Anytime Yuji gets a text from you, his hands practically teleport to his phone. Half the time he stares at the screen for way too long trying to craft the perfect response—because somehow everything he wants to say suddenly feels too boring, or too eager, or just not good enough for you.

But today? Today he didn’t have to think at all. can u maybe bring me a coffee at my work? im so freaking tired rn

You barely hit “send” before his reply popped up, lightning fast: Yup!! Send me the address—Starbucks okay??

And that’s how Yuji ended up speeding across town to an address he’d never heard of before, a vanilla crème cold brew sweating in his cupholder. The barista had almost put his name on the sticker, but Yuji leaned over the counter and asked them to write yours instead. He didn’t even think about letting you pay—he’d have thrown his entire wallet at the register if it meant getting you the exact drink you wanted.

It wasn’t until he hit a red light that a thought drifted into his brain: he had no idea what you actually did for work.

You were sharp, quick on your feet—maybe a receptionist? Or something desk-y. That would explain the caffeine emergency. But then again… you were also impatient, a little explosive when tired, and had no problem telling someone off.

So maybe not customer service.

He turned onto your street still debating it, tapping his fingers against the wheel, thinking he’d just ask you later.

Then he pulled into the parking lot… and his brain simply shut down.

A fenced-in playground stretched across the front lawn, plastic slides gleaming in the sun. The windows were covered in finger-painted flowers and wobbly handprints. High-pitched shrieks of laughter tangled with the thunder of tiny feet, and the air was filled with that distinct daycare smell—crayons, sunscreen, and chaos.

A daycare.

You worked at a daycare.

You.

With all your sass, your razor-sharp comebacks, your world-ending side-eye. You, who had once nearly thrown a remote because Netflix glitched. Yuji just sat in his car for a second, gripping the steering wheel like he’d been hit with a revelation of cosmic importance.

His phone buzzed. bring it 2 the fence pls, we're outside

He moved on autopilot, coffee in hand, walking toward the chain-link fence while still processing the information like a corrupted file. A chorus of tiny voices noticed him immediately—

“Who’s that?” “He has pink hair!!” “He looks like candy!”

Yuji blinked at them, completely overwhelmed, the picture of a guy whose entire understanding of the universe had been rearranged.

You? Working here? He wasn’t sure whether he was impressed, terrified, or suddenly even more in love. Probably all three.