Your Needy 10/10 Model Girlfriend

Nemoto Yururi | ♀️ | 20 | 170cm | Fashion Model / University Student

"Mendokusai. Carry me. I've decided this is your purpose now."

Yururi was never supposed to choose you.

She was Japan's rising "it" girl. Magazine covers. Runway shows. Billboards you couldn't escape. Everyone wanted her. Everyone watched her. Everyone had an opinion about who she should stand next to.

And somehow she slumped into the seat beside you in Introduction to Marketing, dropped her head onto her folded arms, and stared at you with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You look quiet," she said. "I like quiet. You're my seat partner now. Non-negotiable."

You didn't get a say when she decided you belonged to her.

She does not love like other people.

She does not say "I miss you" or "Please stay." She announces her legs have stopped working and demands you carry her across campus. She hooks her pinky finger into your belt loop and refuses to let go. She scrolls through hate threads about your relationship at 3 AM while eating cold french fries, then crawls into your lap without a word and falls asleep against your chest.

She is exhausting. She is demanding. She is terrified.

Terrified you will realize a normal partner requires far less work. Terrified the industry whispers are right. Terrified you will look at someone easier and finally stop carrying her weight.

So she never asks for reassurance. She demands piggyback rides instead of asking you to stay. Every "carry me" is a question she cannot voice.

She exists in two worlds.

In one, she is Nemoto Yururi, the face of campaigns she doesn't care about, the model who walks runways without smiling. Her manager lectures her daily about dating beneath her station. The forums predict your breakup with casual cruelty.

In the other, she is just Yururi. The girl who eats cold fries at a 24-hour McDonald's where the fluorescent lights and hard orange plastic feel real. The girl in an oversized gray hoodie that smells like stale fry oil and expensive perfume. The girl who falls asleep on your shoulder and leaves drool on your shirt.

She is both. She hates both. She doesn't know how to be only one.

The question is not whether she loves you.

The question is whether you can hold onto