Work Text:
[Modern AU]
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You hated the morning.
Not because of the alarm that always screamed at the crack of dawn. Not because of the bitter chill of the tile floor against your bare feet. Not even because of the stiff uniform that clung too tightly in all the places you wanted to disappear.
No, you hated the morning because of the mirror.
There it was, propped up against the wall beside your dresser like a silent judge-cold, unblinking, honest. You glanced at it like one might glance at an old scar, reluctantly, briefly, never long enough to remember the pain. The reflection showed you everything you didn't want to see.
Round cheeks. Soft arms. A stomach too chubby to your own liking.
You tugged your oversized sweater over your head, letting it drown your frame like always. The fabric bunched at your wrists and sagged past your hips, giving you a fragile kind of safety. Safety in invisibility.
Baggy clothes were your armor. Your escape.
In a school like this, appearances were everything. People walked the halls like they were runways, always ready for a photo, a compliment, a stare. You, on the other hand, had perfected the art of fading into the background.
Always quiet. Always on the sidelines. Always wishing you could be someone else.
And always watching him.
Shinazugawa Sanemi.
The loudmouth. The badass. The boy with snow-white hair like jagged lightning and eyes that burned like wildfire.
There was something about him that didn't belong here-like he had been carved out of storms and steel and forced to wear a uniform just to mock the rest of the world. He was loud. Blunt. Cruel, even.
He didn't smile like Kyojuro. He didn't flirt like Tengen. He didn't charm like Giyuu or Obanai. He just... existed. Unapologetically. Brutally.
And you? You admired him from a distance. Always from a distance.
You didn't even know when it started. Maybe it was that day in freshman year when a bunch of jocks had shoved a nervous first-year into a locker, and Sanemi had walked by, stopped, then grabbed one of them by the collar and slammed him into the wall with a growl.
"Pick on someone your own size, dumbass."
He hadn't stayed for applause. Hadn't looked back to see if the boy he saved was okay. He'd just muttered something under his breath and stormed off, like the whole thing annoyed him more than anything.
That's what drew you to him. Not his looks, though he was handsome in a dangerous, sharp-edged kind of way. Not his popularity, though the entire female population of the school drooled after him like he was a walking daydream.
No-it was that contradiction in him. That fierce, unwilling gentleness buried beneath his rage. The way he protected without needing praise. The way he didn't try to be liked, but still earned people's respect.
You clung to that idea of him. It made you feel less pathetic for the stupid crush you harbored like a secret inside your chest.
Because there was no universe, no reality, no alternate timeline where someone like him could ever look at someone like you.
You pulled your sleeves over your hands as you entered the school courtyard. Students were already scattered about-laughing, joking, flaunting their morning coffees and new hairstyles and Instagram-ready outfits.
You kept your head down. Eyes on the pavement. Heart tucked tightly behind layers of self-loathing and soft-spoken silence.
And then-like he was summoned by your thoughts-he appeared.
Sanemi stood with his usual group near the old sakura tree, leaning against the trunk with his arms crossed. His bag dangled off one shoulder. His uniform shirt was untucked, collar half-open, revealing a sliver of scarred skin across his neck.
He was arguing about something. Of course he was.
Tengen lounged on the bench nearby, sunglasses on despite the clouds, tossing a protein bar in the air and catching it. Kyojuro was laughing-bright, booming, golden. Giyuu looked bored. Obanai muttered something, likely sarcastic, as he adjusted his scarf.
But Sanemi was all fire.
"I'm not going to that dumb-ass party, alright? I don't give a shit who's throwing it," he barked, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'd rather eat glass."
"C'mon," Tengen drawled. "There'll be girls there."
Sanemi scoffed. "Exactly why I'm not going."
You passed them quickly, as if walking by a lion's den. You didn't exist in their world. You didn't want to. You just liked watching from the sidelines.
And yet...
A voice rang out. Sharp. Unmistakable.
"Hey!"
Your heart jumped. Your pace didn't slow, but your hands curled tighter into your sleeves.
He wasn't talking to you. He couldn't be talking to you.
"HEY!" Louder. Closer.
You turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder.
Sanemi was looking straight at you.
No, not at you-behind you.
A couple of freshmen were goofing off with a vending machine, slamming their fists on it, trying to shake loose a stuck can. One of them kicked it hard, causing it to rattle dangerously.
Sanemi's lip curled. "You break that thing and the janitor's gonna skin you alive, dumbasses," he snapped.
The boys backed off instantly.
You exhaled, relieved. He wasn't talking to you. Of course not. Why would he?
You turned a corner, safely hidden now behind a brick wall. The butterflies in your stomach had turned to shame. You hated how your heart leapt for nothing. You hated how just the thought of him seeing you made your breath catch.
You reached into your bag and pulled out your lunchbox.
It was empty. Again.
You blinked.
No. You weren't hungry anyway. You never were. At least not when it mattered.
The familiar ache crept into your ribs. That gnawing guilt. That fear of being seen. If they saw you eat, they'd judge you. If they saw your body, they'd whisper. You already heard enough of it in the locker rooms.
"Fat girls shouldn't wear skirts like that."
"She's probably never had a boyfriend."
"Maybe if she stopped eating so much..."
They didn't know. Nobody knew.
You weren't chubby because you were lazy. You weren't fat because you didn't try. You didn't even know why you were the way you were.
You were anorexic. You tried to skip more meals than you ate. You cried more than you slept. You counted every calorie like it was a curse.
But still, you were never small enough.
And he... he was never close enough to touch.
So you watched from afar. Day after day. Silently. Secretly.
Admiring the boy with stormcloud eyes who made your heart ache.
Because in a world that never made room for you, he stood like a flame-untouched, unafraid, and burning bright.
You didn't know it yet, but the day he noticed you-really noticed you-was coming.
And when he did, nothing would ever be the same.
You had always wished to be noticed, yet you didn't.
Since that say....you wanted to be someone to him. And there was indeed a reason to it.
Because that day.....
~Flashback~
The sakura tree stood tall and indifferent as the five most revered guys in school clustered beneath it like kings with no care for the eyes that always followed them.
Half the courtyard had buzzed with whispers.
They were the kind of boys who didn't need to try. They just existed, and people noticed. Like gravity itself bent a little toward them. But unlike the others, Sanemi always seemed like he didn't want to be part of the orbit.
"You're coming to the party tonight, right?" Tengen's voice was lazy and smug, lounging on the bench like he owned the damn school. "I heard there's going to be a hot tub. And karaoke."
Kyojuro beamed. "I will be attending! I've been practicing a duet for days."
Obanai scoffed, not looking up from his phone. "Mitsuri has been texting me lyrics all week."
"You're dating her now or what?" Sanemi grunted, voice edged like a blade.
"Jealous?" Tengen teased, tilting his head. "I've got three dates lined up. You want me to share?"
Sanemi gave him a look that could slice cement. "Not into your leftovers."
Giyuu, leaning against the tree with crossed arms and his usual look of quiet disapproval, finally spoke. "You're not going either?"
"Nope."
"Why not?" Kyojuro asked, blinking.
"I don't do dumb crowds. Don't like dancing. Don't want some drunk chick throwing herself on me," Sanemi said flatly.
Tengen raised a brow, clearly amused. "That never stopped you before."
"That's because they never lasted long enough to matter," Sanemi muttered, picking at the edge of his nail. "Besides... All the girls in this school are the same."
"The same?" Obanai echoed.
"Yeah," Sanemi said. "They smile when they want something. Laugh when they're scared of being disliked. Wear more perfume than personality. They talk big about being 'real,' but they're all chasing the same shit-attention. Image. Approval." He snorted. "Nothing worth respecting."
Kyojuro chuckled awkwardly. "Bit harsh, don't you think?"
Sanemi shrugged. "I don't say shit unless it's true."
Tengen leaned in, eyebrow raised like a fox sniffing out scandal. "So, wait-are you saying there isn't atleast one girl in this whole school who's worth your time?"
Sanemi paused.
That pause made everyone shut up. Even Obanai looked up. Tengen blinked. Giyuu tilted his head, curious. Kyojuro raised his brows with uncharacteristic silence.
And then...
Sanemi huffed. "There is one."
Obanai's scarf dipped a little as his jaw tensed. "Who?"
"You wouldn't know her," Sanemi said quickly.
"Oh, come on," Tengen drawled, eyes glinting. "You can't say something like that and not spill. We're your friends. This is brotherhood."
Sanemi scowled but eventually muttered under his breath, "(Y/N)."
For a split second, the silence was electric.
You had only just stepped into the courtyard from the other side of the building, clutching your notebook to your chest like a shield. You weren't even trying to eavesdrop-not really. But your footsteps slowed when you heard his voice. That voice you had memorized from the background of a hundred different scenes. Rough. Slightly raspy. Like sandpaper on silk.
And then you heard it.
Your name.
You blinked. Stopped. Completely froze behind the corner of the east wall where the ivy grew. Your heart, so used to disappointment, had no idea what to do with hope.
Back under the tree, Kyojuro blinked. "Y/N? Wait-the quiet girl who's always reading behind the art building?"
"Yeah. That one," Sanemi said simply.
Tengen sat up straighter. "Huh. I've never even heard her talk."
"She's not loud," Giyuu said, surprisingly. "But she's kind. Always bows when she passes people. Even picked up my notebook when I dropped it last week."
"She's..." Sanemi started, then stopped.
Tengen raised a brow again. "She's...?"
Sanemi sighed through his nose and leaned back against the tree. "She's different."
Obanai tilted his head. "You mean because she's-?"
Sanemi cut him a side glance. Sharp. Icy. "Don't finish that sentence unless you want me to finish your life."
Obanai held his hands up. "Alright. Damn."
"I don't care what she looks like. That's not the point." Sanemi's voice dropped just slightly-too quiet for most, but not for you. Not from where you stood, heartbeat slamming against your ribs. "She's not trying to be anything. She just is. She minds her business. She doesn't fake a laugh just to get noticed. She's... gentle."
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes narrowed.
"She's one of the only people in this damn school who looks like she means what she says. She's nice to everyone. Doesn't talk down to the janitors. Doesn't trash people when they walk away. I've seen her stand up for some kid who dropped their lunch tray. Didn't look disgusted. Just helped."
There was a long pause.
"...That's the kind of girl you don't meet twice."
None of the boys laughed. They didn't tease. Didn't roll their eyes.
Instead, Kyojuro offered a warm smile. "She sounds like a good person."
"She is," Sanemi said. Final. Certain.
Behind the wall, your breath trembled.
He noticed. Not your body. Not your clothes. Not your silence.
But you.
The pieces you never showed anyone. The kindness you gave without expecting anything. The quiet love you had for people, the soft apologies you whispered when no one listened.
He saw all of it.
You didn't know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, heart splintering wide open. You'd spent so long shrinking yourself, folding your body and your soul into shapes that wouldn't be mocked, that you'd forgotten what it was like to be seen.
Really seen.
The roughest boy in school-sharp-tongued, short-tempered, always scowling-had peeled back the layers you thought were invisible and found something worth keeping.
That night, when you stared at the mirror again, it didn't feel quite as cruel.
Not because you suddenly loved what you saw.
But because for the first time...You realized someone else did.
...
~Back to present~
The corridor was unusually quiet for this hour.
The class bell had just rung not long ago, and most students were still filtering into their last lessons of the day, chatting, rushing, yelling across the hallway like the world had nothing but energy and noise to offer. But not you. You kept your steps light, silent, head bowed low with your arms wrapped tightly around your books as you walked past the faded lockers and trophy cases.
That is... until you heard it.
A soft, slow whistle.
Your breath caught. Your heart didn't beat-it slammed into your ribs.
You didn't want to look, but some part of you knew. You had felt it.
Someone was walking beside you.
At first, all you caught from the corner of your eye was a flash of white-the glint of wind-ruffled silver hair, the heavy contrast of black shoes dragging across the floor with calculated carelessness.
And then...
Shinazugawa Sanemi.
Hands tucked in the pockets of his school uniform. Sleeves rolled up. Collar popped like he couldn't be bothered with rules. That same fierce, uninterested expression on his face, but... his body was angled slightly toward you.
He was walking beside you.
Not behind. Not ahead. Not passing through. Right beside.
You blinked slowly, lips parting slightly in disbelief.
This had to be some kind of joke.
But there was no one else around. No girls giggling behind corners. No whispering groupies watching and waiting. It was just you. Just him. Just the sound of his low whistle bouncing off the empty hallway walls.
You felt yourself holding your breath, trying not to make a fool of yourself. You tried to pretend like this wasn't happening, like you didn't notice, but your body betrayed you. Your fingers clutched your books tighter. Your steps faltered ever so slightly.
Sanemi said nothing. Didn't even look at you. He just... walked. Calm. Confident. Whistling some off-tune rhythm like this was something he did every day. Like you were already used to him.
You tried to steal a glance at him from beneath your lashes, but the moment your eyes shifted, he turned slightly away. That rough, scarred jawline. That smirk he always wore like a blade. You could hardly breathe.
You stopped. Dead in your tracks.
He did too.
And that's when he finally broke the silence.
"...Are you free after school?"
Your breath dropped. So did your heartbeat.
Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Wh-What?"
He still didn't look at you. His hands remained in his pockets, gaze fixed casually ahead like he was asking about the weather or the time of day.
"I asked," he repeated coolly, "if you're free. After school."
You stared at him, stunned.
Your heart was doing acrobatics in your chest. Was this real? You? You? The girl who didn't speak unless she was spoken to? The one who wore baggy clothes like armor, who never dared to take up space? The one who hadn't eaten a full meal in three days because the mirror had screamed at you again?
What did this mean? Why would he-Sanemi-ask you anything, let alone this?
"I-um..." you stammered, almost too quietly.
He finally turned his head to look at you, and it nearly stopped your soul.
Those pale violet eyes were sharp but not cruel. Focused. Curious. Waiting. As if your answer mattered.
God, why did he look at you like that?
"I-I think so," you finally whispered. "I mean, I don't really have plans..."
Sanemi nodded once, almost as if he'd expected it. Then, with that same indifferent tone, he added, "Cool. Come eat with me. There's a new restaurant out in the town."
Your stomach dropped.
Eat.
Your mind went numb.
Not because he'd invited you. Not because the popular boy who never gave anyone the time of day had suddenly noticed your existence.
No.
It was the word.
Eat.
And with that one word, everything inside you crumbled.
Because you don't eat. Not in public. Not around people. Not with someone watching.
You skipped breakfast. You poked at lunch like it offended you. You went to sleep with your stomach gnawing on itself because hunger felt safer than guilt. You hated the act of eating because it reminded you of what you were. What you thought you were: too much. Too heavy. Too visible.
Your throat tightened.
But he was still looking at you. Not with pity. Not with mockery. Just... patience.
You could have said no. You should have.
But something in your chest cracked open-like you owed it to yourself to see what happened if, just once, you didn't disappear.
So you nodded.
"...Okay."
Sanemi smirked, just slightly. Not smug. Not triumphant. Just... satisfied. "Meet me at the front gate after final bell."
Then, just like that, he walked ahead of you.
He didn't wait for your thanks. He didn't expect a reaction.
He just left you there, in the middle of the hallway, clutching your books and your heart like both were too fragile to hold.
You felt real.
Scared. Confused. Sick to your stomach, maybe. But real.
...
"Are you not gonna eat?"
His voice wasn't loud.
It wasn't teasing, either. Not sharp or impatient. Just low and steady, like the soft grind of gravel under slow footsteps. It was the kind of voice you couldn't ignore, not because it demanded your attention, but because it reached somewhere inside you that no one else had ever tried to touch.
You blinked. Slowly, like waking up from a dream you weren't sure you wanted to leave.
Your eyes lifted from the untouched bowl in front of you, trailing past the scattered plates of side dishes, the rising steam curling into the dim restaurant air, and finally landed on him-Sanemi.
He was leaned back casually, legs stretched under the table, one arm slung over the backrest. His chopsticks dangled loosely in his fingers, like he was too lazy to care whether he looked cool or not. His sharp, silver eyes were on you-not piercing, but watchful.
You swallowed.
Hard.
"I..." Your throat closed before the words could form. You stared down at the bowl again like it might save you. The broth shimmered, golden and rich, filled with slices of tender meat, boiled eggs, scallions, and fat noodles you knew you wouldn't touch.
You weren't ready for this.
You were never ready for this.
You had rehearsed every possible scenario on your walk here. What to say. What to wear. How to sit so that your body folded into something smaller. Something presentable. Something worthy of being seen with someone like him.
But you hadn't prepared for this. For the food. For the question. For him watching you not eat.
"I'm not really... hungry," you muttered finally. A lie so practiced it felt like muscle memory.
Sanemi didn't respond right away. He tilted his head slightly, jaw tightening just enough to signal that he knew.
That he knew.
You could feel your chest tightening. Your fingers trembled under the table. You tried to find something else to focus on-the flickering light above you, the sound of a distant pan clattering in the kitchen, the TV on mute in the corner playing old baseball clips.
Anything but him.
But then he spoke again. Quietly.
"You know..." he started, dropping his chopsticks onto the table, "I've seen you do this. In the cafeteria. At lunch. Every day."
Your heart stopped.
"I sit near the back. Doesn't look like I'm paying attention, right?" he continued. "But I see you. Every damn day."
You stared at him.
"You open your lunchbox. You stare at it for five minutes like you're fighting a war. Then you eat maybe two bites of rice, pack it all up, and smile like nothing's wrong." He shrugged, eyes darkening just slightly. "But it is."
The heat behind your eyes welled up so fast it startled you.
You didn't cry. You couldn't. Not here. Not now.
You gripped your thighs under the table, nails digging into the fabric of your jeans.
"Why do you care so much?" you whispered, voice cracking like thin glass. "You don't even know me..."
"I don't have to know everything," he said. "But I know pain when I see it."
He leaned forward then, forearms braced on the table. The way he looked at you-it wasn't pity. It wasn't judgment. It was understanding. Heavy and raw and terrifying.
"And I know what it looks like when someone hates themselves enough to starve."
You broke. Inside, at least.
The tears didn't fall, but your soul folded in on itself.
"How long?" he asked.
You didn't answer.
"How long've you been doing this to yourself?"
Your voice was so small it barely made it out. "Since middle school."
He breathed in. Slowly.
"Why?"
You paused.
You could've said a hundred things.
Because you were the 'fat girl' growing up.
Because your relatives always told you to lose weight before someone would love you.
Because you hated looking at mirrors and photos and your reflection in glass.
Because you wanted to disappear more than you wanted to be accepted.
But all that came out was-
"Because I don't feel... worth it."
Silence.
It hung between you like a wire pulled tight between rooftops.
Then Sanemi leaned back. Ran a hand through his wild hair. Exhaled sharply like he was forcing himself to stay composed.
"That's bullshit," he muttered.
You flinched.
He noticed.
"No-I'm not saying you're bullshit," he said. "I'm saying what you believe about yourself is. Every last damn thought you've been fed by people who don't even know how to see you."
You stared.
He sat forward again, fingers tapping the table with rhythmic tension. "I noticed everything. You've got the kindest soul in that whole school. But you treat yourself like trash."
He held your gaze like it was the only thing tethering him.
You didn't know what to say.
He went on.
He paused. His voice dropped low.
"But I see you. And you're beautiful."
Your breath caught.
"I don't mean that in some fake compliment way. I mean it. I like your laugh. I like the way you fidget with your sleeves when you're nervous. I like that you don't need to wear tight skirts or put on makeup or talk loud to matter."
Your throat was closing up again, but not from shame this time.
From something warm. Foreign. Like light cracking through years of fog.
"Sanemi..." you whispered.
"I'm not gonna force you to eat," he said softly. "But you gotta stop hurting yourself like this. Just because someone made you believe you're too much."
His hand reached across the table, hovering slightly.
"I don't think you're too much," he murmured. "I think you've barely started being seen."
And with those words-everything inside you shattered and reformed.
You loved him.
God, you loved this man. So much that it hurts.
Not because he was beautiful. Not because he was popular. But because he was the first person who saw you. Who spoke to you. Not like a broken thing, but like someone worth fighting for.
And even though your ramen bowl still sat untouched this time, you didn't know what the future was gonna bring.
...
[~Huge timeskip~]
The clink of the spoon against the ceramic bowl was soft—barely audible above the gentle hum of festival music, laughter, and the occasional rustle of wind stirring lanterns overhead. But to Sanemi, it sounded like the chime of a bell rung from a mountaintop.
“Here,” you said sweetly, holding out a spoonful of your food with a small, proud smile.
He blinked at it.
The very same girl who once sat across from him in a ramen shop, trembling from the weight of food she couldn’t bear to eat, was now holding a spoon up to him, her cheeks dusted with excitement and her eyes glowing from the lights of the food stalls.
Sanemi smirked—but his heart… his heart swelled until it was pounding against his ribs like it wanted out.
He leaned forward, slowly, eyes never leaving yours. His lips wrapped around the spoon, and he took the bite like it was the most sacred thing in the world. He didn’t even look away once. Just held your gaze as if to say, Look at you now.
You giggled—an unfiltered, full-bodied laugh—and went right back to your food, humming as you scooped another bite for yourself.
“And then there’s going to be a haunted house right near the shrine,” you continued, your voice bubbling with excitement, “and I swear if some kid jumps out in a mask again like last year, I’m kicking their shin. No mercy this time!”
Sanemi chuckled under his breath, more of a soft exhale than a laugh. He wasn’t paying attention to your words as much as the way you said them.
The way your lips curled when you spoke.
The way your hands moved animatedly between bites. The way your cheeks puffed a little when you chewed with delight. The way you kept looking at him, like he was part of your joy.
He hadn’t touched his own food in minutes.
He was full already. Full of pride. Of admiration. Of something deeper than love—something steadier and older, like roots growing under a long winter.
He remembered everything.
The nights you cried in silence. The days you hid your lunch in your bag. The fear in your voice when you talked about mirrors.
And now here you were—laughing with sauce on the corner of your mouth, chattering about fireworks and food stands and children winning goldfish in bags.
You had survived.
No—you had bloomed.
And Gods, he’d never stop being in awe of you.
“Hey! Hey! It’s starting!!”
The sudden shout tore through the air, followed by hurried footsteps and squeals of anticipation. People began rushing past your table, pointing toward the shrine hill that overlooked the town.
You gasped, jumping up with the energy of a firework yourself. “The fireworks!!”
You grabbed Sanemi’s hand without hesitation. Your fingers slid against his palm, warm and certain, and before he could respond, you were pulling him through the crowd.
He let you.
Of course he did. He’d follow you anywhere.
You weaved between booths, brushing past festivalgoers and lantern poles, your yukata swaying with every step. You didn’t look back—just trusted he was behind you. And Sanemi, whose grip could crush steel, held your hand like it was made of petals.
The higher you climbed, the more the crowd thinned. Soon you reached the old wooden rail that lined the edge of the hill. The whole town sparkled below, a sea of gold and crimson from the stalls. The air smelled like grilled mochi and burnt sugar. A hush settled over the hillside.
You leaned against the railing, breathless, cheeks flushed. “We made it.”
He stood beside you, hands in his pockets, wind brushing his silver hair. “Yeah.”
And then— A beat. A boom. A sky of fire.
The first firework bloomed overhead, painting the sky in blossoms of scarlet and orange. The sound rolled through the earth like thunder, and the people below roared in awe.
You gasped again, clutching Sanemi’s arm and leaning into his side. “Oh—oh that one was huge! Did you see the blue in the center?!”
He glanced down.
You weren’t watching him—but he was watching you.
Firelight danced across your features, glowing against your skin, your eyes wide with wonder. You looked like a dream. Not a fantasy, but something earned. Something real.
And that was when he looked down at the box in his hand.
Small. Velvet. Pressed tight in his palm as if letting go would shake the courage from his bones.
He hadn’t planned to bring it tonight.
He hadn’t planned anything. But when he saw you earlier, standing under the lanterns, spinning in your festival yukata, laughing like nothing in the world had ever hurt you—
He’d known.
His thumb brushed over the edge of the box. Just a touch. Just enough to feel the weight of what it carried.
Inside, something simple, elegant. Something that shone bright like your future. Quiet like the love he’d built for you all this time.
And the diamond in the center glittered—like starlight. Like hope. Like the promise of forever.
Another firework burst—this time in silver and gold—and he could barely see past the tears in his own eyes.
He looked at you again. You were laughing at something in the sky. Talking about which firework shape was your favorite.
You had no idea what he held in his hand.
You had no idea that in his heart, he already saw—
A home. A quiet kitchen with bowls half-finished because you were laughing too much. A warm night with two sleepy children curled into your arms. Their eyes like yours. Their stubbornness like his. The way they'd eat without fear, because they’d grow up knowing love instead of shame.
He pictured you dancing with them in the backyard. Kissing their scrapes. Feeding them with hands that once trembled. Feeding yourself with joy.
He closed his eyes.
The ring gleamed inside the box, a reflection of everything you’d overcome.
He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
He didn’t know how or when he’d ask you.
But as the sky lit up with a thousand colors and you whispered beside him how this was the most beautiful festival yet, Shinazugawa Sanemi held the box a little tighter.
And he hoped—
God, he hoped—
That if the world stayed kind, if the stars stayed bright, your future would be just as brilliant.
With you.
With him.
And with the children you'd raise together. Loved. Whole. Unafraid.
...