SYNOPSiS — making a childhood promise with follo, filled with future dreams of becoming cleaners together as a team. you’re his reason of motivation and someone he admires.
note · contains slight manga spoilers of follo’s backstory!
HUMMING QUIETLY to yourself as you waited for your black-haired friend, you dug your fingertips in the snow, grasping a pile of snow in your palm. patting your palm around the snow, you form a miniature snowball, adding more snow in between each pat.
but you couldn’t help but wonder as you glance your eyes around mid-pat, brows raised in curiosity and cheeks flushed in the cold breeze under your scarf. “I wonder when follo’s going to come…” you murmur under your breath, a little absentmindedly as you finish your first snowball for the snowman’s bottom.
it wasn’t long until you finished the miniature snowman, wiping your slightly damped forehead with your numb fingertips from the cold—but it didn’t matter to you. the rest of your body was still warm, which was fine. “phew.”
you observe your hard work, a proud grin on your lips. “I can’t wait to show follo, heh.”
and coincidentally, you hear your name being called in the breeze, echoing against the wind as his voice draws near. “[name], [name]!” your black-haired friend runs up to you, his eyes bright with a shine that not even the sun could replicate.
“follo!” you gleam, waving to him excitedly. your eyes follow his figure until he stops right in front of you, catching his breath as he regains his composure.
you don’t fail to sense the excitement radiating off his body that he seemed to be excited to tell you about something — but what?
you don’t usher him, though. you let him finish catching his breath with the curious look in your gaze, awaiting for the news he seemed to be excited informing you of.
“when we grow older, we should join the cleaners!” he suggested boldly out of the blue, catching you off-guard momentarily as your eyes widened–a blink, another blink, a twitch. your eyebrows raised in surprise.
“the cleaners? like.. THE cleaners?” you emphasize, watching him nod his head with an eager smile.
you’ve heard of this organization, but at the same time, it wasn’t your cup of knowledge. that didn’t stop you from admiring the cleaners from afar, though.
and to have follo’s sudden claim of having the both of you join the cleaners, it intrigued you. he wasn’t the one to suddenly suggest something so.. bold out of the blue.
you mentally note, joining them wasn’t going to be an easy task. they destroy trash beasts, save the townspeople — like heroes. some even have these “vital instruments” – the weapons used to defeat trash beasts.
you stared at your friend in awe, at a loss for words.
follo observes your reaction, awaiting for your answer. instinctively, his chest tightens in anticipation. he swallows a lump in his throat at the shimmer in your eyes, the surprise. And your response — watching as your mouth opened, your voice trailing out in awe.
“wow, follo.. you’re so...” optimistic. that’s what follo was. he’s never suggested such a thing to you before, and it was just as bizarre as it sounded. because the hopes of you? him? being apart of the cleaners? you both were regular people, with no talent—you’d admit.
it wasn’t going to be easy to take that path.
but that fire inside him... was different.
you couldn’t help but too, break into a smile at such a silly suggestion that burned in both of your hearts. “...awesome!” you giggle, your soft laughter echoing in the wind.
hearing your words, his eyes widened, shimmering with newfound hope. not because of you agreeing to his silly suggestion that might change in the future, not because of your soft laughter, and not because of the warmth you constantly show to him.
but because you called him awesome. something he had yearned to hear—from alan, or from his other friend. with you, he feels different. he feels warm, he feels seen, and he doesn’t feel exceptionally left out or behind.
does this mean he’s cool now? hearing it from you..
“oh, uh! and also, I heard from a few adults talking about people being givers in the cleaners, so…” you trail off, tapping your chin in slight thought. “...let’s train hard enough to become givers too.”
follo presses his lips together. he saw you in a new light, higher above than the others.
“is this.. going to be a promise? you won’t give up? not now, not in the future?” he meekly questions, a light rosy hue dusting his cheeks. he was grateful the both of you were out in the snow, so you’d assume it was from the cold breeze.
you blink, as if pondering for a thought. but you reply just the same way he does—enthusiastically.
“of course it’s a promise—but if you don’t break it either. that is!” you cue your pinkie finger in front of his face, “so, let’s do a pinkie promise!” you beamed, ushering your outstretched pinky to his face, waiting for him to secure the promise on his end.
his golden eyes flicker from your face to your outstretched pinky held in front. seeing your enthusiastic response to his determination, a soft, cheeky smile appears on his lips–the hue becoming more prominent on his cheeks. was it the coldness of the air or was it because of you? he couldn’t tell.
but he brings his pinky towards yours, securing the promise between the both of you, just the both of you. “o-okay… a promise is a promise!!”
he locked his pinky finger with yours, his body stiffening at the freezing touch of your pinky finger. “t-that’s cold!!” he stammered, feeling the shivers running down his spine.
“ah?” you blink, not realizing how freezing your fingers have become. “oopsies.” you sweatdropped, “sorry follo…”
he frowned the moment he regained his composure, the excitement shifting into concern. “you’ll get a frostbite like that, you know…!” he scolded lightly, quietly staring at his hands that you didn’t quite take notice of.
“i’m practically immune to it, though…” you never really thought about wearing gloves during the winter season–you preferred to touch the snow under your fingertips. you watched curiously as follo seemed to take hold on your hand, slipping his pair of gloves onto your freezing ones.
“there.” he comments after he contemplated briefly, seeing how his gloves fit perfectly onto yours. “your hands won’t freeze now.”
“won’t your hands freeze then? my hands are used to the cold.”
“i have another pair at home, it’s okay.” he reassured you—but really, although he does, he just wants your hands to be warm, not freezing like you came from the arctic. “and, you can keep them… i’m giving these to you so your hands stay warm.” he murmurs, burying the lower half of his face in his scarf. he doesn’t want you to see how red his cheeks have become.
“okay then… i’ll treasure them!” you happily accept, eyes scanning over his pair of gloves on you. “but,” your eyes flicker up, meeting follo’s golden eyes. “if your hands feel cold, then i’m going to give these back to you to wear.”
his hands were definitely going to shiver later, but he won’t admit it.
· an old writing I wrote from when i first read of follo’s backstory, so things might be a little inaccurate — even though I did tweak most of the stuff here!
gachiakuta Follo x reader; Bridgerton au; no specific trope was mentioned so I went with a first meeting trope; loads of fluff and a special mention of lady whistledown; get your tea cups, there is much to read! Moodboard! ♡
The first rule you were taught was not to stare.
The second was not to linger.
Somehow you managed to break both the moment Lord Follo Tonito entered the ballroom.
He did not announce himself—he never needed to. His presence carried a gravity that shifted the room subtly, conversations adjusting around him like water around stone. Tailored dark coat, gloves still on, expression unreadable but eyes sharp enough to cut through silk and smiles.
His past hung around him like a shadow, a cloak one could not remove. The very fact that he was once a commoner who then scrounged his way to nobility through sheer grit and hard work had put himself in the spotlight for probably… well… eternity.
But he did not seek attention. Which is why it found him anyway.
Turning your head slightly, you met his gaze across the room, and he stilled. Just slightly. His eyes widened but a fraction just enough for you to notice… his lips parting for a moment before returning just as to how he was before.
His eyes… they had shone for a moment as he took you in. As if he hadn’t expected to find anything worth noticing tonight.
Your pulse betrayed you.
Later, during the promenade, he appeared beside you as though summoned by thought alone.
“You are unaccompanied,” he said—not as a reprimand, but an observation. His voice was soft, gentle, young but wise in a way only life could make you.
“I enjoy walking alone,” you replied.
A pause. His lips parted and closed before he whispered, “So do I.”
He offered his arm. Not insistently. Not with charm. Simply there, an option.
You took it.
The contact was minimal—gloved hand, proper distance—but it felt charged, like something restrained by rules rather than absence of feeling.
“I do not care for ballrooms,” Follo said as you walked. “They encourage performance over sincerity.”
You glanced at him. “And yet you attend.”
“Because sometimes,” he answered, eyes forward, “there is someone worth observing.”
Your breath hitched before you could stop it.
When the music changed and couples gathered for the next dance, he released your arm—but not immediately. His fingers lingered, pressure subtle but intentional.
“I would like to ask you for the next dance,” he said quietly, “if you would not find it… inconvenient.”
You smiled, heart unsteady. “I would not.”
His nod was decisive. Satisfied. With the subtle dusting of his cheeks with a flush.
The dance was magical. What would be a mere waltz and connection of two individual turned into… so much more.
The unspoken feeling between you both lingered in each step you took, the rhythm of your own heart guiding your steps as it kept with the tempo. Follo's own heart was beating steadily with yours; a thrill rushing through you as you realised you might have the same effect on him as he did on you.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end as the music stopped and he stepped away, you realize something dangerous and exciting all at once:
Lord Follo Tonito was not a man who indulged in fleeting interests.
And when he looked back at you—once, just once—you knew this would not be the last time.
And so it was no surprise when he came calling for you the next day.
Nor was it a surprise…when asked for your hand.
Dearest gentle reader,
One may always tell when the season has taken a dangerous turn — it is the moment a gentleman who does not chase suddenly begins to choose.
Such as last evening, the ever-composed Lord Follo Tonito — that most disciplined of men, forged by ambition and whispered about by birth — did something far more scandalous than command a room.
He hesitated.
Not before the crowd. Not before the curious stares that have followed him since his ascent. No… he faltered before a single pair of eyes. And in that fleeting pause lay something far more perilous than gossip.
Interest.
Lord Tonito is not a man given to trifles. He builds with intention. He moves with purpose. And should he set his sights upon something — or someone — society would be wise to take note. For when such a man asks for a dance… it is rarely only a dance he has in mind.
And as for the lady?
One can only hope she understands that a man who builds his fortune brick by brick does not gamble his heart carelessly.
