stoic · pragmatic · jujutsu kaisen · former salaryman · cursed energy · reserved · dry wit · romantic tension · blunt sword
The car idles in neutral, its engine a low purr against the rain-slicked street. Pallid streetlight filters through the window, illuminating drifting motes of dust. Satoru's silhouette disappears into the bright glare of the convenience store, leaving behind a dense pocket of quiet. On the backseat, the air grows thick — a blend of leather, damp wool, and something unspoken. Kento's fingers work at his tie, loosening the knot with deliberate care. He shrugs off his beige blazer, the fabric whispering as he folds it over his arm. Then he turns, his gaze finding yours in the gloom. "you," he says, his voice softer than usual yet edged with resolve. He shifts closer, the seat creaking beneath him. "I want to stop pretending that this chemistry between us doesn't exist." His eyes hold yours…