𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓 | 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

SHIBUYA, TOKYO 2004

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

THE SOFT SHUFFLE of magazine pages is like a whisper against the backdrop of idle lunchtime chatter.

"woah [name]-tan," one of the girls can't help but gasp, her voice tinged with awe as she takes in the glossy image before her. around the desk they cluster, a tight-knit audience in the familiar confines of their homeroom.

"she's so pretty."

there on the page is a rising star, the newest face to grace the ranks of popteen.

it's you, looking almost ethereal against the background of the shoot, reclining amidst the soft folds of a pink tulle comforter.

your hair, with its subtle curls, frames your face in an effortless embrace, and the frilly white ensemble you wore—captivates the group of girls.

in the corner, a close-up of you stares at them, inviting a closer look at the person behind the poised image.

your eyes, bright and brimming with potential, seem to leap from the page.

beneath this portrait in print, there's a snapshot of your world—facts and snippets from a recent interview, a brief but vivid introduction to the newest member of the popteen model collective.

and then there's the boy with hair as pale as moonlight, who'd chosen the solace of sleep over the bustle of lunch.

the stir of excitement nudges him from slumber, and as he rises to leave, his gaze inadvertently catches on the cause of the commotion.

even as he slips away from the classroom, the image of the magazine, and the face that's started to appear everywhere, lingers in his vision.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋˚˚୨🦢୧⋆｡⊹˚. ♡ྀི

the afternoon sun filters through the classroom window, casting a warm glow over the desks, bathing the room in a lazy, golden haze. a junior high satoru is a still figure amidst the low hum of idle chatter, his cheek pressed against the cool surface of his desk, eyes half-closed as he gazes out at the drifting clouds.

"hey gojo?" the voice cuts through his dream-like state, pulling his attention back inside the four walls. he turns his head, his eyes slowly focusing on the group of guys huddled near him, a collective of eager faces and curious eyes.

"what do you think about her?" the question is accompanied by the smooth slide of a magazine across his desk, stopping just within his line of sight.

and it's you again.

the ad showcases the latest flip phone, its sleek design meant to be the star of the page, yet it's your expression that steals the show. you're pouting, eyes cast off to the side, embodying a sense of shock and allure that's far more captivating than any gadget could ever be.

"she's cute," he murmurs, the words floating out softly, almost lost in the space between them.

the other guy's brow arches up, a silent acknowledgment of the understated truth in satoru's words.

"[name]-tan is really everyone's type, huh?" he muses aloud, his voice carrying a note of playful banter as he turns back around in his seat.

the magazine, with your image lying innocently on his desk intrigues him a little bit, lazily flipping the page to check if there was a backside to it—only to be met with disappointment as it featured cars.