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Chapter Text

4.4k words

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

You pinch the bridge of your nose, releasing a deep sigh as the tow truck operator secures your car, now fully out of commission and helpless on the flatbed. Just your luck, it decided to break down on the way to a job interview. Perfect timing.

"All set," the older man says, patting the side of the truck. "Hop in the cab, and I'll get you to a mechanic."

You nod, climbing into the cab as a classic rock station hums from the radio, filling the silence with the low strum of guitars and familiar lyrics. Settling into the seat, you lean your head against the cool window, watching buildings and trees blur past.

You've only been in this city for a few weeks, just long enough to learn your way around and feel the thrill of beginning fresh. After weeks of sending applications, someone had finally reached out for an interview.

You'd managed to reach the recruiter before the interview started, explaining the situation. They'd graciously allowed you to reschedule. Still, a broken-down car wasn't exactly the first impression you'd hoped to make.

Your car, a twenty-year-old, rust-speckled relic, had been with you since high school. Once your grandmother's pride and joy, she'd passed it on to you when you turned sixteen. It wasn't much to look at and had more than a few quirks, but it was yours. It held memories, freedom, and a stubbornness that you could almost call a personality. Buying a new car? Not an option right now. This one had to keep running, one way or another.

The tow truck operator pulls into a gravel lot crowded with cars, each parked at odd angles, waiting for repairs. A mechanic station sits in the middle, with a few open bays spilling out tools and spare parts onto the ground, and the soft clanging of metal echoing from somewhere inside. You hop down from the cab, giving the operator a quick nod of thanks, and make your way inside while he begins unloading your car from the flatbed.

A bell chimes as you step into the shop, and the earthy smell of oil and mint mingles in the air. You spot a counter at the back, where an older man sits on the phone, speaking in a low, husky voice. Catching sight of you, he mouths, "I'll be with you in a moment." You nod, glancing around to pass the time.

Heavy rock music hums from a distant speaker, and a well-worn leather sofa rests beneath the front window, its cushions sagging from years of use. A small TV in the corner plays a game on some sports channel and magazines are scattered across a chipped coffee table, their covers faded from the sun streaming in.

The phone clicks back onto the receiver, drawing your attention. The man behind the counter raises a brow and asks, "Alright, is that you that Zenin just brought in?" He jerks his thumb out the window in the direction of your car.

You let out a defeated sigh and nod. "Unfortunately."

The man offers a sympathetic smile before he rises from his seat and heads outside with you. "Let's see what we're dealing with, what happened?"

You follow him as he approaches your car. "I was driving down the highway when the engine just shut off," you explain, frustration still fresh in your voice. "I tried restarting it, but it kept stalling and eventually died completely. He tried to jump it, but nothing worked, so here we are."

He nods thoughtfully, circling around to the front of the car. With a practiced flick of his hand, he pops the hood and peers into the engine, his eyes scanning the familiar, weathered parts. "When's the last time you got your oil changed?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

You think back. "Probably around three months ago?" you reply, feeling a bit uncertain now.

He hums, poking around and inspecting a few parts, his fingers prodding hoses and connectors. Just then, Naobito steps over to you, giving you a reassuring smile. "Alright, you're in good hands with Toji here," he says, nodding toward the mechanic. "They're some of the best mechanics in town, no doubt. I'll send the bill in the mail in a few business days."

Relieved, you offer him a grateful smile. "Thank you, I really appreciate all your help today."

Naobito returns the smile and exchanges a few words with Toji before heading back to his tow truck, waving a farewell. Toji, now fully absorbed in the inspection, leans in under the hood. You watch as he works, his hands moving with confidence, as though he's solved problems like yours a thousand times before.

Toji shuts the hood with a solid thud, brushing his hands off on his worn coveralls. "Alright, I'll need to take a closer look," he says, his tone straightforward but reassuring. "I'll have the guys load it into one of the bays, and we'll get a diagnosis. It'll take a few hours, so you're welcome to head out if you've got somewhere to be. We'll give you a call once we know what's up."

You scratch the back of your neck, feeling a bit awkward. "Actually, I don't really have anyone to pick me up, so would it be alright if I just waited here?"

Toji's expression softens, and he gives a small nod. "Not a problem. The sofa inside is all yours."

With a grateful smile, you quickly grab your bag from the passenger seat and toss him the keys. "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

He nods, already focused as he turns back to your car, his hands moving expertly as he signals his team. You head back inside.

You sink into the worn sofa as you pull a book from your bag. You silently thank your past self for the habit of always packing whatever you're reading, it's saved you more than once during unexpected waits like this. Today, it's an old, well-loved copy of Sense and Sensibility, its cover faded and edges soft from years of handling.

Settling in, you pick up where you left off, feeling the familiar comfort of the story wrapping around you. It doesn't take long before the garage fades away, replaced by the vivid, elegant world of Austen's characters.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The door to the garage swings open, and laughter filters into the waiting room, deep and easygoing. Glancing up from your book, you catch sight of two men stepping inside. They're both tall, attractive, and carry an effortless confidence that instantly commands attention.

The first guy has his coveralls unzipped halfway, revealing a fitted black t-shirt beneath that stretches over lean muscle. His hair is a short dusty pink that somehow suits him perfectly, and tattoos weave intricate patterns across his face, only adding to his striking look. Piercings glint in his ears, and he sports sizable gauges that give him a dangerously captivating edge.

The second guy, just a touch taller, wears his dark hair in two messy pigtail buns that somehow work in a way they shouldn't. A faded scar runs across the bridge of his nose, and his ears are studded with several piercings that catch the light as he moves. His eyes are dark and intense, ones you would probably look away from if they were to meet yours.

They're hot, you find yourself thinking.

As if he felt your gaze, the man with the buns turns his head slightly and meets your eyes. You felt your breath catch. His gaze was even more intimidating and captivating than you had imagined. The glance was brief, his attention returning back to the other man as if he hadn't even seen you.

The two men head toward the back of the shop, leaving you alone again in the dimming light. Glancing out the front window, you notice the sun beginning its descent, casting long, golden shadows across the gravel outside. Just then, the sound of the garage door opening pulls your attention back.

Toji steps inside, wiping his forehead with a well-worn handkerchief as he approaches.

"So, it looks like your transmission's gone out," he says, his voice straightforward. "That car isn't going anywhere until it's fixed."

You nod, bracing yourself. "How much will it cost, and how long will it take?"

Toji sighs, folding the handkerchief back into his pocket. "I'll need to order some specific parts for a car that age, and we're backed up with a few other jobs right now. I'd say it'll take about two weeks. As for the cost..." He pauses, clearly aware of the impact of his next words. "It'll run you a couple thousand dollars."

You wince, the number hitting hard. Finances were already tight from the recent move and the gap between jobs.

Toji notices your reaction and adds, "Most folks think about getting a new car when the transmission needs replacing. Might be worth considering."

You let out a weary sigh. "That car's fully paid off, though, and right now, a car payment on top of everything else isn't an option, I'll go through with the repairs."

He nods, understanding in his eyes, and gestures toward the counter. "Alright. I'll have you fill out some paperwork, and you'll be all set."

You fill out the paperwork quickly and he hands you a card with the shop's contact info on it. "Give us a call if you need anything, did you need to grab anything else from your car before you leave?"

"No, I think I got everything," you reply, glancing over the paperwork one last time.

"Sounds good," Toji nods. "We'll give you a call when it's ready to pick up."

"Thank you for all your help," you say, offering a soft smile as you head toward the door.

"No problem. Have a nice night," he replies with a nod.

With that, you step outside, greeted by the cool evening air as the last traces of sunlight dip below the horizon. You let out a frustrated sigh, slipping your phone from your bag to order a ride. As you wait, you lean against the brick wall at the front of the shop, scrolling absently through your phone.

"See you tomorrow" someone calls from the garage. You lift your head, your gaze drifting until it lands on the pigtailed man from before.

He strides out into the gravel lot and heads toward a sleek motorcycle parked near the entrance. As he passes by, his eyes meet yours again, this time, the connection lingers. His intense gaze holds yours for a heartbeat longer, leaving a subtle charge in the air before he continues on.

You watch as he swings a leg over the motorcycle, moving with an effortless confidence that seems second nature. He pulls on his gloves, then slides his helmet on, securing it with practiced ease. When he cranks the engine, the deep, throaty rumble echoes through the lot, sending a subtle vibration up through the soles of your shoes. With a swift motion, he accelerates, leaving a trail of gravel dust in his wake as he speeds out of the lot.

He was already hot, but there's something about him on a motorcycle that makes him even hotter. Your heart flutters, and your thoughts drift back to that moment when his dark eyes locked with yours, their intensity still lingering in your mind.

Before long, your ride pulls up, snapping you from your thoughts. With a quiet sigh, you climb in and eventually make it back to the comfort of your apartment.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

It's been about a week since your car broke down, and most of your days have been filled with job applications and careful budgeting, the looming repair costs never far from your mind. Now, on a quiet Saturday evening, you find yourself lying in bed in your tiny studio apartment, the hum of city noise filtering faintly through the windows.

Surrounded by the familiar clutter of your few belongings, you feel the weight of the week pressing down, each expense and job rejection chipping away at your patience. The ceiling above becomes a blank canvas as you stare up, your thoughts drifting between worry and a faint hope that things will shift soon.

You close your eyes, hoping to find some solace in sleep, but the peace you crave is quickly interrupted. From the other side of the wall, the loud, muffled moans of your neighbors seep through, breaking the quiet of your apartment. It's an all-too-familiar sound that has become a regular occurrence since you moved in. It's not daily, but at least once a week, when you least expect it, the intimate noises of what you assume is a couple disrupt your rest, leaving you wide awake in the silence between their sounds.

Maybe it was the stress from the week or the simmering jealousy, after all, it had been a while since you'd been with anyone, but tonight, you've reached your limit. You sit up abruptly, your heart racing in frustration. Without thinking, you slam your fists against the wall behind your bed, the sound sharp and forceful in the otherwise still room. "BE QUIET!" you yell, your voice raw with irritation.

The moans gradually fade, the silence finally settling in after your outburst. With a frustrated sigh, you collapse back into your bed, the weight of the evening still heavy on your chest. You shut your eyes tightly, willing your mind to quiet, and after a few moments, the exhaustion takes over. Sleep finally claims you, the stress of the week slipping into a distant blur.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

You wake up the next morning, stretching the sleep from your limbs as sunlight filters through the windows, casting a soft glow across your apartment. You take a quick shower, the cool water beating down on your skin helps wash away the lingering tension from the day before.

Feeling more awake, you hop out of the shower and start getting ready, deciding to head to the coffee shop a few blocks away for breakfast.

As you step outside your apartment, locking the door behind you, you come face-to-face with your neighbor. Your heart sinks as you remember the outburst from the night before, the frustration of the previous evening still simmering beneath your skin. You glance up, feeling a rush of both embarrassment and irritation, and realize the man standing before you is none other than the pigtailed mechanic from the shop.

Your eyes widen slightly. He's the one who's been causing you sleepless nights. His gaze is sharp and cold, his eyes piercing through you in a way that only adds to your growing annoyance.

For a moment, neither of you speak, the air thick with an unspoken awkwardness. You can't help but feel your cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and lingering irritation from last night's outburst. You try to look away, but something about the sharpness of his gaze keeps you locked in place. His eyes, dark and unreadable, seem to pierce right through you. It's almost as if he's silently judging you for the scene you caused.

"Morning," he says, his voice deep and cool, almost as though he's not quite acknowledging the elephant in the room. He doesn't sound like he's angry, but there's an edge to his tone that makes it clear he's not exactly thrilled to see you.

You force yourself to respond, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in your chest. "Yeah, morning," you mumble, a little too quickly, wanting to break the silence and get on with your day. But the words hang between you, heavy with the weight of your previous frustration.

He steps closer to you, just enough that his presence looms like a shadow over you. You take a step back instinctively, but you can't help but notice how he moves with confidence, like he knows exactly the effect he has on people.

For a split second, his gaze softens, but it's fleeting, replaced by that same cool, unreadable stare. "Didn't expect you to be so... vocal," he comments casually, as though it's a passing thought, though you can tell it's a subtle jab at your earlier outburst.

Your heart skips a beat, irritation flaring up once more. "Well, maybe if you weren't so loud every damn week," you snap back before you can stop yourself. The words are out before you can even process them.

His lips curl into the faintest of smirks, a flash of amusement flickering in his eyes. "I'll try to keep it down," he says with mock sweetness, but there's a challenge there, as if daring you to escalate it further.

You can't quite decide if you're more annoyed or intrigued by him. He's insufferable, yet there's something undeniably magnetic about his presence. His gaze doesn't leave yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade, just the two of you standing there, locked in a silent standoff.

You break the tension first, letting out a sharp breath, your arms crossed in defense. "Whatever," you mutter, turning on your heel to head toward the stairs. You don't want to let him get under your skin, especially not this early in the morning. But you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, the weight of his gaze pressing against your back.

You hear him move behind you, but he doesn't follow. Instead, you hear the faint click of his apartment door closing.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The next few days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next. You had landed a job interview at a local pottery studio, and to your relief, it had gone exceptionally well. With a background in the arts, you felt optimistic about this opportunity. The position involved assisting a teacher with their classes, a Monday through Friday schedule that promised structure and creativity, something you desperately craved. Now, all that was left was to wait, anticipation bubbling beneath the surface as you hoped for a favorable response.

In the meantime, life remained largely unchanged. Without a car, you spent most of your time at home, the walls of your apartment feeling both comforting and stifling. When you did venture out, it was usually for a walk or to grab a bite to eat.

On one of these outings, you crossed paths with your neighbor again. The encounter was just as awkward and tension-laced as the last. Your previous outburst hadn't done much to curb the noise issue, if anything, it seemed to have the opposite effect. He continued his relentless barrage of sound, blaring music, thudding footsteps, and who-knows-what else echoing through the thin walls. Whether it was an act of defiance or simple indifference, you weren't sure. But in true stubborn fashion, you resolved to ignore him and his racket as best you could, determined not to let him get under your skin.

With a weary sigh, you pushed yourself up from the bed, stretching your stiff limbs before dragging yourself to get dressed. A glance out the window revealed the sun beginning its slow descent, streaking the sky with warm hues of orange and gold.

Grabbing your headphones and keys, you slipped out of your tiny apartment and made your way to the lobby. The hour was later than you had realized, and rather than wandering the dimly lit streets, you decided on a different path, one that required no more than a short ride in an aging elevator.

With a soft chime, the doors slid open to the parking garage, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. The lift rattled slightly as it ascended, the fluorescent lights casting a dull glow over the scratched metal walls. When the doors finally parted, you were met with an unobstructed view of the city stretching far into the horizon.

The sunset bathed the skyline in a breathtaking palette of amber and crimson, the distant buildings silhouetted against the fading light. A gentle breeze stirred through the open space, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic below. For a moment, you simply stood there, taking it all in.

You unwrapped the cord of your headphones, about to slip them in, when a sound caught your attention, a laugh, followed by the soft murmur of voices. You hesitated, glancing across the parking lot toward the far edge where the concrete barrier met the open sky.

There, leaning lazily against the waist-high ledge, was your neighbor. Even from a distance, his posture and tousled hair were unmistakable. A girl stood beside him, perched casually against the railing, her body angled toward him as she exhaled a slow curl of smoke into the cooling evening air. Her cigarette glowed faintly between her fingers, a tiny ember against the growing dusk. They were talking, their conversation low and easy, punctuated by occasional laughter.

You found yourself lingering, watching them without really meaning to. The girl was pretty in a careless sort of way, dressed in ripped jeans and an oversized jacket, her hair falling messily around her face. She took a slow drag from her cigarette, her lips curling into a smirk as she said something that made him chuckle, shaking his head before reaching for the cigarette between her fingers, stealing a hit without asking.

It was an easy kind of intimacy, the kind that only came from familiarity. You weren't sure why, but something about it unsettled you, whether it was curiosity, annoyance, or something else entirely, you couldn't quite tell.

You stood frozen for a moment longer, headphones still dangling from your fingers, before realizing you had been staring. Tearing your gaze away, you shook off whatever strange feeling had settled over you and made your way toward the opposite side of the parking lot.

Finding a spot along the concrete edge, you leaned against it as you pulled your hoodie tighter against the evening breeze. The city sprawled out before you, bathed in the last remnants of golden light, the horizon swallowing the sun bit by bit. You focused on that, the view, the distant hum of life below, the crisp air against your skin.

Still, no matter how much you tried to tune them out, their presence lingered just at the edge of your awareness. The occasional murmur of their voices carried across the open space, sometimes interrupted by a soft laugh or the scratch of a lighter sparking to life. You told yourself you weren't listening, not really.

But then, a shift. A pause in their conversation. You felt it before you saw it, that prickling sensation of being watched.

Glancing over, you found your neighbor looking right at you. His arm was still draped lazily over the ledge, cigarette dangling between his fingers, but his attention had decidedly strayed. His eyes lingered, unreadable in the dimming light, the easy amusement from moments ago replaced with something else.

You didn't look away. If he thought you'd get up and leave just because he was here, he had another thing coming. After a beat, he exhaled a slow stream of smoke and turned back to his conversation, saying something to the girl that made her glance in your direction before smirking.

You rolled your eyes and finally slipped in your headphones, cranking up the volume.

The music filled your ears, drowning out the lingering hum of their conversation. You focused on the city instead, letting your gaze wander over the sea of buildings and the blinking lights of distant traffic. This was what you came up here for, peace, quiet, a moment away from everything.

And yet, despite the music, despite your best efforts to ignore them, you could still feel their presence. That subtle awareness, like a weight pressing at the edge of your consciousness. It was annoying. You stole another glance without thinking.

Your neighbor was still leaned against the ledge, cigarette now just a glowing ember between his fingers. But he wasn't laughing anymore. He wasn't even talking. He was watching you.

The girl beside him said something, nudging him with her elbow. He smirked, shaking his head before flicking the last of his cigarette over the ledge, letting it disappear into the open air below. Then, without another word, he pushed off the railing and started walking towards the elevator.

The girl reluctantly followed and you turned back to the view in front of you. You exhaled slowly, only now realizing just how tense you had been, shoulders drawn tight, fingers curled against the rough concrete edge. You shook it off. It wasn't anything. Just a random encounter. Nothing more.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

Your phone rang, shattering the heavy silence of your deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, you fumbled blindly across your bedside table, fingers knocking against random objects before finally grasping the device. Squinting at the bright screen, you barely registered the unknown number before answering, bringing the phone to your ear with a mumbled, "Hello?"

A bright, cheerful voice responded, "Hi, is this Y/N L/N?"

You sat up slightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Yes, who's this?"

"This is Riko from Idle Hands Ceramics."

Instantly, your drowsiness faded. Your heart skipped a beat as you straightened up, gripping the phone tighter.

"Oh my gosh, yes! Hi! How can I help you?"

Riko chuckled softly. "Well, I was actually calling to let you know that we'd love to offer you a position here at the studio."

You blinked, momentarily stunned. The world around you seemed to blur as the words sank in, the phone still pressed to your ear, but the reality of the situation taking a moment to fully register.

"Wait, what?" you stammered, feeling your heart race in your chest. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, absolutely," Riko said, her voice warm and genuine. "We were really impressed with your interview, and we think you'd be a perfect fit for the position here."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, a mixture of disbelief and excitement rushing through you. "Oh my gosh, this is amazing... I—I'm so excited. Yes! I'd love to accept!"

Riko laughed softly. "I'm so glad to hear that. We'll send over the details and start date in an email, but we were hoping you could start Monday if that works for you."

"Monday is perfect!" you replied without hesitation, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Great! We'll be in touch soon. Congrats again, Y/N! We're really looking forward to having you on the team."

"Thank you so much, Riko. I can't wait to get started!"

As the call ended, you sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand as a wave of exhilaration washed over you. You had done it. Without realizing it, you had a huge grin on your face, your excitement bubbling up and spilling over. This was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

2.6k words

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

Sunday night rolled around, and just as you were getting ready for bed, you were interrupted by your neighbor. Loud moaning disrupted your quiet space, instantly irritating you as tomorrow you had to be up early. You sat on the edge of your bed with a frustrated sigh, hoping the noise would subside in a few minutes. Your hope dwindled as five, then ten, then twenty minutes passed. 

“There’s no way he’s that good in bed,” you mumbled to yourself. 

You eventually got fed up and decided to resort to what you knew best, slamming your fists on the wall and telling them to shut up. Shortly after, the moaning subsided and you eventually got some rest. 

Monday morning arrived and you made sure to get to the studio early. As you stepped inside, the scent of clay greeted you. Riko, seated behind the front desk, looked up from her computer and smiled warmly.

“Y/N, welcome! If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you how to clock in and where to put your things,” she said, standing up and motioning for you to come along.

“Thank you,” you replied, returning her smile.

She led you through the main hallway of the studio, passing two large classrooms before arriving at the back area. There, a spacious employee room awaited, along with a few storage closets and a closed office door. You hadn’t met the owner yet, but you suspected today would be the day, especially since you’d be helping out with his classes.

“These are the lockers,” Riko said, pointing to a row of metal lockers lined up against the wall. “Feel free to claim one for your stuff. We don’t provide locks, but you’re welcome to bring your own if you’d like.”

She then turned to a cozy corner nearby. “This is our break area. Nothing too fancy, but it does the job.”

The small nook included a round table surrounded by mismatched chairs, and a kitchenette complete with a mini fridge, microwave, and sink. Riko paused in front of the office door. “This is Satoru’s office. He’s late, as usual,” she added with an eye-roll.

Finally, she stopped at a small screen mounted on the wall. “And this is where you clock in. You’ll use this number,” she said, handing you a business card printed with your name and a seven-digit employee code.

You took the card, entered the number into the system, and a pleasant chime confirmed your successful clock in.

“The bathroom’s straight down that hallway,” Riko continued, pointing, “along with the emergency exit. Go ahead and put your things away and hang out for a bit, once Satoru arrives, we’ll start your training.” With a final smile, she turned and walked back to the front desk, leaving you with a few quiet moments to explore.

You took the opportunity to look around and get a feel for your new environment. The classrooms were spacious and filled with natural light from the tall windows. One was equipped with pottery wheels arranged in neat rows, their metallic frames gleaming in the morning light. The other room had several large work tables surrounded by stools, each surface scattered with tools and clay bags.

Connected to the wheel room was the kiln room, where the heat from the previous day's firings still lingered in the air. Three massive kilns sat along the wall, and shelves nearby were stacked with clay projects, some glazed and ready to fire, others still drying and awaiting their turn.

“Y/N?” a voice called out.

You stepped out of the kiln room and found Riko standing beside a tall, white-haired man. He wore sleek black circular glasses, which he pushed up onto his head, revealing the most striking blue eyes you had ever seen.

He looked to be a few years older than you, with an effortlessly handsome face and a relaxed posture. When his eyes met yours, he smiled warmly. You returned it, albeit a bit shyly.

“Our new team member, Y/N!” he said with cheerful enthusiasm. “It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard fantastic things already.”

Stepping forward, he extended a hand. “I’m Satoru Gojo, the owner.” His handshake was firm, and his presence was somehow both intimidating and disarming all at once.

“Nice to meet you. I’m excited to be a part of the team,” you said with a soft smile.

“We’re glad to have you,” Satoru replied with a grin. “The crew here is pretty small, so you’ll mostly be working with me, and occasionally with Kento, the one you interviewed with. We also have one other assistant teacher, Yuta, but he’s only here three days a week. And of course, Riko here is our amazing secretary. She handles the class schedules, phone calls, emails, payments, basically all the fun administrative stuff.”

You nodded, trying to absorb everything he was telling you.

“Well then,” Satoru continued, clapping his hands together lightly, “if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I’m going to eat my breakfast and then we’ll get started with your training.”

With a smile, he turned and disappeared into his office, leaving you with Riko once again.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The day passed quickly, and before long, it was time to head home. Training had gone well, and to your surprise, you even found yourself already assisting Satoru with one of his classes. 

You hadn’t realized just how much you missed working with clay until your hands were back in it again. The grounding feel of the earthy texture, the cool smoothness beneath your fingers, and the satisfaction that came with shaping something from nothing. 

You said your goodbyes to everyone at the studio, exchanging warm smiles and casual waves before heading out for the evening. With your car still in the shop, your options were limited to walking or catching an Uber. Tonight, you opted for the former, deciding to enjoy the fresh air.

A cool breeze brushed against your skin. The city was alive with its usual evening sounds, distant chatter, the hum of traffic, and the occasional bark of a dog. You let your thoughts wander as you strolled.

Fortunately, your place was only about twenty minutes away, just enough time to clear your head without dragging out the journey. The sky above began to soften, painted in the dusky hues of early twilight. If you timed it right, you'd be home just before the sun fully dipped below the horizon.

As you stepped into your apartment building, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and saw a text from the mechanic: Your car is ready for pickup.

You let out a soft sigh of relief, grateful that the wait was finally over. It was already too late to grab it tonight, so you made a mental note to swing by tomorrow.

Making your way toward the elevators, one arrived with a chime just as you reached the doors. You stepped inside and pressed your floor. As the doors began to close, a sudden movement triggered the sensor, a boot slipping between them to reopen the doors with a smooth hiss. You glanced up.

Your neighbor strode in, motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm, his hair messy and slightly damp with sweat. His coveralls were half-unzipped and streaked with grease, the sleeves tied around his waist in a careless way.

He didn’t glance your way as he leaned against the wall, but the smirk tugging at his lips already said enough.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. “What, no banging on the walls?”

Your eyes narrowed, heat rising in your chest. “Maybe I just have low tolerance for obnoxious moaning through paper thin walls,” you replied flatly. “Or maybe I was trying to save your partner from faking it any longer.”

He let out a short, dry laugh. “Ouch,” he said, cocking his head. “You sure you’re not jealous? Or are you just sexually frustrated enough to take it out on drywall?”

You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Trust me, if I wanted to take it out on something, I wouldn’t waste my energy on the wall.”

He glanced at you again. You stared straight ahead. The doors slid shut, sealing you into the heat of it.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice wasn’t sarcastic or sharp this time, just curious.

You glanced at him, only to find he was already watching you. “What?” he said with a shrug. “We’re neighbors. I miight as well know who I’m being yelled at by.”

“Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N L/N,” he repeated slowly, the syllables dragging off his tongue like he was testing the way they sounded.

You raised an eyebrow. “And yours?”

“Choso Kamo,” he said.

You gave a nod, committing it to memory. “Well, Choso Kamo,” you replied as the elevator doors slid open onto your floor and you both stepped out, “I’d appreciate it if you kept the noise down.” You offered him a tight-lipped smile as you reached your door.

He rolled his eyes, but the smug curve of his lips remained. “No promises,” he said, already turning away. 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

Work the next day flew by in a blur. Your boss let you off early so you'd have enough time to swing by the mechanic before they closed. You thanked your Uber driver as you stepped out onto the familiar gravel lot. The sun was beginning to cast a warm amber light across the lot as the shop prepared to shut down for the evening.

You pushed open the door, the chime above ringing softly to announce your arrival. Behind the counter, Toji looked up from a stack of paperwork, pen still in hand.

“Ah, Ms. Y/N, you made it,” he said, offering a brief smile. “Your car’s all set. We threw in an oil change and a tire rotation, on the house of course. I figured it’d save you a trip later.”

You returned the smile. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“I just need your signature here, and then I’ll run your payment,” he said, sliding a clipboard across the counter.

“I’ll have one of the guys bring your car around,” he added, heading out to the garage and leaving you momentarily alone.

You signed the paperwork and tapped your card on the pinpad. A few moments later, Toji reentered.

“Alright, looks like you’re all set,” he said, handing you your receipt. 

You accepted the slip and turned to leave, pausing just long enough to smile.

“Thanks again for all your help.”

“Anytime. Don’t hesitate to give us a call if anything else comes up,” he replied with a casual wave.

The door creaked shut behind you as you stepped out into the evening air. Waiting for you in the lot was your car, and your neighbor, leaning lazily against the hood, twirling your keys around his finger.

“Y/N L/N,” he drawled. “So this piece of junk is yours, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call it a piece of junk, Choso Kamo ,” you said, emphasizing his name as you snatched your keys from his hand.

“Always so touchy,” he muttered, that smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You scoffed. “Better than being cocky with nothing useful to say.”

He tilted his head, clearly amused. “Are you always this charming, or is it just for me?”

You opened your car door with a smirk of your own. “Only when I’m hoping someone takes a hint.” Sliding into the driver’s seat, you flicked him off over the roof of the car without looking back.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

That night, you were jolted awake in the early hours of the morning. But this time, it wasn’t the sound of moaning. It was music. Loud, bass-thumping, wall-shaking music.

Groaning, you grabbed your pillow and shoved it over your face, screaming into the fabric out of frustration. After a few seconds of fuming, you threw off your blanket and stormed out of bed, marching straight to his door.

You knocked loudly and impatiently until it finally swung open, and then, you froze.

Standing in the doorway was Choso, wearing nothing but low-hanging grey sweats and a mildly disinterested expression. His hair was slightly damp and tousled like he’d just stepped out of the shower, strands falling loosely around his face.

You stared, stunned silent by the unexpected sight. Heat crawled up your neck and into your cheeks as you struggled to remember why you were even there.

His dark eyes lazily traveled down your body, lingering a little too long at your chest before flicking back up to your face. “Need something?” he asked.

It hit you then what you were wearing. A tiny tank top that barely qualified as a shirt and a pair of shorts that felt a whole lot shorter under his gaze. You instinctively crossed your arms over your chest. “I—uh... could you turn the music down?”

Choso leaned against the doorframe, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like it had all the time in the world. “Didn’t realize it was that loud,” he said, unapologetically. “Guess I got carried away.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Carried away at three in the morning?”

He shrugged. “Best time to listen to music, no distractions.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to hold onto your irritation despite the way your brain kept short-circuiting every time you caught sight of his torso. “Some of us actually enjoy sleeping through the night.”

Choso tilted his head slightly like he was considering that. “Noted.”

Silence hung between you for a beat too long.

You lifted a brow. “So... are you gonna turn it down, or do I need to start blasting polka music through the walls as revenge?”

That pulled a low laugh from him. “Alright, alright, I’ll keep it down.”

“Thank you.” You turned on your heel, eager to escape before you said something truly embarrassing.

“Cute pajamas,” he called after you, voice teasing.

You didn’t turn around.

Choso stayed in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as his gaze lingered shamelessly on the sway of your hips and the way those tiny shorts clung to your ass. He let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose. The music cut off less than a minute later.

You settled back into bed, dragging the covers over yourself with a frustrated sigh. The apartment was finally quiet, but sleep didn’t come easy.

No matter how hard you tried, your mind kept replaying the image of him standing in the doorway, shirtless and sweatpants slung low enough to expose the sharp cut of his v-line. His torso, lean but solid. Muscles shifting beneath his skin with every lazy movement.

You rolled onto your stomach and groaned into your pillow. Great. Just what you needed, your annoying neighbor etched into your brain like some sort of half-naked curse.

Little did you know, just a few feet away, your neighbor was having similar thoughts, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

Leaning back on his couch, the apartment now silent, Choso stared at the ceiling with the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

He hadn’t expected you to show up at his door like that, pissed off, half-asleep, and barely dressed. That tank top. Those shorts. The way you folded your arms, trying to cover yourself, only managing to draw more attention. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tightening slightly.

You were mouthy, annoying, and too damn pretty for your own good. And now, you were in his head too. He exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling like it might offer some kind of clarity. It didn’t. Instead, it gave him flashes of your flushed face, the heat in your glare, the way your voice had faltered when you realized just how little you were wearing.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

You were under his skin now. And he wasn’t sure if that annoyed him more or intrigued him.

Chapter Text

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

You were settling into work surprisingly well. Even though you’d only been there for a few weeks, your coworkers, and even your boss, already felt more like friends than colleagues. You’d learned that Riko and Yuta were the same age as you, 25, and that Satoru and Kento were both in their early thirties. You met Satoru’s husband, Suguru, who was just as handsome, if not more, than Satoru himself. You were also introduced to their two adopted daughters, Nanako and Mimiko, who were just around 8 years old.

This week marked the beginning of September, ushering in cooler mornings and a new curriculum. You were spending your afternoons helping Satoru prepare lesson plans for his after-school elementary pottery courses. You would be helping him teach different grades each day of the week, with the lessons mainly centered on pottery fundamentals. 

Today marked your very first set of classes with a lively group of 2nd and 3rd graders who would come in after school let out at 2 p.m. Satoru had mentioned with a grin that Nanako and Mimiko were part of this class.

“Y/N,” Riko called from the front desk as you finished arranging the last of the supplies for the kids. “The students will be here in ten minutes, take a quick break if you need it.”

“Okay!” you called back, stepping away from the tables. A small smile graced your lips as you looked over your work. Each station is neatly set up with clay, tools, and aprons, everything in its proper place. The room looked inviting, ready to welcome curious little hands and eager smiles.

You headed to the back, slipping into the restroom for a quick break before refilling your water bottle. Just as you finished, the soft chime of the front door rang out, followed almost instantly by the eruption of voices. The once quiet space was now alive with the high-pitched chatter and laughter of children, their excitement spilling into every corner of the studio.

You made your way back to the classroom, where Satoru was already at the front, gently herding the children toward their seats. Their chatter echoed off the walls, but with a little persistence, he managed to get them settled.

With a sharp clap of his hands and a smile that lit up the room, Satoru began. “Welcome students! My name is Mr. Gojo, and I am your pottery teacher. I can’t wait to get to know each and every one of you, and I am so excited to see the amazing things you’ll create!”

He then turned and gestured toward you. “And this is my teaching assistant, Ms. Y/N. She’ll be here to answer your questions and help whenever you need.”

“Hi!” you greeted, giving the class a cheerful wave. “I’m so excited to meet all of you.” Your smile mirrored the children’s growing excitement, their eyes wide with curiosity as they sized up both their teachers for the weeks ahead.

“Now, before we get started on the first lesson,” Satoru announced, “let’s have everyone go around and introduce themselves. Tell us your name and your favorite color, and Ms. Y/N will give you a nametag.”

Nanako, seated at one of the front tables, shot her hand into the air with barely-contained excitement. “I’m Nanako, and my favorite color is purple!” she declared proudly before turning to her sister. Mimiko hesitated, her gaze flicking to Nanako for reassurance. With Nanako’s encouraging nod, she spoke softly, “I’m Mimiko, and my favorite color is pink.”

The rest of the children followed in turn. A boy in a straw hat smiled widely as he spoke. “My name is Luffy, and I like pirates!” His enthusiasm was so infectious that a ripple of laughter ran through the group. You and Satoru exchanged an amused glance.

Next to him, a boy with messy green hair shrugged lazily. “I’m Zoro. I like green I guess.”

At the next table, a boy with dusty pink hair leaned forward eagerly. “I’m Yuji, and I love red!”

The boy beside him, dark-haired with a perpetually unimpressed expression, rolled his eyes. “I’m Megumi. I think favorite colors are stupid, but I guess I like dark blue.”

You couldn’t help but giggle softly at his deadpan delivery. After that, the remaining students finished their introductions one by one.

Soon after, Satoru launched into the first lesson. Today, you were teaching the kids how to make pinch-pots. As he explained the steps with his usual animated energy, you moved through the classroom, pausing here and there to offer guidance or encouragement.

“Ms. Y/N,” Yuji called, his hand shooting into the air. His pink hair stuck out in every direction, and his cheeks were already smudged faintly with clay. “Can you help me?”

You walked over to his table and leaned down, noticing the way his pot sagged unevenly in his hands. The walls were flimsy, crumbling in spots where the clay had grown too thin.

“What am I doing wrong?” he asked, looking up at you with a small pout, his brows furrowed in defeat.

“Hmm,” you murmured thoughtfully, turning the pot gently in your hands. “It looks like you’re pinching the clay too thin.”

Grabbing a small lump of fresh clay, you demonstrated step by step. “Here, roll it into a ball first. Then, when you pinch, be gentle. Keep the pressure even, so the walls don’t collapse. See how I’m slowly raising the edges up as the pot gets bigger?” The clay molded easily beneath your fingertips as you showed him.

Yuji’s eyes lit up with renewed determination. “Okay, I’ll try!”

You passed the clay back to him, offering an encouraging smile. He followed your motions carefully this time, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. After a few minutes of practice, his pot finally began taking shape.

“I did it!” he exclaimed, holding it up proudly for you to see. His grin stretched from ear to ear. 

The rest of class passed, and before long, it was time for parents to pick up their children. Satoru slipped out not long after dismissal, leaving you and Riko in charge of closing up for the night.

Soon, only Yuji and Luffy remained, the two boys trailing after you like shadows as you cleaned up the room. They filled the quiet space with constant chatter, their voices overlapping as they told you stories, asked questions, and laughed at their own jokes.

Riko was in the back when the chime of the front door rang out. You set aside the tools you were rinsing and stepped into the lobby, where an elderly man with a head full of grey hair stood waiting.

“Hello,” he said politely, “I’m here to pick up Yuji Itadori, I’m his grandfather.”

“Of course,” you replied with a smile. “Let me go get him.”

Returning to the classroom, you called out, “Yuji, your grandpa is here.”

The boy immediately lit up, springing to his feet. “See you tomorrow, Luffy!” he called, before rushing past you. “Grandpa!”

You followed him back to the front just in time to see Yuji barrel into the older man’s side, hugging him tightly while chattering about how much fun he’d had in class. The grandfather’s stern expression softened as he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, listening patiently.

You offered them both a warm farewell before watching them disappear through the studio’s doors. Just as you turned to head back into the classroom, the soft chime of the front door rang again. You spun on your heel and froze.

“Ace?” you breathed, your eyes widening in disbelief.

Standing before you was a face you hadn’t seen in nearly a decade, Ace D. Portgas, your childhood best friend. From ages eight to sixteen, the two of you had been inseparable. And though many years had passed, you would have recognized him anywhere. He was taller now, his frame broader, and his shoulders carrying the strength of someone who had long since grown into adulthood. The boy you remembered had become a man, handsome, confident, and yet still unmistakably Ace.

“Y/N?” His voice carried the same surprise as his expression, eyes widening as though he couldn’t quite believe you were standing in front of him either.

The two of you spoke at the same time, the words overlapping. “What are you doing here?”

Before either of you could recover enough to explain, a blur of movement shot past you.

“Ace!” Luffy cried, lunging into his brother’s arms with unrestrained joy. “What took you so long?”

Ace laughed, wrapping his arms around the younger boy. “Sorry I’m late, Luff,” Ace said with an apologetic grin, ruffling his brother’s hair. “Work kept me longer than I was expecting.”

Luffy immediately settled at his side, already launching into an animated retelling of his day. But Ace raised a hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “Just a second, Luff. I want to hear all about it, but give me a moment, will ya?”

Luffy let out an exaggerated huff, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks in annoyance, but he stayed quiet.

Ace then turned back to you, his dark eyes softening as a smile tugged at his lips. “Wow, how long has it been? Ten years?”

You blinked, still trying to process the sight of him standing there. “Something like that,” you said with a faint laugh, though your voice wavered just slightly. “It feels surreal seeing you.”

Ace’s smile softened. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” he admitted, his eyes tracing your face as though comparing it to the one from his memories. “But then you smiled, and yeah, that’s the same Y/N I remember.”

A rush of nostalgia swept through you, the kind that made your chest ache with both fondness and the sting of lost time. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, Luffy broke the silence with a loud groan.

“Hello? I’m still here!” he complained, throwing his hands in the air.

Ace chuckled, his gaze flicking briefly to his younger brother before settling back on you.

“He’s only going to get more impatient,” he said, nodding toward Luffy’s restless fidgeting, “so I should probably get going before he drives you crazy. But…” his smile widened, a hint of hesitation in his tone, “I’d really love to catch up. Can I get your number?”

You felt your lips curve into an easy smile. “Sure, I’d love that.”

Crossing over to Riko’s desk, you found a sticky note and pen. You carefully jotted down your number before tearing the note free and handing it to him.

He glanced down at it before folding the paper and tucking it securely into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said. “We’ll get out of your hair now, but it was really good seeing you. You look… good.”

With a gentle hand on Luffy’s shoulder, Ace guided his brother toward the door. Luffy waved enthusiastically over his shoulder before they disappeared.

You lingered near the front desk for a moment, still trying to process what had just happened. The studio felt oddly quiet after Ace and Luffy’s departure, your thoughts spinning in a way that made it hard to move.

“Who was that cutie?” Riko’s voice broke through your daze, her teasing tone punctuated by a dramatic wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Just an old friend I haven’t seen in a really long time,” you said, waving a hand to brush it off.

Riko leaned against the counter, her grin widening. “Mhm. An old friend . Something tells me there’s more to that story, especially since your smile hasn’t left your face since he walked in.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks despite your best efforts. You shooed her away with a laugh, though the smile she called out remained firmly in place.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The rest of the week slipped by in a blur. By the time Saturday afternoon arrived, you found yourself sprawled on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Boredom settled over you.

You and Ace had exchanged a few brief texts over the past several days, nothing deep, just bits and pieces of life updates. You’d learned that Luffy was his adopted little brother and that Ace and Sabo had moved here a few years ago to take care of him full-time. The thought made you smile, though it also left you wondering more about what his life had been like since you last saw him.

Your gaze drifted toward your phone on the nightstand. You toyed with the idea of texting him to see if he wanted to hang out, but decided against it. He probably had his hands full with Luffy, and you didn’t want to bother him.

Instead, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and began changing into workout clothes. If you were going to do anything with your afternoon, it might as well be something productive rather than wasting it away.

Grabbing your phone, headphones, and keys, you headed out of your apartment, making your way down to the gym on the first floor.

The gym was mostly empty, just as you expected. It was the mid-afternoon on a Saturday, most people were probably out enjoying the sunshine or meeting friends. You slipped your headphones in and made your way to the yoga mats. Dropping down, you eased into a slow stretch, feeling your muscles loosen before heading over to a treadmill.

You started at an easy walking pace, letting your thoughts wander aimlessly. You considered what you might have for dinner later. Your mind replayed the funny story Riko had shared about Kento earlier in the week, making you smile faintly. You drifted to thoughts about the upcoming classes, new projects, lesson tweaks, and maybe reorganizing the supply shelves before your brain betrayed you. An unwelcome thought surfaced, your neighbor.

It had been a while since you’d seen him, or even overheard him through those thin apartment walls, but the memory came uninvited. And with it, the image of him shirtless.

You caught yourself blinking at the treadmill’s console as though it might somehow erase the thought. The image only sharpened in your mind. Your thoughts cruelly traced the sculpted lines of his abs, the sharp definition of his v-line, and, god help you, the faint memory of a happy trail disappearing beneath his waistband.

You shook your head quickly, trying to chase the thought away before it could wander somewhere you’d regret. Fuck. I need to get laid.

You shut off the treadmill and stepped down, deciding to switch things up. The stairmaster caught your eye, and you claimed one positioned directly in front of the weight area. Climbing up, you started the grueling workout, legs already burning after the first minute. And then you saw him.

Choso stood several feet away, facing the gym’s wall-length mirror, a dumbbell in each hand. He wore loose athletic shorts and a dark muscle tee. You watched, purely by accident, as he curled each arm one after the other, his biceps tightening and forearms flexing with every lift.

Then your gaze wandered upward, landing on his face. His expression was focused, brows drawn in slight concentration, lips parted just enough to hint at the steady rhythm of his breathing as he powered through each rep. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until his eyes found yours in the mirror’s reflection.

The moment your eyes met in the mirror, something in your chest tightened. Heat prickled at the back of your neck, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the stairmaster’s timer. But you could still feel it, that subtle awareness of being watched. Against your better judgment, your gaze flicked back to the mirror.

He was still lifting, but his eyes hadn’t left yours. Your pulse kicked up a notch, the steady thump of your footsteps on the stairs syncing with your heartbeat.

You tried to focus on the rhythm of your steps, but the mirror kept betraying you. Every so often, your eyes flicked up, only to find his already there, watching with calm, unhurried interest.

Choso didn’t smirk outright, but the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away. When he finished his set, he rolled his shoulders back and stretched his arms. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer before he turned away, grabbing his water bottle and walking toward the other end of the gym.

You exhaled slowly, telling yourself to focus. Maybe it was for the best that he left, it was less distracting that way. Still, you found yourself glancing toward the weight racks once or twice, half expecting him to still be there.

The timer on your stairmaster beeped, jolting you out of your thoughts. You stepped down, wiping your face with the edge of your towel and catching your breath. That’s when a shadow shifted in your peripheral vision. You looked up and nearly jumped.

Choso stood a few feet away, close enough that you could see the faint sheen of sweat along his jawline. He tilted his head slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to finish. You froze mid-wipe, the towel still pressed to your cheek as your brain caught up with the fact that he hadn’t left at all.

“Done staring?” he asked, voice low, and the faintest edge of amusement laced in the words.

Your mouth opened, unsure to deny it or throw something back, but he was already moving. He passed by you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours in the narrow space between machines.

“See you around, neighbor,” he added over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a reply.

You stood there for a moment, pulse thrumming far too fast for someone who’d just finished a cardio set, and watched him exit through the gym doors.