happiest of birthdays to you, you have genuinely made my life so much better by being in it (idc if that sounds corny af it’s TRUE) and thank you for always talking to me, making me laugh, talking about music and anime with me, UGH YOU’RE THE BESTTTTT!!!!! 🤍
ac goes to torucider
synopsis: physical intimacy with choso.
choso loves you with the kind of carefulness usually reserved for fragile things.
the first time you hold his hand, he goes quiet. his fingers twitch once against yours before slowly intertwining with them, almost hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind halfway through.
you don’t. you only squeeze his hand tighter.
and choso looks at your joined hands longer than necessary, eyes soft and unreadable. there’s something unbearably sad about it, like he’s mourning every moment in his life where no one held him simply because they wanted to.
he becomes addicted to touching you after that. your knee against his while sitting together. your hand on his chest. your arms wrapping around his waist from behind while he stands in the kitchen.
every time, he still reacts like he isn’t used to it. like affection catches him off guard no matter how often you give it.
especially hugs. especially from you.
because when you pull him into your arms, choso holds you back like he’s terrified of letting go too soon. his face presses into your shoulder, his breathing evening out slowly, tension leaving him piece by piece beneath your hands.
you realize then that no one has ever held him gently before. not really.
one rainy evening, he lays with his head in your lap while thunder murmurs outside the windows. your fingers comb through his hair carefully, untangling dark strands and scratching lightly against his scalp.
choso makes the softest sound you’ve ever heard from him. not quite a sigh. not quite your name. more like… relief.
his eyes are already closed, exhaustion pulling at him from somewhere deep, ancient, bone-deep. you continue carding your fingers through his hair anyway, watching his expression soften more and more with every touch.
“does that feel nice?” you whisper.
he nods against your thigh.
then after a long pause, voice quiet enough to break your heart–
“i think i could fall asleep like this forever.”
so you lean down and kiss his forehead.
and choso, half asleep already, reaches for your hand immediately, holding it against his chest like it belongs there.
a/n: this oneshot was inspired by this tik tok and also gorgeous by taylor swift bc it’s exactly how i feel about nerd!jo ugh (the fanarts are pulling me in, thank you to whoever created this idea)
ac goes to su2kuna
synopsis: you're being broken up with by your bum ahh boyfriend, but you get distracted as you see nerd!jo in the distance.
you’re pretty sure this is the calmest breakup you’ve ever witnessed in your life. not because it’s mature or respectful – no, it’s calm because you genuinely do not give a single, solitary fuck.
your (soon-to-be ex, thank god) boyfriend is standing in front of you on the college campus, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets like he’s auditioning for “guy who peaked in senior year and never emotionally recovered.” he’s saying words. you think. his mouth is moving. something about “growing apart” and “needing space” and “not feeling appreciated.”
which is funny. because you appreciated him enough to stop yourself from breaking up with him three weeks ago just to see how long it’d take him to notice you were already mentally gone.
you nod along politely, eyes unfocused, the sun too bright, the day too nice for this conversation to matter.
“i just think,” he continues, voice doing that self-important dip like he thinks this is his villain origin story, “that we’re better off going our separate ways.”
you blink once. twice.
oh. thank god. FINALLY.
outwardly, you hum thoughtfully. inwardly, you’re doing a full celebratory backflip. no awkward initiating. no guilt. no “but you’re such a nice guy 🥹” speech. you get to walk away clean, unbothered, free.
“yeah,” you say easily. too easily, probably. “that makes sense.”
he pauses. clearly waiting for something. a protest. tears. a shaky “wait.”
you give him nothing.
his eyebrows knit together. “you’re… okay with this?”
you shrug. “i mean, yeah.”
there’s a crack in his ego. you can see it. and you eat it up.
he opens his mouth to say something else – probably fishing for validation, maybe hoping you’ll look sad enough to reassure him he mattered – but that’s when it happens.
that’s when the universe intervenes.
your gaze drifts. just for a second. just a casual scan of the quad. and then–
oh.
oh no.
oh my.
walking across campus, blissfully unaware that he’s just derailed your entire life trajectory, is the finest nerd to ever exist: satoru gojo.
glasses. actual glasses. rectangular frames perched on his stupid, perfect nose. his white hair is pushed back messily like he ran his fingers through it one too many times while studying. he’s wearing an oversized sweater – navy, slightly frayed at the cuffs – and a backpack slung over one shoulder like he’s late to a lab he definitely aced anyway.
he’s reading while walking.
READING.
WHILE WALKING.
you feel your soul leave your body. ascend. reincarnate as a woman with purpose.
your ex is still talking. you don’t know when he started again. something about “timing” and “communication.”
you’re not listening. you’re watching nerd!jo pause mid-step, frown at the page, adjust his glasses with one finger in a way that is so offensively attractive it should be illegal on an academic campus.
he mutters something to himself – lips moving, brows furrowed – and then scribbles a note in the margin with a pen he pulls from behind his ear.
behind. his. ear.
you swallow.
your ex clears his throat. “are you even listening to me?”
“mhm,” you say absently.
you are not.
because nerd!jo just looks up.
and he smiles.
not a big one. not even intentional. just a small, distracted curve of his mouth like he figured something out. like he solved a problem. like his brain did a little victory lap and decided to reward the rest of his face for it.
it hits you. fast. violent. biblical.
you’ve been dating the human equivalent of a buffering wheel, and over there is a man who probably color-codes his notes and drinks iced coffee year-round and gets excited about niche topics you’d happily pretend to understand forever.
your ex sighs dramatically. “i just didn’t think you’d take this so lightly.”
you finally look back at him.
and for the first time, you really see it. the ick. the way his hoodie smells faintly like energy drinks and entitlement. the way this conversation feels like a chore you’re already done with.
you smile. genuinely this time.
“i think you’re right,” you say. “we should break up.”
his eyes widen. “wait– that’s what i’m saying–”
“yeah,” you nod. “and i’m agreeing.”
he looks… deflated. like he wanted this to hurt more.
that’s unfortunate.
“well,” you add, glancing past him again just in time to see nerd!jo laugh quietly at something on his phone now – head tipping back, throat exposed, the sun catching on his glasses – “i’ve actually gotta go.”
“go where?” your ex asks.
you stand. sling your bag over your shoulder. liberated. reborn.
“forward,” you say.
and then you walk away.
you don’t look back. you don’t need to.
because ahead of you, nerd!jo pauses as you pass, and senses something – maybe your stare, maybe fate – and glances up.
your eyes meet.
he blinks. surprised. then smiles again. softer this time. curious.
you feel it settle in your chest. warm. inevitable.
isagi is the kind of sorcerer professors constantly argue about in meetings because on paper he’s “not overwhelmingly powerful,” but his ability to analyze cursed energy flow, battle patterns, and enemy weaknesses in real time is terrifying.
when he first enrolls, he’s grade 3, pretty average cursed energy output. nothing flashy. just a sharp brain and a technique that seems… situational.
then people realize his cursed technique basically lets him map the battlefield like a living radar.
imagine him standing still in the middle of a chaotic fight, eyes scanning everything while everyone else is panicking.
and suddenly he goes: “three seconds from now the curse will attack the left flank.”
everyone thinks he’s guessing.
then it happens.
his technique works by reading tiny fluctuations in cursed energy and predicting the next “optimal path” for the fight, almost like solving a constantly shifting puzzle. he calls it meta vision.
so he’s not physically the strongest, but he’s the reason teams survive missions.
higher-ups reluctantly bump him to grade 2 while still a student, which is rare, because his solo missions keep ending with impossible victories.
curses absolutely hate fighting him because he always somehow knows exactly where they’ll appear next.
like a curse will lunge at him and isagi just sidesteps like: “you’re predictable. thank you, next!”
meanwhile he’s sweating internally because if he miscalculates once he’s dead.
the type of sorcerer who wins fights by thinking faster than the curse can move.
itoshi rin – special grade
rin is the sorcerer that makes other sorcerers genuinely uncomfortable.
because his cursed energy feels wrong.
it’s dense, violent, suffocating.
like a storm constantly building inside him.
his cursed technique manifests as overwhelming cursed energy projection and destructive pressure, letting him create devastating attacks that flatten entire areas.
but the scary part isn’t just power.
it’s his mentality.
rin fights like he HATES THE WORLD.
no hesitation.
no mercy.
curses don’t just get exorcised – they get obliterated (hollow purple style).
his attacks crack the ground.
buildings collapse during his fights.
even veteran sorcerers struggle to keep up with his raw output.
when he was still a student, he SINGLE-HANDEDLY defeated a curse that was supposed to require MULTIPLE grade 1 sorcerers.
and instead of celebrating, rin just asked: “was that supposed to be difficult?”
the jujutsu authorities had no choice but to classify him as special grade, even though he technically hates the system.
rin doesn’t care about ranks.
doesn’t care about praise.
he just keeps getting stronger because he refuses to be weaker than anyone.
especially sae.
the tension between the brothers in the jujutsu world would be legendary.
because one represents perfect control, and the other represents uncontrollable destruction.
itoshi sae – special grade
sae is the kind of sorcerer the higher-ups both admire and fear because he doesn’t just defeat curses – he controls entire battlefields.
his cursed technique revolves around vector control of cursed energy, meaning he can redirect, amplify, or change the direction of any energy moving within his range.
attacks don’t land on him.
they curve away.
if someone launches cursed energy at him, he casually tilts his head and the attack bends midair like physics itself got edited.
imagine a curse charging him full speed and suddenly its own momentum slams it into a wall behind it.
the scariest part is that sae never wastes energy.
where most special grades cause massive destruction, sae’s fights look almost clean.
precise.
surgical.
terrifyingly efficient.
higher-ups describe it like this: “he doesn’t overpower curses… he makes the battlefield betray them.”
his domain expansion would probably be something absurd like total vector authority, where every movement inside the barrier obeys his calculations.
meaning opponents literally cannot move the way they intend to.
sae becoming special grade wasn’t because he destroyed a whole city (bro is NOT evil like sukuna dw).
it’s because analysts realized: if he wanted to… he could control the flow of every fight in the area.
and that level of influence is what pushes him into special grade territory.
nagi seishiro – grade 1
nagi is the sorcerer that completely breaks the grading system because he doesn’t look like he’s trying.
he literally fell into the jujutsu world by accident.
someone dragged him into a mission and suddenly he’s casually exorcising curses like it’s a video game tutorial.
his cursed technique revolves around “nullifying motion.”
basically he can manipulate cursed energy to halt momentum, absorb impact, or redirect attacks in ways that feel impossible.
imagine a curse launching a massive attack and nagi just lazily raises a hand.
the attack stops midair like it hit invisible glue.
then he flicks it back.
higher-ups watching him fight are like: “… does he even understand what he’s doing.”
the answer is not really.
he treats missions like chores.
half the time he’s yawning while fighting.
the scary part is that he’s a pure instinct fighter.
he doesn’t strategize like isagi or train like rin.
his body just naturally uses cursed energy in perfect ways.
he gets promoted to grade 1 extremely quickly, which makes older sorcerers furious.
meanwhile nagi’s biggest complaint is: “missions are such a hassle…” (yep, it’s giving yuki tsukumo).
he once exorcised a powerful curse while sitting down.
mikage reo – semi-grade 1
reo is the sorcerer that the jujutsu higher-ups LOVE because he’s basically the perfect, well-rounded prodigy.
massive cursed energy reserves.
elegant cursed technique.
rich clan backing.
perfect grades in training.
the golden child.
his cursed technique is terrifying because it lets him replicate techniques he witnesses, though not perfectly.
he watches another sorcerer fight once and suddenly he can mimic the mechanics of their ability.
not at 100% power… but enough to make fights unfair.
the first time the faculty sees him casually recreate someone else’s barrier technique everyone is like: “… that kid is a problem.”
his fighting style becomes insanely versatile.
ranged attacks.
barriers.
reinforcement.
weapon techniques.
he can do a little bit of everything, and he does it beautifully.
the catch? copying stronger techniques burns through cursed energy insanely fast.
but reo is rich-kid stubborn so he’ll push himself anyway.
he’s recommended for grade 1 very early and currently sits at semi-grade 1 while completing the final evaluations.
also imagine him showing up to missions in a pristine uniform while everyone else looks half-dead.
curses hate him because he’s adaptable in the most annoying way possible.
bachira meguru – grade 2
bachira is the type of sorcerer people can’t categorize properly because his cursed energy is weirdly playful.
like most sorcerers have controlled output… but bachira’s cursed energy moves like it has its own personality.
his technique revolves around manifesting a cursed “monster” made of his own energy that fights alongside him.
it’s not a separate shikigami exactly. it’s more like a living extension of his instincts.
when bachira fights, he moves unpredictably, twisting around attacks like he’s dancing.
the monster mirrors his movements, doubling his offense in ways that make enemies panic.
curses trying to fight him get completely thrown off because his movements are so chaotic.
he’ll dodge something by bending backward like a contortionist and then pop back up smiling like: “awww, you almost got me!”
people underestimate him because he seems goofy and unserious.
then suddenly the monster crashes into the enemy like a truck and the curse is gone.
he eventually reaches grade 1 because his combat instinct is insane. he thrives in chaotic environments where other sorcerers struggle.
missions with him feel like fighting next to a hyperactive gremlin with supernatural reflexes.
shidou ryusei – grade 1, candidate for special grade
shidou is the type of sorcerer that the jujutsu authorities HATE supervising.
because he lives for fighting.
like genuinely.
curses are basically entertainment to him.
his cursed technique amplifies impact and explosive force, allowing him to deliver attacks that hit like meteor strikes.
kicks.
punches.
even headbutts.
everything detonates with cursed energy.
the problem is that shidou has ZERO restraint.
if you send him on a mission in a populated area, he will absolutely level half the block just because the fight got exciting.
the higher-ups constantly debate whether to promote him to special grade because his destructive potential is massive.
but they hesitate because controlling him is a nightmare.
he laughs during fights.
compliments strong curses.
gets disappointed when enemies die too fast.
imagine a grade 1 sorcerer yelling at him to calm down and shidou just grinning like: “nahhhh. i’m having fun!!!”
technically classified as grade 1, but everyone knows if he ever decides to push his limits fully he could easily cross into special grade territory.
karasu tabito – grade 1
karasu is a tactician sorcerer, and the higher-ups rely on him a lot during complicated missions.
his cursed technique allows him to divide his cursed energy into multiple “crow-like” constructs that scout, attack, and relay information.
the battlefield becomes his surveillance system.
curses think they’re hiding.
meanwhile karasu’s crows are literally watching from every angle (yes… i stole mei mei’s cursed technique…).
he’s the type who stands at a distance analyzing everything before acting.
extremely calculated.
extremely efficient.
and a little bit mean about it.
if a teammate messes up, he absolutely finds out about it.
imagine him watching someone charge a curse head-on and muttering: “damn. that was hella stupid.”
his strength comes from battle control.
enemies suddenly get swarmed from every direction.
blind spots disappear.
escape routes get cut off.
it’s less flashy than other sorcerers, but ridiculously effective.
because of his strategic mind and consistency he comfortably sits at grade 1, often leading coordinated missions.
kaiser michael – special grade
the jujutsu community HATES that kaiser exists.
because he’s the definition of a special grade anomaly.
his cursed technique allows him to compress and fire cursed energy with such extreme density that his attacks become catastrophic beams of destructive force.
basically imagine a sniper rifle made of cursed energy… but every shot could tear through buildings.
his precision is unreal.
long-range attacks that travel kilometers.
attacks that pierce multiple targets.
attacks that curve midair because he controls the energy trajectory perfectly.
when kaiser fires a full-powered strike, it feels like the air itself splits.
and the worst part?
he enjoys showing off.
imagine him standing on a rooftop during a mission while other sorcerers are sweating through a fight.
he casually lines up a shot.
flicks his wrist.
the curse disappears in a massive blast.
then he looks down like: “how adorable. you were struggling with that?”
his cursed energy output alone qualifies him as special grade, but it’s the combination of power, accuracy, and terrifying confidence that makes him truly dangerous.
he loves being the strongest person in the room.
thrives on control.
and absolutely refuses to lose to anyone.
especially other prodigies like rin or sae.
ness alexis – semi-grade 1
ness is extremely talented with cursed energy manipulation, but specializes in support and precision techniques.
his cursed technique revolves around energy amplification and redirection, allowing him to enhance other sorcerers’ attacks.
when fighting alongside someone strong, he becomes ridiculously dangerous.
especially with kaiser.
like think of ness channeling cursed energy into kaiser’s attacks and suddenly the output multiplies like five times (like utahime’s technique).
it’s terrifying synergy.
ness also excels at barriers, reinforcement, and precision blasts, making him a very versatile combatant.
the downside?
emotionally he’s… unstable.
his cursed energy fluctuates heavily depending on his mental state.
when he’s calm, he fights like a prodigy.
when he’s upset or obsessed, his cursed energy spikes unpredictably.
which makes missions stressful for everyone involved.
still, his raw skill earns him semi-grade 1, with recommendations for grade 1 once he stabilizes.
though honestly most people think his power peaks when he’s fighting next to kaiser.
and so are gachiakuta oc fits, they're so fire, KEEP 'EM COMING!!!
the thing about your cleaner uniform is that it lies.
it lies SO WELL, actually, that enjin has spent months believing it.
the oversized jacket that hangs off your shoulders like you stole it from someone two sizes bigger. the ridiculously baggy pants with the keychains and belts and pockets. the heavy boots. the sleeves that swallow your hands half the time.
it’s cool. it’s stylish. it’s very you.
but it also hides everything.
so enjin’s been living a peaceful life. a normal life. a stable life.
a life where his small, manageable crush on you stays exactly that – small. manageable. cute, even. the kind where he’ll occasionally stare too long when you lean over the table during briefings, or where he pretends he needs help with some tool just so you’ll stand close for a second.
he’s been doing great.
really.
fantastic, actually.
and then the “welcome to the ground” party happens.
pizza boxes everywhere. drinks. loud music that someone dragged in. cleaners scattered across the room laughing and arguing and telling rudo stories about the ground like they’re trying to scare him on purpose.
enjin is leaning against the table, lazily chewing a slice of pizza while watching the chaos unfold.
someone’s arguing about jobs. someone else is trying to start a drinking game. rudo looks like he got dropped into a zoo.
it’s a good night.
and then the door opens.
you walk in.
and enjin chokes on his pizza.
because who the hell is that.
it takes him three full seconds to realize it’s you.
not because your face looks different – no, he’d recognize you anywhere – but because your clothes are completely different.
gone is the massive jacket.
gone are the pants big enough to hide a small vehicle.
instead–
a tight off-shoulder top. simple. soft fabric clinging to your torso like it was personally designed to ruin him.
and loose sweatpants that sit low on your hips, just enough to show the curve of your waist.
you look like you just stepped out of your room.
comfortable.
casual.
absolutely lethal.
and enjin’s brain does something very unfortunate.
it stops working.
completely.
his eyes follow you across the room like a man possessed.
because apparently – APPARENTLY – you have a body.
not just a body.
a BODY.
the kind that makes the room feel hotter for no reason.
the kind that makes him suddenly understand why people walk into walls.
because the baggy uniform has been a lie.
a public service, really.
because if enjin had known this earlier, he would’ve never survived.
you’re greeting people like nothing is wrong. waving to rudo. grabbing a drink. leaning casually against the couch while talking to one of the cleaners.
completely unaware that enjin is currently standing three feet away having a spiritual crisis.
he’s staring so hard that someone eventually notices.
“dude,” bro mutters beside him.
no response.
“enjin.”
nothing.
“enjin.”
finally, he blinks. slowly.
“yeah?”
bro follows his line of sight.
and then snorts.
“oh. that’s what’s got you so quiet.”
enjin doesn’t even argue.
because he’s right.
he’s absolutely, catastrophically cooked.
you shift your weight slightly as you laugh at something someone says.
and the movement makes the hem of your shirt ride up just a little.
enjin nearly drops his pizza.
he turns away immediately, rubbing his face like that will somehow reset his brain.
it doesn’t.
because now his mind is running through months of memories.
all the times you stood next to him. all the times you leaned over tables. all the times you casually stretched your arms over your head.
and he’s realizing that the entire time, you were hiding this under layers of fabric.
he whispers to himself, horrified, “i’ve been living a lie…”
across the room, you finally notice him. you wave casually.
big mistake.
because now you’re walking toward him.
and enjin suddenly forgets how to stand like a normal person.
you stop in front of him, completely relaxed.
“you look like you saw a ghost. you okay?”
he opens his mouth.
closes it.
opens it again.
nothing comes out.
you tilt your head slightly, confused.
“hello???”
no.
he is not okay.
because standing this close makes things WORSE.
your top hugs your body in ways that should honestly be illegal. your shorts sit low enough that he has to actively force his eyes upward. your hair is slightly messy like you didn’t try too hard getting ready.
and it’s driving him insane.
you squint at him.
“did you choke on the pizza?”
“… maybe.”
his voice sounds a little strained.
you glance down at the slice still in his hand.
“you’re not even eating it.”
he looks down.
oh. right. the pizza. the thing he forgot existed.
he clears his throat awkwardly.
“yeah. uh. lost my appetite.”
you blink.
“you?”
exactly.
you’ve known him long enough to understand that enjin not wanting pizza is a serious medical emergency.
you narrow your eyes suspiciously.
“are you sick?”
he laughs nervously.
“nope.”
very sick, actually. terminal.
the diagnosis: you.
you shrug it off eventually, grabbing a slice from the table yourself.
when you lift your arms to reach for it – your shirt pulls slightly.
enjin looks away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.
this is torture. actual torture.
you lean against the table beside him, casually eating like nothing is wrong.
and enjin is fighting for his life beside you.
you hum thoughtfully after a bite.
“this is good.”
he nods stiffly.
“i know, right.”
his brain supplies absolutely nothing else.
the silence lingers.
you glance at him again.
“… you’re being weird tonight.”
he exhales slowly.
because yeah. he is. and it’s your fault.
he finally risks looking at you again.
bigger mistake.
because up close, it’s even worse.
the way your clothes fit. the way you look comfortable. the way you’ve been standing next to him like this the whole time without realizing the effect you’re having.
and enjin realizes something very important.
his crush on you? the one he’s been carefully managing for months?
yeah.
that thing just evolved. violently. irreversibly. like it hit its final boss form.
he drags a hand down his face again.
you watch him with growing amusement.
“are you sure you’re okay?”
he exhales through his nose.
then finally mutters, “you can’t wear this again.”
you choke on your pizza.
“what?”
he gestures vaguely at you without actually looking.
“this outfit.”
“what about it?”
he pauses. thinks.
then says very seriously, “it’s a safety hazard.”
you stare at him. and then burst out laughing.
meanwhile enjin is standing there thinking the exact same thing he’s been thinking for the past ten minutes:
thank god for that baggy uniform.
because if the other cleaners realize what you’ve been hiding under there–
you and isagi were that duo everyone assumed were siblings because you were always together – biking to school, trading snacks, even getting scolded together.
he was the kid who thought he was soooo cool for scoring one soccer goal during recess and immediately dragged you by the wrist to brag about it.
always came over to your house uninvited. didn’t knock. just walked in like “your mom said i could come in” (she did NOT).
the kind of friend who’d share his juice box with you, but cry if you took the last chip.
you did homework together but spent 90% of the time gossiping about classmates as if you were 40-year-olds drinking coffee on a porch swing.
when he realizes he likes you:
it hits him during middle school when you showed up to a school event wearing something slightly nicer than usual.
he froze. like full-on computer lag.
his brain: oh no she’s pretty. oh no she’s REALLY pretty. oh no my heart.
choked on his water. his teammate had to pat his back once and said, “stop being dramatic.”
isagi goes home that night, kicks his legs on the bed like a teen girl in a romance movie, whispering “i think i like her” into his pillow.
when you realize you like him:
one day in high school, he came over to help you carry groceries because “your hands look too soft, someone else should do the heavy lifting.”
and you were like… sir?
he carried everything in one trip just to impress you. almost fell down the stairs. still pretended he was fine.
and your heart just… “oh.”
you knew you were done for when you caught yourself smiling at him tying his shoelaces for you because “you always do it wrong.”
itoshi rin
childhood dynamic:
rin was the quiet, serious kid who sat alone at lunch (because sae was sick that day) until you plopped beside him one day and said, “your lunchbox looks lonely.”
from that day on, you became his emotional support chaotic gremlin.
he pretended you annoyed him, but if you didn’t show up one day, he’d get sulky and kick pebbles aggressively.
you were the only person allowed to touch his stuff, unzip his backpack, steal his pens. anyone else even tried? instant death glare.
you two would also have play dates where he’d explain soccer calmly for 20 minutes, then stare at you like “… why don’t you get it?”
you’d flick his forehead and go, “stop being mean >:(”
when he realizes he likes you:
he realized WAY too early. like 12 years old early.
it was the day you defended him from an older kid who made fun of him.
you marched up, tiny and furious, and said, “rin is better than you at everything, so back off.”
rin’s like … my heart? why is it behaving like this?
but being rin, he repressed every emotion like it was a competition.
he’d get randomly flustered whenever you tied his scarf for him or called him “rinrin” (you still do).
when you realize you like him:
you were watching him play soccer after school and he looked… unfairly good.
hair messy, face focused, kicks perfect… and you felt warm. too warm.
then he ran up to you after scoring and said, “did you see that?”
you said “yeah…” way too softly, and rin froze like he heard angels singing.
your heart did that fluttery thing and you realized you were down bad for the quiet boy with the sharp eyes.
itoshi sae
childhood dynamic:
sae bullied you with love.
the type to say “why are you so slow?” but then slow down to match your pace.
he’d make fun of your handwriting and then hand you nicer pens so “you stop embarrassing yourself.”
everyone thought he hated you. in reality, sae followed you around like a bored cat.
he absolutely pretended to hate every activity you dragged him into, but somehow always tagged along anyway.
you once tried to teach him how to bake cookies. he burned them. blamed you. still ate them though.
when he realizes he likes you:
sae’s realization was silent.
one day you fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie, and his entire soul just… softened.
he didn’t move for two hours. even when his arm went numb.
he thought, i’d let her inconvenience me forever.
after that, he started doing tiny things: giving you the better seat, opening bottles for you, letting you have his scarf if you looked cold, all while pretending none of it meant anything.
inside, he was FREAKING OUT.
when you realize you like him:
sae walked you home one night, hands in pockets, acting like he didn’t care.
then he saw a dog run toward you and instinctively pulled you behind him.
you were like… sir…
the blush that crept up your neck scared you.
then he muttered, “be careful,” eyes soft in a way you had never seen.
that moment? yeah, your heart collapsed.
nagi seishiro
childhood dynamic:
nagi was the lazy kid who’d fall asleep anywhere – under slides, on benches, at your house.
you were appointed as his “designated waker-upper” because you had the magical ability to wake him without him getting grumpy.
he’d follow you around because you always had “something interesting to do.”
you introduced him to games, manga, snacks, basically built his personality.
if someone took your seat, nagi would stand behind them silently until they moved (and with his height, they for sure moved).
you carried his bag for him sometimes… then he felt bad and carried yours. both of you ended up swapping back and forth.
when he realizes he likes you:
one day you weren’t at school because you were sick, and nagi realized life was… boring. painfully boring.
he kept staring at your empty seat like a sad cat.
when you came back, he walked straight up to you and said, “don’t disappear again. it was troublesome.”
what he actually meant: i missed you so much i couldn’t function.
when you realize you like him:
he once fell asleep on your lap while the two of you were playing games.
you looked down and he just looked… soft. peaceful. trusting.
and your heart did that stupid flutter like oh no.
then he woke up, blinked at you, and said, “your lap is comfy. i like it.”
that was it. you ascended.
mikage reo
childhood dynamic:
reo was the sunshine rich kid who decided you were his favorite person on earth.
he dragged you into EVERYTHING – swimming lessons, piano classes, his family’s “super unnecessary” dinners.
he’d always save you the best snacks from his lunch. always.
he’d also insist on helping you with homework he didn’t understand because “we’re a team :)”
you were the one person who treated him normally, not like a walking bank account, and he adored you for that.
when he realizes he likes you:
you were studying together and he noticed you wearing a bracelet he bought you years ago.
something in his chest went boom.
he realized he loved giving you things – not because he was rich, but because it made you happy.
he went home that night and paced around his room like a lovesick prince.
“oh no… i like her… no i LOVE her… wait– WHAT–”
when you realize you like him:
reo showed up at your door during a storm, soaked, holding your favorite snacks because you looked sad earlier at school.
he said, “i didn’t want you to feel lonely.”
WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT.
your heart did a somersault.
you wrapped him in a towel and he smiled at you like you personally created the sun.
that’s when it hit you.
bachira meguru
childhood dynamic:
bachira was the weird feral playground kid who hung upside down from monkey bars and called ants his friends.
and you? you were the only person brave enough to approach him like, “hey… want my cookie?”
from that moment on, he imprinted on you like a baby duck.
he’d randomly grab your hand and drag you to show you the “coolest bug ever.”
you spent afternoons drawing monsters together – his looked terrifying, yours looked adorable.
he’d compliment you in the strangest ways: “your energy tastes yellow today :)”
you translated his goblin language for teachers.
when he realizes he likes you:
you two were doing your usual “let’s see who can run down this hill without dying” competition.
he tripped and rolled straight into you, tackling you like a human bowling ball.
you laughed so hard he just lay there staring at you, dazed.
his brain went: oh. i want to hear that laugh forever.
instant heart malfunction.
he spent the next week giving you flowers he stole from random gardens.
when you realize you like him:
one day he braided friendship bracelets for both of you and tied yours on himself so you “match like soul monsters :)”
he held your wrist so gently, so sweetly…
and you felt your stomach flip like why is this adorable gremlin making my heart pound out of my ears?
then he hugged you out of nowhere and said, “you feel like home.”
that was the moment your heart went bye-bye.
shidou ryusei
childhood dynamic:
you were the ONLY kid who could keep shidou from committing crimes. like. literally.
he once tried to climb the school roof and you dragged him down by the collar.
shidou adored you because you weren’t scared of him – you scolded him like a disappointed grandma.
he followed you everywhere like a chaotic golden retriever who occasionally bit people.
if someone stole your pencil, shidou would go feral. teachers had to intervene.
you taught him how to play nice with others… kind of. he tried really hard. emphasis on “tried.”
when he realizes he likes you:
he got into trouble (again), and you grabbed his cheeks and said, “please stop being stupid, i don’t want you to get hurt.”
shidou froze.
literally malfunctioned.
his chest felt warm and he didn’t know what it was so he went to google “why does my heart hurt, but feel good at the same time?” (google diagnosed him with chest pain, but he understood it was love.)
from then on he clung to you more, softened around you, and wanted your attention 24/7.
when you realize you like him:
he was walking you home, talking about soccer or violence (as usual), and then he suddenly pulled you away from a bike speeding past.
you landed against him, and shidou looked down at you with this rare, soft expression.
“you okay, pretty?”
EXCUSE ME???
you stared at him like he’d grown a second head, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
congratulations, you were now attracted to a menace.
karasu tabito
childhood dynamic:
karasu was the neighborhood menace who teased everyone, but played it cool with you.
he’d poke your cheek, steal your snacks, and sit next to you like it was his assigned seat.
you two had a friendship built on banter – you roasted each other daily.
but if anyone else tried to roast you? karasu had their life insurance policy ready.
he’d teach you stupid tricks like balancing on fences or doing bottle flips.
you tutored him once, and he made fun of your handwriting just to hear you get flustered.
when he realizes he likes you:
this man realized late. painfully late.
it happened the day another kid confessed to you.
karasu laughed it off like, “lol good luck bro, she’s out of yer league.”
then you blushed.
and karasu felt jealousy for the first time like … what the hell is THAT.
he went home and aggressively kicked a soccer ball around until realizing:
oh.
oh no.
i’m in love with her.
when you realize you like him:
one day he casually slung his arm over your shoulder, joking as always…
except this time, you felt it.
your heart sprinted a marathon.
then he winked at you, WINKED, and smirked when you froze.
“aww, did i fluster ya?”
yeah. unfortunately, he did.
and you realized you were in love with a sarcastic crow of a man.
kaiser michael
childhood dynamic:
kaiser grew up in a dirty environment that never felt like a home – cracked walls, yelling from the next room, and nothing but a scuffed soccer ball to keep him company.
he didn’t play with kids. he avoided them. kept his head down.
he learned early that the world wasn’t kind, so he didn’t trust anyone.
then there was you – the first person who didn’t look at him like he was strange or intimidating or “that angry kid.”
you talked to him like he mattered. you smiled at him like he wasn’t some problem the world had to deal with.
he pretended to be annoyed at first. rolled his eyes. shrugged you off.
but you were the only one who sat next to him at the park instead of avoiding him.
the first time you shared your snack (bread) with him? he didn’t even know how to react. no one had willingly given him anything before.
you’d ask him to play soccer with you, and he acted like he was doing you a favor… meanwhile he was secretly thrilled someone wanted him around.
eventually, you became his only friend. his only person.
you’d walk home with him when you could, even though he always insisted, “you don’t have to.”
you saw the bruises sometimes. you never asked, but you were careful with him, gentle where no one else was.
when he realizes he likes you:
he was about 13.
you were sitting on the curb tying your shoe while rambling about something random – school, a cat you saw, a weird dream – and he was only half listening…
until he realized he was memorizing the sound of your voice.
he looked at you, really looked at you, and something in his chest tightened in a way he’d never felt.
you looked up at him with that soft smile you always saved for him, the one that made him feel seen.
and it hit him like a punch to the stomach: i don’t want her to ever disappear.
he didn’t know how to handle that.
kaiser’s immediate response was denial – heavy, burning, aggressive denial.
he gave himself a pep talk in the mirror like, “no. absolutely not. i’m not in love. that’s stupid.”
then he’d see you the next day and go right back to staring at you like you hung the stars.
when you realize you like him:
you were around 14 when you really caught it.
he got into a fight (not one he started) and ended up with a split lip.
when he saw your worried expression, he immediately looked away, ashamed.
you cupped his face gently, checking the bruise, and whispered, “i hate seeing you hurt.”
he froze. completely still.
and you felt his heartbeat racing under your hands.
he whispered, “i’m fine.”
and something about the way he said it – soft, only for you – made your stomach flip.
that’s when you realized your affection wasn’t normal friend affection.
the idea of losing him scared you.
the idea of him getting hurt scared you even more.
he wasn’t just your childhood friend anymore, he was your person.
ness alexis
childhood dynamic:
ness was the soft, polite kid who always held doors open and said “thank you” to vending machines.
you were his first real friend – the one who helped him come out of his shell.
he followed you around like a pastel-colored puppy.
always brought snacks for you even when you didn’t ask.
he got nervous easily, so you were the one hyping him up before presentations like “YOU GOT THIS KING.”
he adored you since day one. everyone knew except you.
when he realizes he likes you:
ness realized early, like painfully early.
it was the time you lent him your hoodie when he was cold.
he wore it all day, hugging it like it was priceless.
later he sat on his bed kicking his feet, whispering: “i think i’m in love.”
he blushed whenever you even said his name after that.
when you realize you like him:
he made you a handmade card for your birthday, drew little doodles of you two holding hands.
he said, “i worked really hard… because you’re important to me.”
and your heart melted like ice cream in the sun.
he laughed shyly and you thought, oh god. he’s adorable. too adorable.
isagi is the definition of attentive. you swear he has some internal radar set to “girlfriend frequency,” because the moment you start talking, he’s focused like you’re explaining the strategy to win the world cup.
when you’re in a loud place, he leans down immediately, one hand gently brushing the small of your back to steady you both.
“sorry, it’s loud. say it again?”
except he’s right there, face inches from yours, eyes locked on your lips like he refuses to miss a syllable.
he’s not even trying to be smooth, he just naturally is. and when he smiles after hearing you? yeah. you melt.
he always opens doors for you, not because he thinks about chivalry, but because he wants to make life easier for you.
holds your hand without thinking, thumb tracing circles along your knuckles when he gets lost in thought.
whenever you do something small, like carrying groceries or cooking, he looks at you like you’ve just solved world hunger.
“you’re seriously amazing, you know that?”
sometimes he kisses your forehead after helping you with something, and you have to pretend you’re normal about it.
you catch yourself thinking, wow… how did i get so lucky?
but he’s thinking the exact same thing.
itoshi rin
rin isn’t showy or performative, but holy hell, this man is quietly, devastatingly romantic.
if he can’t hear you, he inclines his head down, hand settling lightly on your hip, eyes half-lidded like he’s giving you his full, undivided attention.
it feels intimate. like the world shrinks to just the two of you.
rin will wordlessly guide you through crowds with a protective arm around your waist, scowling at anyone who accidentally brushes too close.
he notices everything – if you’re cold, he’s already giving you his jacket. if you’re tired, he’s already redirecting you to sit. he won’t say anything, but the actions scream: i take care of what’s mine.
sometimes, when he thinks you're not looking, he softens. really softens. eyes lingering on your face like you're something rare and precious.
you’ll ask, “what?” and he’ll just shake his head and mutter, “nothing… just. you.”
rin isn’t the type to gush verbally, but the little things – bent posture to hear your soft voice, steadying hand on your back, walking on the outside of the sidewalk – all say i love you without needing the words.
itoshi sae
sae is sickeningly smooth about it. like, born-flirting-with-gravity smooth.
when he bends down to hear you, he doesn’t just lean – he angles his body toward you, hand resting against your lower back, face close to your ear.
you can hear his quiet breath and smell his cologne and suddenly you can’t remember what you were trying to say.
he’s the kind of guy who pulls out your chair and then looks genuinely confused why you’re flustered.
holds umbrellas for you so you don’t get wet, even if it means he gets soaked.
“i can buy a new suit. you can’t buy a new immune system.”
insists on carrying heavy things and then looks at you like you insulted him if you try to take them back.
tips your chin up with a finger when you’re spaced out and goes, “hey. eyes on me.”
rude. unfair. illegal.
he doesn't smile often, but when he does? it's always at you. and you have to pretend your soul didn’t just ascend.
nagi seishiro
nagi is unintentionally romantic. like, he doesn’t even realize he’s causing major heart damage.
he bends down to hear you because you're short and adorable and he likes having his face close to yours.
he tends to rest his hands on your shoulders while he listens, fully dropping his body weight. he’s basically a giant, affectionate cat.
doesn’t let you walk on the side of traffic. automatically switches places without saying anything.
when you're in a crowd and talking, he’ll tilt his head down, white hair brushing your forehead.
“huh? talk louder, pretty.”
always carries your bag because “ugh… gravity is annoying. let me do it.”
when you're tired, he offers his arm or shoulder with a lazy, “come here. i’ll be your pillow.”
sometimes, when you ramble about something you’re excited about, he just stares. content, soft expression. then he whispers, “i like when you talk. makes me feel calm.”
every day feels like being loved gently – without effort, without expectation – just pure comfort.
mikage reo
reo was raised on etiquette and luxury, but he chooses to spoil you because he wants to, not because he has to.
he bends down to listen, hand cupping the side of your jaw so you know you have his full attention.
“say it again, angel. i want to hear you clearly.”
opens car doors, holds your coat for you to slip into, always walks slightly behind you when going up stairs so you don’t trip.
buys you flowers randomly – not because it’s a special occasion, but because he saw them and thought, she would be happy if i gave her these.
remembers the most random details about you. like your favorite dessert or the exact way you take your coffee.
if he sees you carrying something heavy, he’s sprinting across the room like a trackstar.
“i got it, babe. you just look pretty.”
kisses your knuckles when you’re feeling insecure.
"thank you for letting me be in your life."
and you short-circuit.
you think you’re lucky to have him. but in his eyes? he won the lottery.
bachira meguru
bachira doesn’t just bend down to hear you – he folds himself in half. like full spine crunch. hands on his knees, big sparkly eyes staring right into your soul.
sometimes he’ll bend down so far you end up instinctively cupping his face to keep him stable.
“hi :) what were you saying? i wanna hear every word.”
if the room is loud, he’ll kneel in front of you so you don’t have to yell up to him, resting his chin on your knee like a puppy waiting for attention.
holds doors open and then steps aside with a dramatic bow.
“after you, my royal jellybean.”
if you’re carrying something heavy, he just silently appears and grabs it from your hands because he’s convinced chivalry is a sport.
in crowds, he’ll intertwine your fingers but also swing your hands like two little kids because holding your hand genuinely brings him joy.
randomly kisses your knuckles and goes, “you make life feel fun.”
you catch him staring at you – not lustfully, not obsessively – just softly, like he can’t comprehend that someone like you exists.
you think you’re lucky? he thinks he manifested you with sheer whimsy.
shidou ryusei
shidou pretends he’s a menace, but he is shockingly gentlemanly when it comes to you.
if you’re talking in a busy place, he bends down so low his nose almost brushes your cheek.
he murmurs, low and rough, “speak up a bit more, baby. i wanna hear you.”
he never pushes you or pulls you around. instead, he always gives you gentle guidance: hand on the small of your back, thumb brushing your wrist, guiding you away from crowds.
opens doors for you and others without making it a big deal. but if someone doesn’t say “thank you,” he will absolutely mumble, “uncultured swine.”
carries your bags. all of them. you pick up a single grocery bag and suddenly he looks offended.
“no. put that down. the only thing you carry is your fat ass.”
he bends down to tie your shoelaces then taps your nose afterward, smirking when you're flustered.
when you two cross the street, he automatically holds out his arm in front of you like a protective barrier.
he’ll kiss your forehead after something, whispering, “don’t worry. i got you.”
he loves being called your boyfriend. it would be an understatement to say it activates something primal in him.
karasu tabito
karasu is the smoothest gentleman alive, effortlessly cool without trying.
when you speak, he leans down just enough that his face is level with yours, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting lightly on your waist.
“say that again? i like listening to ya.”
pulls your chair out for you and then pushes it in gently – doesn’t even blink. he’s too nonchalant about it.
walks on the outside of the sidewalk. habit. instinct. doesn’t need thanks.
if it rains and you forgot an umbrella? he stands in front of you, jacket stretched over both your heads, pressing you close to him to keep you dry.
karasu loves when you ramble. he’ll tilt his head and murmur little responses like, “mhm. keep going. i like hearing ya talk.”
the moment you show even the slightest discomfort, he’s shifting positions, moving people aside, adjusting the situation without drawing attention.
kisses the back of your hand when you’re nervous and whispers, “i’m right here.”
you’re convinced he’s the standard. he’s convinced you’re the exception.
kaiser michael
kaiser is… obscenely good at being a gentleman, but in a way that seems effortless.
when he leans down to hear you, he cups the side of your jaw with his hand, thumb brushing your cheek as he bends to your level.
“repeat that, liebling. your voice is too soft.”
opens car doors, adjusts your coat on your shoulders, guides your lower back through crowds – all without breaking eye contact.
if you try to carry something heavy, he laughs.
“no. i refuse to let royalty carry peasant weight.”
holds umbrellas so you stay completely dry. he does not care if his hair gets wet.
kisses your hand like you’re some duchess in an old romance movie.
“i am lucky you let me love you.”
he says it so confidently you nearly pass out.
if someone stares too long at you in public? he places a gentle hand on your waist, gracefully, but unmistakably, claiming you.
bends down to whisper into your ear instead of speaking normally. it’s devious. he knows what he’s doing.
ness alexis
ness is the definition of a polite gentleman. raised with etiquette and perfect manners, but uses them only for you.
when he can’t hear you, he bends down and gently cups your elbow as he leans closer – not grabbing, just guiding, making sure you don’t lose balance.
he always walks a half-step behind you so he can subtly watch over you.
opens every door. pulls out every seat. adjusts your coat collar so you don’t get cold.
if he sees you struggling with something, he rushes over like a golden retriever with a mission.
"let me, please. i just– i want to help."
gently tucks your hair behind your ear while listening to you speak. he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
bends down to tie your shoes if they come undone, even if you insist you can do it yourself.
“i know. i just don’t want you to trip.”
when you look surprised or touched by his gestures, he blushes and looks away.
“i like taking care of you… if that’s okay.”
you think you got lucky – he thanks the universe every day and night for giving him someone like you.
his death wasn’t cinematic. no rain, no slow-motion goodbyes, just a phone call that left your world ringing long after you hung up.
at first, you thought the apartment was just quiet because he wasn’t around. but then came the flicker of the kitchen light every night at 10:27 – the exact time he used to come home.
the dent on the couch still dips like someone’s sitting there.
sometimes you’ll hear the faint scuff of socks on the wooden floor, the same rhythm of his restless pacing when he couldn’t sleep after a bad match.
when you fall apart, whispering that you miss him into the darkness, the TV turns on by itself, always to some old soccer replay. his team. his voice. his goal.
you keep pretending it’s coincidence, but the remote never moves.
one night you murmur, “if you’re still here… i hope you’re proud of me.”
and though the air is still, your favorite photo of him – the one with his ridiculous grin – tips over face down.
you swear you feel a hand brush against yours before it fades.
he never says goodbye, not really. he just lingers. the way he always did. a soft, persistent presence that refuses to leave the field.
itoshi rin
the haunting starts quietly, methodically, like him.
mirrors fog up when you’re alone, tracing words that vanish before you can read them all. the only one that ever stays long enough: “sorry.”
he used to hate apologies, said they were useless if you didn’t change anything.
but the house smells like rain now, always. the kind of stormy air that reminded you of him after practice – cold skin, wet hair, gentle silence.
you catch him sometimes in reflections: a shoulder in the window, his profile in the glass door, never facing you. never staying long.
he doesn’t haunt with noise. he haunts with absence. you feel it in the space beside your bed, in the untouched mug you can’t bring yourself to wash.
the only sound that ever breaks the quiet is a faint humming – his lullaby, the one he said he didn’t remember learning. it drifts through the walls when you can’t stop crying.
one night, you finally whisper, “please, stop.”
and the air goes completely still.
no sound, no shadow, no trace, like he finally listened. but the next morning, your phone’s screen lights up on its own. a draft message from no one.
it just says: “i couldn’t.”
itoshi sae
his haunting feels like déjà vu.
every morning, you wake up and think he’s still alive. his scent still clings to the pillow, faint and expensive – something foreign, like madrid in winter.
he was never the sentimental type, so his ghost isn’t either. no whispers in the dark, no flickering lights. he haunts you through precision.
the espresso machine turns on before you wake. the curtains open exactly at sunrise. your phone buzzes with calendar reminders he used to make you set.
it’s like he’s still running your life, still quietly taking care of you, even in death.
when you start dating again, everything stops.
the espresso machine won’t start. the reminders vanish. you wake up to find the mirror cracked, as if someone threw something at it.
and in the reflection, for a split second, you see him – standing behind you, eyes cold, expression unreadable.
you whisper, “you’re gone.”
his voice answers – faint, but unmistakable – “so why do you still wear the necklace i gave you?”
then nothing.
he doesn’t appear again after that. but the necklace feels heavier every day, like a promise you never got to break.
nagi seishiro
nagi’s haunting isn’t scary. it’s lonely.
his death leaves the world too quiet – no lazy complaints, no half-asleep “babe, come here.”
you don’t notice it at first, because he used to nap all the time anyway. but days turn to weeks, and his room starts feeling colder, like the warmth forgot how to stay.
your phone glitches sometimes – games restarting on their own, high scores suddenly jumping by hundreds. you know it’s him. he’d never let you win, not even now.
when you fall asleep, the mattress dips beside you like someone’s just laid down. it’s soft, slow, comforting.
you wake up to your playlist playing through your headphones, the one you used to share. his song always comes first, no matter what order you left it in.
one night, half-asleep, you murmur, “you can rest now, seishiro.”
and the playlist stops.
silence.
for a moment, you think he’s finally gone, until the next day, your game notifies you: “new player joined your team.”
username: lazyghost.
you laugh through tears, whispering, “you’re so annoying.”
and the lights flicker twice, like he’s laughing, too.
mikage reo
reo’s haunting is bittersweet. luxurious, melancholic, just like the way he lived.
after his death, the mansion feels hollow. no laughter, no music echoing through marble halls. but sometimes you’ll hear faint piano notes drifting from the music room.
the melody is always the same: the one he wrote for you, but never finished.
his ghost doesn’t show up in shadows, he shows up in gifts.
your bank account mysteriously pays off your bills. flowers arrive at your door every month on the same day: the anniversary of when you met. no sender name.
you know it’s him, because it’s always purple orchids – his favorite, not yours.
you can’t bring yourself to throw them away, so the room fills with their scent. overwhelming. suffocating.
sometimes, when you whisper his name before bed, the scent sharpens, like he’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling the way he used to when he thought you weren’t looking.
you whisper, “you don’t have to keep doing this.”
and the next morning, everything stops. no flowers. no piano. no gifts.
just a single note on the pillow in his handwriting: “i know. but i wanted to love you the only way i still could.”
bachira meguru
his haunting is... warm. chaotic, yes, but never cruel.
after his death, you feel his absence like a missing laugh in the middle of your favorite song. the world feels duller, quieter, like someone turned the saturation down on everything.
then you start hearing humming. at first, it’s faint, like wind in your ears. then clearer – the exact tune he used to hum when he was bored.
the first time it happens, it’s 3 AM. your kitchen lights flicker, and your fridge magnets rearrange themselves into a smiley face. you laugh through your tears. it’s so him.
sometimes, you wake up to a shadow crouched at the end of your bed, not menacing, just watching. you whisper, “meguru?” and it vanishes, replaced by the faint scent of paint and grass.
your dreams are where he’s most alive.
he runs through them barefoot, laughing, always ahead of you, always turning back to say, “come on, slowpoke!”
you never catch up.
you start leaving paintbrushes and candy on your nightstand. the next morning, they’re gone. in their place: a heart drawn on your mirror, messy and golden.
he doesn’t haunt you to scare. he stays because he loved too much to leave. and if you listen closely, on sleepless nights, you can still hear his laughter in the walls – bright, wild, and a little bit unhinged.
shidou ryusei
his haunting feels like being loved and destroyed at the same time.
his death was brutal, sudden – the kind of thing that left your soul hollow. you thought it’d be peace after that. you were wrong.
he doesn’t haunt like a ghost, he crashes into your life. the radio blares his favorite heavy metal song in the middle of the night. your perfume bottle shatters for no reason. you feel hot breath against your neck when no one’s there.
the lights flicker violently, but somehow it feels alive, like his energy refuses to die out.
he whispers things sometimes. teasing, reckless things. “miss me, baby?” … “bet you’d still look good screaming my name.”
you tell yourself it’s just your imagination. but then your mirror fogs up in the shower, and a single word appears: mine.
when you cry, his ghost turns gentle – the air grows warm, like he’s wrapping himself around you without a body.
“stop crying,” you can almost hear him mutter. “you’ll make me come back just to kick whoever hurt you.”
and for a fleeting second, you almost want him to.
karasu tabito
his haunting is quiet. too quiet.
he doesn’t rattle things or whisper. he lingers in the corners of rooms, in the pauses of conversations, in the silence between your breaths.
after his death, the crows started showing up. one on your balcony every morning, always watching. you named it tabi, even though you know it’s him.
you feel him most when you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t – regrets, what-ifs, all the words you never said. the air gets heavier then, thick and metallic, like a storm’s about to break.
sometimes your phone rings and there’s only static. you swear you hear his voice in it – soft, almost tender: “don’t waste yer time missing me.”
but he doesn’t mean it. because every time you try to move on, you see shadows shaped like his silhouette – tall, loose, hands in pockets, head tilted like he’s teasing you.
you talk to the empty room: “you’re still here, aren’t you?”
the crow taps the window once.
and somehow, that’s enough of an answer.
kaiser michael
kaiser doesn’t just haunt you – he possesses your world.
even in death, he demands attention. the first sign was the mirror fogging up with the words “still thinking about me?” written in looping, arrogant handwriting.
your phone glitches constantly, notifications popping up from no sender. they always say things only he’d say: “you look better when you miss me.” or “don’t forget who made you smile first.”
the smell of his cologne fills your apartment every time you start to forget him – sharp, cold, intoxicating.
when you walk past your reflection, sometimes his appears instead – eyes steady, smirk dangerous.
he never speaks aloud, but his presence consumes. you start dreaming of him nightly: ocean eyes, golden light, a ghost who still knows how to make you feel small and wanted all at once.
in the dream, you always ask, “why won’t you leave?”
and his answer never changes.
“because no one else gets to haunt you like i do.”
when you wake, the necklace he once gave you burns cold against your skin, like his ghost reminding you he’s still winning.
ness alexis
his haunting is soft, heartbreakingly gentle, like a memory that doesn’t want to let go.
after his passing, your apartment feels emptier than air itself. no warmth, no laughter, no color.
but he doesn’t vanish entirely. he stays in the smallest things – the scent of vanilla, the faint sound of piano keys in another room.
you see him in dreams that feel too real: sitting cross-legged on the floor, smiling at you with that sweet, fragile look that always made you want to protect him.
he doesn’t say much. just looks at you like he did before – eyes full of things he never got to confess.
sometimes, when you’re breaking, when you whisper “i miss you,” the world answers back with something so subtle it aches – the brush of air against your cheek, the ghost of a hand you once held.
he’s the only one who doesn’t scare you. he doesn’t make things move, doesn’t break the silence.
he just stays, in light touches and soft echoes.
one day, you find a sticky note on your mirror – handwriting so familiar you can’t breathe – “thank you for remembering me.”
and for the first time since he died, the world feels a little less cold.
okay angst time! 🥹 idk if you write angst but i hope you do! so what if the reader wants to break up with them? bllk boys reaction? 😞 (tbh if i were the reader i WOULD BE SO STUPID) but yeah—break up like fr fr 😭🥲 sorry though! i just wanna see you write angst! 😍❤️💗 love you!
“𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞?”
a/n: people are going to attack me for this aren’t they…
OKAY WAIT BEFORE YOU ATTACK ME I’LL WRITE SECOND CHANCE HEADCANONS RIGHT AFTER THIS
isagi is the type who doesn’t see it coming at all. he’s so wrapped up in you being his anchor that the idea of you leaving doesn’t cross his mind.
when you tell him, his first reaction is confusion – he thinks you’re joking, or maybe just upset in the moment. he’ll even laugh nervously, waiting for you to reassure him that you’re not serious.
when he realizes you are serious, the way his voice breaks is almost painful. he tries to argue logically, reminding you of everything you’ve been through together. every late-night call, every time he leaned on you after a loss, every promise.
he’d beg without realizing he’s begging, his hands shaking as he reaches for yours like you might vanish if he doesn’t hold tight.
his biggest fear is failure, and you leaving feels like the harshest proof of it. his chest feels heavy, his throat burns with words he can’t stop. “tell me what i did wrong. tell me what i can fix. i’ll do anything. just don’t go.”
if you still walk away, he crumbles. soccer used to be his everything, but you were the thing that made soccer worth playing. every win feels empty without you watching. every night, he scrolls through old pictures and rereads your texts until his eyes blur. he won’t move on easily – part of him will always play as if he’s proving to you that he can be worthy.
itoshi rin
rin doesn’t outwardly react at first. when you say you want to break up, his eyes sharpen, his posture stiffens, but he stays silent.
he thinks it’s a test of loyalty – part of his brain convinces him you’re waiting for him to prove you wrong. so his first words are cold, clipped: “say it again if you mean it.”
when you don’t back down, something ugly coils in his chest. anger, yes, but not at you – at himself, at the world, at the inevitability of people leaving him. he clenches his jaw so hard it hurts, his hands curled into fists at his sides.
he won’t beg like isagi, but he won’t let you go easily either. he’ll push back with sharp questions: “why? is it because of me? or because you found someone else?” his insecurity seeps through the cracks of his usual composure.
if you try to walk away mid-conversation, he’ll grab your wrist. not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make you stop. “don’t just… don’t just throw this away.” his voice drops lower, nearly breaking.
if the breakup goes through, rin isolates himself. he throws himself into training until his body aches, refusing to think about you, but you’re everywhere – your perfume clings to his hoodie, your laugh echoes in quiet moments. he grows colder toward everyone else, convinced that caring only leads to loss. deep down, though, he still checks your socials at 2 AM, searching for proof you’re happy without him, even if it makes him sick.
itoshi sae
sae notices long before you bring it up. he can tell from the way your tone shifts, the hesitation in your eyes, the way your hand lingers less in his. he just… doesn’t say anything. maybe part of him hoped you’d change your mind.
when you finally tell him you want to break up, he doesn’t flinch. he just looks at you with those unreadable eyes, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
his first words are blunt: “so, that’s it?” no anger, no begging. just a sharp cut of reality.
he processes heartbreak as resignation. he won’t ask you to stay because that feels beneath him, but the silence between your words crushes him more than he’ll admit. you were one of the only things he let himself care about, and losing you feels like proof that everything slips away eventually.
if you cry during the breakup, he’ll look away, his chest tightening even though he keeps his face blank. it kills him, but he won’t let himself break in front of you.
later, alone, he’ll lie in bed staring at the ceiling, earbuds in with no music playing, replaying every little thing you said in his head. he won’t reach out – his pride won’t allow it – but he’ll think about you every time he wins a match, wondering if you’d be proud, wondering if you’d still smile at him the way you used to.
sae won’t show anyone his grief, but it lingers in the sharpness of his words, the way he shuts people out more than before. he becomes even harder to reach, because he doesn’t want anyone to have the power to hurt him like you did.
nagi seishiro
nagi reacts slowly, like he didn’t even process what you said. “huh? break up?” his head tilts, his white hair falling over his face. it takes him a second to realize you’re not joking.
when it clicks, panic sets in. nagi’s usually passive about everything, but with you? you’re the one thing that pulled him out of his lazy bubble. losing you feels unbearable.
he’ll slump forward, his whole body heavy, his voice quiet but desperate. “don’t do that. i don’t want that. it’s too much of a hassle without you.” his words sound lazy, but the rawness in his tone gives him away.
nagi doesn’t know how to fight for someone – he’s used to things coming easily to him – but he’ll try clumsily with you. he’ll offer compromises, promises, anything to keep you by his side. he doesn’t even know how to function without your warmth.
if you still leave, nagi spirals into apathy again, but it’s worse this time. games feel pointless, victories taste dull, and he spends hours staring at his phone waiting for a text that never comes.
he’ll bury himself under blankets, scrolling through pictures of you with a hollow ache in his chest. sometimes he types out a message – “come back. i miss you” – but deletes it before sending. his friends will notice how much duller his spark becomes, how he loses motivation, because the person who made life exciting walked away.
mikage reo
reo is devastated instantly. he’s so full of love, so certain about you, that hearing you want to break up feels like the ground collapsing beneath him.
his reaction is intense – his voice cracks as he tries to reason with you, his hands reaching for yours desperately. “why? did i do something wrong? just tell me, i can fix it.”
he’ll throw everything on the table – promises to change, to give you more time, to step back if you’re overwhelmed. reo has always been about giving, and he’ll give you anything if it means you’ll stay.
if you’re firm in your decision, his devastation shows raw on his face. tears build in his eyes no matter how hard he tries to hold them back. he’s not ashamed of crying in front of you – because you’re worth crying for.
he’ll walk away only after making sure you know one thing: “i’ll always love you. even if you don’t want me anymore.” it’s not a threat, not a plea, just the truth spilling from him.
afterward, reo throws himself into work and soccer, surrounding himself with people so he doesn’t feel the crushing emptiness. but no matter how many crowds he’s in, he always feels the absence of your hand in his. he doesn’t stop loving you, not fully. even years later, he’ll catch himself smiling at something and wonder how much brighter it would’ve been if you were still there.
bachira meguru
bachira’s smile drops the second the words leave your lips. usually so full of light and mischief, he just… freezes. his amber eyes widen like a child who just lost his favorite toy, but this isn’t something he can find again.
his first reaction is disbelief. “eh? why? did i scare you? did i do something weird again?” he’s so used to being abandoned that part of him thought you were different, that you were the one person who wouldn’t leave.
when you insist, his smile returns, but it’s shaky, hollow. he tries to laugh it off, making a joke about how you’ll regret it when he scores the winning goal on TV. but his voice trembles, betraying how broken he feels.
later, he won’t lash out in anger. instead, he’ll spiral inward. soccer becomes his only outlet again, the “monster” in him whispering that people always leave, that only the game stays. he plays harder, fiercer, trying to drown out the ache in his chest.
but when the lights are off, bachira curls up in bed with your old hoodie clutched to his chest, eyes burning with silent tears. he whispers your name like a prayer, hoping maybe in some dream you’ll come back.
shidou ryusei
shidou laughs at first. a sharp, chaotic laugh that makes your stomach twist. “you’re joking, right? break up with me? nah, baby, that’s not how this works.”
when he sees you’re serious, the laughter cuts short. his eyes darken, his grin sharpens, and he leans in close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “say it again. i dare you.”
shidou doesn’t handle rejection well. he thrives on intensity, on taking what he wants, and the thought of you slipping away feels like losing control. he’ll switch between teasing threats and desperate pleas, his mood swinging wildly.
“you think you’ll find someone better? nobody’s gonna love you like i do. nobody’s gonna ruin you the way i can.” his words are messy, obsessive, but beneath them is genuine fear of losing you.
if you go through with it, shidou becomes reckless. more brutal on the field, more dangerous off it. he throws himself into chaos because if he can’t have you grounding him, then he’ll burn brighter, wilder, until the whole world watches.
but in the dead of night, when the adrenaline runs out, he stares at his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. the cocky grin fades, replaced by something raw, almost childlike. “... fuck. i miss you.”
karasu tabito
karasu’s reaction is sharp and defensive. when you tell him you want to break up, he immediately clicks his tongue, scoffing with that sly smirk of his. “heh. figures.”
but the smirk doesn’t reach his eyes. inside, it’s like someone just sucker-punched him. he masks his hurt with sarcasm, throwing up walls before you can see how deeply it cut.
he’ll say things like “guess i was just killing time for ya, huh?” or “should’ve known better than to get attached.” he convinces himself it’s better to wound you with words than let you see him bleed.
when you still leave, the mask cracks the moment he’s alone. karasu’s the type to smoke on the balcony at 3 AM, staring at the city lights and wondering how he let himself care this much.
he won’t beg for you back, but he’ll quietly keep tabs on you, pretending he doesn’t care while his chest twists at every update. he flirts with others, cracks his usual cocky jokes, but none of it hits the same.
deep down, he hates himself for not fighting harder, but pride keeps him from reaching out. instead, he wears heartbreak like a second skin – hidden under wit, but heavy all the same.
kaiser michael
kaiser takes your words like a slap to the face, and his pride won’t let him hide it. his smile falters instantly, his jaw tightening as he leans back like he’s been physically wounded.
“oh, sweetheart, you must be confused,” he says at first, masking panic with arrogance. he convinces himself you don’t mean it – that you’re just testing him, trying to get a reaction.
when you don’t waver, the charm slips. his voice sharpens, his ego cracking. “you can’t just walk away from me. i’m the best thing you’ve ever had.” but the crack in his voice betrays the desperation beneath his bravado.
kaiser is terrified of losing control. you’re the one person he actually let see him without the mask, and now you’re walking away. he’ll try every tactic – flattery, guilt, manipulation, even dropping to honesty in rare moments. “please… don’t go. you don’t know what you mean to me.”
if you still leave, he spirals. on the surface, he’s louder, flashier, acting like he doesn’t care. but behind closed doors, he stares at your old photos until dawn, drinking himself numb, whispering curses in german because english doesn’t have the words to describe the hole in his chest.
every goal he scores, he looks for your face in the crowd, even though he knows you’re not there. and every time, he feels the emptiness swallow him whole.
ness alexis
ness is shattered the moment you say it. he clings so hard to the people he loves that the idea of you leaving sends him into instant panic. his eyes widen, his hands trembling as he shakes his head rapidly. “no, no, no, you don’t mean that. you can’t.”
unlike the others, ness doesn’t hide his desperation. he cries openly, clutching your hands tightly like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. “please don’t leave me. i can’t– i don’t know how to do this without you.”
his words tumble out in a rush, messy and unfiltered. he promises to change, to do anything you ask. “just give me another chance. please. i’ll be better, i swear.”
if you still walk away, ness completely unravels. he falls apart behind the scenes, clinging to kaiser even more than before, using that dependency as a crutch because the person who gave him real love is gone.
nights are the worst. he sobs into his pillow, muffling the sound so no one hears, replaying every moment with you like a cruel movie reel. he writes unsent texts – paragraphs of apologies, confessions, pleas – but never sends them.
he doesn’t stop loving you. not after weeks, not after months. in his heart, you’re irreplaceable, and he’d take you back in an instant if you ever changed your mind.
hiiii so happy that reqs are open again <3 you’re amazing!!
i wanted to req head canons of the bllk boys with a gf that’s like viciously sarcastic and insults/teases them for the fun of it, but also acts really sweet? Like her words and actions don’t match up at all. For example, she’ll call sae an emotionally constipated man child that’s allergic to cooperation and then she’ll be picking up his football bag to walk him to practice. Or she’ll give a brutal one liner to Kaiser about how she’d rather wring her own neck than listen to him yap about how he’s the greatest, but will show up to his games with his jersey and a poster she made the night before to cheer him on?
“𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞”
a/n: hiii thank you so much!!! YOU ARE AMAZING TOO!
isagi is the most confused victim of your sarcasm. he’ll be mid-rant about strategy, pointing wildly at his notebook, when you cut him off with: “gosh, no wonder you’re not the protagonist. you sound like a commentator that got rejected from ESPN.”
the man blinks. stares. starts sulking. but then you’re literally leaning over him, fixing his collar, and handing him the protein bar you bought just because you knew he’d forget breakfast. the duality has him malfunctioning.
when he scores, you’re in the stands screaming with his name painted across your cheek, even though ten minutes earlier you told him, “if you trip over your own shoelaces again, i’m filing for a refund on this relationship.”
he tries to clap back sometimes, but he’s too earnest. you’ll say, “you’re one tactical board away from becoming a soccer nerd influencer,” and he’ll stammer out, “w-well you’re mean!” (you always kiss him right after to soften the blow).
secretly, he loves it. because your sarcasm feels safe. it’s never cruel, just sharp, and it makes your sweetness hit ten times harder.
itoshi rin
you love poking at his seriousness. “you could literally choke on how edgy you are,” you’ll deadpan while grabbing his hand in yours like it’s second nature.
rin will scowl, mutter something about you being insufferable, but then you’re tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear because it fell in his face while he tied his cleats. he’s convinced you’re trying to drive him insane.
when he avoids parties and events, you tease him: “rin itoshi, the human embodiment of the loading screen. you’re allergic to social interaction, huh?” yet you’re also the one saving him a plate and making sure he gets some cake at the gathering he ditched.
he doesn’t admit it, but he kind of likes when you’re ruthless with your commentary because you’re one of the only people who dares to do it. but when you show up to his matches with his name written on your arms and scream yourself hoarse cheering, rin doesn’t know what to do with himself except pretend he’s not blushing.
if you ever stop with the sarcasm and go fully soft, he actually gets uncomfortable. like “why are you being nice? what do you want from me?”
itoshi sae
your favorite insult: “you are literally an emotionally constipated man child that thinks feelings are a contagious disease.” and then, two seconds later, you’re slinging his training bag over your shoulder and walking him to practice.
sae just stares at you with that flat, half-lidded look of his, torn between annoyance and quiet amusement. he doesn’t bother fighting back because he knows you’ll still kiss his cheek before he leaves.
you’ll roll your eyes at his arrogance, saying stuff like: “wow, sae, you invented soccer? i had no idea,” while threading your fingers through his under the table so no one else sees.
if he ignores your texts, you’ll send him: “don’t worry, i didn’t actually want to talk to you, king of ghosting,” followed by, “also don’t skip dinner. i made your favorite.”
sae doesn’t smile often, but your contradictions get him. he’ll never say it out loud, but your mix of sarcasm and sweetness keeps him grounded.
nagi seishiro
nagi is so unbothered that half the time your sarcastic comments fly right over his head. you’ll be like, “you’re lazier than a sloth on sleeping pills,” while making him a sandwich, and he’ll just hum, “thanks, love,” thinking it was a compliment.
sometimes, though, he catches on and pouts. “why’re you always roasting me?” and you’ll roll your eyes, put his blanket over him, and say, “because it’s fun. now shut up and eat.”
when he doesn’t want to get out of bed, you’ll sigh dramatically: “what an athlete. truly the pride of japan. sleeping through training again.” and then you’ll literally drag him up while fixing his hoodie because you don’t want him to get cold.
nagi secretly likes it when you’re sarcastic because it balances how soft you are with him otherwise. like yes, you just called him a human potato, but you also show up to every match with a ridiculous sign that says “GO NAGI GO” in glitter letters.
it keeps him entertained, which is saying a lot.
mikage reo
reo is too obsessed with you to even be offended. you could tell him, “you’re basically a golden retriever with a trust fund,” while making him a sandwich, and he’ll grin like you just confessed undying love.
you’ll roast his fashion choices: “okay, CEO of looking like a pinterest board had diarrhea.” then you’ll spend half an hour helping him pick out a new outfit.
at his games, you go feral – cheering, waving a giant handmade banner, wearing his jersey. but after the match, you greet him with: “not bad, mikage, but maybe next time try scoring without making it look like a tax write-off.”
reo’s favorite thing is when your sarcasm slips into affectionate pet names. like, “move, mr. trust fund, i’m carrying your water bottle before you collapse from being dramatic.”
he’s convinced you’re the only person alive who can both bully him and make him feel adored in the same breath.
bachira meguru
bachira thinks your sarcasm is hilarious. you’ll tell him, “you have the personality of a raccoon that drank too much red bull,” while you’re tying his shoelaces because he’s too busy bouncing around, and he’ll laugh like it’s the best compliment he’s ever gotten.
he’s the type to lean into it, though. if you call him “a feral gremlin with too much sugar in his bloodstream,” he’ll pout dramatically until you kiss his forehead and hand him the snack you packed just for him.
during matches, you scream his name with absolute pride, waving a hand-painted banner, only to tease him afterwards with: “wow, congrats on scaring the opposing team with your monster cosplay again.”
bachira doesn’t take offense, because he knows your actions always betray your sarcasm – you’ll stay up late to tie his hair out of his face, rub his shoulders, or make sure he eats real food instead of sugar.
in return, he actually matches your sarcasm with chaotic energy. “you love me, huh?” he’ll grin, and you’ll roll your eyes: “unfortunately, yes.” then he tackles you into a hug anyway.
shidou ryusei
shidou eats your sarcasm for breakfast. he lives for it. you’ll snap, “you’re literally one step away from a criminal record every time you open your mouth,” while bandaging the scrape on his hand from practice, and he’ll just grin like you called him hot.
if you roll your eyes and say, “you are the human embodiment of a red flag,” he’ll shoot back, “yeah? and you’re the idiot who loves me. gotcha there, baby.”
at his games, you scream his name louder than anyone else, even though you told him earlier: “if you score and do another weird pose, i’m breaking up with you.” (spoiler: you don’t.)
he loves the whiplash – you call him “a menace to society” while cooking his favorite meal, or “a brain cell thief” while waiting outside his practice with water for him.
secretly, he’s a little obsessed with the way you can drag him with words, but still treat him with more care than anyone else ever has. it’s what keeps him hooked.
karasu tabito
karasu’s sarcastic himself, so with you? it’s like verbal sparring 24/7. he’ll smirk when you deadpan, “you are the human form of an outdated twitter meme,” and immediately clap back with, “funny comin’ from someone who trips over flat ground.”
the problem? you always back it up with sweetness. you’ll call him “a washed-up trash talker” while fixing the straps of his gear or reminding him not to overwork his shoulder.
at his matches, you’re ruthless – you’ll yell, “don’t choke, karasu, i bet the goalie’s scarier than you are!” but then you’re the one running down to hug him after the game, no matter what the score is.
he secretly likes how unpredictable you are. your sarcasm keeps him on his toes, but your quiet gestures (like sneaking his favorite drink into his bag or adjusting his cap when it slips) remind him you care.
sometimes he tries to out-sarcasm you, but he always loses because while he’s still laughing at your insult, you’re already kissing his cheek and walking away with the win.
kaiser michael
kaiser deserves your sarcasm the most, and you do not hold back. “i would literally rather wring my own neck than hear you brag about being the greatest again.”
“but you’ll still listen, right?”
he pretends to be wounded, but he absolutely thrives on your teasing. especially when you immediately undercut it by showing up at his game with his jersey, his number painted on your face, and a massive poster you spent hours on.
when he’s being over the top, you’ll sigh: “i can’t tell if i’m dating a football player or a walking brand deal.” then you’re pressing a water bottle into his hand and wiping sweat from his temple after practice.
kaiser will 100% try to out-sarcasm you. it becomes an ongoing battle of who can get the last word in. but no matter what you say, he melts when you stay up late helping him stretch, massaging his sore legs while mumbling insults like “god forbid the self-proclaimed king cramp up.”
he’s cocky, but even kaiser knows: your words sting, but your actions prove you’re ride or die for him.
ness alexis
ness is so sensitive that your sarcasm leaves him staring like a kicked puppy at first. you’ll say, “gosh, you’re literally kaiser’s personal hype man, does he pay you hourly or in dog treats?” while handing him his water bottle, and he’ll just gape at you, clutching his chest.
you have to reassure him constantly with your actions – making him snacks, sitting with him during long practices, wearing his jersey even if everyone else only cares about kaiser. once he realizes your sarcasm = affection, he actually starts to crave it.
you’ll tease him: “you’re the human equivalent of a participation trophy.” but then you’re screaming his name at the top of your lungs in the stands, holding up a little handmade sign just for him, and suddenly he’s crying a little because no one else has ever done that.
ness is also the type to complain: “you’re so mean to me.” and you’ll just ruffle his hair and say, “yeah, and i’m also the one who packed you lunch, so shut it.”
he’s fragile but he adores you, because you manage to both roast him alive and make him feel like he’s the most important person in your world at the same time.
stumbling all over his apartment in a rather casual outfit: a hoodie and sweatpants. cheeks flushed as sae gently grabs your arm to steady you.
"i promise," you slur, hands squishing his cheeks. his gaze is stoic and fixed on you. "i didn't go drinking to mess around." you explain, staring directly into his eyes. "my friend got dumped and-" you hiccup, the scent of alcohol invading his nostrils. "i had to support her."
you place a seemingly friendly hand on his shoulder, as if calling him your pal.
"huh?" sae blinks. "i didn't think you were messing around."
"good." you let out a clipped sigh, before your eyes widen. "that reminds me! i'm so lucky to have you..." you squish your cheek over his chest, hands wrapping around his waist in a warm embrace.
sae blinks again, his arms instinctively encircling your shoulders. "...huh?"
"her ex was a horrible person, i'm just happy you're so amazing..." you murmur into his chest, as if in a dream-like state. "except when you're too engaged with analyzing football games."
he swallows thickly. "studying games is an important priority for m-"
you cut him off immediately by squeezing his waist a little too hard, enticing a cough from him. "you're just so cute, so calm, and so creative too!"
he scoffs, "creative how?"
"your insults." you smile at him.
you then pull away, taking a drunken step back. "i love you thiiiisss much!" you outstretch your arms as wide as you can, giggling like an idiot.
well, she won't remember this by tomorrow. sae thinks, before out stretching his much longer arms. "i love you this much." he mutters, the gesture awkward.
you tilt your head at the sight. "but that's way longer than mine?"
sae shuffles his feet on the floor awkwardly, pursing his lips into a little pout. "that's the point." he says softly. "come on, lets get you washed up." he urges, gently pushing your back to the bathroom.
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