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The bags under Satori Tendou’s eyes were deep enough to store extra cocoa butter. Finals week had hollowed him out, and the sudden surge in orders for his 'Monster Chocolates'—artisan monster shaped truffles currently keeping his bank account alive—wasn’t helping.
All thirty orders were packed into one oversized shipping carton digging into his forearms. His head were screaming for a nest and a nap, but here he was hauling his orders toward his beat-up sedan in the cramped campus parking lot.
Then he groaned…
A black Mustang.
It was a beautiful piece of machinery, truly. If Satori weren't currently running on three hours of sleep and a prayer, he might have whistled.
But now he stared at it with the hollow eyes of a man pushed to the brink. The Mustang was parallel parked with such entitled that it completely boxed Satori’s car into its spot. In this tiny, narrow lot, there wasn't even enough room to wiggle out.
"You have got to be kidding me," Satori rasped.
He tried to see if it was in neutral. It wasn't. He tried to give the bumper a nudge with his hip, hoping to find some miraculous give in the suspension.
The Mustang didn't even quiver. It sat there mocking his deadline.
After five minutes of futilely pushing against a literal ton of American muscle, Satori’s legs gave out. He hiked himself up and sat right on the Mustang's hood, his legs dangling.
"If I miss the shipping window, I'm turning into a truffle," he muttered to the pavement. "Just dip me in dark chocolate and call it a day."
"You are sitting on my car."
Satori didn't even look up. "It’s a very nice hood. Unlike my schedule, which is currently crumbling into dust because the owner of this beast doesn't know how to leave a gap."
"I parked according to the lines," the voice replied. It was deep. Very deep.
Satori finally lifted his head, ready to unleash a witty yet sarcastic remark, but the words died in his throat. Standing there, holding a gym bag, was Ushijima Wakatoshi, the campus superstar.
Ushijima wasn't angry. He just looked... confused.
He tilted his head, staring at Satori, then at the way his Mustang was indeed pinning the sedan into a corner.
"Oh," Ushijima said. "I see. You are trapped."
"I am trapped," Satori chirped. He didn't get off the hood. He actually leaned back on his elbows, defying the social hierarchy of the Alpha world through sheer exhaustion.
"And I have thirty packs of highly perishable, artisan chocolates here that need to be at the post office in twenty minutes, Wakatoshi-kun."
Ushijima blinked. "You know my name?"
"Everyone knows the guy who hits volleyballs hard enough to break a wall. Now, are you going to move this beautiful monster, or are we going to sit here or…?"
Ushijima looked at the shipping carton Satori was still clutching.
He stepped forward.
"You smell like you're in distress."
"That’s the new fragrance by Tendou Satori. It’s called 'Finals Week.' It's going to be a hit."
Without a word, Ushijima reached out. Satori flinched instinctively, but Ushijima just took the box from his arms as if it weighed nothing.
"I will hold this," Ushijima declared. "Move your car once I clear the path. I will follow you to the post office."
Satori scrambled off the hood, stunned.
"You’ll what?!"
"You are distressed," Ushijima said simply, placing the chocolates carefully on the roof of his own car. "And I blocked your path. It is my responsibility now."
Satori stared at the stoic Alpha. This was not how he expected his mental breakdown to go—He expected a shouting match, or maybe a ticket.
He didn't expect a personal escort from the most famous man on campus.
"Well then," Satori grinned. "Don't drop the goods. Those are worth more than my tuition."
🏐🏐🏐
Ushijima put the box in his backseat and moved his car. When Satori wanted to get out of there, his sedan gave one pathetic cough and then died.
"No. No, no, no," Satori slumped his forehead against the steering wheel. "Not today. Not when I’m three minutes away from a complete collapse."
Satori didn't even have time to process it before Ushijima opened his door.
"Wait, Wakatoshi-kun? What are you—"
"Your vehicle broke down," Ushijima stated flatly. "The post office closes soon. My car is functional. Get out.”
He blinked at him, brain lagging several seconds behind reality. On autopilot, he stepped onto the asphalt and watched as Ushijima walked back to the Mustang.
The volleyball ace leaned into the backseat to adjust the oversized carton. He pulled the seatbelt across it. Only then did he straighten.
“Get in,” Ushijima said, holding the door open.
Satori obeyed. He scrambled into the car and leaned back into the headrest, staring out the window at the passing campus buildings.
🏐🏐🏐
This isn't how I pictured it, he thought. When he enrolled in the culinary arts program, he imagined late nights over a double boiler, the smell of burnt sugar, and maybe—if he was lucky—eventually opening his own shop where people would appreciate his "weird" aesthetics.
He never imagined sitting in the coolest car on campus, riding shotgun with the "Great Eagle" himself, acting like a delivery man for truffles shaped like monsters.
"I never even dared to dream this," Satori muttered under his breath.
"Dream what?" Ushijima asked, his eyes fixed on the road, one hand casually gripping the gear shift.
"This! Me, a raggedy college student covered in cocoa powder, being chauffeured by the campus idol. If I told the guys in the dorms, they would think I was finally hallucinating from sleep deprivation."
"You are not raggedy," Ushijima said firmly. He barely reacted, but there was the faintest lift at his lips.
"You care about what you make and it shows."
Satori felt a flush crawl up his neck. He turned his head away, hiding his face behind his fingers.
"Wah, Wakatoshi-kun! You can't just say things like that while driving a muscle car. It’s bad for my heart."
"I am simply stating a fact," Ushijima replied. He took a sharp turn.
"We have twelve minutes. Hold on. I am going to accelerate."
Satori tried to hold on to whatever he could grab, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He was exhausted, his car was dead, and he had a mountain of dishes waiting for him back at the lab—but as the Mustang roared down the main strip, he couldn't help but think that his day had become far more "colorful" than he planned.
🏐🏐🏐
"WAH! Wakatoshi-kun! My soul hasn’t caught up yet!" Satori shrieked. "Are we delivering truffles or entering 24 Hours of Le Mans?!"
Ushijima didn't even blink. His hands gripped the steering wheel.
"The post office closes in eight minutes. We must be this fast."
In a blink, they pulled into the post office parking lot with a screech of tires that drew every eye in the parking lot. Before the engine had even fully died, Ushijima was out of the car.
"Stay,"
"I'm not a puppy, Wakatoshi-kun!" Satori protested, though his legs were actually a bit too wobbly to stand just yet.
Ushijima ignored the protest. He reached into the back seat, hauled the box, and tucked it under his massive arm as if it were nothing more than a folder.
Satori scrambled out, finally catching his breath.
"I definitely didn’t dream this," Satori whispered to the Mustang's dashboard. "Sitting on a hood, getting a lift from a superstar, and now he’s my personal muscle? College is weird."
"Satori," Ushijima called from the doorway, holding it open with his shoulder. "They are closing soon. Move."
"Coming, coming!"
🏐🏐🏐
The post office doors hissed shut behind them just as the clerk flipped the "Closed" sign. Satori leaned against the wall, his chest heaving, his hair a disaster.
"Mission... accomplished," Satori wheezed. Ushijima stood beside him, looking unbothered, as if he hadn't just sprinted through the parking lot carrying a heavy box of chocolates. Satori reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against his tragically thin wallet.
"Okay, Wakatoshi-kun," Satori started, pulling it out with a grimace.
"I know gas for a beast like that isn't cheap. And my soul probably owes you for the emotional trauma back there. How much do I owe you for the 'Ushiwaka Express'?"
He peeked inside. His face fell. "Oh no. My wallet is actually going to start a riot. It’s currently filing for emancipation against me."
Ushijima just chuckled. "No need."
"No need?" Satori squawked. "Wakatoshi-kun, you just saved my entire semester! I can’t just—"
"I enjoyed the drive," Ushijima interrupted.
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Satori, pinning him against the wall. Satori’s brain promptly short-circuited. "I have never seen anyone react to my driving like that. It was interesting."
They held each other’s gaze for a brief moment. "You are tired," Ushijima noted, his voice softening. "I will take you back to your dorm. And perhaps, when you are less overwhelmed, you can repay me properly.”
“W-With what?” Satori’s imagination sprinted ahead, refused to return, and tripped over several dangerous possibilities.
“With one of those monsters,” Ushijima said flatly, as if that had been obvious all along. Satori stared up at him, his mouth hanging open.
"The-the chocolate? That’s what you meant?"
"I want to know," Ushijima said, turning back toward the Mustang.
Satori scrambled after him, a grin spreading across his face.
"Oh, you have no idea, Wakatoshi-kun! I have a 'Matcha Madness' truffle that will change your entire worldview!"
"Then make me one."
🏐🏐🏐
When they reached the dorms, Satori expected a quick goodbye at the curb. But Ushijima, as much a gentleman as rumored, killed the engine, hopped out, and came around to the passenger door.
"I will walk you to your door."
"Wakatoshi-kun, you're going to give people a heart attack," Satori joked, though his heart was doing a clumsy little dance of its own.
They walked through the halls. Students froze like deer in headlights, staring at the "Great Eagle" stalking through their wing.
When they reached Room 404, Satori fumbled with his keys. "Well, this is the goblin's lair. Thanks again for—"
He pushed the door open, intending to just toss his bag inside. But his roommates—Semi and Oohira—were right there in the common area, mid-snack and mid-argument about a chemistry project.
"AAAAAAAAAAAA!!"
Semi nearly choked on his energy drink, while Oohira stood up so fast he knocked over a bowl of chips.
"SATORI?! WHY IS THE ACE OF THE VOLLEYBALL TEAM AT OUR DOOR?!" Semi yelled, pointing a trembling finger.
"ARE WE UNDER ARREST? DID YOU POISON SOMEONE WITH YOUR CHOCOLATES?!"
"Good evening," Ushijima said, bowing his head slightly with calm politeness.
"He’s not arresting anyone, Semisemi!" Satori cackled, leaning back against the doorframe, his exhaustion finally being replaced by mischief.
"He’s just my personal delivery driver. He handles the heavy lifting, don't you, Wakatoshi-kun?"
Ushijima looked at Satori, then back at the terrified roommates.
"Tendou is very tired. Please ensure he eats something that is not sugar."
He turned back to Satori, his eyes lingering for a second longer than necessary.
"I will see you for that 'Matcha Madness' soon, Satori."
As Ushijima walked away, the hallway seemed to sigh in relief, but the room was still in a state of emergency.
"Sa-sa-satori," Semi whispered, his face pale. "He used your first name..."
"What did you do in that car?!"
The end