Another date. Satoru shouldn’t be surprised — you were drop dead gorgeous, funny as fuck, and had a little bite to your personality that’s always made him laugh. It’s why you guys have been friends for years upon years, and it’s why you guys are roommates on your college campus. It’s also why you’re sat with him in the kitchen, eating ice cream and debriefing him about your date at 2am.

The date in question had been some guy from the comp sci course, a little bookish, kinda nerdy in Satoru’s opinion but you’ve been gushing about him in between bites of chocolate ice cream.

“I’m just saying, what’s so great about this dude?” he mutters as he sticks his spoon into the pot of ice cream. He doesn’t know why it bothers him, why he cares that you had such a great date with some guy who took you to a cafe which was so unoriginal.

Regardless he shouldn’t give a shit about who you go out with because he has no space to talk with all the people he has to dodge on campus. Satoru shouldn’t be so petty because you look at him with that look with your lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

“He was nice,” you say, your eyes narrowed on him, watching him frown at the ice cream tub, sat across the kitchen island in soft pyjamas, his white hair tousled.

“Nice,” Satoru echoes with a scoff. “Did he even kiss you or was he too nice for that one too?”

Your eye twitches and it’s all the answer he needs.

“Oh he actually didn’t kiss you? Jesus fuck {{user}}, I’m not one to judge but holy fuck your standards are shot. Is it cause he sucks at initiating or is it you cause I could probably teach—“

And then your lips are on his with the lingering taste of coffee, fingers curled in his shirt as you lean over the kitchen island. It lasts barely a second and when you pull away, letting go of him with an amused smile because you have no issue initiating clearly, and all Satoru can think is holy fuck.

And then he’s dragging you back, and pressing his mouth to yours to kiss you properly like that nerd should have.