sits up abruptly.
I’m home.
He types, deletes, types again.
Thank you for texting me.
Too much? He exhales and keeps going.
I couldn’t stop worrying.
There’s a pause. Thirty seconds that feel like thirty minutes.
Then his phone buzzes again.
I know. I was worried too.
Jay smiles without realizing it.
Really smiles.
His fingers move before his nerves can catch up.
We’re off this Thursday.
He hesitates, heart pounding, then sends the next message anyway.
If you want… you could come by the dorm.
Another pause.
Jay presses his thumb against the screen, trying not to spiral. He’s already bracing himself for a polite excuse, a careful boundary.
Then—
I’ll think about it.
It’s not a yes.
But it’s not a no.
Jay exhales, leaning back against the wall, phone clutched tight in his hand.
That’s enough for me.
He adds, softer:
I’m really glad you’re safe.
On the other side of the city, you lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on your chest.
You close your eyes.
For the first time in weeks, the quiet doesn’t feel so lonely.
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Thursday comes faster than you expect.
You stand outside the dorm longer than necessary, hands tucked into your sleeves like you might still turn around if you wait long enough.
You’re just about to knock when voices leak through the door.
Loud. Chaotic.
“I swear to God, if anyone touches the food before she gets here, I will actually kill you.”
Jay.
You freeze, then smile before you can stop yourself.
“There is no way you’re threatening murder over some food,” someone laughs —Jake, you think.
“I’m serious,” Jay snaps. “It has to be perfect. The plates, the drinks—why is that cup there? Who put that there?”
“It’s a cup, hyung,” Sunoo says, amused. “Relax.”
“I cannot relax,” Jay says loudly. “This is important.”
“Bro’s pacing like it's life or death,” Ni-ki adds, followed by more laughter.
You let out a quiet breath, something warm loosening in your chest.
These are the people Jungwon talked about. The ones who bicker and tease and show up loudly for each other. Not the tense, guarded strangers you met that night. Not the silence.
You lift your hand and knock —soft, almost hesitant.
The noise inside stumbles to a stop.
Footsteps approach. The door opens, and Jungwon’s face appears, eyes widening slightly when he sees you.
“Oh—hey,” he says, voice gentle. “You made it.”
You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”
Before he can say anything else, there’s a rush of movement behind him.
“Move.”
Jungwon barely has time to step aside before Jay pushes past him, hands already on the door, eyes locking onto you like the rest of the world just shut off.
“You’re here,” he says, breathless.
You smile, small but real. “Hi.”
For a second, he just stares at you, like he’s confirming you’re real. Then he steps back abruptly, glancing over his shoulder.
“Shoes off—no, wait—actually, yeah, shoes off. I mean—come in. Please. You’re—yeah.”
Someone snorts behind him.
“Hyung, breathe,” Jake mutters.
Jay shoots him a look without taking his eyes off you. “Don’t start.”
You step inside, the door closing softly behind you.
Jay hovers, clearly unsure what to do with his hands.
“I, uh,” he starts, then stops. “Are you okay? Did you—was it hard getting here?”
“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Really.”
He nods, still searching your face. “Okay. Okay.”
Jungwon watches the two of you for a moment, then quietly clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—give you guys a second.”
Jay barely registers it.
You glance around the room again, hearing laughter from down the hall, the clatter of dishes, someone arguing about music volume. It feels… normal. Alive.
You look back at Jay. “This is the side of you he told me about.”
Jay blinks. “What?”
You smile a little wider. “The loud one. The one who cares too much and pretends he doesn’t.”
His ears turn red instantly.
“Oh,” he mutters. Then, softer, “I’m really glad you came.”
You nod. “Me too."
The tension you carried in with you slowly fades as the night settles.
It starts small. Sunoo handing you a drink and immediately asking if you like mint chocolate ice cream. Jake insisting you sit because “Jay’s been pacing for hours and someone needs to ground him.” Heeseung hovering just enough to make sure everything’s okay, but not pushing.
Jay stays close without smothering. Always half a step behind you, like he’s ready to step in but doesn’t want to crowd you. You notice it. You don’t comment.
Dinner turns loud fast.
Ni-ki complains about the portions. Jay snaps back that he cooked and therefore decides who starves. Someone puts music on too loud. Someone else argues about it. You find yourself laughing before you realize you are.
It feels… easy.
At some point, Ni-ki eyes you over the table, grin sharp and mischievous. “So,” he says, dragging the word out, “you’re the reason Jay turns into a domestic menace.”
Jay straightens immediately. “Hey—”
You beat him to it.
“Oh, absolutely,” you say, unfazed. “I trained him. He didn’t even know how to properly wash rice before me.”
Ni-ki bursts out laughing. “No way.”
Jay sputters. “I knew how.”
“And you flooded the kitchen,” you add calmly.
The table erupts.
Jay opens his mouth, ready to defend himself —or you, it’s unclear—but stops when he sees you smiling, eyes bright, completely unbothered.
Ni-ki points at him. “She’s scary.”
You lean back in your chair. “You’re welcome to challenge me, but I don’t recommend it.”
“Hyung,” Ni-ki says, still laughing, “how do you survive?”
Jay just watches you, something soft settling in his chest. “I don’t,” he says quietly. “I just accept my fate.”
You glance at him, amused. “Drama queen.”
He smiles to himself, small and private, like he’s storing the moment away.
Later, when the plates are cleared and someone suggests games, Jungwon sits near you, noticeably more relaxed than before. He listens as you talk, nods along, fills in details when needed. The awkward edge from before is gone.
At one point, Jay goes to grab more drinks, and Sunoo leans toward you conspiratorially. “He’s been like this all week, you know.”
“Like what?”
“Cleaning. Stressing. Threatening violence over anything.”
You laugh. “That tracks.”
Jay returns just in time to hear Sunoo say, “We like you.”
Jay freezes. “You do?”
Sunooi shrugs. “Yeah. You make him less annoying.”
“Rude,” Jay mutters.
You smile, warmth spreading through you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
As the night winds down, Jay finds himself standing a little apart, watching you laugh with his members, watching how naturally you fit into the noise.
Not forcing. Not fading.
Just there.
And for the first time in a long while, the tight knot in his chest loosens.
By the time the board games come out, the night has fully settled into something comfortable.
You’re cross-legged on the floor between Sunoo and Jake, surrounded by scattered cards and pieces, laughter coming easier now. Someone keeps changing the rules mid-game. Someone else keeps cheating badly enough that it’s obvious.
Ni-ki, obviously.
“That’s not how you play,” you tell him flatly, taking the card out of his hand.
“It worked though,” he argues.
“That doesn’t make it legal.”
Jay laughs from across the room, leaning back on his hands. “See? She’s on my side.”
Sunghoon snorts. “You say that like it’s rare.”
Heeseung watches the chaos for a moment, then stands. “Okay,” he says, stretching. “We’re switching gears.”
He disappears briefly and comes back with a couple bottles and cups. Nothing wild. Just enough.
“To relax,” he says simply, setting everything down.
The energy shifts —still light, but slower. Softer.
Jay’s laughter fades just a little.
You don’t notice at first when he stands. He does it quietly, slipping toward the hallway like he doesn’t want to draw attention.
Jungwon notices.
Jay murmurs something under his breath —an excuse about grabbing something— and disappears into his room.
You’re distracted anyway.
Jake pours drinks, handing you one carefully. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
You smile. “I’m good. Thank you.”
Ni-ki squints at you. “You’re surprisingly normal.”
You raise an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Jay made you sound intimidating.”
Jay’s room door clicks softly down the hall.
You laugh. “He’s dramatic.”
Sunoo grins. “We know.”
Conversation drifts easily after that. Stories from trainee days. Dumb arguments. Inside jokes they pause to explain for your sake. You listen, ask questions, fill in where you can.
Sunghoon sits nearby, quieter than the others but relaxed, watching the way you fit without effort.
“You’re good for him,” Jake says suddenly, not even looking at you.
You blink. “What?”
He shrugs. “He’s happier when you’re around.”
The words land heavier than you expect.
Before you can respond, footsteps sound down the hallway.
Jay reappears.
He looks… different.
Not obvious enough that anyone else would notice, but you do. His shoulders are a little tense. His jaw set like he’s bracing himself for something. One hand disappears briefly into his pocket before he sits back down beside you.
“Everything okay?” you ask quietly.
He nods. “Yeah.” But his knee bounces.
You don’t push. You just stay close, your arm brushing his, grounding him in the noise and warmth of the room. He glances at you once, eyes soft.
The night continues around you, laughter rising and falling, the game resuming like nothing shifted.
But something has.
And Jay knows it.
----------------------------------
Jay tries to talk to you. He really does.
Every time he leans toward you, someone appears.
“Hey, have you tried this card combo?” Jake asks, shoving cards between you.
Jay opens his mouth—
“Hyung, you’re sitting on my phone,” Ni-ki says, crawling halfway across the floor.
Jay exhales, nods, waits.
You meet his eyes again—
Sunoo plops down beside you. “Okay but settle this. Pineapple on pizza.”
Jay closes his eyes.
He shifts closer again—
Heeseung asks him something about tomorrow’s schedule.
By the fourth interruption, Jay’s jaw is tight, leg bouncing, hand flexing like he’s holding himself back.
You notice.
“Jay?” you murmur.
He huffs out a breath, stands abruptly. “I need a drink.”
It’s not angry, exactly —but it’s close.
He heads for the kitchen, shoulders stiff. You hesitate only a second before standing and following him.
The dorm kitchen is dimmer, quieter. Just the low hum of the fridge and the faint noise of laughter drifting from the living room.
Jay grabs a bottle, twists the cap off with more force than necessary.
“Sorry,” he mutters without looking at you. “I’m not mad at you. I just—”
“I know,” you say softly.
That makes him stop.
He turns, really turns, and for a second the words look like they’re choking him.
“This might be the only time tonight I get you alone,” he says quietly. “So I’m just gonna say it. Okay?”
Your heart starts racing. “Jay—”
“I love you,” he says immediately. No hesitation. No buffer. “I’ve loved you since before I knew how dangerous it was. And I don’t care.”
You shake your head, panic blooming. “You can’t say things like that—”
“I would risk everything,” he continues, voice shaking now. “My career. My image. My life as I know it —if it meant I got to be with you honestly.”
Your chest tightens. “Jay, stop, you’re scaring me—”
He steps closer. “I’m not asking you to ruin anything. I know we can’t have the real thing. Not yet. Maybe not ever the way people expect.”
He reaches into his pocket.
Your breath catches. “Jay—”
“I know,” he says quickly when he sees your eyes widen, your body tense. “I know. Just—listen. Please.”
He pulls out a small velvet box.
“I don’t want a big moment. I don’t want pressure. I just want you to have something that proves this wasn’t a secret to me. That you weren’t something temporary.”
Your hands shake. “Jay…”
“I need a better reason to call you wifey,’” he says softly, almost smiling through the nerves. “Something real. Something that says I chose you. That I’m choosing you.”
Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to one knee on the kitchen tile.
Your breath leaves you in a soundless rush.
“This isn’t a proposal,” he says. “It’s a promise. That I see you. That I won’t miss you again. That no matter how hard this gets —I’m yours.”
He opens the box.
The ring catches the low light, simple and perfect.
“Will you let me give you this?” he asks. “Will you be my wifey… for real?”
You’re crying before you can stop yourself.
“Yes,” you breathe, then louder, breaking, “Yes.”
Jay laughs —a shaky, relieved sound— and stands just long enough to slide the ring onto your finger before you surge forward, grabbing his face and kissing him hard.
It’s desperate. Joyful. Real.
Somewhere behind you—
“OH MY GOD.”
You break apart just as the kitchen fills.
Jake, Sunoo, Ni-ki, Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jungwon—all crowded in the doorway, clearly having been watching for longer than they should’ve.
Jungwon grins. “We said don’t interrupt him again.”
Jay groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “You all are dead.”
You laugh through your tears, holding him tight, ring warm against your skin.
Warnings: Slightly suggestive, mentions of drinking, people flirting with reader, slight angst, mentions of toxic relationships, I think that’s it.
Wordcount ≈ 2.3k
Please reblog if you enjoyed it!
Taglist: @voucearse
Networks: @k-records
Murata Fuma and (Y/n) had been together for nearly two years, and in that time their bond had only grown stronger. Their relationship was steady, a kind of quiet strength that others often envied. Of course, there were disagreements, little things, like forgetting to reply to a message quickly enough or deciding whose turn it was to wash the dishes, but never the kind of explosive fights that tore others apart. They had learned early on that raising their voices solved nothing. Instead, they’d take a step back, give each other the time needed to breathe, and when the air had cooled, they would sit together and talk it through. No matter how stubborn either of them felt in the moment, by the end of the day, the issue was always settled, leaving their bond a little stronger than before.
To their circle of friends, Fuma and (Y/n) weren’t just a couple; they were a standard. People looked at them and thought, ‘That’s what I want someday. ’ Friends joked about taking notes, and a few even teased them, calling them the “ideal couple” or the “blueprint of love.” Fuma usually laughed it off with a sheepish grin, while (Y/n) would brush the comments aside, though a warm pride lingered in her chest.
But beneath all the admiration, there was a quiet thought (Y/n) carried, one she never voiced aloud. It sat at the back of her mind, small but persistent, a question she never dared to ask, because she feared the answer might shift the perfect balance they had built together.
During these two years, and even in the time before they had officially gotten together, (Y/n) had never once seen Fuma display jealousy. It wasn’t as though she had never given him reason to; there were moments when other guys would approach her, bold enough to strike up a conversation or slip in a flirtatious comment. Fuma had witnessed it more than once, standing nearby with his usual composed expression. Yet he never interfered, never let irritation flash across his features. He always trusted (Y/n) to handle it herself, to politely decline or step away if things grew uncomfortable. His calmness was almost unnerving at times, as if no matter what happened, nothing could shake his faith in her or the bond they shared.
She had even come home one afternoon and told him casually that a man had slipped her his number while she was ordering a drink at a café. Fuma had listened with the same quiet attentiveness he always gave her, nodding as she spoke. When she finished, his only response had been a small smile and a light question, “Was the drink good?” He hadn’t so much as frowned at the detail of another man trying to hit on her.
Another time, she decided to test it further. Dressing in her most revealing yet still comfortable outfit, a top that dipped low against her collarbone and a skirt that clung to her curves, she joined him for a night out. The attention she drew was immediate; men’s eyes followed her as she walked, and several approached, offering to buy her drinks or boldly asking her to dance. Yet Fuma never flinched. He didn’t pull her closer, didn’t narrow his eyes, didn’t even ask if she was sure she wanted to wear something so daring before they had left home. He stood by her side, utterly unbothered, as if their connection was shield enough against wandering eyes and unwanted advances.
And (Y/n) couldn’t help but wonder, did he simply not care? Or was this exactly the way he liked things to be? She didn’t know the answer, but what she did know was that she needed to ask him. The insecurities circling in her mind refused to rest otherwise. They pressed down on her in quiet moments, when she was lying awake beside him or walking home alone, replaying scenes in her head. The more she thought about it, the heavier it felt, until she realized she couldn’t just leave it unsaid anymore.
One evening, as they sat together on the couch, a movie playing in the background, neither of them was really watching, she finally turned to him. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her heart thudding in her chest. “Fuma… can I ask you something?” He glanced at her immediately, sensing the seriousness in her tone. “Of course.” She hesitated, biting her lip, before blurting out, “Why don’t you ever get jealous?”
For a moment, silence lingered. Fuma blinked, clearly caught off guard, and then tilted his head slightly. “Wait… do you want me to be jealous?” His voice held genuine surprise, not accusation, just confusion at the question itself.
Heat rushed to her face, and (Y/n) buried her expression in her hands before answering. “I know it sounds stupid,” she mumbled, her voice muffled, “but I guess… I’m used to it. My exes were always jealous. Like… ridiculously jealous. If someone so much as looked at me too long, they’d make a scene. Some of them would pick fights, accuse me of leading people on, or try to control what I wore.” She lowered her hands and let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “It was awful, but it drilled into me that jealousy was normal. That if someone didn’t act that way, it meant they didn’t care.”
Fuma’s expression softened instantly, his brows knitting together as he listened. He reached out and gently took her hand, grounding her. “(Y/n)… you’ve really been carrying that with you?” She nodded, avoiding his eyes. “I know you’re not like that, and I know it’s a good thing. But sometimes, when you don’t react at all, I can’t help but wonder if maybe you don’t care at all.” Her voice was small, but honest, vulnerable in a way that made her chest ache.
Fuma exhaled slowly, giving her hand a squeeze. “It’s not that I don’t care,” he said quietly, his voice steady and sure. “Do you think I like it when guys hit on you? When they look at you like that? Of course not. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me sometimes.” He shook his head slightly. “But I’m not jealous, because I trust you. I know you’ll turn them down, and I know where your heart is. You love me, and that’s enough for me. I don’t need to get jealous to prove anything; it’s not your fault that they come up, it’s not up to me what you wear; it’s up to them to take a no.”
Her chest tightened at his words, eyes stinging unexpectedly. “You make it sound so simple,” she whispered. Fuma smiled faintly, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand. “Because it is simple. I love you, and I trust you. That’s all there is to it.”
He shifted slightly, leaning back into the couch but keeping his hand on hers. “I know it might be hard to believe after what you’ve been through,” he said, his voice calm, even, “but when you wear something that draws attention… I notice it, sure. It drives me a little crazy.” He gave her a teasing glance. “But not in the way you think. I don’t get jealous. I don’t need to control you, because I know you. I trust you.” (Y/n) swallowed, curiosity and desire mingling in her chest. “So… you really don’t mind the outfits, the attention?”
He shook his head, smiling softly. “I don’t mind. You’re free to wear whatever you want. If it makes you feel good, confident, happy… that’s all that matters to me, hell if you wanted to go out naked, I’d be fine with it, unless it’s winter, I don’t want you to get sick.” She laughed lightly, a little breathless. “I guess that’s… a little different from what I’m used to.” “I can imagine,” Fuma murmured. “Your exes, jealous, controlling, always making a big deal out of nothing, that’s not how it’s supposed to be,”
“Exactly,” she said, a small sigh escaping her. “Every little look, every comment from another guy… it became a fight. They made me feel like I had to hide myself all the time. I thought maybe that was normal.” Fuma tightened his hold on her hand, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not. That’s not love. What you had before… it wasn’t trust. It wasn’t respect. That’s why I don’t react like that. I trust you. I know how you feel, and I know your heart is mine.”
(Y/n) leaned into him, warmth pooling in her chest. “So… when guys try to flirt with me, you don’t-” “I notice them,” he interrupted softly, a shadow of amusement in his eyes. “I see who’s bold enough to try, who thinks they can cross the line, who thinks they’re good enough for you. But as long as you’re handling it, I stay out of it. I only step in if someone gets too close, too forward. If you become uncomfortable. Then it’s my turn.”
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Big, strong boyfriend, ready to protect me?” He chuckled, leaning closer, voice dropping low. “Always. I didn’t work out this much for nothing, you know. With these muscles, protection is guaranteed.” He gave a quick flex of his arms as he said it.
(Y/n) pressed herself closer to him, her lips brushing his in a soft, lingering kiss. When she pulled back, breathless, she whispered, teasing, “So… this outfit drives you crazy, huh?” Fuma’s grin was slow, dangerous. “You have no idea.” Her hands slid up to his shoulders, voice low, teasing. “Then why doesn’t my big, strong boyfriend show me just how much?” Without hesitation, Fuma scooped her up, holding her flush against his chest. “You want me to show you?” he murmured, dark amusement in his tone. “Yes,” she breathed, looping her arms around his neck. “Good,” he said, striding toward the bedroom with steady, confident steps. “Because I’m not holding back tonight.” (Y/n) laughed softly against him, heart racing, letting go of every doubt. There was only him, only them, and the pull of love and desire binding them tightly together.
~~~
The next time they went out with a few friends, (Y/n) noticed something different about Fuma. It wasn’t jealousy, far from it, but there was a shift in how he carried himself around her. He leaned closer as they walked through the crowded bar, fingers brushing hers more often, eyes catching hers with a warmth that made her chest flutter. He made a point to compliment her frequently, murmuring how beautiful she looked in that dress, how perfect her smile was tonight. Every glance, every word, made her feel seen in a way that went deeper than just admiration; it was reverence, quiet and unwavering.
People still tried to flirt with her, of course. A few men leaned too close, offering drinks or jokes that were meant to charm, but this time, (Y/n) didn’t feel that old twinge of insecurity. She knew Fuma loved her. She could feel it in the way he moved with her, how his hand found hers instinctively, how his eyes lingered on her in every crowded room. And how he knew exactly what she wanted to drink. He showed his love not through jealousy or possessiveness, but through attention, respect, and undeniable devotion. It was a love that made her feel safe, cherished, and desired all at once.
There was one moment, though, that reminded her just how attentive he could be when needed. A man who had clearly had one too many drinks stumbled close to her, slurring words and reaching out toward her with unsteady hands. He nearly spilled his beer on her, the liquid threatening to ruin her carefully chosen light blue dress. Fuma didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he stepped between them, his presence enough to make the man pause and stumble back. “I think it’s time you get some water,” Fuma said quietly but firmly, his hand already brushing (Y/n)’s elbow to guide her away. She laughed softly, a little breathless, as he steered her toward a quieter corner.
“You always know when to step in,” she whispered, her hand slipping into his as they found a spot to sit. Fuma’s gaze softened, thumb brushing along her knuckles. “I just don’t want anything, or anyone, to ruin your night. Or that dress,” he added with a teasing grin.
(Y/n) leaned into him, heart swelling. That’s when she realized: his love wasn’t loud or fiery in the way her exes’ had been. It was steady, protective, and profoundly attentive. He didn’t need jealousy to prove it, he showed it in a thousand quiet ways, each one reinforcing that he loved her wholly, completely, and without condition.
~~~
And with that, they proved once more to their friends that with good communication, trust, and mutual respect, any problem, big or small, could be handled without drama. Their friends watched quietly, impressed by the effortless way Fuma and (Y/n) moved through the night together, reading each other’s cues and supporting one another without a word. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t loud, but it was powerful in its simplicity.
When the group finally gathered around the table to share drinks and laughs, Kei nudged Jo and whispered, “Look at them… that’s what a real relationship looks like.”
(Y/n) caught Fuma’s eye across the table and smiled. He smiled back, just a subtle curve of his lips, but it said everything: love, trust, and the unspoken promise that whatever came their way, they’d face it together. It was quiet proof, the kind that didn’t need grand gestures or jealousy-fueled drama. Just two people, deeply in love, showing everyone around them that maturity, communication, and respect could make even the trickiest moments feel simple. And in that, (Y/n) realized once again just how lucky she was, to be seen, to be trusted, and to be loved exactly as she was.
Do you ever just get into a fandom so late that the most recent post about them is like 2 years ago? Especially worse if your fav character just so unfortunately happens to NOT have a single oneshot written about them.
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
romaincrisis
