Hello! My name is Galaxy (aka spacecasegalaxy on here and AO3) and I’m a brand new fanfic writer who loves slow burn, mutual pining, and friends to lovers maybe a little more than I should
At the moment I’m currently focused on Jujutsu Kaisen and Love and Deepspace fluff with gender neutral reader inserts, but that might change in the future once I’m more comfortable with writing!
I also will take requests for headcanons and shorter posts on here, for any JJK, LADS, Haikyuu, or Blue Lock season 1 characters (this’ll change once I get further in blue lock lol)! Currently I am only comfortable with writing SFW content, but again that might change in the future. I hope you enjoy my writing!
How would different Blue Lock boys be if you went on vacation together?
Isagi, Bachira, Rin, Chigiri, Kunigami, Reo, and Nagi (seperate) x reader
Tags/Warnings: pure fluff, established relationship, gender neutral reader, no use of y/n, possibly ooc (I cannot write men without making them into whipped yearners)
a/n: I just got back from a vacation with some friends and my brain is stuck in a traveling mood! Sorry if any of this is incomprehensible I am currently very jetlagged and about half asleep (╥﹏╥) I hope you enjoy!!
Yoichi Isagi: chronic planner
He’s got a full itinerary planned out at least a month in advance (with contingency plans in case you’re not feeling up for any activities)
Probably has a full list of websites bookmarked, all things like “[place name] most romantic spots” and “best restaurants in [place name]”. He does his research and he wants the best for you!
Also involves you every step of the way, if you so much as hint about wanting to do or see something it is locked into his brain
Loves loves loves taking photos of you!! Posed photos, couple selfies, candid photos, even blurry photos of you eating
(Definitely gets flustered if you take any photos of him too)
Secretly really wants to get matching souvenirs. If you surprise him with matching shirts or keychains or anything like that he will be the happiest man on the planet
He tries to pack as much as possible into every second of the trip. He wants to see EVERYTHING and he’s very stubborn about it
Doesn’t let go of your hand for the whole trip
He treasures your company, so he wants to make the whole trip special so you can both remember it for the rest of your lives <3
Meguru Bachira: fuck it we ball
Planning wise? Complete opposite of Isagi.
He will show up in another country with nothing besides his passport and a toothbrush on a whim
Finds the most obscure locations and brings you along. He wants to share all the fun with you!!
Somehow immune to jet lag, he can bounce back pretty much immediately
Immediately makes friends with the locals whether or not he knows the language, his personality and energy is so infectious it’s almost impossible to dislike him
Absolutely no shame about PDA, he’s spending half the trip basically wrapped around you. He’s draped over your back like a koala when you’re waiting in line, practically skipping while swinging your hands as you walk, he’s lifting you up and swinging you around if he gets even a little excited
Seeks out unique experiences over usual souvenirs, you probably end up going back home with things you made at local hole-in-the-wall workshops with him
Insists on sharing all of your food, he wants to try everything you have, and wants you to try everything he has. Will steal sips of your drinks. Will also try to feed you bites of desserts.
If he hears any music he’s pulling you in for a dance; street musician, concert, even music playing over the radio in a shop, you’ll be in his arms as he twirls and dips you completely unprompted
Your wardrobe is his wardrobe, he’ll shamelessly steal clothes out of your suitcase and offer you his clothes in exchange. It’s a win-win for him, he loves wearing things that remind him of you, and he loves seeing you in his clothes
Expends so much energy during the day that he immediately crashes once you’re back at your hotel, dragging you into bed and curling around you
He’s already started thinking about your next adventures before this one even ends
Rin Itoshi: grumpy but secretly enjoying it
Would rather die than go somewhere touristy (but if you wanted to go he’d grumble and then immediately relent)
Does not like crowds. He turns into a guard dog anywhere a bit too busy, glaring at anyone who gets too close for comfort, pulling you close to him
Probably would like going somewhere quieter, like museums, gardens, ponds, somewhere where he can just walk and take a breather with you
He’ll let you drag him pretty much wherever you want. He’ll do his usual grumbly complaining act and roll his eyes but he’s got a flush across his face any time you get excited about anything
He also takes photos of you, but he’s far more sneaky with it. You wouldn’t even know until you catch a glimpse of his camera roll, full of candid photos of your content and relaxed face
His care is a bit more subtle than most, but he’s almost constantly checking on you. Whether it’s through him asking how you’re doing, watching you like a hawk, or squeezing your hand any time you seem even a little upset, he wants to make sure that you’re doing ok
He’ll never admit it, but the whole trip was basically an excuse to spend time with you, and he wants to make sure that he makes it as worth it for you as it is for him
Hyoma Chigiri: instagram boyfriend
Before you’re even on the vacation he’s the type who’s getting on the plane with the full skincare/haircare routine, face mask and moisturizer and leave in conditioner and all (I am him he is me) and will offer the same to you. Does not care if any other passengers look at the two of you funny.
He loves finding pretty places to take you; beaches, parks, rivers, anywhere with a nice view
Still has a competitive streak even on vacation, he will “race” you on walks
No matter where you are he is dressing stylishly, you will not catch him looking boring!!!
He also loves matching outfits/accessories with you, but I think he’d like to keep it more lowkey, like matching colors instead of a whole matching outfit
He’s the picture of an Instagram boyfriend, he knows your angles, he’s insisting on taking pictures of you everywhere you go and it turns out as a masterpiece every time
Loves teasing you, I don’t think he’d be huge on PDA but I think he’s the type to wait until no one’s looking to kiss you deeply and smile smugly when you’re left standing there flustered, feigning innocence as he’s already walking away
He’s a lot more relaxed about traveling than some of the other guys, he sees it as an opportunity to relax rather than a time to do and see everything
Every night back at the hotel turns into a spa night. While he can be snarky and tease quite a bit, he loves pampering you (and being pampered in return). If you are even a little bit sore he WILL give you a massage and he WILL be very good at it
While he loves seeing you all confident and stylish on the move he thinks you’re cutest at the end of the day, sleepy in his arms <3
Rensuke Kunigami: the perfect gentleman
A gentleman through and through
Will not let you lift a finger, he’s carrying your luggage, he’s letting you sleep in, he’s letting you drag him wherever you want
Cold? He packed a jacket for you just in case (or better yet, lends you his own). Too warm? He brought extra water for you. You’re tired? He has no shame in carrying you wherever you want to go
Wakes up before the sun even comes up to go on runs and work out even while traveling (but he makes sure that you don’t wake up, he’ll tuck you back into bed with a kiss on the forehead and everything)
Absolutely will do any cutesy or couple-y things you want with no complaint, he lives to see you smile
Acts as a human shield anytime you’re somewhere even a little crowded, hand resting on the small of your back, practically looming behind you. Glares at anyone who bumps into you.
Probably would love anything outdoors-y, he strikes me as the camping/hiking/beach type (obviously holding your hand and guiding you up any trickier parts of the route if you struggle)
All-in-all he loves taking care of you and spoiling you in his own way, he just wants to make you happy!!
Reo Mikage: luxury travel
You already know this, but if you’re traveling with Reo you are not paying for a damn thing
He spoils you with michelin star dining, fancy hotels, and once in a lifetime experiences, all because he loves you and insists that you deserve the world
If you want literally anything it’s yours
Seriously, if you even look at anything a second too long you have it by the end of the day. Clothes in a boutique window, a meal you saw online, shoes, souvenirs, even experiences. No price is too much for you!!
He wants to give you a fairytale romance. He strikes me as the type to dream of being your prince charming
As a result you are getting showered in grand gestures unless you tell him to stop; massive bouquets delivered to your hotel room, all expenses paid spa trips, private dinners full of local specialties
If you do anything for HIM though? He’s immediately losing his bravado and getting flustered
It doesn’t matter how small it is. If you take him somewhere you thought he’d like? He’s blushing. You give him a little trinket you found in a gift shop somewhere because it reminded you of him? He’s swooning. You so much as feed him a bite of your dinner at the fancy restaurant HE paid for??? He looks at you like you hung the moon yourself.
Even if you’re in some exotic location with a once in a lifetime view, he’s hardly taking his eyes off you, lovesick smile on his face and hearts in his eyes
He fully thinks that he’s the luckiest guy in the world for getting to spend this time with you, and he’ll do it over and over again just to see you light up
Seishiro Nagi: go with the flow
I’m sorry but he’s not planning anything if he doesn’t have to, he is more than content with leaving everything up to you (╥﹏╥)
He is basically attached to you the whole trip. He’s slumped against you asleep on the plane. Sitting somewhere? He’s basically in your lap. He’d have you carry him around bridal style 24/7 if you could
Fully content to just stay in the hotel, but he’ll go anywhere you want him to (you just might have to bribe him with extra cuddles)
You are not getting him out of bed any time before 10. He insists that he’s “making the most out of his vacation time” and drags you back into bed with him, wrapping all 6’3” of his body around you
Once you do get him out of bed he’s prone to wandering off, he does not check maps or signs or his phone or anything (because it’s too much of a hassle of course) so you do need to hold his hand to make sure you don’t lose him
Although if you do lose sight of him it’s pretty easy to spot him over the surrounding crowds, considering he’s the tallest one in sight with bright white hair
Falls asleep on public transportation constantly. He’ll share his earbuds with you, listening to music, and then promptly will fall asleep leaning his full body weight on your shoulder almost the second it starts moving
I think he’d be a bit of a foodie though, he loves trying the local food
Ends up picking up every stuffed animal that looks like you, amassing an army on the hotel bed by the end of the trip
Each day ends with you two curled up in bed, him playing video games while tucked between you and the steadily growing army of plushies
While he may seem hesitant about the whole vacation thing, he loves any excuse to relax with you
Would the Blue Lock boys be a big spoon or a little spoon?
this is incredibly self indulgent and I can’t explain most of these but bear with me!! If I left anyone out it’s because literally nothing came to me I’m sorry (also I’m an anime only so I haven’t met a lot of the characters yet) (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
Big spoon: BAROU, Kunigami (partially bc he just has not considered being the little spoon but he’d probably like it), Sae, Loki, Chigiri
Little spoon: Reo, NAGI, Rin (but he’d rather die than admit it), Karasu (I can’t explain this one it’s just vibes)
Both/No preference: Isagi, BACHIRA (doesn’t mind either way, is just clingy and will wrap himself around you either way), Yukimiya, Shidou (also doesn’t mind either way he’s just clingy)
I just woke up from a dream that I was cuddling with bokuakakuroken (,,>﹏<,,) I am about to write a fic soooo self indulgent…it literally came to me in a dream
I love when I get a like/comment/reblog on a fic from a blog called “ilove[character]” or “[character]fan” it feels like I got a connoisseur’s stamp of approval. It’s like I got a good grade in [character]
you’re partnered with the most popular boy at school, oikawa tooru—who you thought never noticed you—but he turns into a flustered mess every time you’re near.
starring. oikawa tooru x fem!reader
wc. 10.6k
author's note: hi guys this is luna (@yukkiji) someone reported my account and got it terminated and this is one the few stories that was on my gdocs so I was able to repost it (╥﹏╥) but for the mean time I'll post my saved fics on my new blog
Oikawa Tooru had been something of a campus celebrity since your very first year—charismatic, loud in the way stars always are, and seemingly untouchable in how easily people gravitated toward him. There was always someone calling his name across the quad or waving at him in the halls, and he never failed to flash that practiced, dazzling smile that somehow managed to look sincere every time. You’d never spoken to him—not directly, not personally—but you’d caught glimpses. Enough to know that the real thing was even more magnetic than the rumors.
You knew the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, how his shoulders relaxed when he was surrounded by his friends, how he would complain about the cafeteria coffee but still drink it anyway. You’d watched him from the corners of classrooms and in line at campus cafés, never too obvious but never quite able to help yourself. You were down horrendously bad for this man—though you’d die before admitting it aloud. The problem was that you were painfully shy, and despite your not-so-minor crush, you went out of your way to avoid even the possibility of interaction. You’d once pretended to be deeply fascinated by a bulletin board just to avoid making eye contact when he walked past.
You were convinced that he didn’t know you existed.
But he did.
He noticed you—had been noticing you since the second week of that painfully early GE class you shared. At first, it was idle curiosity. Then, fascination. And now, borderline obsession. You sat two rows in front of him, usually by the window, and he could barely concentrate half the time. Your handwriting, the way you sometimes doodled in the margins of your notes, the tiny way you tilted your head when you were confused—he knew it all. You'd lean forward just slightly when something interested you, and he would forget entirely what the professor was talking about. Once, you dropped your pen and he nearly fell out of his chair trying to reach it at the same time.
“God, he’s doing it again,” Matsukawa muttered, nudging Hanamaki with his elbow as they all slumped in their usual booth at the library café.
Hanamaki didn’t even look up from his phone. “What? Spacing out and pretending he’s not heart-eyes over mystery girl?”
“She’s not a mystery,” Oikawa shot back instantly, cheeks already starting to pink. “I know her name.”
Iwaizumi raised a brow as he took a sip of his drink. “Congratulations. Next, you’ll be telling us you know her blood type.”
“I don’t, obviously,” Oikawa muttered, fiddling with the lid of his drink. “...It’s probably B.”
Hanamaki snorted. “You looked that up, didn’t you.”
Oikawa looked vaguely horrified. “I did not! Why would I—okay, I might have, but only once! And it was for research.”
“Research,” Matsukawa repeated, deadpan. “On her blood compatibility? You planning to donate an organ or propose?”
Oikawa groaned, slumping into the table. “You guys are the worst.”
“You’re worse,” Iwaizumi said dryly. “You're literally a disaster every time she’s within a ten-foot radius.”
“She’s so pretty,” Oikawa mumbled into his arms.
“And you get so stupid,” Hanamaki added.
“You almost walked into a door last week,” Matsukawa said. “We saw it. The entire hallway saw it.”
“I was distracted!”
“By her existing,” Iwaizumi said flatly. “Just talk to her, dumbass.”
“I can’t just talk to her,” Oikawa said, lifting his head with a look of genuine agony. “She’s—she’s quiet. What if I scare her?”
“You scare everyone,” Hanamaki said. “That hasn’t stopped you before.”
“But she’s not everyone,” Oikawa said softly.
They didn’t say anything to that—not because they didn’t have anything to tease him with, but because the way he said it was too honest, too transparent in a way that caught them slightly off guard.
Matsukawa was the one who broke the silence. “You’ve got it bad, man.”
“Like, ‘write her name in your notebook and practice your married signature’ bad,” Hanamaki added.
Oikawa let out a long, suffering groan and buried his face back into the crook of his elbow.
And from a few tables over, completely unaware, you sipped your coffee and tried not to look directly at him. He was loud and bright and effortlessly charming—and you were convinced you’d melt into the floor if he ever so much as glanced in your direction.
He did.
A lot.
And every time he did, his heart stuttered—like he was the one with the hopeless crush.
It was almost ridiculous how the universe seemed to toy with both of you. A few weeks into the semester, your professor for one of your GE classes stood at the front of the lecture hall, a list of randomly assigned project partners in his hand. You weren't expecting much. In fact, you were already mentally preparing yourself to carry the entire project, as usual.
But then, your name was called—and immediately after, his.
Oikawa Tooru.
Your breath caught. Your brain short-circuited. You didn’t even look back at him, too busy calculating how quickly you could get up and ask to be re-assigned. Surely the professor would understand. It wasn’t about Oikawa specifically—it was about your tendency to completely shut down around people like him. Popular. Charming. Intimidatingly beautiful.
But before you could move, you heard his voice—bright, eager, and just a little too loud.
“Cool!”
You froze.
He was already making his way toward you, that signature easy grin on his face, his brown hair bouncing slightly with each step. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, like this was the best possible outcome he could have hoped for.
And then he tripped.
It happened so fast. One second he was gliding down the steps of the tiered seating like it was a runway, the next he caught the edge of his shoe on a stair and went sprawling—face-first, limbs flailing in the most undignified way possible—onto the floor right in front of you.
The entire lecture hall gasped. So did you.
“Oh my god—Tooru! Are you okay?”
Your voice cracked slightly at the end, halfway between concern and panic. You were already halfway out of your seat, your hands hovering, unsure whether to help him up or pretend you hadn't just witnessed your crush crash and burn like a baby deer on ice.
Oikawa froze on the ground. Not because he was hurt—but because you said his name.
You. Knew. His. Name.
He looked up at you, ears burning bright red, and despite the throbbing pain in his knee and the bruised ego, he swore he could feel his soul leave his body and ascend.
“I—uh. Yep! Totally fine. That was…just gravity testing me.”
“Gravity's a bitch,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, but he heard it anyway. He laughed. You winced.
From the back row, Iwaizumi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s malfunctioning again.”
“Dude’s gone,” Matsukawa said, sipping from his tumbler like he was watching a reality show. “Absolutely fried.”
Hanamaki leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Did you hear her? She said his name. That’s it. We’ve lost him.”
“I’m not carrying him down the stairs if he short-circuits again,” Iwaizumi added.
Oikawa, who was still crouched on the floor pretending to inspect his shoelaces, heard all of it.
But he didn’t care.
Because you knew his name.
And you were worried about him.
God help him, he was doomed.
Meanwhile, you, on the other hand, were still internally spiraling over what had just happened—not even a full minute had passed since Oikawa tripped in front of you and practically crashed face-first into the pavement like a poorly written slapstick scene. You didn’t even understand how it unfolded. One moment, he was confidently walking your way, and the next, gravity had betrayed him in the most theatrical way possible. Now he was crouched down, pretending to fiddle with his shoelaces as if that somehow explained the catastrophe, but the real chaos was happening in your head—because you had said his name.
Again.
“Tooru.”
It slipped out before you could stop yourself, soft and uncertain, and the moment it left your lips, you saw it hit him like a second blow. If his brain had short-circuited the first time, this one sent him into a full shutdown-restart sequence. You couldn’t tell if it was the way you said it or the fact that you said it at all, but it had him spiraling—and you, just as badly, were panicking over how much worse you might’ve made things.
Still, you did the only thing you could think of—you extended your hand toward him, voice quiet but sincere. “Uhm—I’ll help you up, Tooru.”
That did not help.
Oikawa looked up at you as if your voice alone could kill him, a stunned expression frozen on his face. You had just offered him your hand—and said his name—again. It was over. His neurons had given up entirely. He was absolutely losing it.
“Yeah—yeah, sure,” he managed to say, but it came out breathless, like the words had to push past a malfunctioning system just to make it to the surface.
Then, without thinking, he took your hand.
You jolted at the contact, visibly startled, and you couldn’t stop the flush that crawled up your neck. His hand was warm—too warm—and the feel of it against your palm made your heart spike wildly in your chest. You could feel your entire body heating up like your blood had turned to steam. He held on longer than necessary, just long enough to make your breath hitch, and when you finally looked at his face, he was already staring at you like you had just fallen from the sky and cracked his sanity open.
Several steps behind, the rest of the team had come to a halt, observing the entire scene unfold like front-row spectators to the most awkward yet painfully romantic moment they’d ever seen in real time. Iwaizumi stood with arms crossed, clearly trying to suppress the urge to groan into the sky. Matsukawa had one brow lifted so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline, and Hanamaki, bless him, had the most smug grin stretching across his face.
“Who needs a cinema when I’m watching this?” Hanamaki muttered under his breath, elbowing Matsukawa lightly.
None of them blinked. None of them moved. Because somehow, despite how ridiculous it all started, they knew—this was the beginning of something they were absolutely going to tease Oikawa about until the end of time.
“Uhm… when do you want to start?” you asked, your voice barely steady as he sat down beside you—too close, too real, too much for your already short-circuiting brain to handle.
You didn’t dare look at him. Not directly. Not when your heart was pounding this loud and your palms were too clammy to be normal. Your eyes focused anywhere else—the desk, your notebook, the way the sleeve of his hoodie brushed against your arm like it had no concept of personal space. Everything about him was overwhelming, even in silence.
Oikawa shifted slightly, one leg crossed over the other, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie as he tried not to stare too obviously at your profile. You looked nervous—but soft. And so, so pretty up close. He almost forgot to answer.
“Later?” he offered, trying to sound casual.
You gave a small smile—barely there, but real—and shook your head gently. “I have another class though,” you said, almost apologetically, and that little touch of laughter at the end of your sentence slipped out before you could catch it.
And just like that, Oikawa was gone.
To anyone else, it would’ve been a normal laugh. A polite one. But to him, it was the prettiest thing he’d heard all day—maybe all semester. The way it cracked the nerves in your voice, the way your eyes softened when you said it—he wanted to bottle the sound and play it on repeat. His thoughts unraveled faster than he could keep up with.
“Oh—uh, right—of course,” he stammered, already fumbling his words. “That totally makes sense, I—I mean, obviously you’d have class, because, uh, we’re in school—yeah.”
You couldn’t help it. You laughed again, this time hiding your smile behind your hand.
Oikawa stiffened. He had to look away, cheeks visibly flushing, as if he had been caught in the act of thinking something he shouldn’t be.
From across the room, Hanamaki made a dramatic face and mouthed oh my god while Matsukawa smirked like he’d just won a bet. Iwaizumi, arms crossed and expression flat, looked like he was moments away from dragging Oikawa out by the collar if he fumbled one more time.
Eventually, the awkward air gave way to something lighter, easier—like the ice had cracked just enough to let a little warmth through.
“How about this weekend?” you offered softly. “There’s a café across from the school. It’s usually quiet.”
Oikawa’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought he might pull something. “Yes. Yes—Saturday? That works. Saturday’s great.”
You smiled again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Saturday, then.”
The moment stretched just a little too long, not in discomfort—but in uncertainty. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to just leave it at that. So you hesitated, fingers brushing against the edge of your phone.
Then, voice even quieter than before, you glanced up from beneath your lashes and said, “By the way… should I give you my number? To contact me?”
Oikawa stared.
If his brain had reset earlier, this time it completely powered down. Your voice had gone soft again—so soft he had to lean in slightly just to hear you clearly. And then, the words themselves—give you my number—sent him into another emotional tailspin.
“Yes!” he said a little too loudly. Then he cleared his throat, trying to play it off. “I mean—yeah. That’d be helpful. Just so, like, I can message you. About the project.”
You nodded, holding out your hand for his phone. Oikawa fumbled to unlock it—twice—before finally managing to hand it over. You typed in your number slowly, trying not to think too hard about how his eyes were definitely on you the whole time. You even added a small emoji next to your name—out of habit, not flirtation—but when you gave the phone back, Oikawa stared at the contact like it had personally granted him eternal happiness.
You didn’t realize it, but he smiled for the rest of the day.
When you handed your phone to him so he could type in his number, Oikawa took it like it was made of glass. His fingers hovered for a second, then typed carefully—nervously—as if each letter had the power to make or break fate. He pressed save only after checking twice, cheeks flushed, mouth opening like he wanted to say something more before he let it go.
You bid him goodbye with that soft smile and your usual light step, not noticing how long he stayed there even after you disappeared into the crowd.
Oikawa was still staring at your contact info, frozen in place like time stopped. He couldn’t believe it. Your name—your name—was now sitting in his phone like it belonged there, like it always had.
And then his phone buzzed.
[you]: see you on saturday tooru ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ
His heart did a full somersault in his chest. His lips parted in disbelief, then curved upward slowly, like they didn’t know how else to react.
“That’s new,” Matsukawa said casually, appearing by his side with an annoyingly smug look as he peered over Oikawa’s shoulder. “So you finally won the lottery.”
“I should’ve placed bets,” Hanamaki added as he joined in, nodding to the message on the screen. “All it takes was a project so you can finally grow balls to get close to her.”
Iwaizumi was the last to arrive, folding his arms as he cast Oikawa a look that was both unimpressed and faintly amused.
“Even though it was an embarrassment watching you fall flat earlier,” he muttered.
Oikawa groaned, but it was the kind that had no real weight—his grin gave him away. He clutched his phone like it was a secret he never wanted to lose, still looking at your message like he couldn’t quite believe it existed.
Maybe he did fall earlier. Maybe he’d embarrassed himself more times than he could count. But none of that mattered now.
The rest of the week passed in a blur, lectures blending into each other, and practices running longer than they should. But Oikawa didn’t mind. Saturday kept inching closer, and he welcomed the distraction of waiting.
By the time it finally arrived, Oikawa was practically vibrating with energy.
Living off-campus was a mutual decision between the four of them—him, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki—something about shared space, independence, and how splitting rent outside campus was barely any more expensive. Their rented house had four bedrooms, and despite their differences, it worked.
Kind of.
Especially when Oikawa started his morning by knocking on every single one of their doors for the third time.
“Iwa, Iwaaa—how’s this coat? Be honest, I trust your opinion,” he sang, standing in the hallway in front of Iwaizumi’s door, fully dressed in layered neutrals: a cream turtleneck under a deep brown blazer, tailored slacks, tortoiseshell glasses, and his favorite loafers. Very old money. Very Tooru.
The door flung open with force. Iwaizumi glared at him, hair still tousled from sleep.
“It’s seven-thirty in the morning. On a weekend.”
Then, without waiting for an answer, Iwaizumi slammed the door shut again.
“That was rude, Iwa!” Oikawa called, offended but not surprised.
Undeterred, he made his way to the next door. “Mattsun?” he said, knocking rhythmically. “Don’t ignore me. Rate the look. One to ten. Be honest but not too honest.”
A muffled groan. Then: “Too early for fashion shows, Tooru.”
Finally, he knocked on the last door. “Makkiiii~ You’ll tell me I look hot, right?”
The door creaked open a crack, just enough for a bleary Hanamaki to squint at him. “You’re obnoxious, but annoyingly good-looking. Now get out of here before I throw a slipper at your face.”
Oikawa beamed. “That’s the energy I needed, thank you, Makki!”
Satisfied, he returned to his room, checking his appearance in the mirror one last time—adjusting the collar of his coat, fixing the cuffs, making sure his glasses sat just right.
Then his phone buzzed.
[you]: good morning tooru see you later (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)
Oikawa froze. Stared. Then dramatically collapsed backward onto his bed, clutching his phone to his chest and covering his mouth like he was trying to trap a scream.
“She texted,” he whispered to no one. “She texted first. Oh my god—she’s so cute—what does that kaomoji mean? Is that a heart? Is she flirting? Iwa-chan will never believe this—wait, no, Iwa-chan cannot know about this.”
He rolled onto his stomach, kicking his feet into the mattress like a teenager high on the idea of love.
Then his phone vibrated again. He jolted upright like he'd been electrocuted.
[you]: I'll eat breakfast first then I'll let you know when I'm on the way
[you]: you should also eat too tooru (๑´ڡ`๑)
Oikawa screamed.
Like, actually screamed.
He launched his phone onto the bed and flailed like a man under emotional attack.
“She cares about my health! She wants me to eat! She used a food kaomoji—what does that even mean?!” He groaned into his pillow, muffled and dramatic, before flipping over again to stare at the ceiling in awe. “She’s gonna be the death of me.”
There was a sharp knock on his wall—probably from Iwaizumi’s room. “SHUT UP, TOORU. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP.”
Oikawa cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back, “I’M HAVING A MOMENT, IWA-CHAN. LET ME FEEL THINGS.”
Then, quieter, to himself, “I can’t eat now… how do you expect me to eat when she texts like that?”
Still, he sat up. Smoothed his clothes again. Slipped off his glasses just to clean them even though they were spotless. Checked the time. Checked it again two seconds later.
And with one last look at his reflection, he whispered, “Don’t mess this up, Tooru.”
You, on the other hand, were already red just by sending the message to him.
Your phone slipped from your fingers and landed on the bed with a soft thud as you froze in place, hands hovering midair like you were afraid to touch reality.
"Are you okay?" she asked slowly, watching the way your face turned even redder. "Do you have a fever?"
You whipped your head toward her, eyes wide. "What? No! I'm—I'm fine!" you lied, voice three octaves higher than usual.
She frowned, standing up to approach you with her hand outstretched. "You're sweating. You definitely look like you have a fever—"
"I'm fine!" you insisted, grabbing a pillow to hide your face. "It's just... I sent a stupid text, okay?"
That caught her attention.
She stopped in her tracks, grin forming instantly. "To Oikawa?" she asked, voice laced with teasing.
You groaned into the pillow.
"Why did I put a kaomoji?!" you cried into the fabric. "Who even does that?! What am I, twelve?! He’s gonna think I’m weird."
Your roommate laughed. "You're spiraling, and it's not even 9 a.m."
“I should’ve deleted it. I should’ve deleted it and retyped like a normal human being.”
"And yet," she sipped her coffee again, eyes sparkling, "you didn't."
You dramatically collapsed backward onto the mattress, hands flung out like you were on stage.
“I’m never texting anyone again.”
Your phone buzzed.
You shrieked.
[tooru]: see you later also ♡
You stared at your phone.
Oh god.
Why did he send a heart.
Without even thinking, you launched yourself face-first into your pillow and let out a muffled scream.
Your feet kicked at the mattress. You writhed like a bug on its back. The pillow smothered both your voice and your rising panic, but the damage was done. Your brain was spiraling.
You didn’t even hear your roommate step into the room until you heard the unmistakable sound of a coffee mug being set on your nightstand.
“You good?” she asked, one brow raised and very much not concerned.
You lifted your head just enough for her to see your wide-eyed expression and the sheer panic painted across your face.
“He sent a heart,” you croaked out. “Tooru. Oikawa. He—he sent a heart.”
Your roommate paused for a moment… and then snorted.
“Oh my god,” she said with a grin. “You’re totally acting like a high schooler with a crush.”
“I am! This is his fault! I only sent a kaomoji! That’s like—barely flirting! Why would he heart me back?!”
“Maybe…” she drawled, her grin widening, “he likes you too?”
Your brain short-circuited.
Your entire body glitched.
Face: red. Heart: combusted. Brain: fried.
“D-Don’t say that!” you stammered, clutching your pillow like it was a life preserver.
She laughed as she sat at the edge of your bed, watching you squirm with far too much amusement. “You’re so adorable when you’re flustered. This is the most I’ve seen you lose it over a guy.”
You groaned and rolled again, hiding your face. “Because he’s not just a guy! He’s Oikawa Tooru! And he just sent me a heart like that’s a normal thing to do!”
“Well,” she teased, “good luck being normal when you see him later.”
You arrived at the café first.
The place was cozy, bright with warm light, and filled with the low hum of morning chatter. You chose a table near the window, trying to look casual as you sat down—but your fingers kept betraying you. You brushed imaginary dust off your dress for the third time, then tugged at your sleeves like they were too tight. They weren’t. You were just… nervous.
You smoothed the ribbon in your hair, inhaling deeply. You’d already ordered drinks to distract yourself. Maybe it would help. (It didn’t.)
Then the soft chime of the door rang.
Your head turned instinctively.
Oikawa Tooru stepped inside, hair slightly tousled by the wind, a tote bag over his shoulder, and that same casual, effortless charm he always carried like second nature. His eyes scanned the café for a second—and then found you.
He lit up immediately.
He waved at you like he’d been waiting for this all week.
Your eyes met his—and just as quickly, you dropped your gaze, flustered. You looked down at your lap like your nails suddenly became very interesting.
Meanwhile, Oikawa?
He was dying.
His heart thudded against his ribs so loud he was surprised no one else could hear it. You looked so adorable it physically hurt. The ribbon in your hair, the way you were dressed just a little more than usual, the way your gaze flitted away shyly when you caught him staring—
He was done for.
He moved toward your table too fast, too giddy—and immediately bumped into the edge of a nearby table.
A sharp, clumsy thud echoed.
A few people turned. He winced. One hand clutched his hip dramatically.
You looked up in surprise. “Oh my god—are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said quickly, shooting a sheepish smile at the older woman whose latte nearly spilled. “That table clearly came out of nowhere.”
You tried to hold in your laugh as he finally reached your table and slid into the seat across from you, rubbing at his hip like he was wounded in battle.
“You really okay?”
“I’ve had worse injuries in volleyball,” he replied with a wink. “But I’ll probably need emotional support now.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks still warm. “You’re ridiculous.”
He leaned forward slightly, still smiling. “But you’re smiling now, so… mission accomplished.”
You looked away again, biting back a smile.
And in that quiet second between heartbeats, Oikawa thought:
I’m so, so screwed.
Oikawa stood up almost immediately after settling in, like he hadn’t really intended to stay seated just yet. He brushed invisible dust from his sleeves before turning to you with a casual, “Do you want something? I’ll order.”
He glanced at the menu again while waiting for your answer, and when he asked what you wanted, you simply replied that you’d have another iced mocha—then added, somewhat shyly, that a slice of strawberry cheesecake sounded nice, too.
At the mention of it, he looked up. You hadn’t noticed, but there was a subtle shift in his gaze—like something about the words strawberry cheesecake flipped a switch in him. Oikawa swore he caught the tiniest glint in your eyes, an almost childlike spark that told him you didn’t just like the dessert—you loved it. He made a mental note of it without hesitation, storing it somewhere deep in the corner of his mind like it might come in handy one day, even if he didn’t know when.
A few minutes later, he came back carrying two iced drinks and two slices of cake. One strawberry cheesecake—perfectly plated and slightly glossy under the café lights—and another slice of chocolate for himself. He set yours in front of you without a word, just the smallest smile tugging at his lips.
You immediately reached for your wallet, already ready to split the bill. “Wait—how much was mine?”
“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand like it was no big deal.
You paused. “Are you sure?”
He looked up—and made the mistake of actually looking at you. The question had come out so genuinely, so earnestly, paired with that slight tilt of your head and the way your fingers hovered above your bag like you were still ready to insist. You looked up at him with eyes too soft for your own good, brows slightly drawn together in a way that screamed polite worry. And Oikawa, who had thought himself immune to such things, immediately felt his heart skip something like five beats.
He forced a casual shrug, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Yeah. Seriously. It’s just cake.”
The silence that followed wasn’t entirely awkward, but it wasn’t quite comfortable either. It was the kind that made you stir your straw unnecessarily in your drink just to give your hands something to do. He glanced down at his plate, and you glanced around the café, neither of you quite sure what to say next.
Eventually, you cleared your throat and spoke, voice a little lighter as if trying to reset the mood. “So... how do you want to start our project?”
It brought him back to reality. Right—your GE in literature. The joint presentation on showcasing different forms of written expression across eras. Poetry, prose, essays, scripts—anything that could be dissected and brought to life in front of the class. It was supposed to be simple, academic, straightforward. But now, looking across the table at you—fork in hand, eyes curious and waiting for his response—it didn’t feel so straightforward at all.
“Since we have two weeks to prepare, let’s just research first. Then I’ll do the PowerPoint—is that okay with you?” he asked, stirring his drink lazily, gaze fixed on you with casual ease that made your heart skip.
“Of course, but I’ll help you with the PowerPoint, okay?” you replied, offering a smile before your eyes quickly dropped to your plate. You poked at your cheesecake, avoiding his eyes, too aware of how intensely he’d been watching you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore—so was the flutter in your stomach. You were trying to play it cool, but God, the way he looked at you was intimidating in a way you couldn’t explain.
Oh god, Oikawa swears he might not even get through the day without combusting for the tenth time.
And don’t even get him started on how your cheeks puffed slightly as you took another bite, eyes lighting up at the taste like it was the best thing you’ve had all week. The way you looked—content, cheeks rounder, mouth curved into the softest smile as you chewed happily—it was too much. Too damn much.
He leaned back in his seat, trying not to grin like an idiot, but it was already too late.
He was so screwed.
And to make it worse, he could already hear Iwaizumi’s voice echoing in the back of his head—“You’re so whipped, it’s pathetic.”
Oikawa took another sip of his drink and stared at you over the rim of his glass, already knowing Iwaizumi was right.
Your days began to follow a pattern—one Oikawa secretly looked forward to more than his weekend games. Whether it was in quiet cafes tucked into campus corners, the school library where he’d “accidentally” reserve the seat next to you every time, your dorm lounge where you two would awkwardly huddle over a shared laptop, or sometimes even the house he shared with his three equally nosy (and annoying) best friends, your presence was starting to blur into every space of his life.
At first, it was just the literature project. But that quickly evolved into, “Hey, aren’t we in the same GE class? Want to study together too?” And you’d nodded, a bit too quickly, cheeks already warming, eyes darting anywhere but his face.
What started as strictly academic became something more like a ritual. Oikawa would pretend not to get too excited when your name popped up on his phone, and you would spend a full twenty minutes debating whether your outfit looked “too much” or “too plain.” You were a nervous wreck most of the time—especially the first time he invited you over. To a boy’s house. A house filled with boys. Tall, chaotic, loud boys. You practically considered faking sick.
But you showed up.
In a simple cream-colored dress with puff sleeves and a burgundy bow clipped neatly into your hair. You were trembling like a puppy in a thunderstorm, clutching your notes like they were a crucifix. Oikawa thought he might die. Right there. On his stupid living room rug.
“Hey, she’s cute,” Hanamaki had whispered way too loudly as he passed the living room with a bowl of popcorn.
“Our Oikawa has taste, huh?” Matsukawa had added, peeking into the room and wiggling his eyebrows like some evil uncle.
“She’s here to study,” Iwaizumi groaned, whacking both of them with a throw pillow. Then he turned to you with a forced smile. “Sorry. They’re idiots. Please ignore them.”
You bowed in embarrassment. “I-It’s okay… I didn’t expect anyone else to be here…”
Oikawa had the audacity to grin like a maniac. “They’re always here,” he whispered to you. “But you’re the only guest I like.”
He swore he saw steam rise from your ears. And then he had an internal breakdown for saying that out loud.
Your bow would bob every time you nodded, always slightly off-center by the end of the day from fidgeting too much. He grew to anticipate that bow like it was part of your personality—like it was something only he got to see up close. You’d tug at the hem of your skirt while reciting terms or chew on your pen while watching him explain things on your laptop screen, and Oikawa would have to bite his tongue not to say anything stupid.
"She's literally a shoujo manga character," Matsukawa whispered to Hanamaki one evening while peeking through the kitchen pass window.
"I bet Oikawa already has a secret folder of her selfies," Hanamaki replied, nodding seriously.
"I do not—!" Oikawa barked, nearly flipping his textbook. You shot him a puzzled glance, oblivious to the banter, while Iwaizumi dragged the two idiots back to the kitchen by their shirt collars.
“I’m sorry again,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, setting snacks down beside you. “If you hear them say anything stupid, just pretend they’re NPCs.”
You giggled, finally relaxing a little as you opened your notebook. “It’s okay. They’re kinda funny…”
Oikawa caught that—the way your eyes softened when you laughed. And he was screwed. So utterly, completely, permanently screwed.
Because your shy glances, your off-center bows, the way you always offered to help even when you didn’t have to—it all made his heart feel too full.
And unfortunately, Matsukawa was right. He might have actually saved a few selfies you sent when you asked, “Is this dress too much for study night?”
He might be whipped. But at this point? He didn’t even want a way out.
Once your literature project ended—and you both presented it with flushed cheeks and awkward smiles that your professor somehow didn’t question—your little study dates… still continued.
There wasn’t even a conversation about it. No “Hey, want to keep studying together?” or “Should we still meet up at the café this Friday?” It just happened. Like clockwork. Like you two were already part of each other’s schedules, as natural as morning alarms and coffee runs.
It was almost laughable—how seamlessly Oikawa had folded himself into your routine. Or maybe you had folded into his. Either way, it felt like the universe quietly decided: Yeah, these two belong in the same sentence.
Still, no matter how many times you found yourself beside him—head bent over a shared textbook, knees brushing under the table, his pen sometimes in your hand because you always forgot yours—you never quite got used to being close to Oikawa Tooru.
Not in the way that mattered.
Not when his cologne lingered too long on your sleeves. Not when he leaned over your shoulder and quietly read something out loud, voice brushing the shell of your ear. Not when he offered you his hoodie without asking and your fingers brushed when you reached for it.
You were calm and composed on the outside—mostly—but inside? You were still a shy, fidgety mess.
And Oikawa? Well, he was in emotional shambles too.
Every time you smiled up at him with that quiet kind of warmth, every time you touched his arm to get his attention, every time your bow flopped slightly to the side by the end of your study session, he had to resist the urge to scream into a pillow. Preferably Iwaizumi’s.
“She’s so cute I’m gonna combust,” he whispered one time in the kitchen, forehead pressed against the fridge.
“You’ve said that four times this week,” Iwaizumi replied flatly, sipping his protein shake.
“You’re ruining yourself, actually,” Hanamaki chimed in from the hallway. “Man up and ask her out already.”
“I second that,” Matsukawa added. “Unless you want us to keep watching you make heart eyes at her over a damn thesaurus.”
“I do not make heart eyes—!” Oikawa hissed, then immediately cut himself off when you peeked your head in to ask if he still had your highlighter.
He melted.
You apologized for interrupting, bow bouncing softly with your flustered movement. Oikawa stared for two full seconds too long before snapping out of it.
“Y-Yeah! It’s on the table!” he stammered. “Wait—I’ll get it for you!”
“Dead man walking,” Hanamaki muttered behind his cup of coffee.
“Certified whipped,” Matsukawa coughed.
“Do I ever get a break from you guys?” Oikawa groaned as he jogged after you, highlighter in hand, soul in shambles.
No. No, he did not. But he didn’t really mind.
Because somehow, even without the project, even without a clear label for what you two were, you still kept coming back to him.
And honestly? He hoped you never stopped.
But he did hope—selfishly, stupidly—that there was a label between you two.
Because god, the project was over, the grade was in, and the deadline had passed weeks ago—but he still wanted you near him. Even if it meant combusting every time you leaned too close, losing his cool whenever you looked at him for just a second longer than necessary. You still laughed at his dumb jokes, still texted him memes at midnight, still dragged him to cafés under the excuse of "editing" your presentation. It should’ve ended. Should’ve faded. But it didn’t. And Oikawa hated how much he liked that.
He was out at the mall with Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa, trailing a few steps behind them, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as they argued over which movie to watch later. He wasn’t really paying attention. His gaze drifted along the rows of shop windows—until it landed on a pastel storefront with a cluttered display of hair accessories.
One bow caught his eye.
It was delicate—off-white with soft lace and little crystal accents that shimmered under the lights. The kind of thing he’d never wear or care about. But when he saw it, he thought of you. Instantly. The way you sometimes braided the sides of your hair when you were rushing. The way your eyes lit up when you wore something cute and someone actually noticed.
Oikawa lingered, slowing down.
He was still staring when a voice chirped behind him.
“Oh my god, you’re buying that for her, aren’t you?” Hanamaki said, elbowing him with a grin. “Makki, shut up—” Oikawa muttered, though he made no move to walk away.
“Aw, come on, it’s adorable,” Matsukawa added, stepping beside him. “Can you imagine her face? She’d die.”
“I’m not—buying anything,” Oikawa said, even as his eyes flicked back to the bow. “It just... looks nice, that’s all.”
“Right, right,” Hanamaki smirked. “And I just follow you around out of brotherly affection. Tooru, you’re down so bad it’s almost romantic.”
“She’s not even—” Oikawa started, then cut himself off. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat crawl up to his ears. “We’re not even together.”
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Iwaizumi cut in dryly, not even looking up from his phone. “Buy the bow, dumbass. You’ve been staring at it for a full minute.”
Oikawa exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys don’t get it. She’s... she’s different. And I don’t want to mess this up by pushing too hard.”
Hanamaki tilted his head. “So you’d rather suffer in silence than tell the girl you’re in love with her?”
“I never said love,” Oikawa said, immediately.
Matsukawa raised a brow. “You just did.”
Oikawa groaned again, loud this time, like the sound could drown out his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes found the bow again. The crystals sparkled like they were mocking him. But he still pictured you wearing it. Still wondered if you’d smile. If you’d let him put it on you himself. If you’d finally look at him and say you liked him too.
Iwaizumi nudged him forward with a grunt. “Just buy it already, Tooru.”
And maybe, if he did—maybe he’d finally find out if you’d let him be more than just a partner on a long-finished project. Maybe you’d let him be something real. Something with a name.
He bought the bow.
Matsukawa let out a low whistle behind him the moment he stepped up to the counter, and Hanamaki practically threw his arms in the air like Oikawa had just proposed marriage instead.
“Oh my god, he’s doing it!” Hanamaki stage-whispered with all the subtlety of a marching band. “Look at our boy—finally growing up.”
“Should we clap? I feel like we should clap,” Matsukawa added, already fishing out his phone like he might record the moment for future blackmail.
Oikawa didn’t say a word. Just placed the bow gently on the counter and tried to ignore how the cashier raised an eyebrow at the spectacle happening behind him.
“Is this… a gift?” she asked, deadpan, as Hanamaki and Matsukawa continued to act like they were witnessing a wedding proposal.
“It’s not a confession,” Oikawa muttered, cheeks flushing. “It’s just... something I thought might suit a friend.”
Behind him, Hanamaki gasped. “Friend?”
“Liar,” Matsukawa coughed into his fist.
Iwaizumi stepped up with a sigh that sounded like it had aged him ten years. He bowed slightly to the cashier, one hand already gripping Hanamaki’s collar. “I’m sorry for them. They were dropped on their heads as children.”
The cashier snorted but waved it off. “It’s cute. Annoying, but cute.”
Oikawa paid in silence, doing his best to look anywhere but at his friends. When the cashier handed him the little pastel bag with the bow inside, he took it carefully, like it might break if he held it too tightly.
He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Iwaizumi nudged his side.
“Don’t screw it up,” he said.
And for once, Oikawa didn’t fire back. He just clutched the bag a little tighter and thought of you.
You were in your dorm, sprawled on your bed with your cheek pressed against the pillow and your phone held loosely in one hand when it vibrated. You barely glanced at the screen before your heart did a quiet flip.
[tooru]: are you free?
That was it. No context. No follow-up. Just five words that immediately lit a fuse in your brain.
You stared at the message a little too long, waiting for another one to come in—for something like need help with econ again? or want to review the lab notes together? Something that would make this feel normal, familiar, something that wouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it was currently doing. But nothing else came.
You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard and deleting your reply three different times before you could bring yourself to send a casual yeah, why? back. You barely had time to toss your phone on the bed when it buzzed again.
[tooru]: there’s a new pastry place by the station. they have strawberry cheesecake. wanna come with me?
You blinked.
Then you sat up.
Then, without warning, you dropped back down face-first into your pillow and let out a long, muffled groan that could only come from someone who was spiraling too hard, too fast.
“Uh-oh,” your roommate said from her desk without even turning around. “It’s happening again, isn’t it.”
You didn’t move.
She swiveled her chair and gave you a pointed look. “What did Oikawa say this time? Did he compliment your penmanship? Call you cute again on accident? Smile at you with his pretty boy twinkle?”
You rolled over dramatically, holding your phone up like it was damning evidence. “He asked if I was free.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And?”
“He said there’s this new pastry shop near the station. And that they have strawberry cheesecake.”
Silence.
Then—“Oh, you’re doomed.”
You clutched your pillow tighter. “What if he’s just being nice? Maybe he just remembered I like sweets and wants company.”
She gave you a look. “Company? What is he, an eighty-year-old man with a tea set?”
You flushed. “It’s not like he called it a date. What if it’s just... casual? Not even that deep.”
“And yet here you are, spiraling like this is the season finale of your love life.”
You groaned. “We don’t even hang out like this. It’s always for school. Group projects. Study sessions. I don’t know what this is.”
Your roommate stood and walked over, snatching your phone from your hands with a huff. “He said strawberry cheesecake, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The one you like.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve never actually told him you liked it?”
“I don’t think so?” you said, voice going soft. “Maybe... maybe back when we met at that café for our project? He asked what I wanted, and I told him strawberry cheesecake.”
She raised a brow. “So he still remembers.”
You shifted uncomfortably. “There was also that one time at his house. He gave me these cream puffs while we were reviewing, and I kinda—might’ve—gone through his snack stash like a criminal.”
Her grin was practically predatory now. “And he let you?”
You covered your face with your hands. “He said I looked cute when I was chewing.”
She gasped and hit you with a pillow. “You left that out on purpose.”
“I forgot!”
“No, you repressed it,” she declared, pointing at you like she was solving a crime. “You’ve been in love with him since I don't know during the freshman orientation.”
“I’m not in love with him.”
She arched a brow. “You sure?”
You didn’t answer.
She threw herself on the bed beside you and poked your shoulder. “It’s a date. You’re getting cheesecake with a pretty boy who remembers what you like and texts you without an academic excuse. You’re not imagining it.”
You peeked at your phone again.
[tooru]: i’ll wait for you at the station at 3. don’t be late—i want to see if you’ll light up again when you eat it like last time.
You stared. Then let out another groan and rolled off the bed.
Your roommate smirked. “Yeah. You’re toast.”
Oikawa, on the other hand, was beet red when he sent the message—his fingers trembling slightly as he hit send, and the moment it was done, he immediately tried to play it cool, though it was impossible to hide the way his face burned all the way up to his ears. Behind him, the laughter came sharp and immediate. Hanamaki had caught the tail end of the text just as he leaned over to grab his drink, his eyes widening before he burst out laughing, loudly enough to draw glances from nearby tables. Matsukawa nearly choked on his soup, slapping the table with the flat of his hand while Iwaizumi just stared, unimpressed but not entirely unsympathetic—though the upward twitch of his lip betrayed that he was far more amused than he let on.
“Be honest,” Makki said through his cackling, “did you actually just say ‘see you later’ like you’re in a high school drama?”
“I told you not to look at my phone,” Oikawa muttered, his face buried in his scarf even though they were already seated and the hotpot was making the space warm enough to fog the windows.
“I mean, I didn’t try to look,” Makki grinned, leaning back, “but you were holding it up like it was a love confession.”
“You should’ve added a heart,” Matsukawa added, nudging him with his knee beneath the table. “She replied, right? What’d she say?”
“Yeah, come on, Tooru,” Hanamaki teased, voice sing-song, “don’t leave us hanging.”
Oikawa gave them all a half-hearted glare but couldn’t hide the way his hand curled tightly around his phone, thumb brushing over the screen. The reply had been simple—rushed, even—but it was enough to make his chest feel light. okay sre you tooru. A typo, sure, but she had replied. And more importantly, she had called him by his first name. The way his name looked in your message did something inexplicable to his brain, enough that he kept reading it over and over again in his head like it meant more than it probably did.
The four of them were currently seated around a bubbling pot, the restaurant tucked into a quieter corner near the station, their bags from the mall resting beneath the table, the crisp late afternoon slowly darkening through the windows behind them. It was supposed to be just another group hangout to kill time before they headed home for the weekend, but at some point between teasing each other in the arcade and getting distracted at the snack stalls, Oikawa had typed that message to you—an invitation, barely disguised beneath casual words and a half-hearted emoji. He might deny it later, might swear up and down that it was just a recommendation or a friendly suggestion, but the reality was undeniable.
He had technically asked you out on a date. And the moment you replied, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it for the rest of the night.
After a few hours had passed since they finished lunch—his stomach full but his thoughts restless—Oikawa excused himself from the group, slipping away from the laughter still echoing behind him as they split off in different directions. The late afternoon breeze tugged gently at his jacket as he made his way to the pastry shop by the station, the one with soft pink walls and dainty cakes behind glass, where he’d told you to meet him.
He arrived early, of course. Pacing near the door for a few moments before deciding to head inside, he chose a seat by the window, one that gave him the perfect view of the street. His fingers drummed idly against the table, gaze flitting from his phone screen to the people passing by—until his eyes caught on a familiar figure approaching.
There you were.
Wearing a dress he could only describe as the embodiment of sweet elegance. You always wore dresses—your signature style, he’d come to realize—but today’s look made something in his chest tighten. A soft, lolita-style dress in a muted cream color framed your figure, adorned with subtle lace, frilled sleeves, and a ribbon that swayed with your steps. Your hair was styled with care, and even from behind the glass, he could see the way your eyes lit up when you spotted him.
The off-white lace bow he'd bought earlier at the mall—on impulse, he’d claimed to his friends, though they'd all seen right through him—would match your outfit perfectly. He felt his heart skip, his fingers instinctively brushing the little shopping bag beside him, suddenly bashful at the thought.
Then you waved, your face brightening in a way that made him melt instantly. There was a sparkle in your eyes—pure, warm, sincere. Oikawa barely had time to recover before you pushed open the door, the bell above it chiming softly.
“Hi, Tooru,” you greeted sweetly, your voice soft with affection.
And just like that, any rehearsed line he had vanished from his head.
Oikawa blinked once—twice—because somehow, seeing you through the glass hadn’t quite prepared him for how stunning you looked up close. His breath caught in his throat, and his words tangled awkwardly as you approached the table with a small smile, the soft hem of your dress swaying with every step.
“You… wow,” he managed, sitting up straighter, ears turning pink as he fumbled for coherence. “You look—really, really cute. Like… ridiculously cute. I mean, not that you don’t always, just—today—especially—” He ran a hand through his hair in a flustered motion, letting out a nervous laugh. “This dress suits you so much, it’s almost unfair.”
The moment the words left his mouth, you looked down immediately, your cheeks heating like a rising tide, lips parting in surprise before curling into a shy smile.
Your fingers clutched your bag a little tighter, voice barely above a whisper as you murmured, “Thank you, Tooru…”
You still wouldn’t lift your gaze, and Oikawa thought he might combust right then and there—because even your shyness was adorable beyond reason.
Oikawa stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped back, catching it with a quick hand before clearing his throat and turning to you with a nervous smile.
“D-Do you, um—what do you want? I-I mean, to order,” he asked, voice stammering slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool but failing miserably.
You blinked up at him, surprised by how flustered he was, and gave a small smile.
“Strawberry cheesecake,” you said, soft and certain, then added with a thoughtful hum, “and probably… some tarts too.”
Oikawa nodded far too seriously, as if it were a mission briefing. “Right—cheesecake and tarts. Okay. Got it.”
Then, under his breath—barely audible—you caught him mutter, “of course you’d pick something sweet.”
You sat down, smoothing the hem of your dress as you did, and let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. A soft smile found its way to your lips—small, almost unsure, but warm nonetheless.
Your heart was beating so fast it echoed in your ears, thumping against your chest like it was trying to get your attention. And maybe it was.
Because this felt different.
There were no study guides laid out across the table. No notebooks crammed with highlighted notes. No looming exams or group projects to fall back on as an excuse.
Just you and him.
Just Tooru.
And deep down, in a place you tried to keep quiet, you couldn’t help but wonder if this really—truly—was a date.
Oikawa came back carefully balancing a small tray, placing it down with a proud little grin. On it were two slices of cake—yours a strawberry cheesecake topped with glistening fruit, and his a rich chocolate mousse layered with ganache. Beside them sat a delicate mini tart platter, each one filled with creams and fruits and custards like a pastel mosaic.
“Uhm—I ordered the mini tart platter instead,” he said, stammering slightly, “so we can, like, try different flavors… together.”
He tried to play it cool, but the way he fiddled with the edge of the tray betrayed the fact that he was anything but.
Then he looked at you—and nearly melted.
Because your eyes lit up the moment you saw the sweets, your entire face softening in delight like you’d just been handed a box of sunshine. You looked at the tray, then at him, and back again, like you couldn’t decide what was sweeter.
He didn’t care that his cake was probably going to get warm. Not when you looked at dessert like that. Not when you looked at him like that.
He sat down in front of you, still slightly flushed, and gently nudged the tray a little closer to your side of the table.
"You can eat now," he said softly, eyes flicking between your face and the strawberry cheesecake like he wasn’t sure which one was more captivating.
You nodded, your fingers brushing over the fork as you quietly murmured, “Okay,” your voice a little shy, your cheeks already warm.
He watched the way you looked down bashfully, how your lashes fluttered when you avoided his gaze—so damn cute he had to glance away himself just to breathe.
“By the way,” he said again, voice softer now as he reached down and pulled out the small paper bag from earlier. His fingers fidgeted slightly with the handles, like he wasn’t sure if he should hand it over yet. But then, after a breath, he set it on the table between you two. “I bought this and… it immediately reminded me of you.”
You blinked, eyes flickering between him and the bag. You slowly opened it and carefully peeled back the tissue, revealing the off-white lacey bow inside. Your heart skipped at the sight—it was delicate, sweet, and just your style. You already imagined how it would look nestled in your hair.
You looked up to thank him, but your voice caught when you saw the way he was watching you—quietly, earnestly, like he’d been holding something in for a long time.
“Tooru…?”
He let out a slow exhale, glancing down at his fingers before lifting his gaze back to yours. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant, but firm enough not to run away from what he needed to say.
“I didn’t just ask you here because I happened to be in the area,” he admitted. “I… I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. Ask you out, properly. Just us. No study materials. No excuses.”
He smiled sheepishly, cheeks tinting red. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you for a long time. And I saw that bow at the mall earlier, and it just—made me think of you. How cute you’d look in it. How much I wanted to see you smile.”
Your breath hitched, and the blush on your cheeks deepened as you lowered your gaze for a moment, overwhelmed but soft all the same.
“I… I wasn’t sure how you’d feel,” he continued, quieter now. “But I figured, if there was even a chance… then I wanted to try.”
You looked up again, meeting his eyes. They were wide with vulnerability, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. Just Tooru. Honest. Hopeful.
The bow still rested in your lap, but your hands were already trembling from how full your chest felt.
And with a shy smile tugging at your lips, you whispered, “I’m really glad you did.”
Your fingers moved almost on instinct, soft and trembling as you reached across the table and gently held one of his hands resting near the fork. His skin was warm, and when your touch met his, Oikawa froze—eyes flicking down, then back to you, breath held like he didn’t want to ruin the moment.
You smiled, shy and a little wobbly, but it was genuine—tinged pink across your cheeks as you gently squeezed his hand.
“I like you too, Tooru,” you said quietly, just above a whisper. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now… I just never thought you’d notice me like that.”
His eyes widened, a glint of disbelief flickering in them before his lips parted, but you kept going, voice a little steadier now.
“And… I’m happy,” you continued, looking down at the bow still sitting on your lap, brushing your thumb over the delicate lace. “That it reminded you of me. It’s really pretty. It feels like… you see me. Really see me.”
You peeked up at him again and added with a soft laugh, “And you remembered I have a sweet tooth. The tarts, the cheesecake… you always remember the little things.”
Oikawa was speechless for a moment—his fingers gently curling around yours now, as if trying to ground himself in the fact that this was real.
“You’re kind,” you whispered, “and I always thought… maybe someone like you wouldn’t look at someone like me like this. But I’m really glad I was wrong.”
And for the first time that day, Oikawa looked like he could cry—from relief, from joy, from the soft, quiet realization that the person he’d been falling for felt the exact same way.
You and Oikawa walked to your dorm that same evening hand in hand. In your grasp was a paper bag filled with slices of strawberry cheesecake and another box holding cakes of different flavors—ones he remembered you mentioned liking before. In his was the smaller bag carrying the delicate lace ribbon he bought just for you.
You couldn’t stop smiling, your fingers gently curled around the handles as if you were afraid this day might slip away like a dream. Your heart fluttered at how thoughtful he’d been, getting takeout just so you could enjoy the sweets later too.
Oikawa kept glancing at you, grinning to himself. The way you clutched the cake boxes so carefully, eyes bright and steps a little lighter than usual—he thought you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. You were practically glowing, and all because of him. He didn’t think his heart could take it.
When you reached your dorm building, you turned to him, the hallway quiet and dimly lit.
“Thank you again, Tooru,” you said softly, cradling the bags against your chest. “For… everything.”
Before he could say anything back, you leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips—soft, fleeting, but sweet enough to make his heart skip.
You pulled away shyly, your gaze flickering down as your cheeks heated.
But then Oikawa’s hand gently cupped your cheek, and before you could look up again, he leaned in and kissed you—deeper this time.
His lips moved slowly against yours, tender but sure, as if he’d been holding that in for too long. The cake bags were nearly slipping from your hands, but you didn’t care. You felt like you were floating.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was a little shaky, and his smile was boyish and full of wonder.
“…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he murmured.
You giggled, breathless, and whispered, “Me too.”
After that night, you officially started dating the campus crush and star volleyball player—Oikawa Tooru—who, unbeknownst to most, had been deeply in love with you all this time.
Even with the title of boyfriend now secured, Oikawa would still short circuit in your presence alone. You could be doing the most mundane thing—tying your hair, sipping your drink, or smiling at your phone—and he’d be sitting across from you, red-tipped ears and dreamy eyes, completely malfunctioning.
You, on the other hand, were doing your best to overcome the fluttery shyness that came with dating someone like him. It was hard to stay composed when Oikawa would send you heart-throbbing winks across the hallway, or pull you close by the waist just to kiss the top of your head when you least expected it.
Of course, this only gave his friends premium material to tease him with.
“Look at Lover Boy over there,” Hanamaki would grin while nudging Matsukawa. “He’s been staring at her for five full minutes. Is that drool?”
“Bet he writes her poems on the back of his practice schedules,” Matsukawa added with a snort.
“I wouldn't put it past him,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “The man once practiced ‘how to smile less smugly’ in the mirror for her.”
Oikawa would dramatically shield you behind him, scowling at them like a knight defending his honor. “You're all just bitter and alone.”
But even in the face of relentless teasing, he was unbothered—too busy being head over heels for you to care. And while you were still adjusting to all the public attention, there was one thing you both knew for sure:
Whatever this was between you—it was real, sweet, and the best kind of chaos.
Multiple haikyuu characters x reader! What happens when you and your friend who’ve been pining for each other for months go on a toootally not-date (except it totally is?)
Tags/Warnings: mutual pining, friends to lovers, confessions kind of, minor misunderstandings, fluff, Kuroo wingmanning kind of, kissing (Iwaizumi), possibly ooc, not proofread
a/n: can you tell I love friends to lovers and mutual pining these are all the characters I thought of on my break at work so I’m definitely missing some, feel free to request your favs from haikyuu or anything else I write for if I missed them!!
Hinata Shoyo - Amusement Park Date
Much like Hinata, the amusement park was warm, bright, and very, very loud. You had been invited by this absolute ball of sunshine to check out a new rollercoaster with him, and therefore spent the day being dragged from ride to ride, trying to keep up as he bounced from place to place.
Currently, you’re trying to track him down. You peek over the top of the crowd, trying to spot his bright orange hair.
“There you are!” he calls brightly from behind you. Before you know it, he’s slipped a bag of popcorn he grabbed from who knows where into your hands.
If it were anyone else you might be annoyed by this disappearing act, but you can’t bring yourself to get mad at Hinata. A warm glow settled in your chest as the first colors of sunset shined in his wide eyes.
You scoff, rolling your eyes in mock annoyance. “I should’ve known you’d run off again. You’re almost impossible to keep track of, y’know?” you shake your head, smiling.
He stops to think for a second. “Well…you can’t lose me if we’re holding hands, right?”
“Hinata, what-“
Before you can get a word in, your hand is in his and he’s dragging you towards the ferris wheel.
“C’mon, we gotta make it on the ferris wheel before the sun sets, I wanna see all the pretty lights turn on!”
After a long wait in line, Hinata predictably bouncing around in excitement as per usual, you’re strapped in and off in one of the carts.
Hinata beams, glancing over the side, hands pressed against the window. He gasps in awe as the lights start to turn on, shimmering in a rainbow down below you.
“Did you see that?? That’s so cool and pretty and whoa…” Hinata stops, speechless. You turn to look at him, heart pounding when you notice those glittering eyes on you. It almost looks like a pink flush has overtaken his face, but that must be the light below playing tricks on you…
“…you look really cool and pretty with the lights too,” Hinata says dreamily, giddy smile spreading on his face. “I mean, you’re always really cool and pretty but whoa…” you freeze, eyes wide. He flusters, seemingly processing what he just said. “I mean, that was an accident, I mean, like I did mean it but I didn’t mean to say it like that, I mean-“ you smile as he panics, face growing equally as warm.
“I think you’re really cool and pretty too,” you giggle. If possible, he flusters even more. He smiles a wobbly smile.
By the time you get off the ferris wheel, you’re both giggling and blushing, Hinata swinging your joined hands as he promises to win you the biggest stuffed animal there.
Kenma Kozume - Arcade Date
Looking up from your phone, you see Kenma waving at you lazily from the arcade entrance. When you saw that this arcade had a limited supply of your favorite character as a plushie prize, you all but dragged Kenma here. While you may claim that it’s just for him to “work his gamer magic” only Kuroo saw it for what it really was: the perfect opportunity to get you two together!
Unbeknownst to you, the night before was spent with Kuroo trying to coach Kenma into being the perfect “boyfriend material”.
“You gotta be nice, you gotta compliment them, you canNOT get distracted by your switch, and above all else: you are going to win that plushie for them.” Kenma rolled his eyes in response.
“It’s not like that, we’re just friends. They just dragged me along because it was convenient.” Secretly though, he was, in fact, taking notes.
The day of the not-date, he let you drag him around, talking his ear off about how excited you were. If you had been thinking about it, maybe you would’ve picked up on his lack of complaining, instead listening intently with a small smile on his face.
You spent hours there. Who would’ve known that a limited edition plushie would be so hard to win?
As it approached closing time, you sighed.
“There’s no way I’m winning the prize at this point. I’m sorry for dragging you along Kenma, I hope you had fun anyways. I know I sure did!” you muster a half hearted smile. Kenma’s brows furrow, and he spins around and marches off into the arcade without a word. Your face falls. Did I say something wrong..?
Kenma is locked in. He makes a beeline for his favorite game, the one he’s absolutely best at, and resolves to win you that prize.
You wander the arcade, distracted by the bright lights and loud sounds, trying to find Kenma as text after text to him goes unanswered. You resign yourself to sitting on a bench right outside, heart aching. This is my fault, you think, I shouldn’t have dragged him out here with me.
Someone taps you on the shoulder. You look up to find Kenma, cheeks slightly flushed, breathing a bit heavier than normal. In his arms…
“Oh my god, you got it?!” you squeal. He nods and holds it out to you, averting his eyes. Overcome with excitement you stand up, bringing Kenma into a tight hug, plushie squished between you. He inhales sharply, before hesitantly wrapping an arm around you.
You pull back from him, ashamed at your sudden outburst. “I’m so sorry Kenma, I should’ve asked first.” He shakes his head, flushing up to his ears, staring straight down at the ground
“…I don’t mind…when it’s you.” Your heart flutters in response.
“Then…is this ok?” you ask, reaching for his hand. He nods with a shy smile. “Perfect. Because I think we deserve a snack as a celebration…”
He makes a mental note to thank Kuroo.
Iwaizumi Hajime - 1 am Convenience Store Date
Iwaizumi wasn’t expecting to be up this early. He tends to keep a strict morning and evening routine, rarely staying up past midnight. However, he was woken up by a phone call at almost 1 in the morning. Flipping his phone over, he would’ve hung up until he saw the name of the caller. He grumbled but picked up the phone.
“It’s late as hell. What do you want,” he rasped, voice still heavy with sleep.
“I want snacks. Come with me?” you responded. He pinched his forehead, picturing your pleading expression on the other end of the line.
“Was I really the only person you could bother?”
“I mean I could’ve asked Oikawa, but-“
“Yeah don’t bother, I don’t need to hear him whining about lost beauty sleep. Gimme 10.” He hung up before he could hear your response. Stumbling out of bed he grabbed the first hoodie he could find, throwing it over his pajamas.
And that was how he found himself in the chips aisle, half asleep as you pondered which bag to get. He followed as you floated from aisle to aisle, grabbing a wide selection of snacks and candies.
“…do you really need all that right now, at,” he checks his phone. “1:12 in the morning?” You look at him like he’s grown two heads.
“I mean I’m not eating all of it myself, half is for you!” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He takes in your array of snacks, noting that you did in fact grab all of his favorites.
He trails dumbly behind you, so far into his head. It must mean something that you asked him to come with you instead of Oikawa, right? And you bought all of his favorite snacks, what could it mean???
The hopeful part of his heart thought that maybe you could like him back. The stubborn part of his brain said that any option was better than tired Oikawa.
He zones back in as you gesture at a bench outside, plopping yourself and your haul down and gesturing at the seat next to you. He takes a seat as you start ripping into the snacks.
The two of you sit there, chatting, as the time grows later and later and both of your judgements grow thinner and thinner.
Eventually you pick up a box of pocky, a silly idea forming in your mind. You take a stick and wave it in his general direction, sleepy smirk on your face.
“Y’know the pocky game?” His eyebrows furrow in response, reddened ears giving himself away.
“…yeah, I know about it,” he eyes you, heart pounding. You sigh, is he really gonna make you spell it out?
“We should play!” He side eyes you for a second, before rolling his eyes and muttering out a “fine”.
If you didn’t know him quite so well, maybe you would’ve taken his hesitance worse. But you’ve seen how short and resistant he’s been with Oikawa and others, and know that this is the closest Iwaizumi would get to an enthusiastic thumbs up.
You put the pocky between your lips, offering the other side to Iwaizumi. He takes it, something close to hunger in his gaze. Your eyes widen at the close proximity, greenish brown eyes half lidded staring into your own.
Your eyes screw shut as you grow closer, poor excuse for a game forgotten as his hand cups your jaw and slightly chapped lips meet your own. He pulls away, warm breath still fanning across your face.
“It’s getting late,” he murmurs. “I should take you home.” His eyes stay fixated on your lips, panting slightly as he holds himself back. You nod, swallowing.
True to his word, he walks you home, hand in hand. Arriving at your door you turn, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for coming with me. I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask. He clears his throat and grins, nodding as you slip inside with a shy wave.
He stands there for a second, giddy and blushing, before checking the time.
3 am. Fuck.
a/n: thank you so much for reading!! I might write a part 2 with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Osamu bc I got struck with inspiration for them but wanted to get this out before I went to bed! Requests are open for any Haikyuu characters, as well as JJK, LADS (including Valko!!) and Blue Lock!!
To most people, Choso is a rising musician, working his way up from open mic nights to full concerts. To you, he’s the sweet, shy, awkward man who loves hot chocolate and his brothers. You make his every drink with love, he writes and rewrites lyrics about your voice, and yet neither one of you is willing to make that first move. Will your story get an encore, or is time running out before the curtain closes?
Warnings/tags: gn!reader, no use of y/n, shitty coworkers, mild angst, mild jealousy (from reader), lots of fluff, mutual pining, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, overthinking, choso and reader are both chronic yearners, sfw but a bit suggestive (making out), reader is in denial until they’re not, not proofread
a/n: oh man my first ever full fic! I’ve never done anything like this before so apologies if it’s formatted weirdly I’m still trying to figure out how tumblr works (,,>﹏<,,) maybe one day I’ll figure out how to do all those pretty themes and headers and dividers…
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
You rub your temples as yet another mediocre slam poet talks into the microphone. Grasping the sticky counter to steady yourself, you wipe spilled powdered sugar and chocolate syrup and who knows what else on your apron. You gaze over the packed crowd. Chairs, tables, the floor, practically every surface is taken by visitors seeking the free entertainment of an open mic night. Same as every Saturday.
You huff in annoyance as you make your 12th latte of the night, complete with some half-assed latte art. It could technically be a flower if you squint. Who the hell is even ordering coffee at…you check your phone…8 pm?! After months of Saturday open mic night shifts, you’ve gotten good at tuning out the sounds of musicians, comedians, and whoever else shows up, focusing instead on the almost comforting whir and grind of espresso machines and tea kettles, grounding yourself.
You fall into a rhythm. Espresso shot. Pump of vanilla. Frothed milk. Slap it all together in a cup. Repeat. Hope no one needs you to cash them out or grab them a pastry. Mentally curse your coworkers for all bailing last minute leaving you to cover three peoples’ jobs. You squeeze the bottle of caramel drizzle just a little too harshly, dumping the sticky liquid all over your hands. Eyes squeeze shut. Every muscle in your body clenches. You repress the frustrated scream that threatens to spill out as you grab a wet paper towel, trying to frantically clean up the mess. You hate this job. You hate this shift. You hate your rude coworkers and ruder customers. Angry tears nearly well up in your eyes.
Bass vibrates through your bones as you crane your neck over the crowd as you’re startled out of your latte-fueled anger trance by a LOUD guitar riff. Your eyes fall on an energetic pink haired boy nearly shouting into the microphone, half-singing half-yelling the lyrics to some pop punk song you might’ve heard once or twice.
As your eyes track over the stage they fall on the drummer; unfairly pretty for someone who looks that harsh. Tattoos peek out from under his loose black tank top, piercings flash, and though his face is mostly obscured due to the dim lighting you can make out a bit of red eyeshadow circling his determined eyes.
You find that you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he plays. At the sounds of cheers, he bows his head almost…shyly? Dark brown hair falling over his forehead and obscuring his eyes as he fiddles with his drumsticks.
Snapping out of your daze you curse as you realize how backed up on drink orders you are, turning away from the counter.
Espresso shot. Pump of vanilla. Frothed milk. Slap it all together in a cup. Repeat. A shadow falls across your workstation as an ominous presence looms behind you. Turning, you see the drummer from earlier shuffling awkwardly at the counter. You notice, in the better lighting, that his long hair is tied up in two little pigtails. Cute, you think.
“Oh, sorry I didn’t see you there. What can I get you?” you say, switching into an almost aggressive customer service mode. He jumps slightly at your tone, and you wince apologetically.
He squints at the menu before speaking in a low voice. “…could I get a hot chocolate?” You blink at him for a second, heart clenching at his soft, deep voice. “Um. With whipped cream.” He absentmindedly twirls his bracelet around with his painted fingertips. Oh, now this just wasn’t fair to your poor heart.
“Name?” you ask. “For the drink! I need it for the drink. So I know who to give it to,” you blurt.
“It’s Choso.”
Nodding, you go to make his drink, painstakingly decorating it as best as you could, focusing on the smell of burnt coffee beans and pure sugar instead of the butterflies in your stomach. When you turn around to hand it to him, he’s already got his wallet out.
“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. This is on the house,” you say, smiling warmly. His eyes widen, before his brows furrow, questions in his eyes. Your face heats up as you all but shove the drink into his hands. “I saw you guys play,” you continue, feigning nonchalance as you lean on the counter. “You were all pretty good,”
At that he beams proudly. “My little brother is the singer, he’s incredible, I’m so proud,” he starts gushing, holding his hot chocolate to his chest.
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” the words leave you against your will. Your smile tilts downwards as a pang of nerves shoots through you. But he doesn’t seem to notice, too busy talking about his band, his brothers, his music. You go back to making drinks, taking orders, grabbing pastries, all as he hovers around the counter and rambles about his family.
“…and then there’s Eso, and Kechizu, and Kotsuso, oh and our uncle Sukuna who plays with the band sometimes—“ he counts on his fingers as he fiddles with his lip ring deep in thought.
You find the time passes much faster with him present. As you wipe down the counters you find yourself hanging onto his every word, something about Yuji drawing all over the walls as a baby. And suddenly he stops.
“Oh. I’ve been talking for a while, haven’t I,” he says flatly. You blink at him.
“I mean maybe, but I don’t mind-“ you start as he cringes.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll let you get back to work, I have to get my brother home-“ he starts stammering, flushing almost as dark as his eyeshadow.
“Choso, c’mon, we gotta get home it’s so laaate” the singer—Yuji, Choso had called him—started pulling on his arm trying to drag him towards the door. Choso visibly stiffened. His mouth opens and closes as he tugs lightly at his hair, before he all but slams something into your tip jar and lets Yuji drag him out. Sneaking a glance back over Yuji’s shoulder as he stumbles, he meets your eyes. He smiles, tight lipped and awkward, before the bell above the door chimes and you’re left with your thoughts swimming.
You hesitate before wiping up the ring that his drink left right there on the counter. Your mind reels, he was there one second, gone the next. Peeking into your tip jar you see it. $4.80. Exact change for his drink. A chuckle leaves your lips before you can stop it. Espresso shot. Pump of vanilla. Frothed milk.
But something feels different now. You find your thoughts drifting to red eyeshadow around determined brown eyes. You force the thought from your mind. He’s just another customer, just another performer. He’ll fade into the crowd.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
He does not, in fact, fade into the crowd. Week after week he returns, always playing some old cover with his brother, always ordering a hot chocolate, always chatting briefly about meaningless topics before he gets dragged away. You’ve fallen into a comfortable routine without even meaning to, looking forward to your little chats all day.
Your friends tease you, calling it puppy love, a crush, hopeless; you always roll your eyes and scoff. There’s nothing wrong with chatting with customers, even the cute ones. It’s harmless, you reason. You barely know him, you’re not even friends, and you’re fine with that! As long as you can keep ignoring the little hiccup in your heart every time he leaves, at least you can keep pretending that’s true.
Yet another open mic night. Your eyes meet his as he walks in, the hum of chatter fading as you take him in. Same little pigtails, same smudgy eyeshadow, same glimpses of tattoos disappearing under a ripped black t-shirt. He smiles shyly when you meet his gaze, and you have to fight to tear your eyes away from him, realizing that you’ve been gripping the counter as though it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Slapping a palm on your forehead you tamper down the heat threatening to flare up on your cheeks.
Not quite watching him, you still notice as he and his band mates claim a booth in the corner. They almost huddle together, all looking at Choso as though he’s providing some pep talk, rallying them to do their best as though it was some huge concert rather than a small open mic night. You lean towards him, pulled in his direction by the way he twirls his hair absentmindedly around his long fingers.
You can’t help the smile that brushes across your face at the determination and pride in his eyes.
Before long, their slot arrives and it’s time for them to go onstage. Choso’s eyes scan the crowd until his eyes fall on you. You blink before you avert your gaze, heart hammering in embarrassment at being caught staring.
They play something new this week, slower, more methodical. Almost nostalgic. You force your eyes away from the stage, knowing that otherwise you won’t be able to tear your eyes away from him. But even with your gaze focused elsewhere, you can feel his drums like a heartbeat. You force your focus on the kettle of tea you’re trying to brew, tuning out Yuji’s voice and Choso’s steady rhythm with the slow bubble and boil of green tea.
You only dare to look once the next act is on stage. Glancing over your shoulder, your heart flutters as you see him walking towards the counter. You snap your gaze back to the workstation in front of you. Stomach tying itself into knots, you can’t decide whether you want him to walk up and talk to you again, letting you see glimpses into his world, or if you want him to stay far far away.
But he never reaches the counter. You throw another glance his way. A tall man has a hand on his shoulder, leaned in close as Choso fidgets with his bracelets again. His eyes widen as the man continues, nodding seriously, enthusiastically, before wheeling around back to his band. He gathers them into another huddle before they cheer and high five.
His eyes lock on yours, wide and shiny. He grins wildly, proudly. Your chest tightens. You want to know what made him smile like that. You want to be the one to make him smile like that. And you feel lost, reminded at once how far away you are.
They all walk past the counter and he throws you an apologetic glance as the rest of his band chants something about celebratory drinks at a nearby bar.
Something heavy settles into your chest, but you try to shake it off. You barely know the guy, you’re not entitled to his time or his energy. You know you should stay customer and barista instead of hoping for something more.
Do you hope for something more? You know you shouldn’t. You know he’s talented. You know he’s destined for bigger and better things, things you can’t keep up with. The thought almost bowls you over, stomach suddenly queasy as you slump over the counter, running exasperated fingers through your hair. The café around you suddenly feels impossibly small compared to him.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
Days pass and you throw yourself into your work again.
Monday mornings are always busy, hordes of workers and students hauling themselves out of bed and out for coffee in hopes that it’ll wake them out of their post-weekend slump. Espresso shot. Pump of vanilla. Frothed milk. Focused, measured, working within your routine. The buzz of chatter, phone calls, appliances, laughter, even the cars outside, all fades into the background.
Over the crappy speakers, you just barely hear the radio playing some throwback from 20 years ago. You pause. It’s the same song Choso’s band was playing just two nights ago. Huffing out an exasperated laugh, you rub your face in exasperation. A customer clears their throat behind you.
Whirling around, you almost gasp. It’s him. Not in all his heavy makeup and styled hair. He looks…comfortable. Hair half up half down, loose purple sweatshirt, red smoky eyeshadow replaced with a dark eyeliner, revealing purple undereye circles harsh on his pale skin. The two of you stare at each other unblinking for a second. Two seconds.
“Hi! What can I get you!” you squeak out, arguably too peppy. Already you’re moving to start his usual hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, extra sprinkles, just how he likes it.
“I can’t come to open mic night anymore,” he blurts out. You pause, fingertips ghosting over the saucer of his mug. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you try to ignore the twisting in your stomach.
“Oh. I see,” you say. You grimace at the flatness in your tone, hoping he doesn’t pick up on it. You can’t look at him, don’t want him to see you this bothered.
“The last time we were here. We got scouted by the manager of a café on the other side of the city, some place I’ve never even been. They want us to start playing there,” he says. “Same time as the open mic nights here.” You laugh dryly.
“Wow, poaching our talent? That’s low,” you try to joke but it comes out a little too forced. You want to ask him if he’ll ever come back, if you’ll ever see him again, but you can’t. Sighing deeply, you hope he doesn’t notice your hands shaking a bit as you hand him his drink.
He stares into his mug as though it’ll reveal some great secret to him. Turning around you get back to work, until-
“I didn’t want to,” he says. “I like it here.” You both pause. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you feel the air thicken with some kind of tension. “…they’re paying us. Per night. It’s…” he trails off, shy smile stretching across his face as you take a second to process.
“Oh my god,” you start, a little awestruck. “Oh my god, Cho, that’s amazing!” His eyes widen at the nickname, grin going all soft and dopey. “That…that means you’ve got a professional gig! You’re a professional!” you say, impulsively grabbing at his arms and shaking him gently.
Gushing about how talented he is, how you knew he was gonna make it big, you don’t even realize how close you’ve leaned in until you’re looking almost right into his eyes, only inches away. Noses almost touching, your breath brushing over his face. Your eyes drop to his lips before you can stop yourself, his teeth fiddling with his lip ring. Dragging your gaze back up to his eyes you finally notice how he’s looking at you; eyes wide, face red, lips parted, doing anything besides making eye contact. Oh god, you think. I made him uncomfortable. You back off suddenly, missing how he almost chases after your warm hands on him. The two of you blink at each other.
You’re proud of him. You really are. If anyone deserves this it’s him! But you can’t help the looming anxiety of not seeing him anymore, of losing this little routine you two have. You sigh, drinking in how he twists his bracelets, chews on his lip, shuffles side to side while staring back into his drink.
“…I’ll miss having you around, but this is an amazing opportunity,” you say gently. His eyes snap back up to your face.
“What? No, no I’m still here, I’ll still be here. Just not…when I used to,” he’s quick to shake his head, as if the notion of him not coming back is baffling to him. The two of you stand there, processing this emotional rollercoaster, your heart floating in your chest as your brain desperately tries to rein it in. He still wants to come back. Not for the performances but…something else. You steel your nerves before pushing out the words, cautious. Hesitant.
“Why come back?” you ask. You wince a little at the harshness of the words. Choso looks as though you’ve just slapped him.
“I mean…well…your hot chocolate is better?” he offers. You tilt your head, perplexed.
“I thought you said you’d never been to the other place? How do you know ours is better?” He tugs at his hair again. Is he…blushing? Hope glows in your chest, warm and bright as you take him in, smile growing teasing. He looks down at his phone, screen dark, before shoving it in his pocket frantically.
“…ah sorry Kechizu is calling me I need to leave right now sorry I’ll see you soon bye” he all but blurts out, rings clinking against glass as he shoves $10 in the tip jar, before spinning on his heel and almost slamming through the door.
You giggle, dazed. You can’t help it, this tall, sweet, talented man just blushed because of you. And it might’ve been the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. As much as you’ll miss watching him perform, warmth spreads through your body at the thought of what could be his big break.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
True to his word, he comes back week after week. Monday mornings, bright and early. You find yourself looking forward to your busy shifts, knowing that when all is said and done, you’ll get to see him. Still insisting it’s just a harmless little crush.
Whenever you get a break you’re leaning over that counter talking to him. Taking in his shy little smile as he talks about his performances each week, eyes lighting up as he beams about how far they’ve come. Sometimes he even shows you snippets of songs he’s tried writing when he has nothing else to talk about; vulnerable scribblings in notebooks, napkins, notes on his phone, pieces of his heart written in stark black on white.
You read all of it, rolling it over and over in your head, trying to figure him out. He’s not trying to be confusing, you can tell, he probably doesn’t even realize it. But that doesn’t change the fact that you scan those lines hoping for some signal, some sign that he feels the same way as you. Just a silly crush, you’re sure. As hard as you try, he remains just as unsolvable and seemingly untouchable.
His visits increase from once a week, to two, to as many as three or four. Your conversations grow deeper; past, present, hopes, dreams, fears, freely talking as though you’ve known each other for years rather than months.
This particular morning, the café is absolutely swamped. Customers are almost packed in, line stretching to the door. Scrambling about, you take orders and slap drinks together as fast as possible, coworkers trying their best to keep up. Out of the corner of your eye you see him walk in. Right at the edge of the sea of people. He’s craning his head around, before he sees you and waves. You only have the time to nod back before you’re dragged back to the register.
By the time he gets to the front of the line his drink is already pushed into his hands. He flashes you a grateful smile before hovering around the counter, watching as you deal with customer after customer.
It isn’t until you’re mid argument with someone insisting they ordered their drink hot instead of iced that you notice her. A girl leaning towards him, far less than a friendly distance between him. Your jaw clenches at her giggles as she trails a finger over his bracelets, beads and strings and knots matching the knots your stomach is tying itself into. You tell yourself it’s just frustration over the annoying customer but at this point, you know that’s a lie.
You’re jealous. There’s no denying it at this point, not when the sight of someone very obviously flirting with him has your eyelid twitching. And Choso, sweet, oblivious Choso has no idea what’s happening.
“Soooo what about this one?” she asks, tracing her fingers over a friendship bracelet, notably standing out in its brightness around the dark beads circling his arm. Choso beams.
“My brother Yuji made it for me when he was little,” he says. Your attention is dragged back to the man who is now trying to argue that you used the wrong milk too, but you can still hear her asking about each bracelet almost sensually as she glides her hand over his arm, Choso none the wiser as he tells her all about his brothers making them.
As you remake the annoying customer’s drink again, you catch another glimpse out of the corner of your eye against your will. Something in your chest clenches painfully as she all but leans against him, twirling her hair.
“If I made you a bracelet, would you wear it?” she asks playfully. His eyebrows scrunch, eyes searching her face, knowing he must be missing something here.
“Um. Maybe?” he says, bemused. She steps back, satisfied smile curling up.
“I’ll keep that in mind. I hope to see you again soon,” she winks and turns to a table of her giggling friends.
You’re almost in a daze as you finally get the argumentative customer off your back. Something ugly and harsh curls inside of you. He’s not yours, you think. You don’t deserve to feel this way about him. Groaning, you avert your gaze. You can feel his eyes on you still. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Plastering a smile on you turn his way.
“You’re popular this morning,” you croak out. You were going for playful but fell somewhere around desperate. He tilts his head, puppy dog eyes softening, questioning. “…you know. The girl?” if anything he just looks more confused. You wince, choosing your next words carefully. “…she was flirting with you Cho.” His eyes widen, whipping his head around in case anyone else heard.
“What? Are you sure?” he whispers, mortified flush across his cheeks.
You blink. “Choso. She was twirling her hair and feeling up your arm,” you say.
“I thought she was just being friendly!”
“She winked at you!” you say. He stands there, nothing coming out except a strained groan.
“Ohhh. Oh no. I don’t-I didn’t-“ he babbles. “I thought she just liked the bracelets!” he groans. You stifle a giggle as he drops his head in his hands. And then you’re speaking before you can stop yourself.
“I mean, if you were interested she’s still over there-“
“No! No.” He pauses, eyes wide. “I mean she seems nice I’m just…not interested…in her…” he stares at you, eyes wide and searching your expression for…something. Jumping at his outburst you furrow your brows. The light ding of a machine behind you forces you to tear your gaze away from him as he shuffles away and all but shoves his face into his hot chocolate, practically drowning himself in it.
Try as you might, you can’t get that image out of your head, the woman running her fingers playfully over his bracelets. This is stupid, you think as you glare at his miss-matched jewelry, unable to tear your eyes away. So stupid, as you clock out and meander past an arts and crafts store on your way home. I’m being ridiculous, as you pick out threads in pretty purples and reds to match the shadow lining his eyes. Unbelievable, as you sit at home, weaving strands together into a bracelet. A little sloppy looking, definitely lopsided. It gets crushed into the pocket of your bag, saved for whenever you’re brave enough to give it to him.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
The day in question isn’t until almost a week later. Torn between excitement and dread over how he’ll react, your heart flips in your chest, pounding as you anticipate his arrival. Just a harmless little crush, that’s all it is. Deny, deny, deny.
Twirling the bracelet in your hands, lost deep in thought, you miss the jingle of the bell.
“Are they the one you’re always talking about?” Your head snaps up at the loud, cheerful voice from across the counter. You lock eyes with a pink haired boy pointing not-so-subtly at you. A whine cuts through the air.
“Yuji please-“ Choso looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. His eyes flicker towards the door as though he can turn tail and run.
“You were right, they do seem nice. Can I have a latte? Ooh, can you do those fancy drawing things on the drink?” Yuji beams at you. Before you realize it, you’re smiling as well, his enthusiasm infectious.
“Yeah, I can give it a shot. Choso, your usual?” you call over your shoulder as you get the drink started. Choso nods bashfully, face still very, very red. The bracelet weighs heavy in your pocket, where you hastily shoved it after Yuji made an appearance.
Hushed whispers between the two brothers just barely meet your ears, missing most of what passed between them. They stop, splitting apart as you turn around with their drinks, almost guilty looks on their faces. You raise an eyebrow, before sighing and letting it go.
“So Yuji,” he stiffens. “Relax, I just need to know what you want on your latte.”
“Oh! Could I get something cool, like a tiger or something?” he asks. You wince.
“Well…I’ve never tried doing one…and it seems a bit above my skill level…but I’ll try?” you offer. He pumps his fist excitedly. Leaning over the counter, he watches you work, eyes lighting up. Hair stands on the back of your neck at the feeling of eyes on you. Choso’s.
Spinning around, you hand Yuji his drink, lopsided tiger and all. His eyes light up.
“Whoaaa so cool!” he exclaims, before chugging the entire latte. He starts talking a mile a minute. About his day, his family, his friends, school. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Choso smile, looking more at peace than you’ve ever seen before. His chin rests on his hand as he smiles serenely. You can’t help it as your mind drifts towards whatever they had been whispering about. They just looked so…panicked when you called them out on it. Something’s up.
Yuji checks his watch. “Oh, crap, we gotta go like…ten minutes ago. It was nice meeting you! See ya!” And at that, he jogs towards the door, stumbling as he excitedly waves over his shoulder. Choso huffs out a laugh.
“He seems like a nice kid,” you snort. Choso laughs. Your heart clenches at the sight of his gentle eyes and soft smile fully focused on you.
“Yeah I’m…I know he can be a lot to some people. Thank you for listening to him,” he says. Giggling, you shake your head.
“Don’t worry, he wasn’t a bother. I liked chatting with him!” you say. You freeze, sudden memory hitting like lightning. “Oh my god, Yuji said you had to go, I’m so sorry for keeping you.” Choso jumps, eyes startled.
“No no, it was my fault, I…wanted to stay a bit longer,” he admits bashfully. “It’s just band practice anyway, we have a concert coming up.” He starts fidgeting with his bracelets again. Bracelet…oh! Quick, before he leaves!
“Wait! Before you go, I just remembered I…” you swallow, the rush of adrenaline gone as quickly as it came. He stares, blinking owlishly. Digging through your pocket, you grab the bracelet. Your heart pounds in your ears. The soft threads slip through your fingers as your face heats up. This is stupid, you think. This is so dumb he’s gonna hate it. I’m being so obvious. Your hand starts to withdraw until you see his face. Eyes wide and soft, brows curious, mouth in a cute little questioning “o”.
“…I made something. For you.” Before you can overthink it, you offer him the bracelet. Eyes firmly locked on a plant somewhere behind him. You can’t look at him as he slowly, oh so gently grabs the bracelet. Sneaking a glance at him, he’s staring at the bracelet like it holds the secrets to the universe. His eyes snap up to you.
“You made this…for me?” he all but whimpers, big soft eyes tearing up. The sound hits your chest like an arrow straight to the heart. Fuck. Fuck, he’s crying, I messed up. Sniffling, he wipes at his eyes. “That’s so nice, I’m sorry, I’m very happy.” He beams through the tears, smile wobbly. Instinctively you reach towards him, wiping a tear away before you can think. You freeze. He freezes. It feels as though everything besides your rapidly hammering heart freezes.
You start to withdraw your hand. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—“ but are stopped by Choso cradling your wrist.
“No! No, sorry, it’s…nice,” he says. Your eyes flick to his lips. Once, twice, three times. They look so soft, a lightly bitten pretty pink, and you can’t help but wonder how they would feel against your own. He inhales deeply and…
“Come to my concert please!” he blurts. It comes out loud and almost desperate as he winces. “I mean. If you want to, you don’t have to, it might be kind of loud or busy and I know you might be busy but-“
“When?” you cut off his rambling. He blinks.
“Oh! Oh, next Friday, at 7, I know you work nights sometimes so if you can’t come it’s fine,”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile softly at each other. For a second it looks as though he glances down at your own lips, but surely it was your imagination, just a trick of the light or something. You can’t risk getting your hopes up.
The bell over the door jingles and the spell is broken. He whines.
“Oh no, I am so late, my uncle is gonna murder me,” he groans, shoving all his things into his bag. His eyes fall on the bracelet again and a shy smile spreads across his face. “Thank you again, for the bracelet. And um, I won’t be able to stop by the café much until after the concert. Y’know, extra practice and all that,” he says. While your mood drops at the idea of not seeing him for almost two weeks, you understand.
“Of course. As long as you remember me when you’re a big shot I don’t mind,” you say. He nods and slips the bracelet on before slipping out the door.
You drop your face into your hands and let out a half squeal, half groan. That man is a hazard to your heart.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
The next week and a half passes slowly. Life feels like it returns to normal with only small glimpses of Choso here and there, and you fall back into your usual work routine. Espresso shot. Pump of vanilla. Frothed milk. Slap it all together in a cup. Repeat. Giggle with your friends after work about “cute band guy”.
Your coworkers, however, grow more and more difficult. Abandoning shifts, showing up late, goofing off. No matter how much you try to tell your manager, she just says that it’s too understaffed to fire them.
Espresso shot. Pump of vanilla. Frothed milk. Slap it all together in a cup. Try not to think about his eyes. Or his lips. Or the cute way he scrunches his eyebrows when he’s thinking. God, focus. Repeat.
You nearly tear your wardrobe about one night, trying on outfit after outfit after outfit to find the perfect one.
“Damn, you must REALLY like this guy,” your friends tease. You flush.
“It’s just a little crush. It’ll pass.” No one, including you, is convinced. Deep down, you know they’re right. Somewhere along the way you absolutely fell for him, far deeper than you ever intended. A small part of you is scared, but a far larger part of you wants the chance to fall even deeper, to hold him, kiss him, tell him he’s beautiful like he deserves. You try very hard to ignore that part.
Espresso shot. Pump of vanilla. Frothed milk. Slap it all together in a cup. Repeat. You catch glimpses of him stopping by, too busy to talk but definitely not too busy for his hot chocolate made just the way he likes it. And if you spend maybe a little extra time making sure his is perfect, and drawing a little doodle or silly note on his cup, surely that doesn’t mean anything!
As you hand him his drink one day, you notice the bracelet you made on his wrist, lopsided knots and all. Waving him off, you turn around and grin like an idiot so hard your cheeks hurt.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
Before you know it, it’s finally the day of the concert. Just a short three hour shift until your coworker comes to take over, and then you get to change (into something you definitely spent too long picking) and walk over to the concert. You hum absentmindedly. Eyes slip towards the clock as you all but count down the seconds. 3 o’clock, 4 o’ clock, 5, 5:30, 5:45, and then finally it’s 6.
You start to pack up your things, just waiting for your coworker to walk into the staff room. Brows furrowed, you check the time again. It’s fine. People are late sometimes. You head back behind the counter, incredibly thankful for how slow of a shift it is as you send a message to your work groupchat.
6:30. Still no sign of her. You send more frantic question marks, but no one responds.
6:45. You’re almost pacing behind the counter. Fingers tapping nervously, you try to calm the racing in your chest.
7:00. Frantically texting the groupchat you ask if anyone can possibly come take over. Someone says she’ll be free in half an hour. Fuck, you think, it’s already started. Deep inhale. Deep exhale. ‘Sure! That would be great!’ you respond. Fuck I need a new job.
At 7:30 on the dot a coworker pulls up to relieve you. You bolt, speeding as soon as you’re out the door.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
You don’t make it to the venue until 7:48, short of breath and heart pounding. Squeezing through throngs of people, you follow the energetic rock music until you’ve almost made it right up to the stage.
Your heart jumps when you realize you’ve never seen them perform from this close before. Choso is clearly in his element, colorful stage lights catching on his silvery piercings, arms flexing as he hits each beat, eyebrows pinched together in focus. He worries his lip ring between his teeth as the song gets to his solo, spotlight on him as he loses himself in the music.
You think you’ve never seen someone look so gorgeous.
For just a brief, subtle moment, his eyes glance away from his drums and land directly on you.
You freeze. He falters.
And suddenly a wide, triumphant grin spreads across his face as the tension melts from his body, determination in his eyes as he finishes the song.
He waves and mouths something that looks like “you made it.” You beam back at him, sweaty, still in your work uniform. “I said I wouldn’t miss it,” you mouth back.
Even while they set up for their last song, you can’t tear your sights away from Choso. He messes with his hair, tightening the little pigtails as he glances away bashfully. You can almost see his knee bouncing behind his drumset. Tense. Almost…nervous? He won’t make eye contact with you as Yuji grabs the microphone.
“This next, and last, one is actually an original song, written by our one and only drummer, Choso!” Yuji shouts, voice echoing through the venue over the audience’s cheers. You blink, surprised. You had seen his songwriting notes, you knew he was working on music, you just weren’t expecting it so soon. His gaze flickers to you. Once. Twice. The third time it lingers, even as the song begins.
The beat is slower than you expected, bass thrumming through your body in a slow croon. Yuji’s voice eases in, yet you can’t tear your sights away from Choso. Gazing at each other, his lips start moving as he mouths the lyrics under his breathe, like they’re meant for you and you alone. As though each line was a confession. The song spoke of warm days, of finding someone who makes you feel safe, who feels like home.
In a room full of hundreds, your hearts are pulled together like magnets, crowd blurring into background noise as you’re caught in each other’s gravitational pull.
The final chord lingers. Silence hangs, no one wanting to break the fragile tone first. And then it erupts. Applause, cheering, screams, cutting through the air. The band takes their bows, and your heart clenches as they walk backstage.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
Pushing through the crowd, you feel the crush of bodies against you as you try to reach anyone who can take you to Choso.
Is that…
A distant shock of pink hair catches your eye. Yuji. You rush towards him and—
It’s someone else entirely. Like Yuji, but taller, stronger, and infinitely less joyful. Your mind stalls as you come to a stop in front of this complete stranger, flushed, all but panting from exertion. He looks you up and down.
“Ah shit, no way we’ve already gotta deal with the crazies—“ he rolls his eyes.
“No! No, no I know Choso, I need to know where he is, please!” His eyebrows raise in recognition.
“No fuckin’ way. You’re real? Shit, I owe Yuji $20.”
“What-where—“
“He’s backstage. Just head through that door, you’ll find him.” He jerks his arm up, jabbing a thumb at an entrance behind him. You mutter out a quick thanks as you rush backstage.
The last thing you hear as the door closes is a muffled “Go get ‘im tiger,” and Yuji’s boisterous laugh.
You creep forwards into the dark hallway, ducking around equipment that probably costs more than you make in a month. Tension builds in your muscles. You shouldn’t be here, you don’t belong here, someone’s gonna catch you—
And suddenly he’s there, equally tense frame melting as he sees you. He beams, running towards you.
You melt into his strong arms as he wraps them around you, snuggling into his neck and giggling as he swings you around easily. The hug lingers, tightly pressed against each other, too shy to make eye contact but too comfortable to move away. After what feels like simultaneously five seconds and a lifetime, your feet meet the ground.
“You came! I was worried you wouldn’t be here but you were!” he grabs your hands and presses you to his chest. His eyes squint with how hard he’s smiling. It strikes you that if he had a tail it would DEFINITELY be wagging.
“I know, I’m so sorry, I got held up at work and I was so worried I was gonna miss it I’m sorry-“
“Hey, it just matters that you made it, I promise.” His grin drops into something softer, more private. You gulp. Hesitating, you choose your next words carefully.
“So…that song…” Choso looks away, flushing all the way to his ears.
“…did you like it?” he asks gently, almost in a whisper. The air between you feels heavy and fragile all at once. A lock of hair, freed from its pigtail, flops into his face. You tuck it behind his ear. Slowly, cautiously, he looks up at you.
“Yeah,” you smile, “I really liked it. It was beautiful.”
“…I wrote it for you,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “You made me the bracelet, and I wanted to make you something too.” Tenderly you hold his face in your hands. He leans into your touch, grasping one of your hands with his own. Inhale. Exhale.
“Choso, can you look at me?” he lets out a deep breathe at your words. Your stomach flutters at the sheer longing in his eyes, bringing you in closer, closer, until his breathe fans across your face.
“Choso…can I kiss you?”
“Please,” he all but whimpers as your lips meet. His lips are just as soft and warm as you thought, eagerly but sweetly moving against yours. He lets out a shaky breath. The kiss tastes of strawberry chapstick and metal and the distant aftertaste of something sweet and chocolatey, something so Choso it makes you swoon. He grips your hand against his face tighter, stroking your knuckles with his thumb, as his other hand wraps around your back to pull you in. Pulling his hair ties out, he groans as you run your fingers through his hair. Shaking, your knees almost give out but he just pulls you impossibly closer, holding you up against himself.
You surface for air, panting as your foreheads press together. He gulps. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before, I just want to be with you so bad-“
You cut him off by dragging him back in, fingers tangling desperately in his hair as you tilt his head to deepen the kiss. His lips part in a whine, hesitantly swiping his tongue against your lips and groaning when you tug at his lip piercing with your teeth. He leans into you, hands sliding up and down your back, sides, anywhere he can reach, grabbing and pulling you closer. His heavy hands land on your waist. You can feel his rings through your shirt as he squeezes gently, as though to make sure you’re real, you’re not going anywhere.
Every time one of you parts, a whine cuts through the air, hands shift, lips move together with desperate passion.
Eventually, after who knows how long, the urgency gives way to soft, lingering kisses, before breaking apart entirely, noses lazily rubbing against each other as you catch your breath.
You let out a breathless giggle as you untangle your hands from his hair, trying to smooth it back down into some semblance of order. Choso stares at you as though you personally handed him the sun, dazed and swooning.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. Your heart skips a beat.
“Yeah? Well, so are you.” He whines, embarrassed, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you laugh. He takes a deep breathe as you rub his back soothingly.
“Can I take you out? To dinner, or a movie, or something like that, to thank you for coming tonight?” he mumbles into your shoulder.
“Just to thank me for coming tonight?” you tease, joy bubbling up inside as he whines and hugs you tighter. “I’m just messing with you. I’d love to.” He picks you up again, spinning you around in a circle and leaving ticklish kisses all over your face. Holding you in midair, his eyes land on your lips again. Leaning in closer, closer, closer-
A door slams, and you jump apart as though burned.
“Ahhh fuck, I owe Yuji another $30.”
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
a/n: thank you so much for reading! I had a ton of fun writing this, and I’d love to write more oneshots in the future (requests are open if anyone has any suggestions *wink wink*) hopefully next time around it won’t take me almost 5 months (╥﹏╥)
I’M SORRY, I’M BARELY ONLINE FOR A WEEK AND LADS ADDED AND THEN REMOVED A NEW LI???? NOOOO HE SEEMED LIKE SUCH A CUTIE PATOOTIE (╥﹏╥) I’m not gonna lie I lost all motivation to play the game anymore after that (◞‸◟,)
Warnings/Tags: mild angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, nightmares, lots of cuddles, very fluffy, sweet sweet boys who love you so much, maybe a little ooc I’m sorry (╥﹏╥)
Bachira Meguru
This absolute cutie wakes up to the sound of you crying and immediately panics
He wants to make you smile!
Immediately wakes you up by tackling you in a hug
“Megu….what—“ he cuts off your drowsy rambling by kissing all over your face
Ends up wiping the tears off your face with his kisses until you giggle, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes
He dives into your neck and squeezes you tight as he nuzzles in
“Hmm MY monster can beat YOUR monsters up. You’re safe! I promise! Go back to sleep” he loudly whispers
Hums absentmindedly, gently lulling you back to sleep
You fall back asleep with Bachira squishing you like a weighted blanket to “protect you from all the bad things in the world” (his words)
Seishiro Nagi
Barely wakes up at first
Eventually he finally rolls over, still half asleep, seeing your shoulders shake gently
He frowns to himself, eyebrows pinched
“Hey. Hey, you awake?” he murmurs
When you don’t stir beyond your continued sobs, he frowns deeper
He grabs you and tucks you against his chest, playing with your hair and rubbing your back while mumbling sleepy reassurances into the air
“I’m here. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you here.”
He only lets himself slip back into deep sleep when he feels your tears and shaking stop, slipping back into a comfortable sleep yourself
He may not have been fully awake himself, but he means every word he said
You wake up hours later, ear up against his steady heartbeat, feeling warmer and safer than you have in ages <3
Hyoma Chigiri
Wakes up almost immediately
Mildly annoyed for a split second before he realizes you’re upset
Gently wakes you up, trying not to startle you as he brushes your hair out of your face
When you slowly blink your eyes open, he holds your face gently
“Easy. You were having a nightmare.” you wince
“I’m sorry,”
“For what?” he cocks his head, raising an eyebrow like he knows where this is going.
“For waking you. I know you need your beauty sleep,” you smile. He rolls his eyes, scoffing, but smirking gently.
“That’s what you think I’m worried about? I can sacrifice a bit of sleep to make sure you’re alright,” he kisses your forehead
Interlocks his fingers with yours. Kisses your knuckles.
Ahhhh I’m sorry I disappeared for months life got crazy (╥﹏╥) but I’m back and i’ve finally watched haikyuu and season 1 of blue lock so i have SFW/suggestive requests open for any jjk, lads, haikyuu, and blue lock season 1 characters!!! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ may be slow to answer requests but i will do my best!!! (・о・)
summary: you aren't particularly good at your job. after one too many freeze-ups mid transaction, you're swapped to night shift to accommodate your... social hangups. ino just happens to stop by one night. and then again. and again. he's patient. easy. somewhere between late-night snacks and small conversations, he becomes something familiar. something safe. and then just when it starts to become something real- the world changes. and he does with it.
contains: canon ino, non-sorc reader. reader has a stammer and social anxiety. heavy reader pov. cute texting sections. fluffy slow burn into eventual angst post shibuya. panic attacks on both ends. ino grieving nana :(
a/n: hello yet another longfic attempt. this one will be two parts! but do not worry, the next part will be up within the next day or two :) i actually had a terrible stutter growing up and it still does affect me, nervous or not, so i was just feeling a little inspired thinking about how ino would be so patient about it... and then was also feeling a little angsty as per usual. <3 ty for reading!
w/c 14k~ playlist link
you don’t like talking.
it’s not like you can’t- you can, obviously. you present when needed, answer when called on, and order your own food when you really really have to. it just… takes a second.
a second too long, sometimes.
words get stuck somewhere between your brain and your mouth, caught on nerves that fire too fast, until everything tangles and you’re left standing there, blinking, cheeks warm, while someone waits.
and waits.
and then-
“c’mon now, don’t rush the poor girl.”
your manager's voice cuts in halfway through your stutter. eliciting a frustrated sigh from the customer you were failing to help, and a slew of more stuttered apologies as you finished up bagging their goods and handing them off.
“i-i’m sorry, m-ma'am.” you stammer, eyes fixed in the floor.
“that’s alright, just… just breathe next time, yeah? they can wait.” a soft hand tentatively pats your shoulder, offering a little squeeze of reassurance.
the owner was a family friend of a family friend. an older woman with a brisk walk, a smoker’s laugh, and enough patience to see you freeze mid-sentence during the interview and still sigh, wave a hand, and brush it off with a "we can work with this."
so she did. worked with your stammering greetings and your fumbling hands. the way your face burned hot whenever too many customers came in at once and you forgot how to do anything but blink.
it was her decision to switch you to nights.
"less traffic," she'd said, leaning back in her chair as she flipped through cash in the office. "less pressure. you'll do better."
it shouldn't have stung as much as it did. she even offered you a smile and a small, "your drawer is even. good job." before sending you off. still, you couldn't help but feel as if you were letting everyone down. you had a habit of feeling that way.
night shifts were quieter. softer around the edges. most customers came in half-aware or dead-tired, too concerned with their own lives to pay much attention to the girl behind the register quietly fighting for her own.
you’re grateful for that, at least.
it’s easier. she was right, as dissappointing it is to admit that.
less people means less chances to mess up.
less chances to feel your throat close up when someone looks at you expectantly.
less chances to-
ding!
the bell above the door rings. bright and animated as always. even in the dead of night.
in a second, you’re looking up from your phone, pulling your shoulders in, and swallowing your fear like you’re bracing for impact.
“w-welcome in.” you squeak out.
tall. brown, messy-hair peeking out his beanie. black shirt a little rumpled, like he’s been wearing it too long. there’s a faint scuff of something darker along the sleeve you don’t look at too closely. looks young- maybe your age?
and he’s looking back. a small smile worn on his boyish face.
"morning," he hums, glancing over at you with a small smile and a wave.
the strain in your posture eases up the moment he speaks. he didn't glare or grumble. that's comforting. this shouldn't be too bad.
you try not to watch. you do anyway.
he moves around the store without hurry. seems tired, like most who come in at this hour. the kind of tired that makes him drag his feet a second too long with each step and laces his sighs with discomfort. maybe a labor worker? kinda looks like he's been through the wringer tonight.
after a visible internal debate in front of the hot case, he grabs a nikuman to finish off his purchase.
one customer. it's just one customer. and he already seems nice enough. you can handle this.
big deep breath.
"f-find everything okay?"
"sure did," he hums, setting everything down, "never been to this spot before. you guys got the goods."
your mouth opens. shuts.
"oh- um... yes. thank you."
geez. you're really bad at this, huh?
but he doesn't seem to mind. just offers you that sweet smile once more. which does little to quell the shake in your hands as you start to scan his items.
the tea goes fine. the first riceball, fine. the second- no dice.
you turned it. tried again. nothing.
"it's- sorry," you chirped, trying a third time. "i- sorry, one second- i-it just... d-does this..."
so embarrassing. you could hear yourself- thin and flustered. caught in that awful spot where the more nervous you got, the less your body listened.
"hey."
you freeze, eyes flicking up twice before you're able to manage eye contact with him.
"you're good," he says, not a tinge of impatience or annoyance in his voice. "take your time. no biggie."
you nod without meaning to. the words softly wash over your frigid figure, bringing heat back to your fingers so you can turn the ball over and scan it with the handheld scanner.
beep.
you don't realize you've been holding your breath until you let it out. eyes lighting up at the sound and darting back to him like he's the one who did it.
"see?" he adds, nudging the next item closer. "easy."
your face warmed further at how he also seemed somewhat satisfied by the tiny victory.
"r-right." you dip your head in a gentle gratitude- and to also obscure the flush you feel biting at your nose and cheeks.
you finished scanning the rest with renewed concentration- and thankfully, the register seemed to take pity on you. accepted his payment without rebellion. as you bagged everything carefully, separating the hot and cold items into two.
"thank you very much," you hum, bowing as you hand off the bags with care. "h-have a good night."
“no problem.” his eyes landed on your face again- on the nerves you probably still wore plainly enough to read- and his expression shifted, just slightly. softened. “you too.”
"mm." you nod, avoiding the pressure of his gaze. interaction over. you fulfilled your customer service script... enough. better than usual. but still poor. you'll give yourself a C.
halfway through the door's chime, though, he doubles back- just for a second.
"hey, don't be so nervous, okay?"
you go still, the night's draft hitting you as you look back up.
"you're doing fine."
your lips part, again, but no words come out. while he grins- quick, lopsided, like he knows he said something weird and maybe a bit overbearing, but doesn't feel like taking it back.
"see you around."
and then he's gone. bell ringing softly as the door shuts behind him.
you stare at where he once stood longer than you should, hands taut in the fabric of your apron. heart pittering in a rhythm that's more than just social anxiety.
you don't know his name. don't know why his words and smile stick with you the rest of the night. just that, when the next customer comes in, and you fumble the first scan, you hear it anyway.
"you're doing fine."
the second time he comes in, you recognize him before the door even fully shuts.
same messy hair. same easy slouch. same look of someone who’s been awake too long and is pretending that isn’t the case.
"yo."
the little peace sign he throws up sends a dagger right through your chest. your script is fully abandoned now, the words 'welcome in' dying on your tongue.
the most you can manage is a small wave that makes him chuckle and, subsequently, drive the tip deeper into your heart.
he dips into the aisles quickly, picking out some more nutritionally void snacks compared to last time. when he comes back up, he sets everything down with one hand, leaning an elbow against the counter like he’s done it a hundred times before.
"you remember me?" he asks, pointing at himself with a pleased little grin- like he already knows the answer and just wants to hear you say it.
"mhm..." you nod quickly, reaching for his things, letting muscle memory take over as you start scanning.
"nice." he crosses his arms, smiling to himself now as you scan the last item. without a hitch this time around, thankfully.
"d-d-" you start, trying to stick to your usual customer service script. but your tongue feels heavy at the top of your mouth, and the word is snagging in your throat. you swallow. try again.
"d.... d...." heat creeps up your neck. your fingers twitch against the counter as you try to shake it loose, like you can physically dislodge the word if you just-
"i- s-sorry, i just-"
he’s watching you, head tilted just slightly.
"for what?" he asks, brows pulling together like the apology genuinely doesn’t make sense.
you gesture vaguely toward yourself, pointed finger hovering near your chest, "m-my words- i... um..."
he blinks once. then- "...oh."
not a realization like 'something's wrong'. more like, 'that's it?'
he shifts his weight, straightening just a little from the counter. “nah, you’re good,” he says easily, like it’s obvious. "wanna try again?" he adds, lighter this time. not pushing. just… offering
your eyes widen a little, small stars starting to glimmer in them at the warmth. people don't usually grant you such grace, let alone give you more chances.
"ahh... did um..." you inhale, steadying yourself. "did you f-find everything okay?"
it's not perfect. but it's out. and he's grinning, satisfied. like he's stoked for you.
“yeah,” he says with a small nod. “thanks for askin’.”
he taps his card against the reader, then slips it back into his wallet.
“see you next time?"
you nod a little too quickly.
"sweet. have a good night." he hums, looping the bag through his wrists before balling his hands in his pocket.
"y-you too." you murmur, despite him already being halfway out the door.
he's so nice. too nice.
the third time he comes in, it catches you off guard.
mostly because it’s still light outside.
the sun’s already started to sink, drowning the shelves in a warm orange glow. the store feels different like this. less like a box of fluorescent stillness. softer. almost sleepy.
you’re used to seeing him later. tired-eyed but still cheery enough to let them curl up with that boyish smile.
so when the bell rings, and he steps in while the sky is still burning at the edges, your head lifts on instinct- and your chest gives a small, startled thud. you weren't expecting him. not at this time.
he catches you too- face visibly brightening.
"yo-" he starts, but stops in his tracks before his head double backs to you behind the counter. "no way!"
"you're here early." he huffs a quiet laugh, like he can't quite believe it. and if you were a little more delusional- like he's happy about it.
"i- y-yeah," you manage, quickly sorting your cash back into their slots, tucking hair that isn’t even out of place behind your ear.
"that's kinda crazy. thought you were only on graveyard shifts."
you feel the flush coming on already. this time, at his attentiveness. he remembered.
"just t-today. s-someone called out."
"lucky me," he lets it slip without much thought. your heart trips at it.
there’s an easy sort of energy to him tonight. lighter. maybe it’s the hour. maybe it’s the way the sun catches in his hair, softer than the harsh white of the overhead lights ever lets it be. he heads for the aisles with that same familiar slouch, grabbing a couple drinks.
the approach of his footsteps rips you from pretending to pay attention to your phone.
"f-find everything okay?"
"yes ma'am," he hums, dragging the words out just enough to be playful as he sets them down. he scratches the back of his head, shifting his weight.
"could i get a, uhh... pack of cigarettes too?"
your hand pauses mid-reach. cigarettes? you didn't really take him for a smoker.
"oh- umm... w-which kind?" you ask, you ask, already fumbling your keys free from your lanyard.
a leans forward a bit, peering past you.
"uh... those ones." he points vaguely, like that's any help. "the... black and gold ones?"
alright... probably not a smoker.
you nod anyway, stepping back. you unlock the case, easing the acrylic open before lifting onto your toes, nudging the pack forward until it tips into your hand. just your luck he had to pick one from the highest shelf.
there's a small snag of eye contact when you turn back- like he had been watching you the whole time. that's silly though... no?
"i um... i need to s-see your ID," you hum, looking away first as you set the pack down with the rest of his items.
he pauses. then pats at his pockets.
“oh. damn. right.” he mutters, mostly to himself, before looking back up at you with a sheepish little wince. "my bad."
it's so kiddish. horrifyingly endearing, really. if it were any other clerk working right now, they'd have turned him away without even looking at his ID, just for how clueless he's acting.
"here ya go." he pulls the card loose and holds it out to you.
you pull it closer to your eyes as you squint at the information- and then back at him to compare the photo.
ino takuma.
his grin is minimized to a tight-lipped smile that still manages to reach his eyes. no beanie- so his shaggy hair is on full display. along with a scar along his forehead you've not caught before. looks like he's wearing something that's not black for once, too.
still him, though.
still... cute.
ino... like a boar... you think, sounding the kanji out in your head.
"huh?"
your head snaps up.
ah. you said that out loud.
"s-sorry-" you hurry, heat rising fast as you hand it back. "i didn't m-mean to-"
"nah, nah, you're good," he cuts in quickly, waving you off with one hand while taking it with the other, very obviously trying to smother a laugh behind his grin. "what'd ya say?"
"what'd ya say?"
you hesitate. how could you even lie?
"..your n-name," you murmur, quieter now. lips pulling into a small, embarrassed pout. "i just... i w-was reading it."
“oh.” he glances down at the card in his hand, like he forgot what it said.
“yeah. ino,” he says, hooking a thumb toward himself. “takuma.”
"like a boar." he echoes.
you nearly drop the water bottle as it scans. so he did hear you.
but then he laughs- light, easy, warm enough that some of the tension drains from your shoulders as you reach for the next bottle like it might save you.
"you got one too?"
the question stops you cold. your eyes flick up to his- twice. just find him still there. waiting. easy and patient like always. like he has all the time in the world.
that familiar stall creeps up, settling heavy at the back of your tongue. made worse by the butterflies escaping from your diaphragm each time you try to vocalize.
"...i-"
your chest tightens as the air stutters in your windpipe. say it. it's just your name.
"i-i'm-" you swallow. "it-it-it's... y/n."
quiet. but clear. clear enough for his face to light up almost instantly.
he repeats it like he's testing it. like he’s making sure he gets it right.
like he wants to.
"that's cute," he adds, easy.
like that's not enough to send you into a miniature crisis, poorly veiled by finishing scanning his items.
"th-thank you," you manage. barely.
you bag his items up with a tremor in your hold, and read out his total.
he takes the bag in the same motion he pays, slinging it over his shoulder.
“they’re not for me, by the way,” he adds, nodding toward the cigarettes. “just my boss’s little errand boy.”
"r-right." you hum, tearing his receipt free to hand off.
but he doesn't go right away. instead, he huffs a quiet little laugh through his nose, shifting his weight like he’s debating something. like he's a little flustered for once.
"it was nice to meet you, y/n."
your fingers tighten where they were once holding the receipt.
"...y-you too."
he eases back a step, glancing toward the door- then back at you.
"see you around?"
a guarantee. reassurance that he'll be back.
your chest tightens.
"...y-yeah."
he flashes that same little peace sign as he heads out.
"cool. later, then."
the bell rings. door shuts. and you just stand there for a second. both of your names echoing in your ears.
and then bury your face in your hands. giddy noises that have no place in this building- and at this hour- squeak from you as you sway back and forth on your heels. fully aware that you're at too big of an age to fluster like this. and still doing it anyway.
it's not every night he shows up. but it's enough. enough for the bell above the door to not ring in such a dreadful, foreboding way anymore.
sometimes it’s late enough that the windows are black mirrors, throwing the fluorescent lights back at you in harsh white smears. sometimes it’s earlier, the sky bruised purple and orange outside, the shelves washed in sunset instead of convenience store glare.
but no matter what, it's always got that boyish smile and that careless little peace sign. that same loose posture like he's not in a hurry, even when he clearly is.
you try not to react to it. you fail each time.
he speaks to you like you've given him way more than you actually have. like he knows you despite your short words and thick walls. leaning on the counter while you ring him up, chin propped in his palm.
"so tired... work sucks." a pout is smeared across his face as he whines- quite dramatically. dramatic enough for you to have to stifle a small laugh. small and breathy and startled, like your body forgot you're supposed to keep these things neatly tucked away.
before you can start to apologize, he's laughing with you. so very easily.
your stammer doesn’t vanish. your tongue still catches. some nights the words still jam so hard in your throat you have to point instead, or shake your head, or start over three times before anything comes out right.
but it works. because when it’s him, it isn't as dreadful a task to complete. he never looks at you sideways. never clicks his tongue. he just lays out the rug for you to walk on, and smiles idly while you do. offers a hand each time you stumble.
"how'd your exam go?"
the letter 'g' hiccups in your mouth thrice before you sigh, defeatedly.
"good?"
"...mhm."
"niiiice. good job."
"th-thank you."
the two of you learn each other in pieces. he points out the charms on your lanyard. lets you ramble about the little acrylic characters and whatever show they're from. even when his transaction is far past over, he lingers around to talk about your schoolwork, commute, interests. anything, really. always prompted by him.
you do the same.
he buys cigarettes for his boss, never himself. said boss, is quite the icon to him. sometimes, he comes in with a visible glow and gushes about being praised. he gravitates toward the junk food aisle like he's being called home. on rare occasions, he comes in to restock on alcohol halfway through a night of drinking with his friends.
he could hardly make eye contact with you the first time it happened. kicking his feet and staring at the floor like a guilty kid.
"e-everything ok-kay?" you hum, nudging his bag across the counter.
"y-yeah... s' just..." he hiccups, running a hand over his mouth and down to the side of his neck.
"...i'm embarrassed..."
you could melt at the sight of it. you've never been the one with the stronger grasp on their wits.
"how c-come?"
"cuzzz... i feel like a... like a... i dunno..." he drags his hands down his visibly flushed face. "some fuckin'... frat boy... swear m'not..."
it's awfully endearing. just enough to pull a giggle from you, that's got him falling apart even worse. flush shining a bright red at his ears and cheeks. it's the alcohol, surely.
he always looks a little worn around the edges, but some nights more than others- hoodie rumpled, knuckles scraped, shadows clinging beneath his eyes like he forgot to rest properly.
you eventually build up the courage to check in on him without feeling like you're overstepping. it becomes normal to ask how the other's doing.
some nights, both of you shake your heads.
"it's all good. tomorrow will be better."
"...mhm."
you learn the cadence of him too.
the way he says your name like it’s become easy in his mouth. the way he always gives you some kind of goodbye, even if it’s just a lazy little, later, over his shoulder.
the way he notices things you’re sure no one else does.
“new hair clip?”
your hand flies to the side of your head.
he grins.
“it’s cute.”
you hate how much you look for him now.
how your stomach sinks, just a little, on nights the bell rings and it’s only some office worker grabbing canned coffee. how you look for him on the nights he never shows up, glancing around the dim street on your way out and subtly scanning the subway train on the way home. how you stare at your ceiling, replaying conversations.
"b-busy recently?" you murmur once, absentmindedly. he hadn't shown up in nearly a week, which is a new record. the words escape before you realize the implication that you definitely had been keeping score.
then, his mouth curls.
"damn," he says, hand curling into the fabric at his chest. "you missed me?"
your entire nervous system lights on fire.
"n-no- i- i just m-meant-"
"i'm joking," he cuts in quickly, already laughing as he leans away from the counter. "yeah. just a little. came by once, but some older guy was workin' the counter."
you nod wordlessly, too frazzled to even dare utter a word that's sure to crack. just for him to absentmindedly drop, "missed you too," as he pays.
and later, after he leaves, you stand in the same spot for a long time with your face hot and your chest aching with something too soft to defend yourself from.
because that’s the problem, really.
it’s all too soft.
he never crowds you. never makes your shyness feel like a flaw to be fixed. never looks embarrassed for you when your words refuse to come.
instead he waits.
or guesses.
or smiles like the answer can take all night if it has to.
and with every visit, every peace sign, every stupid snack and easy yo, something inside you starts giving way.
you start to wonder more. if he's as tired as you think. wonder where he goes after he leaves. wonder if means to keep coming back the way he does.
ino tells himself it's because the store's convenient. because it's on the way. it's 24 hours, so it makes sense to stop before or after missions. occasionally both. because grabbing some snacks, even if the ones from the past two visits are still untouched at his apartment is normal, actually.
it's bad enough that nanami glances at the plastic bag in his hand one evening, and then at his watch with an unreadable sigh.
"you went out of your way for that?"
ino, halfway through pulling out a sad little sandwich, pauses.
"...what's that supposed to mean?"
"it means there are three other convenience stores between here and the station."
ino's shoulders sag dramatically. he'd never give lip to his mentor, but it's taking everything in him to not hit him with a "okay, and?"
"it's... got good food," ino mutters, ears a little warmer than they should be.
nanami adjusts his goggles once before turning to walk. "i see."
he does not see. or maybe he sees too much. either way, it's not brought up again. but he doesn't stop going.
because every time he thinks maybe he should skip it, maybe he’s being weird, maybe he doesn’t need another bottle of sports drink or a pack of gum he won’t finish, he thinks of you behind the counter.
your careful hands. your shy little wave. how your stutter calms when you're talking about something you like. how it tightens when he gets a little bold. the way your face lights up whenever he steps in.
and then he’s already there.
already pushing through the door.
already smiling before he can help it.
by the time your shift ends, you've already told yourself not to be disappointed. three times. maybe four. it's stupid, anyway. he doesn't come in every night.
you just... you just really hoped he would tonight. because you had spent the entire day prior to clocking in that this would be the day you finally ask him for his number.
a feat initially considered impossible in theory. never to be fulfilled, because it's you, for heaven's sake. it was always silly to think anybody could reciprocate feelings for you when you hardly spoke to them. and when you did, it was met with a sneer or cut short because they had no patience. snuffing out the flame before it grew any brighter. but ino- ino just burns so bright.
he glows when you say his name. looks at you like what you have to say means something. prods you for more, like he wants to learn. like he can't get enough of you, but the responsibilities of both your nights always cuts it short.
you could really see yourself managing to pop the question. mulled it over in your head throughout your lectures. practiced in the mirror. straightened each time you heard the bell ring, with a momentary panic washing over you-
just to dip and sigh the adrenaline out when it wasn't him.
a woman buying a magazine. a tired man in a wrinkled suit. two teenagers loudly debating which energy drink tasted least like battery acid.
people have lives. schedules. better things to do than show up at the same convenience store every other night and smile at the same awkward girl behind the register like she’s the highlight of their day.
still-
when you finish counting out your drawer and trade places with the morning clerk, something in your chest sits a little heavier than usual.
“night,” he says, barely glancing up from his phone as you slip your bag over your shoulder.
“g-goodnight.”
the evening air is colder outside.
halloween’s close enough now that the wind has teeth, biting at the highs of your face as you make your way toward the station. the sky’s gone dark, streetlights humming overhead, staining the sidewalk in dull amber.
you slip your earbuds in with a heavy heart, tapping your phone to play something that drowns out the disappointment.
past the vending machines. past shuttered storefronts. past that same abandoned bike that's sat there for weeks- still chained to the rack with a bent front wheel.
your mind is already half elsewhere by the time the station comes into view. already on the train schedule. the walk home. the assignment waiting half-finished in your bag.
then-
"wait!"
you stop so suddenly your shoe squeaks against the pavement.
you turn-
ino.
half-jogging toward you from down the block, one hand lifted, the other gripping his beanie like a baton. very clearly out of breath. hair disheveled from the cold wind against his face.
your heart lurches so hard it almost hurts.
"i-" he slows as he gets to you- then curls in on himself with his hands braced on his knees while he catches his breath. "damn- huff- okay- pant- hold on."
you stare, fingers tightening around your bag strap in disbelief. he's here. he's actually here.
he looks up- laughing, breathless. the station lights catch on the flush high in his cheeks. he looks a little embarrassed. a little wired. kind of cute. really cute.
“i came by the store and-” he gestures vaguely over his shoulder, still breathing a bit hard, “the other guy said you just left, and i was like, no shot, ya'know? i can still catch up-”
he straightens, rubbing the back of his head. suddenly looking a little less confident than he probably wanted to.
"which- i uh... i did. obviously."
your brows contort- and he almost looks afraid at the new expression unlocked. eyes wide, nose bitten pink by the cold. baggy hoodie hanging loose on your figure- not in your apron, for the first time.
"you... r-ran?"
"yeah." his mouth quirks. "just a little."
your blood turns hot- cold air standing no chance.
for a moment, neither of you says anything.
cars pass somewhere behind him. a train announcement crackles faint and garbled from behind you. a group of students laugh from inside.
ino shifts his weight, eyes darting between the pavement and you. it's weird, seeing him nervous. oddly steadying.
"i.. uh..." he starts, then huffs softly through his nose. "okay. this is gonna sound kinda lame."
your lips part, but no sound comes out.
"but i wanted to get your number."
oh.
he came in, realized it wasn't you, and then ran for you the second he got pointed in the right direction. so he could ask you for your number.
all that self-induced nausea you inflicted upon yourself in preparation- the rejection you prepared yourself for- the tears that stung on the walk home- just for him to be the frazzled one asking for your number.
“just ‘cause-” he lifts a shoulder, grin turning a little sheepish. “i dunno. i see you all the time anyway, so it’s not weird, right? and if i didn’t ask now, it was gonna be, like, super over for me all week. cuz i'm gonna be busy tomorrow- and probably after- so... yeah. right?"
his jumbled gestures and scattered speech- still laced with intermittent pants- pulls a tiny sound out of you. something between a laugh at the sight and a breath at the relief.
his face brightens immediately.
encouraged, he adds, "plus, what if i need a professional recommendation on the worst drink in the store when you're out?"
you duck your head, smiling despite yourself.
"you p-picked that one y-yourself..." you murmur.
"damn." he keens. "ya got me."
your fingers fidget with your bag strap. your number. right. he wants your number.
you're suddenly intensely aware of your phone sitting in your pocket like it weighs a thousand pounds.
"ah- only if you... want to." he adds, a touch quicker now, realizing he might've come on too strong. with the whole running after you thing. "no pressure. seriously. i just.."
"i wanted to ask."
he hums, a touch softer. eyes settled gently on yours.
he wanted to. enough to run after you. enough to stand here under bad station lighting with wind in his hair and nerves slipping through his smile.
you nod, sheepishly at first. "y-yeah. o-okay."
his answering grin is immediate. bright. and the way his fist pumps into the air is enough to knock the breath right out of you.
"sick," he bites, holding back the cheery lilt, already reaching for his phone. "okay. sweet sweet sweet. nice."
the both of you fumble a little after that.
you with your cold fingers and rising pulse, him with a screen protector cracked at one corner and thumbs moving a little too fast for someone pretending to be casual.
he hands you his phone, contacts already open.
you type your name in, adding a little '^_^' beside it.
when you give it back, he looks down at the screen and smiles. like he’s trying not to make too much of it. failing a little.
“cool,” he hums, typing something before slipping it into his pocket. your phone buzzes gently in your pocket.
“now you have to text me so i know you didn’t give me a fake number.”
your eyes widen. “i w-wouldn’t-”
he laughs immediately, holding his hands up in defense. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding.”
the pout only makes him grin harder.
he fits his beanie back over his head, sorting some strands out of his eyes and back behind his ears.
an action you can't help but stare at- still, starstruck.
"alright- i'll let ya go before you miss your train."
your chest dips a bit at it. already?
but you nod. because that's how leaving works.
"r-right. okay."
he shoots another grin at you, posture loosening as he resumes his usual slouch. "text me when you get home, yeah?"
"o-okay. i will."
his smile softens.
and his hand comes up- throwing that familiar peace sign. different now- more personal.
"later, y/n."
"l-later," you echo quietly, adjusting your bag before lifting your hand in a lazy wave as you turn to walk off. eyes stuck on him and his own- full arm wave- before he disappears as you take the last descending step.
you don't open your phone until you finally take a seat on your train, hands shaky and heart still thumping happily.
ino :)
this is my official anti-fake number investigation
you laugh right there on the tram. helplessly giddy. thank goodness it's too early for your carriage to be full.
you
it's not fake
you don't make it far before your phone buzzes. once. then again.
you continue down the sidewalk leading home, fingers fumbling slightly as you pull it out. screen lighting up your face in soft white.
ino :)
okay good.
i was about to be devastated fr
your lips press together, trying (and failing) to hide the smile spreading across your face.
you
i wouldn't do that
then, before you can overthink.
i was gonna ask you today too
but you didn't come
you force your eyes away from the screen in shame- turning a street corner. too much? no, right? not if he was gonna ask. but is admitting that kind of pathetic? and then,
ino :)
no fuckin way
i almost fumbled
i would've never forgiven myself
your laughter comes easier when he's not right in front of you.
you
nooo it's okay
i'm glad you did
ino :)
i am too
my legs are gonna hurt tomorrow
you
how hard did you run??
ino :)
it was a light jog at most
you
you were out of breath
his typing bubble stutters for a moment
ino :)
alright u got me.
another message comes in right after.
ino :)
you made me nervous
you stop walking completely- brain stalling. you reread twice before your pulse catches up with the words- heat fluttering in your chest and tummy.
you
i did?
ino :)
yeah
you're kinda...
idk
you hold your breath.
ino :)
you're just you
you release it with a whiny sigh. you don't know how to respond to that. let alone process it. so you just hold it to your chest like it's keeping you warm, taking the steps up to your apartment. unlocking the door and only texting when you shut it behind you- back to the wood.
you
i'm home
his response is immediate.
ino :)
good
you goin to bed?
you
yes
soon
have to shower and do some schoolwork
ino :)
busy lady
don't be up too long
you've not stopped smiling since you got off the train. but it softens a bit at those messages.
you
i will try
are you home yet?
ino :)
not yet
still got stuff to do tonight
your smile fades just a little. that tiredness you notice. how he only really shows up in your life at night.
you
oh oki
work?
ino :)
yeah p much
you
so late :o
be safe
the typing bubble holds longer than usual. but when his message comes though, it's only one line.
ino :)
thanks :)))
your chest flutters at the vision of him smiling at his own screen. for the moment, you click your phone off as you toe your shoes off at the door and shrug your bag off as you reach your bedroom. just for it chime once again on your bed as you're shrugging your hoodie off.
ino :)
you working tomorrow?
you type with one hand, interchanging it halfway as you slip each of your socks off.
you
yes
8 pm to 2am
ino :)
okay bet
i got a busy week
but i'll see if i can stop by
your heart skips just a little. sat on the edge of your bed now, legs swaying idly.
you
you don't have toooo
we can text now anyway
he reads it for a moment before the bubble pops up.
ino :)
i guess
but seeing you makes the night better
even if work sucks balls
you pray that if there is a god, he doesn't bear witness to the way you fall onto your back into your bedsheets and squeal.
you
same for me... (,,>﹏<,,)
ino :)
(image attached)
you really mean it
there is no way. absolutely no way this is the same ino. but it absolutely is. if anything- it makes perfect sense. it's just. jarring, honestly.
you
yes i do
ino :)
i'm blushing
okoki have to go now
i'll see you tomorrow if i can
you
okayyy
have fun with work
ino :)
yes yes
goodnight y/n
sleep well
you
goodnight ino
sleep well whenever you do
the typing bubble appears, lingering long eonugh to make your heart pick up again. no new messages comes, though. screen dimming until you click it off and let it fall against your bed.
your room is still. quiet. still dark. unmoved despite the major revelation that has just bloomed in your life.
and somewhere across the city, ino's phone is tucked into his pocket just in time to rush after a curse he was set to scout for, nearly missing his chance in favor of responding to your texts. you, who is blissfully unaware of the world he lives in.
the next night, despite his warning, you find yourself looking up when the bell rings anyway. just once. just in case. but it's not him. and odlly enough, the disappointment doesn't sink as deep as you expect it to.
he let you know he'd be busy. and eventually makes up for his absent with a text that has wakes you up from your dozing off in your stool.
ino :)
you at work?
your chest warms instantly.
you
yes
ino :)
praying for u
you smile to yourself. fuzziness creeping into your lungs.
the conversation comes in fragments after that. little messages spaced between customers and cleaning on your end and long, work-related stretches of quiet on his.
he asks if it's busy- not really. it never is. asks what song is playing, making a joke about how he swears it's the same thing every time.
you
it's not always the same
there are like
four different ones
ino :)
i'd go crazy
why don't they put you on aux
you
i wish
i would put my earbuds in
but i'm scared i'll get in trouble
ino :)
oh please
don't you get like
5 customers a shift
you
i guess
just still nervous
ino :)
your boss scary or something?
you
nooo no
she's actually really nice
nice enough to hire me
ino :)
what's that supposed to mean
you tilt your face at your phone, pout forming like he can see it.
you
...
(◞‸◟；)
ino :)
shaddap
don't be mean to yourself
you're the best clerk ever
now, you do have a sweet tooth, admittedly. snacking on candies during the lulls of your shifts in favor over the packaged meals. but ino- ino might be too sweet. and with his almost cringe-worthy streak of honesty, you know he really thinks that.
you
but u just told me to shut up...
ino :)
no
NONONO
WAITWAITWAIT
it's easier like this. with a screen between you, there's no rush. no eyes on your mouth waiting for the words to come out right. no heat crawling up your neck when your tongue catches.
you still hesitate before you send things sometimes. still delete entire sentences because they sound strange in your head. but easier, nonetheless. you don't have to fight your own voice to reach him. and somehow, he sounds identical to himself through text anyway. lightly teasing and easygoing, which makes you picture his face without meaning to.
when your break starts, you text him first.
you
what are you up to
his response takes a few minutes.
ino :)
working
you
oh mhm
you probably shouldn't bother then, huh? another few minutes pass by before your phone chimes again.
ino :)
sorry sorrythat sounded shorter than i meant
just a teensy weensy busy
how is work going?
it's like he read your unease through the phone.
you
it's ok!!
i'm sorry about that... your work sounds hard
it is oki
just eating now
ino :)
good good
nahhh
i mean it is hard
but i'll be okay
big strong guy here
you huff a small laugh, swallowing the egg sandwich down with a small cough.
you
yes
very strong
ino :)
you noticed?
didn't think you could under the long sleeves
you you don't always wear long sleeves
it's sent before you can think twice about it. sleep deprivation seemingly fraying your wits. you're halfway through typing an apology before his next message pops up
ino :)
ohhh so you have noticed
i got a little sleeper build don't i
ᕙ(`▽´)ᕗ
you
yes...it is
nice
you clearly have never flirted in your life. but ino's beam at his phone says otherwise.
"ino. please focus."
"r-right- sorry sir."
ino :)
thank you :)
sorry work callin again :/
you
that's okay
you are welcome
don't work too hard
ino :)
ahh haha
i'll try
you too
by the end of your shift, he still hasn't come by. but your mood is lighter than it normally is. the walk home isn't as quiet and long.
the day after, he doesn't show up either. but he texts you before your shift even starts.
ino :)
clocking in?
you pause in the break room, halfway through tying your apron.
you
unfortunately
so sleepy today
ino :)
i'm sorry pretty girl
your coworker quirks an eyebrow at the way you shimmy in place.
"who's got you smilin' like that?"
"j-just a... b-boy..." you murmur, terribly masking the flush on your face with your phone.
later, while you're absentmindedly flicking a display lighter on and off, he sends a blurry photo of a vending machine drink.
ino :)
look
it's pancake flavored
you
woah
is it yummy
ino :)
yes
i drank the whole thing
now my stummy hurts
he texts you all the way through closing. nothing important, really. but that's what makes it feel important.
a three-second video of him flashing a peace sign to the camera, and then turning it to the ground, where you can make out his shoes and the steps of another.
ino :)
my boss has been quitting recently
now i can't offer to grab him more as an excuse to come see u
you
that's a good thing
smoking is bad for you
ino :)
i know lol
i'm glad he is
just sad i probably can't stop by tonight
a random:
ino :)
have you eaten yet?
you
not yet
ino :)
do that
or i'm reporting you to the authorities
i've got connections
you snort softly through your nose.
it's easy to imagine him when he texts. the way he'd probably be leaning against something while he typed that. one hand in his pocket, beanie crooked and eyes half-lidded from being tired and trying to play it off.
you
yes sir(￣ー￣)ゞ
ino :)
thank u
gna be busy the rest of the night
lmk when you get home
call me if any creepers follow u
you do. text him once you're on your train. once you're in your apartment. and as you're settling into bed- all to no response.
there's an undeniable ache. not like you're entitled to his time. just that- whatever's keeping him occupied this late into the night must really be quite burdensome.
by the day before halloween, you've almost gotten used to not seeing him. almost. your shifts feel less empty with him tucked into your phone, with his little texts arriving like clockwork whenever the store goes too still.
but it's not the same.
not the same as his voice. not the same as watching him lean against the counter like he has nowhere better to be.
so when the bell finally rings just after sunset, and you glance up to find that it's him stepping inside, your chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts.
he looks... tired. more than usual. not the joking kind of tired he waves off with a smile. something heavier sits on him tonight.
his shoulders are drawn tighter. the skin beneath his eyes is darker. he still smiles when he sees you, but it takes a little longer to reach his face.
"yo," he says, quieter than usual.
your fingers tighten around the pen in your hand. "h-hi."
his mouth curves, just a little, and he comes up to the counter with little wandering. just a drink and something small to eat from the cases closest to the register. like he came more for the store than what it sells.
"w-wasn't expecting you." you hum, already scanning them and bagging them up.
"yeah, sorry. shoulda texted," he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. "been a busy few days."
you nod, though it doesn't feel like enough.
you can feel it. that he’s quieter, that something’s sitting wrong in him, that the usual easy rhythm is there but dimmed.
your hands meet in a wary fold. thumbs fidgeting slightly before you speak.
"...are you... d-doing okay?"
the question comes out small. gentle. for a second, you think he'll brush it off. and he nearly does.
"yeah, i'm-" he goes quiet, hands nestling in his pockets as his shoulders shift. "just tired." it's not a lie. just not the whole truth either.
"w-work?"
his gaze flicks to yours. like he's the one with a streak of struggling with eye contact. a tiny, delicate hesitation.
"i guess. it's.... just a lot. lately."
your chest aches a little at the way he says it. like it's something that has slipped out- not for you to bear witness to.
he huffs a laugh, but there's no real humor in it.
"sorry. that sounds dramatic as hell."
you're quick to shake your head. "n-no," you hand the bag off unceremoniously. "you c-can be tired."
you swallow, trying to push past the little catches in your voice.
"i-it doesn't make you... weak. or anyth-thing. bad."
the way he stares makes you intensely aware of your words, but you keep going anyway.
"you're a-always telling me n-not to be scared- or t-to worry," you say, softly. "s-so don't be af-fuh-fuh-" ahem. "afraid of being tired. you work h-hard."
"it's okay to be t-tired."
the bag crinkles in his grip. your eyes meet his face. fearfully, at first. expecting something that matches the tightness in his hand- but it's unexpectedly soft. the furrow in his brow easing for one fleeting second, your words finding a place to land somewhere he hadn't realized was open.
"damn," he says at last, voice low and a little rough around the edges. "you always this wise? or is today special?" his smile falters- and for a moment, it almost looks like he's gonna cry.
"i-i'm serious."
"i know." his expression settles before anything else bubbles to the surface. "that's why it got me."
you can feel the words sitting behind his teeth. heavy and unfinished and threatening to spill the moment his lips part to speak again.
but then he blinks. looks away. closes the moment with purpose.
"i'll be okay. promise."
you know better than to push. so instead, you type a command into the register and hand his receipt off- despite his lack of payment.
his fingers brush yours when he reaches to take it. neither of you move right away.
the warmth of you- and realization that it's already over without him even taking his card out- makes something flicker in his expression. startled, nearly.
"i didn't-"
you wave it off, pushing the receipt to him.
"d-don't worry about it."
"...you're sure?"
you nod, adjusting part of your hair that doesn't need adjusting.
"j-just get home s-safe."
he's still for a few seconds before his posture finally loosens up with a shake of his head. "alright."
"...i will."
you don’t know why that answer makes your chest hurt.
he shifts his bag over his shoulder, still looking at you in that quiet, strange way. like he’s trying to memorize something. your face. your voice. the look of you under convenience store lights, soft and worried and sweet enough to undo him.
"thanks. i'll text you later." he hums.
you nod.
"see you, y/n."
"bye, ino."
he turns and heads for the door.
the bell rings overhead.
cold air slips in for a second before the door swings shut behind him.
and you stand there, the feeling of his fingers still warm against yours, with the oddest feeling blooming low in your chest.
like something just brushed past you. like the night shifted around its edges.
you wake up to a text from him.
not late.
not early, either.
just early enough that it catches you before you’ve fully settled into your day, phone still dim in your hand and your room washed in that pale, lazy gray that only october mornings seem to have.
ino :)
you alive?
your lips twitch before you can help it.
you roll onto your back, hair in your face, blankets still tangled around your legs as you type back.
you
mhm
slept in
ino :)
you're telling me
it's almost 3
a sleepy smile ghosts your face as you rub at your eyes as you nestle into a pillow on your side.
you
no work today
they took pity on me
it's true. the halloween night rush of drunks can get pretty hectic- so night shift had been entrusted to two higher managers.
you
do you have plans?
there's a small pause.
ino :)
something like that
you?
you
not really
my friends are going to shibuya though
you're halfway through typing a 'they wanted me to go too,' before his answer pops up.
ino :)
don't go
you blink. sit up a little straighter.
you
?
ino :)
crowds gonna be insane
like actually hell on earth
you'd hate it
there's a strange firmness to it. not harsh- just uncharacteristically direct.
you
i wasn't planning to
too many people
ino :)
good
keep it that way
and lowk
your friends shouldn't go either
that gets a small crease between your brows
you
why?
ino :)
just a bad feeling
halloween in shibuya never ends well
you can almost see him on the other end of it- phone in hand, jaw set, choosing his words too carefully for someone who usually doesn’t.
you
i'll stay home
ino :)
good
a second message follows right after.
ino :)
promise?
your chest warms at that, even as the oddness of the interaction lingers.
you
i promise
the bubble appears. stops.
ino :)
thank u
you smile despite yourself.
you carry your phone around with you the rest of the morning, checking it more than you need to. folding laundry. making something small to eat. half-listening to a show you’ve already seen.
his texts come in strange little intervals.
never enough to become a conversation.
just enough to remind you he’s there.
ino :)
you eat yet?
youyes
ino :)
okay good
later.
ino :)
you live in taito right?
you fingers pause over the keyboard.
you
closer to adachi
why
is it gonna be that bad?
there's a longer delay this time. long enough that you resume studying, despite the dread that's starting to pool in your core. immediately shocked straight once your phone dings again.
ino :)
probably not
just being annoying
ignore me
you
you're not annoying
ino :)
damn right
you laugh softly to yourself, shaking your head.
but it doesn’t fully ease the feeling.
by evening, the sky outside your apartment has gone the color of old bruises- blue-black and heavy, city lights glowing faintly in the distance. halloween noise drifts through the streets below in bursts. laughter. traffic. muffled music somewhere too far away to place.
your phone buzzes again as you finish up your studying for the day. there's a special airing tonight you don't wanna miss, and you've already got your snacks laid out on your coffee table and a blanket around your shoulders as you sit down.
ino :)
you home?
you
yes
ino :)
good
another pause.
ino :)
i might be afk til the morning btw
the warmth in your chest dims around the edges as you read it.
you
oh
you don't mean for it to sound disappointed
but it does.
ino :)
don’t worry too hard okay
i’m just gonna be busy tonight
you
party?
time stretches for a moment. bubble hovering longer than usual.
ino :)
nah
work
you bite lightly at the inside of your cheek. there's more there- but there's no point chasing it if he's already decided to keep it to himself.
so instead, you curl yourself a little deeper into blanket and text back:
you
okay
be safe
the typing bubble appears.
stays.
goes away.
comes back.
when his message finally sends, it lands heavier than anything else he’s said all day.
ino :)
if i wasn't busy i would've asked you to do something tonight
your breath catches completely. heart starting to beat harder, uneven and hot enough for you to have to place a hand to your chest in an attempt to soothe its violent thuds.
you
like what?
ino :)
idk
we could've made our own halloween plans
another message follows before you can recover
ino :)
something way less lame than shibuya
like staying at home and handing candy out
you pull the blanket up higher over your mouth- even if there is no one here to see you. you and your trembling fingers and flushed ears.
you
that sounds nice
his response doesn't come immediately. you imagine him reading it. imagining it too, maybe. whatever that would've looked like. small and simple and shared between just the two of you.
ino :)
yeah
next time
your chest tightens around the words.
next time.
something about them should comfort you. instead, a strange little ache opens behind your ribs. you don’t understand why. you type anyway.
you
okay :)
for a while, neither of you says anything. phone left upwards on the cushion beside you as you watch your favorite shows special.
then, your phone buzzes one last time.
ino :)
get some sleep tonight, yeah?
and don't go anywhere weird
you
i won't
are you clocking in?
ino :)
yes ma'am
gonna be a busy bee tonight
you
oki
be safe
after a second, you add:
text me tomorrow
the bubble appears almost immediately.
ino :)
i will
promise
you'll hold onto that. a promise.
you
thank you
goodnight ino
it takes him a few seconds.
ino :)
night y/n
happy halloween
you whisper it back to your screen like he can hear you.
and when the chat goes quiet after that, you set your phone beside you and try not to think too hard about the odd feeling left behind. the one that curls low and uneasy beneath the fuzzy, warm feeling he plagues you with. the one that makes the city outside sound a little more foreboding.
it's nothing.
he said he'd text in the morning. promised he would.
and because it's him- you'll believe it.
you don't mean to fall asleep. it's just for a second, you tell yourself.
your phone is still beside you when you drift off- while you're nestled in the corner of your couch with the tv droning low in the background. the last thing you remember is checking the time. 11:43. after. that, nothing
your phone screams. you jolt awake so hard it makes you cough- and for one disorienting second, all you know is noise.
the blare of an emergency alert. the sharp brightness of the television- suddenly too loud for the size of your apartment. voices overlapping in clipped, urgent bursts that sound nothing like the programming you fell asleep to.
your room is dark except for the flashing light of your phone and the bright red-white glow of the tv.
still half asleep, you fumble for the screen.
EMERGENCY ALERT: SHELTER IN PLACE IMMEDIATELY. AVOID CENTRAL TOKYO. STAY INDOORS. FURTHER INFORMATION TO FOLLOW.
...what?
you blink hard, rubbing one eye with the heel of your hand- refocusing your attention to the tv anchors' voices. trying to bring them to the forefront of your hazed senses.
“…repeat- residents are being instructed to remain indoors as emergency crews attempt to assess the devastation in shibuya-”
“…officials have not yet confirmed the full number of casualties-”
“…sources are now stating that the destruction may be tied to what authorities are calling cursed spirits-”
the image onscreen shifts from the anchor desk to aerial footage, shaky and distant at first, then horrifyingly clear.
shibuya is... gone.
not burning. not damage. gone.
a massive, ugly wound carved into the city where everything should still be standing. whole stretches of it erased into blackened ruin and cratered absence, smoke still curling up into the night sky in ghostlike ribbons. emergency lights flash red and blue around the edges of destruction too large to understand.
the reporter is still talking, voice taut and disbelieving, words clipping over one another as more footage rolls.
“for those just joining us, the japanese government has issued an unprecedented public statement confirming the existence of hostile entities referred to as cursed spirits-”
“multiple eyewitness accounts describe widespread panic, structural collapse, and civilian casualties on a catastrophic scale-”
“we must stress again: do not leave your homes.”
you can't breathe. you can't-
your friends. shibuya. they were going to shibuya.
your hands shake so badly you nearly drop your phone trying to unlock it.
no- no no no-
the first contact does nothing but ring. and then the second. one after another. contact names smearing together as your vision blurs.
“pick up,” you whisper, then louder, voice cracking apart as tears rise without warning. “p-pick up, p-please-”
none of them answer.
a sob catches in your throat, sharp and humiliating and terrified, and then-
ino.
your whole body goes cold. because ino-
ino told you not to go. ino said he was busy tonight. working. somewhere near there, wasn't he?
your thumb slips on the screen once before you manage to his the call button beside his name.
you can hardly hear it over the blood roaring in your ears.
"c-come on," you choke out, tears spilling hot and fast down your face now as you tremble to your feet, falling once before scrambling up again to peer outside your window. “ino, c-come on, p-please-"
nothing.
just ringing. just silence.
there's nothing outside either. dark and terrifyingly unmoving.
you call again.
the television keeps talking. footage keeps changing. the words casualties and evacuation and unprecedented blur together into something monstrous and impossible.
the room feels wrong now- too small, too bright, too hot and too cold all at once. your heartbeat pounds against your ribs in nauseating waves. your skin feels clammy. your lungs won’t fill all the way.
on the screen, another aerial shot sweeps over the wreckage. street grids split open, towers collapsed. smoke and dust and pure absence.
your stomach twists violently at the sight. this is a nightmare. it has to be.
but that bile rising in your throat feels too real for it to be just a dream.
your lurch into your hand- falling to your knees as nothing but a dry, miserable heave tears out of you.
nothing comes up.
just tears dripping off your chin while your phone stays clutched so tightly in your hand it aches.
and then- it buzzes.
your head snaps down so fast it hurts.
not him.
another emergency update.
you swipe it away as if it personally attacked you- just to hit call again with trembling fingers and press the phone so hard to your ear it leaves a mark.
ringing... and ringing... and ringing.
“please,” you whisper this time.
you don't even know who you're trying to get your voice to reach. just anybody, really. you friends. ino. anything to speak back and tell you that you didn't just lose everything.
all the while, the tv keeps blaring. the city keeps ending.
and in the middle of your bedroom floor, curled around your phone and your own terror, all you can do is listen to the silence on the other end and pray it breaks.
morning comes anyway. despite a tragedy so heavy you wondered if the sun would ever rise again.
gray. thin.
you don't think you've slept since the alert. and if you did, it wasn't enough to count.
you spend the rest of the night curled against the side of your bed with your phone in your hand and the television talking at you in fragments from the other room-death tolls, evacuation zones, missing persons, government statements repeated over and over until the words all blur together.
shibuya collapse. mass casualty incident. cursed spirits.
every now and then, you call again. your friends. ino. just to be met by rhythmic ringing and voicemails that you let play just to hear their voices.
by the time the sky outside turns pale, your eyes burn so badly it hurts to blink.
your mother calls first.
"m-mom-"
“oh, thank god,” she breathes immediately, and the sound of her voice-frayed, terrified, real- nearly breaks you all over again. “are you home? are you safe?”
you can’t get the words out at first. just nod- like she can see you.
“y-yeah,” you choke out finally, pressing your fingers hard to your mouth when your voice starts to wobble. “i’m h-home.”
in the background, you can hear your father saying something you can’t make out. pacing, maybe. the television at their place too.
your mother keeps talking, too fast now, asking if you need anything, if your doors are locked, if you’ve eaten, if you’ve heard from your friends.
that last one catches in your chest like glass.
"...n-no."
silence hangs for just a second. softened by that careful tone only your mother could take with you.
"it took us a while to reach you. the lines- i'm sure they're overloaded. give it a little time."
all you really want is someone else in this building with you. your mom to come get you like she would when you'd freeze up and start to cry at school field trips. your friends passed out on your couch and in your bed beside you from their night of partying.
ino.
you promise you'll keep your phone. promise you won't leave your apartment.
you don't even realize you've started crying again until a tear slips off your lips and lands on the screen, back to the blank homescreen as your mother hangs up.
around seven, one of your friends finally texts. your whole body seizes at the text chime.
mika
OH MY GOD IM OKAY
I DIDNT GO
i lost signal and everything was insane and i crashed at rena's place
are you okay??
a pitiful moan leaks out with a warbled sob as you sit on the edge of your bed.
you
yes
holy shit
you guys didn't go?
mika
we were gonna but trains got weird and then we lost signal for hours
bunch of suits started telling us to go away at like
idk 9
none of my calls are going through still
we're okay i swear
another friend checks in after that. then another.
a dead battery. plans changed at the last second. train blocked off.
none of them were there. none of them are missing.
the relief is real.
it just doesn’t reach the place in you that’s still screaming.
because ino still doesn’t answer.
you call him again before noon.
and again an hour later.
and again when the news starts naming neighborhoods still under emergency restriction.
you text him too, because maybe that’s better. maybe he can’t call. maybe his hands are full. maybe he’s asleep.
you
are you okay?
you
i stayed home
you told me to
you
please answer when you can
i'm really scared ino
i don't know what to do
they all sit there, cold.
the hours smear together after that. you don’t eat much. can’t, really.
the television stays on.
you mute it eventually. because hearing the repeated doomsday-like updates provide no real solace to you. but the footage keeps rolling in silence anyway. shibuya- reduced to a hole in the earth.
sometime in the afternoon, you end up in your bed instead of the floor. curled on your side. phone charging beside you. eyes locked on it for any moment it lights up.
you keep his contact open. thumb hovering over the call button. every so often you press it, not really expecting a response. just something to lull the panic in your head, like dialing it is different from just lying in wait.
you whisper his name once the voicemail passes. just once. a weak, tearless sob leaking out of you along with it.
ino wakes to white light and pressure in his skull. for one long, ugly second, he doesn't know where he is.
then the pain in his face pulses hard enough to answer for him.
medical room. the school. safe... enough.
his body feels heavy. not the full-body wreckage of something broken beyond repair- just the bone-deep ache of getting the absolute hell beaten out of him. bruising swelling through the right side of his face, ribs protesting at every breath he takes, exhaustion clinging to him like wet cloth. someone had patched him up- someone told him to rest. but he hadn't listened well enough to remember who.
drowsiness is quickly replaced by a small flicker of panic as his hand can't find his phone on him.
he sits up too fast and regrets it within the second, nausea pitching low in his stomach as his vision swims.
"shit-" his voice comes out rough. dry.
there's a shuffle from nearby.
someone- not ieiri- looks up from wherever she'd been before.
"you're awake," she hums, already moving toward him.
"my phone," his cuts in, voice thin with urgency. "where's my phone?"
"the table- ino- you need to lay down-" her figure fully comes into view. akari, that blonde girl he'd debriefed with before. trying to get him back on his back as he's yanking the charger his phone is attached to free from the wall.
"just- just give me a sec-" he winces, forcing one eye open to focus on the slew of notifications on his phone screen.
so many missed calls texts stacked in notifications. friends. drinking buddies. his parents.
you.
i'm really scared ino. i stayed home. you told me to. please say something. i don't know what to do.
okay- you stayed home. good. that's good. you're safe.
that should be enough to settle him- but it doesn't. he promised- promised he'd let you know he's okay. but morning already came, and he wasn't there for it.
and then it really hits him.
your fear.
the news is saying cursed spirits. i don't know what's happening. nobody is answering me.
"nitta-san," he speaks, suddenly still.
why do you know about cursed spirits?
his thumb flicks to the rest of his notifications.
sweet angel baby boy shinji
yo bro
what the fuck is going on
are you seeing this cursed spirit shit?
yosuke :P
i'm freaking the fuck out yo
my girl still hasn't responded
she went out with her friends in shibuya
junpei (big bro)
are you good?
call me when you can dude
i really hope you're okay
"...what happened in shibuya?"
her brows furrow in a way that only deepens the grout in ino's chest. dread settling into it with ease.
the question hangs heavy in the room. wrong. too late. too obvious.
"...ino," she says, softer now. "you need to lie back down."
he doesn't move.
you know about cursed spirits. the whole country does. that wasn't supposed to happen. never. not in his lifetime.
"...how bad?"
his lip curls at her hesitation. he knows special grades were involved. knows gojo was there. knows things went wrong. but wrong was supposed to mean sorcerer casualties in reports. cleanup. grief buried where it always is. not this.
"they're still assessing," she answers carefully. "a lot of people were trapped."
civilians. trapped inside shibuya. trapped with curses organized enough to build a plan around human bodies. trapped while sorcerers ran themselves ragged trying to keep the whole thing from splitting open.
his stomach drops. the barriers. the coordination.
we failed.
he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face and immediately regretting it when pain flares bright.
"fuck-"
"how bad?" he repeats, facing her fully now.
becauses this isn't about property damage. not anymore. this is about bodies. names. people he knows. people he should've been beside.
"ino," she warns, firmer now. aware of the shape of what he's really asking. "lie. down."
"i'm not- not until you tell me-"
"gojo is sealed."
"i know that-" he jerks, ripping his hand from her grasp as she tries to get him to settle. "that doesn't-"
"sukuna opened his domain."
the room seems to tilt from the sick, impossible enormity of it. his mouth parts. shuts. opens again.
"i don't- i don't fucking care- who-"
because there's only one name clawing at the inside of his throat now. the one that matters. the one that taught him. the one that should be too hard to kill. the one that always felt, somehow, like he’d be there after. after missions. after mistakes. after all of it.
"nanami didn't make it."
that answers it.
everything stops. not gradually. not in pieces. just- gone.
it's like the room has dropped out from under him. pressure building in his ears like he's been shoved underwater too fast.
nanami-
no. no, that doesn't- that doesn't make sense. nanami doesn't... nanami doesn't lose. not like that.
he stares at her. waiting for any sort of correction. for the part where she says he's stable, or critical, or anything but that.
but it doesn't come. she just keeps talking.
words that don't reach his brain. three special grades. protecting others. fighting. transfigured humans. mahito.
that name lands. sticks. but it doesn't sink. because his head is still stuck on something else.
nanami.
nanami?
nanami-
he should've been there. the thought hits sharp- cutting through everything else- and twisting at the settling realization. words keep coming, but they stop meaning anything in order. they crash into him shapelessly, each one only driving the same thing deeper.
he would've- if he wasn't taken out early. if he hadn't gotten knocked out. if he had just- if he was just there.
his body pangs with another echo of agony as he sob tries to force itself out of him. throat tightening around something meaner than tears.
something raw and adolescent and awful that wants to rewind time by force. wants to wake up earlier. wants to go back. wants to be stronger. faster. less stupid. wants one more chance to be useful where it counted.
instead, all he can do is sit there in a medical room that stinks of antiseptic and sweat, bruised half to hell, while the man he followed into adulthood is just... gone
his gaze drops to his phone. to your messages. your fear. your little i stayed home.
the softness of it all nearly finishes him off. because the world kept ending while you were scared, alone, and waiting for him to answer. because nanami is dead and you’re alive and both truths slam into him at once so violently he almost feels sick from the whiplash of it, fighting for space in one already battered body.
"...i need to text her," he mutters, voice small and cracked. more to himself than to akari.
"you need to rest." she counters immediately.
“no, i-” his voice catches, splinters slightly, and humiliation flares hot on top of everything else. “she thinks- " his grip tightens around his phone. "she thinks i'm-"
dead. missing. gone. just like-
he can't say it. his jaw clenches instead, eyes squeezing shut for just a second like he can force everything back into place if he just—
breathes.
just breathes.
"i need to tell her i'm okay," he finishes, meek and crackly. voice pitched up as his throat closes.
akari eases off, wordlessly. she knows that an apology would do nothing for his psyche. he probably knows that too. it's the last thing he wants to hear- because in his mind, it really was his fault.
but your name on his screen is still something he can reach. something he can fix. at least a little. even if everything else is uncertain, you are a constant. you are okay and safe, just alone and scared.
your phone buzzes just after the sun goes back down.
you'd been staring at it anyway. limp and half-curled on your bed. face sticky and dry from the snot and tears smeared across it. breath ragged and interrupted by tiny momentary shudders from your hours of crying.
for one second, you don't move. because if it's another emergency alert, or your mother again, or one of your friends checking in- you don't know if you can take it.
then it buzzes a second time, and there, when you weakly lift yourself up to angle yourself towards the screen- and there-
ino :)
your breath leaves you in a sound that's halfway to a sob
ino :)
i'm okay
i'm really sorry
you're okay right
your vision goes hot and watery all at once, tears spilling before you can wonder how you're managing to muster up any more.
he's alive.
thank god
he's alive.
a broken sound escapes you- half laugh, half cry- and suddenly you're covering your mouth with one hand like that'll keep the rest of it in.
it doesn't.
your whole body folds in on itself with the force of it, shoulders shaking as the panic finally loosens somewhere deep enough to adjust into a vague relief. relief nonetheless.
you reread the message five times, just to make sure it stays the same. it's not a sleep deprivation induced hallucination.
your thumbs tremble over the keyboard, too many things fighting to come out. where are you? what happened? why didn’t you answer? are you hurt?
you delete all of them.
you
i'm home
i'm okay
you ponder it for a second, but your wits are too frayed to do so longer.
you
you scared me
the typing bubble appears almost immediately.
ino :)
i know
i'm sorry
i'm really sorry
your chest aches. his apology, mixed with the fact that he knows. that wherever he might be, despite whatever has been keeping him radio silent, he's still thinking of you- and apologizing for leaving his promise unfulfilled for hours that stretched far too long.
you press your lips together hard, fingers shaking again.
you
it's okay
don't be
what happened?
the next messages flicker long enough to make your stomach knot. small gaps between each of them.
ino :)
i can't really talk about it right now
i just wanted to make sure
you are okay
you stare at the spaces between them more than the messages themselves. it's stil him, yes, but dimmed. pulled tight. like every setnence has been checked over before being allowed out.
you
were you there?
are you hurt?
you can feel him decide in the pause he takes to respond.
ino :)
i was close
but i'm okay
nothing crazy
you don’t believe that. not really. you curl further in with a wipe of your sleeve and type again.
you
can i call you?
the answer takes longer than any of the others.
so long that by the time it comes, your hope has already started folding itself away.
ino :)
not right now
i'm sorry
i just wanted you to know i'm here
another couple tears slip through the border of lashes. because that's sweet. and awful. because it sounds like he reached through something heavy just to put those words in your hands, and now you have to sit with them without understanding any of it.
you
okay
thank you for texting me
i was really scared ino
i still am but
i don't know
still, all you can really crave is having someone with you right now. the tv is too loud. the silence is louder. and the thought of his voice does nothing but pull weak, trembling sniffles that have to be sated by the already damp sleeves of your hoodie.
ino :)
i know
it's okay to be scared
so long as you're safe
ino :)
you listened right?
you stayed home?
even now, that's what he asks. like he's making sure of it.
you
yes
i stayed home the whole night
ino :)
good
just that. simple. firm.
your chest twists around the word.
you
i'm glad you're okay
ino :)
yeah
i'm glad you are too
like really glad
you
will you text me later?
ino :)
i'll try
i'm probably going to knock out
don't freak okay
the laugh slips out before you can stop it. you can almost hear him say it.
you
i already freaked
ino :)
i know
my bad
you can hit me for it
as much as you want
your smile wobbles into something softer. fragile and gentle.
you
i wouldn't
i just really want a hug
admittedly, you thought about that one before sending it. the answer comes too quick for any pathetic self-doubt to sneak in.
ino :)
:(
me too
i'll see you soon
i promise
that nearly undoes you. a soft, crackled whine spills from your chest. you're both scared. even if he's trying to act like he's not.
you
okay
rest
and then-
nothing. the read receipt doesn't change. you don't send anything else. not because you don't want to. if anything, your mind is screaming at you to keep holding on to his presence. but because you can feel the edges of him in every text- frayed, exhausted, giving you only what he can hold up without dropping it.
painfully, selfishly, you set your phone back down and exhale long and shakily. the relief in you is real. it just doesn't settle cleanly. he's alive. he's just... something happened. something bad enough to turn his words into careful little pieces. to strip him of that casualness and reduce him to what he feels is necessary- for you.
the next day passes strangely after that. lighter, because he answered. heavier, because now there's a shape you can't quite make out about him.
your mother calls again and this time you can tell her, truthfully, that one of the people you were worried about is alright.
you don’t say how uncertain the word feels.
you answer your friends’ messages with more steadiness than before.
you eat half a granola bar because he'd want you to.
you keep the television on mute.
you keep your phone beside you.
reread the text thread, even when the tendrils of exhaustion are trying their hardest to pull you into it's hold. your thumb hovers over the chat box more than once.
each time, you lock your phone instead. because if he’s hurt, or tired, or buried under something you can’t see, the kindest thing you can do is let him disappear for a few hours without making him feel guilty for it.
the first few days pass similarly.
not silent. just… thinned out.
his messages come hours apart now, sometimes longer. gone is the easy stream of little comments, the blurry pictures, the half-serious nagging for you to eat something or to leave your studying for after you get some sleep. what’s left are shorter things. functional things. enough to let you know he’s still there.
ino :)
you up?
you
yes
ten minutes turn to twenty.
you
did you eat?
a long stretch of nothing, enough time for your chest to start tightening again.
ino :)
yea
you don't know if that's true. if that matters, so long as the word is there. you start to measure your days in his absences. like every vibration could either soothe you or ruin the next few hours.
the konbini stays closed. first for cleanup. then for "ongoing municipal restrictions." then indefinitely, in a short message sent to sound practical. saying they'll update everyone when things settle. like that's something in reach.
without work, the days lose what little structure they had. you stay in your apartment too much. watch the news too much. sleep badly. text him too carefully. he answers, but never enough to make you stop wondering.
you
how are you feeling?
ino :)
okay
you
that's good
ino :)
yea
you doing okay?
he deflects each time. never lets the topic of his well-being hang around long enough to settle. he sounds tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep now. like everything is being dragged up from somewhere deeper. like even his jokes have to be unearthed.
sometimes he tries.
ino :)
i can't lie
i look pretty beat up right now
you might not think i'm as cute (╥_╥)
you
what?
beat up?
ino :)
lol relax
just bruised
don't hug me too hard
you
is it really that bad?
what happened?
he leaves you on read for seven minutes. you count them without meaning to.
ino :)
i'll tell you about it when i see you
and somehow that hurts more than if he’d kept joking.
your friends notice you’re off. your mother notices too, in the way mothers always do. asks if you’ve heard more from “that boy.” you don’t know how to answer that. because yes. and no.
because he’s still speaking to you. but the distance between each message feels measured now. intentional. like he reaches for you and then catches himself halfway there. because every time you think maybe he’s coming back a little, he disappears again.
one night, you send:
you
i miss talking to you
ino :)
me too
he responds too quickly for the regret to get to you and manifest in you throwing your phone across the room. you type three different responses. delete all of them. settle on:
you
you can talk to me
he doesn't answer that one until the next morning.
ino :)
i know
you read it over breakfast. oatmeal gone cold and hard.
and something about those two words makes your throat ache.
because he does know. you've expressed that sentiment before, plenty of times. and still. there's the feeling that he's holding himself back.
the city keeps moving around the disaster in ugly, limping ways. news coverage shifts from panic to analysis to blame. people online talk about cursed spirits like they’ve always known the word. your friends stop bringing up halloween entirely. and somewhere in the middle of all that, the weather turns colder.
the shift in reality leaves the passage of time untouched. the november chill creeps in underneath your front door and windowsills. you start wearing socks in your apartment. go out for the first time in a week to get groceries, just to immediately step back in to put on another layer of clothing.
you
it's cold today
you attach an image of half of your face. bundled in a parka and wrapped in a scarf. dim cloudy sky behind you.
he reacts with a heart before he texts back.
ino :)
i missed your face
where are you going?
for the first time in a while, you smile.
you
(꩜/////꩜ " )
groceries
one store nearby opened back up the other day
ino :)
oh okay
be safe
text me when you're home
you
i will
he hearts that message too.
for the rest of the day, you cup that small sense of normalcy in his tone with care. don’t prod too much. don’t look too hard at it. your phone stays warm in your palm as you walk, basket bumping against your knee every other step, your scarf pulled high enough to trap the heat blooming across your face.
i missed your face.
and then-
be safe.
he says that a lot now. more than before. more seriously, too.
you’d thought it was just him being sweet. he always told you to get home safe. reminded you to text him when you did.you told yourself he was just shaken too. anyone would be. this new, invisible threat- curses- now spoken about on national television like it had always been there. delivered through the same mouths that once talked about weather patterns and election coverage.
it was impossible for the first few days. now, sickeningly real. old forums resurface. years of posts from people asking if anyone else sees things no one else does- now circulating everywhere. dissected. validated. monetized.
cursed spirits are real. they have been for a while, apparently.
which means someone has to deal with them. someone has been dealing with them.
you hadn’t had space to think about that before.
not through the panic. not through the crater. not through the calls that wouldn’t go through and the names you were too afraid to lose.
but now, there's room for memory. for the shape of things said before the world split open.
all those nights he’d show up exhausted in ways that never quite matched the easy excuses he gave. the scrapes on his knuckles. the strange hours. the cigarettes for his boss. the sense that he was always coming from somewhere, always heading somewhere else.
something like that. work. don't go.
your grip tightens around the can of soup you’ve been turning over in your hands.
that's a stupid. he already told you what he does. some kind of freelance security job. a bodyguard. a bouncer. he never gave details- said he signed an nda. jokingly asked if his mystery gave him aura.
that makes sense.
he can't be.
...right?
your stomach turns anyways.
because how did he know?
he told you not to go. made you a promise. he was working- couldn't talk about it. and when everything happened- he didn't sound surprised. he seemed like somebody who was already familiar with this inconceivable threat. didn't say a single thing about how shocking the revelation was. it had only been you expressing your disbelief.
you set the broth back a little too quickly, a wave of unease rolling through you.
if cursed spirits are real- then what does that make him?
you shake your head once, trying to dislodge the thought. that's ridiculous. isn't it? you don't even know what a sorcerer is supposed to look like. if they even have a name beyond what the television says. if there are rules, uniforms, organizations. if they're government-employed, tucked into society like the yakuza- or something stranger than both of those things.
but you know what you've seen. you know the parts of him he's given you, and are even more intimately familiar with the parts of him he's withheld.
you pause in front of the instant noodles, staring blankly at rows of cups and packets without reading a single label.
if he really was there in shibuya for more than work, for more than some vague errand or bad timing-
then how close did he come? to those... things. to whatever turned the city into what you saw on television.
on the way back, as your bags swing idly at your side and you keep your gaze locked on the passing cracks in pavement, a chill runs through you that has nothing to do with the weather.
his worry. the way he double checked you really stayed home before showing relief. because maybe it wasn't just that. something heavier. something earned at a cost you still can't see.
inside your apartment, you set the groceries down more carefully than you need to and stand there in the kitchen with your scarf still on, mind turning slow and uneasy around the same thought.
ino... what do you do?
and more frighteningly.
what happened to you?
you don't text him that. of course you don't. you wouldn't even know how to start. and if you're wrong- and if you’re wrong, you’d scorch every fragile inch of familiarity the two of you have spent all this time building.
but beneath the uncertainty, something softer aches in your chest.
because if it’s true.
then even from inside that hidden world, whatever shape it takes-
sylus x fem! reader. [ est relationship ]. cw: reader had a troubled childhood, implied childhood abuse (nothing too graphic tho dw!), sylus being the gentle giant he is. notes: i cried while writing this, so yea it's pretty self indulgent ^_^ w.c: 2.5k. mlist.
being in a relationship with sylus was great — too great actually, it sometimes felt like you don't deserve him, that you're one mistake away from losing him, no matter how much he reassures you otherwise.
with all of sylus' wealth, you barely have to lift a finger to do anything. does that sometimes make you feel guilty? yes. does sylus kiss you stupid until your brain shuts up? also yes.
cooking was always taken care of, whether by a chef or sylus himself. sure you'd help sylus when he cooked, but nothing too serious.
which is why when you decide to cook for the first time, all on your own— a recipe you'd been eyeing for a while now, your mind as always, starts coming up with all the possible way you could potentially mess up and ruin everything. you know it's not rational, you know sylus won't be angry at you if you do happen to mess up — the only time he has been angry with you, if you can even call it that because it was more like gentle reprimanding honestly, was when you were being unkind to yourself.
it is because of his understanding nature you even worked up the courage to do something new, you can't backup now, at least that's what you tell yourself as you desperately try to shake away any past experiences where your creative, curious endeavors lead to a very unhappy man — it lead to you feeling worthless, like you've wasted ingredients and time. and in some cases it lead to more uglier stuff that you'd rather not think about.
sure, you read each line of the recipe ten times, staring at the words like they owe you money but you're not giving up, not today. you cut the vegetables, put them in the pot and season them as instructed. you follow the instructions for the meat and other components of the dish as well.
let it cook for at least ten minutes, you read again and again until your brain stops telling you that you missed something important.
as you wipe the counter clean and wash the used utensils, your mind starts to race once again, did i even put in salt? i think i did, wait did i actually put the said amount. what if they mistyped the amount needed.
endless questions swarm your brain that you know deep down the answers to but unfortunately your mind is quite stubborn, your biggest opp if you will.
once you're satisfied with the look of the dish, making sure it's properly cooked through, you very carefully grab a glass dish to plate the fresh food in. it smells good, even you can admit that.
you feel nervous as the clock ticks, just a few more minutes before sylus arrives. just a few more minutes before he'll eat the food you've prepared, just thinking about it makes you feel all queasy and scared.
the question rings in your head, what if he doesn't like it?
the minute you start thinking of just throwing the food away and leaving no evidence behind, you hear the door open and the familiar footsteps of none other than your lover. he's back.
"sweetheart," he calls out for you in that soft voice of his that makes you melt, but right now it just makes you more nervous. when sylus opens the door to the kitchen, he can't help but smile, "it smells good in here," he muses out loud, his crimson eyes landing on the steaming dish. you know he's put two and two together, he's the leader of onychinus after all, but he's still waiting for you to take the lead — just like he always does.
"well...i uh made something."
"you made me dinner?" he asks, clearly very happy.
"i hope it's edible," you nervously chuckle, although you're sure the man who has half of your soul knows exactly what you're feeling but regardless you push through all the nerves and bubbling anxiety, serving the food to both of you in plates.
"thank you darling," he kisses your hand before bringing it back down onto the table, holding it gently. you want to tell him to stop, stop giving you so much grace for making something that's probably medicore at best but you hold your tongue.
you hold your breath as he digs in, your mind tells you to flee before something bad happens, before he shows how disappointed he is. but sylus keeps holding your hand as he take the first bite, eyes closing as he chews before finally swallowing.
"i hope there's enough, so i can go for seconds," he tells you.
"sylus, it's okay you can spit it out."
he squeezes your hand, eyebrows gently furrowing, "and why would i do that sweetie?" he asks.
"because it's bad." it probably is, you stare at your untouched plate.
"it's not," his voice takes on that slightly firm tone, "nothing you put your heart into is bad. it's amazing and don't think i didn't notice that heart shaped garnish," he chuckles, eyes trained on yours that are casted down on your plate.
you want to look at him, tell him you're glad he likes it. his praise fills your heart up with joy and warms you up from the inside — but you know the tears are going to start flowing when you meet his patient, loving eyes.
but you know he'll wait.
he always does. because sylus is the most patient man on earth, especially when it comes to you.
"there she is," he gently wipes the tears that do fall when you look at him, "i love you," he whispers before kissing your lips, pulling away only to peck your nose.
"i love you too," you wipe away any lingering tears, suddenly feeling a little shy under his gaze, this man is infuriatingly patient.
sylus then feeds you a bite from his plate, his hand never letting yours go.
and just like that he'd healed a part of you that had been crushed and left to hurt for years.
so when sylus catches you in the kitchen after that, all on your own and much more comfortable with the idea of messing up and failing — because that's what makes us human, it's a natural part of life, he can't help but smile and take a seat on one of the stools near the counter, waiting to try whatever it is that you're making.
you've gotten so used to just hiding parts of yourself that can stir up any sort of conflict, no matter how small it may be — it feels almost wrong to speak about them out loud.
so when your lover catches you looking stuff up to buy on your laptop, particularly for sewing, he's intrigued.
and that's how you two end up here, sitting on the couch which has a lot of space but of course he sits right next to you — close enough that you can feel him breathing, his shoulder pressed against yours. the laptop sits on your lap, momentarily forgotten.
"i never knew you wanted to get into sewing," sylus speaks softly, his thumb running small soothing circles over your knuckles.
well how could he? you never told him.
you take a deep breath. "i never got to try it out," you start, "and i don't want to waste your money," a familiar lump starts to form in your throat, ready to burst any moment now.
"you can't waste it sweetheart," he assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, "will it make you happy if we got you all these supplies hm?"
you nod, sightly hesitant.
"then it's not a waste, i want to see you happy."
he says it so casually too, so certain of himself and the way he feels — you're kind of jealous.
"what if i don't end up liking it."
"what if you do?"
damn him.
he continues, "and even if you don't, it's not the end of the world. but you won't know if you don't try."
you know he has a point, you know he's being rational — yet your mind still isn't fully convinced.
after sitting in silence for a good minute or two, you gather up your courage once again.
"....can i," you trail off, the sentiment clear, you want to try — you want to get these supplies to see if it really can be your new hobby.
"of course sweetie, you don't have to ask."
"thank you."
once those supplies arrive a week later, sylus finds you hunched over your desk, working on some piece of fabric — a tutorial paused on your laptop as you sew carefully with the new machine. you look happy and once again, that's all he wants.
needless to say after that you became a lot more open with your hobbies — specifically the ones you gave up because they seemed insignificant, pointless and a waste of time to your father. and every once in a while, if you wanted, sylus would join you in your hobbies, trying his best to learn more about you and your interests through these small activities.
and who knows? maybe he even picked up a hobby or two because of you, all you know is the small embroidered heart that he stitched on the inside of your coat — sits right above your own beating one when you wear it and it makes you feel seen and loved in a way that you never thought you could experience.
being with sylus has changed you, for the better definitely. you don't feel like you're constantly walking on pins and needles, you don't treat every interaction like a ticking time bomb that you're responsible for diffusing and your nervous system doesn't seem to work against you for once.
but it seems like some things still remain the same because when you accidentally knock a vase over, you freeze up — your instinct kick in as dread settles deep in your gut, your eyes sting with unshed tears as you prepare yourself for the inevitable.
"i heard something," sylus finds you in the hallway, the second he sees the broken glass on the floor, he immediately panics and picks you up and sets you down somewhere safe — away from the glass.
"are you hurt?" he asks, worry clear in his gaze as he frantically looks for any injuries.
"i'm sorry," you sniffle, "i'm sorry," you say again, as if your mind's on autopilot.
"sweetheart, no stop," he gently prys away your hands that cover your face as you cry. "it's okay, it's okay, i promise," his voice falters a little as he sees how deeply this has affected you mentally, your distress breaks his heart.
sylus envelops you in his arms, his warmth — that always soothes you does nothing in the moment, he can still hear your muffled apologies, "sweetie i told you it's okay, i don't care about the vase. please, stop this, you didn't do anything wrong, it was an accident," he rubs your back to offer some much needed comfort and kisses your head, "stop apologizing, please."
you hate yourself for acting like this when sylus has been nothing but kind to you, he's never given you a reason to act like this, but your stupid brain still hasn't forgotten the past it seems.
"i'm just glad you're not hurt, i don't care about that vase, i care about you," he softly rocks you back and forth, his arms still wrapped tightly around you. "no one's going to hurt you, i promise."
you don't know how much time has passed when you finally calm down, but it feels like an eternity — sylus still hasn't let go.
"......do you feel better?" he asks, whispering so he doesn't startle you.
you nod into his chest, your tears have made a mess on his shirt. you know he doesn't care about that but you still open your mouth to apologize.
"sweetie i swear to god if you apologize one more time my hair will turn even more white."
you can't help but let out a small laugh at that — he sighs in relief to see you back to normal, his shoulders are less tense and his brows are no longer furrowed.
when you pull away a little, your head no longer buried in his chest, sylus wastes no time kissing away the lingering tears on your face before pressing a firm kiss to your lips.
"i know you wouldn't hurt me, i don't know why i-"
sylus cuts you off, something he's never done before, "it's not your fault, it's okay. we're okay."
"are you trying to make me cry again?" you bump your nose against his.
"i'd like to, preferably in bed," he smirks at your scandalous glare directed at him.
sylus notices everything, from the small beauty marks decorating your skin to the way your eyes linger on the soft serve at the mall when you two are finishing up your little shopping trip.
"do you want ice cream?" he asks, although he knows you'll deny it. you'll probably say something like, "let's not waste time! we should get going," or "no no i'm not in the mood thank you," you're terrible at lying, he finds it cute. but he does wish you'd just be open with him, whether it's ice cream or something else, he'll happily give you whatever you want.
but he knows your past, the one filled with guilt for buying basic necessities — an angry father to whom you'd feel indebted to for basic stuff like a roof over your head and food. he knows how much you'd denied yourself just so the man wouldn't tick, you had grown to barely glance at anything that isn't a basic need. you deserve so much more and sylus wants to be the one to give you everything you ever wanted, everything you held yourself back from getting just so you wouldn't start a potential fight in your house.
"oh no thank you! i'm pretty full." like clockwork you deny it when you both know damn well your stomach grumbled a minute ago.
you already feel bad about all the extra stuff he bought you when you just came here to buy new shoes.
sylus stares at you, you stare back for a good ten seconds before you give in and ask, "... what?"
"you can be honest with me."
"i know."
"i know you do sweetheart, but i think you can be more honest."
"...."
"so, do you want ice cream?"
"....if that's okay."
he gently huffs, slightly amused, "why wouldn't it be okay? i'm the one who suggested it, you can't be in the wrong for saying what you want," he laces his fingers with yours as you two walk over the little soft serve stand.
you watch as sylus' gaze scans all the options on the menu, taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hand.
"i want a choco dip," you tell him, voice small like you're still unsure about the fact you're allowed to be this open and honest but at least you're telling him.
and for the dragon that is more than enough. it's progress, it's proof that love can change people.
he turns to you, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "as you wish sweetie."
sylus thinks you deserve the world for trying — for putting your faith and trust in him, for standing up when the world has done so much to make sure you never do.
but for now he'll settle for a choco dip cone with extra chocolate, hoping one day you'll let him hand you the world instead.
sorry for the brief hiatus, got a promotion at work and have had wayyy less time for writing recently (╥﹏╥) should be back soon with a longer piece! I’m trying to figure out which oneshot idea I should go with (on top of more updated to my gojo x reader fic)
CW: creepy drunk assholes, harassment (not Sukuna dw), mild violence, unwanted physical contact (only goes as far as an arm wrapped around the shoulder)
Word count: ~850
(a/n: I am so so sorry if Sukuna is out of character, I’ve never written for him before (╥﹏╥) this is definitely a lot less soft and sweet than my other meet cutes, but I felt like it fit him a bit more. Hope you enjoy!! (,,> ᴗ <,,) )
You scroll mindlessly through your phone, mostly just trying to look busy. Passing city lights cut through the dark and fall across your restlessly bouncing knees. Overtime had bled into a train delay, so now you’re stuck on a train. At 2 in the morning. Any tiredness you may have felt is buried deep, deep inside you by the other presence in the car.
Him.
The man (who you can just barely see out of the corner of your eye) is standing hands in pockets, eyes on the wall in front of him. Though the train is swaying back and forth he stands stock still. Pink hair, black tattoos curling across tan skin, black nail polish…
Everything about him exudes danger. And danger is the last thing you want. Which is why you’re pretending you can’t feel his eyes landing on you; unreadable, somewhere between curious and amused and haughty. Dissecting you.
The train stops suddenly, screeching as it slows into the next stop. Relief melts your shoulders as a group stumbles onto the train. Loud, laughing, probably drunk.
Your relief doesn’t last long.
They snicker, whispering to each other just a little too loud. Hungry eyes glide up and down your figure as you fold in on yourself.
One of them grows bold, pushed forwards by the rest of his group. A pair of shoes stops in front of you.
“Heeeey sweetheart,” he leers, leaning on the railing over you. Looming.
Heart pounding, you try to regulate your breath. Your eyes stick to your phone screen, watching the minutes tick down. Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes. The drunk man scoffs above you.
“Oh don’t be like that baby, just tryin’ to make a friend here.” He slides into the seat next to you, swinging an arm around your shoulder. Leaning in too close, breaths that stink of beer huffing and puffing over your face. Too close. His friends hoot and holler. Too close. You’re frozen. Too close.
The tattooed man moves, snapping you out of it. He takes a step in your direction as you shove the drunk man over. He topples easily, already unsteady on his feet, swearing as he lands flat on his back.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarls, staggering to his feet and stumbling towards you.
You panic.
And kick him in the balls.
He folds practically in half, the other two guys stepping towards you.
“Hey, what’s your fucking problem?” He takes another step towards you, before being suddenly yanked back.
You watch, shocked, as a hand on the back of his collar lifts effortlessly. His shoes barely skim the floor as he flails helplessly.
The tattooed man holds him up to his face, voice low and calm, growl barely contained.
“It would be in your best interest to leave. Now.” He practically throws the guy out the doors as you pull into the next station. The other two follow, tucking tail and running, practically tripping over each other in their haste.
The door closes with a little ding. And silence rushes back in as you and the pink haired man regard each other. His eyes rake over you—panting, shaking, foot still in the air from kicking the asshole who touched you. He nods.
“You fight better than I expected,” he said. “Well done.” Amusement flashes in his eyes.
You scoff, huffing out a weak laugh. “High praise.” You can’t keep the tremor out of your voice. His brows furrow as he appraises you. The sharpness in his eyes is gone, replaced by something more curious.
He sits down beside you.
Keeping his distance, the two of you ride in silence. Train swaying back and forth in the same rhythm as always. Your nerves twist into knots at the thought of walking home as your stop enters your view. He glances your way.
“Speak up. I’m not a mind reader, you know?” he says.
You swallow. “I know it’s late and you don’t know me, but could you walk me home? I just…don’t feel safe right now.”
He freezes.
“I am a stranger to you,” he says. “How do you know I’m safe?”
Defiantly, you meet his ruby red gaze. “We’ve been alone on a train together for half an hour, if you wanted to do anything you could’ve already.”
He huffs, an amused smirk curling over his lips as the doors open at your stop.
The walk was predictably silent. Long, unhurried strides kept pace with yours, walking side by side. His eyes leisurely scanned over the surroundings, landing on the occasional passerby who’d back away. More frequently his gaze would land on you. Still unreadable, yet far more comforting than offputting.
When you reach your door, you turn to him with a soft smile.
“Thank you.”
He gives you a single nod. “Stay safe.” And at that he turns, walking away into the dim lighting of the street. You watch him until he disappears around the corner.
You could tell that you had caught the eye of someone…or something…very dangerous. Heart hammering, you felt as though you hadn’t just been saved. You’d been chosen.
