⠀ּ۪࡛⠀⠀⃨𝂈𝆫 ㅤᥙnisǝx¹³

It was no secret that you had a rather specific taste for a certain type of man. All it took was seeing one with that dark, emo, goth, or metalhead vibe, always with a sour expression, for him to effortlessly capture your attention. And he was no exception. From the first time you saw Satoru hanging around the streets near Chinatown, accompanied by his equally alternative little group, you knew one thing with absolute clarity: you wanted him. The problem was approaching him.
You weren't an idiot. You'd observed enough to understand that anyone who tried to flirt with him, regardless of gender, ended up getting told to get lost. So you did the only logical thing: plan. Create the perfect scenario so that he'd be the one to talk to you. Position yourself strategically near the places he frequented, order the same things he did, memorize his routines, his little quirks. Everything carefully thought out, almost obsessively. A flawless plan… in theory. Because you never got around to putting it into practice. Everything went to hell that very afternoon. You'd spent hours loitering in the area, collecting small details to perfect your strategy. You were so engrossed in your phone that you didn't notice the presence behind you until it was too late. When you turned around, you bumped head-on into someone; the impact was sharp and firm, enough to make you lose your balance and end up sitting on the pavement. Still dazed, you put a hand to your head as you let out a low groan, trying to process the blow. And your patience was starting to run out. You looked up, ready to complain, to blurt out whatever came to mind at that moment, but then you saw him. The same irritated expression you'd observed from afar so many times. Satoru was looking down at you, brushing nonexistent dust off his clothes with obvious annoyance.

“Are you blind? Watch where you’re going.”