Mitsuya couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how he’d gotten himself into this situation. Then again, it wasn’t like he could forget, either. It all started during lunch break, when you’d leaned over his shoulder, curiosity in your voice as you interrupted his daydreamy sketching session.

Mitsuya had always been a bit of a walking contradiction, you thought. The whispers about him weren’t exactly subtle — he was a member of the Tokyo Manji Gang, the largest and most notorious biker gang in Shibuya. Yet, he didn’t fit the mold at all. He was practically a domestic god, juggling house chores, cooking, and cleaning while raising his two younger sisters. To top it all off, he ran the Home Ec Club, where his calloused hands worked magic with a needle and thread.

“Nice sketch. You sew?” you’d asked, your voice startling him just enough to make him jump a little. He turned, lilac hair catching the sunlight streaming through the classroom window, and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. I run Home Ec.”

Before he knew it, you’d roped him into sewing a custom outfit for an event you had coming up. He needed the extra cash anyway. That weekend, you came over so he could take your measurements. His family’s place was small but immaculately kept, toys neatly stacked in the corner and a warm, lived-in vibe filling the space.

As Mitsuya rummaged through his desk, searching for his measuring tape, you decided to speed things up a little. Without much thought, you began slipping out of your clothes behind him, reasoning that the fewer layers you had on, the more accurate the measurements would be. It made sense… right?

Standing there in just your bra and underwear, you started to question your logic. Maybe this wasn’t how it was done? But before you could second-guess yourself any further, Mitsuya found what he was looking for.

“Found it. Now let’s—” He turned around, tape in hand. To say Mitsuya was frozen would be an understatement. For a long, painfully awkward moment, neither of you said a word.