kinda ia.~
somehow i just can't fw anything not anime related here [sigh] 𝗿𝗶𝗿𝗶 (is suo's heart <3) // 22 // also 𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗿! 𝗺𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘆'𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 & 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝘇𝘂'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹🌸☕
Contains ✰ sfw!, catcalling, inappropriate sexual remarks, violence, protective boyfriends, very feminine!reader, f!reader, usage of the words “my girl”, defensive threats, harassment, sticky situation, reader is alone in some scenarios, boyfriends to the rescue
Manjiro Sano ᡣ𐭩
Mikey doesn’t actually think he’s felt this irritated before in his life. his face was kept straight as he was fixated on the situation happening right in front of him. he and ken had gone to meet you after your classes ended only to find this. even ken was unsure of whether or not he should step in himself or wait til mikey makes the first move. “get your dirty hands off me.” you snapped yanking your arm away as the guy had tried to reached over to grab your wrist. mikey knew you could handle your own but it didn’t make sitting on the sidelines any easier. he knew the relationship between you two was kept under wraps for a good reason. it’s not worth messing up and exposing your relationship over some scummy guy… right? no it’s not. “why not? its not like you got a boyfriend or anything. never seen you with another guy.” the guy just wouldn’t take no as an answer. how pathetic mikey thought.
“she already said no. take the hint.” mikey warned. the guy glanced over at mikey understanding what mikey meant by his words. to anyone else it might’ve just sounded like a guy saying to leave the girl alone already but what mikey really meant was “take the hint before i make you back off myself” and the guy read that message loud and clear. “oh yeah? and who are you? her boyfriend or something?” ken couldn’t even help but scoff as well at the guys response. how crazy do you gotta be to not only be able to not take a hint but also challenge the person who’s warning you. “i guess you could say something like that.” mikey said stepping up to the guy. “uhm.. draken?” you whispered over at the tall guy implying that he should break it up. “alright, mikey let’s just go it’s not worth it c’mon.” Draken placed a hand on mikey’s shoulder before gesturing over towards you with his head. mikey glanced over at you before coming to terms with the fact that he shouldn’t make such a scene in front of you. it’s not very gentlemanly of him is it? ugh he can hear mitsuya’s and ken’s lectures from a mile away.
“fine whatever, better not catch sight of your face again.” mikey said before shoulder checking the guy and walking over to you two to leave. the walk to the restaurant was silent as draken led the way. you were grateful mikey was willing to stand up to the creep for you. you felt a blush creep up to your cheeks as you grabbed mikey’s hand pulling him back to you. he glanced at you to ask what was wrong but you placed a quick soft kiss on his lips before he could. “thanks for defending me.” you mumbled after trying to avoid any sort of eye contact with the man. “well yeah… you’re my girl.” now it was mikey’s turn to blush as he realized what he said. a cheeky smile was plastered on your face as mikey was now the one avoiding eye contact. he looked over to see draken still distracted as he was far ahead of you two, glancing at all the buildings you were walking past. mikey was slightly relieved to know he won’t have to deal with any teasing later… but with his luck draken most likely still saw the scene unfold from the corner of his eyes.
Ken Ryuguji ᡣ𐭩
Draken was unfortunately used to you having secret admires and despite to his own likings, he’s also used to the not so secret admirers. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care about the amount of perusers that followed you around on a daily basis. it especially annoyed him whenever there were times he couldn’t be near you due to work or being busy. you were gorgeous, it couldn’t be helped if others stared and recognized that fact as well. he knew better than anyone else how easy it was to get swept off his feet by you. he wasn’t jealous or insecure, he trusted you with his life. he was more protective and concerned about the creeps who couldn’t take no for an answer. he was working on a bike with mikey when you were walking to his place. you were so busy texting on your phone and listening to some music with your earbuds on that you didn’t catch onto the amount of catcalls being made.
Draken took notice as he heard the commotion of the busy street from his garage which was opened. he felt his mood change from frustration to a positive one as he first caught sight of your face. only for his mood to go back to frustration as he listened more clearly to the noise being made. how could you be so dense, the least you can do is be more aware of your surroundings. well draken can’t completely blame you for this, you were so used to his security and protection to the point where you knew you were pretty safe at all times. “be right back.” ken threw the dirty rag he was holding onto the floor before walking over to you. better he get to you now so he can walk you the rest of the way without any issue. at least that’s what he originally thought before he noticed another guy walking up to you as well. “hey! i’m talkin to you ya know!” the guy was clearly irritated by your lack of reaction to his catcalls. he was trying to get your attention for the past minute now while you kept walking ignoring the world behind you.
his loud voice snapped you out of your trance as you turned to find a hand try to make its way on your shoulder. luckily enough he wasn’t able to make any contact with you as his arm was stopped mid air by a strong grip of a very much taller and muscular blonde haired man. “you’re talking to me now.” draken responded for you as he threw the guys arm away from your direction. “stay outta this.” the guy glared at draken unsure of what he business he even had doing here. “can’t. not when your tryna put your hands on what’s mine.” draken was intimidating for sure with the way he towers over everyone and the cold demeanor he can manage to get at times like this. before the guy could even say anything draken cut him off by telling him “get lost before i change my mind.” draken didn’t need to repeat the phrase twice before the guy ran off. you were lost in confusion as you removed your earbuds “what happened?” you tilted your head to the side unsure of what just played out in front of me. draken couldn’t help but let out a small smile as he sighed “nothing, don’t worry about it. you’re lucky you’re my girl.” he laughed half joking at the last part since he really does tend to save you a lot of the time.
Chifuyu Matsuno ᡣ𐭩
Chifuyu always swore to protect you and be by your side for as long as you’ll let him. he always tried to be a gentleman in every way but damn situations like this made it so hard for him to not snap in front of you. sometimes it just couldn’t be helped. the two of you had gone on a date and this idiot wouldn’t stop following you around trying to ask for your number or get your attention. it was beginning to make you uncomfortable and it was pissing him off. he hated the guy already for trying to make a pass on you but he hated him for making you uncomfortable even more. the guy tried to swing his arm around you but failed at the attempt as Chifuyu slapped his hand away. “man, this shit is so uncool. cant you get a hint? she doesn’t want you. take the hint and keep your hands off my girl.” he reached his breaking point and he was done trying to be nice. “ha, your girl? you’re joking right? no way someone like you gets someone like her.” the guy laughed him off which unfortunately for him pissed Chifuyu off even more. he didn’t necessarily think he was wrong in a way since he believes your totally out of his league. he just hated how he really couldn’t take no as an answer.
“yeah well she’s clearly not with someone like you is she? trust me, it’s for a reason.” Chifuyu snapped back clearly striking a nerve as the guy was visibly upset by the comment. “you trying to start something?” “pretty sure you already did that part when you came up to us with your bullshit. so yeah. why don’t you come show me up if you think your tough shit.” Chifuyu challenged, gently placing your shopping bags down near you before stepping up to the guy. the guy was taller than him by almost a full foot but it didn’t scare Chifuyu. he’s handled bigger guys before and wasn’t afraid to take a punch. he especially wasn’t afraid to throw one either. a crowd started to form around the three of you as people sensed the tension. “uhm ‘fuyu maybe we should just go.” you tried to reason with him as you ran a hand up and down his bicep trying to settle him down. “yeah listen to your little girlfriend she doesn’t want to see you get hurt.” the guys words struck a nerve in you as you couldn’t stand the way he just tried to talk down your boyfriend in front of you.
“actually you’re the one who should be more worried. not him.” you glared at the guy who was clearly caught off guard by your statement. you took a step back well aware of what was about to happen as the fight broke out, Chifuyu gladly swinging the first punch. you had to admit you were a bit sad that you both got banned from the mall for a month. “im sorry i ruined our date.” Chifuyu softly spoke as he began to warm up the car. he really did feel bad for ruining the day, guilt and frustration was displayed upon his perfect face. “it’s okay, don’t stress about it… i can’t believe you really got into a fight for me.” you changed the topic as you were undeniably in awe at Chifuyu’s protective behavior. you never had anyone defend you the way he has before, it felt nice. “well of course! i will always defend you, you deserve the best and i won’t stand for someone treating you like a piece of meat.” he loudly spoke. his voice came out more passionately than he wanted it to. a blush spread around his face in embarrassment. however, his heart melted as you placed a kiss on the small scar the guy had left on his cheek bone. it was the only hit the guy managed to get before Chifuyu pummeled him into the ground. “my hero.” your words went straight into his heart.
Takashi Mitsuya ᡣ𐭩
Mitsuya was one of the most gentle beings you’ve met. imagine the shock that came when you found out he was a part of a gang and is even a captain. you couldn’t believe it. he never expressed any negative emotions around you and had never once lost his cool. it felt unreal at times since you were sure he had his moments like everyone else but he was still so kind. maybe being an older brother to sisters helped him with that. he was always kind and soft spoken with you which is why you never would’ve thought you would get the chance to see him arguing with another man with you right behind to witness it all. you began to wonder if Mitsuya even remembered you were there as he continued to bicker. the situation had been building up for some time so you couldn’t necessarily blame Mitsuya for finally reaching his breaking point. you had an admirer on campus who wouldn’t stop trying to ask you out despite being informed you were already in a relationship.
you felt awful for finding this so attractive. the way his brows furrowed and a sharp glare was found in his eyes made your stomach swirl. “take it easy man, it wasn’t ever that serious.” the guy tried to ease the situation as he noticed the demeanor shift in Mitsuya. “take it easy? not that serious? you go around trying to harass my girl every other day and you think i’ll just be okay with that?” you and Mitsuya don’t attend the same school so he never witnessed the guy’s behavior towards you until he decided to surprise you today after school. he had heard the rumors of you having an annoying admirer but he didn’t assume it was this bad. “you’re never even here. how was i supposed to know the boyfriend actually exists when he’s never to be found.” the guy shrugged. the way he was so shameless baffled everyone around you. Mitsuya had reached his breaking point and grabbed the guy by his collar raising his fist up. only to be stopped by you tugging his school sweater. he let out a sigh before dropping the guy. he was embarrassed. you could tell by the way cheeks flushed once he saw your face. “get outta here before i change my mind.”
“i’m sorry you had to see that.” Mitsuya spoke with shame. he never wanted you to see this side of him since he didn’t want you to be scared of him. not that you ever could be, you knew him all too well to ever think of him in a negative light. “it’s okay-it was hot.” your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up. you immediately regretted saying that as your face flushed a bright shade of red. “i-you shouldn’t say such things!” Mitsuya scolded you. his expression was mixed with shock and embarrassment. how can you find that attractive?!!?!?!!! “i’m sorry!” you bowed apologetically. that wasn’t the type of reaction he was expecting to receive from you. he didn’t think you were even capable of having inappropriate thoughts. the two of you didn’t speak much as he walked you home. “…so what about it did you find hot?” he teased finally breaking the ice. “shut up!” you blushed as you ran away from him. he of course caught up quickly but seeing your shy expression made the running worth it. he couldn’t help but smile now whenever he thought back to that moment.
Nahoya Kawata ᡣ𐭩
unlike his fellow captain Mitsuya, Nahoya had no shame in his violent behavior. he didn’t care about fighting in front of you or not. if someone started shit with him it didn’t matter who he was with he was for sure ending it right there and then. it wasn’t uncommon for your boyfriend to get into a couple fights here and there around you. if anything you being there was a motivator for him as he wanted to impress you. can you blame him? he’s a show off and loves to show off to you especially. he wants you to be able to recognize all his strengths as a person. he wants to prove that you can always rely on him no matter what. he’s a prideful man who never backed down from a challenge. of course he would never put you in jeopardy at any cost. he never acted aggressive towards you specifically (he would never even think about raising his voice at you) and he always kept a distance from you when he was about to escalate a fight. he wouldn’t forgive himself if you got caught in the cross fire.
the two of you (and souya who was sulking in the background) had been walking together to your favorite coffee shop. you were craving one of their signature drinks and Nahoya being the good boyfriend he is offered to purchase one for you. you had your arms crossed behind your back as you were skipping ahead of your boyfriend as the two of you were caught up in some chatting about his latest gang drama. he loved telling you stories about him and his friends. however, a certain wolf whistle caught his ear as it sounded particularly loud in your direction. Nahoya and Souya both looked around to try to see who made the noise. it was a busy street so you simply ignored it since you didn’t even think the whistle was towards you. “nice ass!” a guy laughed as he walked past you making sure to eye you up and down one last time as he began to walk way ahead of you. you felt incredibly uncomfortable by the comment as realization settled. the uncomfortable feeling soon got replaced by wary as you looked at your boyfriend. he wasn’t even looking at you and you had a strong feeling about what was going to happen.
“hey! watch your fucking mouth when talking to my girl asshole!” without thinking twice Nahoya swooped down to grab a half empty cup on the side of the road and chucked it right at the guy grabbing his attention. Nahoya had good aim as the cup hit the side of the guy’s head. the mystery liquid spilled all over him causing some people in the crowd to gasp or laugh. the guy immediately starting walking up to Nahoya who was already running straight towards him ready to give him a piece of his mind more like his fists. Souya ran up to you concerned “are you okay?” “yeah i’m okay.” you reassured him. once he knew you were okay he ran to go back up his brother in case of any other trouble. the way the two brothers were always ready to rescue you never failed to amaze you. of course Nahoya does it out of pure love and Souya does it because your his friend along with his brothers girlfriend.
Souya Kawata ᡣ𐭩
being in a relationship was all so new to Souya, he was still a shy mess at most times. you were both in the same awkward situation as the two of you were at a party. in all honesty you both didn’t want to be there but had assumed the other wanted to go and you couldn’t bring yourselves to say no. now there’s some creep who has been trying to offer you drink after drink. “no thank you, i’m not much a drinker.” you politely declined. you weren’t sure how to handle this as Souya got pulled away by his friends for a moment to handle something outside. you were starting to run out of excuses to reject drinks and he wasn’t taking no as an answer for long. you kept glancing towards the door hoping for Souya to return soon. you felt your hand get grabbed by someone while you were distracted. you looked over to see the guy once again, this time holding your hand while pleading in a playful tone “ah c’mon don’t be like that. it’s a weekend you should have some fun.”
your hand was pulled from his grasp by someone behind you. you looked over to finally see your savior of a boyfriend. you couldn’t fight back the relieved expression on your face as you relaxed into his embrace. “oh, i see you’ve met my girl.” “your girl?— girlfriend ?! i had no idea, my mistake.” the man apologized warily as he backed off. he made his exist soon after leaving the two of you alone. “ah thank goodness you got here it was getting a bit uncomfortable.” you admitted as you gave him a tight squeeze. “was it?? i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have taken so long. i can take care of it now.” Souya offered as he got ready to follow the guy out. he hadn’t read the situation that well and wasn’t sure what was going on. if he had known he was bothering you for some quite time he wouldn’t had been so calm. “no! it’s fine, you’re here now.” you stopped him by grabbing his hand. now this felt better, his hand in yours felt more comfortable than that other guys.
“are you okay?” he asked trying to read your expression. “yeah i’m okay.” you reassured him with a smile as he held your face in his heads. “hm. okay. let’s get outta here yeah? parties aren’t really my style.” he bashfully admitted. to be frank he was starting to get angsty by how crowded the house was becoming. “yess! i hate parties.” you admitted in response with a sigh of relief. you finally felt like you breathe as you left. “you should’ve told me sooner. i would’ve told everyone no. i always do anyway, i just assumed you would like to come. i’ll make sure to double check next time.” he apologized sweetly as he rubbed the lower of your back as an attempt to make you more comfortable. “i don’t really care what we do. i’m not too picky, as long as we get to be together.” you smiled at him causing him to blush. he couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response but he definitely felt the exact same way.
synopsis: more shinanigans lol
pairing: mitsuya x fem!reader, chifuyu x fem!reader
warnings: mature topics ahead, MDI. suggestive language, reader is just being unreasonable for the sake of entertainment (it backfires) (NOT CLICKBAIT)!!!!, mild bullying, vulgar language (pussyyy), kindaaaa toxic behavior(?) and I think that's it :)
note: hear ye, hear ye - yet another attempt at fighting writer's block woooo
So since I made my Smau Masterlist I thought making an over all list of the stories I have written, would be good 🤣🤌🏻 when it’s smūt there will be 🔥 and when it’s angst there will be ❤️🩹 fluff doesn’t have an extra emoji but fluff doesn’t need a warning right 💀🤣✨
Naruto 🧡🍥
What a drag…going shopping with his pretty girl - Shikamaru Nara
His brain goes shortcut when you are around pt.1 - Neji Hyuga
His brain goes shortcut when you are around pt.2 - Neji Hyuga
When they are drunk on it… - Naruto men (separate)🔥
Summary: They call you the princess King Izana stole. But they don’t know he was the first person who ever gave you freedom. you discover the man beneath the crown and become someone he could love.
Warnings: Tyrannical/abusive father, mention of physical abuse,mention of women being oppressed, little war.
Here is my Masterlist!!
—————————————————————————
The first thing they told you about King Izana was that he was cruel.
The second was that he never smiled.
The third was that if the red banners of Tenjiku ever appeared beyond the hills, no one would be left alive to tell the story.
You believed every word. After all, monsters existed. You had lived with one your entire life.
Your father's castle stood where Tenjiku's borders faded into your family's lands, surrounded by forests so dense that sunlight barely reached the ground. It was beautiful from a distance. Close enough to touch, it felt like a prison carved from marble.
Every servant lowered their eyes. Every maid walked quietly. Every meal was eaten in silence. You had learned long ago that a noble title did not guarantee a noble heart.
Your father ruled his people with fear. Taxes emptied villages until children begged for bread outside the castle gates. Servants vanished after making the smallest mistake. Daughters were raised to obey before they could read. Including you. Your life had already been decided. A marriage to whichever lord offered the greatest military advantage. You were never asked. You were simply informed.
The bruises hidden beneath your sleeves didn't matter. Neither did the trembling in your hands whenever footsteps approached your room.
A daughter was property. Property did not get a choice.
-
Hundreds of miles away, reports continued to pile across King Izana's desk. Another missing servant. Another burned village.
Another execution. Another letter sealed with the crest of your father. Izana read each report in silence. He never commented. Never frowned. Never raised his voice. His council assumed he had no interest in border affairs.
Until one morning. He closed the final report. Looked toward the captain standing beside the throne. "Kakucho."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Prepare the army." Not a single person in the throne room questioned him, that is the unconditional loyalty of the Tenjiku kingdom. If the king had spoken, the decision had already been made.
—
The neighboring kingdoms believed Ashfall had declared war. Messengers rode day and night carrying warnings. Army marching. The White King had finally chosen conquest.
By the time your father received the news, Tenjiku’s banners were already visible from the castle walls.
Red.
Silver.
Ying and yang embroidered across every flag.
You had never seen an army move so quietly. No cheering, nor battle songs. Only thousands of armored soldiers advancing as one. Then: the gates fell. And Chaos swallowed the entire castle.
Many Servants fled. Knights surrendered before they even drew their swords, the power imbalance between these two armies was obvious. Even then some tried to fight, none succeeded.
You remained locked inside your room. Like always, your father had once again ordered the doors barred hours earlier. "You will stay here until I return." You had almost laughed.
As if there would still be a castle when he did. His confidence pissed you off. The shouting outside grew closer. Steel rang against steel.
Someone screamed, it sounded oddly familiar…then- Silence. You heard Footsteps, heavy, not hurried. Not frantic. Measured. Your door lock turned. Slowly being pushed opened. You lowered your head automatically. Waiting. Another order. Another punishment, for something you didn’t do. Instead...
White.
The first thing you noticed was white. A long royal cloak lined with red embroidery.
Boots untouched by mud despite the battlefield outside. A sword still resting peacefully at its owner's side. You lifted your eyes. He was younger than you expected.
White hair. Violet eyes. A crown that looked less like jewelry and more like something that had chosen him. King Izana.
For a long moment... He simply looked around your room. The bolted windows. The untouched tray of food. The broken vase in the corner, a silent sign of a broken household.
Then his eyes found you. You instinctively stepped back. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"...Your Majesty..." you whispered. Bowing your head downwards. He didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the fading marks around your wrist. The room became impossibly quiet.
Finally: "You're coming with me." No explanation. No question. Just certainty. You stared.
"I don't know you." Your voice came out quiet, just like when talking to your father.
"I know enough." His voice wasn't gentle. Nor was it cold. It carried the calm certainty of someone who had already made his decision before ever opening the door.
"My father-" looking to your room door fearing he will make an appearance.
"Will never touch you again." Something inside your chest tightened. Not hope. Hope had disappeared years ago. This felt... unfamiliar. Like standing in sunlight after forgetting what warmth felt like.
You should have refused. You should have demanded answers. Instead... Your legs moved on their own. One cautious step. Then another. When you reached him, you hesitated.
He noticed that too. Without a word, he stepped aside instead of reaching for you.
Leaving the doorway completely open. No hand around your wrist. No guard forcing you forward. Just... A choice. The first one anyone had ever given you. You walked through the doorway.
And never looked back.
The kingdoms called it an abduction. Every noble called it an insult. The bards outside sang that the White King had stolen another lord's daughter simply because he wished to possess something beautiful.
Izana never corrected them. History could misunderstand him. It always had. The truth belonged to neither the courts nor the songs. It belonged to the frightened young woman who arrived in Tenjiku expecting another gilded cage...only to discover that the doors to her chambers never locked from the outside.
-
Tenjiku was nothing like you expected.
You expected a prison. A prettier one, perhaps. A golden cage instead of stone walls. A place where you would be treated kindly enough to make you forget you were still trapped. That was how noblemen worked.
Except..there was no cage.
You waited for the king to appear and remind you that everything you had now belonged to him. He didn't. Instead, a maid arrived with several dresses. Not ones chosen for a future queen. Not ones meant to display wealth. Simple, comfortable gowns in colors you actually liked.
When you asked who selected them, the maid smiled softly. "The king himself chose, my lady." You could not help but frown at that. "He chose them?"
"Yes."
"Why?" The maid looked confused by the question, not understanding its deeper meaning. "Because you dislike heavy fabrics."
You froze. You had never told him that. You had barely spoken to him. But apparently, somewhere between breaking down your father's gates and walking you out of your old life, your King had noticed.
This is the king whose palace servants were afraid of. That much was obvious. Every time Izana walked through the halls, conversations stopped. Heads lowered. Even the knights stood straighter. But you started noticing something strange. They were afraid because he was impossible to read. A storm could be predicted. Izana could not.
One day, you found him in the palace gardens. Not surrounded by advisors or his usual Knight. Not sitting on his throne.
Just standing beneath the old willow tree, looking at the flowers. For a king, he seemed strangely alone. You hesitated. You should have walked away. That was what you had always done. Stay quiet. Stay invisible. But this was different.
"You have a habit of appearing when no one expects you." His eyes moved toward you.
For a second, you regretted speaking. Then... Something almost impossible happened. The corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Not really. Just a small acknowledgment. "And you have a habit of avoiding everyone." You looked away. "I don't know anyone here."
"You know me." The answer came so quickly that you looked back at him. Izana seemed almost surprised by his own words. The silence stretched. Then he looked away first.
"I suppose you do." It was such a strange thing to hear from a king. A man who could command armies. A man whose name made entire kingdoms tremble. Yet somehow, standing there beneath the willow tree, he sounded like someone who wasn't used to being known.
Time passed and you slowly learned the truth about the white king. He was not a man without emotions. He was a man who had spent so long believing emotions were weaknesses that he had forgotten what to do with them.
He never told you he worried. Instead, your guards doubled when you walked outside the palace. He never told you he cared.
Instead, your favorite tea appeared every morning. He never told you that your nightmares disturbed him. Instead, you woke one night to find a small lantern left burning outside your door. A silent message.
I know. I understand. You are not alone.
Months passed before you realized something terrifying. You were beginning to feel safe. And safety was dangerous. Because once you knew what kindness felt like... you couldn't pretend you didn't miss it.
One evening, a storm covered the kingdom of Tenjiku.
Thunder shook the palace walls.
You stood near the balcony, watching lightning cross the sky. You didn't notice him enter. You never did. "You're going to freeze." You turned. Izana stood behind you, holding out a cloak, it seemed too long to be yours. "I wasn't cold." Even though you are holding onto your arms tightly.
"You were." You almost smiled. "You always decide things for me." His expression changed slightly. A pause. Then, quietly: "Yes." The honesty surprised you. Most men would have denied it. He didn't.
"I have spent my entire life taking things." His fingers tightened slightly around the cloak. "Land. Power. Control." The storm continued outside.
"But I don't want to take anything from you." Your breath caught. For someone who spoke so little... Those words meant everything. He stepped closer, but stopped before reaching you. Always stopping. Always giving you the choice.
"I brought you here because I could not leave you there." His eyes met yours. "But if one day you decide you hate me for it..."
A pause. "I will still make sure you are safe while doing so." And that was the moment you understood. King Izana had conquered kingdoms. He had destroyed armies.
But the one thing he feared... Was becoming another person who took away your freedom.
for the first time in years... you reached out first. You took the cloak from his hands. Your fingers brushed his. A tiny gesture. Barely anything. But Izana went completely still.
Because the entire world bowed to him. Armies obeyed him. Kings negotiated with him. But you... You chose him. And that meant more than anything a crown could offer.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The storm continued around you. Rain tapped softly against the balcony railing, the wind pulling at the edges of his silver cloak, but the space between you felt strangely quiet.
Izana looked down at where your hand still rested near his. Like he couldn't understand how something so small could make him feel so unsteady.
"You should be careful." His voice was quieter than usual. You looked up at him. "Why?" His eyes met yours. "Because I might start believing you mean it." Your heart tightened. There it was. The thing no one ever saw. Just Izana.
Someone who had spent his entire life waiting for people to leave. You stepped closer. Giving him every chance to move away. He didn't. For once, the man who could command thousands looked uncertain. Almost afraid.
"Do you think I don't?" You asked. The question surprised him. His expression softened. "I don't know what to think." He admitted honestly for once. A quiet laugh escaped you. Not because it was funny. Because somehow, the most powerful man in the world sounded the most lost.
"You saved me." His gaze lowered.
"I stole you from a place that was hurting you."
"You gave me a choice." A pause.
"And no one ever did that before." The words hit harder than any accusation could have. Izana looked away toward the storm. As if even now, accepting gratitude was harder than facing an enemy. "I don't deserve..." You interrupted him. Not with words, with action. Standing on your tippy toes, you reached up and gently touched his face. He froze. Completely. Like the entire world had stopped. No one touched the king without permission. But you did. And he let you.
Then, before you could lose your courage which took so long to gather, you leaned forward. Your lips met his. A soft, hesitant kiss. Nothing like the dramatic romances sung about by bards. Just a quiet moment beneath the stormy sky where two broken people finally understood they were no longer alone.
For a heartbeat, Izana didn't move. Then his hand slowly came up - not to pull you closer, not to claim you, but to rest gently against your cheek. And when you didn't pull away...
His eyes closed. The king who had taken everything from the world finally allowed himself to receive something.
Love.
When you finally pulled back, the storm was still raging. But somehow, Ashfall felt warmer. Izana looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. And maybe, in a way... He was. Because you were not his rescued princess. Not his possession. Not his reward. You were the one person in the world who had looked at King Izana... And chosen the man beneath the crown.
-
Beneath the castle, deep within the heart of the city, the night was far from quiet. The taverns still burned brightly despite the late hour, their golden lights spilling onto the cobblestone streets. Music echoed through open windows, mixing with the laughter of sailors, merchants, and men who had spent too much time at sea and too much gold at the bar.
Their voices carried through the next three streets. The city never truly slept after all.
Especially not after the king's ships returned. Hidden away in the darkest corner of one of the oldest taverns sat a table that looked as though it had survived a battle.
Empty bottles covered the wooden surface. Cigar ashes scattered between forgotten cards. The smell of smoke and alcohol lingered in the air. And sitting comfortably among the chaos were two men who looked far too relaxed for the trouble they were capable of causing.
The Haitani brothers.
After months of sailing the open seas, raiding enemy ships, and returning with treasures that made nobles jealous, they had finally set foot on land again. And naturally, their first destination was not the palace. It was here. Where the music was loud, the drinks were endless, and nobody dared question them.
Ran leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin playing on his lips as he watched the smoke from his cigar disappear into the ceiling.
"You know..." he said casually, tapping ash onto the table. "Our king is rather obvious these days." Rindou glanced at him, already knowing exactly where this was going. "About what?" Ran's grin widened. "The new lady." A quiet laugh escaped his younger brother. Smoke left his lips, curling lazily into the air between them. "You're telling me you noticed?"
"Everyone noticed." Ran asked through rhetorical. Rindou shook his head, amused. "King Izana? The same Izana who would rather stare down an enemy army than attend a celebration?"
"The very same." Ran chuckled. "Now he suddenly has time to stand in gardens and disappear for hours." As they break into their usual chatter.
"Disgusting."
"Tragic."
"Absolutely heartbreaking."
The brothers exchanged a glance before breaking into laughter. Then Rindou lifted his drink, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Maybe we'll have a royal heir soon." Ran raised an eyebrow. "Already planning the celebrations?"
"Of course." Their laughter disappeared into the noise of the tavern as another song began playing and the night carried on.
Far above the city, behind the walls of the castle, the king they were teasing was nowhere near asleep. And neither were you.
Because while the rest of Tenjiku rested... The world beneath the crown was only beginning to change.
—————————————————————————
A/n: This is my favorite thing ever rn. AND I AM SO EXITED TO WRITE THE HAITANI ONE. It’s gonna be wet.
hello lola, ik ur closed but i pray u would kindly make hcs of mikey being a total partyboy in the final timeline before he met his futere gf who's never even been to a club pretty please, like i wanna know what kind of partyboy he is, a flirt? heavy drinker? or whatever u think it is:) tysm
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 ☁︎ ˚｡⋆
for @ririissuosheart sorry this took a while, hope it meets your standards, enjoy!!
the music thrummed through his soul, a half empty cup of who knows what hanging between his fingers as he swayed his head watching the world spin around him. sano manjiro always had it all, in every timeline, all expect for one thing; women. that's why, in this timeline where he was finally free of his dark impulses he was determined to make up for all the time he's lost. so that is exactly what he does. someone's having a party? he's already there. once the party is over, he's with a new woman every time. or rather, every day. that's how often this was. manjiro was a lover boy, through and through, problem was that person still hadn't showed up for him.. not until that summer.
it was at least 40 degrees in the club, his ears were about to pop but that was the usual. he noticed her right away; out of place fingers nervously clutching the hem of that short dress she clearly wasn't used to wearing. at first he thought it was the alcohol making sparkles appear and the world look pink until he realised he was completely sober. lovestruck. that's what happened to him. before he could register he was pushing through sweaty bodies until he was stood right in front of you, signature smirk plastered on his lips.
mikey: new face. you got a name?
at first he thought he'd scared the shit out of her with the way she was looking up at him, until she tilted her ear and yelled at the top of her lungs.
y/n: WHAT!?
oh right. the music. mikey chuckled awkwardly then leaned down till his lips were right by her ear.
mikey: you clearly don't belong here! wanna leave?
he pulled back just enough to see her nodding her head eagerly, looking over at a group of now completely unfunctional human beings which must be her friends. since he spent so much time at the club he had a little secret escape spot for each and every one in tokyo, and that's exactly where he took her, reaching the top of the stairs and turning partially extending his hand.
mikey: careful, the top step's dodgy.
he watched as she smiled at the view of the cityscape and something inside of him shuffled, warming him up despite the chill in the air. he shrugged off his jacket draping it on her shoulders while trying to contain his grin. seeing her up close she really was a catch, beautiful in the most normal way. she was exactly what he was looking for it was almost uncanny.
mikey: so, you clearly aren't the club type so what brought you here?
y/n, sighing and leaning against the rail beside him: college friends. i thought i'd get out my room for once
mikey: and you regretted it?
y/n, smiling: and i regretted it. i'd so rather be drinking a hot chocolate and watching fast and furious right now.
mikey, beaming: only the greatest movies ever made! i love the first, as basic as that sounds, its still the best to me. and yes, i've watched them all.
y/n, teasing: you sure about that? choosing the first movie almost screams its the only one you've seen..
mikey, shaking his head: the purple babe from fast five? guess who's got it.
y/n, gasping: no way! you do??
mikey: wanna see? come with me
he took her for a few rides, for once he felt happy. genuine happiness. one that no amount of women and no amount of clubbing could ever bring him, and he found himself wanting that happiness, forever. asking you out only a week later may seem like a gamble, but it was the best gamble he'd ever made, because it's what led to now, the sweetest, coolest girlfriend in the world, so different yet so similar to him in the best ways, and he wouldn't give her up for any club.
hello lola, ik ur closed but i pray u would kindly make hcs of mikey being a total partyboy in the final timeline before he met his futere gf who's never even been to a club pretty please, like i wanna know what kind of partyboy he is, a flirt? heavy drinker? or whatever u think it is:) tysm
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 ☁︎ ˚｡⋆
for @ririissuosheart sorry this took a while, hope it meets your standards, enjoy!!
the music thrummed through his soul, a half empty cup of who knows what hanging between his fingers as he swayed his head watching the world spin around him. sano manjiro always had it all, in every timeline, all expect for one thing; women. that's why, in this timeline where he was finally free of his dark impulses he was determined to make up for all the time he's lost. so that is exactly what he does. someone's having a party? he's already there. once the party is over, he's with a new woman every time. or rather, every day. that's how often this was. manjiro was a lover boy, through and through, problem was that person still hadn't showed up for him.. not until that summer.
it was at least 40 degrees in the club, his ears were about to pop but that was the usual. he noticed her right away; out of place fingers nervously clutching the hem of that short dress she clearly wasn't used to wearing. at first he thought it was the alcohol making sparkles appear and the world look pink until he realised he was completely sober. lovestruck. that's what happened to him. before he could register he was pushing through sweaty bodies until he was stood right in front of you, signature smirk plastered on his lips.
mikey: new face. you got a name?
at first he thought he'd scared the shit out of her with the way she was looking up at him, until she tilted her ear and yelled at the top of her lungs.
y/n: WHAT!?
oh right. the music. mikey chuckled awkwardly then leaned down till his lips were right by her ear.
mikey: you clearly don't belong here! wanna leave?
he pulled back just enough to see her nodding her head eagerly, looking over at a group of now completely unfunctional human beings which must be her friends. since he spent so much time at the club he had a little secret escape spot for each and every one in tokyo, and that's exactly where he took her, reaching the top of the stairs and turning partially extending his hand.
mikey: careful, the top step's dodgy.
he watched as she smiled at the view of the cityscape and something inside of him shuffled, warming him up despite the chill in the air. he shrugged off his jacket draping it on her shoulders while trying to contain his grin. seeing her up close she really was a catch, beautiful in the most normal way. she was exactly what he was looking for it was almost uncanny.
mikey: so, you clearly aren't the club type so what brought you here?
y/n, sighing and leaning against the rail beside him: college friends. i thought i'd get out my room for once
mikey: and you regretted it?
y/n, smiling: and i regretted it. i'd so rather be drinking a hot chocolate and watching fast and furious right now.
mikey, beaming: only the greatest movies ever made! i love the first, as basic as that sounds, its still the best to me. and yes, i've watched them all.
y/n, teasing: you sure about that? choosing the first movie almost screams its the only one you've seen..
mikey, shaking his head: the purple babe from fast five? guess who's got it.
y/n, gasping: no way! you do??
mikey: wanna see? come with me
he took her for a few rides, for once he felt happy. genuine happiness. one that no amount of women and no amount of clubbing could ever bring him, and he found himself wanting that happiness, forever. asking you out only a week later may seem like a gamble, but it was the best gamble he'd ever made, because it's what led to now, the sweetest, coolest girlfriend in the world, so different yet so similar to him in the best ways, and he wouldn't give her up for any club.
-> When you return to your hometown for the holidays, you never expect to fall back into the life you left behind, least of all with Manjiro Sano. Some roads, no matter how long you stay away, always lead you back home. And sometimes… back to him.
Word Count: 880
---------
The airport feels colder once you’re inside. Like the warmth from Mikey’s jacket, his arms, his voice, is already fading. Like the sliding doors behind you sealed off the version of you that belonged in his orbit.
You check your bag. You walk through security. You sit at the gate.
Every step feels like your body is moving without your permission.
Your brain says: This is your life now. Get on the plane.
Your heart says: I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you too. Come back.
Your chest tightens painfully. You stare down at your boarding pass until the letters blur.
MANJIRO SANO.
His voice. His breath trembling on your forehead. His arms around you like he wanted to memorize your shape. His whispered, breaking: “Before I ask you to stay.”
But he did ask. Not with words. With everything else.
A shaky breath leaves your lungs. The final boarding call echoes over the speakers. Passengers begin lining up.
You stand. Automatically. You step forward. Automatically.
But halfway to the gate, your foot catches on- nothing. Just air. Just fear. Just realization.
You stop walking. A woman behind you mutters in annoyance. You don’t move aside.
You’re frozen.
Because suddenly, terrifyingly, loudly, the truth breaks open in your chest:
You don’t want to leave.
Not him.
Not this.
Not anymore.
You don’t want a life where you pretend this wasn’t real. Where you pretend he didn’t love you in the most Mikey way possible. Where you pretend you didn’t love him back in every stolen look and trembling breath.
Your hands shake. A tear slips down your cheek.
You whisper into the air, “I can’t go.”
Nobody hears. But you do. And that’s enough. You turn around.
And you run.
Not a dramatic movie run, a messy, panicked, I’m-going-to-miss-my-life run. Your bag bumps against your leg. Your breath catches. People stare.
You don’t care.
You sprint out of the terminal, down the hallway, back through the sliding doors into the cold that feels like home now. You don’t stop running until you reach the pickup lane.
He’s not there. Of course he’s not. He left because you told him to. Your chest heaves.
“Mikey,” you whisper, like your voice might summon him.
It doesn’t. So you pull out your phone. Your fingers shake so badly you almost drop it.
You call him.
One ring. Two rings. Three-
He answers.
“…Hello?” His voice is soft. Tired. Broken in a way he tried so hard to hide from you.
Your breath trembles. Two words sit on your tongue. The only ones that matter.
“I’m here.”
Silence.
Then-
“…Where?” He sounds breathless. Like he’s scared this is a dream.
“Airport,” you choke out. “I- I didn’t get on the plane. I couldn’t.”
You hear the faint sound of him standing up fast. Something clatters. A chair? A cup? His whole world?
“You’re still here?” His voice cracks on the last word.
“Yes,” you whisper. “If you still want me-”
You don’t finish. Because you hear a motorcycle engine roar to life on the other end.
Then Mikey, breathless, urgent, raw: “Don’t move.”
The call ends.
You stand there, shaking, crying, laughing through the tears at how ridiculous this is, how you are ridiculous, how he is ridiculous, how love is ridiculous.
But then, You hear it.
Fast. Sharp. Familiar.
His bike, racing down the street like it’s chasing the rest of your life.
He turns the corner too fast. He barely parks straight. He rips off his helmet like it was strangling him.
And when he sees you, when he actually sees you standing there, his face breaks open.
“Mikey-” you start.
He doesn’t let you finish. He grabs you. Pulls you into him with a sound you’ve never heard before, something between a gasp and a sob and a laugh all at once.
His arms crush you to his chest. Your fingers bury in his jacket. He’s trembling. So are you.
“You,” His voice breaks. “You came back.”
You shake your head against him. “No,” you whisper. “I never left. Not really.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes wide and shining.
“You got off the plane,” he says, disbelieving, breathless.
You laugh through a sob. “Yeah. I got off the plane.”
And then he kisses you.
Not soft this time. Not tentative. Not aching. But alive.
Full. Desperate. Grateful. Like he’s kissing you for every version of you he thought he lost. You cling to him with everything inside you.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead stays pressed to yours.
“Stay,” he whispers. Not a demand. A plea. A promise. A home.
Your voice is quiet. Steady. Certain in a way you’ve never been before.
“I’m staying.”
He exhales like he’d been drowning.
Then Mikey smiles, a real smile, bright and disbelieving, the kind that turns him back into the boy you grew up with.
“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Cause I’m not letting you get on another plane without me.”
You laugh. You cry. He kisses you again.
Around you, cars move. People rush. Life keeps going.
But right here, in this exact moment, You’re not leaving. He’s not losing you. And the road not taken has finally led you back to him.
-> When you return to your hometown for the holidays, you never expect to fall back into the life you left behind, least of all with Manjiro Sano. Some roads, no matter how long you stay away, always lead you back home. And sometimes… back to him.
Word Count: 4,963
P.S: This is literally just angst.
-----------------
He moves to sit beside you on the couch. Not close. But close enough. There’s a quiet between you, warm and slow, filling the room like a blanket. You sip your cocoa. He sips his. Every so often his knee brushes yours. Every so often your shoulders bump. Every so often your pulse skips.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“Do you ever think about staying?” he asks quietly, barely louder than the hum of the heater.
Your heart stops.
“Mikey…”
“It’s just a question,” he says quickly. “Not a request.”
You stare at your hands.
“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think about what it would look like. What it would feel like. Who I’d be if I stayed.”
“And who would you be?” he asks.
You swallow. “I’d be someone who belongs here.”
He watches your face carefully. “And is that good?” he asks.
“…Yes.”
“But are you scared of it?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
He nods. “So am I.”
You glance up. He leans his head back against the couch. “I’m scared of wanting something that ends.”
Your breath shakes. “I’m scared too.”
He looks at you. And you feel something slip, something break open inside your chest at the same time something steadies.
Your voice trembles. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He gives a small, sad smile.
“You’re the only person I’d let hurt me.”
Tears sting your eyes.
“Mikey…”
He lifts a hand and gently brushes your cheekbone with his thumb.
“You’re not hurting me,” he murmurs. “Not right now.”
Your breath shivers at the warmth of his palm.
He leans in slightly, not enough to kiss you, just enough that his forehead nearly touches yours.
“Can I show you something?” he asks softly.
You nod.
He stands, grabs the old blanket from the couch, and tosses it over your legs as he sits again, closer this time.
Your shoulders press together. Your knees touch. The room seems smaller. Warmer. He leans his head on your shoulder. Mikey. Resting on you like it’s natural. Your breath catches.
“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod, unable to speak.
His voice is low, tired in a way he rarely shows. “Not many people see me like this.” You’re almost afraid to breathe. “I only let people close if I trust them not to drop me,” he says softly.
Your hand moves on its own, sliding into his. He squeezes gently, like he’s grounding himself.
“I’m not going to drop you,” you whisper.
He lifts his head then, slow, like he’s trying not to spook you, and looks at you with something raw and terrifying and beautiful in his eyes.
“I know,” he whispers. “That’s why letting you go scares me.”
Your heart breaks. And mends itself. And breaks again.
“Mikey…” You shake your head. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to choose.”
“You don’t have to choose tonight.”
“I feel like I’m running out of nights.”
He breathes out shakily. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
You stare at each other, inches apart. Nothing happens. But everything happens.
The weight of wanting. The tension of almost. The warmth of closeness neither of you has the courage to pull away from.
Minutes pass like that. Maybe hours.
Eventually, your head finds his shoulder again. Eventually, his thumb draws slow circles on your hand. Eventually, he falls asleep lightly against you, trusting you enough to let his guard drop.
And you sit there, holding him gently, heart aching in a way that feels more like love than anything you’re ready to admit. Because for the first time since returning home, You start to wonder not if leaving is the right choice, but if staying is the one you’re too afraid to make.
-------------
The next few days pass in that dangerous blur, the kind you only recognize as dangerous in hindsight.
Late-night rides. Convenience store snacks. Hands brushing. Shoulders leaning. Mikey falling asleep against you like he’s been doing it all his life.
A week ago, you thought you were coming home for the holidays.
Now you’re living an entire second life tucked into borrowed nights. But the thing about borrowed nights is that they run out.
You realize this on a Tuesday morning when your mom casually mentions it over breakfast:
“So your return flight is next Sunday, right?”
Your spoon freezes in your cereal bowl.
Sunday.
Five days.
Five.
A tiny panic blooms behind your ribs, sharp and hot.
You’d been avoiding counting. Now the number stares you in the face.
You nod slowly. “Yeah. That’s… that’s the plan.”
Your voice sounds calm. Your chest feels like it’s caving in.
-----------
Later that afternoon, Draken finds you.
You’re at the shop again, sitting on the curb, waiting for Mikey to show up from some errand. Draken approaches like he already knows something’s wrong.
“You look like a person about to throw up,” he says.
You groan. “Great. Flattering.”
He sits next to you. “How long do you have left?”
You stiffen. “How did you-”
“Emma,” he says. “She’s worried. Which means I’m worried.”
You stare at the ground.
“Five days,” you say quietly.
He nods like he already expected that answer. “And does Mikey know that?”
Your silence is louder than anything you could say.
Draken sighs through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do. But Mikey…” He pauses. “Mikey breaks in ways people don’t see.”
Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“You being here has done the opposite,” Draken says. “He’s been… lighter. More grounded. You pulled him back to himself. I haven’t seen him like this in years.”
A soft pain twists through your chest. “And when I leave?”
He looks at you for a long moment.
Then he answers honestly.
“He’s going to miss you. Hard.” A beat. “But he’ll survive. He always does.”
You exhale shakily.
Draken nudges your shoulder. “But you? I don’t know if you’ll survive pretending you don’t care.”
Your breath stutters.
He sees it. He softens, nudging you again.
“Just don’t disappear on him this time. Whatever happens.”
You nod, barely.
He stands, brushing off his hands. “Good. Now stop moping, he’ll be here in-”
A familiar engine revs down the street.
Draken smirks. “Right on time.”
You take a breath, steeling yourself.
-------------
Mikey appears with that lopsided grin, until he sees your face.
His expression falters.
“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately.
You stand, forcing a weak smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
Your heart lurches. You’re not ready. Not when he looks at you like that.
“Stuff,” you say lamely.
He squints. “I hate that answer.”
You try to change the subject. “Where were you?”
He doesn’t budge. “Where were you?”
Damn him.
You swallow. “Just talking with Draken.”
Mikey cocks his head, evaluating your face a little too carefully.
“…Did he say something?” he asks.
You shake your head. “No. Not really.”
He doesn’t believe you, but he lets it go, for now.
“Come on,” he says, holding out a helmet. “I wanna show you something.”
------------
You ride again. But this ride feels different.
There’s an ache beneath it. A tightness in your arms where you hold him. A heaviness in your lungs when you breathe him in.
Because for the first time since you got here, you’re not running from the clock.
You’re hearing it.
Tick, tick, tick.
When he stops, you’re at a hill overlooking the town, Not your hill, not the one tied to childhood and memory. A new one. A place he found without you.
It stings in a strange way.
“You come here alone?” you ask quietly.
He nods. “Sometimes. When I need to think.”
“And you brought me?”
He shrugs, but his voice is soft. “Yeah. I didn’t want to think alone today.”
Your chest wrenches.
You sit beside him in the grass, the late afternoon sun dipping gold behind buildings you’ll be leaving soon.
He glances at you with that gentle seriousness again.
“You’re being weird today,” he says.
You pick at the grass. “Define weird.”
“You’re not looking at me.”
You force a shaky laugh. “I’m looking at you now.”
He narrows his eyes. “Barely.”
Your throat tightens.
“Mikey…” You swallow, tasting the truth on your tongue but terrified to give it shape. “There’s something I should tell you.”
His posture goes still.
Then, quietly, “Okay.”
Your heart races.
“I…” Don’t know how to say it. Can’t say it yet. But you say something else instead. Something halfway. “I don’t have a lot of time left here.”
Mikey doesn’t react at first. He just stares at the town below, face unreadable.
“How long?” he asks.
His voice is too steady. That scares you more.
“Five days,” you whisper.
He nods once. Too fast.
“Okay,” he says.
That’s all.
You blink. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” He forces a small smile. “If that’s all the time we have, then… I’m not wasting a second.”
Your breath catches.
“Mikey…”
“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “No sad faces yet. Not until the last day. Deal?”
You stare at him, stunned.
He reaches out and touches your cheek with a gentleness that breaks you open.
“We have five days,” he murmurs. “That’s five days more than I thought I’d ever get with you again.”
Your eyes burn.
“So look at me,” he whispers. “Don’t spend those days looking away.”
You look.
And something in him softens like a candle flickering warmer. He cups your face fully now, tilting it toward his.
“Good,” he murmurs. “That’s better.”
Your chest feels too full. Too tight. Too much.
“Mikey…” Your voice cracks. “This is going to hurt.”
He nods once.
“Yeah,” he whispers back. “But not today.”
He kisses your forehead, gentle, slow, grounding.
Not a lover’s kiss.
A promise. A plea. A goodbye you’re both pretending isn’t coming.
---------------
That night, when he drops you off, he doesn’t let go of your hand.
Not immediately. Not when you step off the bike. Not when you say goodnight.
You have to let go first.
That’s when you know: You’re leaving.
But you’re not leaving unchanged. And you’re not leaving alone. Because part of you, the part that still feels his hand in yours, is already staying behind.
---------------
Three days. That’s what it comes down to.
Seventy-two hours.
9 meals.
A handful of sunsets.
A few more nights where Mikey’s shoulder brushes yours like you’re gravity and he’s forgetting to resist it.
Time isn’t passing normally anymore. It’s thinning. Stretching. Snapping tight around the edges.
Every moment feels like it’s echoing with something you’re both pretending not to hear:
This has to end.
-------------------
Day 3 — Morning
You and Mikey go to the convenience store again.
It’s pathetic, honestly. How much it feels like a ritual now, a quiet script you’ve both fallen into.
He lets you pick the snacks. You let him pick your drink. He brushes your hand reaching for the door. You pretend you don’t notice.
But today, something is off.
He’s too quiet. Too still. You walk beside him, shoulder to shoulder, but it feels like there’s a ghost of space between you that wasn’t there before.
Finally, you ask, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice is flat. Unconvincing.
“Mikey.”
He stops walking.
You stop too.
There’s a beat of silence, then,
“You’re really leaving,” he says softly, “aren’t you.”
It’s not a question. It’s a truth finally spoken aloud.
Your breath catches. “…Yes.”
He nods once, jaw tightening.
“Okay.”
You swallow hard. “Okay?”
“That’s all I can say right now.”
His voice is calm. Too calm. Like he’s holding something back with both hands.
You don’t push. You can’t. Not when the air feels this fragile.
--------------------
Day 3 — Evening
The whole gang drags you out.
Emma insists on it. Chifuyu threatens tears. Takemichi actually cries.
Mitsuya brings scarves he knitted. Draken buys dinner for everyone.
It’s warm and loud and stupid and perfect.
They don’t say it, but you know this is your goodbye. They’re giving you one night where nothing hurts.
And Mikey?
He stays close. Not talking much. Just… existing at your side.
Watching you laugh with the others. Smiling every time your eyes meet.
Late in the night, Emma and Draken corner you by the vending machines.
Emma grabs both your hands.
“Hey,” she says softly, “he loves you, you know.”
Your breath stutters. “…Emma-”
“No, not like, ‘in love with you’ love. At least, not yet.” She squeezes your hands. “But he loves you. Deeply. Honestly. In the way Mikey knows how.”
You look down, throat tightening.
“And he’s doing the right thing,” she says. “He’s not asking you to stay. He’s not guilting you. He’s not breaking in front of you.”
She glances toward where he’s leaning against a wall, hands in pockets, gaze drifting but always returning to you.
“But he will miss you,” she finishes. “More than he can say.”
Your eyes burn.
Draken steps forward gently. “Just do me one favor.”
You nod.
“Don’t leave like you did last time.”
You inhale sharply.
“I won’t,” you whisper. “I promise.”
He rests a heavy, warm hand on your shoulder. “Good.”
They leave you alone after that, letting you breathe, letting you watch Mikey from across the street.
He smiles when he catches you looking. Something inside you breaks and heals at the same time.
--------------
Day 3 — Late Night
You’re walking home with Mikey.
It’s just the two of you. The streets are quiet. Snow threatens in the air.
He walks beside you silently, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, not from cold, but from the weight of something unsaid.
You want to reach for him. You stop yourself.
Halfway down your street, he speaks. Soft. Almost hesitant.
“Do you… want me to take you to the airport?” he asks.
You freeze.
He keeps walking for a few steps before realizing you’ve stopped.
When he turns back, his face is unreadable.
“Mikey,” you start, voice trembling, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
His jaw flexes, just barely.
“Because it’ll hurt?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” you whisper.
“For you or for me?”
“Both.”
He swallows. Then nods.
“Okay.”
He starts walking again, but his steps are slower now. He waits for you to catch up.
You do. The silence feels too sharp. So you try to fill it.
“Mikey-”
“Don’t,” he says gently. Not angry. Not cold. Just tired.
“Don’t say sorry. Don’t explain. Don’t… soften the blow.”
You bite your lip.
“I just-”
“I know.” He exhales shakily. “I know.”
He stops walking again.
You stop beside him.
He looks up at the sky, dark, starless, snowcloud-heavy.
“You want to know something stupid?” he asks.
You nod.
“I keep thinking,” he says slowly, “that if I just don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come.”
Your heart cracks.
“Mikey,” you breathe.
He looks at you, gaze soft and aching and impossibly brave.
“I’m not asking you to stay,” he repeats, voice barely a whisper. “I just… don’t want this to be the last time I get to look at you like this.”
You inhale sharply.
“Like what?”
He steps closer.
Just enough that your breath trembles.
“Like you’re mine,” he says quietly.
Your chest collapses.
He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t even reach for your hand.
He just stands there, honesty naked and terrifying between you.
You open your mouth.
You don’t know what was going to come out, maybe the truth,
maybe a lie, maybe something in between-
But he shakes his head softly.
“Not tonight,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to say anything tonight.”
You blink hard, eyes burning.
He gives you a small smile, sad, gentle, devastating.
“Walk me home?” he asks.
It’s backwards. He’s the one who always takes you.
But you nod. Because you’ll give him anything in these last days.
You walk him to his apartment. Your hands brush. Neither of you hold on.
When you reach his door, he pauses.
“Two days left,” he whispers.
Your breath catches.
He leans forward, slow, deliberate, and presses a kiss to your cheek.
Not your lips. Somehow worse.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he breathes.
You nod.
But when you turn to leave, he says your name, quiet, urgent.
You look back.
His eyes soften, and the door closes before you can fall apart.
-----------------------
Your flight is tomorrow.
Not theoretically. Not one day. Not someday.
Tomorrow.
Twenty-four hours.
The number curls into your chest like cold fingers, squeezing, clawing. You wake up with a sense of dread that feels like gravity.
And before you can talk yourself into or out of anything, your phone buzzes.
Mikey:
Are you up?
You:
barely
Mikey:
come outside
Your heart races.
You throw on a jacket, barely register your parents asking where you’re going, and step into the cold morning air.
Mikey is leaning against his bike.
He looks… tired.
Not the kind of tired that comes from lack of sleep, the kind that comes from feeling too much for too long. He pushes himself upright when he sees you.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you echo.
He hands you a helmet. His fingers linger against yours longer than they need to.
“Let’s go.”
----------------------
The final ride feels different.
He doesn’t take the usual roads. He takes the long ones. The scenic ones. The ones with curves he knows by heart. He’s memorizing it.
You’re memorizing it. You hold him tighter than you ever have.
He lets you.
When he slows beside a familiar sidewalk, you blink.
“…The playground?”
He nods once.
“Why here?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer.
Not with words.
He leads you to the swings. The same swings you used to race each other on. The same swings where you sat after running away from home for the first time. Where you confessed secrets under your breath. Where he told you he’d protect you from everything, even though he was barely tall enough to reach the monkey bars.
He gestures. “Sit.”
You do.
He takes the swing beside you. The chains creak quietly between you.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” he says suddenly.
Your breath catches. “Mikey…”
“I was thinking too much.”
“About…?”
He looks at you, and it feels like he’s peeling himself open.
“You,” he says simply.
The word lands like a blow. He kicks lightly at the dirt, eyes drifting to the old jungle gym.
“We used to come here all the time,” he murmurs. “When you left, I couldn’t. Not for a while.”
You stare at him, heart aching.
“I hated that you weren’t here,” he continues. “But I hated more that I still came back sometimes. Because it felt like I was waiting for something I knew wasn’t coming.”
Your throat feels thick. “Mikey…”
His voice softens. “I don’t want you to think I stopped living when you left. I didn’t. I just… had this hole in my life shaped like you.”
Your breath breaks.
"And when you came back?" you whisper.
He exhales shakily. “It felt like getting something back I didn’t let myself hope for.”
Silence. Soft. Painful.
“And now?” you ask, though you’re terrified of the answer.
His jaw tightens. “Now I’m trying to not fall apart.”
Your eyes sting instantly.
He doesn’t look at you when he asks, voice raw:
“Does it hurt you too?”
The question guts you. You slide off the swing and kneel in front of him, taking his hands in yours.
“Yes,” you breathe. “It hurts so much I don’t know what to do with it.”
His breath shudders. For a moment, he looks like he might break right there. But Mikey never breaks first.
He squeezes your hands, hard.
“Come with me,” he says.
You nod.
Anywhere. Always. Even if you can’t stay.
-----------------
He brings you to his apartment.
For the last time. The door closes behind you with a soft click that rings through your bones. He doesn’t turn on the lights. The place is dim, lit only by weak sunlight through thin curtains.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
You turn toward him, ready to speak, but he steps closer carefully and slowly like he’s approaching something wild and precious.
And then-
“Mikey,” you whisper, “what are you?”
He touches your cheek. Not demanding. Not hungry. Not rushing. Just holding you with the kind of gentleness that hurts to feel.
“I want today,” he murmurs. His thumb brushes your cheekbone. “I want every hour of it.”
Your breath shakes. “You have it.”
His forehead rests against yours.
“Stay with me.”
It isn’t a question. It isn’t a plea. It’s something deeper, a quiet surrender.
You nod.
He exhales like that’s the only thing he needed.
-----------------
The last day becomes its own universe.
The two of you make tea and forget to drink it. You sit on the floor with blankets wrapped around your shoulders. He lets you see him, every softness, every unarmored piece.
Not Mikey the gang legend. Not Mikey the golden boy. Not the invincible Mikey.
Just Manjiro. A boy who loves too deeply and breaks too quietly.
At one point, you’re sitting between his legs on the couch, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. The TV plays something you’re not watching.
His voice drops quietly against your ear. “Do you ever think about staying?”
Your breath catches.
He closes his eyes. “You don’t have to answer.”
You whisper anyway. “Yes.”
His breath stops against your neck.
Then, He presses the softest kiss to your shoulder. A trembling one. A grateful one. A hopeless one.
“Mikey…” you whisper.
He shifts, sliding his arms around you tighter.
“Don’t say sorry,” he murmurs. “Not today.”
You lean back against his chest and let yourself feel it.
All of it.
The ache of loving him. The ache of leaving him. The ache of every road not taken. The ache of choosing a life that isn’t this one.
He presses his face into your neck.
“You’re the warmest thing I’ve ever had,” he whispers.
Your eyes fill instantly.
“And tomorrow,” he says, voice cracking just enough for you to hear it, “I have to let you go again.”
----------------------
Night falls without either of you noticing.
The lamp by his couch glows soft gold. You’re lying on your side. He’s lying behind you, one arm looped lazily around your waist, fingers intertwined with yours.
Not lovers. Not not-lovers. Something suspended between.
He presses a slow kiss to your shoulder.
And then another.
And then another, trailing upward like he’s memorizing you.
“Mikey…” you whisper.
He stops at your neck, breath shaky.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
You close your eyes.
“I won’t.”
His breath trembles.
He kisses your neck, softer this time, almost reverent.
“Don’t let this be the last time,” he whispers.
Your eyes burn.
“Mikey…” you whisper, voice breaking, “I don’t want to go.”
His grip tightens around your waist, forehead pressing between your shoulders like he’s hiding from the world.
“You already are,” he says softly.
That’s what finally breaks you.
You turn in his arms, pressing your forehead to his, hands cupping his face.
Tears slip from your lashes.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper.
“You’re not,” he breathes. “You never were.”
His thumb brushes away your tear. Then he leans in and kisses you.
Not fevered. Not desperate. Heartbreaking.
A kiss made of every version of you he ever loved. Every version of him you’re losing tomorrow.
When he pulls back, he whispers it, he thing he hasn’t said. The thing you were terrified to hear. The thing he can’t hold in anymore.
“I love you.”
It lands in your chest like a storm.
“Mikey,” you choke. “Don’t- don’t say that. Not on the last day.”
His hand cups the back of your neck, gentle. Honest.
“There’s no day I wouldn’t say it.”
You press your forehead to his.
“Please don’t make this harder,” you whisper.
He lets out a broken laugh. “It’s already the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
You kiss him again, one last time, slow and trembling and filled with everything you can’t stay long enough to build.
You fall asleep in his arms.
Tomorrow, you’ll have to leave.
But tonight, he holds you like it’s the last sunrise he’ll ever see.
And you let him. Because it is.
-------------
You wake before he does.
For a moment, still half-dreaming, you don’t remember where you are, only that there’s warmth at your back, an arm around your waist, fingers intertwined with yours under the blanket.
Then it hits you. All at once. Like stepping into cold water.
Mikey. His apartment. Your flight. Today.
You inhale quietly, trying not to move, trying not to disturb him.
But he already knows. He always knows. His arms tighten around you before you can slip away.
“…Don’t get up yet,” he murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.
Your eyes burn instantly. “Mikey…”
“Just a little longer,” he whispers. “Please.”
So you stay. You lie there, wrapped in him, memorizing everything, the warmth, the weight, the way he buries his face in the back of your shoulder like he’s breathing you in.
He doesn’t say anything else. Neither do you. There’s nothing left to say that won’t break you.
-----------------------------
When you do finally sit up, the morning is gray. A soft winter light filters through the curtains. Mikey stays lying down for a moment, staring at the ceiling like it’s the only thing holding him together.
When he finally looks at you, it’s with a quiet kind of devastation.
“What time?” he asks.
Your throat closes. “Eleven.”
He nods once, a tiny movement. “Let me take you.”
“Mikey-”
“No.” He sits up, looks at you with that calm, painful resolve you’ve only seen a few times before. “I’m taking you.”
You don’t argue. You can’t.
-----------------
The ride to the airport is the quietest one yet.
No teasing. No small touches. No leaning back into him like you always do. You hold him tightly anyway. He doesn’t say a word about it.
When he stops at the drop-off lane, your stomach drops violently.
This is happening. This is real. You climb off the bike. He follows.
You stand facing each other, the cold air biting your cheeks, cars rushing by, the world moving too fast for a moment this fragile.
He pulls off his helmet. You do too.
For a long second, neither of you speaks.
Then-
“I don’t want this to be the last time,” he says quietly.
Your voice trembles. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“But it is,” he says, not unkindly. “For now.”
You swallow hard. He steps closer.
“You came back,” he whispers. “That’s more than I ever thought I’d get.”
You feel your eyes fill, blurring everything except him.
“Mikey…”
He reaches up and brushes your tears away with his thumb, just like he did last night. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs.
“I can’t help it.”
He forces the smallest smile. “Yeah. I know.”
You take a shaky breath. This is the last chance.
“I should’ve stayed longer,” you whisper. “I should’ve-”
“No.” His voice is firm. “You came back. That’s enough.”
A tear slips down your cheek anyway.
“Mikey,” you say softly, “I-”
He presses a finger to your lips.
“No big confessions,” he says. “No promises you can’t keep. No apologies.”
Your throat tightens around a sob.
“But you said you lo-”
He shakes his head gently. “I said it because it was true. Not because I need you to say it back.”
You break. A strangled breath escapes you. He pulls you into him instantly. Not a tight hug. Not a desperate one. A slow, warm, grounding embrace, the kind meant to be remembered. You bury your face in his shoulder, hands gripping his jacket, inhaling his scent like you can memorize it well enough to take it with you.
“I don’t want to go,” you whisper into his chest.
His arms tighten just slightly.
“I know,” he says. Quiet. Honest. Breaking. “I don’t want you to go either.”
You pull back only enough to see his face. His eyes are glossy, but he’s holding himself together with every last thread of restraint he has.
“You’ll come back, right?” he whispers. “Even if it’s just to say hi. Even if it’s not for me. Even if it’s years from now.”
Your breath shakes.
“I promise I won’t disappear again.”
He nods once, as though that’s the only thing keeping him on his feet. Then he leans forward and kisses your forehead. Not your lips. Not this time. A goodbye kiss. A memory kiss. A kiss meant to live in your bones.
“I’ll miss you,” he whispers against your skin.
You choke on a sob.
“I’ll miss you too.”
He steps back, hands falling away slowly, reluctantly.
You stare at him for one last moment, his hair falling into his eyes,
the soft winter light catching on his lashes, the boy you grew up with,
the man he became without you, the one you fell for twice in one lifetime.
Then he says it, The final line. The one that ruins you completely.
“Go,” he whispers. “Before I ask you to stay.”
Your breath breaks.
You turn. You walk toward the sliding airport doors. Your vision blurs with every step.
But before the doors close, you can’t help it, you look back.
Mikey is still standing there.
Hands in his pockets. Jaw clenched. Eyes fixed on you like letting you out of his sight might undo him.
And then, just as the doors begin to slide shut.
he mouths it. Two silent words.
“Come back.”
The glass doors close between you.
And it hits you: The heart you broke was never his. It was always your own.
-> When you return to your hometown for the holidays, you never expect to fall back into the life you left behind, least of all with Manjiro Sano. Some roads, no matter how long you stay away, always lead you back home. And sometimes… back to him.
Word Count: 10,850
P.S: This fic is very inspired by the song Tis the Damn Season by Taylor Swift! This fic is so long that tumblr made me split it into two parts, so part two is already done and will be posted shortly!
---------------
It starts with the wrong kind of cold.
Not the clean, crisp kind that makes your lungs feel new when you breathe it in, but the kind that seeps through the windows of the train and curls around your ankles, clinging, familiar. The city rolls by in pieces; rusted railings, convenience stores, apartment blocks that all look exactly like they did and nothing like how you remember them.
You press your forehead lightly to the glass. Your reflection stares back, a ghost layered over your hometown.
You promised yourself you wouldn’t come back.
And yet here you are, suitcase shoved into the rack over your head, phone heavy in your palm, the cursor blinking in an unsent message.
hey. i’m back in town for a bit.
The “To:” line is empty.
The train chimes, announcing the next stop. Your stop.
You lock your phone instead.
----------
Your parents’ house smells the same.
Soy sauce, detergent, dust. The hallway light is still too yellow. Your childhood shoes are still lined up at the edge of the rack, a size too small for the person you are now. There’s a photo frame crooked on the wall, one of the only things that’s changed, and your mom calls your name from the kitchen like you only stepped out for an errand instead of vanishing for years.
You hug her. You hug your dad. You say, I’m fine, yeah, the trip was okay, classes are good, work is busy, all the usual script. They talk over each other. Ask if you’re hungry. (You are.) Ask if you’re tired. (You are.) Ask if you’re staying long. (You’re not.)
You don’t tell them who else is here, in this town, in the streets outside. You don’t tell them about the ache that’s been sitting quietly in your chest since you left. The one that looks suspiciously like a boy with pale hair and a lazy smile, sitting on a bike and calling your name like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.
You make it through dinner. Through the stories about neighbors and relatives and who moved away and who got married and who had a kid. You laugh at the right moments. You nod when your mom gestures with her chopsticks and says, “You must be so tired of the city. It’s good to come home sometimes, isn’t it?”
You don’t tell her that “home” feels like a word with splinters.
Later, in your old room, you drop your suitcase on the floor and just stand there for a second.
The posters are gone, but the sun-faded rectangles where they used to be still mark the walls. Your desk is smaller than you remember. There’s a shallow, white line on the floor where your bed used to sit. You cross the room and pull back the curtains; outside, the street is quiet, the sky dull, just one stubborn star visible between the clouds.
You sit on the edge of the mattress your mom dragged back in for you. Your phone lights up with notifications from the group chat in the city, classmates, coworkers, the so-called friends whose jokes are always half a step away from competition.
You swipe them away.
You scroll instead to a different conversation thread. One that hasn’t lit up in years.
“Toman idiots”
Last message - Baji: oi, don’t forget, we’re meeting at the shrine tomorrow, 10am, don’t be late or I’ll bite you
Timestamp: Years ago.
You stare at it until your eyes sting.
You think, If I wanted to know who they were hanging out with while I was gone, I would have asked.
You didn’t.
You were the one who left.
You lock your phone and lie down without changing clothes. The sheets smell like detergent and something older. You listen to the quiet creaks of the house settling around you, the distant hum of a motorbike somewhere out on the main road, and wonder if he’s still riding through these streets at night.
The thought hurts more than it should.
-----------
You wake up late the next morning, sunlight already spilling across your face in warm, accusing stripes.
For a moment, you forget where you are.
Then your ceiling comes into focus, the old water stain that looks like a lopsided heart, the crack in the plaster, and your stomach clenches.
Right. You’re here.
You scroll aimlessly on your phone for a few minutes. The city chat is full of photos from last night, neon bars, someone’s rooftop party, blurry faces mid-laugh. You can practically hear the noise through the screen. You can picture yourself in those frames, drink in hand, smile stretched wide and easy.
Except it’s never as easy as it looks. They see the version of you that knows their references and remembers birthdays and can drink more than you should. They don’t know the version of you who used to sit on the back of a bike and feel like the whole world was condensed into the length of one quiet ride.
You toss the phone aside.
You shower. You dress in something casual, something that won’t scream, I moved away and tried to become someone else. Old sneakers, worn jeans, jacket you’ve had since your second year of high school. You tie your hair back. You slip your headphones in but don’t press play.
Downstairs, your parents have already eaten. There’s a plate waiting for you under a cover at the table. Your mom pokes her head out of the kitchen and smiles.
“Going out?” she asks, like it’s obvious.
You hesitate. “Just walking. For old times’ sake.”
She nods. “Don’t be out too late.”
You almost laugh. Too late for what? The trouble you used to get into is on a different timeline. Different you. Different boys.
You step outside and the air hits you, cool and damp. The familiar stretch of the street sits in front of you, every crack in the pavement where you left it. Your feet move on their own, muscle memory dragging you toward the convenience store on the corner, past the park, past the alley where-
You stop yourself from finishing that thought.
You walk slower.
You tell yourself you’re just… seeing what’s changed. That’s all. Just curiosity. Just checking whether the road not taken still exists.
--------
The convenience store is exactly the same.
Same flickering light over the entrance. Same promotional posters taped crookedly to the glass. Same plastic-y bell chime when you push the door open.
The air conditioning hits you in a too-cold wave and your eyes skim over the aisles automatically. Instant noodles. Drinks. Magazines. You find yourself drifting toward the back refrigerators, grabbing a canned coffee without thinking.
“Whoa,” a voice says behind you. “That can’t be who I think it is.”
Your heart stutters.
You turn.
Draken is taller.
That’s your first thought, stupidly. Like he wasn’t always tall. His hair is different now, braided back instead of shaved on the sides, tattoos peeking from under the collar of his hoodie. He’s holding a basket half full of random snacks and motorcycle oil, of course.
He blinks once, like he’s not completely sure you’re real.
Then he grins. Wide and sharp and familiar.
“Oi,” he says, and your name slips out of his mouth like it never left. “No way. You’re back?”
You almost drop the coffee.
“Hey,” you manage, and your voice comes out smaller than you meant it to. “Yeah. Just… for a bit.”
He steps closer and it hits you all at once, the height difference, the warmth, the way his presence fills up a space the same way it did when you were kids trying to look tougher than you were.
He doesn’t hesitate. He hooks an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a one-armed hug that’s more like a headlock.
“You idiot,” he says into your hair, laughing. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
Your throat tightens. “Didn’t… really plan this,” you mumble into his chest.
He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s almost solved.
“You look good,” he says finally, straightforward. “Different, but… still you.”
Something in you unclenches. “You too. Taller.”
“Tch, shut up,” he says, ears going faintly pink.
He pays for his basket and your coffee without asking, like it’s still second nature to look out for you. You step out of the store together, bells chiming overhead, and the street feels less empty already.
“So,” Draken says, cracking open a canned drink with one hand. “How long are you staying?”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “Just for the holidays. A couple weeks.”
He nods slowly, like he’s trying to slot that into some mental schedule. “You see anyone else yet?”
You shake your head.
“Not avoiding us, are you?” he teases, but underneath it, there’s something careful.
You stare down at your sneakers. “I… didn’t think anyone would care.”
He snorts immediately. “You’re dumb.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“You think you can just disappear and nobody notices?” He bumps your shoulder with his. “Emma’s gonna kill you. Think she already texted you, like, a hundred times last year and then gave up when you kept leaving her on read.”
Your stomach twists. “I’m-”
“Don’t say ‘sorry’ yet,” he cuts in. “Save it for her.”
You swallow around the knot in your throat. “Is she… okay? Is everyone… okay?”
He falls quiet for a second.
It hits you that you don’t actually know. Not really. You heard bits and pieces in rumors, in the news, in half-finished texts you never sent. You know enough to understand there were fights you weren’t there for, bruises you didn’t help bandage, nights you weren’t sitting on some curb laughing until your sides hurt.
“Yeah,” Draken says finally, and there’s weight in the word. “We’re good. Different, but… you know.” He glances sideways at you. “He’ll want to see you, you know.”
You don’t have to ask who “he” is.
Your chest goes tight. “I don’t know if that’s… a good idea.”
Draken huffs. “Since when do you get to decide that for him?”
You look away, down the street where the road curves, where it used to always lead to trouble and laughter and scraped knees. To him.
“I left,” you say quietly. The words feel raw in your mouth. “I didn’t just move, I… cut it off. I stopped answering. I didn’t come back, not once. That’s not exactly-”
“Yeah, you did,” he says, blunt. “We noticed.”
The guilt flares hot and familiar. You wrap your fingers around the coffee can, metal cold against your palm, grounding.
“But,” Draken continues, nudging your shoulder again, softer this time, “you’re here now. That counts for something.”
Does it? You don’t know. You’re only here because the holidays made flights cheap, because your mom said please, because your city apartment started to feel like a shoebox full of obligations. Because every time you had one drink too many, your stupid traitor brain would wander back to slick streets and moonlit rides and the one person who could always tell when your smile wasn’t real.
“Come by the shop later,” Draken says, like it’s already decided. “Emma’s usually around. Mitsuya too, sometimes. The others drift in and out.”
You hesitate. “What about-”
He smirks. “If he’s not there, he’ll hear. Word travels fast.”
“Draken-”
“Trust me,” he says, and there’s something like an older-brother steadiness in his tone. “You both have crap to say. Might as well do it with real words instead of ghosting each other from different cities.”
Your heart beats too loud in your ears.
You take a long sip of coffee, more to buy time than anything. The bitterness bites at your tongue. You picture yourself back in your tiny city apartment, listening to your roommates talk about networking and internships and books they’re “definitely going to write someday,” and you feel that familiar distance again, the one that never fully goes away.
The road here, the one cracked with age and lined with convenience stores and shrines and memories you’ve tried not to touch, suddenly looks… tempting. Dangerous. Like some part of you already knows exactly where it leads.
“Okay,” you hear yourself say.
Draken’s grin is immediate, bright. “Good. Come by around three. Don’t be late.”
“You’re not my boss,” you mutter, but your lips twitch.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, turning to walk backward down the sidewalk, one hand lifted in a lazy wave. “See you, brat.”
He leaves you standing in the street with an empty can and a full head.
-------
You don’t go home.
Not yet.
Your feet know the way to the old places too well. You barely have to think about it; your body just turns corners it’s always known. Past the park with the broken swing. Past the storefront that used to be a bakery, now something else. Past the alley where you once watched a fistfight in breathless panic, only to see it end in laughter and bloodied knuckles pressed to your forehead in apology.
You end up exactly where you shouldn’t be surprised to end up: the old shrine at the top of the hill.
The steps are steeper than you remember. Or maybe you’re just more tired now. You climb them anyway, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, breath clouding in front of you. At the top, the air feels thinner, quieter. The torii gate stands like a rusted frame against the sky.
You cross under it and it feels like walking into a memory.
You remember the first time he dragged you up here, hand around your wrist, insisting you had to see the sunrise from this exact spot. You remember Baji complaining the whole way, Mitsuya carrying snacks, Chifuyu tripping on the same step three times, Takemichi wheezing. You remember Emma looping her arm through yours, whispering, “They’re idiots, but they’re our idiots, right?”
You remember thinking: Maybe this is what it feels like to belong.
You sit on the stone wall near the edge, where you can see the town spread out below, a patchwork of roofs and roads and the faint curve of the river. The wind pricks at your nose. You close your eyes.
You let yourself feel it. Just for a second.
The ache. The want. The version of you that stayed.
In that version, you never left. You stuck it out through the fights and the late nights and the stupid decisions. You watched him become somebody’s legend and somebody’s mistake and still yours, somehow. You learned every new scar, every new smile. You stayed.
In this version, you got on a train and didn’t look back.
A notification buzzes against your palm, startling you. You blink your eyes open and glance at your phone.
Unknown number.
[1 new message]
You really came back without telling me?
Your heartbeat drops straight through your stomach.
Your fingers hover over the screen.
You type, Who is this? and delete it. Type, How did you get my number? and delete that too.
You settle instead on:
who’s asking?
There’s barely a pause before the reply comes.
wow, cold.
come down from the shrine, dumbass. you’re gonna freeze.
You stare at the words, at the casual insult braided into concern, and for a second, you are sixteen again, standing in this exact place with a paper cup of vending-machine cocoa being pushed into your hands.
Your pulse jumps.
You type, hands shaking slightly.
…Mikey?
The dots appear, disappear. Then:
took you long enough.
hurry up.
You look up from the screen, heart thudding. The town lies below you, quiet, the roads stretching out like open hands.
You stand.
You climb back down the steps, the chill biting at your cheeks, your breath coming faster than the incline warrants. At the bottom, you pause at the torii gate, one hand resting briefly against the wood.
Then you step through.
The road bends to the left, and there, leaning against a familiar, beat-up motorcycle parked by the curb, is Manjiro Sano.
His hair is shorter now, tied back at the nape; there’s a different jacket on his shoulders, some scuffs on his boots, a few fine lines at the corner of his eyes that definitely weren’t there before. But his posture is the same, loose, effortless, like gravity works differently on him. Like the whole world is just something he’s leaning against.
He looks up as you approach.
For a second, everything in you goes very, very quiet.
He doesn’t say your name.
He breathes it.
Like an exhale he’s been holding in for years.
You stop a few steps away, sneakers scraping on the pavement. You don’t know what to do with your hands. You don’t know what expression is on your face. You only know that his eyes, dark, bright, complicated, are on you, pinning you exactly where you stand.
“Hey,” you say, because you have to say something.
His mouth curves, slow and dangerous and way too familiar.
“Took you long enough,” he says again, and for a moment, the years between you collapse into nothing.
The cold doesn’t feel so cold anymore.
----------
You don’t know what you expected.
Maybe for him to smile too wide and pretend like nothing ever happened. Maybe for him to be cold, closed-off, the way boys get when they feel abandoned. Maybe for him to ignore you entirely.
But Mikey just… looks at you.
Like he’s cataloging every new line of your face, every change in your posture, every second of the years he didn’t get to see. His gaze drops briefly to your shoes, your jacket, your hands tucked into your pockets like a shield. When his eyes rise again, softer than they should be, it almost knocks the wind out of you.
“You cut your hair,” he says quietly.
“So did you.”
A small laugh escapes him, barely a sound, more like a breath bent wrong. He pushes off the bike and stands fully upright, and suddenly the space between you feels too small, too charged.
“Draken said you’d show up,” he says.
You roll your eyes. “I hate when he’s right.”
“Mm.” Mikey tilts his head, studying you. “You always hated being predictable.”
The words land somewhere deep, somewhere you’ve been avoiding for years.
“Are you… mad?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Mikey blinks. Then his lips curve, not into a smile, but into something unreadable.
“Should I be?”
You don’t know how to answer that. You left without warning. You ghosted birthdays, festivals, late-night texts he didn’t send often but always sent to you. You chose a new life far away because staying felt like choosing a version of yourself you weren’t sure could survive.
You swallow. “Can we… not do this here?”
His eyes flick down the street, then back to you. “Then get on.”
He nods toward the bike.
Your chest tightens. “Mikey-”
“What?” His voice is light, teasing, deceptively soft. “You scared? Forgot how?”
“It’s been a while.”
His smile shifts, slow and real this time. “Don’t worry. I didn’t.”
He holds the handlebars steady, waiting.
And you realize, he’s offering you the safest place you ever knew.
You climb on.
The seat is cold, the leather familiar beneath your hands. He doesn’t ask where you want to go. He just kicks the engine alive, the rumble vibrating through your spine, and pulls off the curb like he never stopped carrying the world behind him.
Your fingers hover before settling lightly on the back of his jacket, not too tight, not too close, careful.
Still, he notices.
He always notices.
“Hold on,” he calls over the wind.
You pretend you don’t hear.
Two seconds later he slows, grabs your hand without looking, and pulls it firmly around his waist.
Your breath hitches.
“Mikey-”
“You’ll fall off,” he says simply.
You don’t argue after that.
------------
The streets blur. Time bends. Something in you loosens.
He takes the long way, past the river, past the bakery-turned-boba-shop, past the empty lot where they used to gather, laugh, bleed, swear loyalty to something larger than themselves. Your cheek nearly brushes his back when he leans into turns, and the cold air bites at your eyes until they water.
You won’t admit the tears aren’t from the wind.
Eventually he pulls into a familiar lot: The shop. The unofficial Toman headquarters. The place where half your childhood was spent sitting cross-legged on the ground while Mitsuya patched people up and Draken lectured idiots and Mikey tried, and failed, to act like the responsible one.
Your pulse jumps.
Mikey parks the bike and kills the engine. The sudden quiet rings in your ears.
“Still scared?” he asks, glancing back at you.
You slide off the bike, knees unsteady. “Not of the ride.”
He hums, like he already knew that.
You’re about to say something, anything, to fill the silence when the door to the shop bursts open.
“OH MY GOD! IS THAT-”
Emma doesn’t finish her sentence. She’s too busy slamming into you at full speed, arms wrapping tight around your torso.
You stagger, laughing through a sudden rush of emotion. “Emma-!”
“You left for YEARS,” she wails into your shoulder. “Years! I thought you died or became famous or something!”
“I texted-”
“You stopped texting!”
You can’t argue with that.
By the time she pulls away, there are tears crowding her lashes. She takes your face in both hands like she’s making sure you’re real.
“You look so good,” she sniffles.
“So do you,” you say, because she does, older, prettier, glowing with confidence she didn’t have when you left.
“Ugh, I can’t believe you’re actually here,” she says, dragging you inside as if afraid you’ll run before she gets you through the door. “Everyone’s gonna freak out! Mitsuya! Chifuyu! Takemichi! Get out here!”
You brace yourself.
--------
The reunion hits like a tidal wave.
Chifuyu is first, nearly tripping over a toolbox in his rush to reach you.
“YOU’RE BACK? For REAL?” he shouts, grabbing your arms and shaking you slightly.
Takemichi tears up instantly (of course he does). “I-I can’t believe it-how long- where were- did something happen-”
“Breathe,” you laugh, though your own breath is tight.
Mitsuya emerges from the back, wiping grease from his fingers onto a rag. His eyes meet yours and soften.
“You came back,” he says simply.
And somehow, that hits you harder than any shout.
Everybody crowds around you, voices tripping over each other, Where were you? What happened? How long are you staying? Why didn’t you tell us? until the sound becomes too big, too warm, too overwhelming in the best and worst way.
All you can do is smile, laugh, let them hug you, shove your shoulder, scold you, welcome you home like you never stopped belonging.
Mikey stays leaning near the door.
Watching.
Not joining in, yet not removing himself either.
You feel the weight of his gaze even when you’re turned away.
-------------
When the noise settles, Mitsuya gestures to a couch.
“You want tea? Snack? Something warm? You look frozen.”
Your mouth opens, but Mikey beats you to it.
“She’ll take cocoa.”
You whip around. “I didn’t say-”
“You always want cocoa when it’s cold.”
Your heart stutters.
Emma beams. “He remembers everything.”
Mikey shoots her a look, but he doesn’t deny it.
Mitsuya sets a hot cup in front of you and the warmth slips into your fingers like memory. The others drift around, Chifuyu showing you his new manga obsession, Takemichi rambling nervously, Emma linking her arm with yours protectively.
It’s good. It’s grounding.
But it also hurts.
Because everything is the same where you left it. Except you.
You don’t fit as neatly as you used to. Not because they changed. But because you did.
And yet…
The way they smile at you makes something inside you crack open. Something you’ve been holding shut for too long.
----------
Eventually, the group thins out.
Baji texts that he’s coming later. Smiley and Angry promise to stop by. Emma drags Takemichi away for an errand. Chifuyu leaves to go feed Peke J. Even Mitsuya escapes to the back room with a sigh of “these kids are too loud.”
Soon it’s only you and Mikey.
He sits on the arm of the couch, close enough for you to feel the shift of the cushion, far enough to pretend it’s casual.
“You left fast,” he says.
You stare down into your cocoa. “Mikey…”
“You don’t have to explain,” he interrupts, but the tightness in his voice says he wants you to.
“I didn’t leave because of you.”
His jaw flexes. “Didn’t look like that from here.”
Your throat closes.
“I left because staying felt…” You struggle for the right words. “Small. Like the town was shrinking around me. Like I was just… waiting for something to go wrong.”
“And did it?” he asks. “Did something go wrong out there?”
You pause.
“Nothing went wrong,” you say softly. “But nothing felt right either.”
That catches him off-guard.
You take a breath, bracing yourself.
“I missed you,” you admit, the words falling out before you can soften them.
Mikey doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
But something in his expression flickers, something sharp and vulnerable all at once.
“Tch.” He looks away. “You can’t just say stuff like that out of nowhere.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he says, voice low, “I’ll believe you.”
You feel the world tilt slightly.
“Mikey…”
He shifts suddenly, standing, pacing toward the workbench before swinging back around to face you.
“How long are you staying?” he asks.
“A couple weeks.”
He nods once. Twice. Like he’s calculating something dangerous.
“Then let’s not waste it.”
Your breath catches.
“What are you saying?”
He folds his arms, leaning against the counter with that deceptively lazy posture, the one that means he’s dead-serious.
“I’m saying,” he repeats, “that if you’re here, we could… call it even. Call it whatever you want. You be mine for the break.” His eyes narrow a little. “Unless you don’t want that.”
Your heartbeat kicks hard against your ribs.
“Mikey…” You shake your head. “I’m leaving. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He steps closer.
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice softens, drops. “But you’re here now. And the road not taken looks really damn good when you’re standing in front of me.”
Your breath trembles.
He tilts his head, eyes wandering briefly to your lips. “So what do you want?”
You don’t answer.
You can’t.
He gives you a small, knowing smile.
“Think about it,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He grabs his helmet, tosses it lightly between his hands, and heads toward the door.
Just before he steps out, he looks back over his shoulder.
“Come ride with me tonight,” he says quietly, almost like a question.
“For old times’ sake.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
And you sit there, cocoa lukewarm in your hands, heart hammering, knowing exactly what you’re going to say when night falls.
Even if you shouldn’t.
-------
Night comes quicker in this town.
Maybe it’s the winter sky, or maybe it’s the way your childhood roads always seemed to fold time inward, shrinking hours into minutes the moment you let your guard down.
You spend the afternoon trying not to think about Mikey’s voice in your ear, You be mine for the break. And fail spectacularly.
By the time you finally step outside, the air is sharp enough to bite. Your breath fogs in front of you. Your sneakers crunch over thin ice on the pavement as you walk toward the street where he said he’d meet you.
You tell your parents you’re “seeing old friends.”
You don’t tell them which friend.
You don’t tell yourself what this is, either.
A bike engine rumbles before you turn the last corner.
He’s already waiting.
Mikey leans against the bike like the night belongs to him.
Streetlight cutting gold across his cheekbone. Hair pulled back. Jacket unzipped just enough that you wonder whether he even feels the cold. His hands are tucked into his pockets, one foot propped against the curb, and he looks at you the second you appear, like he felt you coming before he saw you.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
“You said ‘tonight,’ not a specific time.”
He pushes off the bike and steps closer. “You always made me wait.”
“And you always showed up anyway.”
That earns a ghost of a smile, the kind that’s half memory, half warning.
Your hands twitch in your pockets. His eyes flick down, he noticed.
Without asking, he takes your wrist gently, guiding your hand out of your pocket and placing it on his jacket.
Your pulse stumbles.
“Mikey-”
“Just making sure you’re warm,” he says softly.
Liar.
He lets go like it didn’t mean anything. Like he didn’t feel the way your fingers trembled against him.
“Come on,” he says, tossing you the helmet.
You catch it.
Barely.
-----------
The ride begins like a déjà vu you weren’t ready for.
You settle onto the back of the bike. Mikey doesn’t wait for your uncertainty this time, your arms haven’t even found his waist before he reaches back and pulls them around himself with practiced ease.
Your breath catches against his shoulder.
He says nothing.
He doesn’t have to.
He revs the engine, and the whole world leaps forward.
Streetlights blur. Cold air claws at your cheeks. You tuck your forehead between his shoulder blades, letting the vibration of the engine steady your heartbeat.
Every turn, every rise and dip in the road, every familiar motor rumble through your bones.
It’s all the same.
And not the same at all.
You’d forgotten this feeling: the illusion that nothing can touch you as long as he’s the one driving. The illusion that you’re part of something moving, something alive, something wild and warm even in the coldest night.
Maybe it was never an illusion.
Maybe that was the truth you were too young to hold.
-------------
He stops at the riverbank.
The same quiet stretch where you used to sit eating convenience store snacks, tossing rocks, talking about futures none of you really believed in.
The bike engine cuts off. Silence floods in.
Mikey doesn’t move for a moment.
Neither do you.
Then he shifts, glancing back over his shoulder.
“You okay?”
You nod. “Yeah. You?”
He huffs. “Should probably be asking the other way around. You were gripping me like you were gonna fall off the planet.”
Your face heats. “It’s cold.”
“Mm.” He looks at you. Really looks at you. “Still cute, though.”
You blink. “Don’t say stuff like-”
“Why?” His voice is too soft, too sure. “You don’t like it?”
You don’t answer.
He leans back on the handlebars, watching the river like he’s pretending not to watch you.
After a moment, he speaks, quieter than before.
“You know… I thought I’d gotten used to you being gone.”
Your breath stalls.
He flicks a rock with his foot, sending it skipping across the frozen bank.
“Everyone else moved on in their own ways. Baji caused chaos. Mitsuya kept the peace. Draken kept us alive.”
He pauses. “And I kept pretending I didn’t care that you weren’t here to see any of it.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
“Mikey…”
He laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “Funny thing is… you didn’t even do anything to hurt me. Not really. You didn’t yell. Didn’t fight. You just left.” His eyes lift to yours. “And somehow that ache sat in my ribs longer than any punch I ever took.”
You exhale shakily. “I didn’t leave because I stopped caring.”
He steps closer.
Barely a breath of space between you.
“Then why?” he asks. Not angry. Not accusatory. Just brutally sincere. “Why’d you leave me behind?”
Your throat works, but the words are sticky, old, tangled.
“Because I didn’t know how to stay,” you whisper. “Not when everything felt so… close. And fragile. And terrifying. And important.”
Your hands shake. “And I thought if I stayed, I’d grow into someone who only belonged here, with you, and nowhere else.”
He blinks, stunned, not by hurt this time, but by the raw shape of what you just admitted.
“So leaving was easier?” he asks.
“No,” you breathe. “It wasn’t easier. It just felt safer.”
A long silence settles over the river.
Mikey looks away, jaw tight, shoulders stiffening as if he’s holding back the exact things he swore he wouldn’t say.
“Do you know what I did the night you left?” he finally murmurs.
You shake your head.
He takes a small, measured breath.
“I rode.” His eyes are fixed on the water, but his voice is somewhere far back in memory. “I rode every street we ever walked together. Every hill. Every alley. Like an idiot retracing steps that weren’t coming back.”
Your heart aches.
“And every time I saw something that reminded me of you…” His throat bobs. “It hurt. In this stupid, specific way. Like you put an ache in me I didn’t know how to get rid of.”
You close your eyes.
You didn’t know how to ask what that meant back then.
You’re terrified to know now.
“Mikey,” you whisper, “I’m sorry-”
He steps closer, stealing the air between you.
“But you’re here now,” he cuts in gently. “And I don’t want this whole break to be us dancing around the thing we both know is still there.”
Your pulse skips.
“Mikey…”
“Just say you feel it too.”
His hand lifts, hesitates, and rests lightly against your jaw, warm despite the cold.
“If you say you don’t… I’ll drop it. I’ll let it go. I won’t bother you about it again.”
You look up at him, breath trembling.
“But if you do feel it…” His voice drops, intimate, dangerous, honest. “Then be mine for the time you’re here. Even if it’s selfish. Even if it ends.”
The world holds still. Your heart does not. His thumb brushes your cheek.
“Just say it.”
You almost do.
You almost lean forward and let the years collapse.
You almost let your lips meet his.
You almost give in to the thing that has been haunting every step since you came back.
But you pull in a sharp breath instead.
“Mikey… I’m leaving.”
“I know.” His eyes don’t flinch. “Say it anyway.”
Your chest constricts.
And in a voice barely louder than the river below, you whisper:
“I feel it.”
The words slice the silence clean.
A slow, devastating smile unfolds across his lips.
“I knew you did.”
He leans in.
Close.
Closer.
Almost enough to erase the space between you.
But he stops.
His forehead rests lightly against yours.
Not kissing. Not yet. Punishment or mercy? You can’t tell.
“Let me take you somewhere else,” he murmurs. “Just one more place tonight.”
You nod, because you would follow him anywhere right now.
He steps back, tugging on your sleeve, guiding you toward the bike.
But as you climb on, arms settling around his waist, something inside you shifts. Because he didn’t kiss you. And somehow, that hurts more than if he had.
----------------
Mikey doesn’t tell you where you’re going.
He never does, not really. Back then, it was part of the magic, letting him steer you toward places you didn’t know you needed. Tonight, it feels more like surrender. Like every streetlight blurring past is a promise you’re not sure you’re allowed to want.
The cold night air bites your skin, your fingers tighten around his waist, and he doesn’t comment on it this time. He just adjusts his posture subtly, leaning back into you, letting you hold him closer without saying a word.
He remembers you. You remember him. That’s the problem.
After a while, the roads get narrower. Quieter. The houses more spaced out, lights sparse, trees growing thick on either side. You recognize the route before you realize it.
Your heart climbs into your throat.
“Mikey… are we-?”
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t have to.
He’s taking you to the hill outside town. Your hill. The one place the whole world felt like it softened just for you two.
When the bike stops, the engine cuts into a hush so complete you can hear your pulse in your ears. The stars are faint, but the sky opens above you in a way you haven’t seen in years.
Mikey steps off first and offers you his hand.
You take it.
He leads you toward the crest of the hill, the distant glow of the town below flickering like a memory that never fully died.
“This spot,” he murmurs, “hasn’t changed.”
You swallow. “I was hoping it wouldn’t.”
He glances at you, and something flickers across his face, pain, relief, longing. You’re not sure which is winning.
---------------
You sit. He sits beside you. The night presses close. For a moment, neither of you speaks.
The field around you whispers with the winter wind. In the distance, you can faintly hear a train horn. Your breath fogs in the air between you.
Finally, Mikey breaks the silence.
“You know… the night you left?” He picks at a blade of frozen grass.
“I came up here.”
You look at him sharply.
He shrugs. “I kept waiting for you to show up. Thought maybe you’d change your mind at the last second.”
Your chest aches. “Mikey-”
“I wasn’t mad,” he says, cutting you off. “Not then. I was just… stupid enough to believe you’d always find your way back to me.”
The cold wind stings your eyes.
“I did come back,” you say quietly.
His smile is soft. Broken. “Yeah. You did. Eventually.”
You open your mouth to apologize again, but he shakes his head.
“Don’t say sorry,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”
You exhale shakily. “…Then what do you want me to say?”
He doesn’t look at you when he answers.
“I want you to tell me the truth.”
A pause. Not an empty one, one full of weight.
“What truth?” you whisper.
He turns to face you fully now, eyes sharp with something you haven’t seen from him in years, vulnerability without a shield.
“The truth about why you’re scared of staying.”
Your breath catches.
“Mikey-”
“It’s not the city,” he says quietly. “It’s not school. It’s not having a ‘bigger life.’ It’s not your friends out there.”
His voice drops lower. More precise. Like a blade pressed to a bruise.
“It’s me. Isn’t it?”
Your heartbeat stutters.
He watches your face like the answer is written there.
“You’re scared of what it means. Being with me.” His voice softens, painfully gentle. “About how deep it goes. About how much it would hurt if it didn’t work. About what it would make you choose.”
You look away.
Because he’s right.
He’s so disgustingly right.
“Mikey,” you breathe, “you know I care about you.”
“I know,” he says immediately.
“That’s why I’m scared.”
His expression cracks open for a moment, just long enough to show the boy he used to be. The one who laughed too loud, fought too hard, loved too fiercely.
“And you think I’m not scared?” he says softly.
That surprises you.
His eyes meet yours, unwavering.
“I scare myself sometimes,” he admits. “How much I want you. How fast it comes back. How easy it is to fall into you like no time passed at all.”
Your breath shivers out of you.
“But,” he says, leaning closer, “I’m not running from it. Not again.”
You feel his fingers graze your hand, tentative, waiting.
“You left once,” he whispers. “You might leave again.” He swallows. “And I still want you anyway.”
Your throat tightens impossibly.
The wind moves your hair into your face. Mikey reaches up before thinking, smoothing it back behind your ear.
His fingertips linger.
“Just tell me,” he says quietly, “that I’m not the only one who feels like this.”
You inhale, shaking.
“I told you already,” you whisper. “I feel it.”
He nods once, like he’s absorbing that into his bones.
“Then tell me one more thing.”
Your pulse spikes.
He moves closer, eyes on your lips now, not hiding it, not pretending, not resisting.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, “that tonight… you want to kiss me.”
The world narrows to the shape of his mouth. To the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin. To the impossible fullness of the moment.
You don’t speak at first.
You just reach up, slow, unsure, trembling, and touch his cheek.
He leans into it like he’s been waiting years.
And you exhale the truth he already knew:
“I want to kiss you.”
His breath stops.
Then-
He kisses you.
Slow at first, like he’s making sure you won’t pull away. His lips are warm, far warmer than the night, and the way he cups the back of your neck makes your whole body shiver.
You clutch his jacket, pulling him closer, and he deepens the kiss, the kind that feels like a reclamation, like a confession, like all the empty years between you collapsing in on themselves.
When he finally pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers.
“Like what?” you breathe.
“Like you’re gonna break my heart on purpose.”
Your chest twists.
“I’m not,” you whisper. “I don’t want to.”
“But you’re leaving,” he says, quiet but honest.
You shut your eyes.
“Yeah,” you say. “I am.”
He swallows.
“Then be mine until you go.”
Your breath catches.
“That’s not fair,” you whisper.
“No,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “It’s honest.”
Your hands tremble against his shoulders.
You don’t answer. You don’t need to.
You kiss him again.
--------------
Emma is waiting on the porch when Mikey drops you off.
She spots you on the bike. She spots your flushed face. She spots Mikey’s completely unbothered smirk.
Her eyes widen.
“OH MY GOD,” she mouths silently.
Mikey salutes her lazily before pulling away.
Emma doesn’t even wait for the bike to turn the corner before she grabs you by the wrist.
“You KISSED him, didn’t you?! Oh my, oh my GOD, wait until I tell. NO I WON’T TELL! Actually I WILL, NO I WON’T!”
You bury your face in your hands.
“Emma, please-”
she screams-shrieks-whispers. “WE ARE TALKING ABOUT THIS IN DETAIL. TOMORROW. NO EXCEPTIONS.”
You groan. But you’re smiling. And that’s the dangerous part.
--------------
Your parents think you’re “catching up with childhood friends.”
Emma thinks you’re in the first act of a soap opera.
Draken thinks it’s funny.
Chifuyu thinks it’s romantic.
Mitsuya thinks it’s dangerous.
And Mikey-
Mikey thinks nothing of disguising the way he looks at you as anything less than a confession.
The next morning, as soon as you get to the house Emma drags you into her bedroom like she’s conducting an interrogation.
“Sit,” she orders, pointing at her bed.
You sit.
She throws a pillow at your face anyway.
“You. Kissed. Him.”
You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “Em, please-”
“I KNEW IT,” she squeals. “I knew something was going on but I thought I was being delusional. Like, Mikey? MIKEY? And YOU?? THE AUDACITY??”
She pauses, squints.
“Wait. It wasn’t him who kissed you first, right?”
You stare at her.
Her jaw drops.
“OH MY GOD YOU STARTED IT-”
“No I didn’t!”
“You DEFINITELY did.”
“Emma!”
She waves you off, pacing like she’s unraveling a conspiracy board in her head.
“So obviously,” she says dramatically, “he’s in love with you.”
Your stomach drops. “Emma-”
“Oh, relax. I’m not saying you need to marry him.”
Her expression softens.
“But… you should know he’s different around you. He always has been.” She hesitates, lowering her voice. “And after you left? He wasn’t the same for awhile.”
Your breath catches.
Before you can respond, her phone buzzes.
She glances at the screen, then at you, and grins.
“Speak of the literal devil.”
Mikey:
Come outside
Your heart stutters.
Emma shoves you toward the door.
“Go. But text me EVERYTHING.”
You don’t.
But you think about it.
---------------
Outside, Mikey’s leaning on his bike, hair slightly messy like he didn’t bother fixing it before coming.
He lifts his chin at you.
“Morning.”
Your cheeks warm. “Morning.”
“Want coffee?” he asks.
“Sure. Let me get my wallet-”
He gives you a look.
“Did I say you were paying?”
You huff. “You don’t have to buy me things.”
“I know,” he says simply. “But I want to.”
Your chest does a stupid little flip.
The two of you ride to a quiet café near the river, one you haven’t been to since you were teenagers.
Inside, the heaters hum and the windows fog slightly. Mikey orders for both of you without asking, rattling off your usual drink like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You narrow your eyes at him. “You remembered?”
He shrugs. “You don’t change as much as you think.”
You flush.
He’s annoyingly good at making your stomach twist with one sentence.
You take a seat by the window. He drops into the chair opposite you, long legs stretching out, posture loose and relaxed, until his knee brushes yours.
He doesn’t move it.
Neither do you.
----------------
There’s a lull, warm, quiet, comfortable in a way that makes your ribs ache.
“Emma interrogated you, huh?” he says, sipping his drink.
You choke.
“I could tell by the way you avoided looking at her window on the way out.”
You glare. “You’re observant in all the wrong moments.”
He smirks. “No such thing.”
There’s a shadow beneath the humor, though, something small, something tentative.
You decide not to ignore it.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” you ask softly.
His eyes flick up to you.
“You’re leaving in what? ten days?”
Your stomach sinks.
“Yeah,” you admit.
He nods once. Slow. Controlled.
Like he’s holding something back.
“So I’m trying,” he continues, “to not waste any of it.”
You inhale unsteadily. “Mikey-”
“I’m not asking you to stay,” he says quickly. “But I’m also not pretending this doesn’t mean something.”
Your heart trips.
“Does it… mean something to you?” you ask carefully.
He looks almost offended.
“Of course it does.”
Your throat burns.
He leans back, gaze dropping to your hands curled around your mug.
“You look happier,” he murmurs. “Here. With us.”
You swallow hard. “I am. But that doesn’t mean-”
“I know.” His voice gentles. “I know you’ve got a life somewhere else. I’m not asking you to give it up.”
He pauses.
“But I want you to know something.”
You lean in. He meets your eyes, unguarded for once.
“When you left, I thought it meant I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”
Your breath breaks.
He looks down at the table, jaw tight.
“And I didn’t tell anyone that, not even Draken. I just… held onto it. For too long.”
“Mikey,” you whisper, “I never left because of you.”
“I know that now,” he murmurs. “But back then… it felt like there was this hole where you used to be.”
Your chest twists painfully.
You reach across the table, fingers brushing his.
He freezes.
Then he turns his hand palm-up, letting your fingers slide into his like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
He squeezes once.
“Tell me something,” he says quietly.
“Anything.”
“Do you regret coming back?”
Your voice cracks. “No. Not for a second.”
A softness blooms across his face, so small, so fragile you almost miss it.
“Good,” he whispers. “Because I like you here.”
You bite your lip.
“I like me here,” you admit. “With you.”
The breath he exhales is slow. Controlled.
Relieved.
But before he can say anything-
The café door slams open.
“OH MY GOD YOU TWO ARE HOLDING HANDS-”
Chifuyu stands in the doorway, pointing at you like he’s discovered a crime scene. Behind him, Mitsuya facepalms. Takemichi looks like he might faint.
Mikey doesn’t let go of your hand.
“Do you guys mind?” he deadpans.
“YES,” Chifuyu cries. “WE MIND VERY MUCH, THIS IS A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT-”
Mitsuya smacks the back of his head.
Takemichi whispers, “They look so cute.”
You want to sink into the floor.
Mikey just grins, squeezing your hand again.
“Relax,” he says to the boys. “It’s not like we’re dating.”
Your heart stops.
Not because he said it, but because of the way he said it.
Casual. Careful. Like he’s giving you space.
Like he’s saying: I’ll let you choose what this is. I won’t define it for you.
You look at him. He looks at you.
His thumb strokes your knuckle. Small, gentle, hidden under the table where no one else can see.
And for the first time since coming home, you let yourself lean into it.
Something shifts after the café.
It’s not dramatic, not some cinematic moment where the world stops spinning, but it’s real. It’s quiet. It’s constant.
Mikey walks closer than he did before. You reach for him without thinking. The others glance at the two of you and then look away, pretending not to notice anything.
(Except Chifuyu, who notices EVERYTHING and will not shut up.)
But the biggest shift happens inside you.
Because for the first time since you moved away, you don’t feel like you’re looking back on a life you lost. You feel like you’ve stepped back into one that was waiting.
-----------
Small moments pile up like falling snow.
Draken, Mitsuya, and the others start planning things “coincidentally” where you and Mikey will both be.
Lunch runs. Late-night convenience store trips. Rides around town for no real reason.
Tonight, it’s the shop again, warm lights spilling onto the pavement, the smell of motor oil and tea mingling, the boys scattered around in varying degrees of chaos.
Mikey sits on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm behind your shoulders. Not quite touching. But close.
You pretend not to notice the way his fingers tap lightly against the back of the couch every time you shift, like he’s fighting the urge to brush against you.
Eventually, you give in first.
You lean back. Just a little. Your shoulder brushes his.
His tapping stops.
A moment later his arm drops from the couch to your shoulders.
You don’t look at him. You don’t need to. You feel the smile he doesn’t show anyone else.
----------------
Later, you and Mikey go on another night ride.
Not far, just loops around familiar streets, slow enough that you can hear him humming under his breath, the vibration of it traveling through his back into your fingertips.
You rest your cheek against his shoulder. You shouldn’t. But it feels like breathing.
After a while, he pulls into a quiet convenience store parking lot.
“Why are we here?” you ask, hopping off.
“Thought you might be hungry.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Do I look hungry?”
“You always look hungry.”
“You always look annoying.”
He grins. “Missed this.”
His honesty hits harder than any teasing.
Inside, you wander aisles together. You used to do this all the time, late at night, half delirious, grabbing snacks you didn’t need and laughing at stupid things.
Now you do it walking close enough that your fingers brush on every turn.
At one point, you pause in front of the instant noodles.
“I remember these,” you murmur.
Mikey walks past you and tosses two into the basket. “Still your favorite.”
You blink. “…You remember that?”
He stops. Turns. Meets your eyes.
“I remember everything.”
Your breath stutters.
Before you can respond, the store door opens with too much force and slams against the frame.
You look up and immediately recognize trouble.
Three older guys, loud, eyes already on Mikey like they know exactly who he is.
One of them snickers. “Well, well. If it isn’t Sano. Didn’t expect to see you babysitting.”
Your spine stiffens. Mikey doesn’t move.
“Keep walking,” he says calmly, eyes still on the basket. “Not interested.”
The guys exchange looks and step closer.
“You should be,” the tallest one says. “Word is you’ve gotten soft.”
Mikey shifts only slightly, and it’s enough to feel the air change.
His posture stays loose, relaxed, unconcerned. But you see the glint in his eyes. You know that glint.
“Mikey…” you whisper.
He doesn’t look at you. But he steps half a step in front of you. A shield.
The third guy laughs, leaning toward you. “What’s the girl doing with you, huh?”
Mikey’s voice is quiet. Too quiet.
“Back up.”
They don’t.
The tallest one smirks. “Or what? You gonna cry? You gonna-”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Because Mikey moves.
Not violently. Not theatrically. Just efficiently, fast enough that you barely see it.
He grabs the guy’s wrist before the idiot even touches you, twists just enough for a yelp to rip out of him, and shoves him back into his friends with a force no one his size should have.
The other two start forward but-
“Mikey,” you say softly.
Just his name.
Not pleading. Not scared.
Just enough to break through whatever instinct was about to take over.
He freezes.
The three guys stumble out, swearing under their breath but too shaken to stay.
The instant the door closes behind them, the tension drops out of Mikey’s shoulders.
He turns to you slowly.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod. “Are you?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks away.
You touch his arm gently.
“Mikey.”
His jaw clenches.
“I didn’t want you to see that,” he mutters.
“See what?”
He hesitates.
“The part of me that doesn’t think,” he says quietly. “The part that doesn’t hold back.”
Your heart aches for him, not because of him.
“Mikey,” you say, stepping closer, “that wasn’t you losing control. That was you protecting me.”
His eyes flick to yours, surprised, almost relieved.
You take a breath.
“And I’m not scared of you.”
Something in him melts.
Just a little.
“Good,” he whispers. “Because you’re the last person I ever want scared of me.”
You reach out and take his hand.
He lets you.
He holds on.
----------------
When you get back on the bike, you rest your cheek against his back without hesitation.
He covers your hands with his for a moment before pulling away to start the engine. A wordless thank-you. A wordless promise.
Later that night, after dropping you off, he texts you.
Mikey:
You really not scared of me?
You:
Not even a little.
A pause.
Then-
Mikey:
Good
bc I’m scared of myself sometimes
but never when you’re around
Your breath leaves you.
You don’t answer for a moment. Then:
You:
Mikey…
Mikey:
yeah
You hesitate. Then type:
You:
I’m glad I came back.
This time the pause is longer.
Mikey:
me too
more than you know
You curl into your pillow, heart pounding painfully.
He messages again.
Mikey:
Can I tell you something tomorrow?
Something big.
Your stomach flips.
You:
Yeah
Of course you can
Mikey:
ok
goodnight
You:
goodnight Mikey
You wait for the typing bubbles to appear, maybe for a heart, maybe for something playful or teasing or silly.
But instead, you get:
Mikey:
don’t go yet
Your breath catches.
You:
I’m not gone
I’m right here
A single dot appears.
Then disappears.
Then-
Mikey:
stay a little longer
And even though he means in the conversation, not in the town, not in his life, you feel both meanings like twin heartbeats.
You stay. You text until your eyes are heavy. You fall asleep smiling and aching at the same time.
Because tomorrow he’s going to tell you something big.
And you’re terrified of what it might be. And terrified of how much you want to hear it.
---------------------
You wake up the next morning with a knot in your stomach.
Not a bad one. Not exactly.
More like the kind you get before doing something that matters—something you can’t undo once it’s said out loud.
Mikey’s last message lingers in your head:
don’t go yetstay a little longer
He meant the conversation. You heard the truth beneath it anyway.
You spend too long getting dressed. Too long fixing your hair. Too long pretending you’re not waiting for your phone to buzz.
When it finally does, the vibration nearly sends you flying out of your chair.
Mikey:
You up?
You:
Yeah
Mikey:
Come with me today.
No bikes. I’ll pick you up.
You frown.
You:
No bikes?? who are you and what have you done with mikey
Mikey:
Smartass
Just come outside
Your pulse jumps.
You grab your jacket and head for the door before you have time to think.
---------------
Mikey isn’t on his bike.
He’s standing beside a small black car, one you’ve never seen, one that looks too normal for him, one that makes you blink in confusion.
“You have a car?” you blurt.
He shrugs. “Can’t take everyone on the bike.”
“But you hate driving.”
“Not today.”
For a moment, the two of you just… look at each other. The air between you feels thick with something unspoken.
Then he opens the passenger door for you.
You slide in. He circles the hood. You hear your heartbeat louder than the engine.
He drives without telling you where you’re going.
The car smells like old leather and faint sweetness, something like tea or candy wrappers long thrown away. The heater hums softly, and Mikey’s fingers tap the wheel in a pattern you recognize from when he was thinking too much.
You watch him out of the corner of your eye.
He’s focused on the road, jaw tight, hair falling slightly over his forehead. There’s tension in the way he sits, straight-backed for once, not lounging, not pretending to be careless.
He’s nervous. Mikey. Nervous.
You don’t know what to do with that.
“Are you okay?” you ask quietly.
He glances at you, then back at the road. “Yeah.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Liar.”
His lips twitch. He doesn’t deny it.
-----------
He drives out of town, past neighborhoods you know, then past ones you don’t.
Eventually, he pulls onto a narrow road lined with quiet trees, their branches bare against the winter sky.
You exhale, realizing where he’s taking you.
“Mikey,” you whisper, “this is-”
He nods once. Serious. Resolute.
“My brother’s place.”
Your heart cracks.
He parks beside a simple stone marker, surrounded by offerings, flowers, charms, small items left by people who loved him.
You and Mikey step out into the cold.
The wind carries a stillness that feels sacred.
He walks ahead and kneels, bowing his head briefly. You follow, but hang back slightly, unsure if you’re intruding.
He looks up at the marker. Then at you.
“Come here,” he says softly.
You move to his side.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks.
Finally, he whispers, “I wanted you to meet him.”
Your breath catches.
“Mikey… I-”
“You were important to me before,” he says. “Back then. But I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t even know what it meant.”
His voice is quiet, almost fragile.
“After he died, everything felt… heavy. Wrong. Draken tried. Emma tried. Everyone tried.” He swallows. “But I always wished you were there too.”
Your throat burns.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t,” you whisper.
He shakes his head immediately. “It’s not about being sorry. I just… wanted you to know that part of me.”
He lets out a slow breath.
“That’s the big thing I needed to tell you.”
You wait.
He meets your eyes, finally, fully.
“When I lost him, I felt like I couldn’t hold onto anything good. Like anything I loved disappeared.”
Your heart fractures clean down the center.
“And when you left…” he continues quietly, “I thought it was happening again.”
You inhale sharply, blinking hard.
“Mikey-”
He turns to face you completely, voice steady even as it wavers at the edges.
“I don’t want to lose anyone else I care about. Not again. Not like that. And that’s why I didn’t want to tell you how much I-”
He stops.
You step closer. “How much you what?”
His breath ghosts over your mouth from how close he’s standing.
“How much I missed you,” he finishes. “How much I still do, even when you’re standing right in front of me.”
Your chest aches in the most devastating way.
He looks down, almost embarrassed. “I know you’re leaving. I’m not trying to trap you or make you stay. I just needed you to know the truth before you go.”
You swallow. Hard.
“Thank you,” you whisper. “For trusting me with this.”
He huffs out something like a laugh. “Like I ever had a choice.”
There’s silence again, gentle, heavy, meaningful.
Then Mikey slowly reaches for your hand.
Your fingers meet halfway.
He keeps looking at the marker as he speaks again, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.
“I think… if he were still here… he’d give me shit for taking so long to say something.”
A wet laugh escapes you. “He probably would.”
Mikey squeezes your hand.
“Stay for a bit,” he murmurs. “With me.”
You nod and lean your head lightly against his shoulder.
The two of you stand like that in the quiet winter air, hand in hand, hearts trembling, a future you can’t name hanging between you.
And it’s then you realize:
You’re falling again. Not like before. Worse. Deeper.
Because this time you know exactly what you’ll lose when you leave.
-------------------
On the drive back from the cemetery, the car feels softer somehow.
Not quieter, Mikey has always been quiet. But softer.
Like the air between you has settled into something warm, something fragile, something you’re both holding with careful hands.
His confession lingers in the space between your breaths.
When I lost him… I felt like I couldn’t hold onto anything good.
When you left… I thought it was happening again.
The weight of his honesty sits heavy in your chest.
You glance at him. He’s staring straight ahead, focused, but the line of his jaw is relaxed now, like saying it, finally saying it, loosened something inside him.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He taps one finger against the steering wheel. “For what?”
“For trusting me with that. With him.”
A quiet hum leaves him, almost thoughtful.
“I didn’t bring anyone else there,” he says.
Your heart stumbles. “Ever?”
“Ever,” he repeats.
You look away. Not because it means nothing, but because it means too much.
--------------
Back in town, Mikey doesn’t take you home.
He doesn’t say where you’re going. You don’t ask.
He pulls into a narrow side street you don’t recognize until he parks.
You blink at the building.
“…You have an apartment?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes I don’t wanna go home.”
You nod. You understand without him needing to explain.
He leads you upstairs, quiet building, metal stairs, dim hallway, and unlocks a plain door.
Inside, it’s… shockingly normal.
Small couch. Small kitchen. Small bookshelf filled with snacks and manga. A floor lamp that's slightly crooked. A blanket draped over the back of the couch in a way that implies he never folds it properly.
It feels lived in. But lonely.
“This is nice,” you say softly.
He shrugs, kicking off his shoes. “It’s something.”
You step inside. You linger near the doorway, unsure, until he lightly touches your wrist.
“You can sit,” he says, like he needs to give you permission.
You sit.
He moves around the kitchen, pulling out a kettle, instant cocoa packets, mismatched mugs.
He’s quiet, not stiff, not tense, just thoughtful.
At one point, he turns around and catches you watching him. His lips curl.
“What?”
“You’re domestic,” you say.
He snorts. “Shut up.”
“No, really,” you tease. “Kettle? Mugs? Blankets? Who are you?”
“Someone who gets cold,” he mutters.
You smile.
But when he sets the mug in front of you, you realize he made yours exactly the way you like it.
No hesitation. No guessing. He remembers everything.
You wrap your hands around the cup. “Thank you.”
He sits across from you, legs sprawled, posture relaxed but eyes on you like he’s memorizing something again.
You sip. He watches.
“Can I ask you something?” you say.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
“When did you get this place?”
He looks out the window, thinking. “Year after you left.”
Your stomach sinks.
There’s no accusation in his tone, but the timing hits you anyway.
“…Was it because of me?” you ask carefully.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t lie.
“Yes.”
Your breath hitches.
“I needed space,” he continues quietly. “Not from everyone. Just… space where no one expected me to be okay all the time.”
You understand too well.
“And now?” you ask.
He looks at you again.
“Now it feels less empty,” he says.
Your throat tightens.
“Mikey…”
He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, leaning closer.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he says. “I know you’re leaving. I’m not trying to make you stay. I’m not trying to trap you.”
“I know,” you whisper.
“But I also don’t want to pretend this is nothing.”
--> People can be cruel. Especially towards you, as rumors run rampant and you feel more alone then ever, one person see's below the surface for who you truly are.
Word Count: 1,669
------------------------------------------------------------------------------It’s stupid, how a rumor can stick harder than the truth.
You stand at your locker, fingers hovering over the dial like it might explode. The hallway buzzes with the usual morning static, shoes squeaking, laughter ricocheting, someone slamming a door too hard but underneath it all is the familiar hum of your name in other people’s mouths. Not said, just… implied. Whispered behind palms. Alluded to in the looks you get passing down the hallway.
You can feel it crawling across your skin, that awful, itchy awareness.
You don’t look up until a group of girls brush past you, one of them giggling like she’s trying too hard to swallow it.
You know it’s about you. It always is.
You inhale, slow. Your therapist calls it grounding. You call it surviving. Hands steady enough, you open your locker, only to see it. A note. Slipped through the vents. Red ink bleeding through the lined paper like it bruised the page. You don’t even need to read it to know what it says.
You close your eyes. Exhale through your nose. If you let it hit you here, now, where everyone can see, you’ll drown. So you shut the locker, a little harder than you intend. Let the metal clang echo down the hallway. And of course, that’s when you hear him.
“Hey.”
Kazutora’s voice is soft. Softer than he looks. Softer than his reputation should allow.
You turn and there he is, leaning against the locker beside yours, hands in pockets, hair messy like he hasn’t decided whether he cares. He tilts his head slightly his earring jangling as he does, studying your face like he’s trying to read the parts you hide.
“You okay?” he asks.
You swallow. “I’m fine.”
He hums, quiet and unbelieving. “You always say that.”
“And you always doubt me.”
“Because I know when you’re lying.”
The hallway dissolves around you. The whispers fade. It’s just him now, Kazutora Hanemiya with his sharp jaw and tired eyes and the way he looks at you like he knows every rumor is a cheap coat you don’t deserve to wear.
You shift your weight. “What do you want?”
His gaze flicks to your locker. To where the note is still pressed behind the books. His jaw ticks, barely.
“I wanted to see you,” he says simply.
It hits you in the ribs. Harder than the whispers ever do.
“Kazutora-”
“Come with me,” he interrupts, gently. “Just… for a second.”
But he doesn’t wait for your answer. He just turns and starts walking. and God help you, you follow.
He takes you to an old vending machine near the back entrance of the gym. No one ever comes here. It smells like dust and chalk and leftover summer heat.
Kazutora steps in front of you, hands braced on either side of the machine like he’s trying to hold up the world.
“You know,” he says, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”
You blink. The words feel too close, too raw, too centered on the part of you you don’t show anyone.
And maybe it hits too hard because Kazutora isn’t someone you met two months ago in a hallway full of whispers. He’s someone you used to know, before everything. Before juvie. Before his name became a warning instead of a greeting.
It feels like a bruise pressed too suddenly, too precisely. Because he doesn’t know this present version of you the way he thinks he does.
But he knew the old you. The real you. The you the rumors drowned years ago.
You remember being ten years old, finding him on the playground swing after a fight he pretended he didn’t start. Blood on his knuckles, eyes too soft for the way people talked about him. You remember sitting beside him, knees bumping, asking if he was okay.
He smiled at you that day. small and crooked but real. You didn’t know then that it would be the last time he’d smile so easily.
You remember rooftop lunches. Walking home together. Late-night texts about nothing. The kind of closeness that isn’t romantic, but could be, if someone breathed too deeply.
And then the day he didn’t show up. The day your phone lit with a message that made the floor disappear from under you.
Kazutora got arrested, for murder.
The world cut him out instantly. But you didn’t. You wrote him a letter after letter. He didn’t reply for months, until you arrived home and found something waiting for you.
I got your letters.
Thank you.
Just two lines. But you could hear his voice behind them. You never stopped writing. Not even when people told you to forget him.
So when he was released, when you turned the corner and saw him leaning against that wall, hands shoved in pockets like he wasn’t sure he deserved air, he said your name like it was the only thing keeping him standing.
He looked at you like you were a ghost he’d prayed into existence. And now, here he is again. Telling you not to pretend. Telling you he sees you. Telling you he cares.
No wonder it hurts. No wonder it feels delicate. No wonder you look away before he sees too much.
“I’m not pretending,” you lie.
Kazutora gives a quiet huff of laughter, no humor, just air. “Yeah. You are.”
He looks at you, really looks, gaze moving slow and deliberate across your features like he’s memorizing them for later. Something shifts in your chest. Too warm. Too dangerous.
You look away fast. “People already talk about me enough.”
“I don’t listen to them.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Your breath catches just enough that you feel your ribs press too tight.
“Kazutora…” you warn.
He steps closer, not touching, but close enough that the space between you feels warm, electric, alive.
His voice lowers, rough around the edges. “Just let me be someone who doesn’t hurt you.”
You hate how fast your defenses crumble. You hate how much you want to trust him. You hate that the person with the worst reputation in the building is the only one who looks at you like you’re something worth holding.
You don’t know why you agreed to hang out at his place after school.
You don’t know why you walked there, or why your heart was beating so stupidly fast when he opened the door.
But now you’re sitting on the floor of his room, back against his bed, knees tucked up, watching him draw absent shapes on the hardwood with a pencil.
It’s quiet. Warm. Too intimate for two people who are technically “nothing.” You should leave. You absolutely should.
“Kazutora?” you murmur.
He looks up instantly. Like he was waiting for you to speak.
You shift awkwardly. “Why me?”
He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“You know what people say.”
“I do.”
“And you don’t care?”
He stands. Slowly. Like he’s giving you time to run if you want to. Then he walks toward you.
Not menacing. Not intense. Just… deliberate.
He stops in front of you and kneels down so you’re eye-level. His hair falls over one eye as he studies you, the weight of his stare making you feel seen to the bone.
“Your reputation isn’t you,” he says, voice low. “It’s noise.”
Your pulse kicks. “And what am I?”
Kazutora raises a hand, hesitating only a beat before brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You feel the touch all the way down your spine.
“You’re someone I-” He swallows. Eyes flick to your mouth. “Think about too much.”
Your breath stutters.
“Kazutora…”
He leans in a little, just enough that you can feel his breath ghost your cheek. He pauses for a second, waiting to see if you will stop him.
Not even close, as you close the distance.
The kiss is slow. Careful. Like he’s afraid one wrong move will make you disappear. But when your hand slips into his hair and your lips part just slightly something in him breaks open.
He pulls you closer by the waist, guiding you into his lap with a control that feels too gentle to be accidental. Your knees press to his sides, your chest flush against his.
His breath trembles against your mouth.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, “how long I wanted this.”
You shiver. “Then show me.”
He does.
The kiss deepens, heat rolling through you slow and dizzy, like sinking into warm water. His hands slide up your thighs, tentative but hungry, fingers curling just above your hips like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
You gasp softly when his lips find your jaw. He hears it. Smiles against your skin. Moves lower.
Your fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt.
“Kazutora.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, lips at your neck. “Say it again.”
You do. You don’t even think.
His grip tightens. His mouth trails lower. Your heartbeat becomes a blur. He’s everywhere and nowhere and too much and not enough-
And then he stops. Not because he wants to. But because he’s shaking. He rests his forehead against yours, breath uneven.
"Your letters were the only thing that kept me going in that hell hole, when everyone else abandoned me." he whispers, the word sounding different in his voice. “And I don’t want to hurt you. Not even by accident.”
You cup his cheek.
“You’re not hurting me,” you whisper back.
Kazutora opens his eyes, pupils blown wide and soft.
“Good,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes your waist. “Because I like you.”
You swallow.
“And I don’t care what they say,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I like you for you.”
Your heart cracks open. Finally. Finally.
You kiss him again. slow, lingering, gentle this time.
He holds you tighter. Like you’re the only thing in the world that feels real. And for once, the rumors don’t feel louder than your own heartbeat.
↳ after an unfortunate biking accident left your boyfriend with amnesia leading to an untimely break up, you find yourself picking up the pieces of what’s left… 4 years later.
Word Count: 2,739
P.S: This is my first time ever writing fan fiction so i'm sorry if it's bad XD
If you were to think about your relationship with Manjiro Sano you would say it was perfect. Okay, maybe perfect is a little extreme. But it was everything you wanted. To others he was violent. The undefeated king of Toman, cold and ruthless. The average person cowered in his presence, and everywhere he went followed blood.
But he wasn’t like that with you. Never with you. You knew a version of him only a select few got to see the one who brushed your hair out of your face, who kissed your knuckles, and who looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him from drowning in an endless sea of darkness.
When he looked at you it offered comfort, safety. You knew that with him you would always be safe. Or at least, that's how it used to be. Everything changed 4 years ago, when he got into a motorcycle accident. You used to always tell him he had to be more careful when riding at night, cars will just blow through without a second glance. His response was his care free smile. You should’ve told him more, you should’ve done more. Maybe things would be different now.
Thinking about the phone call you got that night sends shivers down your spine. The drive to the hospital was a blur. Sitting in the white, sterile waiting room, the harsh fluorescent lights making your eyes sting, the way your leg wouldn’t stop shaking from the anxiety, and the way that the minutes felt like hours in how slowly they passed. And when the doctor finally called out to you, telling you it was okay to go back and see him now. You ran, ran as fast as you could… too see the man that you loved, see that he was okay, feel his hand in yours and just know that he was still alive and breathing. All you had to do was open the door and you would be freed from this nightmare. Yet when you opened the door to his room you entered a new hell. He looked up at you with dead looking eyes, scoured his eyes over you, before parting his lips to blast a devastating blow. All it took were five words.
“Who the hell are you?”
You are lost in your thoughts of that moment, before you are pulled away by the sound of your phone ringing. You look down at the caller ID and see that it is Draken, your boyfriend ex-boyfriends best friend. A wave of confusion splashes over you. Why? Why is Draken calling you right now, especially today? August 20th… his birthday. You hesitate watching the phone ring, and ring, eventually ending. You sit there paralyzed, before the phone starts ringing again. Before you can even think, you hit accept. You can hear panting on the other side of the phone, but you stay silent, wanting him to make the first move.
“Hello? (Reader)?”
It’s Draken. You would recognize his voice anywhere, especially after all the years you spent with his best friend. He sounds… angry. That tracks. Something must be seriously wrong for him to be calling you, especially with how it ended between you and Mikey.
“(reader)? Are you there?”
“Why are you calling me?” Curiosity is killing you. You didn’t even know he still had your number, you don’t even know why he’d keep it.
“Listen, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now-” You interrupt him, without even thinking.
“Yeah you'd be correct.”
“Fuck. Okay. It’s about Mikey.”
You grit your teeth. You knew, you obviously knew why he was calling. You answered, knowing that it would be about Mikey, that's why you answered. But something about hearing it, it brought up a deep-seated anger you didn’t know was lying dormant inside of you.
“What about Mikey, did you think I would just drop everything I was doing to talk to you about Mikey?” You scoffed and waited for his response. One beat, then a second, and you were met with silence.
“Well you thought wrong, Draken. You though fucking wrong.” You could feel tears well up in your eyes as you let your heart fall out of you.
“It’s been four fucking years since Mikey got into the accident, and it’s been two since we last talked to each other. He hasn’t called me once, he hasn’t texted me, he hasn’t made any effort-” Your voice breaks, and you swallow hard, hating how raw you sound.
“You know what the worst part is, Draken?” you spit, “It wasn’t just the break-up. It wasn’t just him forgetting me. It was everything after. It was the silence. I sat there for months… no, years. Wondering if he was okay, if he was happy, I wondered about all the stupid little things no one else would care about because I-” your voice wavers, and you swallow hard. “because I couldn’t stop caring.”
You wipe angrily at your eyes, but the tears are already falling.
“Do you have any idea what it was like?” you choke out. “To sit there and watch the person you love look you in the face like you’re a stranger? To watch everything you built together just… vanish? I sat through that. I endured that. I held his hand even when he didn’t know why the hell I was there. I stayed until the nurses had to tell me to go home. And then I stayed even longer.”
You let out a trembling breath.
“And after he told me he broke up with me, I still couldn’t let go. Every morning I’d wake up and wonder if maybe he would reach out. If maybe he’d remember something. Anything. I used to lie awake thinking, ‘Does he ever think about me? Does some part of him miss me? Was I- was I even important?’”
You laugh, but it’s hollow, painful.
“And I hated myself for wondering. I felt pathetic, imagining some part of him wanting me back… convincing myself I’d been the best thing that ever happened to him, even though deep down I knew he’d probably moved on. And the fucked-up thing? Even when I told myself not to think about it, not to care, not to dream, my brain still went there.”
Your breath hitches.
“Because every night I’d dream about him. And I’d wake up and wonder if… if maybe he dreamt about me too. If some small piece of his mind held on to something I couldn’t let go of.”
Your voice falls to a whisper.
“But he never came. Not once. Not even to tell me he was doing okay. And I had to accept the fact that no matter how many wishes I made, no matter how many times I tried to pretend it wasn’t true, he forgot me. And the worst part?”
A single tear slips down your cheek.
“I could never forget him.”
You sit in an uncomfortable silence, hearing Draken's uneven breathing from the phone. You keep wiping away the tears that you shed, trying not to fall into full sobs.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.” He says in a shaky exhale.
“Oh, don’t do that,” you snap,
“Im serious” His voice is low and serious, “I knew you were hurting. I just didn’t know it was like that.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Well, now you know.”
There’s a long stretch of heavy silence. You imagine him on the other end, jaw tight, brows furrowed, guilt crawling under his skin.
“(Reader),” he says softly, “you didn’t deserve any of that. None of it.”
You laugh bitterly. “Yeah, well. Life doesn’t really care what we deserve, does it?”
“No,” he says. “But you should hear something. And I need you to listen.”
Something in his tone shifts it’s firmer, more urgent. It makes a cold shiver crawl up your spine.
“What?” you whisper.
“It’s about Mikey.”
Your heart kicks hard, almost angry. “Draken.”
“No, listen.” His voice sharpens. “I wouldn’t be calling you if this didn’t matter. If it wasn’t serious.”
You open your mouth to protest, but stop.
“He’s been different lately,” Draken says, struggling for the right words. “Off. And today… Today was the first time in four years he said something that scared the hell out of me.”
Your fingers tighten around your phone.
“Just tell me.”
Draken exhales like he’s bracing himself. “He asked about you.”
The world stops.
“What?” It comes out as a breath, barely a sound.
“He didn’t say your name,” Draken goes on, “but he got really fucking drunk and described you. Not just what you look like, little things. The way you laugh when you’re nervous. How you always tap your thumb against your palm when you’re thinking. He brought up that stupid keychain you carried everywhere… the one with the chipped paint.”
Your throat closes. You feel everything, hope, fear, anger, and longing clashing all at once.
“He’s remembering you, (Reader). Not completely. Not clearly. But something’s waking up in him. Something real.”
You press a hand to your mouth, chest aching so fiercely it almost hurts to breathe.
“And today is his birthday,” Draken says, voice rough. “He’s not saying it, but I know him. Please,” Draken says softly, almost pleading, “come see him.”
You stand there, shaking, finally feeling the full ache of what you’ve carried for four years. You let out a shaky breath before responding with a simple,
“Okay.”
And with that, you hang up the phone. You grab your coat and throw it over your shoulders, hap haphazardly buttoning it up, not caring as your hair gets in them. Pulling on your shoes and tying the laces as quickly as possible. You rip the door open and are hit with the warm summer air, and before you knew it you were sprinting down the street. Running as fast as you could to get to Mikey’s house. A path you had taken many times before, a path that holds so many memories. You feel tears stream down your face as the wind pushes against your face.
You finally bring yourself to a halt in front of his door, as the adrenaline leaves your body you feel your lungs crying out for oxygen. You double over letting the air revitalize you. As you lift your head, you can hear the booming of music from inside. bass-heavy, wild, strong. This isn’t Mikey’s kind of night. It never was. His birthdays used to be simple. Safe. Filled with the people he trusted: Draken, Mitsuya, Kazutora, Baji, Emma…. And you.
You lift your hand, but your fingers hesitate inches from the door. Because somewhere deep in your chest, the truth whispers: This isn’t him anymore. Not the Mikey you knew. Not the Mikey who loved you. And with that thought, the memory slams into you so violently you forget how to breathe. You’re back there. Back in the hospital. Back in the moment everything broke.
The hospital room smells like antiseptic and rain-soaked concrete. Machines beep steadily beside Mikey’s bed. He’s awake now,pale, bruised, but alive. Alive. That was all you wished for.
You barely breathe as you step inside, clutching the small bag of his things the nurses gave you. he looks up when the door closes. Those eyes… They’re the same shape, same color, same Mikey, but there’s nothing soft in them. No warmth. No recognition. Just confusion.
“Mikey?” your voice wavers.
He blinks once. “Uh… hey.”
You take a desperate step toward him. “I-I’m here. I came as fast as I could. They said you woke up and I-”
“Um… Who are you?” He says it calmly. Blankly. Like he’s asking someone for the time.
You felt your chest caves in.
“I’m-” You swallow hard. “It’s me. Your girlfriend. Mikey, it’s me.”
He stares at you for a long moment, then looks away, like the word girlfriend doesn’t sit right in his mouth.
“They told me I hit my head pretty hard,” he says, tone flat. “Said I might forget things.”
The way he says things, as if your entire relationship is just… a detail.
“Mikey,” you whisper, inching closer. “It’s okay. I can help you remember. Everything. Us. You don’t have to-”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp enough to stop you mid-step.
You freeze. He sighs, rubbing his face like he’s exhausted.
“Look… I get that you care about me,” he mutters. “And I’m sure we were close or whatever, but I don’t,” He gestures vaguely toward you, like you’re something he can’t quite place. “I don’t feel anything. Not when I look at you.”
Your throat burns.
“That’s just the memory loss,” you say quickly. “It doesn’t mean the feelings are gone. You love me. I love you. God, we love each other. We can fix this. Just give it time, Mikey. Please.”
For a split second, something flickers in his eyes, confusion, irritation, maybe fear, before he shuts it down. He straightens, jaw tightening.
“I don’t want to fix anything.”
“Mikey-”
“I would say I’m sorry and I love you,” he says, tone cold, deliberate, cutting, “but honestly, I don’t.”
He looks directly at you. For the first time since you walked in, his gaze is sharp. Final.
“I don’t really care about you, so you can just leave.”
It hits like a physical blow, so sudden you actually sway. He looks away again, like he can’t be bothered to watch the fallout. Your heart cracks open in your chest. You couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, it felt like a monster had stolen his skin.
“Mikey…” It’s barely a sound.
But he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look up. Doesn’t flinch. The boy who once held you together with soft hands and whispered promises now sits in a hospital bed, legs dangling off the side, treating you like a stranger he’s tired of being polite to. Your fingers tremble around the strap of your bag. You take one step back. then another. then another. The door clicks shut behind you, and that sound shatters you more completely than his words ever could.
You shake that memory away. Right now you don’t want to think of the way you hurt, the way you cried. You just want to see if maybe, just maybe. The monster who had taken over the man you loved had been vanquished, and who had returned was Mikey. Your hand trembles as you finally push the door open.
As you step inside, you are hit with the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat. You shake your head as you go deeper and deeper into the house. Surrounded by faces you've never seen. As you push through the sea of people you can see Mitsuya, hanging out with someone you can’t quite recognize. You consider going up to him, but quickly decide against it. Focus on why you're here. Breathe in, breathe out. And continue.
You make your way up the staircase, hand on the railing. Gripping it like it’s your lifeline. As you force yourself to move the sound of the music and crowd is drowned out by your own heart beating. After a slow and steady climb up you are faced in front of yet another door, this time, the door to Mikey’s bedroom.
A place you were once able to enter with no problem, a place where you two spent so much time. However, now with your heart beating so hard and rapidly in your ears and your legs shaking it feels like you are going to enter the lion's den.
You grip the handle and slowly push it open, as you step inside, you see him. For the first time in four years, since that night he pushed you out and you were forced to walk away. You see him.
He lifts his head, and his eyes fall onto you. The world stops. He looks at you, not past you, not through you, but at you.
You swallow, “Hi, Mikey..” you let out dryly
He stands up.
“Hi.”
He makes his way over to you, eyes staying locked on you. You both remain silent, the tension suffocating. Until he stops right in front of you. Your eyes meet his, and you see not exactly recognition and not exactly warmth… but there is a want. You take a deep breath.
-> When you get stuck with the infamous no-show Manjiro Sano as your partner for a major class project, you hunt him down fully prepared to drag a delinquent legend back to school by the collar if you have to.
Word Count: 5,554
------
It starts with a list.
A stupid, crumpled, printed list your teacher taped to the chalkboard while the class groaned like they had just been sentenced. You lean forward in your seat, dragging your finger down the columns of names until you find your own.
And then you blink.
And then you blink again.
“…Who the hell is Manjiro Sano?”
The classroom goes dead silent.
Three heads snap toward you like you just said a slur. Someone drops a pencil. Someone else actually gasps. It's dramatic enough that you lean back in your chair, wondering if you’ve somehow missed a world-ending announcement.
A girl near you leans in, whispering like she’s imparting ancient knowledge.
“You… don’t know who that is?”
“No?” you answer slowly. “Should I?”
Her eyes widen with the kind of fear usually reserved for natural disasters.
“That’s Mikey,” she hisses.
You stare blankly.
“That doesn’t help,” you say.
Her jaw unhinges. “THE Mikey.”
You stare harder.
She seems physically pained. “Tokyo Manji Gang? Toman? The delinquent gang that runs this entire side of the city? He’s their leader?”
Ah.
So your partner is a truant crime boss.
Fantastic.
You raise your hand.
Your teacher doesn’t even look up from his attendance sheet. “No, you may not switch partners.”
“I didn’t even ask yet.”
“But you were going to.”
You lower your hand and sigh. “Okay, but my partner isn’t here.”
“He’s never here.”
“…That should be the first red flag right there.”
Your teacher pinches the bridge of his nose. You feel bad for him. He looks like he hasn’t slept since the Meiji period.
“Just… find him,” he says weakly. “Work it out.”
You’re about to argue about fairness, about not being partnered with a literal urban legend but the bell rings, and twenty students flood the hallways, leaving you with your backpack, your half-finished worksheet, and a headache.
You stare at the name again.
Manjiro Sano.
Whoever he is, he’s not dragging your grade down.
You’ll hunt him down yourself if you have to.
-----
Finding Mikey turns out to be harder than you thought.
You ask one classmate where he usually is. They faint.
You ask another. They run away.
Eventually you corner a third, who trembles through an explanation that you should “try the parking lot” like that means anything.
The parking lot is empty.
Then someone else suggests the shrine.
The shrine is empty.
Finally, by pure accident, you overhear some first-years whispering about “Mikey-san and Draken-san” being at “their spot,” which apparently everyone knows about except you.
And that’s how you end up here.
In front of them.
Toman.
A whole cluster of them, lounging around abandoned bikes, laughing, shoving each other, wearing matching jackets, and collectively radiating the kind of chaotic energy that warns normal people to turn around and walk away.
You are not normal people.
You march straight up to the nearest one.
He stops mid-sentence, staring at you like you’ve just approached a wolf pack holding a report card.
“Um. Hi.” You adjust your backpack straps. “I’m looking for Manjiro Sano.”
Five heads swivel toward you.
A tall boy with blonde hair, definitely Draken, gives you a long, assessing stare like he’s trying to figure out if you’re suicidal or just clueless.
“Why,” he finally asks, “are you looking for Mikey?”
“I’m his project partner.”
Silence.
The type that has weight.
The type that says whole gangs have been wiped out over less shocking statements.
Draken clears his throat. “Come again?”
You hold up your assignment paper like a badge. “Group project. He’s my partner. He hasn’t been in class since the beginning of time, so I need him to do his part.”
Someone chokes.
Someone else drops their cigarette.
Draken rubs a hand down his face. “God, you’re serious.”
“Yes?” You glance around. “Should… I not be?”
Before Draken can answer, a voice floats in from behind him, light, airy, singsong.
“Drakeeeeen, did you eat the last dorayaki? I told you I was saving that-”
A small figure hops off a bike and walks closer, pout already forming.
Blonde hair. Big dark eyes. A lollipop in his mouth.
Mikey.
He looks nothing like a terrifying gang leader should look. He looks like a boy who makes trouble because he thinks it’s fun. He looks like he hasn’t attended a single class in months.
He looks at you.
You look at him.
He tilts his head.
“…Who’re you?”
“I,” you say, stepping closer, “am the person whose grade you’re ruining.”
The entire gang audibly inhales.
Mikey blinks at you once, twice, like a cat processing a new toy. Then, slowly, a smile curls onto his lips.
“Oh,” he says. “Class stuff.”
“Yes. Class stuff.” You cross your arms. “You are my partner. You are failing. Actually, both of us are failing, because of you. So get up. We have work to do.”
The look on their faces is priceless.
A mix of horror, awe, and mild respect.
And Mikey? He just grins wider, leaning in with a glint in his eye like he’s found something interesting for once.
“Hmm,” he hums, looking you up and down. “You’re kinda bossy.”
“Only when my GPA is endangered.”
Draken mutters, “This is insane,” under his breath.
Mikey pops the lollipop out of his mouth, points at you with it, and says:
“Alright. I’ll help you.”
Everyone stares at him.
“You will?” you ask, surprised.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “You came all the way here. That’s kinda cool.”
You blink, taken aback.
Then…
“Great,” you say briskly. “Let’s go.”
Mikey hops up immediately, following you like a duckling.
Toman watches their leader get dragged away by a random classmate like he just imprinted on you.
Draken calls after him, “DON’T SKIP, MIKEY!”
Mikey calls back, “I’M NOT SKIPPING, I’M STUDYING!”
Then he turns to you with an eager expression that should not exist on the face of a known menace.
“So,” he says brightly, “what’s the project about?”
You exhale.
This is going to be hell.
------
You drag Mikey back to school like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
It isn’t.
People stop and stare as the two of you walk through the gate: you with your backpack, him with his hands tucked into his pockets and a lollipop in his mouth, looking like he’s on a casual stroll instead of being forcibly escorted to class.
You can practically hear the rumors writing themselves.
“Is that… Mikey?”
“Why is he here?”
“Who’s that with him?”
“Is she… his girlfriend?”
You ignore it all, focusing on your actual mission: the project.
“Take off your shoes,” you say, pointing at the entrance cubbies.
Mikey squints at them like they’re an unfamiliar species. “Oh, right. School rules.”
“You remember those?”
“Mm,” he hums. “Draken used to yell at me about it.”
You can imagine it. You don’t have to try very hard.
Once you’ve swapped shoes, you march him down the hallway. He keeps drifting, getting distracted by posters and windows and literally nothing. Twice you have to grab the back of his uniform jacket to stop him from wandering off.
“This is boring,” he says eventually.
“You haven’t even started yet.”
“I can feel it.”
You roll your eyes and shove the classroom door open.
Every head snaps toward you.
Then the room collectively stops breathing.
Someone whispers, “No way.”
Someone else reaches for their phone like they want to document this rare, possibly mythical occurrence.
Mikey looks around, visibly unimpressed. “Smells like chalk.”
“That’s because it’s a classroom,” you mutter. You point at his assigned seat, empty since the dawn of time. “Sit there.”
He plops into the desk, spinning slightly on the chair, legs stretching out. He slumps back like he’s at home, eyes flicking over the whiteboard.
Your teacher looks like he might faint.
“M-Mikey,” he stammers from the front, clutching his attendance sheet.
Mikey lifts a hand lazily. “Yo.”
The class is buzzing now, whispers bouncing off the walls.
“He actually came.”
“Who brought him?”
“That girl is insane.”
You ignore the buzzing, tug your notebook out, and slide into the seat next to his. The moment you do, the whispers change tone. More pointed. More curious.
You pretend not to hear any of it.
“Okay,” you say, flipping to a blank page. “The project is on post-war economic reforms. We need to pick a specific policy, research its effects, and do a presentation.”
Mikey stares at you with the most offended expression you’ve ever seen. “Post… what now?”
“Post-war economic reforms.”
“Why can’t we do something cool? Like… famous fights in history.”
“Because that’s not the assignment.”
He slumps further, cheek squishing against the desk. “School sucks.”
“You wouldn’t know,” you mutter. “You’re never here.”
He grins sideways at you. “But I’m here now. For you.”
Your heartbeat does a stupid little jump.
You squash it immediately.
“For the project,” you correct him sharply.
“Mm,” he hums, smile not budging. “Sure.”
-----
The after-school library is painfully quiet.
Mikey is not.
He drums his fingers on the table. Taps his foot. Tilts back in his chair. Tilts too far, almost falls, then catches himself with a laugh that makes three people look over and shush him.
You slap your hand down on the stack of textbooks between you.
“Focus.”
“Can’t.”
“Try.”
“Don’t wanna.”
You inhale through your nose and exhale through your teeth. “Okay. New approach.”
He perks up slightly. “Does it involve food?”
You blink.
Pause.
Absolutely recalibrate your whole plan.
“…It can.”
His eyes brighten instantly. “I like this approach.”
You dig into your bag and pull out the small paper bag you brought, because some annoyingly soft part of you anticipated this. You pull out a neatly wrapped dorayaki and set it on the table.
Mikey goes very still.
“Is that-”
“Yes,” you say. “And you can have it if you answer five questions correctly.”
He stares at you.
You stare back.
The air between you feels loaded, like some unspoken challenge has been issued.
Finally, Mikey leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes shining with determination you haven’t seen once in class.
“Alright, partner,” he says. “Teach me.”
You try not to smile.
You fail.
Just a little.
“Okay,” you say, pointing at a paragraph. “What was one of the goals of the post-war economic reforms?”
Mikey squints at the page, lips moving as he reads. You watch his eyes track the lines, a little slower than you expected, but steady.
“…To reduce the power of large… conglomerates,” he reads carefully, then glances up. “So rich guys couldn’t control everything?”
“Exactly,” you say, pleased. “That’s one.”
His gaze flicks to the dorayaki. “Four more.”
You work through questions. You simplify things where you can, connect it to stuff he’d care about.
“So basically,” you say, tapping the page, “they broke up economic power so one group couldn’t dominate everything.”
“Like how Toman doesn’t let other gangs run our turf,” he says without missing a beat.
You pause.
“…Sure,” you say slowly. “Kind of.”
His whole face lights up. “I get it now.”
You stare at him.
It hits you that he isn’t stupid. Not even a little. He’s just... unbothered. Uninterested. Floating through life on his own orbit.
But when something hooks him, when something connects, he’s sharp.
You’re weirdly gratified you were the one to make that connection.
Five questions later, he’s chewing happily on his dorayaki, crumbs dotting his lips. You’re surrounded by open books and scattered notes, and somehow, progress has been made.
“Not bad,” you admit, scribbling down your half of the outline. “You might actually pass.”
He leans back, watching you as he chews. “Hey.”
“Mm?”
“You always work this hard?”
You shrug. “Someone has to.”
“That why you came to find me?”
“Someone had to.”
He hums thoughtfully, sucking some filling off his thumb. “You’re kinda scary.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“In a good way,” he clarifies immediately. “Like Draken. Just smaller. And cuter.”
Your pen stutters.
You refuse to dignify that with a response.
------
Word spreads fast.
By the second study session, Toman is aware.
You know this because when you show up at Draken’s bike shop, at Mikey’s invitation, no less, there’s a row of delinquents pretending very badly not to watch.
“You’re back,” Draken says when you step in, wiping grease off his hands. His gaze darts to the stack of notebooks you’re carrying. “You really got him doing schoolwork?”
“Trying,” you say. “He invited me.”
Draken snorts. “That’s a first.”
Mikey is perched on an overturned crate, swinging his legs, half-empty bag of snacks beside him. He brightens the second he spots you.
“Oi, partner!”
The word makes something flutter in your chest. You press it down and drop your bag at his feet.
“Alright,” you say. “Today we’re working on our presentation structure.”
He frowns. “Didn’t we already study?”
“Knowing things is step one,” you say. “Explaining them without sounding like an idiot is step two.”
“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically.
You sit beside him on the crate, knees bumping. It’s a tight squeeze, but you don’t move away. Neither does he.
“Okay,” you say, opening the notebook and angling it between you. “Look. We divide it like this-”
As you talk, filling out a rough outline, you can feel eyes on you.
You glance up.
Half of Toman is leaning around doorways, peeking from behind shelves, very obviously eavesdropping.
You stare.
They freeze.
Mitsuya raises a hand weakly. “Don’t mind us.”
“This is creepy,” you say flatly.
“Don’t worry about them,” Mikey says, reaching over your arm to steal a pen just because it’s yours. “They’re just curious.”
“About what?” you demand.
He shrugs, leaning so close his shoulder presses into yours. “You.”
Your face heats.
You try to hide it by pointing aggressively at the notebook. “Focus, Sano.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says cheerfully.
The others exchange looks.
You hear someone whisper, “She just told Mikey to focus and he listened.”
“Is that allowed?”
“Are we watching our boss get housebroken?”
You snap your head up. “I can hear you.”
They vanish.
Mikey bursts out laughing, head tipping back, eyes crinkling. The sight does something dumb to your chest.
You don’t join the gang. You don’t start hanging around all the time. But you become… a presence. An exception.
And Toman, bizarrely, gets used to it.
------
A week later, you’re back in class, project presentation looming.
You’re at your desk, flipping through index cards, when one of your classmates, Tanaka, you think his name is, eternally smug, sidles up to you.
“Hey,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “How’s it going with Sano?”
You don’t look up. “Fine.”
“He even shows up for you,” Tanaka says with a laugh. “That’s impressive.”
There’s something in his tone you don’t like.
You hum noncommittally.
“He’s not actually doing anything, though, right?” Tanaka continues. “I mean, you’re obviously carrying the whole thing. He’s just… there.”
You pause.
Your pen freezes mid-word.
Slowly, you look up.
“What?”
Tanaka shrugs, careless. “It’s Mikey. He doesn’t do schoolwork. Honestly, sensei should’ve just given you a new partner.”
Anger sparks, hot and automatic.
You think of Mikey squinting at paragraphs in the library. Mikey connecting economic reform to gang turf like it’s the most natural comparison in the world. Mikey actually trying because you asked him to.
You narrow your eyes. “He’s doing his part. We both are.”
Tanaka snorts. “Sure. Look, it’s not a big deal. Some people just aren’t cut out for this stuff. Delinquents like that? They’re just dead weight in class.”
You’re halfway to standing when a shadow falls over your desk.
“Say that again.”
Mikey’s voice is quiet.
Too quiet.
You glance up.
He’s standing behind Tanaka, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded but sharp. The energy around him has shifted, still, but dangerous, like the air before a storm.
Tanaka stiffens. “M-Mikey-”
“I said,” Mikey repeats calmly, “say that again. About me being dead weight.”
Tanaka swallows. “I-I just meant-”
“And about my partner,” Mikey adds, tilting his head, smile not reaching his eyes. “Say that part again.”
The room has gone silent. Everyone is watching now.
You stand quickly, stepping between them before this becomes a disciplinary hearing… or a funeral.
“Mikey,” you say, lightly pushing at his chest. “It’s fine.”
He looks at you, expression shifting, the hard edge softening immediately.
“Is it?” he asks.
“Yes,” you say firmly. “Because we’re going to get a better score than him anyway. Right?”
You hold his gaze, willing him to drop it.
There’s a beat of tense silence.
Then Mikey smiles again, genuinely this time. “Right.”
He looks over your head at Tanaka, expression mild but eyes still icy.
“You heard her,” he says. “We’re gonna beat you. So maybe focus on your own project and stop talking shit about mine.”
Tanaka bobbles his head in a frantic nod and retreats like his life depends on it.
You exhale slowly.
Mikey watches Tanaka go, then looks back at you. “You okay?”
You blink. “I should be asking you that.”
He snorts. “That guy’s annoying, but I don’t care what he says about me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Then why did you get mad?”
At you, the smile turns softer. “He doesn’t get to talk about you like that.”
Something in your chest flips over.
You look away fast, shoving your notebook into your bag with more force than necessary. “Whatever. Just… don’t start a fight over me.”
He hums thoughtfully. “What if I finish a fight over you?”
“Mikey.”
“I’m kidding,” he says, laughing. Then, quieter, “Kind of.”
You should be exasperated.
You are.
You’re also weirdly, stupidly touched.
------
You’re at Draken’s shop again.
It’s late, the sky outside fading into navy, streetlights flickering on one by one. The shop smells like oil and metal and something faintly sweet from the bakery down the road.
The others have cleared out already, leaving you, Mikey, and Draken.
You’re hunched over the workbench, index cards spread out, scribbling last-minute notes. Mikey is perched on a stool, swinging his legs, reciting his part of the presentation under his breath.
“Post-war reforms… aimed to decentralize economic power and-”
“-and weaken the Zaibatsu conglomerates,” you prompt.
He snaps his fingers. “Right. Those guys.”
“You’re getting it,” you say, genuinely impressed.
“Only ‘cause my teacher’s so scary,” he says lightly.
“I’m not your teacher.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Draken walks by, towel over his shoulder. “He giving you trouble?”
“No more than usual,” you say.
“Hey,” Mikey protests.
Draken chuckles, ruffling his hair. “Can’t believe you got him to study. You’re a miracle worker.”
You shrug, pretending that doesn’t make you a little proud. “Bribery helps.”
Mikey grins. “She makes really good snacks.”
“Is that so?” Draken looks intrigued. “You bringing any next time?”
“There’s not going to be a next time,” you say quickly. “The project is tomorrow.”
Both of them look at you.
Mikey’s smile falters just a fraction.
“Oh,” he says.
You blink. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, waving it off. “Just thought we’d keep… y’know. Hanging out.”
Your heart does a weird, wobbly thing.
You look down at your cards. “We can still hang out. It doesn’t have to be for a project.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than it should.
When you peek up, Mikey is staring at you with a look you haven’t seen before, something open and almost vulnerable.
“…Yeah?” he asks quietly.
You swallow. “Yeah.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slowly, like the sun rising. “Then I’ll do extra good tomorrow.”
You snort. “That’s not how that works.”
“Sure it is,” he says. “If I do good, sensei won’t yell, and you’ll be in a good mood, and then you’ll wanna see me again.”
“You’re so sure of yourself.”
“Aren’t I right?”
You want to say no.
You don’t.
Instead, you shake your head and shove your stack of cards at him. “Again. From the top.”
He groans dramatically, but obeys.
As he stumbles through the first sentence, you catch Draken watching the two of you from across the room, a knowing little half-smile on his face.
You ignore him.
Or try to.
------
You’re packing up later when you realize you’ve been at the shop for hours.
You stretch, your spine popping, and wince. “Ow.”
“You okay?” Mikey asks.
“Just stiff,” you say. “Too much sitting.”
“Here,” he says.
Before you can ask what he’s doing, he steps behind you and places his hands gently on your shoulders. His thumbs press into the muscles at the base of your neck, kneading.
You go rigid.
“Mikey, what are you-”
“Relax,” he says softly. “Just a bit.”
You consider protesting. You really do.
Then his thumbs find a knot and press just right, and your eyes flutter shut against your will.
“See?” he murmurs. “You work too hard.”
“You study too little,” you mumble.
He laughs quietly, warm breath brushing your ear. “We balance each other out.”
It’s alarmingly intimate, standing here in the quiet of the shop with his hands on you, his chest a solid presence at your back. Your heartbeat picks up, loud in your own ears.
“Okay,” you say abruptly, stepping forward out of his hold. “That’s enough. We should go. It’s late.”
He lets his hands drop but doesn’t look offended. If anything, his smile turns softer. “I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he says simply.
You sigh, defeated. “Fine.”
You walk side by side under the streetlights, shadows stretching long behind you. The night is cool, city noises distant.
“So,” he says eventually, hands clasped behind his head, eyes on the sky. “What are you gonna do after this project? Keep being top of the class? Get some fancy job?”
“Maybe,” you say. “I just… want options. I don’t want to be stuck.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?” you ask, curious. “You ever think about that? Your future?”
He shrugs. “Not really. I’ll take care of Toman. Take care of everyone. That’s enough for me.”
You look at him.
His profile is lit by the streetlamp, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He looks younger like this, softer, but there’s a weight in his eyes that’s older than either of you.
“You’re already taking care of everyone,” you say quietly.
He glances at you, surprised, then smiles. “Yeah. Guess so.”
You reach your building too soon.
He stops at the bottom of the steps, rocking on his heels. “So. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” you echo. “Don’t be late.”
He puts a hand to his heart. “I’d never.”
You give him a look.
He laughs, waves, and turns away.
You watch his back grow smaller down the street, oddly reluctant to go inside.
You only move when he glances back once, catches you still staring, and grins.
You absolutely do not slam the door quickly after that.
-----
You’re nervous.
You’ll never admit it out loud, but your fingers fidget with the edge of your index cards as groups go up one by one. Your leg bounces under the desk.
Mikey, on the other hand, looks… relaxed.
Too relaxed.
He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, eyes half-closed like he’s about to nap.
“Mikey,” you hiss. “Stay awake.”
“M’awake,” he mumbles.
You jab him in the arm with your pen. “Our turn is next.”
He cracks one eye open, looks at you, and smiles. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
You do not feel less worried.
“Next group,” sensei calls, looking at his list. “Sano and (Last Name).”
You stand, smoothing your uniform, heart thudding.
Mikey ambles up beside you, hands in his pockets, completely unbothered. When you reach the front, he casually leans down and mutters, “Hey.”
“What,” you whisper back.
“If I mess up,” he says with a grin, “you’ll fix it, right?”
You roll your eyes. “Just read the cards.”
He laughs and turns to the class.
You start.
You introduce your topic, voice more steady than you feel. You’ve done this a hundred times in your head, practiced your lines, your pauses. It comes easily.
Then it’s Mikey’s turn.
He takes his card.
Your heart stops.
He looks at it.
Then looks up.
There’s a beat where you’re terrified he’s going to say something completely off-topic. Or blank. Or walk out.
Instead, he says, clear and confident:
“One of the major goals of the post-war economic reforms was to break up the power of the zaibatsu, big corporations that controlled a lot of Japan’s economy before the war.”
The class blinks.
He continues, warming up.
“By doing this, the government wanted to stop too much power from being in the hands of a few families. That way, more people could compete in the market, and the economy would be more stable.”
He glances at you.
You nod subtly.
He relaxes, shoulders loosening.
“It’s kinda like… if one gang controlled all the turf in Tokyo,” he goes on, casual but surprisingly articulate. “It looks strong, but if anything happens to that one gang, everything falls apart. But if there are more groups, spread out, the whole thing doesn’t crumble so easy.”
There’s a ripple of laughter around the room, but not mocking. Intrigued.
You hide a smile.
He just did what you’ve been doing for days, connected it to his world, his rules, so it makes sense.
You finish the final part of the presentation together. He doesn’t freeze once. When he falters, you pick up the sentence. When you blank for a moment, he jumps in with an example. It’s… smooth.
It’s weird how easy it is to talk when he’s next to you.
At the end, there’s a small pause.
Then, unexpectedly, your classmates start clapping.
Not just polite taps.
Actual, impressed applause.
Your teacher looks like he might cry again.
“T-that was very good,” he says, visibly moved. “Clear, engaging, excellent use of examples. I’m… pleasantly surprised.”
Mikey beams.
You exhale, tension draining out of your shoulders.
You catch Tanaka’s expression in the back, sour and begrudgingly impressed, and fight the urge to smirk at him.
You and Mikey return to your seats. Your legs feel a little wobbly.
“That was fun,” Mikey whispers once you’re seated.
“You’re insane,” you whisper back. “You just freestyled half of that.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
You can’t argue with that.
When grades are posted later, you see it.
Top score.
You stare at the number for a full five seconds.
Then, involuntarily, you grin.
A hand appears next to yours, ruffling your hair from behind.
“See?” Mikey crows. “Told you we’d beat that guy.”
You swat his hand away, but you’re still smiling. “You did good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” you say honestly. “In a good way.”
He tilts his head, eyes crinkling. “Then I’m happy.”
You look up at him, about to say something more, something like you really tried or thank you, but sensei shuffles by then, clearing his throat.
“Sano,” he says, hesitant. “I, ah. I hope to see more of this… effort from you. In the future.”
Mikey scratches his cheek. “No promises, sensei.”
Your teacher deflates.
“But,” Mikey adds, glancing at you, “I might show up sometimes. If my partner’s here.”
Sensei blinks.
You choke. “I’m not your-”
“Thank you for your hard work,” sensei says to you quickly, like you’re the only thing standing between his sanity and collapse. “Truly. You’ve done a great job.”
You bow politely, murmuring a thank you, and then you’re dragged away by Mikey’s hand on your sleeve.
-----
You end up outside the school gate without really meaning to. One moment you’re packing your bag, the next you’re being herded along by Mikey’s unstoppable momentum.
He finally stops under a tree just beyond the gate, where the street is quieter. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, dappling his face with light.
“So,” he says.
“So,” you echo.
He rocks on his heels, hands in his pockets, looking at you with a brightness that makes your chest warm. “We make a pretty good team.”
Your lips twitch. “Apparently.”
“Top score,” he reminds you.
“I can read.”
He laughs.
Then, suddenly, he sobers a little.
“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight. “You know how you came to get your partner back from the dead?”
“He wasn’t dead, just truant.”
“Same thing,” he says with a shrug. “Anyway. I was thinking.”
You cross your arms. “Dangerous.”
He ignores that. “I don’t really care about school stuff. You know that.”
“I picked up on it, yeah.”
“But.” He pauses, looking at you. Really looking. “I liked this. Doing something with you. Building it together. Watching you get all serious and bossy.”
You feel your face heat. “That’s not-”
“It is,” he insists, grin tugging at his lips, then softens. “You worked really hard. For both of us. No one’s ever done that for me. Not like that.”
You blink.
Something in your chest squeezes painfully.
“You’re important to me,” he says simply. “So I was thinking…”
He steps closer.
Your back bumps lightly against the tree trunk. You didn’t even realize you’d moved.
He’s close now, close enough that you can see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes, the way his lashes cast little shadows. His smile is smaller, more genuine than the lazy grins he shows everyone else.
“…You should keep being my partner,” he finishes.
You swallow. “For… school?”
“For everything,” he says, without missing a beat.
Your heart stutters.
“Mikey-”
“I mean,” he goes on, eyes darting briefly to your mouth before snapping back up, “you can yell at me when I skip class. Drag me to the library. Make me snacks. I’ll walk you home. Scare off annoying guys. You know. Partner stuff.”
“That’s not what partner stuff means,” you say weakly.
He hums. “It is if I say so.”
You stare at him.
The worst part is that he sounds… sincere. Like in his own skewed, simple way, this is how he says I want you around and I like you and don’t go anywhere.
Your throat feels tight all of a sudden.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intend.
He leans in just a fraction more, eyes flicking over your face. “Is that a no?”
You hesitate.
You think about the first day, staring at that cursed partner list, cursing whatever fate married your grade to a delinquent myth. You think about the parking lot, the shrine, the Toman hangout. About textbooks and dorayaki and late-night walks home.
About the way he stood between you and a rude classmate like it was nothing.
About the way he looked when he thought you might not want to see him after the project.
You exhale.
“It’s…” You lick your lips, nerves crackling under your skin. “It’s a maybe.”
He grins, bright and unstoppable. “I can work with maybe.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no,” he counters.
You open your mouth, then close it.
He laughs, delighted, and in that moment, caught between annoyance and fondness, you slip.
“If you want me to keep being your partner,” you say, trying to sound stern and failing, “you have to promise to show up. At least sometimes. I refuse to be seen as the person dating a ghost.”
You freeze.
He freezes.
You replay your own words in your head.
Dating.
You want to sink into the ground.
Mikey’s smile does something oddly slow. It softens, widens, shifts into something you’ve never quite seen on him before, something almost reverent.
“Dating, huh?” he says, voice a little hoarse with poorly concealed glee. “You thinking that far already?”
“I- That’s not what I meant-”
He steps even closer, bracing one hand against the tree trunk near your head, caging you in without touching. His face is only inches from yours now.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”
You do, helplessly.
His gaze is steady. His voice drops.
“If we were dating,” he says slowly, “would you let me do this?”
He leans in, close enough that his forehead brushes yours, that you can feel his breath fan across your lips. He doesn’t close the distance completely. Just hovers there, waiting, asking.
Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it.
You could push him away.
You don’t.
“…Maybe,” you whisper.
His eyes flicker, satisfaction flashing through them.
Then he pulls back half an inch and taps your forehead gently with his own, like a soft little headbutt.
“Okay,” he says, and somehow his smile is even warmer. “I’ll earn it.”
“You… what?”
“The right to do more ‘dating stuff,’” he says matter-of-factly. “If my partner wants it.”
You’re certain your brain has melted.
He straightens up finally, hands sliding back into his pockets, expression turning playful again.
“Until then,” he says, voice light, “I’ll settle for this.”
He reaches down and takes your hand.
Your fingers slot into his like they’ve done it a thousand times before.
Your brain short-circuits again.
“Mikey-”
“Walk me home,” he says with a grin. “Partner.”
You should say that’s backwards.
You don’t.
You just let him tug you along, your joined hands swinging between you, the late afternoon sun warm on your backs.
-> When you get stuck with the infamous no-show Manjiro Sano as your partner for a major class project, you hunt him down fully prepared to drag a delinquent legend back to school by the collar if you have to.
Word Count: 5,554
------
It starts with a list.
A stupid, crumpled, printed list your teacher taped to the chalkboard while the class groaned like they had just been sentenced. You lean forward in your seat, dragging your finger down the columns of names until you find your own.
And then you blink.
And then you blink again.
“…Who the hell is Manjiro Sano?”
The classroom goes dead silent.
Three heads snap toward you like you just said a slur. Someone drops a pencil. Someone else actually gasps. It's dramatic enough that you lean back in your chair, wondering if you’ve somehow missed a world-ending announcement.
A girl near you leans in, whispering like she’s imparting ancient knowledge.
“You… don’t know who that is?”
“No?” you answer slowly. “Should I?”
Her eyes widen with the kind of fear usually reserved for natural disasters.
“That’s Mikey,” she hisses.
You stare blankly.
“That doesn’t help,” you say.
Her jaw unhinges. “THE Mikey.”
You stare harder.
She seems physically pained. “Tokyo Manji Gang? Toman? The delinquent gang that runs this entire side of the city? He’s their leader?”
Ah.
So your partner is a truant crime boss.
Fantastic.
You raise your hand.
Your teacher doesn’t even look up from his attendance sheet. “No, you may not switch partners.”
“I didn’t even ask yet.”
“But you were going to.”
You lower your hand and sigh. “Okay, but my partner isn’t here.”
“He’s never here.”
“…That should be the first red flag right there.”
Your teacher pinches the bridge of his nose. You feel bad for him. He looks like he hasn’t slept since the Meiji period.
“Just… find him,” he says weakly. “Work it out.”
You’re about to argue about fairness, about not being partnered with a literal urban legend but the bell rings, and twenty students flood the hallways, leaving you with your backpack, your half-finished worksheet, and a headache.
You stare at the name again.
Manjiro Sano.
Whoever he is, he’s not dragging your grade down.
You’ll hunt him down yourself if you have to.
-----
Finding Mikey turns out to be harder than you thought.
You ask one classmate where he usually is. They faint.
You ask another. They run away.
Eventually you corner a third, who trembles through an explanation that you should “try the parking lot” like that means anything.
The parking lot is empty.
Then someone else suggests the shrine.
The shrine is empty.
Finally, by pure accident, you overhear some first-years whispering about “Mikey-san and Draken-san” being at “their spot,” which apparently everyone knows about except you.
And that’s how you end up here.
In front of them.
Toman.
A whole cluster of them, lounging around abandoned bikes, laughing, shoving each other, wearing matching jackets, and collectively radiating the kind of chaotic energy that warns normal people to turn around and walk away.
You are not normal people.
You march straight up to the nearest one.
He stops mid-sentence, staring at you like you’ve just approached a wolf pack holding a report card.
“Um. Hi.” You adjust your backpack straps. “I’m looking for Manjiro Sano.”
Five heads swivel toward you.
A tall boy with blonde hair, definitely Draken, gives you a long, assessing stare like he’s trying to figure out if you’re suicidal or just clueless.
“Why,” he finally asks, “are you looking for Mikey?”
“I’m his project partner.”
Silence.
The type that has weight.
The type that says whole gangs have been wiped out over less shocking statements.
Draken clears his throat. “Come again?”
You hold up your assignment paper like a badge. “Group project. He’s my partner. He hasn’t been in class since the beginning of time, so I need him to do his part.”
Someone chokes.
Someone else drops their cigarette.
Draken rubs a hand down his face. “God, you’re serious.”
“Yes?” You glance around. “Should… I not be?”
Before Draken can answer, a voice floats in from behind him, light, airy, singsong.
“Drakeeeeen, did you eat the last dorayaki? I told you I was saving that-”
A small figure hops off a bike and walks closer, pout already forming.
Blonde hair. Big dark eyes. A lollipop in his mouth.
Mikey.
He looks nothing like a terrifying gang leader should look. He looks like a boy who makes trouble because he thinks it’s fun. He looks like he hasn’t attended a single class in months.
He looks at you.
You look at him.
He tilts his head.
“…Who’re you?”
“I,” you say, stepping closer, “am the person whose grade you’re ruining.”
The entire gang audibly inhales.
Mikey blinks at you once, twice, like a cat processing a new toy. Then, slowly, a smile curls onto his lips.
“Oh,” he says. “Class stuff.”
“Yes. Class stuff.” You cross your arms. “You are my partner. You are failing. Actually, both of us are failing, because of you. So get up. We have work to do.”
The look on their faces is priceless.
A mix of horror, awe, and mild respect.
And Mikey? He just grins wider, leaning in with a glint in his eye like he’s found something interesting for once.
“Hmm,” he hums, looking you up and down. “You’re kinda bossy.”
“Only when my GPA is endangered.”
Draken mutters, “This is insane,” under his breath.
Mikey pops the lollipop out of his mouth, points at you with it, and says:
“Alright. I’ll help you.”
Everyone stares at him.
“You will?” you ask, surprised.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “You came all the way here. That’s kinda cool.”
You blink, taken aback.
Then…
“Great,” you say briskly. “Let’s go.”
Mikey hops up immediately, following you like a duckling.
Toman watches their leader get dragged away by a random classmate like he just imprinted on you.
Draken calls after him, “DON’T SKIP, MIKEY!”
Mikey calls back, “I’M NOT SKIPPING, I’M STUDYING!”
Then he turns to you with an eager expression that should not exist on the face of a known menace.
“So,” he says brightly, “what’s the project about?”
You exhale.
This is going to be hell.
------
You drag Mikey back to school like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
It isn’t.
People stop and stare as the two of you walk through the gate: you with your backpack, him with his hands tucked into his pockets and a lollipop in his mouth, looking like he’s on a casual stroll instead of being forcibly escorted to class.
You can practically hear the rumors writing themselves.
“Is that… Mikey?”
“Why is he here?”
“Who’s that with him?”
“Is she… his girlfriend?”
You ignore it all, focusing on your actual mission: the project.
“Take off your shoes,” you say, pointing at the entrance cubbies.
Mikey squints at them like they’re an unfamiliar species. “Oh, right. School rules.”
“You remember those?”
“Mm,” he hums. “Draken used to yell at me about it.”
You can imagine it. You don’t have to try very hard.
Once you’ve swapped shoes, you march him down the hallway. He keeps drifting, getting distracted by posters and windows and literally nothing. Twice you have to grab the back of his uniform jacket to stop him from wandering off.
“This is boring,” he says eventually.
“You haven’t even started yet.”
“I can feel it.”
You roll your eyes and shove the classroom door open.
Every head snaps toward you.
Then the room collectively stops breathing.
Someone whispers, “No way.”
Someone else reaches for their phone like they want to document this rare, possibly mythical occurrence.
Mikey looks around, visibly unimpressed. “Smells like chalk.”
“That’s because it’s a classroom,” you mutter. You point at his assigned seat, empty since the dawn of time. “Sit there.”
He plops into the desk, spinning slightly on the chair, legs stretching out. He slumps back like he’s at home, eyes flicking over the whiteboard.
Your teacher looks like he might faint.
“M-Mikey,” he stammers from the front, clutching his attendance sheet.
Mikey lifts a hand lazily. “Yo.”
The class is buzzing now, whispers bouncing off the walls.
“He actually came.”
“Who brought him?”
“That girl is insane.”
You ignore the buzzing, tug your notebook out, and slide into the seat next to his. The moment you do, the whispers change tone. More pointed. More curious.
You pretend not to hear any of it.
“Okay,” you say, flipping to a blank page. “The project is on post-war economic reforms. We need to pick a specific policy, research its effects, and do a presentation.”
Mikey stares at you with the most offended expression you’ve ever seen. “Post… what now?”
“Post-war economic reforms.”
“Why can’t we do something cool? Like… famous fights in history.”
“Because that’s not the assignment.”
He slumps further, cheek squishing against the desk. “School sucks.”
“You wouldn’t know,” you mutter. “You’re never here.”
He grins sideways at you. “But I’m here now. For you.”
Your heartbeat does a stupid little jump.
You squash it immediately.
“For the project,” you correct him sharply.
“Mm,” he hums, smile not budging. “Sure.”
-----
The after-school library is painfully quiet.
Mikey is not.
He drums his fingers on the table. Taps his foot. Tilts back in his chair. Tilts too far, almost falls, then catches himself with a laugh that makes three people look over and shush him.
You slap your hand down on the stack of textbooks between you.
“Focus.”
“Can’t.”
“Try.”
“Don’t wanna.”
You inhale through your nose and exhale through your teeth. “Okay. New approach.”
He perks up slightly. “Does it involve food?”
You blink.
Pause.
Absolutely recalibrate your whole plan.
“…It can.”
His eyes brighten instantly. “I like this approach.”
You dig into your bag and pull out the small paper bag you brought, because some annoyingly soft part of you anticipated this. You pull out a neatly wrapped dorayaki and set it on the table.
Mikey goes very still.
“Is that-”
“Yes,” you say. “And you can have it if you answer five questions correctly.”
He stares at you.
You stare back.
The air between you feels loaded, like some unspoken challenge has been issued.
Finally, Mikey leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes shining with determination you haven’t seen once in class.
“Alright, partner,” he says. “Teach me.”
You try not to smile.
You fail.
Just a little.
“Okay,” you say, pointing at a paragraph. “What was one of the goals of the post-war economic reforms?”
Mikey squints at the page, lips moving as he reads. You watch his eyes track the lines, a little slower than you expected, but steady.
“…To reduce the power of large… conglomerates,” he reads carefully, then glances up. “So rich guys couldn’t control everything?”
“Exactly,” you say, pleased. “That’s one.”
His gaze flicks to the dorayaki. “Four more.”
You work through questions. You simplify things where you can, connect it to stuff he’d care about.
“So basically,” you say, tapping the page, “they broke up economic power so one group couldn’t dominate everything.”
“Like how Toman doesn’t let other gangs run our turf,” he says without missing a beat.
You pause.
“…Sure,” you say slowly. “Kind of.”
His whole face lights up. “I get it now.”
You stare at him.
It hits you that he isn’t stupid. Not even a little. He’s just... unbothered. Uninterested. Floating through life on his own orbit.
But when something hooks him, when something connects, he’s sharp.
You’re weirdly gratified you were the one to make that connection.
Five questions later, he’s chewing happily on his dorayaki, crumbs dotting his lips. You’re surrounded by open books and scattered notes, and somehow, progress has been made.
“Not bad,” you admit, scribbling down your half of the outline. “You might actually pass.”
He leans back, watching you as he chews. “Hey.”
“Mm?”
“You always work this hard?”
You shrug. “Someone has to.”
“That why you came to find me?”
“Someone had to.”
He hums thoughtfully, sucking some filling off his thumb. “You’re kinda scary.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“In a good way,” he clarifies immediately. “Like Draken. Just smaller. And cuter.”
Your pen stutters.
You refuse to dignify that with a response.
------
Word spreads fast.
By the second study session, Toman is aware.
You know this because when you show up at Draken’s bike shop, at Mikey’s invitation, no less, there’s a row of delinquents pretending very badly not to watch.
“You’re back,” Draken says when you step in, wiping grease off his hands. His gaze darts to the stack of notebooks you’re carrying. “You really got him doing schoolwork?”
“Trying,” you say. “He invited me.”
Draken snorts. “That’s a first.”
Mikey is perched on an overturned crate, swinging his legs, half-empty bag of snacks beside him. He brightens the second he spots you.
“Oi, partner!”
The word makes something flutter in your chest. You press it down and drop your bag at his feet.
“Alright,” you say. “Today we’re working on our presentation structure.”
He frowns. “Didn’t we already study?”
“Knowing things is step one,” you say. “Explaining them without sounding like an idiot is step two.”
“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically.
You sit beside him on the crate, knees bumping. It’s a tight squeeze, but you don’t move away. Neither does he.
“Okay,” you say, opening the notebook and angling it between you. “Look. We divide it like this-”
As you talk, filling out a rough outline, you can feel eyes on you.
You glance up.
Half of Toman is leaning around doorways, peeking from behind shelves, very obviously eavesdropping.
You stare.
They freeze.
Mitsuya raises a hand weakly. “Don’t mind us.”
“This is creepy,” you say flatly.
“Don’t worry about them,” Mikey says, reaching over your arm to steal a pen just because it’s yours. “They’re just curious.”
“About what?” you demand.
He shrugs, leaning so close his shoulder presses into yours. “You.”
Your face heats.
You try to hide it by pointing aggressively at the notebook. “Focus, Sano.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says cheerfully.
The others exchange looks.
You hear someone whisper, “She just told Mikey to focus and he listened.”
“Is that allowed?”
“Are we watching our boss get housebroken?”
You snap your head up. “I can hear you.”
They vanish.
Mikey bursts out laughing, head tipping back, eyes crinkling. The sight does something dumb to your chest.
You don’t join the gang. You don’t start hanging around all the time. But you become… a presence. An exception.
And Toman, bizarrely, gets used to it.
------
A week later, you’re back in class, project presentation looming.
You’re at your desk, flipping through index cards, when one of your classmates, Tanaka, you think his name is, eternally smug, sidles up to you.
“Hey,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “How’s it going with Sano?”
You don’t look up. “Fine.”
“He even shows up for you,” Tanaka says with a laugh. “That’s impressive.”
There’s something in his tone you don’t like.
You hum noncommittally.
“He’s not actually doing anything, though, right?” Tanaka continues. “I mean, you’re obviously carrying the whole thing. He’s just… there.”
You pause.
Your pen freezes mid-word.
Slowly, you look up.
“What?”
Tanaka shrugs, careless. “It’s Mikey. He doesn’t do schoolwork. Honestly, sensei should’ve just given you a new partner.”
Anger sparks, hot and automatic.
You think of Mikey squinting at paragraphs in the library. Mikey connecting economic reform to gang turf like it’s the most natural comparison in the world. Mikey actually trying because you asked him to.
You narrow your eyes. “He’s doing his part. We both are.”
Tanaka snorts. “Sure. Look, it’s not a big deal. Some people just aren’t cut out for this stuff. Delinquents like that? They’re just dead weight in class.”
You’re halfway to standing when a shadow falls over your desk.
“Say that again.”
Mikey’s voice is quiet.
Too quiet.
You glance up.
He’s standing behind Tanaka, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded but sharp. The energy around him has shifted, still, but dangerous, like the air before a storm.
Tanaka stiffens. “M-Mikey-”
“I said,” Mikey repeats calmly, “say that again. About me being dead weight.”
Tanaka swallows. “I-I just meant-”
“And about my partner,” Mikey adds, tilting his head, smile not reaching his eyes. “Say that part again.”
The room has gone silent. Everyone is watching now.
You stand quickly, stepping between them before this becomes a disciplinary hearing… or a funeral.
“Mikey,” you say, lightly pushing at his chest. “It’s fine.”
He looks at you, expression shifting, the hard edge softening immediately.
“Is it?” he asks.
“Yes,” you say firmly. “Because we’re going to get a better score than him anyway. Right?”
You hold his gaze, willing him to drop it.
There’s a beat of tense silence.
Then Mikey smiles again, genuinely this time. “Right.”
He looks over your head at Tanaka, expression mild but eyes still icy.
“You heard her,” he says. “We’re gonna beat you. So maybe focus on your own project and stop talking shit about mine.”
Tanaka bobbles his head in a frantic nod and retreats like his life depends on it.
You exhale slowly.
Mikey watches Tanaka go, then looks back at you. “You okay?”
You blink. “I should be asking you that.”
He snorts. “That guy’s annoying, but I don’t care what he says about me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Then why did you get mad?”
At you, the smile turns softer. “He doesn’t get to talk about you like that.”
Something in your chest flips over.
You look away fast, shoving your notebook into your bag with more force than necessary. “Whatever. Just… don’t start a fight over me.”
He hums thoughtfully. “What if I finish a fight over you?”
“Mikey.”
“I’m kidding,” he says, laughing. Then, quieter, “Kind of.”
You should be exasperated.
You are.
You’re also weirdly, stupidly touched.
------
You’re at Draken’s shop again.
It’s late, the sky outside fading into navy, streetlights flickering on one by one. The shop smells like oil and metal and something faintly sweet from the bakery down the road.
The others have cleared out already, leaving you, Mikey, and Draken.
You’re hunched over the workbench, index cards spread out, scribbling last-minute notes. Mikey is perched on a stool, swinging his legs, reciting his part of the presentation under his breath.
“Post-war reforms… aimed to decentralize economic power and-”
“-and weaken the Zaibatsu conglomerates,” you prompt.
He snaps his fingers. “Right. Those guys.”
“You’re getting it,” you say, genuinely impressed.
“Only ‘cause my teacher’s so scary,” he says lightly.
“I’m not your teacher.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Draken walks by, towel over his shoulder. “He giving you trouble?”
“No more than usual,” you say.
“Hey,” Mikey protests.
Draken chuckles, ruffling his hair. “Can’t believe you got him to study. You’re a miracle worker.”
You shrug, pretending that doesn’t make you a little proud. “Bribery helps.”
Mikey grins. “She makes really good snacks.”
“Is that so?” Draken looks intrigued. “You bringing any next time?”
“There’s not going to be a next time,” you say quickly. “The project is tomorrow.”
Both of them look at you.
Mikey’s smile falters just a fraction.
“Oh,” he says.
You blink. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, waving it off. “Just thought we’d keep… y’know. Hanging out.”
Your heart does a weird, wobbly thing.
You look down at your cards. “We can still hang out. It doesn’t have to be for a project.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than it should.
When you peek up, Mikey is staring at you with a look you haven’t seen before, something open and almost vulnerable.
“…Yeah?” he asks quietly.
You swallow. “Yeah.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slowly, like the sun rising. “Then I’ll do extra good tomorrow.”
You snort. “That’s not how that works.”
“Sure it is,” he says. “If I do good, sensei won’t yell, and you’ll be in a good mood, and then you’ll wanna see me again.”
“You’re so sure of yourself.”
“Aren’t I right?”
You want to say no.
You don’t.
Instead, you shake your head and shove your stack of cards at him. “Again. From the top.”
He groans dramatically, but obeys.
As he stumbles through the first sentence, you catch Draken watching the two of you from across the room, a knowing little half-smile on his face.
You ignore him.
Or try to.
------
You’re packing up later when you realize you’ve been at the shop for hours.
You stretch, your spine popping, and wince. “Ow.”
“You okay?” Mikey asks.
“Just stiff,” you say. “Too much sitting.”
“Here,” he says.
Before you can ask what he’s doing, he steps behind you and places his hands gently on your shoulders. His thumbs press into the muscles at the base of your neck, kneading.
You go rigid.
“Mikey, what are you-”
“Relax,” he says softly. “Just a bit.”
You consider protesting. You really do.
Then his thumbs find a knot and press just right, and your eyes flutter shut against your will.
“See?” he murmurs. “You work too hard.”
“You study too little,” you mumble.
He laughs quietly, warm breath brushing your ear. “We balance each other out.”
It’s alarmingly intimate, standing here in the quiet of the shop with his hands on you, his chest a solid presence at your back. Your heartbeat picks up, loud in your own ears.
“Okay,” you say abruptly, stepping forward out of his hold. “That’s enough. We should go. It’s late.”
He lets his hands drop but doesn’t look offended. If anything, his smile turns softer. “I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he says simply.
You sigh, defeated. “Fine.”
You walk side by side under the streetlights, shadows stretching long behind you. The night is cool, city noises distant.
“So,” he says eventually, hands clasped behind his head, eyes on the sky. “What are you gonna do after this project? Keep being top of the class? Get some fancy job?”
“Maybe,” you say. “I just… want options. I don’t want to be stuck.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?” you ask, curious. “You ever think about that? Your future?”
He shrugs. “Not really. I’ll take care of Toman. Take care of everyone. That’s enough for me.”
You look at him.
His profile is lit by the streetlamp, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He looks younger like this, softer, but there’s a weight in his eyes that’s older than either of you.
“You’re already taking care of everyone,” you say quietly.
He glances at you, surprised, then smiles. “Yeah. Guess so.”
You reach your building too soon.
He stops at the bottom of the steps, rocking on his heels. “So. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” you echo. “Don’t be late.”
He puts a hand to his heart. “I’d never.”
You give him a look.
He laughs, waves, and turns away.
You watch his back grow smaller down the street, oddly reluctant to go inside.
You only move when he glances back once, catches you still staring, and grins.
You absolutely do not slam the door quickly after that.
-----
You’re nervous.
You’ll never admit it out loud, but your fingers fidget with the edge of your index cards as groups go up one by one. Your leg bounces under the desk.
Mikey, on the other hand, looks… relaxed.
Too relaxed.
He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, eyes half-closed like he’s about to nap.
“Mikey,” you hiss. “Stay awake.”
“M’awake,” he mumbles.
You jab him in the arm with your pen. “Our turn is next.”
He cracks one eye open, looks at you, and smiles. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
You do not feel less worried.
“Next group,” sensei calls, looking at his list. “Sano and (Last Name).”
You stand, smoothing your uniform, heart thudding.
Mikey ambles up beside you, hands in his pockets, completely unbothered. When you reach the front, he casually leans down and mutters, “Hey.”
“What,” you whisper back.
“If I mess up,” he says with a grin, “you’ll fix it, right?”
You roll your eyes. “Just read the cards.”
He laughs and turns to the class.
You start.
You introduce your topic, voice more steady than you feel. You’ve done this a hundred times in your head, practiced your lines, your pauses. It comes easily.
Then it’s Mikey’s turn.
He takes his card.
Your heart stops.
He looks at it.
Then looks up.
There’s a beat where you’re terrified he’s going to say something completely off-topic. Or blank. Or walk out.
Instead, he says, clear and confident:
“One of the major goals of the post-war economic reforms was to break up the power of the zaibatsu, big corporations that controlled a lot of Japan’s economy before the war.”
The class blinks.
He continues, warming up.
“By doing this, the government wanted to stop too much power from being in the hands of a few families. That way, more people could compete in the market, and the economy would be more stable.”
He glances at you.
You nod subtly.
He relaxes, shoulders loosening.
“It’s kinda like… if one gang controlled all the turf in Tokyo,” he goes on, casual but surprisingly articulate. “It looks strong, but if anything happens to that one gang, everything falls apart. But if there are more groups, spread out, the whole thing doesn’t crumble so easy.”
There’s a ripple of laughter around the room, but not mocking. Intrigued.
You hide a smile.
He just did what you’ve been doing for days, connected it to his world, his rules, so it makes sense.
You finish the final part of the presentation together. He doesn’t freeze once. When he falters, you pick up the sentence. When you blank for a moment, he jumps in with an example. It’s… smooth.
It’s weird how easy it is to talk when he’s next to you.
At the end, there’s a small pause.
Then, unexpectedly, your classmates start clapping.
Not just polite taps.
Actual, impressed applause.
Your teacher looks like he might cry again.
“T-that was very good,” he says, visibly moved. “Clear, engaging, excellent use of examples. I’m… pleasantly surprised.”
Mikey beams.
You exhale, tension draining out of your shoulders.
You catch Tanaka’s expression in the back, sour and begrudgingly impressed, and fight the urge to smirk at him.
You and Mikey return to your seats. Your legs feel a little wobbly.
“That was fun,” Mikey whispers once you’re seated.
“You’re insane,” you whisper back. “You just freestyled half of that.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
You can’t argue with that.
When grades are posted later, you see it.
Top score.
You stare at the number for a full five seconds.
Then, involuntarily, you grin.
A hand appears next to yours, ruffling your hair from behind.
“See?” Mikey crows. “Told you we’d beat that guy.”
You swat his hand away, but you’re still smiling. “You did good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” you say honestly. “In a good way.”
He tilts his head, eyes crinkling. “Then I’m happy.”
You look up at him, about to say something more, something like you really tried or thank you, but sensei shuffles by then, clearing his throat.
“Sano,” he says, hesitant. “I, ah. I hope to see more of this… effort from you. In the future.”
Mikey scratches his cheek. “No promises, sensei.”
Your teacher deflates.
“But,” Mikey adds, glancing at you, “I might show up sometimes. If my partner’s here.”
Sensei blinks.
You choke. “I’m not your-”
“Thank you for your hard work,” sensei says to you quickly, like you’re the only thing standing between his sanity and collapse. “Truly. You’ve done a great job.”
You bow politely, murmuring a thank you, and then you’re dragged away by Mikey’s hand on your sleeve.
-----
You end up outside the school gate without really meaning to. One moment you’re packing your bag, the next you’re being herded along by Mikey’s unstoppable momentum.
He finally stops under a tree just beyond the gate, where the street is quieter. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, dappling his face with light.
“So,” he says.
“So,” you echo.
He rocks on his heels, hands in his pockets, looking at you with a brightness that makes your chest warm. “We make a pretty good team.”
Your lips twitch. “Apparently.”
“Top score,” he reminds you.
“I can read.”
He laughs.
Then, suddenly, he sobers a little.
“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight. “You know how you came to get your partner back from the dead?”
“He wasn’t dead, just truant.”
“Same thing,” he says with a shrug. “Anyway. I was thinking.”
You cross your arms. “Dangerous.”
He ignores that. “I don’t really care about school stuff. You know that.”
“I picked up on it, yeah.”
“But.” He pauses, looking at you. Really looking. “I liked this. Doing something with you. Building it together. Watching you get all serious and bossy.”
You feel your face heat. “That’s not-”
“It is,” he insists, grin tugging at his lips, then softens. “You worked really hard. For both of us. No one’s ever done that for me. Not like that.”
You blink.
Something in your chest squeezes painfully.
“You’re important to me,” he says simply. “So I was thinking…”
He steps closer.
Your back bumps lightly against the tree trunk. You didn’t even realize you’d moved.
He’s close now, close enough that you can see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes, the way his lashes cast little shadows. His smile is smaller, more genuine than the lazy grins he shows everyone else.
“…You should keep being my partner,” he finishes.
You swallow. “For… school?”
“For everything,” he says, without missing a beat.
Your heart stutters.
“Mikey-”
“I mean,” he goes on, eyes darting briefly to your mouth before snapping back up, “you can yell at me when I skip class. Drag me to the library. Make me snacks. I’ll walk you home. Scare off annoying guys. You know. Partner stuff.”
“That’s not what partner stuff means,” you say weakly.
He hums. “It is if I say so.”
You stare at him.
The worst part is that he sounds… sincere. Like in his own skewed, simple way, this is how he says I want you around and I like you and don’t go anywhere.
Your throat feels tight all of a sudden.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intend.
He leans in just a fraction more, eyes flicking over your face. “Is that a no?”
You hesitate.
You think about the first day, staring at that cursed partner list, cursing whatever fate married your grade to a delinquent myth. You think about the parking lot, the shrine, the Toman hangout. About textbooks and dorayaki and late-night walks home.
About the way he stood between you and a rude classmate like it was nothing.
About the way he looked when he thought you might not want to see him after the project.
You exhale.
“It’s…” You lick your lips, nerves crackling under your skin. “It’s a maybe.”
He grins, bright and unstoppable. “I can work with maybe.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no,” he counters.
You open your mouth, then close it.
He laughs, delighted, and in that moment, caught between annoyance and fondness, you slip.
“If you want me to keep being your partner,” you say, trying to sound stern and failing, “you have to promise to show up. At least sometimes. I refuse to be seen as the person dating a ghost.”
You freeze.
He freezes.
You replay your own words in your head.
Dating.
You want to sink into the ground.
Mikey’s smile does something oddly slow. It softens, widens, shifts into something you’ve never quite seen on him before, something almost reverent.
“Dating, huh?” he says, voice a little hoarse with poorly concealed glee. “You thinking that far already?”
“I- That’s not what I meant-”
He steps even closer, bracing one hand against the tree trunk near your head, caging you in without touching. His face is only inches from yours now.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”
You do, helplessly.
His gaze is steady. His voice drops.
“If we were dating,” he says slowly, “would you let me do this?”
He leans in, close enough that his forehead brushes yours, that you can feel his breath fan across your lips. He doesn’t close the distance completely. Just hovers there, waiting, asking.
Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it.
You could push him away.
You don’t.
“…Maybe,” you whisper.
His eyes flicker, satisfaction flashing through them.
Then he pulls back half an inch and taps your forehead gently with his own, like a soft little headbutt.
“Okay,” he says, and somehow his smile is even warmer. “I’ll earn it.”
“You… what?”
“The right to do more ‘dating stuff,’” he says matter-of-factly. “If my partner wants it.”
You’re certain your brain has melted.
He straightens up finally, hands sliding back into his pockets, expression turning playful again.
“Until then,” he says, voice light, “I’ll settle for this.”
He reaches down and takes your hand.
Your fingers slot into his like they’ve done it a thousand times before.
Your brain short-circuits again.
“Mikey-”
“Walk me home,” he says with a grin. “Partner.”
You should say that’s backwards.
You don’t.
You just let him tug you along, your joined hands swinging between you, the late afternoon sun warm on your backs.
shameless delulu is my solulu girlie @ririissuosheart - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
amandla
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
blakekathryn
gamechangershow
discoholicmusic
jimmyeatworldofficial
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
ellievsbear
