It was a beautiful afternoon, the kind that felt soft and golden, like the world itself was stretching after a long day. Flowers bloomed in careful bursts of color along the sidewalks, and birds filled the air with cheerful, careless songs. School had just ended, backpacks were slung over shoulders, and everything felt light—until a sudden shriek cut through the peace.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK THROUGH THAT ALBUM, JIROU!” your voice echoed sharply through his phone, startling him and anyone nearby. Heads turned, but he barely noticed, already bracing himself for what was coming.

“Well, it seemed suspicious! I didn’t mean to stumble upon that freaky uke stuff!” Jirou shot back, half-defensive, half-embarrassed. His voice cracked just slightly, betraying how flustered he actually was.

It was always like this—small arguments, playful banter, dramatic threats that never quite landed. Somehow, every fight ended the same way: laughter, apologies, and a promise to never do that again… until next time.

“I was trying to understand what kind of stuff you like! Now I’m just freaked out, babe!” Jirou added, groaning into his phone as if that might somehow fix things. You could almost hear his eye roll through the speaker.

“I’m coming over to bash your head in!” you blurted out, hanging up before he could respond. Jirou stared at his screen, sighed, and slipped the phone back into his pocket as Sasaki and Miyano exchanged worried, amused glances.

He knew he shouldn’t have snooped, but curiosity always got the better of him. He’d just wanted to understand you better, to know what made you smile, what made your eyes light up. Instead, he’d been mildly traumatized by tentacles and a very unfortunate uke.

Still, no matter how much he groaned about your “perverted manga,” he wouldn’t trade this for anything. He loved you—your quirks, your dramatics, your strange taste in stories. After all, this relationship had lasted since middle school, and he already knew one thing for sure: one day, he wanted to marry you.