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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

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wildflower— nanami kento.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—” “Do you have any idea how brilliant you are?” His voice was trembling now, thick with emotion. “You were always the smartest person in the room. You deserved to get out of here….to have everything you ever dreamed of. And instead… you stayed. You gave it all up. Why?” Tears burned the back of your eyes. “Because I didn’t have a choice, Kento.” “Yes, you did.” His voice cracked. “You could have told me. You could have called me. I would’ve—” “You would’ve what, Kento?” you choked. “Fixed my life for me? Paid my bills? Dragged me to Tokyo and pretended like I belonged in your world?” His jaw clenched. “You do belong in my world.”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, romance, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, long-term relationship, marriage, loss, emotional distress, hatred, resentment, domestic, confessions, getting together, friends, slice of life, childhood friends, distress, cheating, falling out of love, toxic relationship, drama, depression, bitterness, grief, trauma, pregnancy, explicit birthing scene, illness, post-partum depression, bodily fluids, children, therapy, explicit depiction of birthing, depiction of bodily fluids, depiction of post-partum depression, mention of blood, mention of birthing, mention of bodily fluids, mention of depression, actor! nanami, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 18k words

NOTE: this took a while and im a bit sick all the sudden but i realized i have to put this out so i just decided to go on and post this. anyway, i hope you enjoy this. ready the tissue for this, its a crier. i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

IT WAS HARD NOT TO KNOW WHAT EVERYTHING MEANS AFTER TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIAGE. After all that time, wouldn’t you know much about the person you were married to? This moment was not an exemption, of course. You were his wife, you knew everything about him. You just had to know.

So, as you stood there, looking at him, you knew that look. That look in Kento's caramel eyes as he’s putting on his suit. The quiet resignation. The practiced ease of sliding the tie around his neck, smoothing down his shirt, adjusting the cufflinks. Like a man preparing to go to war — except it isn’t war. It’s something worse. You knew that much.

You hum softly, curled up on the couch, and watch him from across the room. He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on making himself presentable. Like it matters. Like any of it matters. You know where he’s going. You’ve always known.

It’s something you never said out loud, not in the past twenty years, not when the nights stretched long and lonely, not when his touch began to feel like an apology instead of love. You haven’t said a word, and he hasn’t either.

But you know all about it already.

There was no need for such words.

There was no need for anything else.

You know because when he turns around, there’s that smile all over again. That smile you fell in love with all those years ago. It was that loving, gentle smile. Strained by the weariness, the tired, and the painfully distant bitterness that dwelled over time on his face.

And then besides that, he lies.

He always has to know how to lie.

He was an actor by trade, after all.

"I’ll be home late, baby." he says like it means nothing, like it’s any other day. His voice doesn’t crack. His eyes don’t betray him. But you see it. You always do. And it kills you a little more each time.

You know he loves you. It’s never been a question of love. It’s always been a question of truth. And the truth is, love doesn’t stop him from leaving. The truth is, love doesn’t make him stay. The truth is, he’s already gone before he’s out the door.

And sometimes you want to kill him for it. Even if you don’t want to, you think about it often. You think about wanting to just be angry and let yourself loose into the madness of it all. You wanted to go and have something for yourself. Even if that was a life, even if it was his life. After all that you had suffered and endured, don’t you deserve it? Don’t you deserve to take his life?

For the silence. For the way he pretends. For the way you let him. For the way you can’t bring yourself to break it all apart because maybe —just maybe— if you keep pretending, too, it’ll hurt less.

You don’t say a word when he leans down to kiss your temple as gently as he could, as lovingly as he could. You don’t flinch, you don’t cling. You don’t beg him to stay. You just hum again, quieter this time, and watch him leave like you have a hundred times before.

And when the door closes behind him, the sound is deafening.

You stare at the door long after he's gone. Like if you watch long enough, he'll come back. Like if you sit still enough, you'll hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway. But silence is all that answers you. Silence, and the faint hum of the clock that ticks louder with every passing second.

Your hands twitch against your lap, curling into fists before releasing again. You wonder if tonight it'll be different, if he'll come home and tell you the truth. If he'll break, just once, and tell you what you already know. That there’s someone else. That his heart no longer belongs here, with you.

But it never happens. It’s never happened.

You get up after a while, wandering through the house like a ghost. You pass by the photos on the walls. The framed moments of happiness frozen in time. His smile in those pictures looks real. Like he didn’t know back then what would become of you both. You touch one of the frames, trailing your finger down his face. It feels cruel now, looking at those captured memories.

The bed feels colder when you climb in alone. You face his side, the sheets still perfectly made, undisturbed by the weight of his body. You press your face into his pillow, breathing him in. You think, for a fleeting second, that if you cry hard enough, he might feel it from wherever he is and come home.

But you don’t cry. You’ve already wasted too many nights crying. Instead, you just wait.

Because that's all you know how to do now. Wait. And love him. And hate him a little, too.

THE STORY STARTS EVEN BEFORE THAT. You and Nanami Kento grew up together. Two kids from two very different worlds — he is filled with wealth and privilege, you were with struggle and scarcity. His parents lived in a grand, pristine house, while you lived in a cramped apartment that barely stayed warm in the winter.

His clothes were always crisp and clean, and yours were worn out and patched up. From the moment you realized just how different your lives were, you knew people like you didn’t belong in his world.

And the world didn’t hesitate to remind you of that. The neighborhood kids who ran in the same circles as Nanami never let you forget it. They whispered when you came around, made faces when you approached, and laughed when you walked away.

“Why do you let her hang around you?” they’d ask him. “She doesn't fit in with us.”

But Nanami Kento never wavered. Not once. Not ever.

“She’s my friend.” he’d say, firm and unwavering.

And that was all it took.

It didn’t matter if your shoes had holes or if your hands were rough from helping your family with chores. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have expensive toys or that you couldn’t bring lunch to school some days.

Kento always shared this with you. He always liked making sure you were as full as him. So he would go and split his neatly packed bento in half and hand you the bigger portion without a second thought.

You’d protest, of course, but he’d only shrug and say, “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”

You knew it was a lie.

Even back then, he always lied.

And he smiles all the same.

He always did that, giving without asking for anything in return, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you valued him more than anything because of it. But what you didn’t realize was how deeply it had settled in your bones. The way you looked at him, the way you cherished him, the way you loved him.

It wasn’t like one day you just woke up and decided to love Nanami Kento. No, it was a gradual thing. Like the warmth of the sun slowly rising over the horizon. It happened on the days he’d sneak away from his house to find you playing in the dirt, unbothered by the stares of his so-called friends.

It happened when he’d walk you home after school, insisting it was just on the way when it wasn’t. It happened when you were crying after your father came home drunk again, and Nanami held your hand quietly, letting you cry into his shoulder without a word.

It happened every time he chose you.

And because of that, because he never treated you like you were less than him, because he never made you feel like you didn’t belong — you fell in love with him. Quietly. Deeply. Hopelessly. Truthfully.

But you never said a word about it. How could you?

You were still just you. You were unimportant, rough around the edges, struggling to keep your life from falling apart. And he was Nanami Kento, brighter than the sun itself. He was polished, brilliant, and destined for a life far better than the one you could ever give him.

Loving him felt like holding sunlight in your hands.

It was beautiful, but impossible to keep.

And so you stifled it, you swallowed it down.

You smiled when he spoke of his future. Of traveling abroad, of making something of himself — and you ignored the ache in your chest. You told yourself it was enough to simply have him in your life, even if you could never have his heart. But deep down, you knew.

One day, he’d leave.

He’d outgrow this town.

He’d outgrow you.

You’d be left where you always were. You would be standing in the shadow of his light, loving him from a distance. You knew that even if he leaves, even if he doesn’t stay. You would love him all the same.

WHEN THAT DAY CAME, YOU HADN’T EXPECTED IT. You were sixteen when Nanami Kento told you he was leaving. He had gotten accepted into a prestigious school overseas. One that would guarantee him a promising future. His parents were thrilled. His friends envied him.

Everyone around him kept saying to him — You’ll do great things, Nanami. You’re destined for success.

But all you could hear was the sound of your own heart breaking. Yet you didn’t want it to be broken down out loud. So, you decided to go and smile all about it. It was better this way, you think to yourself. He, after all, deserved better than you.

He found you later that evening, sitting on the rusted swing set in the small park where you two always met. You already knew what he was going to say. You could see it in his eyes — a mixture of excitement and guilt.

“I’m leaving.” he finally said, voice quiet. “I got accepted into a school in Denmark.”

You forced a smile, ignoring the lump in your throat. “That’s… that’s amazing, Kento. Really. I’m happy for you.”

But you weren’t.

God, you weren’t.

“I’ll only be gone for a couple of years, you know.” he tried to reassure you. “I’ll visit during the holidays. And we can write letters—”

“Yeah, I know.” you cut him off, still smiling. “We’ll stay in touch. Like we used to.”

But deep down, you knew better. People like you didn’t get to stay in the lives of people like him. Nanami Kento was destined for bigger and better things, all these things that didn’t include you. And you hated yourself for thinking that way.

So instead of breaking down, instead of begging him to stay, you spent your remaining days together trying to memorize everything about him. The way his blond hair would fall over his forehead when he was deep in thought.

The sound of his laugh when you said something ridiculous. The warmth of his hand whenever it brushed against yours. You burned it all into your memory, knowing it was the closest you’d ever get to having him.

And then like the wind, that day came in a sudden push.

You didn’t cry when you said goodbye to him at the train station.

You didn’t flinch when he pulled you into a tight hug and whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”

You didn’t break down when you watched the train pull away, carrying him farther and farther from you. But that night, when you were alone in your bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling — you sobbed until your throat was raw. Because you knew.

You knew that he’s not coming back.

Maybe not intentionally, maybe he would write you a few letters, maybe he would visit during the holidays but eventually, the distance would settle in. He’d meet new people, make new friends, build a new life.

And you? You’d still be here, stuck in the same town, living the same hard life you always had. You didn’t blame him. How could you? He deserved better. Yet you told yourself that you’d get over him. That the ache in your chest would eventually fade. That you’d move on.

But you never did.

The letters came at first. Handwritten, neat, and always signed, Kento.

He’d tell you about the classes he was taking, the places he was visiting, the new friends he was making. And you’d read every word, trying to picture him in that new world of his — a world you didn’t belong to. You always write back, of course. But your letters were never as exciting. What were you supposed to say?

Hey, I’m still working two part-time jobs to help my mom make rent. Our fridge broke again last week, but it’s fine. I’ve gotten used to eating once a day.

No. Instead, you lied. You told him you were doing fine, that life was okay, that you were just happy to hear from him. But as the months went on, the letters became less frequent. And then, eventually, they stopped altogether. And that was it.

Nanami Kento became a part of your past.

He was just another thing you had to let go of.

Yet you think about it now, you should have let go.

You should have let it all be.

IT WAS QUITE A SURPRISE, NOT ONE WHICH YOU HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT. You didn’t know he became an actor. The Nanami Kento standing in front of you now. He was still quite as polished, poised, and impossibly handsome as he was.

And yet, he was a far cry from the boy you used to know. But it was still him, he was all the same. Same deep voice. Same gentle gaze. Same presence that made the world feel a little less heavy.

And yet, there was something else too. A distance.

Like he didn’t quite belong here anymore.

It was like he had outgrown this town, just as you always knew he would.

“Kento, oh wow….” you managed, trying not to let your voice shake. “I… I didn’t know you were back.”

His smile faltered slightly, like he was trying to keep his composure. “Just for a few days. I had some… time off.”

You didn’t miss the way his caramel eyes swept over you. From your wrinkled convenience store uniform to the worn-out shoes on your feet. It was subtle, but you saw it. And it made your stomach twist in shame.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, carefully. Like he was afraid of the answer.

You forced a small laugh, waving a hand. “You know… same old, same old. Nothing much has changed.”

Lie. Everything had changed. You were still here, yes. You were still in the same town, still in the same life — but it felt different now. Colder. Like the weight of the world had settled heavier on your shoulders after he left. And it didn’t escape Kento’s notice.

You were supposed to be somewhere else. He knew that. Out of everyone he’d ever known, you were the smartest. You were the sharpest, the most capable, the one who always dreamed bigger than the town could ever hold.

You used to talk about it all the time — the places you wanted to go, the life you wanted to build. You were supposed to go to college. You were supposed to do great things. And yet here you were. Stuck. In this town. Wearing a faded uniform and a name tag, working a dead-end job.

Why? Why are you still here, suffering like this?

“So, uh….” you cleared your throat, forcing a smile. “How’s Denmark? Or… wait. Are you still there?”

“No, no. I don’t live there.” he answered, his voice quieter now. “I, uh… I moved to Tokyo. For work.”

“Work?” you tilted your head.

And that’s when you saw it. The subtle shift in his stance.

Like he was bracing himself for something.

“...I’m an actor now,” he admitted, almost sheepishly.

You blinked. “Wait — like… on TV?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable. “Film, mostly. I’ve done a few series too.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding.”

He chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “I’m not. It just… happened, I guess.”

Of course it did, you thought bitterly. Because that’s what people like him did. They left, they made something of themselves, and they became untouchable. Meanwhile, people like you stayed exactly where they were rooted in place, forgotten, ordinary.

“That’s… amazing, Kento. Really.” You smiled, even though it burned your throat. “I’m happy for you.”

But Nanami Kento couldn’t find it in himself to smile back.

Because all he could think about was how wrong this felt.

You’re supposed to be the one out there, he thought. You were always the brilliant one. You were supposed to leave this town — not me. You were supposed to make something of yourself.

Instead, you were still here in this wretched place. In a store that smelled faintly of stale bread and cleaning supplies. Ringing up snacks for high schoolers who would eventually leave you behind just like everyone else did.

“You’re still working here?” he asked softly, his voice careful.

“Yeah. Been here for a couple of years now.” You shrugged like it was nothing. “Pays the bills.”

His stomach twisted at your words all the sudden. “What about school?” he asked. “You… you were supposed to go to college, right? Didn’t you get accepted somewhere?”

You froze. For a brief moment, the smile cracked on your face. But you stitched it back together quickly. “Ah, yeah… I did. But, you know. Life happens.”

Lie, again, huh?

The truth was that you did get accepted. To a top university in Tokyo, actually. But your mom lost her job the same week you got the acceptance letter. Rent fell behind. Bills piled up. And you did what you always did — you stayed.

You got a job, dropped out before you even started, and spent the next few years trying to keep your family afloat. You did everything you could to help your family to survive. You abandoned everything to survive. But you didn’t tell Kento that. You couldn’t.

“Anyway, uh….” you deflected, forcing some cheer into your voice, “I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be. Don’t let me keep you.”

But Nanami Kento didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Because he couldn’t stop staring at you. He couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong this was. The person he loved most in this world, the one who deserved everything was still here, stuck, while he was out there living a dream he never even wanted in the first place.

And he hated it.

God, he hated it.

“…Have dinner with me, at least.” he blurted out suddenly.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

“Dinner. Tonight.” His voice was steadier now. “I want to catch up.”

You hesitated. “Kento, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His gaze softened. “Please.”

And maybe it was because you were too tired to argue. Or maybe it was because, despite everything, you still loved him. So you gave in. “…Okay. Yeah. Dinner sounds nice.”

And for the first time since he left, Kento felt like he could breathe again.

That night, he picked you up from your small apartment. You tried to dress nicer, but you didn’t have much to work with. It was just a worn-out dress you hadn’t touched in years. When you opened the door and saw him standing there in a tailored coat and polished shoes, you almost told him to forget it.

But Kento only smiled and said, “You look beautiful.”

And God, you hated how much you still loved him.

Dinner was… nostalgic. You talked about old memories, laughed about stupid things you did as kids. But Kento couldn’t stop noticing how guarded you were. How carefully you danced around your life now.

Never mentioning anything too personal, never hinting at how hard things really were. And when the night was over, when he walked you back to your door, he couldn’t help himself.

“…Why did you stay?” he finally asked.

You froze, your hand on the doorknob. “…What?”

“You were supposed to leave this town, you know.” he said, voice cracking slightly. “You were supposed to go to college. Travel. Do everything you always talked about. So… why didn’t you?”

You hesitated. But then you smiled soft and hollow. “Someone had to stay and take care of things.”

And before he could ask what you meant, you gave him one last smile and said. “Goodnight, Kento.”

Then you closed the door. And Kento stood there, staring at the chipped paint on your doorframe, his heart breaking all over again. Because the person he loved most in this world was still stuck in a place she was never meant to stay.

And he didn’t know how to fix it.

NOT A WINK OF SLEEP THAT NIGHT ONCE AGAIN. After you closed the door on Kento, you leaned against it, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest.

You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, still hear the tenderness in his voice when he said you looked beautiful. It was like he still saw you the way he did when you were kids. Like time and distance hadn’t changed a thing.

But it had. You weren’t the same girl you used to be. And he wasn’t the same boy who once shared his lunch with you. He was Nanami Kento now, an actor, a star, someone the world adored. And you? You were still here. Working a dead-end job, carrying the weight of your family’s survival on your back, and holding onto the ghost of a love you never confessed.

So why did it feel like he was still yours?

Why did it still hurt like hell to let him go?

On the other side of that door, Kento didn’t move for a long time. He just stood there, still staring at the door you closed between you two and felt his throat tighten with a kind of pain he hadn’t experienced in years.

Because no matter how much you smiled that night, no matter how light you tried to make your voice sound, he saw it. The exhaustion in your eyes. The tension in your shoulders. The carefully crafted responses designed to keep him from knowing the truth. You were struggling. And it killed him.

Because you were the smartest person he knew. You were supposed to be miles away from this town, pursuing the future you always dreamed of. You were supposed to be untouchable, unstoppable, radiant. But instead… you were here. Tired. Small. Dimming under the weight of a life that never stopped asking more from you.

And Kento couldn’t stand it. The thought of going back to Tokyo, of returning to his world of flashing cameras, scripts, and fame while you were stuck here, surviving day by day, made him physically ill.

I should have taken you with me, he thought bitterly. I never should have left you here.

And that’s when he decided — he wasn’t leaving without you this time.

He didn’t care what it took. He didn’t care if you pushed him away. He didn’t care if you convinced yourself you didn’t belong in his world anymore. He would break down every wall you built around yourself if it meant pulling you out of this life.

Because the truth was he never stopped loving you.

And he’d be damned if he lost you a second time. The next day, you were working your usual shift when the doorbell chimed and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. You felt it before you even saw him.

“…Kento.” You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here?”

He looked painfully out of place in the small convenience store. He was dressed in a dark coat, hair perfectly styled, standing taller and broader than you remembered. It was almost laughable. This man who graced movie screens and magazine covers standing in the middle of your dusty workplace like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thought I’d stop by today.” he said simply. “I was hoping to see you.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. Don’t do this, Kento.

“I, uh… I’m working on the floor.” you stammered. “Can’t really chat right now.”

“I’ll wait.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I’ll wait until your shift is over.” he said, completely serious. “Then we’ll grab dinner. My treat.”

“Kento—”

“Don’t say no.” His voice was soft, but firm. “Please.”

And God, you almost did. You almost told him no. You almost told him to leave you alone, that you didn’t want him to see you like this anymore, that you couldn’t handle standing next to him and being reminded of how far apart your lives had become.

But you didn’t. Because deep down, you still craved him.

You craved his voice, his touch, his presence.

Even if it hurts you just do it all over again.

“…Okay.”

The night air was cold, but his coat was warm. Somewhere between dinner and walking you home, Kento had shrugged off his expensive wool coat and draped it around your shoulders without hesitation. You tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“Don’t argue with me about this, please.” he murmured, his hand lingering against your arm a little too long.

It was dangerous being this close to him again.

But you couldn’t pull away from him.

“So….” you forced lightness into your voice. “What’s it like being famous?”

He scoffed. “Overrated.”

You laughed softly. “Oh, come on. You’re on billboards now. You can’t tell me it’s not a little amazing.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” His voice was distant. “Not if you’re not there to see it.”

Your steps faltered. “…What?”

Kento stopped walking — turning to face you, his expression unreadable. “I thought about you every day.” he confessed, his voice raw.

“Kento—”

“The entire time I was gone. I kept wondering what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy.” His throat bobbed. “And every time I came back home, I hoped I’d see you, but you were always gone. I… I didn’t know if you wanted to see me again.”

You felt your heart crack open. “Kento…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you stayed?” His voice broke slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you never went to college?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—”

“Do you have any idea how brilliant you are?” His voice was trembling now, thick with emotion. “You were always the smartest person in the room. You deserved to get out of here….to have everything you ever dreamed of. And instead… you stayed. You gave it all up. Why?”

Tears burned the back of your eyes. “Because I didn’t have a choice, Kento.”

“Yes, you did.” His voice cracked. “You could have told me. You could have called me. I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what, Kento?” you choked. “Fixed my life for me? Paid my bills? Dragged me to Tokyo and pretended like I belonged in your world?”

His jaw clenched. “You do belong in my world.”

“No, I don’t.” you snapped, tears finally spilling over. “Look at me. I’ve been stuck in the same place since you left. I’m still living paycheck to paycheck. I didn’t finish school. I’ve done nothing with my life. And you—” your voice cracked painfully. “You’ve become everything you were meant to be.”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

“I didn’t want any of it.” His voice was barely a whisper.

You froze. “…What?”

Kento swallowed hard. “I didn’t want fame. The career. The spotlight. I didn’t want any of it. The only thing I ever wanted was you—and I thought… I thought if I made something of myself, you’d still be here when I came back.” His voice cracked. “But you weren’t. And I hated myself for leaving you behind.”

Your knees almost buckled.

“And now that I’m here, with you.” his voice broke. "I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Tears poured freely down your face. “Kento, don’t—”

“Come with me.” He took a step closer, his hands trembling as they cradled your face. “Come to Tokyo. Stay with me. I’ll pay for your school, I’ll—”

“No!” you sobbed, pulling away. “I’m not your responsibility, Kento—”

“You’re not a responsibility, nor a liability.” his voice cracked. “You’re the love of my life.”

Your heart shattered. And before you could protest again, his mouth was on yours. Desperate, burning, like he was trying to make up for every single day he spent without you. His hands cradled your face, his kiss messy and filled with heartbreak. When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Please.” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Let me take you away from here. Let me love you the way I always should have.”

For the first time in years, you let yourself sob in his arms.

Because despite everything, you loved him more than anything in this world.

Despite the distance, the pain, and the time lost, you never stopped loving him either.

And maybe… just maybe… he could still save you.

YOU COULD REMEMBER THE WAY IT RAINED WHEN YOU GOT MARRIED. Not a heavy storm — just a soft, steady drizzle, as if the sky itself was quietly weeping with joy. You stood in a small, intimate venue with that beautiful smile on your face.

Both of you of you surrounded by only a few close friends and family, wearing the simplest white dress you could afford because despite Kento’s insistence that he’d buy you the most extravagant gown in Tokyo, you refused.

“I don’t need anything fancy, you know.” you told him. “I just need you.”

And so there you stood with your fingers trembling, heart racing as Kento watched you walk down the aisle like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His jaw was tight, his caramel eyes glassy with unshed tears, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Like he couldn’t believe, after all those years apart, you were finally becoming his wife.

When you finally reached him, his hand grasped yours like a lifeline.

His thumb trembled as it brushed against your skin, and when he whispered, “You’re beautiful.” his voice cracked.

And when the officiant asked if he took you as his wife, Kento didn’t hesitate one bit as he looked at you with the warmest gazes. “I do.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I always have.”

Kento never let you go after that.

You moved into his apartment in Tokyo. It was a spacious, light-filled place with floor-to-ceiling windows and a breathtaking view of the city. It was bigger than anything you’d ever lived in, and it almost made you uncomfortable at first.

But Kento never let you feel like you didn’t belong.

“This is our home now, hm?” he told you softly one night as you stood by the window, still struggling to wrap your head around it all. “Not just mine. Ours.”

And you believed him. Because every time he came home from a shoot, tired, disheveled, and smelling like expensive cologne — the first thing he did was find you.

\Whether you were in the kitchen, the bedroom, or curled up in the living room studying, he always sought you out, kissing you like it was the first time every time.

“My wife.” he’d murmur against your lips, as if the words themselves tasted sweet. “My beautiful wife.”

And every time, your heart would ache with disbelief. Because this was real. You were really married to him. You really woke up to him every morning. His arm draped around your waist, his face buried in your neck and he really loved you like you were the most precious thing in the world. But Kento wasn’t done giving you the life you deserved.

“Tokyo University.” he said one night, casually, like it wasn’t the single most outrageous thing you’d ever heard.

You froze mid-bite. “…What?”

“I want you to apply, like you did a long time ago.” he said simply, sitting across from you at the dinner table. “You always wanted to study chemistry. Now’s your chance.”

Your throat tightened. “Kento… I can’t. I haven’t been in school for years. I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever known. Don’t tell me you can’t do it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “But the tuition—”

“I’ll pay for it.”

Your head snapped up. “Kento, no—”

“Yes.” His gaze was unwavering. “I’ll pay for every single yen. I’ll cover your tuition, your textbooks, your lab fees. Everything. You won’t have to worry about anything.” His voice softened. “Please. Let me do this for you.”

Tears burned your eyes. “I don’t want to feel like a burden to you, Kento.”

“You’re not a burden, never will be.” he said fiercely, already pushing his chair back so he could kneel in front of you. His large hands cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “You’re my wife. Everything I have is yours. My money, my time, my life. It’s all yours. And if it means giving you the future you always dreamed of, then I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

And with that, you broke down. You sobbed into his chest, clutching him like your life depended on it, because you realized Kento meant it. Every word. Every promise. He was going to build you a life so beautiful, so far removed from the pain you endured, that you’d never have to feel unworthy again.

So the next day, you applied. And Kento wrote the check without blinking an eye.

You could still remember months later, the day you got accepted into Tokyo University, you burst into tears. You were in the kitchen when the letter arrived, your hands trembling as you tore it open and the second you saw “Congratulations, you’ve been accepted!”

You collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.

“Kento, Kento!” you choked, clutching the letter like it was your lifeline. “I got in! Oh god…. I got in!”

Kento was on you in seconds, kneeling beside you, his face crumpling with pride. “I told you. I told you, baby!” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I told you you could do it.”

And that night, he took you out to dinner, something extravagant, something you never would have been able to afford on your own. When the waiter congratulated you, Kento beamed like he was the one who got accepted.

“Her, it was her who got in.” he told the waiter proudly. “That’s my wife. She’s going to Tokyo University for chemistry. Smartest woman I’ve ever met.”

And when you glanced at him, with those eyes glassy, heart full, you realized he wasn’t just proud. He was in awe of you. Like he always had been.

And for a while, it was perfect.

Life slipped into something sweet and steady. You were a university student again, just like you’d always dreamed. You spent your days attending lectures, taking meticulous notes, and spending long afternoons in the library surrounded by textbooks and the faint smell of old paper. You were learning again. Living again. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you.

And Kento? God, he was your biggest cheerleader.

Every morning before you left for class, he kissed you on the forehead and said, “Knock ‘em dead, love.”

Every night when you came home, exhausted but fulfilled, he had dinner ready and waiting. When you showed him your test scores, perfect marks, one after another. Your husband would beam with pride like he was the one who’d aced the exam.

When you complained about a difficult professor or a tedious lab experiment, he’d listen intently, rubbing circles into your back, and say, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

And every night, when you fell asleep beside him, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. But then —slowly, quietly— the loneliness crept in. Because Kento wasn’t home most of the time.

At first, you didn’t notice. You were busy, after all. You were drowning in lab reports, study sessions, and back-to-back classes. But then you started realizing how quiet the apartment felt when you got home. You’d unlock the door, expecting to hear the hum of the television or Kento’s soft humming in the kitchen but it was always silent. Always empty.

You told yourself it was fine. That was just how it was going to be sometimes. Your Kento was working hard, just like you were. It was only temporary. But weeks passed. Then months. And Kento started coming home later and later.

At first, it was 8 PM. Then 9. Then 10. And soon, there were nights where he didn’t come home at all, just a brief, apologetic text. “Late meeting. Don’t wait for me. Love you.”

And you tried to be understanding. You tried. After all, Kento was the one supporting you. He was paying your tuition, your textbooks, your transportation — everything. He was shouldering the entire financial weight of your dream without a single complaint. The least you could do was be patient.

But good god, it was so lonely.

You’d eat dinner alone most nights, your plate growing cold as you stared at the empty seat across from you. You’d do your assignments at the kitchen table, hoping to hear the jingle of his keys at the door but it never came. You started sleeping alone more often than not, his side of the bed cold and untouched.

And worst of all you missed him.

You missed Kento. You missed the man who used to laugh with you until your stomach hurt.

The man who used to kiss you breathless in the middle of the kitchen just because he could.

The man who used to touch your belly every night and whisper. “I can’t wait to meet our baby.”

The man who promised you. “I’ll always put you first.”

But now? You were starting to feel like you’d lost him. And then came the night that broke you.

It was well past midnight, and you were curled up on the couch, your textbooks sprawled around you. You told yourself you wouldn’t wait up for him, but you did. You always did. Hours passed, and still — no sign of him. Finally, at 1:27 AM, you heard the door unlock.

“Kento?” you called, your voice cracking.

He didn’t answer right away. When he finally stepped into the living room, his tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the exhaustion in his eyes was so deep it made your chest ache.

“Hey.” he murmured, already walking past you toward the bedroom.

And something in you snapped.

“Seriously?” you blurted. “That’s all you have to say?”

Kento froze, his hand still on the doorframe. “…What?”

You stood, your heart pounding. “You’ve been gone all day again. And you just walk in like I don’t even exist?”

He turned to you, confused. “I—I’m sorry. Work ran late—”

“It always runs late, Kento!” your voice cracked, hot tears stinging your eyes. “Every night, I sit here alone. I eat alone. I sleep alone. Do you even realize how lonely it is to come home to an empty apartment every single day?”

Pain flickered across his face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m doing this for you, love. I’m working so you can go to school—”

“I never asked you to do that!” you shouted, and the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Kento blinked, stunned. “…What?”

Your chest heaved. “I never asked you to throw your entire life away for me, Kento! I never asked you to quit your project, or work insane hours, or pay for everything. You just did it. And now it’s like I don’t even have a husband anymore. I just have this… ghost who comes home at 2 AM and leaves before I wake up!”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

Kento’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. “…You think I want this?”

You froze. “…What?”

“You think I like working sixteen-hour days?” his voice cracked, raw and strained. “You think I enjoy being away from you? Missing dinner, missing sleep, missing everything…..you think any of this is what I wanted?”

Your throat tightened. “Kento—”

“I did it for you, you know that.” he said bitterly. “I did it so you wouldn’t have to worry about money. I did it so you could chase your dream without worrying about bills or tuition. I did it because I thought it would make you happy.” His voice cracked. “But you’re not, are you?”

Tears blurred your vision. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he laughed hollowly, running a hand down his face. “I work until I can’t see straight just to keep everything together and you still think I’m not doing enough.”

“That’s not true at all!”

“Then what do you want from me, love?” his voice finally broke, desperate and shattered. “Tell me. Please. What do you want?”

And the answer was so painfully simple, it tore you apart.

I just want you.

But you couldn’t say it. Because how could you ask that of him when he’d already given you everything? When he was breaking his back just to keep you afloat? When he’d already sacrificed his career, his sleep, his time, his life for you?

So instead, you just cried and cried.

And for the first time in your marriage, Kento didn’t comfort you.

He just turned away, defeated, and said, “I’m going to bed.”

And you realized somewhere along the way, you and Kento had become strangers for the first time.

And it hurts like hell to live with that thought.

But of course, it wouldn’t be the last time.

THINGS DID NOT GET BETTER. If anything, they got worse. You were pregnant. And everything was hurting. It was a different kind of pain now, not just the crushing weight of your depression, but something more physical, more suffocating.

Your body aches constantly. Your back screamed from the weight of your growing belly. Your feet were perpetually swollen. Your nights were restless, spent tossing and turning as the baby kicked relentlessly inside you, reminding you always reminding you — that there was no way out of this life you didn’t want. And it was killing you.

You thought hitting rock bottom would come with some kind of clarity. Like one day, you’d cry hard enough or sleep long enough or starve yourself numb enough that your body would finally break through the darkness. You thought there would be some moment, some visceral breaking point that would force you to finally start healing.

But it never came.

Instead, you just… sank.

Deeper and deeper, like trying to breathe underwater with lungs already half-filled. Every day you woke up was a fresh kind of misery. You couldn’t get out of bed without feeling like your bones were made of lead.

You couldn’t stomach food without wanting to throw it all up later. You couldn’t look in the mirror without despising the reflection. You see a bloated, pale, hollowed out, a shell of the woman you used to be.

And the baby never stopped kicking.

You hated it.

God, you hated it.

You hated the way it never let you sleep. You hated the way your body no longer felt like yours. You hated the constant, suffocating reminder that soon, almost all too soon, you would be responsible for a life you never asked for. A life you were already failing before it even arrived.

But the worst part?

You hated yourself for hating it.

Because what kind of mother resented her own baby before it was even born? What kind of woman laid in bed, day after day, clutching her belly and wishing god, please just make this stop instead of feeling love? What kind of wife watched her husband sacrifice everything for her and still felt nothing but numb, bitter emptiness?

And Kento.

God, Kento.

You couldn’t even look at him anymore without feeling like the most wretched person alive. He was still trying — still holding everything together, still waking up every morning and kissing your forehead, still whispering, “I love you. I’m here.”

But you could see it now — the slow, painful unraveling of the man you loved. The exhaustion in his eyes, no longer just from work but from you. The hesitation in his touch, like he was afraid you’d pull away — and sometimes, you did.

The way his voice cracked when he said, “How are you feeling today, love?” and your answer was always “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t fine.

And Kento knew it.

You could see it every night when he crawled into bed beside you and held you close. The way his hand cradles your stomach, his thumb tracing soft circles over your skin. You could feel it in the way his touch, once so warm and electric, now felt like a desperate attempt to keep you here. Like if he let go for even a second, you’d slip through his fingers entirely.

And you hated that too.

Because you knew you were killing him. Slowly. Quietly. Without even trying. You could see it in his slumped shoulders, in the way his voice grew quieter, in the way he looked at you like he was losing you and didn’t know how to stop it.

And you wanted to scream — Stop loving me. Stop trying to save me. I’m already gone.

But you didn’t.

Because how could you say that to the man who dropped his entire career for you? The man who worked twenty-hour days just to pay for your tuition, your food, your life? The man who still kissed you goodbye every morning and told you, “I love you, always.”

So you did the only thing you could.

You kept shrinking.

You stopped eating. Barely touched your dinner when Kento brought it to you. The smell made you nauseous anyway, and even when it didn’t, you could barely stomach the idea of keeping yourself alive, let alone another human growing inside you.

You stopped leaving the house. Your classes had already been dropped; you told Kento it was temporary, just until you felt better. But deep down, you knew you weren’t going back. Tokyo University had suddenly become a distant dream once again, like a life that belonged to someone else entirely. And you were too far gone now to reach for it again.

You stopped responding to your friends. They texted you constantly, trying to check on you. You know they mean well. You know they just want to be there for you. And that they were excited. But you were having a hard time accepting their well wishes.

“How’s the baby? How’s school? We miss you!”

But the thought of replying made your stomach churn. What were you supposed to say, that wouldn’t come out as a horrible thing?

“I’m miserable. I don’t want this baby. I don’t want this life.”

Would have that gotten you some mercy?

So you ignored them. Deleted their messages. Let your phone die and don't bother charging it. And then you stopped talking to Kento. Not entirely. But enough.

Later on, Kento halted the work on his upcoming project the day after you broke down. No warning. No hesitation. One phone call to his manager, another to his agency, and it was done. His voice was steady, almost unnervingly calm when he said: “I’m taking a break for now. My wife needs me.”

And that was it. He dropped it all like it meant nothing. A project he had poured months of his life into, had gone in seconds. You tried to protest when you found out, but he wouldn’t hear it. His mind was made up before you could even form the words —“Don’t do this for me.”

And then he stayed.

Every single day, he stayed. Morning turned to night, and there he was. Bringing you water when you couldn’t stomach food. Sitting on the edge of the bed while you stared blankly at the ceiling. Holding you through the nights when your body trembled from crying, or worse, the nights when you didn’t cry at all, just lay there like a ghost in your own skin.

He was patient. Devoted. Unwavering.

But it didn’t fix anything.

Because the damage was already done.

You could feel it in the way his touch, once so warm and electric, now felt like a desperate attempt to tether you to the earth. In the way his voice, soft, pleading, loving had seemed to echo against the walls of your hollowed-out chest, never quite reaching you.

In this way you could still feel the crushing weight of your own failure suffocating you, no matter how many times he whispered “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

And the worst part?

You wanted him to leave.

Because it hurt too much to see him like this. Abandoning his career, his life, his future, for someone who couldn’t even muster the strength to get out of bed. You resented the way he sacrificed everything for you.

You hated how the look in his eyes shifted from affection to concern, from admiration to pity. You despised yourself for being the reason his world was crumbling alongside yours. And deep down, you knew. Kento could stay forever, and it still wouldn’t fix what was already broken.

And after that, you stopped going to school.

At first, you told Kento it was temporary, just a leave of absence until you felt better. But weeks turned into months, and soon your professors were emailing you: “If you do not return, you will have to re-enroll next semester.”

You didn’t respond.

Because the truth was, you didn’t care anymore.

Your stomach was huge now. You could barely walk up the stairs without losing your breath. Your back ached. Your feet were swollen. You couldn’t sleep through the night because the baby was always kicking, and every morning you woke up with the same suffocating thought.

"I don’t want this life."

And the guilt ate you alive.

Because you loved Kento. You loved your baby. But you hated your life. You hated what it had become. You hated the fact that you were no longer a student at Tokyo University. You were just a pregnant woman, a pregnant housewife. You hated the fact that you no longer had a future — you just had motherhood. You just had this house, his status as a wife.

And Kento saw it. He saw how you’d spend hours just sitting in the nursery, staring at the crib with dead eyes. He saw how you stopped studying, stopped watching TV, stopped doing anything. It was like you were fading away.

And it killed him.

You could see it in the way his shoulders sagged a little more each day, as if the weight of watching you deteriorate was slowly crushing him. In the way he tried to hide the bags under his eyes from sleepless nights spent worrying about you.

In this way his voice would crack, just barely, when he’d sit next to you and say, “Talk to me, love. Please.”

But you had nothing to say. What were you supposed to tell him? That you hated the life you were about to bring into the world? That you regretted everything — the pregnancy, the wedding, the choices that led you here? That sometimes, when you laid in bed at night, you imagined what it would be like if you just… didn’t wake up?

So you said nothing. Nothing at all.

And Kento tried to be strong for both of you. God, he tried.

He started cooking your favorite meals, hoping that if he made something delicious enough, you’d actually eat. He read parenting books late into the night, convinced that if he just learned enough, he could do this whole thing for the both of you, carry the weight, make up for the pieces of you that were falling apart. He took you on walks when he could get you out of bed, holding your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to hope.

But it was never enough.

It was never going to be enough.

Because the truth was — you weren’t just sad.

You were grieving everything that had come to pass.

You were grieving the life you lost, the person you used to be. You were grieving the dreams you once held so fiercely. Finishing university, traveling, building a career as a chemist on the international level. All of it now reduced to a hazy memory of a different girl. A girl you didn’t even recognize anymore. A girl you resented for being so foolish, for thinking she could have it all.

And you were grieving the love between you and Kento — or rather, the version of it that existed before the pregnancy. Before everything became tainted by your guilt, your depression, your ever-growing resentment for the life you didn’t want.

You knew that Kento saw it too.

He saw how you flinched when he touched your stomach, not out of pain, but because it reminded you of what you were trapped in. He saw how your kisses grew colder, how you turned your head when he tried to kiss you goodnight. He saw how you stopped saying your i love yous first — how sometimes, you didn’t say it at all.

And still, he stayed by your side. But it was breaking him whole.

You could hear it in the way his voice cracked one night when he thought you were asleep.

He sat beside you in bed, his hand resting gently on your belly, and you heard him whisper back to you. “I don’t know how to fix this.” His voice trembled. “I don’t know how to help you.”

And that was when you realized — you weren’t the only one grieving. Kento was grieving too. He was grieving the wife he used to know. The one who laughed too loud at his jokes, who kissed him in the morning just because, who fell asleep on the couch with a textbook still in her lap.

He was grieving the life you both dreamed of late nights studying, early mornings rushing to class, careers that would take you far. He was grieving the love that used to be effortless, the kind that didn’t require whispered prayers in the middle of the night, hoping that tomorrow would hurt less than today.

And the worst part?

You were the one who did this to him.

At least that’s how you saw it all now.

You were the one who dragged him down into this suffocating darkness with you. You were the one who made him abandon his project, his career, his life. All for a woman who could barely look at herself in the mirror without breaking.

And every day he stayed, every day he kissed your forehead and said “I’m here”, you hated yourself a little more.

You hated yourself so much that you started to wonder if maybe — just maybe — Kento would be better off without you.

And that thought never really left.

Even when he painted the nursery walls soft yellow and smiled like he wasn’t dying inside.

Even when he held your hand in the middle of the night and promised, “We’ll get through this. I swear we will.”

Even when he looked at you with a love so devastatingly pure, it only made you ache more.

Because you couldn’t shake the feeling. That Kento deserved a better wife. And your baby deserved a better mother. And you? You didn’t deserve them at all. Around your seventh month, you completely broke.

Kento found you in the bathroom at 3 AM all alone as you were sitting in the empty bathtub, knees pulled to your chest, sobbing silently. You looked miserable with your hair disheveled and your face contorted into this look, full of grief and suffering.

“Baby?” His voice cracked. “Oh my god, baby, what’s wrong?”

And you just shook your head. “I hate this so much.” you gasped through your tears. “I hate my life. I hate my body. I hate everything. I don’t want to do this anymore, Kento. I can’t…..I can’t breathe.”

And Kento completely fell apart at the sight of your tears, falling over and over again. “Baby, no— no, no, no.” he dropped to his knees beside the tub, his hands shaking. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I’m here now. I’ll fix it. I’ll make it better, so—”

“You can’t!” you screamed, your voice raw and cracked. “You can’t fix this, Kento! I’m already ruined! My life is already ruined!”

And Kento? Kento completely broke. Because he realized you weren’t talking about the pregnancy. You were talking about yourself. And you were gone. All there was left now was the shell, that shell he didn’t recognize.

“I should’ve never gotten pregnant, Kento.” you sobbed, your body shaking. “I should’ve never gotten married. I should’ve stayed in school. I should’ve never left the countryside. I should’ve……I should’ve never let this happen.”

And Kento completely lost it. “Don’t say that.” he begged, his voice cracking.

He climbed into the bathtub with you, fully clothed, and wrapped his arms around you. “Don’t say that, baby, please— please don’t say that. You’re not ruined. I swear to god, I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything. Just don’t give up on me. Please don’t give up on me.”

And you just sobbed.

Because deep down, you already had.

You were right to feel that way.

It was only a matter of time when the labor came early.

You had never expected it — not this soon, not like this.

It was just around thirty-five weeks then. The baby wasn’t supposed to come yet. You still had time. Weeks. You weren’t ready. Your hospital bag wasn’t packed. The nursery still smelled like fresh paint. You hadn’t even washed the baby’s clothes yet. You weren’t supposed to go into labor yet.

But the universe didn’t care.

Your water broke in the middle of the night — and you knew instantly that something was wrong. The pain hit fast and hard, unlike anything you’d ever felt. Sharp, blinding contractions ripped through your abdomen, so intense that it stole the breath from your lungs.

You barely managed to shake Kento awake, your voice cracked and choked, “Kento — my water……it broke—”

And the moment he saw the panic in your eyes, he moved. Kento didn’t even ask questions. He sprang out of bed, grabbing his phone with one hand and you with the other, already calling for an ambulance.

His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the terror behind it. “Yes, my wife is thirty-five weeks pregnant. Her water just broke — she’s in pain — please send someone—”

But the contractions were coming too fast. One after the other, barely a minute in between, and by the time Kento helped you into the back of the ambulance, you knew. The baby was coming now. And the baby would have no mercy on you.

“No, no, no!” you sobbed, clutching your belly as another contraction ripped through you, your body already beginning to push despite your desperate attempts to stop it. “It’s too soon — it’s too soon—”

Kento was right there beside you, his hand in yours, his voice cracked and desperate. “You’re okay, love. You’re gonna be okay. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

But you didn’t feel okay. You felt like you were dying. And by the time you reached the hospital, you were already fully dilated. The doctors barely had time to wheel you into labor and delivery before you were screaming through another contraction, your body forcing you to push despite your terror.

And Kento was there. The entire time — he was there. His hand never left yours, his voice never stopped murmuring reassurances in your ear. “You can do this, love. I know you can. Just a little longer. Just hold on for me.”

But you couldn’t.

Because something was wrong.

You could feel it in your bones. In the way your body fought itself with every push, in the way your vision kept blurring, in the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath no matter how hard you tried. And then, in the middle of a push — you felt it.

A sudden, hot gush between your legs. But it wasn’t amniotic fluid this time. It was warm. And sticky. And you didn’t have to look down to know. You were bleeding. A lot. You could feel how it echoes down, heavy and brutish.

“Kento—” your voice cracked, raw with pain. “Something’s— something’s wrong—”

And then you heard it.

The doctor’s voice, sharp and urgent.

“She’s hemorrhaging. We’re losing her.”

And that’s when Kento lost his fucking mind.

“What?” His voice snapped, pure, raw panic flooding his face. His grip on your hand tightened like a vice. “What do you mean you’re losing her?!”

“Her blood pressure is dropping! Massive uterine hemorrhage. Doctor, she’s losing too much blood—”

“No — no, no, no—” Kento stumbled forward, his voice cracking as his hands shook. “Do something! Save her! Save them both!”

“We need to get the baby out now or we’re going to lose them both, Mr. Nanami!”

And suddenly it was chaos. Nurses shouting. Machines beeping. Someone calling for blood transfusions. And you — fading. You could feel it. Your body was giving out, your vision was growing dim, and the only thing you could focus on was Kento.

“Kento.” you rasped, your voice so faint, so weak. Your body felt like it was drifting. “I—I love you—”

“No!” Kento screamed. He screamed like something inside him was tearing apart. His hands clawed at the hospital bed, his body lunging toward you as the doctors tried to pull him away. “No, stay with me! Stay with me, love! Don’t you fucking do this—Don’t you dare leave me!”

But you were already slipping.

The last thing you heard was his voice, raw and broken.

“I can’t do this without you. Please! Please don’t leave me. Please—”

And then, darkness.

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Nanami Kento couldn’t do anything but collapse in the hallway. The moment they pulled him out of the delivery room. The moment the words the doctor said, all of that rang in his ears like a death sentence. He was sure that something inside him snapped.

And when the door slammed shut behind him, separating him from you, Kento’s knees buckled. He hit the floor hard. Hands splayed out against the cold tile, chest heaving, throat raw from screaming. He didn’t even realize he was still screaming until two nurses rushed toward him, trying to pull him up, trying to calm him down, but it was useless.

Because he could still hear it. The frantic shouts of the doctors. The horrifying words “Massive hemorrhage. We’re losing her.” The sound of your screams cutting off too abruptly. And worst of all — the unbearable silence that followed.

“No—” Kento howled, his voice breaking like glass. His hands clawed at his hair, his entire body wracked with violent, gut-wrenching sobs. “No, no, no— I killed her. I fucking killed her—”

“Sir, Mr. Nanami.” one of the nurses knelt beside him, reaching out. “You have to breathe, you’re hyperventilating—”

But Kento didn’t hear her.

He couldn’t hear anything.

He didn’t care to hear whatever that was.

All he could think about, all he could see was you. Your face twisted in pain. The absolute terror in your eyes when you realized something was wrong. The way you sobbed I don’t want this, Kento, I’m not ready. And he did this. He did this to you.

His body convulsed with the force of his grief, his head slamming against the tile as his sobs tore from his chest like a wounded animal. “I killed her. I killed her. I made her hate her life and now she’s gone. She’s gone—”

“Sir—” The nurse was trying to hold him down now, his entire body thrashing against the floor as he screamed. “Sir, please, you’re going to hurt yourself—”

“LET ME GO!” Kento roared, his voice so raw it barely sounded human. “She’s dying in there. Do you understand me?! She’s fucking dying in there and I……”

Another contraction of sobs wracked his chest, and his fists slammed into the floor so hard that his knuckles split. Blood smeared against the tile, but he didn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything.

“I made her hate her life.” his voice cracked, his chest seizing with suffocating grief. His hands curled into his hair again, yanking hard as if trying to punish himself. “I did this to her. I made her want to die. And now she’s gone and I’m still here. ”

“Stop, please.” the nurse’s voice broke, her own eyes glassy as she tried to steady him. “She’s not gone. They’re trying to save her in there, with the baby.”

“No.” Kento’s head snapped up, his face twisted in a horrifying mix of rage and agony. His eyes were bloodshot, glassy, utterly devastated. “You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it.” His voice cracked so sharply it sounded like it physically hurt him to speak.

“She wanted to die, to be free of that misery. Don’t you see?” he choked. “She hated her life. And it’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault—”

And then his body gave out.

His chest collapsed onto the cold tile floor, his forehead pressed into it as his entire body shook. Choked, gasping sobs clawed from his throat, so violent that he could barely breathe. His lungs were burning, his vision was spinning, and he was sure, so fucking sure, that this was it. That they were going to come out and tell him you were dead.

And it was his fault.

All of it was his fault.

Because he saw it.

He saw it every single day. The way you sat in the nursery with dead eyes. The way you stopped smiling. The way you couldn’t even say I’m excited without your voice cracking. The way your love for him was slowly being choked out by the sheer weight of your depression.

And he didn’t stop any of it. Instead, he told you to keep going. He told you to hold on. He let you suffer in silence because he thought that’s what you needed but you didn’t. You needed help. You needed saving. And instead, he trapped you in a life you never wanted.

And now you are dying.

All because of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Kento sobbed, his forehead slamming against the tile again, his blood smearing across the floor. “I’m so fucking sorry. Please….please, I’ll do anything. Just let her live. Please.”

And that was the first time in his life that Kento Nanami prayed. He prayed like a man possessed. Like a man who had nothing left to lose. His bloody fists clawed at the tile, his nails cracking against it as he begged.

“Take me,please.” he sobbed, his voice mutilated from screaming. “Please….just take me instead. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Just…. Please don’t take her. Don’t take my wife. Don’t take my baby. I’ll do anything.”

But the silence stretched on.

And he was certain that you were already gone.

Hours continued to make mockery of him.

Agonizing, torturous hours passed — and Kento was still on the floor.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe right. Didn’t think. His body was stuck in that same position. Still face down, forehead pressed against the cold tile, hands trembling as he clenched them into bloody fists. His chest was heaving in short, sharp gasps, his entire body quaking as he sobbed.

He was certain you were dead. He felt it. He felt the moment your soul left the room. He felt the moment the light in his life snapped off like a switch.

He was convinced that at any second, the doctor was going to come out, look him in the eyes, and say, “I’m sorry, Mr. Nanami. We couldn’t save her.”

And he would never forgive himself.

Because he killed you.

His fault. His fault. His fucking fault.

He was still gasping, still clawing at the ground, still praying like a desperate man when he finally heard the door open. Kento’s head snapped up. His bloodshot, swollen eyes immediately locked onto the doctor walking toward him, his scrubs covered in blood — your blood — and Kento’s entire body seized.

“Mr. Nanami—”

“Where is she?” Kento screamed. His voice cracked, broke, his entire body lunging toward the doctor like a caged animal. His hands fisted the man’s scrubs, yanking him forward. “Is my wife alive? Tell me, damn it? Is she alive?”

The doctor barely had a chance to respond before Kento screamed again. “Tell me you saved her, goddamn you!”

And the doctor’s mouth opened — and Kento swore the entire universe stopped spinning when he finally said, “…She’s alive.”

Kento’s entire body collapsed. His legs gave out. His grip on the doctor’s scrubs slipped. And then he didn’t realize that he had hit the floor. A gasping, broken sob ripped from his throat. The kind of sob that came from a man who was seconds away from losing everything and his entire body convulsed as he wept.

“Oh my god…..” Kento choked, his hands flying to his face, clawing at his own skin like he was trying to ground himself. “Oh my god. She’s alive. She’s alive!”

“Her condition is critical, Mr. Nanami.” the doctor warned, his voice low but steady. “We had to perform an emergency c-section and a hysterectomy to stop the bleeding. She lost over forty percent of her blood volume. We had to resuscitate her twice on the table—”

“Resuscitate?” he gasped, his vision swimming. His stomach lurched. “You mean she….she died?”

“Clinically, yes. Twice.” The doctor’s face softened with pity. “But we got her back. She’s stable now — unconscious, but alive.”

And that was all Kento needed to hear.

He ran. He didn’t even think. His legs moved before his brain could catch up, his entire body sprinting down the hall, his bloody knuckles slamming into every door he passed until he finally found your room.

The second he stepped inside, he broke.

Because there you were.

Unconscious.

Your body was completely limp, hooked up to a ventilator, your skin so pale it looked blue. Tubes were coming out of everywhere. From your arm, your nose, your mouth and there were fresh surgical dressings covering your abdomen where they had cut you open to get the baby out.

Kento couldn’t breathe. A strangled, animalistic sound tore from his throat like something between a sob and a scream and then he collapsed beside your bed. His hand shot out, desperately clutching yours, his entire body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs as he shook.

“I’m so sorry…..oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” Kento’s voice shattered, his head dropping onto your hand as his body convulsed. His chest was heaving so violently that he was on the verge of hyperventilating. “I did this. I did this to you and I….”

He couldn’t stop sobbing. His forehead pressed against your limp hand, his body rocking as he cried like a child. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry….” he choked. “I made you hate your life and I trapped you. I killed you…. oh my god, I killed you….”

And the guilt hit him like a sledgehammer.

Because it was true. All of it.

He saw the way you suffered. The way you faded every single day. The way you stopped smiling. The way you stopped living. And instead of saving you, he kept telling you to hold on. Just a little longer, love. We’re almost there. Just a little longer.

But you weren’t okay. And Kento didn’t listen. And now you were lying there. Pale, lifeless, barely hanging on. All because of him. And the weight of it crushed him whole. He felt like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

And then finally, you woke up.

“…Kento?” your voice cracked.

“Baby.” he sobbed, grabbing your face, pressing desperate kisses all over your skin. “Oh my baby…..you’re awake. You’re awake. I thought I lost you. I thought….”

“…Where’s the baby?”

And Kento completely broke. “The baby’s fine, don’t worry.” he choked. “She’s perfect. She’s beautiful. But you….you scared the shit out of me, baby. Please don’t ever do that again.”

And when they finally brought your baby girl in and you held her for the first time — you did something you didn’t expect. You cried. And then you sobbed. Because for the first time in nine months — you finally felt something coherent. Something good.

“…She’s beautiful.” you gasped. “I didn’t think I’d love her. But I do. I love her so much.”

Kento just collapsed against your hospital bed, sobbing. “I knew you would. I knew you would.”

But things are like the weather.

They were bound to change.

You should have known.

THE FIRST MONTH WAS HARD, BUT AS TIME WENT ON, IT GOT WORSE. You came home from the hospital physically intact but mentally, you were gone. You still didn’t go back to school. You didn’t touch your textbooks. You didn’t even mention chemistry. The once-brilliant student who dreamed of working in a lab was now just… a mother. And you hated it.

Every single day felt like a fog. You were exhausted but it wasn’t the baby’s fault. You knew that much. It was you that was malfunctioning. You didn’t know how to connect with her. Every time she cried, you felt nothing.

Every time she smiled, you felt nothing. Every time Kento handed her to you and said something to praise your beautiful daughter, you didn’t know how to react. You just nodded and let it go. And Kento noticed. God, he noticed.

Kento stayed home for a month. He refused to leave your side. He didn’t take calls, he didn’t attend meetings. He just stayed home. But his contract required him to go back to work eventually. And you… you told him to go.

“Go, you have to.” you whispered, your voice dead. “You have to work, Kento. We have bills. You already missed so much.”

But Kento didn’t want to.

“Baby— no. I don’t give a shit about work. I’m not leaving you like this.”

And you forced a smile. “I’m fine, Kento.”

But you weren’t.

You weren’t.

And Kento knew it.

But eventually, he had to go. He had no choice. His manager was calling nonstop. His agency was threatening breach of contract. He had a new film that needed him and Kento was the lead role. So he left. And the guilt burned a hole in his chest.

The first day he was back on set, he couldn’t focus. His co-stars were talking to him, the director was giving him instructions but all he could think about was you. Home. Alone. With a baby you didn’t love. Kento hated himself.

He was filming a scene when his phone buzzed in his pocket — and when he saw your name pop up, he immediately froze.

“CUT!” the director barked. “Kento, you okay?”

“…Yeah, director.” he croaked. “I just— I need five minutes.”

And then he ran.

He ran behind the trailer, shaking, and picked up the phone. “Baby?” he gasped, panic echoing in his voice. “What’s wrong? Is the baby okay? Are you okay?”

Silence. “…I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

And Kento’s heart completely shattered.

“Baby…..” his voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…..” you gasped, voice shaking. “I mean I can’t do this. I can’t be a mom. I don’t love her, Kento. I don’t—I don’t feel anything for her. I just feel empty. And I know she deserves better. I know you deserve better. I think….I….I just….”

Your voice cracked. “I think I ruined my life.”

Kento collapsed. “No, baby. No. Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” He was crying now, gasping into the phone. “You didn’t ruin your life. You didn’t. I promise I’ll fix this. I’ll come home right now—”

“No, you won’t.”

Kento completely broke. “Baby, please.”

“No, Kento. You have to work. We need the money. We need—”

“I don’t care about the fucking money!” Kento sobbed, clutching his hair. “I care about you! I care about our family! Please don’t give up on me, baby. Please don’t give up on her.”

But you just hung up.

Kento completely lost it.

He didn’t go back on set. He stayed behind the trailer, sobbing into his hands, shaking, thinking: “I ruined her life. I did this to her. She was supposed to be in college — not stuck at home with a baby.”

And that thought ate him alive. The next few weeks were worse. Kento was dying. Not physically but mentally, emotionally and spiritually, he was. Every single day he walked onto set, it felt like he was leaving you behind. And it was killing him.

Because all he could think about was you. Alone. Depressed. Hollowed out. Not wanting the baby. And he wasn’t there. He was never there. Every single time he put on that suit, stepped in front of the cameras, smiled for his co-stars. He was dying.

Because he knew. He knew the second he came home, you would be worse. Every day it got worse. Every fucking day.

At first, it was subtle. You were tired. Distant. Quiet. But then the days started stretching into weeks, and suddenly you weren’t just tired, you were empty. Your smiles were forced. Your voice was flat. You didn’t ask about his day anymore. You didn’t kiss him when he got home.

And Kento tried to justify it. It’s just the hormones. She’s overwhelmed. She’ll come back to me soon. She’ll come back to me.

But you didn’t.

And Kento broke down again.

Because the more days that passed, the less of you he saw.

You stopped eating dinner with him. You stopped holding the baby. You stopped getting out of bed. You wouldn’t look at him. And the worst part? You didn’t even cry. You just… stared. Blank. Numb. And Kento couldn’t handle it.

He fucking hated himself. Every single day he drove to set, his stomach would turn. He’d clench his jaw the entire time, his hands shaking as he held the steering wheel because he knew. You were at home. Alone. With a baby you didn’t love. And he wasn’t there. And the guilt was going to fucking eat him alive.

One night, Kento came home early. He couldn’t do it anymore. He was on set, trying to read his lines, but his hands were shaking. His mouth felt dry. His mind kept screaming to him: She’s alone. She’s not okay. She’s not okay. She’s not okay. Go home right now.

So he left. He didn’t even tell his manager. He just ripped off his mic and drove home. And when he walked through the door….You were just… sitting there. On the couch. Completely catatonic. Your body was slumped forward. Your eyes were glazed over, completely hollow. You weren’t blinking. You weren’t moving. You weren’t alive.

Baby?” His voice shattered.

Nothing. Kento’s heart slammed into his throat. He dropped his keys, his coat, everything, and sprinted toward you, falling to his knees in front of the couch.

“Baby, please….” his voice cracked. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs trembling as they brushed over your cheeks. “Please talk to me. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

But you didn’t blink.

You didn’t look at him.

You just… stared at the wall.

Kento’s stomach lurched.

His throat closed.

And then you finally spoke.

In a voice so dead, so hollow, that it didn’t even sound like you anymore. “…I don’t want to be a mom anymore.”

“Baby,” his voice broke. He practically collapsed against you, his forehead pressing to your lap as his hands clutched yours. “Please don’t say that. Please, god—”

“I don’t.” you said flatly. Your voice didn’t even crack. It was just… dead. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want her. I don’t want anything.”

Kento’s entire body convulsed.

“Baby, no.” His voice split down the middle. His hands squeezed yours so tight his knuckles went white. “Please don’t talk like that. I know it’s hard. I know you feel alone. But I love you. I love our baby. We can fix this, baby. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything.”

But you didn’t believe him.

Because the truth was — you didn’t want him to fix it.

You didn’t want help. You didn’t want therapy. You didn’t want him to stay home from work. You didn’t want him to coddle you or tell you it would get better.

You just wanted your old life back. You wanted school. You wanted chemistry. You wanted the future you spent years building. But instead, you were just Keiko’s mother. And you fucking hated yourself for it.

“I never wanted this.” you whispered numbly, your eyes glazed over. “I didn’t want to have a baby. I didn’t want to give up school. I didn’t want this life. And now it’s all I have.”

Kento couldn’t breathe. His chest split open. His hands shook violently as he tried to pull you closer, his head buried in your lap. “Please, baby….” his voice splintered. “Please don’t talk like that. I need you. Our baby needs you. We love you.”

But you didn’t respond.

You just kept staring.

Kento sobbed heavily.

His entire body convulsed. His shoulders shook. His throat ripped open as gut-wrenching sobs tore out of him. “I’m so sorry.” he gasped. His face buried into your lap, his tears soaking your clothes. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

And you didn’t comfort him. You didn’t hold him. You didn’t wipe his tears. You didn’t say anything. Because deep down, you hated him, too. You hated that he got to have a life. You hated that he still had his career. You hated that he still had a future.

And you, who you once knew?

You were just a mom.

You were trapped.

And you resented him for it.

YOU WENT AWAY FOR A LITTLE WHILE. It was a shut-in therapy. Somewhere far. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that felt detached from the life you had been drowning in. Kento made the arrangements. You didn’t ask him to but he just did it. One night, after finding you curled up in the corner of the nursery, crying so hard you couldn’t breathe, he made the decision himself.

You don’t even remember how it happened — one moment you were screaming I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this life anymore, and the next, your husband Kento was quietly helping you with packing your bags.

“Baby….” his voice cracked, his hands trembling as he folded your clothes into a suitcase. “You need help. You need real help. And I can’t—” his throat choked up. “I can’t keep watching you like this. I can’t keep coming home to you like this. I need you to get better, baby. I need you.”

You didn’t fight him.

Because deep down, you knew.

You needed help.

And when you left, Kento didn’t cry. He didn’t break down. He didn’t beg you to stay. He just kissed your forehead, buckled you into the passenger seat, and drove you there himself. The drive was silent. But when you arrived and it came time for him to leave, you felt him break.

Kento clutched your hands so hard you thought he might shatter them. His forehead pressed to yours, his voice splintering as he begged. “Please come back to me. Please get better. Please..... I don’t care how long it takes, just please don’t give up on us.”

And then he left.

And you stayed.

And the first few weeks were hell.

You fought everything. The therapy. The group sessions. The self-reflection. The constant “how are you feeling?” The exposure therapy to bond with your baby. The “you’re not alone” pep talks from strangers who did not know you.

And every single night, you thought about calling Kento. You thought about screaming into the receiver I’m done, come get me, I can’t do this anymore, please just let me go home.

But you didn’t.

Because somewhere deep, deep, deep down, you wanted to get better. And slowly you did. It wasn’t linear. Some days were good. Some days were awful. Some days you held your baby in your arms and felt nothing. Some days you sobbed so hard that you thought you’d vomit. Some days you sat in the therapy circle, refusing to speak, refusing to participate, refusing to care.

But then some days, you looked at your baby and felt something. Not love. Not joy. But something. A tinge of warmth in your chest. A pang of protectiveness. And slowly, slowly, something began to grow. And then six months later, you came home. Kento was there, waiting for you.

The second you stepped through the door, his entire body crashed into you. His arms crushed you against him, his hands cradling the back of your head, his chest heaving as he sobbed harder than you had ever seen him cry.

“Baby!” he gasped into your hair, his voice cracking. “God, I missed you….I missed you so fucking much! I thought you’d never come back to me and Keiko.”

And you sobbed too.

Because you missed him. God, you missed him.

And that night, when you walked into the nursery and you saw your baby again for the first time in months. You cried harder than you ever had in your life. Because for the first time in a long while, you wanted her. And you didn’t hate her anymore.

But… the thing was, your relationship with Kento. It was never the same. You wanted it to be. You tried so hard. Kento tried, too. He was so patient. So gentle. So loving. But something between you both felt… off.

You had a hard time touching him. Being intimate with him. You couldn’t explain why but every time Kento kissed you, really kissed you, or ran his hands down your waist, or tried to pull you into his lap, your body would freeze.

Kento noticed. But he never pushed. He never said a word. He just waited. God, he waited. But the truth was you didn’t know how to give him that part of you anymore. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him. You did. You loved him so much. You adored him. You cherished him. You owed him your life.

But every time you tried to make love to him, it felt like you were reopening the wound. It felt like you were back there again. Heavily pregnant, crying yourself to sleep, suffocating in a life you didn’t want. And you hated it. You hated that your body betrayed you. You hated that you wanted to be with Kento, but the second he kissed you, you’d tense and apologize and turn away.

One night, he finally brought it up.

It was subtle. Careful.

“Baby…..” he murmured as you both laid in bed, his fingers brushing over your bare shoulder. “Do you… not want me anymore?”

And your heart dropped. “What?”

Kento swallowed thickly, his voice small. “You never touch me anymore. You never kiss me first. You… you flinch when I touch you sometimes. And I just…. I don’t know if it’s me or if you just… don’t want me anymore.”

“No — no, Kento, I do.” you sobbed, immediately turning to clutch his face in your hands. “I love you. I love you so much. I just…..I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to….. to be close to you. I want to. I really do. I just….”

Kento shook his head. “Baby, no.” his voice splintered. “It’s not your fault. God, it’s not your fault.”

But you still hated yourself for it.

Because every time Kento looked at you with that softness, that adoration, that undying love — all you could feel was guilt. Guilt for what you put him through. Guilt for resenting him. Guilt for pushing him away. And the fullness of the intimacy, it never really came back.

You tried.You forced yourself sometimes, letting him kiss you, letting him touch you — but it felt wrong. Not because of him. But because your body wouldn’t let you have it. Your body still remembers the trauma. Kento never blamed you.

But it killed him. Because every night he’d roll over in bed, aching for you but he wouldn’t touch you. He wouldn’t dare. He knew if he tried, you’d flinch. You’d shut down. And he couldn’t handle that. So, instead all he could do was just… love you from afar.

But how has that ever been enough?

THE FIRST TIME YOU FOUND OUT ABOUT KENTO’S CHEATING, IT WAS PURELY BY ACCIDENT. It must have been years later. After the therapy, after the recovery, after you slowly started piecing your life back together. Your daughter Keiko was already walking, already talking. You had gone back to school part-time, slowly finishing your chemistry degree.

And your intimacy with Kento? It had started to come back. Well, not fully. Not like it used to be. But you were trying your hardest with everything. You wanted to make sure that you could do it again. Your husband was waiting, and he deserved it. He deserved your love so much more than anyone.

You started off small. You started to hold hands and then you started kissing him again. You started letting him touch you again. You even started making love again. Though it still wasn’t what it once was. You didn’t initiate it. You didn’t crave it. You just… let it happen. Because you wanted to be close to him. You wanted to fix what was broken.

Yet, Kento was still distant. Not in the obvious way, no. Kento still loved you. Fiercely. Deeply. His hands were still gentle when he brushed your hair behind your ear. His voice was still soft when he murmured his devotions to you every morning. His kisses were still warm when he kissed you goodbye.

But in his eyes, you could see his eyes so clearly. His eyes always looked starved. Like he was still reaching for something you wouldn’t give him. Like no matter how hard you tried, it would never be enough. And deep down, you knew. You would never be able to give that to him ever again.

You saw it. Every night when he rolled over, half-hard in bed, but he wouldn’t touch you. Every morning when he’d linger in the shower, his back to you, his hand clenched into a fist. Every time you let him inside you, and you could feel the heartbreak in his touch, like he was still waiting for you to love him the way you used to.

And you hated yourself for it.

But you never thought…….

You never thought he’d cheat.

Until one day, you saw the message.

You were on his phone. It wasn’t intentional. His phone was sitting on the coffee table while he was in the shower, and it buzzed. You didn’t think much of it at first — just a glance, a mindless reflex. But then you saw the notification. A text message. From a number you didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was married.”

And your blood ran cold instantly.

You froze as your pupils dilated.

Your hand shook as you unlocked his phone. His password was your anniversary, for fuck’s sake and when you opened the message thread… It was all there. The proof.

It was from months ago. At least half a year. Some random woman. The messages were fragmented. But clearly, Kento had deleted most of them. But there was enough. Enough to piece it together.

The first message was from her. “Hey, I had fun last night :) Let me know if you ever want to do it again.”

And then his response — curt. “I can’t continue on with this. I’m married. I love my wife. And….I have a daughter.”

Then her response. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.”

And that was it. But it didn’t fucking matter. Because the implication was there. The truth was there. Kento had slept with her. He had fucked her. He had cheated on you. He decided to go on with this, swallowed by the need and by lust.

And you just… You just sat there. Staring at the message. Feeling like the ground was ripped from beneath you. And the thing that destroyed you most was that you weren’t even surprised. Because you knew. You always knew.

You saw it in his eyes every single day. That hunger. That emptiness. That quiet, unspoken need for something you weren’t giving him. And you thought you were fixing it. You thought you were trying. But clearly… clearly it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t confront him immediately. You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You didn’t throw his phone at him the second he walked out of the bathroom. You didn’t do anything. You just… sat there. And thought about it.

And the longer you thought about it, the more it made sense.

Of course he cheated.

Of course he did.

You deprived him for years. You denied him your body. You made him watch you suffer, made him sleep beside you every night knowing he couldn’t touch you, made him ache for you in ways you never fulfilled. That’s the worst part. You understood. You understood why he did it. That was the part that made you nauseous.

Because the truth was you had already broken his heart long before he ever stepped out of your marriage. You had pushed him away for so long, turned cold for so long, denied him for so long — that at some point, he just stopped waiting.

And you didn’t blame him.

You hated him. God, you hated him.

But you understood. And you still loved him.

What a foolish game for a wallflower to grow on.

And when he finally came out of the bathroom, his hair still damp, towel slung over his shoulder, flashing you that soft, tired smile. You didn’t say a word. You just kissed him. Hard. Desperate. Like you hadn’t just been crushed to death by your heartbreak.

You grabbed his face, pulled him down, crushed your mouth to his like you were trying to rewrite history. Trying to pretend like you didn’t know what you knew. Trying to convince yourself that he was still yours. Kento froze for half a second, shocked by your sudden affection but then his hands snapped around your waist and he melted into you.

“Baby….” he gasped against your mouth, his voice needy, aching. “Fuck….. what’s gotten into you?”

You don’t say a word to him. Instead, you just clung to him. Like if you held him tight enough, like you could somehow undo the fact that he had already been touched by someone else. You let him take you that night. Hard. Rough. Desperate.

You let him fuck you like he hadn’t been able to for years, you let him do as he pleased. You let him crumble into you. His mouth on your neck, his hands fisting your hair, his voice breaking as he gasped over and over —“I love you. God, I love you.”

And you let him. Because in some fucked up way, you felt like you owed it to him, after making him suffer for so long. You spent years starving him, depriving him of life. So it was only fair that he found his comfort somewhere else.…Right?

Yet you stayed up after all that love making, alone.

No, you knew the correct answer all along.

But you were just too much of a fool to say it out loud.

AND JUST LIKE THAT, IT HAPPENS ALL OVER AGAIN. Once again, you were pregnant with your second child. It wasn’t planned. You never wanted any more children, after all that had happened. But it happened. Yet it wasn’t that surprising. In some ways, this was the only way you could find yourself taking revenge against him. To make him just as miserable as you again.

Just weeks after you found out about his cheating, after you spent night after night letting him have you in every way he wanted, desperately trying to reclaim him, trying to erase the touch of another woman from his skin. You found yourself standing in the bathroom again, clutching a positive pregnancy test. And your stomach dropped.

Because the second those two pink lines stared back at you, you knew. The cycle was about to repeat. The suffocating weight of motherhood. The slow erosion of your identity. The same cold distance that once consumed your marriage was about to happen all over again. And the worst part was that you couldn’t even blame anyone but yourself.

Because you let him touch you again. You wanted to feel wanted, and to take revenge. You wanted to erase every part of every other woman’s palm on his. You opened your legs for him, night after night, desperate to keep him anchored to you, desperate to make him forget about the other woman and now, you were paying the price.

And when you told Kento, he broke. But not in the same way he did the first time. Not with pure, unfiltered joy. Not with a beaming smile and hopeful eyes. No, this time, Kento’s face crumpled. Yet you know that look on his face. It was just like the first time.

“Baby—” his voice cracked. “You’re….. oh my god, you’re pregnant again?”

And the heartbreak in his voice killed you. Because you knew. You knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking we’re not ready. He was thinking not again. He was thinking I just got her back. And now, it is happening again. Yet, you just knew in the back of his mind, he was thinking this was his punishment. This is what he gets for being the worst man on the earth.

The sleepless nights. Postpartum depression. The intimacy issues. The slow unraveling of your marriage. And you could see it, the fear in his eyes. Yet, your husband Kento pushed it down. Because he was Kento fucking Nanami. He was a husband. A father. A provider. And regardless of how horrified he was, he refused to let you see it.

So he smiled.

Or at least, he tried to.

Yet you both knew the truth.

That smile felt like the biggest lie.

“That’s amazing, baby.” he choked, his voice strained. “Another baby. That’s… that’s incredible.”

And then he kissed you, soft and hesitant, like he was forcing himself to be happy. And you felt it. You felt the hesitation. The dread. The underlying regret. But you didn’t say anything. Because you were the one who let it happen. And just like that, the cycle began again.

Kento started working more. He said it was to provide for the baby, but you knew better. You knew it was because he was terrified. Because he was already bracing himself for what was about to come for you to spiral again, for you to shut down again, for you to stop loving him again.

You tried not to fall into the same pit you did last time. You tried to stay upbeat. You tried to keep loving Kento — loving him hard enough to make up for the fact that he once touched another woman. You tried to be a good wife. You tried to be excited about the baby.

But slowly… it just happened again.

The nausea. The fatigue. The aching loneliness when Kento came home late. The bitterness when you saw happy women on campus who still had their futures. The slow, creeping resentment every time you looked at your growing belly and thought I didn’t want this.

And worst of all, you started pulling away from Kento again. Not on purpose. But your body remembered. Your body associated pregnancy with trauma, with pain, with suffering and so it shut down. You couldn’t help it. Every time Kento touched you, your skin crawled. Every time he kissed you, you flinched. Every time he tried to make love to you, you just froze.

Kento felt it.

He felt you slipping away.

He felt your body turning cold again.

He felt the weight of your touchless nights,

He felt your silent dinners, your empty stares again.

And you knew.

You knew it was happening all over again.

But this time — it was worse.

Now you couldn’t stop thinking about her. The woman he had slept with. The one he turned to when you couldn’t love him the way he needed. And every time Kento touched you, you couldn’t help but lay there and wonder over and over again.

Did she feel warmer than you?

Did she kiss him like she wanted him?

Did she make him feel loved in a way you never could?

Kento could see it.

He could see the way you recoiled when he reached for you. He could see the distance growing between you again. He could see the guilt burning you alive. And he hated himself. Because the truth was, he never stopped loving you.

Even when he cheated. Even when he fucked another woman. It was never about love. It was never about you. It was about the ache. The desperation. The years of feeling like he was losing you and just needing something to hold onto. Now he felt like he was losing you again.

And deep down, he knew.

You were never coming back to him.

Not fully. Not the way you used to.

And Kento was slowly breaking under the weight of it.

Because no matter how much he loved you, it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough to keep you from falling out of love with him.

This is the world you gave birth to Nanami Kenshin.

LIFE GOES ON AS THEY USED TO SAY. Twenty five years, two whole decades and a half of that since you and Kento had first stepped into this chaotic life together. And somehow, despite everything, you made it.

You had raised two kids, a boy and a girl. Your Keiko and your Kenshin. They were both smart, both stubborn, both carrying that unmistakable sharpness in their eyes that mirrored your husband as much as their compassion had been garnered from your heart.

In all that agony you had come to know in your life, the pair kept you busy with almost everything they could think of. Troublemaking, homework, soccer games, dance recitals, late-night fevers. Everything about it is the messy, beautiful chaos of parenting that somehow keeps you moving forward.

And then there was Kento’s career, near thirty years as a veteran in the industry. He had gone from being the promising newcomer to a household name. Red carpets. Magazine covers. Award ceremonies where his face shone on giant screens as he walked up to accept yet another trophy. The world adored him. Respected him. Envied him.

And you were right there beside him for all of it.

The photographers always wanted you in the frame. His beautiful wife, standing gracefully at his side, draped in sleek designer dresses and glittering jewelry. They loved the way you smiled for the cameras, how your hand always rested delicately on his arm, how you played the part of the elegant, unwavering woman who had supported her husband through it all.

And for a while, you convinced yourself that this was enough.

That this life, this carefully curated image of family perfection, was what happiness was.

You learned to smile in interviews, to talk about Kento’s dedication as a father and how proud you were of him. You learned to navigate the world of high society — dinner parties with producers, mingling with other industry wives, slipping into that role of effortless charm and poise.

But behind all the glitz and glamour, it was lonely.

With two kids to raise, and a husband to care for, there was little for you.

There was no room for you to be the woman you are.

Kento was rarely home. Always on set, always in meetings, always flying across the country for some event or another. And when he was home, he was exhausted. Conversations grew shorter. His kisses felt rushed. The intimacy you’d once fought so hard to reclaim began to fade again — not because you didn’t want him, but because he was never there.

You kept yourself busy. Raising the kids. Managing the house.

Smiling at galas, posing for cameras, over and over again.

Playing the part of the perfect wife in a perfect marriage.

But sometimes, when the house was dark and the kids were asleep, you’d sit alone in the living room clutching an old photograph from years ago, back when Kento’s hair was still short and his smile still reached his eyes and wonder if this was all there was left.

And maybe it wasn’t enough.

But you told yourself it had to be.

Because you had already sacrificed too much to turn back now.

So, you didn’t think of anything when it broke out in the headlines.

Kento Nanami, the beloved actor, devoted husband, father of two had allegedly been caught cheating again after nearly twenty five years of marriage.

You sat at the kitchen table, having breakfast like normal. The morning sun spilled through the windows, the smell of eggs and coffee filling the air, and the faint sound of the television humming in the background.

“Sources say the woman in question is a production assistant from his latest drama series—”

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t look up.

You just kept stirring your coffee, like the words meant absolutely nothing to you. Kento, on the other hand, was frozen. Fork halfway to his mouth. Face pale. Chest rising and falling like he was trying not to hyperventilate. And then, slowly, ever so carefully, he turned his head and looked at you.

“…Are you alright?” His voice cracked.

And that’s when you smiled.

You smiled, soft and easy. Like none of it mattered. Like you weren’t currently listening to the entire nation gossip about your husband’s infidelity. Like you weren’t being branded the foolish, pathetic wife who stayed after her husband cheated twice. Like you weren’t dying inside.

And with a voice far too calm, you said, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kento’s entire face crumpled.

Because he knew.

He fucking knew.

That wasn’t real. That smile.

That sweetness. That unbothered facade.

It was performative.

It was the same smile you gave him after your first child was born, when you were drowning in postpartum depression but still told him “I’m fine” over and over again.

It was the same smile you gave him one hundred times when he told you he was going to be late at home tonight, when he didn’t have to be.

And now, now you are doing it all over again. Feigning nonchalance. Feigning strength. Feigning normalcy. And it destroyed him to bits beyond what he could stand.

“…Baby.” his voice cracked, his fork clattering against his plate. “You don’t have to…. I mean, we can talk about it if you want. I’ll….I’ll explain everything. I swear to god, it’s not what they’re saying—”

You laughed so heartily.

A soft, almost amused laugh.

And you took a sip of your coffee, still smiling. “I don’t need you to explain anything, Kento.”

His stomach dropped. “Wh–what?”

You met his gaze and your smile never wavered. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

And fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Kento’s mouth fell open. “Baby….no. It’s not like that….I swear I—”

“It’s alright.” You cut him off smoothly. Calmly. Almost too calmly. “Really. I don’t want an explanation.”

Kento visibly flinched. His heart was hammering so loud he swore you could hear it. “…You don’t?”

You shook your head, taking another bite of your eggs. “No. I’m just glad you had fun.”

And Kento lost it.

“Baby….” His voice cracked violently, his chair scraping against the floor as he immediately dropped to his knees beside you, clutching your thigh like his life depended on it. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out again. Please, baby. Please yell at me. Cry. Scream. Break things. Just…. don’t act like you don’t care. Please. Please, baby, I know you care—”

You laughed again.

But this time — it was hollow.

“I don’t.” you said plainly, popping a piece of toast into your mouth.

And that broke Kento completely, you were sure.

“No, no, that’s not true.” his voice shattered, his grip on your thigh desperate. “You love me. I know you do. You still love me. Please don’t….don’t act like you don’t….. I’ll fix it, baby. I swear to god, I’ll fix it, I’ll—”

“Fix it?” you echoed, your voice soft. Curious. “Like you did the first time?”

Kento fucking froze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Because you never talked about it. Ever. After his first affair, you never once brought it up. You forgave him in the silence. Or at least, you pretended to. You shoved it down, pretended it never happened, and let Kento crawl back into your arms without consequence.

Now you were smiling at him like he was nothing more than a pitiful stranger. “Your ears work fine, don’t they?”

“…I don’t know what to say.” he choked. His hands were shaking. His throat constricted. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please….please just tell me what to do. I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

The look in your eyes killed him.

“Don’t leave you?” you continued, your voice sickly sweet. “Don’t abandon you like you abandoned me when I needed you the most? Don’t make you feel like I loved someone else the way you made me feel for years?”

Tears burned his eyes. “Baby, please—”

“It’s fine, Kento.” You smiled again. “Really. I’m not mad.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You sipped your coffee. “I’m not anything.”

And Kento completely unraveled.

Because he could see it.

The way you looked at him now. Like he was just a man. Not your husband. Not your Kento. Not the love of your life. Just a man who happened to share your bed, your house, and your children. And it killed him.

“Do you still love me?” he finally choked out, his voice so small.

And you froze.

Just for a second.

But then you smiled again.

Just as soft, sweet, cold as before.

“Of course, I do.”

And that was the sick part, wasn’t it?

You did. You still loved him. You loved him with your entire fucking soul. You loved him so much that it hurt. You loved him and you hated him with equal intensity. It was two sides of the same coin and it was tearing you apart.

And yet even if you do love him, you know what should be.

Kento didn’t deserve that love anymore.

And even if you have to act like you don’t love him, so be it.

Let him suffer the amount of suffering you had over that time.

So you kissed his forehead, brushed his hair back, and whispered. “You should finish your breakfast. You have work later.”

And then you stood up from your seat, cigarette on your lips.

And left him sobbing on the kitchen floor, lamenting.

You had errands left to run, after all.

A wife has too much to do, you know?

2K notes · View notes

sixxels · 21 days ago

Text

taunt me ~ t.fushiguro angst

fratboy!toji x reader

wc: 18k

!!disclaimer!! angst-heavy content, mutual pining, slow burn, jealousy, detailed consensual smut, alcohol use, hurt/comfort, references to unhealthy coping mechanisms.

summary ~ between late-night parties, jealous stares, and the chaos of sukuna’s games, your relationship with toji is a tangled mess of almosts and apologies. he pushes you away to protect you, but it only hurts more every time he does. when everything finally implodes, it’s not just love on the line, it’s your sanity. you both want each other. but love’s never been that simple. m.list

the bass hit first, deep and thick like it had teeth, rattling the cracked windows of delta phi and bleeding out into the dark. the house was already a mess by the time you got there. glitter on the floor, someone shotgunning a beer in the kitchen, a girl crying quietly in the hallway. classic. you’d been to a few of these now. you knew the rhythm. the chaos. the low thrum of want and violence that came with being around them, especially him.

toji was already inside when you arrived, leaning against the wall by the living room entrance like he always did, watching everything with that dark, sharp gaze like he was bored but taking notes. someone had tossed a hoodie over his shoulder, tank top clinging to his chest, black jeans ripped at the knees. his hair was messy like he’d just gotten out of bed. maybe he had. his eyes flicked to you when you walked in. slow. low. they lingered on your legs, then your lips, then back to your legs. he didn’t smile. he never did. just that slight raise of his brow, like he was amused you were even there.

you knew that look by now. it meant 'come here.'

you didn’t go right away. instead you wandered through the crowd, brushing past sukuna’s throne-chair in the living room where he held court like some bored devil, girls draped over him, red tattoos sharp in the strobe. he caught your wrist for a second and leaned in too close. “looking pretty tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “toji’s watching, you know.”

you didn’t reply, just slipped free and kept walking. sukuna’s laugh followed you. sukuna was always like this, too bold for his own good, always talking shut. the exact opposite of his best friend toji.

by the time you reached toji, the music had shifted into something lower, dirtier. he didn’t speak. didn’t ask. just reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the crowd with the kind of possessive ease that made your chest burn. you didn’t protest. you never did.

you ended up right in the middle of the room, surrounded by sweat and smoke and the smell of spilled liquor. bodies pressed close, but you only felt his. his hand on your waist. his fingers splayed against your back. he moved slow at first, lazy, like he wasn’t even trying, but his grip never loosened.

“you look good,” he said, voice rough from whiskey or weed or both. “real sexy.”

you looked up at him, close enough to see the slight scar above his brow. “you always say that.”

“cause it’s always true.”

your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt. you wanted more. wanted his mouth on your neck, his hands on your skin, but all he gave you was his eyes and that crooked smirk that meant trouble.

all you wanted was him. all of him. you two had been friends who flirted for about two years now, and god, it was getting so fucking unbearable.

you danced like that for a while, grinding, turning, your body brushing against his over and over until it was hard to tell where you ended and he began. every time you pressed into him, he let you, but his jaw stayed tight. his hand never dipped low enough.

“you gonna kiss me tonight, toji?” you asked against his throat.

he chuckled, low and dark. “you want me to?”

you tilted your head up, lips inches from his. “maybe.”

he didn’t kiss you. he never did. just leaned in like he might and then pulled back at the last second. teasing. cruel.

it drove you fucking crazy.

gojo wandered by at some point, wearing sunglasses and no shirt, red solo cup in hand as his perfect body shined with the blue led lights above. “jesus christ, get a room,” he called, grinning. “or don’t. watching this is better than the music i guess.”

toji flipped him off without looking. you laughed, but toji’s hand tensed on your waist for half a second. only you noticed.

eventually, you both pulled back, breathless. not from dancing. from the way he kept looking at you like he wanted to ruin you and hated himself for it. he led you to the edge of the room where it was quieter, just you and him and the pulse of the party vibrating through the walls.

“you shouldn’t dance like that,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

you stole it from his mouth and took a drag. “why not?”

he looked down at you, smoke curling from his lips. “cause it makes me wanna do things i shouldn’t.”

your heart kicked hard in your chest.

you handed the cigarette back. “so do them.”

he exhaled slow, eyes dropping to your lips again. “you don’t get it,” he muttered. “you never get it.”

he was always like this. hot and cold. pull and push. he’d dance with you like he wanted to take you apart, then disappear the second things got too close. sometimes he ignored you for days. sometimes he found you in the hallway at midnight, eyes dark, and murmured your name like a confession. you didn’t know what he wanted. but you knew what you did.

you wanted him. all of him. even the broken parts.

in the kitchen, shoko was pouring shots with sukuna. geto leaned against the counter, joint tucked behind his ear, quietly judging everyone. choso sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes half-lidded, scribbling something in a sketchbook. nanami was nowhere to be seen—probably upstairs rereading a syllabus and pretending he didn’t live here.

this house was wild, loud, suffocating. but it had toji. so you kept coming back.

you were still close to him, back against the wall, watching him smoke. he glanced at you. held your gaze for a second too long. “you like all this?” he asked. “the parties. the attention.”

“i like you,” you said, honest. “that’s why i’m here.”

his eyes flickered.

“shut up, y/n. you don't know what you're saying,” he said finally. voice low. tired.

“i know.”

“then stop trying.”

“i cant.”

he stared at you. his hand brushed your waist again, just for a second. a soft touch. something real.

then it was gone.

he watched you laugh with gojo later, something tight coiling in his chest. you looked happy. light. too good for this hellhole. too good for him.

you didn’t see the way his jaw clenched when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders. didn’t see the way his fists curled when you leaned into geto’s side, laughing at something he whispered. you didn’t notice the way he watched you like he was memorizing every detail in case it was the last time.

you were popular, of course you had a lot of friends l, including the ones he was friends with. but fuck if it didn't hurt watching you get touched up on by all his frat brothers like you were just some girl.

toji fushiguro didn’t fall in love. he fucked. he fought assholes who's egos needed a good bruse. he disappeared when things got too warm. but you… you made everything complicated.

you were soft and beautiful and real. you looked at him like he mattered. like he wasn’t just some fuck up with too many scars and not enough soul. you smiled when he was cruel. didn’t flinch when he pushed. you kept coming back like you didn’t know any better.

he wanted to kiss you so badly it made his teeth ache.

but he didn’t.

he leaned back against the wall and watched the party burn around him, heart heavy, throat dry. he couldn’t have you. not the way you wanted. not without wrecking you. and he cared too much to do that.

so he hurt you instead.

kept his distance. said shit he didn’t mean. shit that he knew kept you up at night. let you believe he didn’t want you.

it was the only way he knew how to protect you.

and it was killing him.

he stayed outside for a while after that. just him, the stars, and a silence too thick to breathe through. the cold didn’t bother him. he’d take it over the warmth of you any day. warmth made him weak. warmth made him want to pull you into his lap and never let go. warmth made him selfish.

inside, the party didn’t slow down. it just got messier. louder. meaner. when you came back in, sukuna was still where you left him, perched in that throne-chair like some cursed king with a solo cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. he gave you a lazy smirk, legs wide, tattoos gleaming under the shitty lights. “your little shadow still outside?”

you didn’t answer. you were too busy scanning the room. your eyes found him immediately. he was back inside now, leaning against the far wall like he hadn’t just told you he was bad for you with eyes full of regret. he looked calmer than he felt. calm enough that it made your heart twist.

you were about to move. one foot forward. just one. he was across the room but you could make it. you could try again. maybe this time you’d get through. maybe this time he’d—

then she walked into frame.

a girl. short skirt. tight top. she said something to him. laughed. he didn’t even hesitate. toji reached for her waist and pulled her in.

then he kissed her.

you froze. couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. his hand cupped the back of her neck like he’d done to you once when he was drunk and reckless and almost real. his mouth pressed to hers slow at first, then deeper. open. hungry. you stared.

it felt like your ribs cracked open one by one. like your skin peeled back to make room for the ache blooming in your chest.

you and toji had been like this for two years. flirty friends. nothing more.

you weren’t even sure when it started. maybe it was that one party where you ended up sitting outside together at three a.m., passing a blunt and talking about shit neither of you usually said out loud. maybe it was the way he always made room for you on the couch without asking, or the way his hand would linger a little too long on your back when he walked by. maybe it was the night you both ditched the chaos and drove around in his beat-up car for hours, sharing gas station snacks and laughing at nothing until the sun came up.

but the thing was, he never kissed you.

not once.

you’d slept in his bed. worn his hoodies. let your legs tangle under his blanket when the movie ran too long and no one wanted to move. you’d made ramen in his kitchen and cleaned up his messes and seen him hungover and shirtless more times than you could count.

he’d seen you cry once. held your face in his hands and wiped your tears away with his thumbs and still didn’t kiss you. it drove you crazy sometimes. how close you were without tipping over the edge. how he flirted like he meant it but never followed through. how he’d call you sweetheart with that low voice and look at you like he was starving, then laugh it off like it was nothing.

you were just friends, everyone said it. he said it. you said it. but it never felt that simple.

not when he showed up at your dorm at midnight just because you sounded off over text. not when he sat next to you at parties even though he never sat still. not when he gave you his hoodie when you were cold, even if it meant standing outside in just a tank top himself. it was friendship, yeah. but it was the kind that felt like something sacred and dangerous all at once. like a match too close to gasoline.

and maybe nothing had ever happened between you two. not technically. not officially. but you felt it, he did too. you knew he did. and that made it worse.

you didn’t realize you’d stepped back until your shoulder hit sukuna’s. he looked down at you. and for once—just once—he didn’t say something cruel.

his voice was low. almost quiet. “he’s trying to make you hate him.” you blinked hard. your mouth was dry. “it’s working,” you whispered.

sukuna sighed and leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he muttered, “but you won’t. not really.” he tilted his head, looking at you sideways. “you’re too fucking soft.” you didn’t respond. couldn’t. your eyes were still locked on toji. he’d pulled away from the girl now. was saying something in her ear. she laughed again, tossed her hair, disappeared into the kitchen. he didn’t watch her go.

his eyes found yours instead. and even across the room, in all the chaos and noise and flickering lights, you saw the guilt. you saw the shame. you saw how much it hurt him to do it.

but he’d done it anyway.

you turned away.

sukuna stood, stretching lazily. he flicked his cigarette to the floor and ground it under his boot. “come on,” he said. “i’ll get you something stronger.” you didn’t want to follow him, but you did.

because it was easier than staying.

you ended up on the back porch with a bottle of cheap vodka and sukuna sitting next to you, his usual smugness dimmed. he didn’t touch you. didn’t flirt. just passed the bottle back and forth and let you sit there in your heartbreak.

“you wanna hear the truth?” he asked eventually. you looked at him, eyes rimmed red. “he’s not doing it to be cruel,” he said. “he’s doing it cause he thinks he’s saving you.” you blinked. “by kissing someone else right in front of me?”

he shrugged. “yeah. stupid, huh?” you didn’t laugh. didn’t smile. he looked up at the sky, jaw tight. “guys like him don’t know how to love without destroying shit. we don’t get soft things. we just break them.”

you stared at him. “and what about you? what do you want?” he met your eyes. something unreadable passed between you. “doesn’t matter,” he said. “i’m not the one you look at like that.”

you didn’t have anything to say to that. so you took another sip and let the vodka burn a hole through your chest where your heart used to be.

toji hadn’t moved from his spot.

he was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to look for you in every corner of the house. pretending the kiss hadn’t made him sick to his stomach.

he could still taste that girl’s lip gloss. fake cherry. too sweet. not you. he’d seen your face when you caught him. saw the way your expression cracked down the middle. the betrayal. the confusion. the hurt.

he wanted to punch something.

but this was what he’d wanted, right?

he told himself that. over and over.

she needs to hate you. she needs to leave. she needs to find someone who won’t break her.

so he kissed someone else, and now he was alone.

choso passed him on the way to the basement, headphones around his neck. he paused, looked at toji for a second. said nothing. just shook his head like he was disappointed.

gojo showed up a few minutes later with a raised brow and a knowing smirk. “you done being a dumbass?”

“go away.”

“you know she left with sukuna, right?”

toji’s head snapped up.

gojo grinned. “yeah. out back. he got her a bottle. they’re talking. real close.”

toji’s jaw clenched. “fuck off, satoru.”

“just saying,” gojo drawled. “you’re not the only one who knows how to self-destruct.”

he walked away whistling.

toji didn’t follow. he couldn’t.

he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw you sitting with sukuna, drinking and crying and leaning into the shoulder of a man who didn’t deserve to touch you. he’d lose it. do something he’d regret.

he deserved this. he made this happen.

and still—still—his hands were shaking.

you stayed out back longer than you meant to. the vodka numbed the sharp edges, but not the center. not the deep, hot ache that sat in your throat like a stone. sukuna didn’t try anything. didn’t even make a move.

he just let you be broken.

“i don’t get you,” he said after a while. you looked over at him, wiping under your eyes.

“he’s an asshole,” sukuna continued. “but you look at him like he strung the stars.” you laughed bitterly. “maybe he did.” he scoffed. “no. he just learned how to hold a hammer and forgot to put it down.” you leaned back, head against the siding of the house. “he’s not all bad.”

“no,” sukuna agreed. “but he’s not all good either.” he glanced at you. “just remember that next time he tries to break you in half.”

you wanted to argue. to say you could take it. that it was worth it. but your voice caught on the truth. it already hurt.

and he hadn’t even touched you.

when you finally came back inside, the house had shifted. quieter now. people passed out on couches. music down to a murmur. the scent of smoke and spilled drinks clung to everything.

toji was gone.

you checked the usual places. the kitchen. the hallway. even peeked into the basement where choso gave you a look like he wanted to say something but didn’t. eventually you found shoko leaning against the railing upstairs, cigarette in one hand, textbook in the other.

“you seen him sho?”

she looked at you without surprise. blew smoke out the side of her mouth. “he went to his room.”

you nodded. turned to go.

“don’t,” she said. you paused. “just… don’t,” she repeated. “not tonight.” you swallowed hard. “why?”

“cause you’ll forgive him if you do. and he won’t stop.” you looked at her. “i already forgave him.” shoko didn’t smile. didn’t judge. she just took another drag and said, “i know.”

you stood there for a long time. just stood. unsure of everything except how much it hurt, and how much you still wanted him anyway.

your anguish didn't go unnoticed to your friends, especially not to your most over the top one, gojo. he was pissed. pissed at toji. so after you had left, he made it his god sent to speak his mind to his brooding brother.

the hallway outside toji’s room still smelled like tequila and cheap weed. music was finally starting to die down downstairs, voices slurring into sleep or hookups or some kind of mess. gojo stepped over a knocked-over chair, kicked an empty red cup out of the way, and knocked hard twice before turning the knob without waiting for an answer.

the door creaked open. dark inside, save for the blue glow of a laptop screen. toji sat at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, tank top clinging to his chest with sweat. his hair was a mess, jaw clenched tight, a bottle of jack daniel’s sitting beside him like company.

“the fuck do you want,” toji muttered without looking up. gojo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “wanted to see how the world’s biggest asshole was holding up.” toji scoffed. “get lost.”

“can’t. house rules. i get to verbally beat your ass at least once a semester.” toji didn’t move. just stared at the floor like it had answers. gojo let the silence hang for a second before pushing off the wall and walking inside. “you really had to do that to her? in front of everyone?”

“drop it."

“nah,” gojo said, voice tightening. “you don’t get to pull shit like that and then sit here acting like you’re the victim.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“i know exactly what i’m talking about. she looked wrecked, toji. she left early. sukuna of all people had to comfort her. do you even realize how fucked that is?” toji’s head snapped up. “i said drop it.”

“and i said no,” gojo snapped. “you want me to stop then tell me why the hell you did it. why you kissed some random girl when the one person you actually give a shit about was walking toward you.”

“because she was walking toward me,” toji growled, standing now. “that’s why.” gojo blinked. “what?”

“she was coming over, gojo. i saw it in her face. like she still thought there was something there. like she was ready to try again.” toji’s chest rose and fell, breathing sharp. “and i can’t. i can’t do it.”

“can’t or won’t?"

toji laughed, bitter and low. “don’t start with that bullshit.” gojo stepped closer, voice sharp now. “then what is it, huh? you string her along for two years, make her think she means something, then blow it all up the second it feels real?”

“because she does mean something,” toji snapped. “that’s the problem.” gojo went quiet.

“she’s too fucking good,” toji said, voice breaking low. “she’s soft and kind and stupidly hopeful and i’ll ruin that. i’ll tear her apart without even trying.” gojo’s hands clenched into fists. “so your solution is to rip the bandaid off by kissing someone else in front of her? are you listening to yourself?”

“it’s better this way,” toji muttered, like he was convincing himself. “for who? not for her. and definitely not for you.”

“what do you want from me, satoru?” toji barked. “you want me to say i’m in love with her? that i can’t fucking sleep unless i know she’s safe, that i think about her every time i lift, every time i come home, every time i see her name on my phone? you want me to say i wish i wasn’t like this, wish i could be good enough for her?”

gojo stared, jaw tight. “well i’m not,” toji said, voice raw. “i’m not good. i never was. and if i let her close she’s gonna learn that the hard way.”

“she already knows,” gojo said, softer now. “she’s seen it. and she stayed.”

“she shouldn’t have to.”

“maybe that’s not your call to make.”

they stood there breathing like they’d just fought for real. and maybe they had. the air was thick with unsaid things, old wounds, the kind of hurt you only let out when it’s been sitting too long. “i’m not gonna tell you what to do,” gojo said after a long beat. “but you owe her better than what you gave her tonight.”

toji sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbed a hand down his face like he was exhausted. “i know.”

“and for the record,” gojo added, “if i didn’t like her like a sister, i’d be the one standing next to her right now. not you.” toji looked up at him, eyes sharp. gojo raised a brow. “but i do. so don’t make me regret having faith in your dumb ass.”

the room was quiet again. not calm, not exactly, but the storm had passed. gojo turned to go, then paused in the doorway.

“you know,” he said without looking back, “i’ve seen you take hits from guys twice your size. but the look on your face when she walked out? that was the first time you actually looked hurt.”

then he left, door clicking shut behind him.

toji didn’t move for a while. just stared at the door like he was hoping you'd walk through it instead. like maybe he hadn’t ruined everything.

but you didn’t.

and he had.

the next morning was rough.

the sun was sharp and mean, casting everything in that washed-out gold that made the world feel too loud. toji didn’t bother with sunglasses. he never did. he walked like someone who had nothing to prove and still made people get out of the way.

he was headed to his monday morning business class, dragging his feet a little more than usual, hungover but used to it. the hangover was never the issue. it was the way his thoughts stuck to the back of his throat like smoke that wouldn’t clear. his little verbal fight with gojo last night ontop of making you feel like shit was not helping.

campus was already moving around him, caffeine-fueled freshmen and overachieving finance majors crowding the sidewalks, chattering about midterms and internship interviews and parties they weren’t even invited to yet. toji didn’t speak to any of them. he didn’t have to. everyone already knew who he was.

toji fushiguro was a name people said with caution. the kind of name that came with rumors and stories passed around late at night, most of them half true. people said he used to be a cage fighter. that he dropped out sophomore year because he broke someone’s jaw in a seminar. that he only re-enrolled because delta phi practically begged him to come back. that he had a kill count and not just in bed. and hey, he's not saying that's not true.

he didn’t care what they said. he’d been through worse than whispers.

he wore a black long sleeve shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, tattoos crawling down his arms like they had minds of their own. heavy black ink that looked rough even from a distance, sharp edges and sacred lines. they looked like they belonged on someone who didn’t believe in softness. piercings glinted at his brow and ear and lip, silver catching the sun. his jeans hung low on his hips and his boots were scuffed like they’d seen too many nights out.

he was big. not just tall, but thick with muscle, all wide shoulders and brutal arms. one of the man reason he got you do hit and bothered. he looked like he could lift a car if he felt like it, or throw a man across the quad just to prove a point.

and despite the fact he barely said ten words to anyone in class, the professors never called on him. not anymore. he didn’t sit with anyone, except nanami when he felt like it. didn’t take notes. didn’t even open his laptop. but he passed every exam, turned in every assignment, and showed up just enough to stay under the radar. just enough to keep his spot at delta phi, which was really the only reason he hadn’t burned the whole place down yet.

toji wasn’t the president. that was sukuna’s circus. but he was something scarier—unofficial muscle. the one who kept the wolves at bay when they came too close. the one everyone looked at when things got ugly. he didn’t speak unless it mattered. didn’t fight unless it was worth it. but when he did? people remembered.

he cut across the back end of campus on his way to class, heading past the old science building where the vending machines always ate your change. the path was quieter here, shadowed by overgrown trees and cigarette smoke curling from cracked benches.

he caught the tail end of a conversation before he even saw who was talking.

“…seriously, fuck gojo. he’s not even that hot. just has clout. i saw him with mia last week. she was crying about me the week before, now she’s on his dick like i didn’t even exist.”

toji slowed down. his jaw twitched. the voice belonged to some guy he vaguely recognized—football or lacrosse, something cocky and replaceable. he was laughing with another dude, but it was bitter. jealous. toji turned the corner and looked directly at him.

“say that shit again,” he said, voice low and calm. the guy froze. his friend bailed immediately, slinking off with a muttered “i’ll catch you later, bro,” like even he knew what was coming. toji stepped closer.

“what?” the guy asked, trying to puff up his chest like that would help. “you think i’m scared of you?”

“no,” toji said, voice flat. “i think you’re pathetic.”

the guy scoffed. “you don’t even know what—” toji grabbed the collar of his hoodie and slammed him back against the brick wall, one hand flat against his chest like he wasn’t even trying yet.

“you got a problem with gojo?” he said, voice quiet. “say it to his face. otherwise shut your fucking mouth.” the guy flinched. toji could see the flash of fear behind his eyes now. good.

“jesus, man—he fucked my ex.”

“she left you. there’s a difference.” toji let go with a hard shove. the guy stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the bench. “you wanna blame someone for your girl moving on? blame yourself. don’t drag my brother’s name through the dirt ‘cause you’re too soft to handle it.”

the guy didn’t respond. didn’t even look at him. just turned and walked fast in the opposite direction, muttering under his breath. toji exhaled through his nose, shook out his hand like the heat in his blood was trying to burn through his skin.

despite his altercation with satoru the night prior, he'd always stand up for his family. hell, gojo probably wouldn’t even care. he never did. too laid back for grudges, too self-assured to let shit like that stick. but that didn’t matter to toji. because he knew what gojo didn’t show. he knew the cracks that didn’t reach the surface. the stuff behind the sunglasses and grins.

and loyalty? that wasn’t optional for toji. it wasn’t a trait. it was the only rule that mattered. delta phi might’ve been a shitshow, but it was his shitshow. they were his people. no one talked about them like that.

not without consequences. he adjusted the strap of his backpack and kept walking, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest.

because the truth was, he needed them. more than he’d ever admit out loud. the house, the chaos, the late nights and stupid games and gojo yelling about who stole his lighter again. it kept him tethered. kept him from spiraling too far. he knew gojo only meant well, so he'd never hold shit against him for putting his mind in the right place.

but mostly, it was you. you were the one thing he couldn’t name. couldn’t reach for. couldn’t lose. and now that sukuna was getting closer, now that you were looking at him like you didn’t know what to believe anymore, now that he was the one who made you cry—

he felt it slipping.

all of it.

and he didn’t know how to stop it.

'fuck me.'

your dorm feels colder than usual. the light is soft and pale through the blinds, the kind of grey morning that makes everything feel slow and sticky, like your body’s moving through half-dried paint. it’s just past nine and your bedsheets are tangled around your ankles like they fought back in your sleep. you didn’t dream. you didn’t get the chance. too many thoughts, too many flashes of his hands on someone else’s waist, her mouth on his, the curve of his grin that should’ve been yours.

you roll onto your back, stare up at the ceiling and breathe through the ache that’s settled behind your ribs like something permanent. you told yourself you wouldn’t fall for him. two years of skirting the edge, of shared joints on rooftops and late-night food runs and smirks across dance floors. two years of almosts and maybes and looks that said too much but never went anywhere. two years of him pulling you in just to push you away.

but last night? that felt different. dancing with him, the way his hands gripped your waist, the way his voice dropped when he said your name like it meant something.

it had felt real.

and then it hadn’t.

you replay it over and over—the moment your eyes locked across the room, the second you stepped away from sukuna, ready to go to him again, to risk it all one more time. and then the way his hand wrapped around her hip, how his mouth found hers like it was nothing. like you were nothing.

your stomach turns. you sit up, hair a mess, hoodie sliding off your shoulder. you hadn’t even taken your makeup off last night, just crawled into bed and let it all hit you at once. you remember sukuna’s voice at your ear, warm and surprisingly soft despite the venom he usually spat.

“you don’t cry over guys like him, sweetheart,” he’d said, pressing a drink into your hand. “you let them cry over you.” you weren’t sure why he cared. maybe he didn’t. maybe he just liked having a front row seat to the destruction. but last night he didn’t press too hard. just sat beside you while the party roared on, kept his arm slung behind the couch and didn’t let anyone else get too close.

your phone buzzes beside you. you pick it up and squint at the screen.

sukuna [9:09am]: you okay pretty girl?

you stare at it for a second, then type back.

you [9:10am]: i'm fine ryo

you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. you want to say more. thank him, maybe. tell him you appreciated it, even if it came from the last person you expected. but before you can send anything else, there’s a knock on your door.

you blink. frown. no one ever knocks on your door at this hour. you climb out of bed, tug your hoodie down, try to smooth your hair a little as you shuffle toward the door barefoot. you unlock it and pull it open—

“good morning, sunshine!” gojo stands there, grinning like the hangover skipped him entirely, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the cloudy sky outside. he’s holding a flyer in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“you’re… happy,” you mumble, rubbing your eye. he shrugs. “always am. some of us don’t let heartbreak slow us down.” you blink at him. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, way too fast, and pushes the flyer toward you. “special delivery from delta phi. invitation only. it’s a bar takeover tonight, and i was instructed—” he leans forward like it’s a secret— “by myself, because i’m a genius, to invite you personally.”

you take the flyer. the paper’s thick and smells faintly of weed. “you’re really doing printed invites now?”

“classy, right?” he wiggles his brows. “sukuna wanted a neon poster that said ‘girls drink free until they cry’ but i vetoed that.” you snort, but it dies fast. your fingers tighten around the flyer.

“so,” gojo says slowly, “how are you holding up?” you look up at him. he’s smiling, but not as wide as usual. he’s watching you carefully. “fine,” you say.

he tilts his head. “wrong. try again.” you shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “i don’t know. last night sucked.” he nods, lets that sit for a second.

“toji’s an idiot,” he says eventually. your breath catches. “you don’t have to—”

“i do,” he cuts in gently. “because i know him. and i know you.” you press your lips together. “he’s…” gojo runs a hand through his hair. “he’s complicated. always has been. doesn’t let people get too close, especially the ones he actually gives a shit about.”

“yeah, i noticed.” he frowns. “look. i’m not gonna make excuses for him. what he did last night? not cool. not even a little. and i know it hurt you.” you blink fast.

“but,” gojo says, stepping forward, “if it means anything… he didn’t want to hurt you.”

“he literally made out with someone right in front of me,” you say, voice cracking just slightly. “after dancing with me like—like he meant it.” gojo exhales. “i know. i was there.” he leans against the wall across from your door, crosses his arms. “he’s terrified. you mean too much, and that makes him feel like he’s already failing before he’s even tried. so he lashes out. does something cruel, because then he doesn’t have to deal with the guilt of ruining something good.”

you swallow, hard.

“i told him he was being a dumbass,” gojo adds. “for what it’s worth. we got into it a little.” your brows lift. “you fought?”

“not like, fists and broken bones. just the usual screaming match.” he shrugs. “brotherly love.” you lean your head back against the frame and sigh.

“you ever think,” you murmur, “maybe i was stupid for waiting this long? for thinking he’d eventually… i don’t know. stop running?” gojo’s voice softens. “you weren’t stupid. you were patient. and hopeful. that’s not weakness.” you close your eyes.

“but,” he adds, “you also don’t have to keep waiting. not if it’s breaking you.” you nod slowly, thumb brushing over the corner of the flyer. “so what do i do?” you ask. “show up tonight? act like it’s fine?”

gojo gives you a crooked smile. “you show up looking hot as hell, dance with whoever you want, and remember you’re not the one who messed up.” you huff a laugh. “easier said than done.”

“i’ll be your wingman. we’ll make it a whole thing.” you raise a brow. “you’re not gonna try to flirt with me?”

“oh, i absolutely will. but only in the respectful, ego-boosting way.” you laugh again, a little more real this time. he pushes off the wall. “think about it, okay?” you nod. “thanks, gojo.” his smile softens. “anytime. and… for what it’s worth, if he ever gets his head out of his ass, you’re the only girl i’d root for with him.” you blink at him.

“he’s never looked at anyone else the way he looks at you. not once.” then he’s gone, already whistling down the hall like he didn’t just emotionally disarm you before ten a.m. you stand there a while longer, door half-shut, staring at the flyer in your hand and wondering what the hell tonight is going to feel like.

wondering what’s going to hurt more—seeing him again, or pretending like none of it ever happened. and most of all, wondering if he’s going to look at you like he did before everything fell apart.

or if he won’t look at you at all.

god, you should’ve never come.

you told yourself that the whole walk over, heels clicking on uneven pavement, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. the air was sticky and warm, just the edge of summer pressing in, and you were too aware of the way your dress clung to you, the way your lipstick felt too pretty, too brave. but gojo had asked so sweetly, flashing that grin like a sunrise and pressing the invite into your hand like he already knew you’d say yes.

and maybe you did. maybe you wanted to be seen. maybe you wanted him to see you.

the bar was already a mess when you walked in—bodies packed wall to wall, bass vibrating through the floor, lights flickering pink and gold. it was chaos, the kind gojo thrived in. you spotted him first near the bar, shirt half-buttoned and sunglasses still on, despite it being night. he raised a hand when he saw you, mouth already forming something ridiculous, but your eyes didn’t stay on him long.

they found toji.

of course they did.

he was across the room, leaning back against the booth like he hadn’t ripped your heart out just nights ago. like he hadn’t kissed someone else while your chest was still cracked open in front of him. he hadn’t texted. not a word. not a hey. not a sorry. not even a “you good?” like you were some girl he barely knew. you hated that your first instinct was still to look for him.

and god, he looked good.

black tee stretched over his chest, sleeves rolled just enough to show the curve of his biceps and the ink that wrapped around them like smoke. his chain caught the light when he tilted his head. he hadn’t even shaved. a shadow of a beard clung to his jaw, making him look more like trouble than usual.

he saw you before you could look away.

his gaze locked with yours. it didn’t falter, didn’t skip. it stayed steady, calm, unaffected. he lifted a brow like he’d seen you last night, like nothing had happened, and your heart clenched in your ribs.

you almost turned back. you almost went to gojo and begged for a drink and a distraction. but toji was already pushing up from the booth and walking toward you, slow and steady, beer still in hand, eyes never leaving yours.

“you look so sexy y/n,” he said when he reached you, voice lazy, deep, low enough to drown in. his mind drifted to gojo screaming at him to get his shit together, but it quickly faded when he remembered just who he is. a fucking asshole that's nothing mroe than bad news.

he watched you blink, stupidly. “just gonna ignore last weekend?”

toji smirked like it was funny, like your confusion was some private joke he didn’t plan on explaining. “we’re at a party. don’t ruin the mood.”

you hated how fast he pulled you back in. how your anger wilted under his closeness. he smelled like cedar and whiskey, like heat and sweat and safety, even if he was the last person you should feel safe with. his hand ghosted against your lower back, not quite touching but close enough that your skin burned.

“so you’re just gonna ignore it?” you said, voice soft but sharp. toji’s eyes didn’t waver despite his intense inner turmoil. “what do you want me to say?”

everything, you thought. 'i miss you. i didn’t mean it. you’re not just some girl.' but you didn’t say it. because the second you did, it would all come spilling out, everything you’d been holding in since you met him two years ago, since you realized the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you like you were a secret he didn’t want to share.

you shook your head instead and let him lead you toward the bar, let him order a drink for you, let him stand too close while you sipped vodka from a sticky straw and tried not to crumble.

“you looked good dancing with sukuna last weekend,” he said casually, like he wasn’t gripping the bar so tightly the tendons in his hand strained.

“you looked good kissing that girl,” you shot back. toji’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t flinch. “she kissed me.”

you gave him a look. “didn’t look that one-sided.”

he didn’t answer, just took a swig from his beer and looked straight ahead. the silence between you turned thick and bitter, but not unbearable. it was always like this. always a push and pull, a fire you both stood too close to.

after a beat, he leaned in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low.

“you still mad at me?”

“what do you think?”

he didn’t pull away.

“think you’re too pretty to look that angry.”

you hated him. hated the way he knew exactly how to disarm you, how he used softness like a weapon. hated that you leaned into him anyway, your shoulder brushing his chest, your breath catching when his fingers ghosted over your wrist.

“you don’t get to play like this,” you said. “not after that.”

“i’m not playing.” you stared up at him. his face was unreadable, but his eyes were anything but. something dark swam there, something he’d never say out loud. fear. guilt. want. it made your knees weak.

“then what is this?” he didn’t answer. you danced with him anyway. because what else were you supposed to do?

when the music shifted into something slower, hazier, he pulled you into him like you were meant to be there. your hands found his shoulders, then the curve of his neck. his arms circled your waist and tugged you closer until your chest was flush against his and you could feel his heartbeat, erratic and hard. he smelled like home. like everything you wanted and couldn’t have.

“you didn’t text me,” you whispered, staring at the place where your hand rested against his collarbone.

“i know.”

“why?”

“i didn’t know what to say.”

you bit your lip. “you could’ve said sorry.”

toji’s mouth curved into a grimace. “you think that’d make it better?”

“no,” you said honestly. “but it would’ve meant something.” his grip tightened just slightly, like the truth hurt. “i didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.” you looked up at him. “i always want to hear from you. even when i hate you.”

his eyes softened for half a second. then he pulled you closer, forehead resting against yours. “you don’t hate me.”

“sometimes i wish i did.” he smiled. it wasn’t a happy one. “me too.” the song ended but you didn’t move. his breath was warm against your cheek, his hand splayed across your back like he was holding you together.

“what are we doing?” you asked quietly. “making bad choices,” he said.

you laughed. it sounded hollow. “yeah. i noticed.”

“you wanna leave?”

you looked at him. god, you wanted to. you wanted to crawl back into that space you used to share—his bed, his couch, that place on the porch where you’d sit and talk shit for hours. not that he meant it in a hook up way, you were bound to just go home and talk. you wanted his hand in yours, his mouth against your shoulder, his voice in your ear. but not like this. not until he meant it.

“not tonight,” you said. toji nodded. he looked away, you stepped back, he let you go.

you didn’t look at him again as you walked off the dance floor, not even when you felt his eyes on you the whole way across the bar. you found gojo leaning against the wall, sipping something neon and watching the crowd like a bored lion. he looked at you, then at toji, then back again.

“you good?” he asked.

you didn’t answer.

he handed you his drink.

you took it.

"fuck satoru i don't know how long i can do this shit."

meanwhile he was spiralling.

toji slammed the bars bathroom door so hard it rattled the fucking frame. fluorescent light buzzed above him, harsh and yellow, and the second the lock clicked into place, he was across the bathroom, fists braced against the sink, head down, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

his reflection stared back, mocking. he hated what he saw.

“fucking idiot,” he spat, low and sharp like a curse. he was breathing too hard. chest heaving, eyes wild. “you fucking idiot.”

you looked beautiful tonight. more than beautiful. you looked like a dream he never deserved to touch. and when you walked in—god. you’d barely looked at him. you held yourself like you were trying not to shatter and he’d done that. again. he was the one who made you pull away, the one who twisted something soft into something cold.

he hadn’t even fucking texted you. because he’s a pussy. a loser with nothing good to offer and too much fucked up inside to fix. he gripped the edges of the sink harder, breathing through his nose, his heart pounding in his throat. the way you looked at him when you walked away—it gutted him. you didn’t yell. you didn’t cry. you just looked… done.

“you always ruin it,” he growled at the mirror. “always. every fucking time.”

you had every reason to hate him. he let you get close, let you crack open the rusted door to his chest and see what was rotting inside. and right when it felt like maybe, maybe he could be something better—he kissed that girl. right in front of you. because he was too fucking scared to admit that he wanted more. because wanting more meant admitting he needed you, and needing you meant risking it all, and he’d never been brave enough for that.

so he ran.

again.

and now you were out there in that goddamn dress looking like the one thing in the world that could save him, and he just stood there like nothing happened. just leaned in close, smiled, said stupid things like he hadn’t torn you apart. he leaned down and let his forehead hit the mirror with a dull, solid thunk. breathed hard. hands shaking. he felt like his bones were trying to break through his skin.

“you ruin everything,” he whispered. “you ruined her.”

his knuckles cracked as his fist slammed into the side of the sink. the porcelain groaned under the force, a tiny web of fractures blooming under his hand. it didn’t break all the way, but it was enough to feel something. enough to hurt. he deserved it.

he couldn’t get your face out of his head. the way your voice shook. the way you said you wished you hated him. me too. he meant it when he said that. because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t keep coming back. maybe you’d finally let go, finally move on, finally be safe from him. he leaned over the sink, hands on either side, and stared at his reflection again.

this wasn’t what you deserved, he’d never been what you deserved. and maybe that’s why he kept fucking it up. because deep down, he knew. there wasn’t a version of this story where he ended up the good guy. there was only you, trying so hard to love someone who couldn’t even love himself.

the door creaked open behind him, casual and slow. toji didn’t move. he didn’t have to. he could already smell the cologne—something expensive and offensive, paired with the soft, familiar click of jewelry against skin.

“jesus christ,” sukuna said cheerfully, voice bouncing off the tile. “you’re really losing it, huh?”

toji didn’t turn around. “get the fuck out.”

sukuna laughed. laughed. fucking prick.

“so touchy,” he said, stepping deeper into the bathroom like he owned the place. “must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

toji’s jaw tensed so hard he thought his teeth might break. “don’t start.”

“but it was such a moment,” sukuna drawled. “the drama. the heartbreak. the way she looked at you like you just kicked her puppy. that was some real emotional cinema, man. had me misty-eyed.”

toji turned slowly, his eyes dark, dangerous.

“last warning.” but sukuna just leaned against the wall, all lazy arrogance and smug grin.

“what’re you gonna do, fushiguro? cry some more? break another sink? maybe punch a wall like a real alpha male?”

toji stepped forward once. sukuna didn’t flinch. “you think she’s gonna wait around forever?” sukuna said, voice dipped low now, a little more serious.

“you keep pushing her away, one day she’s not coming back.”

“shut the fuck up.”

“you know i’m right.”

“you don’t know shit.”

sukuna tilted his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i know she was crying.”

toji froze.

sukuna smiled. “i saw her. outside. right after you played tonsil hockey with that desperate little blonde. she was trying so hard to keep it together. but you broke her, man. again. and the worst part? she still looked like she was hoping you’d come after her.”

silence.

toji’s fists curled so tight his nails dug into his palms. “so what do you want, huh?” sukuna said, tone suddenly sharper. “you wanna keep her on a string? just close enough to feel her, just far enough she can’t touch you? you wanna fuck her up until she hates herself for loving you?”

toji launched forward so fast the room blurred, slamming sukuna up against the wall with one hand twisted in his shirt. the tile cracked behind him. sukuna grinned.

“hit me,” he dared, eyes gleaming. “do it. take all that guilt and rage and let it out. won’t change the fact that you’re a fucking coward.”

toji’s breathing was ragged, his other hand shaking at his side. he wanted to. he wanted to bury his fist in sukuna’s face and watch the smug drain out of his mouth. he wanted to feel something break that wasn’t inside him.

but he didn’t move. because sukuna was right, and that made everything worse.

“fuck you,” toji breathed, venom in his voice.

sukuna chuckled low in his throat, leaned in just enough to say, “she deserves better.” then he slipped from toji’s grip like water, smoothing out his shirt, fixing the collar like nothing happened. “see you out there, big guy,” he said, casual, and walked out.

toji stood frozen in place, chest heaving, hands shaking, heart breaking. he looked at the cracked sink again, at the tiny lines spidering out like fault lines in porcelain.

just like him, splintered. ready to shatter.

you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing at the bar since you left tojis side, the bass thumped under your feet, lights spinning across the floor, but everything felt distant. muffled. like you were underwater watching the night move on without you.

you leaned against the back wall of the bar, drink long forgotten in your hand, staring into the crowd like you were searching for something—someone. like if you just waited long enough, maybe toji would come back. maybe he’d walk up with that lazy smirk and say something stupid like 'you look pretty'. you hated how much it still hurt.

your throat was tight, chest heavy with that unbearable ache that sat behind your ribs and wouldn’t move no matter how many times you told yourself to be fine. you felt like a fool for hoping. for showing up looking good, thinking maybe things could go back to how they used to be, thinking he’d finally see you the way you saw him.

but of course he hadn’t. because that would’ve required him to care enough to be honest, to be brave, and toji fushiguro didn’t do honest. didn’t do brave. he just did damage. and you were so, so tired of bleeding over him.

you closed your eyes. tried to breathe. tried to escape the way your body ached for someone who wasn’t even trying to hold you anymore. and just like a prayer whispered into the dark, someone stepped into your silence.

“you’re looking like you just got stood up,” a voice said beside you, smooth and cocky and way too amused. your eyes snapped open. sukuna stood there, drink in hand, eyebrow raised, mouth curled into that familiar smug grin.

“fuck off,” you said, no heat behind it.

“harsh,” he laughed. “and here i was, ready to rescue you from your little emo spiral.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t walk away. you couldn’t. not when his presence suddenly made the air easier to breathe.

“you don’t need to do this,” you muttered.

“do what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he leaned against the wall beside you. “check on the pretty girl who looks like her world’s falling apart? seems like the least i could do after last time.”

you looked at him then. really looked. he didn’t look sorry. he never did. but there was something else in his face—something quieter underneath the usual edge. not sympathy. not pity. just… attention. you hated that it felt good.

“come dance with me,” he said suddenly, holding out his hand.

“no.”

“yes.”

“i don’t want—”

“i don’t care.” he grinned. “come on, sweetheart. let me give you something to think about that isn’t him.” you hesitated. just for a second. and that was all it took. he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the crowd like you weighed nothing. and maybe in that moment, you didn’t. maybe the ache in your chest loosened just enough for you to follow.

the music swallowed you both whole. bodies pressed in all around, but sukuna didn’t care. his hand found your waist like it belonged there, the other lacing through your fingers as he pulled you close—too close. “relax,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”

you wanted to argue. but then his hips rolled into yours and everything inside you short-circuited. he danced like sin. like temptation wrapped in a body built to destroy. and the worst part? you let him. because for once, someone wanted to be close. someone was choosing you, and god, it felt like oxygen.

somewhere off to the side, you caught gojo shaking his head as he leaned toward geto. the two of them were watching from their booth, drinks in hand, resigned like babysitters watching a soap opera unravel in real time.

“should we stop this?” geto asked, sipping his whiskey. “nah,” gojo sighed, tapping his glass. “let it play out. toji needs to see what happens when you leave something good waiting too long.”

on the dancefloor, sukuna spun you around and tugged you back, your chest against his. his hands skimmed lower than they should have, but his touch didn’t linger—he wasn’t greedy. just deliberate. “you’re tense,” he said into your neck. “no shit.”

“i could help with that.”

you snorted despite yourself. “this isn’t a solution.”

“no,” he said, looking down at you. “but it’s something.”

you wanted to be strong. wanted to step away and prove that toji didn’t still own some broken piece of you. but your body betrayed you—moved with sukuna like he was the only thing keeping you upright. your breath caught every time he touched you, every time his fingers slid just barely across your skin. it wasn’t love. it wasn’t healing, but it was a distraction.

and you needed it.

what you didn’t see was toji.

he walked out of the bathroom with fists clenched, throat tight, still reeling from what sukuna said—only to be met with the image of you in said mans arms. dancing, smiling, laughing like you hadn’t just cried over him a few nights ago. he froze. everything inside him froze, and then it all caught fire.

he saw red. thick, searing jealousy choking out any rational thought. his stomach twisted. his heart fucking dropped.

you were dancing with him. his stupid fucking frat brother who was notorious for being a slur, bit that he could really speak on it but still. the one guy who never shut up about wanting you. the guy who toji knew was only doing this to piss him off.

and worse—you were letting him. he didn’t think, didn’t breathe, just turned on his heel and stalked straight toward the bar.

“what’s good, baby?” he said to the first girl he saw. she was tall, pretty, and already drunk enough to think he meant it. “hi,” she giggled, touching his chest, he didn’t even hear her name, he just kissed her. sloppy. hard. intentional. made sure the angle lined up perfectly so when he opened his eyes mid-kiss, you were watching.

your body went still on the dance floor. sukuna smirked down at you. “there he goes.”

you stared, heart pounding, feeling sick. toji was kissing someone else. again. like nothing mattered. like you didn’t matter. you pulled away from sukuna, stumbling a little.

“you okay?” he asked, still smirking, but there was a sharpness behind it now.

you didn’t answer. you were too busy watching toji pull the girl closer, whisper something in her ear, and start leading her toward the door. your heart shattered in your chest.

again.

gojo groaned into his drink. “he’s such a fucking idiot.” geto sighed. “you think he’s doing it to hurt her?”

“i think he’s doing it to hurt himself,” gojo muttered. “she’s just collateral.” you turned and walked off the floor, jaw tight, trying not to cry in public again. behind you, sukuna just chuckled.

“this is getting good,” he said, sipping his drink.

across the bar, toji didn’t look back.

not once. but he felt every step you took away from him.

and it burned.

everything after seeing him with that girl felt like a blur, you didn’t remember how you got to the couch. didn’t remember pushing past the noise or the crowd or the awful ache in your chest. all you knew was that when you saw gojo’s bright blue eyes across the room and the way geto looked up like he already knew something was wrong, your knees went weak and everything you’d been trying to hold in just crashed through you like a wave.

“woah,” gojo said, sitting up. “hey hey hey—”

“oh no,” shoko muttered, putting her drink down. “come here, sit. now.” you collapsed onto the couch between them, face hot, hands shaking, heart beating too fast. you couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to.

“he— he kissed her,” you choked out, voice cracking, “he did it again, and i let myself believe he wouldn’t.” shoko put a hand on your knee, gentle, grounding. gojo was frowning now, serious in that rare way he only ever was when someone he loved was hurting. geto reached for your hand, warm and solid, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he was trying to anchor you back to earth.

“just breathe,” geto said softly. you tried. you really did. but everything in you was unraveling. “i don’t understand what i did wrong,” you whispered. “we were so close. for two years he’s been my best friend, he’s been everything to me. and yeah, it was flirty and yeah, i caught feelings, but i thought— i thought he felt something too. i thought maybe—” your voice broke again, and you covered your face. “i’m so fucking stupid.”

“no,” gojo said immediately. “no you’re not.”

“he doesn’t even look at other girls like he looks at you,” geto murmured. “you’re not imagining it.”

“then why does he keep doing this?” your voice rose, raw and shaking. “why does he keep picking someone else? why does he keep hurting me and acting like i don’t mean anything?” shoko lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. “because he’s scared. and because he’s an idiot.”

you laughed bitterly, wiping at your cheeks. “he doesn’t even text me. he can’t even say sorry. he just pretends like we never almost— like nothing ever happened.”

“toji’s always been like that,” gojo said, watching you carefully. “he shuts down. he panics. the second he feels something real, he runs.”

“but why?” you asked, voice barely a whisper. “what’s so wrong with me that he can’t even try?” geto pulled you closer. “it’s not you. it’s him. he’s just— he doesn’t think he deserves good things. and you’re the only thing he actually wants.”

you collapsed into him then, forehead against his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt. “i hate him,” you mumbled. “no you don’t,” shoko said gently.

“i should.”

“yeah,” she said, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “you probably should.”

you didn’t say anything else. couldn’t. not with your whole chest cracked open, all the grief and love and hope spilling out where everyone could see it. gojo leaned back and sighed like he was tired of watching people break over someone who refused to show up properly. shoko lit another cigarette. geto just held you while your shoulders shook.

and somewhere near the back exit of the bar, sukuna leaned against the wall, sipping his drink and watching it all unfold with a little smirk pulling at his mouth. the chaos was beautiful.

you were so far gone you didn’t even see him watching. but toji wasn’t. toji stood outside, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring off at the road while the girl he’d kissed leaned against him, giggling about nothing important.

“you callin’ the uber?” she asked, lips already brushing his neck. “yeah,” he muttered, pulling out his phone and tapping through the app. he wasn’t even listening to her. didn’t know her name. didn’t want to. she wasn’t you.

she’d seen the whole thing—him dragging her out of the bar, eyes locked on you like he wanted to tear something apart. she’d liked the attention. thought she was gonna get lucky with the hottest guy in delta phi. but now, standing on the sidewalk, it was clear to her he wasn’t really there.

“you okay?” she asked. toji nodded, tight and short. didn’t meet her eyes.

when the uber pulled up, he opened the door for her and she paused, confused. “you’re not coming?”

“nah,” he said, barely looking at her. “go home.” her face fell. “seriously?” he didn’t say anything. “wow,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she climbed in. “asshole.” the door slammed and the car pulled away.

toji stood there in silence, head tipped back against the wall, wind biting at his skin.

he hated himself.

he reached into his jacket, pulled out a blunt and lit it with shaking hands. took a long drag and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart felt like it was about to cave in.

“you fucking dick,” he muttered to himself, staring out at the night. he had no one to blame but himself. no excuse. no reason that made any of this better. you’d shown up tonight looking like a dream. like something out of a memory he was too afraid to hold. and he saw you—saw how you smiled, saw how you scanned the room like maybe, just maybe, you were hoping he’d come to you.

and what did he do? he panicked. again. like a fucking coward. like the version of himself he thought he’d buried long ago. all because he didn’t know how to handle the way you looked at him like he could be good.

he smashed his fist against the brick wall, breathing hard. hated how he made you feel. hated that he’d watched you cry and didn’t go to you. hated that he couldn’t fix what he kept breaking.

and worst of all, he hated the way sukuna touched you. he had his hands on you. he made you smile. you were supposed to be safe from that. from him.

toji took another long drag, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. the weed didn’t calm him. nothing could. he could still feel your eyes on him when he kissed that girl.

could still feel the disappointment in your face. he saw the way your body tensed. saw the way sukuna pulled you closer like he owned the moment. and toji had let it happen. he’d let someone else have you. again.

he closed his eyes.

“you don’t get to love someone like that,” he said to the night. “not when you keep proving you can’t handle it.”

he wasn’t good for you. he knew that. he’d known it from the start. but god, he wanted to be. he wanted to stop fucking it up. wanted to stop pushing you away every time it got too real. wanted to hold you like he meant it and stop making you cry and just be enough for once.

but he wasn’t.

he was this.

a fucked up mess with bloody knuckles and a blunt burning slow between fingers that didn’t know how to be gentle.

“you deserve better,” he whispered. and for once, he actually meant it.

you woke up to the smell of cologne and the scratch of expensive sheets. your body ached. your head throbbed. your mouth was dry and you had no idea where the hell you were. sunlight filtered in through high windows, catching on glass shelves and too many sunglasses and a stupid amount of hair product on the dresser. the room was cold, the blankets heavy, and it hit you all at once.

this wasn’t your dorm. and you were very much in someone’s bed. you sat up fast, heart pounding, brain still foggy. your dress was still on. your shoes were at the foot of the bed. no one else was there. but the panic still crawled under your skin.

'no no no no no what did i do—'

the door creaked open. gojo poked his head in, holding a red solo cup and a protein bar like he hadn’t just stepped into a full blown crisis.

“you’re alive,” he grinned, “that’s good.”

you stared at him. “what— where— did we—”

his face scrunched up like he tasted something sour. “ew. no. jesus."

you blinked. “but i’m in your bed.”

“yeah, because you were blackout at the bar and i couldn’t find your dorm key and you kept telling everyone you wanted to fight god. i figured this was safer.”

you slumped back against the pillows, dragging a hand over your face. “frick.”

gojo walked in, setting the cup on the nightstand beside you. “here. water. drink before you shrivel into dust.” you took it with shaking hands and sipped slowly, nausea curling in your stomach. everything from last night came back in pieces. the dancing. the kiss. toji dragging that girl out. the way he looked at you like you didn’t even exist.

sukuna’s hand on your waist, your breakdown on the couch. toji going home with that girl.

you groaned and curled up on your side, still clutching the cup. “so,” gojo said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “wanna talk about it?”

“no.”

“you sure? because you cried a lot last night and i think you used geto’s hoodie as a tissue.”

“satoru.”

“right. shutting up.” he leaned back on his hands, still watching you, still grinning like an idiot but softer now. it was that rare expression he wore only when he really cared. like when geto got too high and panicked or when shoko locked herself in the bathroom during finals week. “he’s a fucking idiot,” gojo said eventually. “just so you know.”

“yeah,” you whispered, staring at the wall. “i know.” you stayed there for a while. quiet. raw. letting the weight of it all settle on your chest like a stone. you didn’t know why it still hurt so much. maybe because you’d let yourself hope again. maybe because it wasn’t just any guy—it was toji. your best friend. your everything. and he didn’t even look at you. after a while, you pulled yourself up and grabbed your shoes, brushing past gojo without a word. “you sure you’re good to go?” he asked.

“i’ll live.” he didn’t stop you. the hallway outside was dim and quiet, the frat house still half asleep from the chaos of the night before. your heels clicked against the wood floor as you moved past the open kitchen, the beer cans, the stained couches. everything felt distant. muffled.

you turned the corner too fast and slammed into something solid, or someone. your stomach dropped.

him.

toji in all his tired glory stood there in a black hoodie and sweats, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, keys in his hand. he was heading to the gym. of course he was. that was what he did when he couldn’t deal with reality—he trained like he could beat the guilt out of his body.

he froze when he saw you. eyes dark. jaw clenched, you opened your mouth. maybe to say hi. maybe to apologize. maybe just to explain that you didn’t sleep with anyone in the frat. that you were still yours. but he didn’t give you the chance.

his eyes flicked down. took in your clothes. the fact you were coming from the direction of sukuna or gojos room.

and just like that, his face hardened. lips pressed tight. no emotion. no recognition. no trace of the person who used to make you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe. he pushed past you without a word.

just brushed his shoulder against yours and walked out the front door like you weren’t even real. like you had done something wrong. you stood there, frozen. breath caught in your throat. he thought you’d slept with someone else. and that mattered to him, but not enough to stop, not enough to ask. not enough to care out loud.

you felt it again, that horrible twist in your chest. that ache that had nothing to do with heartbreak and everything to do with betrayal. you’d given him everything. time, trust, love. and all he gave you back was silence. you blinked hard, lips trembling.

fine.

if he didn’t want to listen, then you’d stop talking. if he didn’t want to care, then you’d stop hoping. you’d learn to shut it all off too.

just like him.

but god, why did it still hurt so bad?

the gym was cold.

too cold for this early in the morning, but that didn’t stop him. nothing really could when he was like this—when his chest was tight and his head was loud and everything felt like it was seconds from snapping. toji slammed the barbell back onto the rack, chest heaving. sweat ran down his neck and soaked through his hoodie. he didn’t even bother peeling it off. he wanted to feel like he was suffocating.

his knuckles were raw from the heavy bag. he’d been there for a while. lifting. hitting. breaking down, and it still wasn’t enough. he wiped his face with the back of his arm and dropped onto the bench again, eyes burning, heart racing.

he kept seeing your face.

your eyes when you looked at him in the hallway disheveled from sleep. the way you opened your mouth like you were gonna say something and he just—walked past you. pushed past you like you were nothing. because he couldn’t hear it. couldn’t take the sound of you explaining how good sukuna made you feel. at least that's what he thought happened. how you finally let go. how it meant nothing, just sex, just comfort. how it didn’t hurt you like he did.

his stomach twisted.

he was the one who ruined this. he’d kissed another girl. in front of you. like a fucking child. like some messed-up defense mechanism he didn’t even understand. and then you disappeared, all teary-eyed and broken, and now what? now you were with sukuna?

his hands curled into fists. 'of course it was sukuna, it had to of been him. gojo wouldn't of done it.' sleazy, smug, opportunistic sukuna. he probably saw how fucked up toji was over you and waited for the perfect moment to slide in. always smiling. always watching. always pushing buttons just to see what would happen.

and you let him. you let him touch you. god, his head was spinning. he didn’t even know what happened, not really. but the way you looked this morning, still wearing that dress, walking out of someone's room like you couldn’t even care—he could feel it. you were gone. and he should’ve expected it. you weren’t his. you never were. just friends. that’s what it was. that’s what it always was.

he told himself that so many times. drilled it into his head like it’d eventually feel true. even though he watched you for two fucking years and wanted you more than he ever wanted anything. even though every time you smiled at him or leaned into him or laughed at something he said, it lit up something in him he didn’t know how to name. he wanted you. not just your body. not just sex.

you.

and he was too much of a coward to admit it. so instead he kissed some girl he didn’t even like. and now sukuna got to have you.

toji grabbed a weight and launched it across the room. it hit the wall and cracked the plaster, landed with a heavy thud that echoed through the gym. he bent over, elbows on his knees, breathing hard. his chest hurt, not from the workout, not from the cold, from you. because no matter how many times he reminded himself that he didn’t deserve you, that you deserved someone better, someone softer, someone who wouldn’t break you just by existing—he still wanted to be that person.

he wanted to take it all back, the kiss. the girl. the silence. he wanted to be the one you turned to when you were hurting. not sukuna. never sukuna.

he wanted to knock on your door and say all the shit he never let himself say. how he thought about you every goddamn day. how he felt safe with you in a way that scared the hell out of him. how he loved when you doodled in his notebook and how he’d watch your hands more than he watched the board. how sometimes he caught himself picturing your name next to his in places it didn’t belong.

he dug his fingers into his hair, pulling hard, trying to breathe. why did it feel like losing something he never even had? he was the one who made this mess. he knew that. he just didn’t think it would cost him you.

and now that it had, he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself. the gym fell quiet again. just the buzz of the old lights overhead. just the sound of his own breathing. heavy. strained. like he was trying not to fall apart. in the back of his mind, sukuna’s voice laughed, smug. cruel. knowing.

he knew he won.

toji grabbed the heavy bag again and punched until his hands bled.

god, why did it hurt so bad?

he didn’t even hear the gym door swing open over the pounding bass in his skull. he was too busy beating the shit out of the punching bag, sweat dripping off his jaw, chest heaving, knuckles already raw through the tape. he could barely breathe past the thoughts echoing like fists against his ribs. you and sukuna. god, just the image of it made his stomach twist.

and then there it was, a voice like poison dipped in silk. “damn. someone’s got issues.”

toji didn’t even have to look to know who it was. he’d know that cocky tone anywhere. he turned anyway, slowly, shoulders stiff and glistening under the fluorescents. sukuna was leaning in the doorway like sin itself, sweatpants hanging low, torso bare, tattoos stretched like inked war across his golden skin. hair messy like he just rolled out of someone’s bed, that smug-ass smile already curled on his mouth. he looked annoyingly perfect, like he hadn’t lost a second of sleep.

“you always train like you’re trying to exorcise your demons or is it just the guilt today?” sukuna stepped inside, slow and casual like he owned the place, dragging his fingers through his hair. “guessin’ she didn’t take it well, huh? not that i blame her. you kissed that blonde like you were tryin’ to make a porno.”

toji’s eyes narrowed, chest rising faster now. he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, jaw tight enough to snap. “don’t,” he muttered, voice low.

“don’t what? bring up the girl you keep playing emotional dodgeball with?” sukuna cocked his head, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “you fuck her up, push her away, then lose your shit when someone else so much as breathes her direction. tell me, does she even know how deep she’s in? or are you too busy acting like you don’t care?” toji’s hands curled into fists.

“you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“oh, i think i do,” sukuna grinned, stepping even closer now, chest to chest. “you’re just pissed because for once, you’re not in control. and i gotta admit, she looked good last night. felt good too. all soft and sad, leaning into me like she just needed someone who wasn’t gonna treat her like a walking heartbreak.”

that was it.

the punch came so fast it cracked through the air. toji’s knuckles collided with sukuna’s jaw hard enough to whip his head sideways, and for a second, everything went still. even the music felt quieter.

then sukuna laughed. blood on his teeth. “oh, it’s like that?” he growled, and then lunged. they collided like a thunderstorm, all muscle and fury and months of unspoken shit. fists flying, bodies slamming into the gym wall, the weight bench tipping over with a crash. sukuna landed a punch to toji’s ribs, toji shoved him back and hit him square in the gut. it wasn’t frat brothers fighting. it was men with grudges too deep to hide behind loyalty.

“you think you’re better for her?” toji snarled, grabbing sukuna by the collar and shoving him against the mirror. “you think she’d want you?”

“i don’t gotta think,” sukuna spat back, blood trailing down his chin. “i already know i’d treat her better than you ever fucking could.” they barely noticed the gym door open again.

“for fuck sake,” gojo said, deadpan, as he and geto walked in. “and here i thought you two were just gonna kiss eventually.”

“this is bad,” geto muttered, already moving. “you think?” gojo stepped between them first, planting a hand on toji’s chest and forcing him back. “enough. what the fuck is this? you fighting your own brother over a girl you don’t even have the balls to admit you love?”

“stay out of this,” toji growled, panting, but his fists didn’t rise again. “too late for that,” geto said flatly, shoving sukuna back with a hand to his shoulder. “you both look pathetic.”

“he started it,” sukuna muttered, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, smirking like the devil. “i just gave him a reason.”

“you’re both bleeding,” gojo said, exasperated. “you’re not in high school. jesus christ.” the silence was heavy, tense, thick with adrenaline and the stench of sweat and resentment. toji looked at sukuna again, the red haze behind his eyes finally fading to something colder. disgust. at himself more than anything.

“you don’t get to talk about her,” toji muttered finally, voice quiet. “then maybe you should stop giving her reasons to need someone else,” sukuna shot back.

gojo grabbed his shoulder before toji could move again. “how about you both just shut the fuck up.” toji didn’t fight the grip. not anymore. his heart was still pounding but his energy was drained. his eyes dropped to the cracked mirror behind sukuna and for a second he saw himself. just a fucked-up guy, broken and bleeding, trying to fight what he couldn’t fix.

geto crossed his arms, glancing between them. “you both better figure this shit out before someone gets hurt worse than a busted lip.” sukuna scoffed but didn’t say more. toji stayed quiet, chest rising and falling like a man trying not to drown. gojo looked at toji. “you need to decide, man. either stop hurting her or start being real. you don’t get to have it both ways.”

toji’s jaw clenched. god, he knew that. he knew that.

he just didn’t know how to do either.

later into the day.

you were just trying to breathe.

the day felt heavy on your chest, like everything you’d been ignoring had finally decided to sit on top of you all at once. your head still ached from the night before, sleep had barely touched you, and your thoughts wouldn’t shut up. you’d left the frat early that morning, the weight of toji’s silence clinging to you like a second skin. all you wanted was to get coffee, maybe clear your head, maybe pretend life wasn’t completely falling apart.

you weren’t expecting to see sukuna, but there he was.

leaning against the corner store wall just across from campus, cigarette tucked between his fingers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, that stupid grin already on his lips like he knew you were coming. he looked like sin soaked in sunshine, messy hair, glinting piercings, tattoos slipping under his collar like secrets. and then you saw it—his lip. swollen and cracked, red crusted at the edge, the faintest bruise shadowing his jaw.

you stopped in your tracks. "jesus,” you muttered without thinking, eyes locked on the damage. “what happened to you?” he grinned wider, like he wanted you to ask. “oh, this?” he gestured lazily, tapping his bottom lip. “got into it with a wall.” you gave him a flat look and he rolled his eyes.

“fine. toji punched me.”

the air caught in your throat. “what?”

“mm,” sukuna said, dragging on his cigarette, exhaling smoke like it didn’t matter. “we had a little… disagreement.” you blinked, heartbeat crawling into your mouth. “what about?” he tilted his head, watching you too closely. “you.” your breath stuttered.

“sukuna…”

“i might’ve said something that hit a nerve. poor guy’s been wound tight for days. looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. and hey, when you keep pretending you don’t feel things, eventually they explode. right?” he gave you a pointed look, all knowing and cruelly soft. “you’d know something about that.”

you folded your arms, trying to stay upright under the weight of his gaze. “what did you say?”

“nothing that wasn’t true,” he said, smiling like he didn’t just set your insides on fire. “just told him maybe you needed someone who didn’t keep breaking you just to pull you back in. someone who wouldn’t make you cry every other night. someone who actually knows what he wants.”

you looked away, chest tightening, blinking too fast. he was always good at this—getting under your skin with a smile and watching you unravel like it was art. “he hit you because of me?”

“he hit me because he hates himself,” sukuna said smoothly. “i just gave him the mirror.” you hated how much that made sense. hated the twist it pulled in your gut. you hadn’t spoken to toji since the party, since he’d looked at you like you were nothing. you didn’t know if it was better or worse to find out he’d gotten violent because of it. “why are you telling me this?”

“because you deserve to know he cares,” sukuna said, and for one second, he actually looked sincere. “even if he’s a fucking idiot about it.” you stared at him, throat burning, but before you could answer, he stubbed out his cigarette and pushed off the wall.

“sure i want you, i think that's much is obvious, but he wanted you first. i was just here to stir the pot abit. take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he said, brushing past you with a low chuckle. “you look like you’re about to break.” you didn’t say anything.

you couldn’t.

you stood there frozen, chest cracked wide open, heart bleeding somewhere behind your ribs. his words echoed like static in your skull, twisting everything you thought you understood. he cared. toji cared. he just didn’t know how to show it. or maybe he did. maybe this was what love looked like from someone who didn’t believe he deserved it.

you made it down the street before your vision blurred. you ducked into the nearest alley and finally let the tears come, clinging to your coffee cup like it was the only solid thing left. you sobbed quietly, shoulders shaking, the weight of all of it catching up at once. his silence. his eyes. the kiss. the pain. the fact that he’d rather fight someone than talk to you. the way he looked through you like he didn’t still dream about you every night.

and somewhere far off, you were almost sure you could hear sukuna laughing. not because it was funny, but because he’d won. he’d pressed all the right buttons, and now you were left alone with nothing but your feelings, and the cruel understanding that you still loved a man who didn’t know how to love you back.

what the fuck were you going to do?.

toji wasn’t answering his phone. not gojo’s texts. not geto’s vague check-ins. not even shoko’s “you alive?” at 2 am. he wasn’t going to classes either, not really. he showed up to one lecture midweek, sat in the back with his hood up, left halfway through. no one said anything. no one ever did.

the next morning he hit the gym. hard. again and again. he trained until his knuckles bled. by the fourth day his hands were fucked up enough that even gojo noticed and said something, but toji just laughed it off. said he liked the sting.

he drank every night. it started with a few beers. then whiskey. then whatever geto had stashed in the back of the kitchen. the nights bled into mornings. he wasn’t sleeping much. wasn’t eating right either. he didn’t want to talk to anyone. didn’t want to explain that the thing eating him alive was not knowing if you really slept with sukuna, or if he just assumed that because of his own guilt and jealousy. didn’t want to admit that the thought of sukuna touching you made him feel like he was choking.

he saw you once across campus. walking with shoko, hair pulled up, hoodie sleeves too long. you didn’t look at him. didn’t even hesitate. that’s when he knew. you were done. or trying to be.

he couldn’t even blame you.

by the time saturday came around, toji wasn’t planning to go to the new party satoru was throwing. it was a quieter one, a smaller crowd, mostly people they knew from the frat or nearby houses. nothing crazy. but still, he couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing you there, laughing with someone else. maybe sukuna. maybe not. didn’t matter. he couldn’t fucking bear it.

so he slipped out the back of the house and started walking. hoodie on, hands in his pockets, head low. didn’t know where he was going. just kept moving. the streets were cold and empty, sky a low grey. there was a flicker of music echoing out from a cracked-open window two blocks down. someone laughed. he kept walking.

he thought about texting you. he even opened the screen. stared at your name. the thread of messages hadn’t moved in a week. last one was from you. just a simple “did i do something?” and he never replied. he couldn’t. he stared at it until it blurred. thumb hovered over the keyboard. he typed out, “can we talk?” then deleted it. typed, “i’m sorry.” then deleted that too. locked his phone. shoved it back in his pocket like it’d burned him.

his head was spinning. maybe from the whiskey he snuck earlier, maybe from the shit swirling inside him that he couldn’t name. regret. anger. grief for something that never even got a chance to start.

he turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

you were walking toward him.

you looked soft under the streetlight, skin glowing and eyes wide when they landed on him. you weren’t dressed for a big night out — simple jeans, jacket, a look that still made his breath catch because it was you. because he hadn’t seen you this close in a week and it physically hurt.

you stopped too. like the world had pressed pause on everything.

his heart stuttered. fists clenched in his pockets. he didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know how to look at you and not fall apart. didn’t know how to open his mouth and not spill every raw, cracked, bleeding thing he’d been trying to keep buried.

but here you were. real. walking straight toward him like some cruel twist of fate or some final test from the universe.

and all he could think was:

'fuck. i missed you.'

you stop a few feet away from him and the wind knocks right out of you. he looks like hell. hoodie pulled low, dark circles bruised under his eyes, hands in his pockets like he’s holding himself together by a thread. but he’s still him. still that big, broad-shouldered shadow you’ve known for two years. the longest you’ve ever gone without hearing his voice was a few days during winter break. this week felt like being buried alive.

and now he’s right here.

you open your mouth to say something and nothing comes out. your throat burns. your heart’s clawing at your ribs and your brain’s playing back every horrible thing from the past week like a cursed slideshow. him kissing that girl. him ignoring you. walking past you like you were nothing. all the nights you cried into gojo’s pillows. the way sukuna smirked when he saw you shatter. all of it presses down at once and something inside you snaps.

“i’m sorry,” you choke out, voice already breaking.

toji flinches.

“i’m so sorry,” you say again, louder, more desperate. “i shouldn’t have danced with sukuna, i should’ve just gone home, i didn’t mean to make things worse, i didn’t want you to think—”

your words trip over each other like they’re racing to be forgiven. “i didn’t sleep with him, i swear. i wouldn’t. i was drunk and stupid and mad, and i just… i missed you. and i know you hate when i say shit like that, but i missed you so much and i’m sorry. i’m sorry for everything. i don’t know what i did to ruin this, but i’ll fix it, i swear—”

“hey.” it’s quiet. barely a breath. but it cuts through your rambling like a blade. you look up and he’s already stepping forward. his arms come around you in one smooth, heavy motion, big and warm and solid like the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. your knees almost buckle. your face presses into his chest and his hoodie smells like cigarettes and something familiar that makes your stomach ache. he holds you so tight it almost hurts.

you freeze for half a second and then sob into him. you don’t even care how pathetic it sounds. you cry into his hoodie like it’s the last time you’ll ever be held. you grip at his sleeves like if you let go he’ll disappear again. and he just stands there, letting you fall apart against him.

after what feels like forever, he finally speaks. “everything’s gonna be okay baby.” you hiccup against his chest. he says it again, lower this time. like a promise. “everything’s gonna be okay, alright?”

you nod, even if you don’t believe it yet. his voice is that same deep, unreadable rumble it always is, but it softens at the edges now. like he’s trying. like maybe he’s been hurting just as much.

“i’m sorry,” he says, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard those words from him before. “i’m sorry for being such an asshole to you. not just last week. all of it. the whole fucking time.” you pull back a little, just enough to look up at him. your face is hot and damp and your eyes are swollen and he still looks like he’s carved from stone. but his eyes are glassy. you’ve never seen him look like this before.

“toji…”

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “none of this is your fault. i just… i can’t be what you need. i don’t know how to. i never could.” you shake your head fast, “don’t say that—”

“i love you.” the words hit the air like a truck and your breath catches. he says it like it’s already killing him. like it’s always been true and he’s hated himself for it every second.

your heart stutters.

“i love you so fucking much it makes me sick,” he goes on, jaw tight. “and that’s why i can’t do this. because i’ll ruin you. because i’ll drag you down with me and you don’t deserve that.”

you start crying again.

he doesn’t try to stop you this time. he just watches, eyes dark and wrecked, like this is costing him everything. like this is what love looks like when it’s too broken to survive.

“i can’t fix it,” he says. “i wish i could. but i’m not built for the kind of love you deserve.” you don’t know what to say. your throat’s closing up. your chest is a mess of cracks and bruises. your fingers dig into his arms and he still doesn’t let go.

for a second, the world just goes still. your face pressed into his hoodie, his arms around you like armor, the ache of everything you never got to be pressing down from all sides. then you whisper, “i just wanted you.” he closes his eyes and presses his chin to the top of your head. “i know.”

and it’s not enough.

but it’s something.

you stay like that for a long time, pressed against his chest, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air. you’re not crying as hard anymore, but your breath still hitches now and then. his hand stays on the back of your head, fingers in your hair, like he can’t stop touching you even if he wanted to. finally, your voice comes out small. “what if… what if we tried?” his chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, slow and tense. you feel it before he even says anything.

“you don’t know what you’re asking,” he murmurs. “you really don’t.” you pull back just enough to look up at him again, your hands still gripping the front of his hoodie. “maybe not. but i know what i feel. i know i want you, even after everything. i don’t care how messy it is, i don’t care how broken you think you are. i just—i just want to figure it out with you.”

his jaw clenches. he looks away, breathing hard through his nose like he’s trying not to snap. “you say that now, but give it a few months. i’ll fuck it all up again. i’ll hurt you again.” you shake your head. “you don’t know that.”

“yes, i do,” he says, harsh and bitter. “that’s the one thing i do know. i’ll say the wrong thing or push you away or get jealous and do something stupid—again. and you’ll hate me. and i’ll hate myself even more.”

“then let me hate you,” you whisper. “but let me decide.” his eyes cut back to yours. you keep going, voice trembling but sure. “you’ve spent two years deciding what’s best for me. you keep saying you’re protecting me, but what if that’s not what i want? what if all this time, i just needed you to stop pushing me away?”

he stares at you like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. “i’m not scared of your damage,” you say. “i’m scared of not having you at all.” his throat works like he’s swallowing glass.

“please,” you whisper. “we don’t have to call it anything. we don’t have to make it perfect. i just want a chance. with you. even if it’s just a maybe.” his hands tighten on your waist. you feel the shift in him before you hear it in his voice. “what if i say yes,” he murmurs, low and rough, “and i end up destroying you anyway?”

you search his face. “then at least i’ll know i wasn’t the only one who tried.” his expression crumples for half a second—just a flicker, there and gone—but it’s enough to tell you he feels it too. all of it. the love, the fear, the impossible ache of wanting something that feels like it shouldn’t belong to you.

he leans in slowly, resting his forehead against yours. your noses brush. his breath is shaky. “a maybe,” he echoes. “that’s all i can give you.” you nod. “i’ll take it.” he lets out a breath like a war is ending inside him. and for the first time in what feels like forever, he kisses your forehead. soft. deliberate. full of everything he’s never been able to say out loud.

you close your eyes and let it sink in.

not a fix. not a solution. not a promise of forever.

just… a maybe.

and maybe that’s enough for tonight.

"toji... let's go back to my dorm, i don’t want to deal with a party right now."

you didn’t say much on the way back. your fingers were laced in his, warm and rough, grounding you in the quiet dark as the two of you walked through mostly empty sidewalks. toji kept stealing glances at you like he was checking you were still real, still here with him. your hand in his, your steps matching his pace, the silence between you strangely soothing.

he stopped you once just before you turned onto the path leading to your dorm, pulling your hand gently and making you look at him. the streetlamp above you flickered like a heartbeat, painting soft yellow light across his face. he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. he opened his mouth, paused, then just said in that low, gravel voice, “are you sure?”

you nodded before he even finished the sentence.

inside, the dorm was quiet. your roommate was gone for the weekend and the place felt hollow in a comforting way. as soon as the door shut behind you, you turned to him and he was already looking at you like you were something delicate and holy and he didn’t know if he deserved to touch you.

you stepped into his space first, gently taking his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch like he’d been starving for it, letting out a quiet breath as his forehead pressed against yours.

“you okay?” you whispered.

“not even close,” he whispered back, and then you kissed him.

it started soft, like testing the waters of something you both knew had been there for years. his lips were warm and slow against yours, his hands moving to your waist like he was scared to hold you too tightly. you pulled him closer, fingers curling into the back of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

toji sighed into your mouth like the weight of every regret he ever had was being lifted off his chest with every brush of your lips. he kissed you like he was saying sorry, like he was saying everything he never had the courage to speak out loud. your hands were on his chest, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, the slow thudding of his heart that was somehow calmer now that you were touching him.

he pulled back just slightly, eyes searching yours. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you said instantly, no hesitation. your thumb brushed his cheek. “i want this.”

something cracked in him. he kissed you again, deeper this time, more certain. his hands roamed up your sides, under your shirt, fingers slow and reverent. you felt like the most precious thing in the world under his touch, and god, you’d waited so long to be wanted like this by him.

you guided him to your bed. he let you, letting you crawl backwards onto the mattress as he hovered over you, eyes dark and full of something almost too intense to hold. he kissed your jaw, your neck, down your collarbone, whispering your name between each press of his lips. your shirt came off in a blur and so did his, and the feel of his skin against yours was enough to make you tremble.

“fuck,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to your chest. “you’re so—i don’t even know, i’m losing it.” you cupped his jaw and tilted his face up so you could kiss him again. “then lose it with me.”

his hands moved carefully, learning every part of you like he’d never get another chance. he took his time, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. he traced the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, kissed every inch of skin he uncovered like it was sacred. you felt worshipped. like he was finally letting himself feel everything he’d buried beneath all the guilt and fear and self-loathing.

you tugged him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist, gasping softly when you felt the way he pressed against you. your fingers found the waistband of his jeans and he froze just for a second, looking down at you with that broken look he’d worn since the day he realized he loved you.

“you’re sure?” he asked again, voice low and tight.

“i’ve never been more sure of anything,” you said, threading your fingers through his hair. “just… be here with me.”

his eyes dropped to your mouth like he couldn’t help it. like something in him was still resisting but not strong enough to stop what he needed. his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and reverent, and then you felt it—his breath mingling with yours, his hand sliding behind your neck like he needed to anchor himself to you, and then he kissed you.

god, he kissed you like he’d been dying to. like he was sorry and starving and scared all at once. it wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t just lust. it was deep. full-bodied. a confession sealed between parted lips and quiet moans. his hands were rough from years of training and weightlifting but the way they held your face was so gentle it made your chest ache. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back like he was everything. because he was.

“missed you so much,” you breathed against his mouth, barely able to get the words out between kisses. “you hurt me so bad, toji…”

he groaned into your lips like the truth pained him. “i know, baby. i know.”

his voice cracked when he said it. there was guilt in his hands, too—how they ghosted over your body like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you even now. but you weren’t going to let him float away again. not tonight.

you reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it up, and he let you, watching you with that dark-eyed intensity like you were unwrapping something dangerous. he didn’t stop you, not even when your fingers danced over his abs, not even when your lips trailed kisses down his chest like every part of him deserved worship. his hand came to the back of your head, gentle pressure, not to control you, just to feel you. to feel that this was real.

“can’t believe you’re real,” he murmured, like he was saying it to himself. “can’t believe you still want me after all that.” you met his eyes, then kissed over his collarbone. “don’t make me regret it.”

his mouth twitched like he almost smiled, but he couldn’t hold it. not with how shaky he felt inside. you pushed him back until his knees hit the edge of your bed and then climbed into his lap, straddling him slow, your hands finding their way into his messy black hair. he looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted to see. his hands settled on your hips and stayed there, tight enough to ground him, loose enough to let you move how you needed.

you rocked into him gently and felt the low groan vibrate through his chest as he buried his face in your neck. “fuck. you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“then die with me,” you whispered back, kissing the shell of his ear, “if you’re gonna be dramatic.” toji laughed under his breath, shaky and soft, and you felt something in him melt for you. he held you tighter, his forehead pressed to yours, and you both breathed each other in. this was slow. this was real. not some hazy hookup or guilt-ridden goodbye. this was you, pouring everything you had into the way you touched him, kissed him, held him. this was toji, stripped down to something raw and trembling and human beneath all his bravado.

you guided his hands under your shirt, placed them over your bare waist, your ribs, your back. he explored you like he’d never touched you before, even though he knew your body better than most. his fingers left burning trails. his mouth followed. every kiss was an apology. every gasp he pulled from you was one more promise that he’d do better, be better, love you right if you’d let him.

you tugged at the waistband of his sweats and he sucked in a sharp breath, head dropping against your shoulder. “you sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you cupped his jaw and made him look at you. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.” his lips crushed into yours before you could say another word, and this time it was urgent. all teeth and tongue and breathless need, hands sliding over bare skin like he was trying to memorize every inch. clothes fell away one by one, carelessly discarded, and soon it was just skin against skin, heat tangled between sheets, and the weight of everything left unsaid hanging in the air around you.

he moved slow. every inch, every roll of his hips, every kiss to your throat, your chest, your stomach—it was all deliberate. no rush. just the ache of needing to feel connected. you clung to him, gasping his name, whispering how much you loved him in between moans and desperate kisses, and he gave it all back to you without saying much at all.

his mouth told you in other ways.

his hands told you in reverence.

his body told you in devotion.

you lost count of the times he made you cry out for him. lost yourself in the way his fingers gripped your thighs and how his voice broke when he told you you were perfect. he held your hand while your bodies moved together like they were made for it, pressing kisses to your palm, your wrist, your collarbone like he could kiss away all the damage he’d done.

you were shaking in his arms by the end, a mess of limbs and sweat and whispered i love yous, and he just held you, his arms strong and warm and wrapped around your body like you were something to be protected. something to be cherished. he didn’t run. he didn’t shut down. he just stayed, kissing the top of your head, whispering against your skin, pulling the blanket over your shoulders like you were the most important thing in the world.

and maybe you were.

“still scared?” you murmured sleepily, fingers tracing over the lines of his chest.

he kissed your forehead and whispered, “terrified.”

but he didn’t let go.

and neither did you.

never again would either if you slip away from each other, because this was real, this was what you two had always yearned for.

m.list!

oo i might like this better than my choso fics icl 🙁🤝 i hope you enjoyed ong i loved writing this make sure to tell me how you felt about itt 🫦

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