Chapter Text
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You’ve always wanted to pursue law, even at a young age. Specifically, you wanted to become a prosecuting attorney.
It all started back in middle school when you were in the eighth grade. The beginning of adolescence, the year before moving on into high school. A time of development where people were starting to grasp at what they wanted to do in life even though they had four more years ahead of them. Friend groups drifted apart, and new ones were made. Everyone had the normal eighth grade experience, except you.
Yours was far from normal.
Because around that time, your mother was murdered in cold blood.
She was a working woman, always doing what she could and always acting selflessly. She was also young, only being nineteen when she gave birth to you, and only being thirty one when she was killed.
It was a freak stabbing incident, she was on the train home when the attack occurred, while you and your father were at home with dinner ready. A warm, hearty bowl of steaming soup waited for her at the table. But as hours ticked by, the soup turned cold, sitting there with an odd stillness as the two of you grew uneasy. Before you knew it, police were at your door…
The news broke you, never have you imagined something like this would happen. All hopes for a normal life dissipated in a second, and grief took over instantly. While other kids were going to field trips and hangouts, you were going to your mothers wake and funeral.
You’ve grown accustomed to the phrases “I’m sorry for your loss,” and “it will be okay.” Curling up in your fathers arms and crying became a step in your everyday routine, so did going through old photos that were long stored away in the attic.
School became a battleground for a good while as well. Whispers trailing behind you in the hallways, weekly consular visits that frankly didn’t help at all, and your friends constantly tiptoeing around you. The constant checkups started acting as a reminder instead of comfort.
Around a month after your mothers death, you and your father attended the killer’s trial. In that very courtroom, seated in the gallery, is where your passion for law blossomed. Seeing the prosecution diligently pick apart the killer, chipping away at them with words was inspiring. Yet nothing compared to the moment the guilty verdict was read, the emotional relief on the other victims' families faces…it resonated deeply. You wanted to bring others that relief, to bring heinous people like that to justice.
From that day forward, you’ve made it your life goal to become a prosecutor. When you reached high school a year later, you studied extensively, taking classes such as criminology and psychology. You were on the mock trial team, and became one of the best prosecutors the school team ever had. When junior year hit, you took a career-focused program on law until you graduated.
The title ‘academic weapon’ was an understatement, but all that work paid off in the long term. Prior to graduation, you were accepted into the University of Tokyo, one of the top universities for students pursuing law to possibly go to.
And today, you were moving onto campus.
– – – –
The car ride was grueling to say the least. The university was a solid hour and a half away from home, not far away, but far enough for the ride to feel like an eternity has passed. You sat in the passenger seat besides your father, boxes and bins of belongings were packed into the backseat and trunk. The silence was occasionally disrupted by your father going on about ‘how he can’t believe his little girl was on her way to college already,’ spiel.
Arriving on campus was a breath of fresh air. Finally escaping the confines of that damned car felt amazing, yet the worse was to soon come.
Unpacking.
Unpacking was a hell of its own, possibly even worse than the car ride. The lobby was a mess, students littering the space all shuffling through the crowd with bags in hand. You led the way, your father trailing behind you carrying several boxes. You felt bad for him, having to weave throughout the chaos. He looked one shove away from a mental breakdown.
When I get everything settled, I can finally relax… You told yourself, your hand coming up to rub the side of your neck.
The school year hasn’t even started yet, and you were already anxious. The heat of the room combined with the consistent pushing and bumping into others was adding to the already overstimulating situation.
Deep breaths Y/N…just focus on making it to your room. Why are these goddamn hallways so long?!
“This should be it, room 406, right?” your dad said as he paused besides the door.
You look down at the key envelope, triple checking if it is the right room. Yup, room 406. You slid the key out from the packaging and stuck it into the lock. The door opened with a click, and a mix of excitement and dread washed over you. New school, new people, and new possibilities. And it all started here, in this room.
Slowly but surely, you walked inside. The room was decently sized, enough to fit two people. There were already two bare twin beds pressed against the back wall, two desks, and two windows behind both beds with the curtains halfway closed, letting in the warm August light. It smelt a little sterile, but that meant it was recently cleaned. Nothing you couldn’t deal with.
This is it, my room. You thought to yourself, already envisioning what would go where and how you would set everything up. The room was a blank canvas, ready to be painted on. All that earlier dread disappeared, and was replaced with exhilaration.
Your father filed in behind you, placing the boxes on the mattress with a heavy grunt. The two of you stood in the room silent for a second longer, observing the room one last time.
“This is nicer than I expected, way better than the room I had in college!” your father declared, resting his hand on his hip. “But again, I did live in a frat house during my college years…”
“I would be oddly surprised if a frat house had a single room as good as this Dad.” You joked, drawing a laugh from the both of you. “Just a hundred-something boxes to go and I should be good!”
“Then we better get a move on, god knows how long that's going to take.” your father replied, ushering you out of the dorm and into the loud hallway yet again.
Nearly twenty minutes and twenty boxes later, the right side of the room was scattered with fragments of your life. Your father remained in the dorm as he organized everything as you brought up the last remaining box, and what you considered to be the most important. Inside was a photobook containing pictures of the past nineteen years. Most were from your childhood, the most crucial being the photos of you and your mother. Next to it, a family portrait taken when you were just ten. Framed, and ready to be hung up.
The lobby crowd thinned out by now, but you still handled the box with care. Your pace slow, hands tightly holding the cardboard ridges on the bottom.
There were more people in the hallway. Students waving heartfelt goodbyes to crying parents, two boys that looked identical wrestling over luggage, and too many strangers to even count. As you surveyed the room, you failed to pay attention to your surroundings. You snap back to reality as you bump into someone, causing your grip on your box to loosen.
“Shit!” you gasped, fumbling with your belongings. Two big hands grazed yours as the person helped you steady the box along with yourself. Now with it secure, you let out a sigh of relief. Looking up, you lock eyes with the guy. He was a bit taller than you, built, fair-skinned, and wisps of his hair fell lazily over his forehead. His irises were slightly smaller than usual, but his nose was the most prominent feature on his face. He looked vaguely familiar, you’ve definitely seen him before, but you couldn’t pin-point when and where.
“I’m so sorry,” the man apologized quite formally, averting his gaze away from you. His voice was low and raspy, yet smooth in a way that made your stomach flip. You’d have to admit, he was fairly easy on the eyes. So much so you needed to remind yourself not to stare.
“No, It was my fault I wasn’t paying attention. No need to apologize.” you insisted. He slowly let go of your box, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before they rested back at his sides.
“Don’t stress about it, it’s fine.” He responded, tugging at his shirt a little. “It’s chaotic out here, yeah?”
“Definitely. People should have more spatial awareness…though I am one to talk.” You giggled awkwardly. The man chuckled in response, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“I won’t keep you any longer, have a nice day.” he said with a small wave. He walked past you, vanishing into the throng of people.
“You too…” you mumbled, but he was already out of sight. Who knows if he heard your quiet goodbye? Shaking your head, you continued back to your dorm.
– – – –
The remainder of the day was a blur of unpacking and organizing your room, with your fathers help of course. It wasn’t until late that you finished arranging your new room. Decorating was oddly therapeutic, watching your side of the dorm slowly come together was satisfying to say the least.
You were standing on the curb sidewalk with your father. The sun started to set, and the sky faded into beautiful hues of orange and red. You can see the emotion circling in the depths of his eyes. His only child, off to college at last, you knew it would be hard for him to live in an empty house. You gave him a small smile before he pulled you into a hug.
“I’ll be okay, I promise.” you muttered against his shoulder. You tried your best holding back tears, you didn’t want to make the situation worse for your father than it already was.
“I know you will. You're gonna have a great year, I can feel it.” he responded, patting your back reassuringly.
You nodded before reluctantly pulling away from the hug. “Thanks, hopefully I will.”
“If you need anything, just call. I’m only a phone call away.” he said, opening the car door behind him.
“I will, don’t worry.” you replied.
You watched as he drove off after exchanging one final wave. You stood there for a solid minute, sorting out the hormonal-hell state your brain was in throughout the entire day. With one last look out into the sunset, you turned and started back to the dorm.
Classes start in four days, I’ll just relax and prepare until then, You told yourself before slumping down onto your freshly made bed. You didn’t bother pulling up the covers or changing into pajamas, you were simply too tired after the long day.
You shifted to the side, facing the family portrait you hung on the wall earlier. You looked at your mother before closing your eyes.
“I made it to college Mom, goodnight.” you whispered, then fell asleep.