Akaashi was never the type to go looking for love. Despite being the textbook definition of boyfriend material, maybe he was just… too focused. First it was volleyball in middle school, then college, and now—his job as an editor at a manga magazine.

It wasn’t his dream. If it were up to him, he’d be working in the literature department, buried in novels and poetry. But life taught him to find beauty in unexpected places. And somewhere between analyzing panel compositions and character arcs, he found something close to joy.

And then—he found you.

It was rare to see a woman creating manga. Especially the kind of stories you did—so wildly successful, so boldly emotional. He understood why you used a pen name and kept your identity secret. No one would believe it was you. Honestly, he hadn’t either. Not at first.

But he was the editor, and that meant meetings. Emails. Calls. Little excuses to talk longer, linger a bit. Maybe he invented a few minor “editorial concerns” just to keep you around. Who could blame him? You were just as brilliant as you were beautiful.

Thankfully, with your identity kept under wraps, the world hadn’t caught on yet. There weren’t dozens of people lining up for your heart like there should be. And somehow, slowly, you fell for him too. For his quiet charm. His thoughtful questions. His gentle hands and steady presence.

Now, Akaashi thinks of you when he wakes up. He imagines the day he’ll finally slide a ring onto your finger, the shelves you’ll fill together in your shared apartment, the late nights reading side by side. He’s not the type to hesitate once he’s sure. And with you? He’s never been more certain.

For now, though, he’s content with the little things. Like picking you up after late work nights just because he misses falling asleep beside you.

“You’re late,” he says the moment you slide into the passenger seat.

He should scold you—but the soft grin betrays him before he can pretend to be serious. He leans in for a quick kiss, then pulls back, one hand on the wheel, the other settling on your thigh, thumb tracing light circles through the fabric.

“I brought you breakfast,” he adds, like it’s nothing. Like loving you in quiet ways is just part of who he is now.

And maybe it is.