#ennoshitamas 2023

[petriquors]

FIVE MEALS PT. 1 | Freshman Year MASTERPOST

You’re curled up in the back of the cafeteria, wedged between the tiniest table and a large window. September sun bears down on you through the glass, making it hard to concentrate on the textbook you’re trying to study from. You pick at your salad, not really planning on eating it—not since there was another rumor about bugs in the student center cafeteria.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice says from behind you. You look over your shoulder and find a guy you’ve never seen before: dark hair and eyes, your university’s club volleyball jacket, a sandwich and a cup of yogurt balanced on top of an anatomy textbook. “Can I sit?”

He’s pointing at the chair across from you. It’s directly in the sun, so the blue plastic is probably hot—hot enough to burn the backs of his legs through his volleyball shorts—but it’s not like he has much choice, given that it’s noon and the cafeteria is packed full.

“It’s got a wobbly leg,” you warn, “but sure.”

He’s a stranger, so you shrink back toward the window until your shoulder thunks against the glass. You pull your textbook with you, balancing it on your knees, but you know there’s no chance you’re going to remember anything you read with this guy sitting across from you.

When he squints into the sunlight, you realize that he’s kind of…handsome, what with the rays of gold shining on his neat black hair and the inoffensive, easy look in his eyes. 

And then he says, “You know there are bugs in the salads, right?”

You breathe out a laugh, glancing at him instead of reading about macroeconomic theory. “Yeah, I saw the tweets.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, and you think that’s it—the end of whatever this moment just finished between the two of you.

But then, he slides the cup of yogurt across the table at you. When you look up again, you’re not sure if you want to thank him or ask what his deal is. The way that he has his nose buried in his book stops you before you get the chance, but you don’t miss the red tint to the tips of his ears.

And of course, you eat the yogurt.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa

[petriquors]

ENNOSHITAMAS 2023

Ten tiny, self-indulgent, selfship-coded drabbles in celebration of the original loverboy, plus one birthday surprise.

FIVE MEALS | college AU, friends to lovers, getting together

Freshman Year – December 6 Sophomore Year – December 13 Summer Session – December 20 Junior Year – December 27 Senior Year – January 3

FIVE KISSES | post-timeskip, established relationship, slice of life

The Book – December 8 The Movie – December 15 The Hair – December 22 The Morning – December 29 The Necklace – January 5

THE BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

December 26

REPLY TO THIS POST OR FILL OUT THIS FORM FOR A TAG

[petriquors]

FIVE KISSES PT. 2 | The Movie MASTERPOST

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Chikara says beside you, but not to you. No, his mind isn’t where his body is right now; instead, his thoughts are in the next room, behind a closed door with a sign that reads “voting in session.”

“I can,” you say earnestly, laying your head against his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I did this,” he continues, definitely not spiraling.

You’re so familiar with this refrain that a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “I can.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders deflates, and he slips one of his arms underneath yours in search of your hand. Your and his fingers entwine on an instinct years in the making.

Chikara’s eyes swiftly focus when the murmuring in the room goes quiet. He leans to one side, craning his head to look around yours as the forebodingly closed door opens; you give his hand a squeeze even though his has gone decidedly clammy, cold with the anxious numbness of anticipation.

“We should go,” he murmurs, a nervous chuckle in his throat. “I probably didn’t—”

“We’re not going,” you whisper back, sensing that tough love is what he needs when the choice is between feeling his nerves now and feeling intense regret later. “What if you did?”

He gives you a skeptical look. “What if I didn’t?”

Several rows ahead of you upon a temporary stage, a woman whose photograph you’re all too familiar with—the president of the city’s independent film association—opens the evening with a long-winded speech you pay no attention to because Chikara needs you more.

“Then nothing about your life changes.” You give him a reassuringly noncommittal shrug. “And that’s okay. The sun will come up tomorrow, I’ll still love you, and—I hope—you’ll go on and make another movie.”

He shakes his head, struggling with his longing to believe you and the inner voice that says he can’t. “I don’t want losing to kill my passion.”

You rub your thumb across his knuckles with an understanding hum. You know that; you’ve been there in that headspace enough times to have felt that, and you sometimes still do. 

“It might for a while,” you admit, “but getting up again is easier than getting up for the first time. And you’ve done it before.”

High school. College. Work. His movies. Even your own relationship. The two of you have learned that life is a long walk through the unknown, sometimes with a series of stumbles, but it’s better—easier—with someone beside you. 

He turns to you with a smile in his eyes and the ghost of one on his lips, then bends to kiss your forehead. “You really think I’m that resilient?” 

With a tilt of your head, you press a sweet, echoing kiss against his shoulder. “I know you are.”

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34 @tetsuskei

[petriquors]

FIVE KISSES PT. 1 | The Book MASTERPOST

Chikara bends over to squint at the novel on your coffee table. The book is propped open using one of the half-finished candles from the collection that overflows your bookshelves, and you’re firmly in your boyfriend’s arms—just like the book says. 

“And then he…” His brow dips. “Do I really need to do this to you?”

With nothing to do during a weekend blizzard, you employed a combination of puppy-dog eyes and your very best pout to convince Chikara to reenact one of the scenes from the book you’ve been reading. When you dug out a prop sword from an old Halloween costume and pressed the hilt into his hands—blinking at him in the pleading way only you could—how could he say no?

“It’s a foam sword.” To prove your point, you squeeze your fingers into the soft blade until it comically bends backwards toward your boyfriend. “You’re not gonna hurt me or anything.”

“I know that,” he answers instantly. “But it just feels…”

“Silly?”

“Incredibly silly.”

“Just think of how I’ll look at you,” you offer, unable to stop yourself from bouncing on the balls of your feet. Chikara’s hand is firm on your hip even when his expression is skeptical, and his eyes warily follow each of your smallest movements.

“You look at me all the time,” he deadpans.

“Not from the other end of a sword.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. You just smile at him, watching as he tilts his head to look at the foam sword in his right hand, then glances at you through his eyelashes. Silence ticks by with your and his breathing as the only interruption, and then he takes half a step back and inclines his chin.

“Princess,” he says quietly, somehow able to tame his lips into not twitching with laughter as he lowers his voice just a touch, which sends your stomach into an endless somersault. All of a sudden, you feel warm and light; heat blooms on your cheeks and your head spins in a way that feels surreal.

“Let me look at you,” he continues, each word slow and almost sultry. And then he does it: even though you notice a hint of shy hesitation, he touches the tip of the foam sword to the underside of your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him.

You feel it as your eyes widen, your breath catches, and the whole world feels dreamy and perfect. Your heart pounds—and you watch Chikara’s eyes widen when he sees the look on your face.

There’s supposed to be another line, but you forget what it is even though you’ve read it a dozen or more times. Instead, something in the air shifts: Chikara reaches for you with a sudden need, replacing the foam sword with his hand and pulling your lips up to his.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa

[petriquors]

FIVE MEALS PT. 3 | Summer Session MASTERPOST

“I am so,” you swallow, leaning your back against Chikara’s bedroom door. You slide down until your backside hits the floor, then pull your knees to your chest, “fucking sorry.”

There’s a pitiful groan from the other side. Where you’re sitting, you can see the mess of plates and pans in the kitchen, which is now empty of people. Like vultures, the subletters staying in your usual housemates’ rooms vacated as soon as they finished the welcome dinner you painstakingly planned, but Chikara, your only other regular housemate here for the summer…

“Did you know you’re lactose intolerant?”

Another groan. Then a muffled, “No.”

You frown. If Chikara didn’t know, this definitely isn’t your fault. It’s no one’s fault; who would have thought that he’s so lactose intolerant that a few ounces of mozzarella would put him out of commission for an entire day? 

Hesitantly, you ask, “Can I come in?”

There’s a long pause during which you start to think the worst, but you’re dragged out of your thoughts by a tired, “Yeah, sure.”

When you turn the knob and let yourself into his room, you find his head poking out from under the sheet. He’s pale, paler than you’ve ever seen him—even after the week he had the flu. But his eyes still shine softly, as if he’s happy to see you despite the fact that he looks terrible and you’re the one that put him in this position to begin with.

“Stop apologizing,” he rasps before you have the chance to do exactly that. Not about to argue with him, you let out a dejected sigh and sit on the floor next to his bed, knees tucked up against your chest. “You did a nice thing.”

“I almost killed you—”

“You didn’t almost kill me.”

“But—”

And then he says your name. He’s said your name a thousand times, but this time it touches the anxious corner of your soul and startles you into the present. His voice is quiet, drained, and remarkably thoughtful. “I’m fine. Or— I’m going to be fine. We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” you repeat him, knowing that the truth of those words is louder and more enduring than whatever regret you’re feeling now.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34 @tetsuskei

[petriquors]

FIVE MEALS PT. 2 | Sophomore Year MASTERPOST

You’re baffled when Chikara walks into the library study room. He wrestles with a small mountain in his arms: a collection of books, his backpack that’s halfway fallen off his shoulder, a little bag from the local coffee shop, and two paper cups with tiny blue deer all over them.

“I thought I only wanted tea,” you tease him, grinning as you hold his copy of A Wild Sheep Chase and tilt your head to figure out which cup is your honey green tea.

“I know, I know,” he says when you rush to help him corral all his belongings before something inevitably falls and adds a new stain to the tile floors. “But the muffins looked good. I got you one, too.”

You glance his way, but he’s bent over and wrestling with the old power outlet and his charging cord. “Are we going to be here a while?”

“Probably,” he says like a question while he pops back up to his full height.

“Good,” you quip, “because…”

And then you slide a little brown bag of your own across the table. He glances down at the anthropomorphic bagel character printed on the paper, then back up at you, and then he starts laughing. “You brought breakfast too?”

“I thought we’d be here for a while!” You laugh in your own defense, easily falling into teasing him as he teases you.

“Then I guess we’re here for breakfast and lunch,” he pretends to sigh in resignation. “The book’s pretty long.”

You nod, fighting a smile. “Oh, yeah; this’ll be a few hours at least. We can outline over muffins and then put the presentation together over bagels.”

“We might even need to go for another round of coffee.” He sits, finally, and pulls the muffins from their bag. They’re huge, because of course they are. “Here.”

The muffin fits in your hand and, slowly, you pick away at it—and your project—and then the bagel, and then another run for coffee. It’s odd, you think, that a project that easily could have been painful to get through feels easy and light, the ice broken by the slim-but-delightful odds that both of you woke up this morning and thought to surprise the other with breakfast.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34

[petriquors]

FIVE MEALS PT. 4 | Junior Year MASTERPOST

“I feel like I need spicy nuggets to get through this,” Chikara says, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Textbooks, notebooks, calculators—all kind of academic paraphernalia is strewn across your dining room table, and the digital clock on your stove cheerily touts that it’s way past the point of a casual study session. Nope, this is the tenth circle of hell.

Happy finals season, indeed. You sigh and let your head fall forward until it thunks against Chebyshev's inequality. “I could totally use fries and a milkshake. Oh, and a quesadilla.”

“Gross,” he chuckles.

“I know. That’s how bad it is.”

A few moments pass and, though you’re genuinely trying your hardest to get through your ten-page study guide, your thoughts keep drifting to fries instead of the advanced statistics class you’re both required to take.

“Chikara.”

“Hm?”

“Can we go get fries?”

Now, he looks up. One of his eyebrows is raised, and he eyes you warily, as if he’s not sure you’re being serious. He glances at his phone. “It’s 1 A.M.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“No one’s open—”

Now determined to prove a point and get your fries, you hold up your hands and start counting on your fingers. “Sonic. Checkers. The diner on the boulevard. Taco Bell—”

“Taco Bell doesn’t have fries.”

“Wrong,” you laugh. “Nacho fries. Limited time only.”

The look he gives you is entirely incredulous, and you just smile sweetly in the face of his tired exasperation. And then he laughs, which makes you laugh, and it’s a sound that almost makes you forget that you’re exhausted, stressed, and counting the days until Christmas break.

“Okay,” he sighs, standing up by bracing his hands on his thighs like he’s ten years older than he actually is, or something. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The diner,” he says as if it’s obvious, because it is. Somehow, some way, the two of you always end up at the diner. Whether the moment is dire or triumphant, some of your best memories are set among vinyl booths and canola oil smell. “Where else am I going to find your weird laundry list of cravings at 1 A.M.?”

“It’s called a girl dinner,” you offer while you scramble to follow after him before he wanders off without you. He snorts, then pauses at the door while you shrug into your coat, back facing him.

You don’t see the way he’s looking at you. He thinks maybe, someday soon, he should tell you what he’s thinking and how it keeps him up at night. “This feels more like a girl cry-for-help.”

“Well, then.” You turn, looking haphazard in sweatpants and a big coat, and look right at him in a way that makes him wonder if you can see right through him. For that moment, he swears his heart stops. “Thanks for being my hero.”

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34 @tetsuskei

[petriquors]

I need you to know that Ennoshitamas is already giving me so much joy. I love reading your writing and the series is too adorable!!!! 🥰

Thank you so much Luna my loveeee 🤍🤍 Thank you so much for your comments on the first two drabbles; they're everythingggg

Every scene I've written so far (7 out of the 10, help) has me like 🥰 and I can't wait to share them!

[petriquors]

MARIA ♡ Chikara’s soulmate. Soft girl extraordinaire.

Happening now: Ennoshitamas 2023 ♡

i. BYF ii. Masterlist iii. Tags

Read more fics on Ao3 (NSFW) Send me an ask off anon if you'd like the URL for my NSFW sideblog

[dira333]

Oh! Oh!!!!! You wrote about my favorite part of him! He was always so about the fact that he left the team that he forgot that he came back! O love this!!!!!!

FIVE KISSES PT. 2 | The Movie MASTERPOST

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Chikara says beside you, but not to you. No, his mind isn’t where his body is right now; instead, his thoughts are in the next room, behind a closed door with a sign that reads “voting in session.”

“I can,” you say earnestly, laying your head against his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I did this,” he continues, definitely not spiraling.

You’re so familiar with this refrain that a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “I can.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders deflates, and he slips one of his arms underneath yours in search of your hand. Your and his fingers entwine on an instinct years in the making.

Chikara’s eyes swiftly focus when the murmuring in the room goes quiet. He leans to one side, craning his head to look around yours as the forebodingly closed door opens; you give his hand a squeeze even though his has gone decidedly clammy, cold with the anxious numbness of anticipation.

“We should go,” he murmurs, a nervous chuckle in his throat. “I probably didn’t—”

“We’re not going,” you whisper back, sensing that tough love is what he needs when the choice is between feeling his nerves now and feeling intense regret later. “What if you did?”

He gives you a skeptical look. “What if I didn’t?”

Several rows ahead of you upon a temporary stage, a woman whose photograph you’re all too familiar with—the president of the city’s independent film association—opens the evening with a long-winded speech you pay no attention to because Chikara needs you more.

“Then nothing about your life changes.” You give him a reassuringly noncommittal shrug. “And that’s okay. The sun will come up tomorrow, I’ll still love you, and—I hope—you’ll go on and make another movie.”

He shakes his head, struggling with his longing to believe you and the inner voice that says he can’t. “I don’t want losing to kill my passion.”

You rub your thumb across his knuckles with an understanding hum. You know that; you’ve been there in that headspace enough times to have felt that, and you sometimes still do. 

“It might for a while,” you admit, “but getting up again is easier than getting up for the first time. And you’ve done it before.”

High school. College. Work. His movies. Even your own relationship. The two of you have learned that life is a long walk through the unknown, sometimes with a series of stumbles, but it’s better—easier—with someone beside you. 

He turns to you with a smile in his eyes and the ghost of one on his lips, then bends to kiss your forehead. “You really think I’m that resilient?” 

With a tilt of your head, you press a sweet, echoing kiss against his shoulder. “I know you are.”

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34 @tetsuskei

[dira333]

Wasn't Ennoshita a film nerd in canon and made his own movies? He'd be so down for that.... But acting? Yeah, you need to convince him with puppy dog eyes.

So cute!!!!

FIVE KISSES PT. 1 | The Book MASTERPOST

Chikara bends over to squint at the novel on your coffee table. The book is propped open using one of the half-finished candles from the collection that overflows your bookshelves, and you’re firmly in your boyfriend’s arms—just like the book says. 

“And then he…” His brow dips. “Do I really need to do this to you?”

With nothing to do during a weekend blizzard, you employed a combination of puppy-dog eyes and your very best pout to convince Chikara to reenact one of the scenes from the book you’ve been reading. When you dug out a prop sword from an old Halloween costume and pressed the hilt into his hands—blinking at him in the pleading way only you could—how could he say no?

“It’s a foam sword.” To prove your point, you squeeze your fingers into the soft blade until it comically bends backwards toward your boyfriend. “You’re not gonna hurt me or anything.”

“I know that,” he answers instantly. “But it just feels…”

“Silly?”

“Incredibly silly.”

“Just think of how I’ll look at you,” you offer, unable to stop yourself from bouncing on the balls of your feet. Chikara’s hand is firm on your hip even when his expression is skeptical, and his eyes warily follow each of your smallest movements.

“You look at me all the time,” he deadpans.

“Not from the other end of a sword.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. You just smile at him, watching as he tilts his head to look at the foam sword in his right hand, then glances at you through his eyelashes. Silence ticks by with your and his breathing as the only interruption, and then he takes half a step back and inclines his chin.

“Princess,” he says quietly, somehow able to tame his lips into not twitching with laughter as he lowers his voice just a touch, which sends your stomach into an endless somersault. All of a sudden, you feel warm and light; heat blooms on your cheeks and your head spins in a way that feels surreal.

“Let me look at you,” he continues, each word slow and almost sultry. And then he does it: even though you notice a hint of shy hesitation, he touches the tip of the foam sword to the underside of your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him.

You feel it as your eyes widen, your breath catches, and the whole world feels dreamy and perfect. Your heart pounds—and you watch Chikara’s eyes widen when he sees the look on your face.

There’s supposed to be another line, but you forget what it is even though you’ve read it a dozen or more times. Instead, something in the air shifts: Chikara reaches for you with a sudden need, replacing the foam sword with his hand and pulling your lips up to his.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa

[dira333]

Shaking from excitement!!!

FIVE MEALS PT. 4 | Junior Year MASTERPOST

“I feel like I need spicy nuggets to get through this,” Chikara says, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Textbooks, notebooks, calculators—all kind of academic paraphernalia is strewn across your dining room table, and the digital clock on your stove cheerily touts that it’s way past the point of a casual study session. Nope, this is the tenth circle of hell.

Happy finals season, indeed. You sigh and let your head fall forward until it thunks against Chebyshev's inequality. “I could totally use fries and a milkshake. Oh, and a quesadilla.”

“Gross,” he chuckles.

“I know. That’s how bad it is.”

A few moments pass and, though you’re genuinely trying your hardest to get through your ten-page study guide, your thoughts keep drifting to fries instead of the advanced statistics class you’re both required to take.

“Chikara.”

“Hm?”

“Can we go get fries?”

Now, he looks up. One of his eyebrows is raised, and he eyes you warily, as if he’s not sure you’re being serious. He glances at his phone. “It’s 1 A.M.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“No one’s open—”

Now determined to prove a point and get your fries, you hold up your hands and start counting on your fingers. “Sonic. Checkers. The diner on the boulevard. Taco Bell—”

“Taco Bell doesn’t have fries.”

“Wrong,” you laugh. “Nacho fries. Limited time only.”

The look he gives you is entirely incredulous, and you just smile sweetly in the face of his tired exasperation. And then he laughs, which makes you laugh, and it’s a sound that almost makes you forget that you’re exhausted, stressed, and counting the days until Christmas break.

“Okay,” he sighs, standing up by bracing his hands on his thighs like he’s ten years older than he actually is, or something. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The diner,” he says as if it’s obvious, because it is. Somehow, some way, the two of you always end up at the diner. Whether the moment is dire or triumphant, some of your best memories are set among vinyl booths and canola oil smell. “Where else am I going to find your weird laundry list of cravings at 1 A.M.?”

“It’s called a girl dinner,” you offer while you scramble to follow after him before he wanders off without you. He snorts, then pauses at the door while you shrug into your coat, back facing him.

You don’t see the way he’s looking at you. He thinks maybe, someday soon, he should tell you what he’s thinking and how it keeps him up at night. “This feels more like a girl cry-for-help.”

“Well, then.” You turn, looking haphazard in sweatpants and a big coat, and look right at him in a way that makes him wonder if you can see right through him. For that moment, he swears his heart stops. “Thanks for being my hero.”

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34 @tetsuskei

[dira333]

You know it's love when you let someone in the same room with you when you're dying of stomach cramps!

FIVE MEALS PT. 3 | Summer Session MASTERPOST

“I am so,” you swallow, leaning your back against Chikara’s bedroom door. You slide down until your backside hits the floor, then pull your knees to your chest, “fucking sorry.”

There’s a pitiful groan from the other side. Where you’re sitting, you can see the mess of plates and pans in the kitchen, which is now empty of people. Like vultures, the subletters staying in your usual housemates’ rooms vacated as soon as they finished the welcome dinner you painstakingly planned, but Chikara, your only other regular housemate here for the summer…

“Did you know you’re lactose intolerant?”

Another groan. Then a muffled, “No.”

You frown. If Chikara didn’t know, this definitely isn’t your fault. It’s no one’s fault; who would have thought that he’s so lactose intolerant that a few ounces of mozzarella would put him out of commission for an entire day? 

Hesitantly, you ask, “Can I come in?”

There’s a long pause during which you start to think the worst, but you’re dragged out of your thoughts by a tired, “Yeah, sure.”

When you turn the knob and let yourself into his room, you find his head poking out from under the sheet. He’s pale, paler than you’ve ever seen him—even after the week he had the flu. But his eyes still shine softly, as if he’s happy to see you despite the fact that he looks terrible and you’re the one that put him in this position to begin with.

“Stop apologizing,” he rasps before you have the chance to do exactly that. Not about to argue with him, you let out a dejected sigh and sit on the floor next to his bed, knees tucked up against your chest. “You did a nice thing.”

“I almost killed you—”

“You didn’t almost kill me.”

“But—”

And then he says your name. He’s said your name a thousand times, but this time it touches the anxious corner of your soul and startles you into the present. His voice is quiet, drained, and remarkably thoughtful. “I’m fine. Or— I’m going to be fine. We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” you repeat him, knowing that the truth of those words is louder and more enduring than whatever regret you’re feeling now.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34 @tetsuskei

[dira333]

Screaming: THIS IS SO FREAKING GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want him! Please!

FIVE MEALS PT. 2 | Sophomore Year MASTERPOST

You’re baffled when Chikara walks into the library study room. He wrestles with a small mountain in his arms: a collection of books, his backpack that’s halfway fallen off his shoulder, a little bag from the local coffee shop, and two paper cups with tiny blue deer all over them.

“I thought I only wanted tea,” you tease him, grinning as you hold his copy of A Wild Sheep Chase and tilt your head to figure out which cup is your honey green tea.

“I know, I know,” he says when you rush to help him corral all his belongings before something inevitably falls and adds a new stain to the tile floors. “But the muffins looked good. I got you one, too.”

You glance his way, but he’s bent over and wrestling with the old power outlet and his charging cord. “Are we going to be here a while?”

“Probably,” he says like a question while he pops back up to his full height.

“Good,” you quip, “because…”

And then you slide a little brown bag of your own across the table. He glances down at the anthropomorphic bagel character printed on the paper, then back up at you, and then he starts laughing. “You brought breakfast too?”

“I thought we’d be here for a while!” You laugh in your own defense, easily falling into teasing him as he teases you.

“Then I guess we’re here for breakfast and lunch,” he pretends to sigh in resignation. “The book’s pretty long.”

You nod, fighting a smile. “Oh, yeah; this’ll be a few hours at least. We can outline over muffins and then put the presentation together over bagels.”

“We might even need to go for another round of coffee.” He sits, finally, and pulls the muffins from their bag. They’re huge, because of course they are. “Here.”

The muffin fits in your hand and, slowly, you pick away at it—and your project—and then the bagel, and then another run for coffee. It’s odd, you think, that a project that easily could have been painful to get through feels easy and light, the ice broken by the slim-but-delightful odds that both of you woke up this morning and thought to surprise the other with breakfast.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa @baskin-robinhoods @chibishae34

[dira333]

why do I love him so much?????????

FIVE MEALS PT. 1 | Freshman Year MASTERPOST

You’re curled up in the back of the cafeteria, wedged between the tiniest table and a large window. September sun bears down on you through the glass, making it hard to concentrate on the textbook you’re trying to study from. You pick at your salad, not really planning on eating it—not since there was another rumor about bugs in the student center cafeteria.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice says from behind you. You look over your shoulder and find a guy you’ve never seen before: dark hair and eyes, your university’s club volleyball jacket, a sandwich and a cup of yogurt balanced on top of an anatomy textbook. “Can I sit?”

He’s pointing at the chair across from you. It’s directly in the sun, so the blue plastic is probably hot—hot enough to burn the backs of his legs through his volleyball shorts—but it’s not like he has much choice, given that it’s noon and the cafeteria is packed full.

“It’s got a wobbly leg,” you warn, “but sure.”

He’s a stranger, so you shrink back toward the window until your shoulder thunks against the glass. You pull your textbook with you, balancing it on your knees, but you know there’s no chance you’re going to remember anything you read with this guy sitting across from you.

When he squints into the sunlight, you realize that he’s kind of…handsome, what with the rays of gold shining on his neat black hair and the inoffensive, easy look in his eyes. 

And then he says, “You know there are bugs in the salads, right?”

You breathe out a laugh, glancing at him instead of reading about macroeconomic theory. “Yeah, I saw the tweets.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, and you think that’s it—the end of whatever this moment just finished between the two of you.

But then, he slides the cup of yogurt across the table at you. When you look up again, you’re not sure if you want to thank him or ask what his deal is. The way that he has his nose buried in his book stops you before you get the chance, but you don’t miss the red tint to the tips of his ears.

And of course, you eat the yogurt.

🔖: @alienaiver @cup-of-fluff @mrs-kurooo @dira333 @uc1wa