The Cautionary Tale of a Hungry Man
<- Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 ->
the first thing you hear is him leaving.
fast, heavy footsteps tearing across the dorm like he’s full of panic and momentum, like he’s already chasing the next door, the next scream, the next yes.
you don’t breathe right either. you’re still folded into maki’s chest, your hands locked on her shirt.
your ears are still ringing from the gunshots. the air smells like burnt metal and splintered wood and your own sweat. your throat aches from the way you’ve been crying without stopping.
maki stays rigid, listening so hard you can feel it in her body, you can’t even make out if she’s actually breathing.
silence stretches out and you hate it more than the noise, because silence makes room for imagination and your mind is not your friend right now.
The next thing you hear is voices.
real voices. close. moving.
“police!” someone calls out, loud and sharp. “anyone in here?”
another voice answers, overlapping. “clear the room, clear the room.”
you hear footsteps, lighter than his, more controlled. a radio squawks. the sound of someone’s boot nudging something on the floor.
“shit,” a voice mutters, and there’s a grim edge to it. “door’s blown. handle’s gone.”
your stomach flips anyway. your brain tries to tell you it could still be him, it could still be a trick, it could still be…
she leans forward and peers through the jagged hole in the bathroom door where the lock used to be, one eye squinting, breathing shallow.
you watch her face change.
uniform. patch. the shape of authority, real and undeniable.
then she raises her voice, loud enough to carry, raw with adrenaline.
the hallway explodes into motion.
“bathroom!” one officer snaps. “move, move!”
their boots pound closer. the ruined door rattles. someone shoves it, and the broken latch gives with a miserable scrape.
the bathroom fills with bodies and light and noise all at once.
two officers, at least. maybe three. you can’t count. you can only see uniforms and hands and the hard focus in their eyes as they sweep the space.
“hands where i can see them,” one says automatically, then softens when he registers your faces. “okay, okay. you’re safe.”
the word hits you and your body just doesn’t believe it. your body is still stuck in the moment before the door gives.
another officer looks at the blasted door, then back at you and maki, voice tight. “you two in here the whole time?”
maki nods, jaw clenched. “yeah.”
“any injuries?” the first officer asks, stepping closer, scanning you like he’s counting pieces.
you try to answer. you try to straighten up. your muscles don’t cooperate.
you push your palms to the tile like you can stand, like you can be normal, like you can prove you’re fine.
your legs wobble immediately. the room tilts.
your breath catches in a humiliating sob.
“hey, hey,” an officer says, quick, crouching. “it’s okay. don’t force it.”
maki’s hands are on you instantly, dragging you back up by your arms, her own fingers shaking now that she’s allowed to. she’s pale under the harsh light, breathing fast, but she’s still steady where it counts.
“i’ve got you,” she mutters, mostly to herself, like she needs to say it to make it true.
you cling to her. your knees won’t stop trembling. your heart is still trying to escape your chest.
one officer speaks into his radio, voice clipped. “two females located. shaken but alive. suspect fled. door compromised by firearm discharge.”
another officer’s gaze flicks over you again, softer this time. “can you tell me your names?”
maki answers for you, protective without making it obvious. She says your name, then hers. “we’re students. dorm room 307” she glances like she’s reorienting. “third floor.”
the officer nods, quick. “okay. we’re gonna get you out of here, alright? you’re safe with us.”
you nod like you understand, even though your body is still back on the bathroom floor, still hearing that first knock, still hearing his voice right outside the door.
and when you look at the splintered wood and the torn metal where the handle used to be, you realize something with a sick clarity.
and he left because he wanted to.
they move you out of the bathroom like you’re made of glass.
not in a dramatic way. in that careful, professional way that still makes your skin crawl, because it means they’ve seen this before. because it means they know what it looks like when someone’s fear turns their legs into water.
maki keeps an arm around your back as they guide you into what’s left of the dorm room, past the wrecked door, past the splinters and the warped metal and the sharp smell that still hangs in the air.
one officer stays near the doorway, looking down the hall, shoulders squared, hand hovering close to his radio like the building might cough up the shooter again if he blinks.
the other one crouches by you and maki, not too close, voice controlled but not cold.
“okay,” he says. “i need you both to take a breath and answer some questions for me.”
maki’s eyes flick toward the hallway again. “did you get him?”
the officer’s jaw tightens just a fraction. “not yet.”
the words drop into the room like a weight.
you swallow and it feels like swallowing sand.
he asks your names again, confirms your ages, asks if either of you are hurt. he shines a light briefly to check for cuts you didn’t notice. he says the word okay a lot, like he’s trying to stitch you back together with it.
then his tone shifts, gentler but sharper at the edges.
“did either of you see his face?”
maki answers immediately. “no.” flat. sure. “i didn’t.”
the officer nods, scribbling something, eyes on her like he believes her.
your mouth goes dry all over again.
your hands are still shaking in your lap, fingers opening and closing.
you stare at the floor for a second too long, and you hate that you’re about to say it, because saying it makes it real.
“i… i might know who he is,” you manage, voice trembling.
“okay,” he says slowly. “tell me what you mean.”
maki turns her head toward you, eyes narrowing, already protective, already bracing for whatever you’re about to drag into the room.
you force your lungs to work. the air still tastes like gunpowder and fear.
“when i was younger,” you say, and your voice sounds far away, like it’s coming from the bottom of a well. “i… i testified in a case. i got someone arrested.”
the officer’s pen pauses.
and the name sticks in your throat.
you hear it in your head first. in the courtroom. in the street. in the way he said you like it was a threat.
maki’s posture changes instantly. her arm tightens around you, her whole body going still.
the officer’s eyes flick up, quick. “spell it for me.”
"R-Y-O-M-E-N. S-U-K-U-N-A"
he stands up and steps away, speaking into his radio in a voice that’s calm on purpose, like calm is a tool.
“run a check for ryomen sukuna,” he says. “confirm custody status, last known, any movement.”
another officer comes closer, glancing at the ruined door again, then at you, like he’s taking inventory of what this means.
maki’s voice is low, sharp. “that was him?”
you shake your head because you don’t know. because the worst part is you don’t know, and your brain keeps trying to fill in the gaps with certainty just to survive.
“i didn’t see his face,” you say, a little too fast. “i just… i heard him. i heard what he said. it sounded like—” your throat tightens. “it sounded like him.”
maki curses under her breath, her hand rubs between your shoulder blades.
the officer answers immediately, turning his shoulder away, listening.
you watch his face while he listens, and you hate the way it changes.
not shocked. not confused.
he speaks again, short. clipped. “confirm that. repeat it.”
then he turns back toward you and maki.
and even before he says anything, your stomach knows.
“okay,” he says, and his voice is steady, but the room feels colder. “listen to me.”
maki’s eyes harden. “what.”
the officer glances at the ruined door one more time, forcing himself to keep his voice normal.
“he hasn’t been released,” he says.
for half a second, relief tries to spark.
then he finishes the sentence and the spark dies.
the world tilts. not because you’re moving, but because your body doesn’t know what to do with that information besides panic.
your mouth opens and you can’t get a sound out. your hands go numb. your heart punches your ribs.
maki says, very quietly, “you’re kidding.”
the officer shakes his head once. “i’m not.”
another officer speaks into his radio behind him, already moving, already coordinating, like the building is a board and everyone on it is a piece that might get knocked over.
the first officer crouches again so he’s eye-level with you, like he knows you’re about to float away.
“okay,” he repeats, slower. “this is what we’re going to do.”
his voice doesn’t rush. it doesn’t soften into pity either. it lands like instructions meant to keep you alive.
“you two stay together. at all times. you don’t go anywhere alone, not down the hall, not to class, not to the bathroom. buddy system, understood?”
maki nods immediately, fierce. you nod too, because you can’t imagine being by yourself right now without breaking.
“we’re going to get maintenance on that door,” he continues, eyes flicking to the damage. “it will be secured. in the meantime, we’re relocating you both, either to a safer dorm area or another monitored space. we’ll coordinate that.”
maki’s jaw clenches. “and campus?”
“campus is under lockdown,” he says. “we’re sweeping buildings, we’re increasing patrols, and we’re working with your administration. but i’m going to be honest with you: if you can leave campus, you should.”
your stomach flips again.
“talk to your dean,” he says, and the words come out careful, practical. “see if they can switch you to online classes or temporary remote instruction. go home if you have somewhere safe to go. do not stay here because you don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
he pauses, looking between you and maki like he’s making sure you’re hearing him.
“and you stay in contact with us,” he adds. “we’re going to take formal statements. we’re going to take your contact information. if you see anything, if you hear anything, if anything feels off, you call. immediately. you do not second-guess yourself. you do not try to handle it alone.”
maki’s voice is low. controlled. “what if he comes back.”
the officer doesn’t lie to her. he doesn’t dress it up.
“then you don’t open the door,” he says. “you call us. you stay together. you let us do our job.”
your throat burns again, like your body wants to cry and scream and vomit all at once.
maki’s hand finds yours under the edge of the bed, fingers locking tight.
and you realize, with a sick clarity that makes your skin prickle, that the nightmare didn’t follow you into waking life.
waking life followed you into the nightmare.
and now it’s standing in your dorm room, wearing a uniform, telling you to stay together like together is the only thing keeping you from being taken.
the second the officers turn their attention outward, radios hissing, voices low and urgent in the hallway, she’s already moving like she’s on a timer.
“pack,” she says, and it isn’t a suggestion.
you blink at her like your brain is lagging.
maki grabs your backpack off the chair and shoves it into your hands. “important shit only,” she adds, eyes sharp. “id. phone. charger. meds. laptop. keys. clothes if you can grab them fast.”
your hands fumble for a second. your fingers feel thick and stupid.
maki doesn’t get mad. she just reaches around you and starts doing it herself, yanking drawers open, tossing things onto your bed in a neat violent pile.
your wallet. your student id. your charger.
your laptop with the corner sticker you’ve had since freshman year.
she shoves them into your bag, tight and efficient, like she’s trying to outrun the fear.
you force yourself to help.
you grab clothes without looking, just fabric and zippers and the sound of your own breathing. you scoop your toiletries into a plastic bag. you stare at your desk for half a second, at the notebook open there like you were really going to have a normal day.
like you were really going to sit in a lecture and take notes and argue about something harmless.
maki’s hand snaps in front of your face. “hey,” she says, sharp enough to cut through the spiral. “with me.”
the officer assigned to you stays near the door, watching the hall, posture tense but controlled. he doesn’t rush you with words, just with presence, like the way he keeps looking down the corridor is a countdown.
when you zip your bag closed, the sound feels too loud.
maki shoulders her own backpack. it looks heavier than yours, like she packed for war.
the officer gestures. “we’re going now.”
you step into the hallway and it hits you all at once.
the dorm smells like sweat and panic and someone’s cheap perfume. doors are cracked open everywhere. people stand in clusters, shaking, whispering, crying.
someone is on the phone with their mom, voice high and breaking. “i don’t know, they said a body, they said—”
another girl sits on the floor with her back against the wall, staring blankly at nothing, rocking.
you feel eyes on you. not cruel, not exactly. just hungry with curiosity. like everyone can sense something happened behind your door, something worse than the vague terror they’re clinging to.
maki moves closer to your side, shoulder almost touching yours.
“don’t look at them,” she murmurs, and it’s not judgement. it’s protection. “keep walking.”
the officer walks a half-step ahead, clearing space with his body, his radio crackling every few seconds with updates you can’t parse.
“unit three, check stairwell.”
words that turn your campus into a map.
you take the stairs because the elevator feels like a trap.
every landing is full of voices, and every voice sounds like the same fear wearing different faces.
maki’s hand tightens around your wrist when you hesitate at the bottom, like she can feel you wanting to bolt in the wrong direction.
“dean’s office,” the officer says. “straight there.”
the admin building is quieter, but it’s the wrong kind of quiet. the kind that’s been forced. the kind that feels like the walls are listening.
the officer guides you down a hallway lined with framed photos of smiling students and donor plaques, and it’s almost funny in a sick way. all that bright pride watching you walk past like the campus isn’t currently bleeding.
you stop at a door with a brass nameplate.
maki shifts her bag higher on her shoulder. her jaw is set. you can see the anger in her.
a voice from inside, brisk and startled. “one moment.”
you hear movement. a chair scrape. a drawer open and close.
the dean stands there with a tight smile that dies as soon as she takes in the officer’s uniform and your faces.
“oh my—” she starts, then catches herself, eyes darting to the hallway. “come in. please.
the office smells like lemon cleaner and paper.
there’s a bowl of candy on the desk like comfort comes wrapped in plastic.
the dean closes the door behind you, not all the way at first, then thinks better of it and shuts it fully. the click makes your stomach flip.
she looks at the officer, then at you and maki, voice dropping into something softer.
“can you tell me what happened?” she asks.
you speak first, and your voice shakes so badly it barely sounds like you. “someone—he—he came to our dorm.”
the dean’s face goes pale.
the officer steps in, calm and controlled, like he’s done this kind of conversation before. “ma’am,” he says, “there was a breach. the suspect fired a weapon inside a residence hall. these students were targeted. they need emergency accommodations and remote instruction, effective immediately.”
the dean’s eyes widen. “a weapon… inside the dorm?”
maki nods once, blunt. “he shot the door.”
the dean lifts a hand to her mouth, horror flashing fast before she forces it back into professionalism. “are you both… are you hurt?”
you shake your head. your body still feels like it’s vibrating. “no. but—” your throat tightens, and you hate it. “but he was there.”
the dean’s gaze flicks to the officer again, voice trembling now. “what do you need from me?”
the officer doesn’t hesitate. “temporary housing in a secured area or permission to leave campus immediately without penalty. academic accommodations. coordination with campus security. and access to any camera footage near their dorm. we’re taking formal statements, but their safety comes first.”
the dean nods too quickly. “yes. yes, of course."
she looks at you and maki like she’s trying to find words that won’t shatter you.
“we will take care of you,” she says, and you can tell she means it, but it still feels like a line people say when they don’t understand the shape of what’s hunting you.
maki’s hand slides into yours again under the edge of your backpack strap, squeezing tight.
because you both know something the dean doesn’t.
this isn’t just a campus emergency.
this is a man you helped cage once.
the dean’s hands shake when she picks up the phone.
she tries to hide it by smoothing her blazer sleeve first, but you see it anyway. the way her fingers fumble the buttons. the way her breath catches like she’s swallowing fear before she speaks.
“yes, hello,” she says into the receiver, voice bright in that too-practiced way adults use when they’re panicking. “i need immediate accommodations arranged. security-adjacent. yes, now.”
she turns her chair slightly, angling her body away like the call is private, but the room is too small for privacy. you hear everything in fragments.
“two students… targeted… police present… no, i don’t care about policy… get me someone who can authorize it—”
maki stands beside you like a guard dog.
arms crossed. jaw clenched. eyes scanning the office.
you keep your gaze on the bowl of candy on the dean’s desk because it’s easier than looking at the ruined door replaying in your head.
five minutes ago you were a student.
the dean hangs up and exhales like she’s been holding her breath since the knock on her door.
she looks at you, voice gentler. “okay. we can arrange an emergency room in a safer building, but…” she hesitates, eyes flicking to the officer, then back. “are you capable of going home? off campus. somewhere stable.”
the word hits like a bruise.
“my parents aren’t in state,” you say, and your voice is too small for how old you are. “they… they live far.”
the dean’s expression tightens, worry deepening. “do you have family nearby? someone you trust?”
your brain tries to pull up names like a list, but everything feels fogged. like even your memories are shaking.
maki answers before you can drown in it.
“she can stay with me,” she says, firm. then, like she’s remembering you’re not just hers to decide for, she adds, “or yuji.”
yuji’s face flashes in your mind, all warmth and big gestures, the kind of person who’d make a joke just to keep you breathing. the kind of person who would barricade a door with his whole body if he had to.
your throat tightens again.
you nod, once, because you can’t handle more than that.
maki’s shoulder bumps yours, subtle. grounding.
the dean lets out a shaky breath like she’s relieved to have an answer that isn’t “nowhere.”
“good,” she says, and the relief in her tone makes your stomach twist, because it means she knows how bad “nowhere” would be. “that’s good.”
the officer nods too, making a note. “we’ll need the address. and we need to keep you in contact. you do not separate.”
maki’s eyes narrow. “we won’t.”
the dean reaches for her phone again. “i’ll notify your professors,” she says quickly, already moving into solution mode. “you’ll be excused. no penalties. we’ll do remote instruction temporarily. and i’m going to have campus security escort you to retrieve anything else you need, if you need it.”
your hands tighten around your backpack strap.
you want to say thank you. you want to be polite. you want to be normal.
but all you can think is:
and you just agreed to go somewhere that isn’t even your home, carrying your life in a bag, like you’re the one who’s being chased off campus for doing the right thing.
maki squeezes your hand again.
“we’re leaving,” she says, like a promise.
and for the first time since the knock, you believe something for half a second.
just that you won’t be alone.
the hallway outside the dean’s office feels too narrow.
too many corners. too many doors. too many places a shadow could decide to become real.
the officer walks a half-step ahead again, radio murmuring low, guiding you like you might drift off the path if someone doesn’t keep you moving. maki stays pressed close at your side, shoulder almost touching yours, her grip still tight around your wrist.
your legs are steadier now, but only because they’re running on anger.
you’re halfway down the hall when you hear your name.
not whispered. not curious. not cruel.
you turn and there’s yuji, sprinting toward you. hair a mess, cheeks flushed, breath coming too fast. his eyes are wide and bright.
“oh my god,” he blurts, and then he’s right in front of you, “are you okay?”
you open your mouth and nothing intelligent comes out.
your face does something stupid. your chin wobbles. your throat closes again.
yuji doesn’t wait for permission.
he pulls you into his arms, tight and solid. his hoodie smells like laundry detergent and outside air and something safe.
“I’m so sorry,” he says immediately, voice rough in your ear. “i got lost in the crowd, sweetheart. i tried to find you, i swear. i kept looking, i just—” he swallows hard, hugging you tighter. “i’m sorry."
you cling to him for a second, fingers curling into the fabric.
maki’s voice cuts in, blunt as always, but there’s a softness under it that makes your throat burn.
“we’re leaving campus,” she says, eyes on yuji. “now.”
yuji pulls back just enough to look at your face, eyes scanning. his jaw tightens when he sees how pale you are, how wrecked.
“okay,” he says quickly. “yeah. good. i’ll drive.”
your phone becomes a weapon you keep within reach at all times.
unknown numbers. voicemails. check-ins from officers
any sightings? any contact? any strange cars?
online classes become their own kind of hell.
yuji tries to help in the way yuji always helps: loudly. constantly. with the subtlety of a golden retriever with a baseball bat.
he brings you food you didn’t ask for.
he checks your door twice even though you watched him lock it once.
he sits on the couch while you “study” and keeps glancing at you like you might evaporate .
“drink water,”. “you ate today?”. “want me to email your professor?”
“yuji,” you mutter one afternoon, dead-eyed, “you’re gonna start charging me rent in vitamins.”
he grins. “good. that means you’re alive enough to be mean.”
maki watches him with that flat look that says if you annoy her into a panic attack, i will bury you under your own couch.
megumi is quieter about it.
he shows up sometimes without fanfare, drops off something practical like groceries or extra locks or a new battery for the smoke detector, and doesn’t ask questions you’re too tired to answer.
he just sits in the same room, calm and steady.
four weeks is enough time for the adrenaline to rot into exhaustion.
and one night, after a day of video lectures and police updates and yuji hovering like a protective curse, you find yourself staring at the ceiling and realizing you haven’t been out in public since it happened.
yuji catches you staring into space at dinner and narrows his eyes. “what.”
you blink at him. “what.”
“no,” he says immediately, pointing at you like you’re guilty. “that’s the face. that’s the face you make before you say something reckless.”
maki snorts from the other side of the table. “she’s gonna say she wants to go outside.”
you swallow, then say it anyway. “i want to go outside.”
yuji looks like he’s about to argue, then stops, jaw working.
megumi’s gaze lifts, quiet. “where.”
you shrug like you haven’t been thinking about it for days.
“a bar,” you say, voice even. “somewhere loud. somewhere normal. i want one night where my heart isn’t sprinting.”
yuji exhales hard through his nose. “okay.”
maki arches a brow. “that’s a yes?”
yuji points at her. “it’s a yes with rules.”
megumi doesn’t look thrilled, but he doesn’t shut it down either. he just nods, resigned, he already knows you’ll go with or without them.
so later, you put on clothes that aren’t pajamas.
you do your hair like you’re trying to remember what it feels like to be a person in public.
you stand in front of the mirror and your hands hover for a second, unsure, like you’re waiting for them to start shaking again.
yuji waits by the door like a nervous bodyguard. maki checks your phone is charged. megumi checks the street through the blinds before you step outside, because of course he does.
and when you finally walk out into the night air, it hits you with a strange kind of grief.
cool wind. distant traffic. laughter from somewhere down the block.
you follow them to the car, heartbeat loud but steady, and when yuji opens the passenger door for you, you roll your eyes on purpose.
“i can open my own door,” you mutter.
maki mutters, “let him. he needs to feel useful.”
megumi just starts the car.
and as you pull away, city lights sliding past, you tell yourself you’re doing this for one reason only.
you refuse to let fear turn your world into one locked room forever.
megumi drives, one hand on the wheel, steady. calm. the other resting on your thigh.
his thumb moves in slow circles, you stare out the window for a second, watching the streetlights smear into soft gold lines.
meg’s voice cuts in, low and casual.
you blink, then let out a quiet breath. “i’m… okay.”
meg hums like he accepts it.
his thumb keeps moving, slow circles. your skin starts to remember what calm feels like in tiny increments.
then he glances at you, just a brief flick of his eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
“i guess this is our makeup coffee date,” he says.
you smile before you can stop yourself.
from the backseat, yuji immediately makes a noise like he’s been stabbed. “yuck.”
meg doesn’t even look back. “grow up.”
yuji leans forward between the seats, offended. “you’re flirting.”
meg’s thumb presses a little firmer into your thigh. “i’m speaking.”
“no,” yuji insists, dramatic. “that was flirting. i know flirting when i hear it. i have ears.”
maki’s foot shoots out and kicks yuji’s shin with zero mercy.
yuji yelps. “OW! what the hell!”
maki’s voice is flat. satisfied. “stop talking.”
yuji glares at her, rubbing his leg. “you’re a bully.”
“and you’re loud,” she says, like those are equal sins.
meg’s hand keeps its calm circles on your thigh through all of it.
and for the first time in four weeks, the sound in your chest isn’t just fear.
it’s laughter trying to come back.
the parking lot lights blur a little when you step out of the car.
because your body is still learning how to be outside again without flinching at every sound.
megumi closes his door and immediately reaches for you, his fingers slide into yours, warm and sure.
yuji and maki walk a step behind, close enough that you can hear them bickering under their breath. yuji’s voice is animated, maki’s is dry and murderous. it’s familiar noise. human noise. the kind that tells your brain you’re not alone.
the bar’s front sign glows soft and lazy in the night.
music leaks out every time the door opens, a muffled thump that feels almost comforting.
megumi’s thumb brushes over your knuckles.
“with me,” he murmurs, low enough that only you hear it.
inside, the air is warmer.
dim lights. amber and gold. the smell of alcohol and citrus and fried food. laughter stacked over music stacked over a dozen separate conversations, all of it blending into one steady hum.
it’s busy, but not crowded enough to feel like a trap.
you take a breath and it actually goes all the way in.
megumi guides you through the room with his hand still in yours, body angled a little like he’s shielding you from shoulders and elbows.
yuji spots an open booth and points like he’s claiming territory. “there.”
maki slides in first, back to the wall. megumi sits beside you, close enough that your thigh presses his. you’re not sure if it’s an accident.
it doesn’t feel like one.
his arm loops around your waist, easy and possessive his hand settles at your hip, warm through fabric, fingers flexing.
you melt into his side before you can stop yourself.
it’s embarrassing, honestly, how fast your body gives in to warmth when it’s been cold for too long.
clean, expensive, and unfair.
something like soap and cologne and the faintest hint of laundry, like he’s the kind of man who knows exactly how close he has to get before you stop thinking straight.
you swallow and pretend you’re not thinking about it. pretend you’re not leaning into him on purpose.
meg’s mouth lifts at the corner.
“you’re okay,” he says, not asking. telling.
you roll your eyes weakly. “stop.”
“no,” he replies, calm as ever. “i like when you breathe.”
maki makes a sound across the table that could be a cough if she tried harder.
yuji claps his hands together. “drinks. i’m ordering drinks. anyone who talks about breathing again gets left here.”
megumi doesn’t even look at him. his fingers slide from your hip to the small of your back, slow, shameless.
yuji heads to the bar, elbowing past someone with a quick “sorry!” and then immediately forgetting he said it.
maki watches him go, then looks back at megumi’s hand on you, her gaze drags down to where his fingers are resting, then up to his face.
megumi meets her stare, unbothered.
his hand stays exactly where it is.
if anything, he pulls you in closer.
you feel a laugh try to happen in your chest.
meg’s voice drops near your ear. “you laughing?” he murmurs.
“shut up,” you whisper back.
he hums, amused, and his nose brushes your hair for half a second.
your stomach flips, traitorous.
the booth is warm. the music is loud enough that you can’t hear your heartbeat. the lights make everyone look a little softer around the edges. the world feels… temporarily far away.
yuji returns balancing drinks. he sets them down carefully, one by one.
“okay,” he announces, proud. “i got us something normal. nothing that tastes like a candle.”
maki takes hers without comment.
you reach for yours and meg’s hand slides over yours for a second, fingers brushing, and the touch sparks up your arm like a stupid little firework.
he’s already looking at you.
yuji drops into the booth beside maki and immediately starts talking, because of course he does. about some guy at the bar who looks like he definitely owns a katana. about the music. about the party you missed. about how the bartender judged him for ordering a fruity drink.
maki tosses in dry comments like darts.
he just stays close, thumb rubbing small circles at your waist.
and you realize, quietly, that this is the first time in four weeks you’ve been in a room full of strangers without feeling like you need to run.
you lift your drink to your lips, take a sip, and let the cold sweetness hit your tongue.
meg’s fingers tighten at your waist, and his voice is soft in your ear.
“see?” he murmurs. “you’re doing good.”
maki glares at his hand again.
yuji makes another gagging noise.
and you lean into megumi a little more, because for tonight, in this booth, with their voices around you like a wall, you can almost pretend the world is normal.
maki’s patience snaps like a rubber band.
one second yuji’s wedged in the booth, running his mouth like he gets paid per syllable, the next she’s got him by the hoodie and he’s stumbling out into the aisle.
“maki,” yuji yelps, half-laughing, half-panicking, shoes scraping. “what are you doing?”
she doesn’t even blink. “saving her.”
yuji twists, trying to grab the seat like it’s a lifeline. “from what?!”
maki jerks him toward the dance floor, expression dead serious. “from you.”
she points at him without stopping. “c’mon. stop cockblocking.”
yuji’s face goes red so fast it’s almost impressive. “I AM NOT COCKBLOCKING, I’M BEING SUPPORTIVE!”
“you’re being loud,” maki says, dragging him straight into the crush of bodies and music.
yuji gets swallowed by the crowd, still protesting, still dramatic, arms flailing like he’s drowning in pop music.
the booth empties out around you in the nicest way.
the music feels louder without them. the air feels warmer. the lights from the bar smear gold across megumi’s face when he turns back toward you, and his mouth twitches.
he chuckles under his breath. quiet. amused. fond.
then he leans in, closer, arm tightening around your waist.
“this what you wanted?” he murmurs, voice low enough it’s just yours. “a night out?”
you swallow, eyes flicking toward the dance floor where yuji is still fighting for his life under maki’s grip.
meg hums like he understands more than you’re saying.
his hand slides up your back slow, unhurried, fingertips dragging warmth through your shirt.
you let your shoulders relax into him.
let your head tip slightly, giving him space.
his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, palm flattening against your skin, warm and firm at the curve of your waist.
you inhale sharply. it’s the first time all day your breath is reacting to something that isn’t fear.
his lips brush your neck, just under your ear, soft at first.
then he kisses you again, slower.
your skin lights up under it, heat blooming where his mouth touches.
he breathes in like he’s memorizing you the way you’ve been trying not to be memorized by anyone else.
“you look sweet,” he murmurs against your neck, voice a low thread you can feel more than hear. “soft…”
his hand shifts up your back, thumb pressing lightly, anchoring you.
his mouth finds that same spot again, kiss turning into a linger, and you melt into his side like you forgot you were allowed to.
somewhere out on the dance floor, yuji shrieks dramatically as maki spins him.
meg huffs a quiet laugh into your skin, still holding you like you’re something he refuses to let slip away.
his mouth stays at your neck, warm and lazy, then his teeth catch the spot he’s been kissing.
soft at first. a little pressure, a little sting, just enough to make you go still and feel it all the way down your spine.
you suck in a breath you didn’t mean to take so loud.
meg hums against your skin like he’s pleased with himself.
his hand reaches past you, calm and careful, and he slides your drink closer by the rim, not spilling a drop, not even looking at it like it’s an effort.
“finish this,” he murmurs, voice low at your ear. “then we’ll go dance.”
you blink, cheeks hot. he licks over the bite mark, slow.
heat flashes over your skin.
then he pulls back, finally, and the air hits the damp spot on your neck and makes you shiver.
meg looks at you like nothing happened.
like he didn’t just turn your bones to water with his mouth.
his expression is mild. amused. that little corner smile like he’s got a secret and you’re the secret.
“c’mon,” he says, nodding toward the drink. “you heard me.”
you lift it with shaky fingers, glaring at him over the rim.
he just watches, eyes steady, hand still at your waist.
you take a sip. then another, because your mouth is dry and your pride is gone.
meg’s thumb presses into your side, approving.
“good job mama,” he murmurs.
you finish enough to make him satisfied, set the glass down, meg immediately stands, offering his hand like a gentleman.
you slide out of the booth, legs a little wobbly, trying to pretend it’s the alcohol.
meg’s palm wraps around yours, warm and firm, and he guides you through the crowd.
the music hits harder out there.
bass in your ribs. lights strobing soft. people moving like nobody’s afraid of anything.
maki is already on the floor with yuji, and yuji looks like he’s being forcibly taught rhythm against his will. he catches sight of you and points dramatically, mouth open mid-protest.
maki spins him again before he can say whatever stupid thing he was about to say.
meg leans closer as you step into the edge of the crowd, lips near your ear.
“breathe,” he says, quiet. “look at me.”
his hands settle at your waist, thumbs low, steadying.
the music wraps around you like a warm hand.
bass in your ribs, lights soft and smeared, bodies moving, meg keeps you close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your shirt, his hands steady on your hips.
he spins you once, easy, like it’s nothing.
you stumble into his chest on purpose when you come back around, breath catching, and he catches you like he expected it. like he planned for you to fall into him.
his mouth dips near your ear.
“look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and pleased. “having fun.”
his hands tighten, thumbs pressing into the curve of your hips.
the words hit clean and warm, and your laugh bubbles up small and bright in a way you haven’t heard from yourself in weeks.
you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers sliding into the hair at the nape, holding on because it feels good to hold onto something that isn’t fear.
meg’s eyes flick over your face like he’s taking a quiet inventory, making sure you’re still here.
then he pulls you closer anyway.
the dance shifts, the tempo easing, and suddenly it’s a slow sway, the two of you moving like the room is distant, like the noise is background.
“maki’s gonna kill yuji,” he says, mouth near your ear.
you make a sound that’s half laugh, half exhale.
“he deserves it,” you whisper.
meg hums, amused. “true.”
his palm slides up your back, steadying you, and you let your forehead rest against his shoulder for a second, letting your eyes shut.
you can almost pretend you’re normal.
a soft spin behind your eyes.
your stomach dips. your head feels light. the lights smear wider.
you lean without meaning to, your grip tightening around his neck.
meg catches it instantly.
his hands firm up on you, posture shifting, attention snapping sharp.
“woah,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, holding you up. “you okay?”
you nod because nodding is easier than explaining.
“i just need to sit down,” you say, voice a little strained, embarrassed.
you try to step back anyway, stubborn reflex, like you can just walk it off.
the sway catches you again, your balance drifting.
“you a lightweight?” he asks, and there’s a smirk in it, gentle teasing.
your head is still softly spinning, and even your attitude can’t find its footing.
meg’s expression shifts, the teasing fading into something careful. his thumb brushes your hip.
“c’mon,” he says, calm. “you might need to call an uber. go back to yuji’s and sleep it off.”
the words land heavy, because they’re sensible, and sensible means the night is ending.
you nod again, slower this time.
a pained little “mhm,” slips out of you.
“hey,” he murmurs, close. “you did good. you came out. you stayed. that’s the point.”
then he guides you through the crowd with his arm locked around you, steady and unshakeable.
and for the first time tonight, the spinning in your head isn’t the only thing that makes you feel unsteady.
it’s the realization that you actually wanted to stay.
you fumble your phone with fingers that still feel too loose in your own hands.
the screen is too bright. the bar is too loud. your head is too soft around the edges, like the world is wrapped in cotton.
meg keeps you upright, one arm firm around your waist, the other hand rubbing slow circles into your back. steady. patient.
you tap through the app twice just to make sure it’s real.
pickup. confirm. your thumb hesitates over the button like you’re waiting for the universe to jump out and say actually, no.
meg leans in, voice low against your hair. “when you get home, drink some water and lay down, okay?”
you nod. you can do nodding. nodding feels achievable.
his hand slides a little higher, warm between your shoulder blades. “i’ll tell the others you went home.”
you manage a small sound that might be gratitude if you had more air.
meg kisses the top of your head, soft, almost absent-minded,
a few minutes pass and a car rolls up to the curb outside, headlights washing through the window. meg angles his body to look, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“your uber is here,” he says.
you blink at the door like it’s farther away than it should be.
meg squeezes your waist. “text me when you’re home.”
he guides you out, careful with every step.
the night air is colder than you expect.
meg opens the back door for you. helps you in. one hand steadying your elbow, the other braced on the roof so you don’t bump your head.
“there you go,” he murmurs.
you look up at him from the seat, a little dazed, and his expression softens in that way that makes your chest do something stupid.
he dips down and kisses your lips, quick and warm, so soft.
then he pulls back, taps the door frame, and straightens.
you wave at him weakly as the door shuts.
through the window, he stands there a second, watching like he doesn’t trust the night with you yet.
then he turns and disappears back into the bar.
the music on the radio is low and soft, something slow that doesn’t match the way your head keeps swimming.
you lean your head against the window and let the glass cool your cheek, watching streetlights slide past in smeared lines.
your eyelids feel heavy. your mouth tastes like sugar and nerves.
you blink down at your phone to text him.
home soon you start to type.
your screen lights up with a notification instead.
your stomach drops so fast it feels like falling.
you stare at the words, waiting for them to rearrange into something that makes sense.
the music keeps playing. soft. unbothered.
the car keeps moving. smooth. steady.
your head lifts slowly off the window.
you look at the rearview mirror.
and the driver’s eyes catch yours for half a second, dark in the reflection, you’ve seen those red eyes somewhere before… and those salmon pink locs of hair.
your phone buzzes again, cheerful and wrong:
meg steps back into the bar and the noise hits him like a wave.
he slides through the crowd with that same steady posture, shoulders loose, chin level, like nothing in the world is wrong.
yuji’s at the table when meg finds them, still flushed from dancing, hair sticking up in a way that looks like he lost a fight with gravity. maki’s beside him, expression flat as always, eyes doing that constant scan that says she’s never fully off-duty.
yuji spots meg and immediately leans forward. “where’d she go?”
“She wasn’t feeling good,” he says. “Got dizzy. Took an uber home to rest.”
yuji’s face crumples instantly, concern sweeping in like it always does. “what? alone? you let her—”
“i walked her out. made sure she got in. told her to text when she’s home.”
maki’s eyes narrow, just a fraction.
“she text you yet?” she asks.
“not yet,” he says. “it’s been two minutes.”
yuji drags a hand down his face, frustrated, already halfway out of his seat. “i should go. i should just go make sure—”
maki grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks him back down. hard. “sit.”
“you’re not chasing her car like a golden retriever with anxiety,” she says, voice flat. “if she said she needed to go, she needed to go.”
then her gaze slides back to meg.
“what kind of car?” she asks.
“a black sedan,” he answers. “license plate starts with a seven.”
yuji looks relieved by the detail. “okay. okay. she’s probably fine. she just… she’s had a lot.”
megs phone buzzes in his pocket.
yuji catches it. “is that her?”
Dividers by @enchanthings
TAGLIST; @chosokamosbabymomma @yarimarjane @justpassingdontworry @tojis-ball-sack @syndrlla97 @squirrlybiscuit @pOpstar101 @eli54sa @beaniesayshi @helpbypinkguy @devilxo @jazzycurls @aivatneuq @ilovecatboys07
