yuji itadori never thought love would be something so simple.

it showed up in the small things: the way he waited outside the school gates every afternoon, hands stuffed in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them; the way his smile softened when he saw her walking toward him, like the world finally clicked into place. with her, everything felt lighter. the noise of the hallways faded, the pressure of expectations dulled, and all that mattered was that she was there—next to him, laughing at something he said, or just walking in comfortable silence.

she didn’t ask him to be more than he was. she didn’t need grand gestures or loud declarations. yuji loved her in the quiet moments: studying together after school, sharing snacks, brushing hands by accident and pretending it didn’t mean everything. loving her felt natural, like breathing—steady, warm, and constant.

yuji leaned back on his hands, glancing over at her like he always did—quick, like he was afraid of being caught.