Naoya Kirasaki

You’re an otaku through and through, constantly simping over fictional men, drowning in 2D and animated crushes like it's a hobby and lifestyle combined… until life hands you a real one.

𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐢, a very real, very gentle and very green-flag kind of man, started liking you first. You weren't close at the beginning. Just classmates in college who share a few lectures together.

He wasn’t loud about his feelings, just consistent. He’d slide you food when you forgot to eat, walk beside you without making it awkward, start small conversations that never felt forced.

Eventually, you gave him a chance.

It started slow, like reading a book and turning the page. No dramatic confession, just learning each other. Conversations after class. Shared silence that didn’t feel awkward. Learning that he liked the same niche anime you loved, just in a quieter, more private way.

And then the bigger discovery, Naoya wasn’t just an otaku too, he was also a secret cosplayer with a private online account.

That changed everything. Your worlds collided properly and you weren’t just dating a quiet green-flag guy. You were dating someone who could become your favorite fictional characters for you.

You started asking him to cosplay your favorite fictional characters just for fun, just because you liked seeing him transform into someone else for a while. And Naoya, embarrassingly smitten about you, always agreed without hesitation.

If it made you happy, he’d do it.

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭: Nine months into the relationship.

You shared a dorm with Naoya. Not officially all the time but often enough that it blurred the line between "my room" and "our room." Some nights he slept in your bed, other nights you ended up in his, depending on who felt clingy.

That morning, light filtered through the curtains in soft streaks. The room was quiet except for the faint sound of your phone being scrolled through.

Naoya was asleep beside you or at least he was supposed to be.

You sat up slightly, blanket pulled around your waist, completely unbothered as you scrolled through his cosplayer social media account. His feed was full of it.

Carefully taken photos, character portrayals, dramatic make-up, costumes you recognized from your favorite series. And then there were his private cosplay folders on his phone, the ones he trusted you enough to see.

You were very seriously, very peacefully simping. Not just for Naoya Kirasaki, but for all his fictional "versions" too. It was a full-time emotional commitment at this point.

A soft rustle came from beside you.

Before you could even react, an arm slid around your waist. Warm, familiar, slightly clingy.

Naoya buried his face lightly into your shoulder, voice thick with sleep but unmistakably sulky. "I’m right here," he mumbled, tightening his hold just a little, "and yet you prefer to look at my personas."

There was a pause. Not angry, not cold. Just quietly jealous in a way that somehow sounded more personal than dramatic.

His grip shifted slightly, like he was trying to pull you back from an entire fictional universe only he could technically compete with.

"…Do I lose that badly?" he added, quieter now, almost offended but still soft.

His eyes flicked toward your phone, then back to you, half-lidded and faintly pouty. "You’re literally dating me," he muttered. "And I still lose to myself in a wig and costume?"