AleBrasil

Choso Kamo. A name you didn't hear much around campus, yet here, he reigned. Shift lead, according to his name tag; which also happens to be littered in little stickers from his younger brother, Yuji. This fact, among many others, is the reason you're head over heels for Kamo. 

"Latte, please." You're happy to be at the front end of the queue, face to face with your half-a-decade long crush. These minute long encounters have somehow kept you going... though now you think about it, it's pretty pathetic. Every time you tell yourself you're finally going to make a move, you just can't stomach it, scraping up any excuse your mind can muster. For a brief period, he’d dated another barista, and you felt like you’d been shot in the chest every time you saw them work together. They broke up though, you’d learned through an overheard conversation that she’d moved away for her masters and he wasn’t into ‘long distance’.

You’ve spoken quite a few times, mostly in your freshman year, when he’d lived in the same halls as you. But he had sadly moved after the first semester, and now you were stuck having to spend money to see his face, and on rare occasions, a light conversation. 

"You spend too much money here." Your total is written in small digits across the card reader and you pay using contactless, quickly putting your phone back into your hoodie pockets. A smile creeps over your face as he hands you the receipt, his painted nails brushing over your open palm. "Tell that to my overdraft." You giggle, making your way toward the collection counter. Choso moves with you, grabbing a mug and starting up the espresso machine. 

Small talk is embarrassingly all you've been able to rouse while in his presence. Sometimes, it's asking how he is, and sometimes you’re able to stray from a basic interaction to make a joke. Today seems to be on the latter trajectory, meaning the conversation will have been dead and buried for the day. You're always left wanting more, though you can't muster the words to continue a conversation. 

Watching Choso move behind the counter never gets old. Black painted fingernails contrast the white ceramic and long, vascular fingers making even the large mugs look small. Days like today, with the heaters on full blast to fight the winter air, he's rolled back his shirt sleeves, revealing pretty tattooed forearms. He pours the espresso, and then textured milk. 

"You're graduating soon, right?" His continued chitchat catches you a little off guard, breaking your usual routine of conversation. You nod with some apprehension, cautious to give any form of verbal response in fear of embarrassment. He looks into your eye, and you feel the hair on your neck start to stand. You swallow.

"There's a careers event this weekend, you going?" He puts the mug in front of you, turning the handle to face your way. There's a lump in your throat as you watch his hands leave the drink on the side. "Oh, nah. I've got like, four days to finish this assignment." It's a stupid response - you should absolutely be going if Choso is asking you, yet your idiotic mind flicks into autopilot and leaves the dead braincells to do the talking. 

"Oh, right. I'll probably be roped into overtime, anyways." His eyes drop to your drink, awaiting your departure from his countertop. The dishwasher needs to go on, and he'll have to grab another carton of milk from the fridge out back. You hesitate, but leave anyway, unable to find the spark of confidence to request his accompaniment. 

A smaller table toward the back calls your name - your usual spot. There’s a charger port nestled in behind the chair, perfect for the unknown amount of time you were going to spend here, and it’s one of the only tables that doesn’t wobble. Pulling out your laptop, you're cringing at the interaction that had just taken place, internally screaming at yourself for denying what was practically an invitation. 

You pull up the word document you've sold your soul to, a dissertation due in just a few days. Tens of thousands of words deep and you still think it's lackluster, despite the effort you've imbued. This is worth a hefty percentage of your grade, and will reflect years of your life. It's far too difficult to turn in one piece of work and act as though it speaks for all six years of your education, knowledge, and experience. For it to be torn apart and examined like some sort of lab experiment.

It doesn't help that you're completely distracted after speaking with Choso. Today is a flush, even with an empty mug, you're left with a few sentences strung onto that lengthy document. 

It's nearing five and you're left with an ultimatum: another drink and some sort of miracle, or to just accept defeat and return home. Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes closed. The laptop screen is reluctantly closed, and you sit back in your chair for a few more moments. 

"You're still here?" You think you've finally cracked when you hear Choso's voice from beside you. "It's been like, four hours." 

You open your eyes slowly, and sure enough you're met with Kamo, a baggy hoodie embracing his wide frame, headphones hanging from his neck. He's got a tote bag slung over his shoulder with his thumb resting over the straps, clearly leaving for the evening. Your gaze flickers over to the counter, and you can see Gojo tying his apron, before fluffing up his own hair in the reflection of the espresso machine. Choso awaits a reply, lips pressed together, gaze boring into yours. 

"I uh-" You stutter, cursing yourself for the second time today. "I'm heading off now. Gonna have to brew a pot at home." That awkward smile returns across your face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off." 

You grit your teeth and cringe, clenching your fists under the table. "No, I know." The eye contact you usually forced yourself to return is no more as you hang your head in shame. This might be the worst interaction you've ever had. 

"Uh, I've never asked what you're studying." Choso pipes up again and you almost choke on your own breath as you glance back to him in disbelief. You rub your eyes, convincing yourself he is just a delusion stemming from exhaustion, but sure enough, when you look up he's still there. "English Lit. What about you?" A sentence left your lips that didn't make you want to scream into a pillow; progress. 

"Fine Art, part time. Graduating this summer." He clears his throat, gesturing to the door. "Hey, you coming?" His hand presses against the glass as he’s glancing over his shoulder, two loose buns moving with his head, stray hairs falling to frame the sides of his face. He opens the door and steps forward, and you gain on him, taking the door’s weight in your palm. Your hand lands just beneath his, cool glass soothing your burning skin. 

“You live near campus?” The cold air hits your cheeks, and you zip your jacket a little higher. He makes his way toward the university by turning right, and you follow. You’re not quite sure how far apart you’re supposed to stand, choosing to lag behind over getting too close. 

“Yeah, in the apartments behind the dorms.” Choso nods, slowing his steps and looking over his shoulder. He stops until you catch up to his side, and then continues to plod on. 

With winter in full swing, it’s almost dark out, the sun hidden behind buildings as the moon is sure to rise. Streetlights illuminate your path beneath a grey sky, a sheen over the concrete that you’re sure will turn to frost by tomorrow. You’ll have to dig out your trainers tonight, something grippy to offer support on route to lectures. 

“What about you?” You enquire, glancing up at him. His eyes are on the pavement, brown, and half-lidded. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around, since you moved.” He swallows, and his eyes raise, before he tilts his head toward you, making brief eye contact. You can’t read his expression, but the air feels heavy. “I live in an apartment, I had to take custody of my brother.” His voice is low. “It’s not far from where we used to be, I got a hardship grant from the university to help, so it’s not all bad.” He stops as you near your building, pointing. “I cut through here.” He speaks, and you hide your disappointment. 

“Well, thanks for walking me back.” You choke out, all too awkwardly. Choso seems a little entertained, with the side of his lip quirking up. You look at the black line painted over the bridge of his nose, then up to his eyes. You wonder if this’ll be the most meaningful interaction you’ll have before you graduate. 

“-isn’t what they really want just conforming to their mold?”

You’re turning around. 

A faint smile on your lips. “Then what can we do about all the different molds?”

Nanami nods. “No one person is correct. It’ll never be good enough.” He lets out a soft sigh before pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses; they were a delicate kind that seemed to have a faint glow whenever they caught the light filtering in from Tokyo’s busy morning. Perfectly paired against Nanami’s handsome face—in the sort of classical, movie-star manner that might have caused him to be hung up on posters in teenage bedrooms or emblazoned outside of theatres.

Or so you’ve heard human customs tend to do so.

And yet, here Nanami Kento was: standing in a cream-colored suit with ink smudges on his fingertips. It often surprised you how a perfect Earthling like this was simply tucked-away in a little cubicle at Daily Planet Newspaper.

You certainly have never seen another like so.

But you got to see his face everyday—so you weren’t exactly complaining.

Nanami’s eyes drop at the growing smile on your face, and he pushes up a strand of golden-blond hair. That was just about as mussed-up as that perfectly slicked hairstyle of his would ever become. “Apologies. It’s just- it really bothers me to see the shit being written about Supergirl with no basis. Especially in respectable newspapers.”

“Well, it is the gossip column.”

“The sports section?”

“Same thing.” It was all human mish-mash to you either way. Beside him, the corner of Nanami’s lips give the faintest twitch. You’re flipping through the latest print of Daily Planet to another page; this time one with your (Supergirl’s) face plastered centrespread. Mid-air and your red cape flying behind you. It’s been only a few years since you’d landed on Earth after the destruction of Krypton. Then only a few weeks since you’d debuted as a superhero: stealing the spotlight from Green Lantern and the rest of the Justice League as you swooped in and defeated Metallo. 

Ever since then it’d been an explosion of newspaper headlines and television shows and even sketches; both good and bad. Mostly bad. You weren’t sure what got you off to the wrong foot. Maybe it was the uniform that too-closely resembled Superman’s? Maybe it was the crude words you’d spit out at villains mid-fight? Maybe it was that one time you flipped off the Justice League for being too late to the fight? 

In your defense, you thought Earthlings said something about early birds getting the villains?

And maybe all those were correct.

But whatever it was—they would tear you apart. Then piece you back. Then tear you apart again. You weren’t the family-friendly image of a superhero that most were; and it made something at the pit of your stomach feel saturated and dark and useless to have to edit such articles time and time again. To have to write them yourself, if you wanted to get approved by your higher-ups.

Perhaps that was a part of human culture?

Fuck those windbags either way.

You didn’t understand how any other hero did it - then again it wasn’t as if you could easily ask them. You weren’t an official part of the Justice League—and you didn’t see yourself getting welcomed with open arms anytime soon. So you hid yourself away and semi-hypnotized those at your workplace to see a forgettable face whenever they looked at you - not Supergirl—even so, it was brittle at best. 

Kryptonian hypnosis wasn’t as powerful as Martians. What you could merely do was suggest. “So- you don’t think Supergirl’s too crass?”

Nanami looks up, brows somewhat furrowed. “I quite frankly don’t think it matters. Who am I to judge?”

“Oh yeah? What about too destructive? Too disrespectful of the Justice League?”

“Again, who am I to judge?” Now, Nanami’s taking a seat—his desk was opposite yours, your backs to one another as you tap-tap-tapped away at new articles everyday. “Maybe she could do with a little less destruction of public infrastructure and that’s fine, but if she’s too crass then she’s too crass. That’s just her. Just as I’m not forced to like it—it’s silly to expect every superhero to conform to the ideal. Not one person nor mold is completely correct.”

From his seat, he tips his head up and looks at your standing self.

“But, personally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Green Lantern in the first place.”

This time, it’s your turn to attempt to keep a too-big smile off your face. 

You give him a pointed look. “I dunno. I heard she steals candy from babies—says so on Page 9.”

“Ridiculous.” Nanami cocks his head and beckons for the newspaper from you; after you hand it to him he flips through to that very page and scans it. “And precisely without proof. This is why I’ve been investigating Supergirl, beyond what these pages or secret sources say—”

From where you were, you could hear Usami loudly bragging to his colleagues a few desks over about the ‘exclusive source’ that gave him that little tidbit of information. You wanted to roll your eyes again.

“-and I’ve been working on something.”

“What is it?” You lean over to look as Nanami unlocks one of his desk drawers and pulls out a thick file. Unmarked. Your heart leaps to your throat as he sweeps it open to reveal pages upon pages of…pictures of you.

Not you—

—but you as Supergirl.

You mid-flight amongst thunderclouds. You amongst rubble. You pushing a kid behind you in order to shield him from a villain. You with your face twisted in fury as you’re pummeling that very same villain with a ferociousness that scared most - even civilians.

Which explained the headlines.

You skulking off into an alleyway before the medics and police could arrive, as you always did.

You. You. You. You. You.

And around them were notes scribbled in Nanami’s own neat hand.

Hero analysis:

Best skills: Superhuman strength, superhuman speed (comparable to that of the Flash), heat vision, physiological control, martial arts (see more on…)

Costume is that of similar style of Superman however with the added adaptabilities of…(sketch on back)

—one of the strongest debuts of any superhero in history. The supervillain Metallo has been terrorizing—

—though at odd relations with the Justice League, it seems that clashes over justice enactment—

—train—

—the greatest—

Female. 20’s to 30’s. Features may be changeable with Kryptonian powers (follow up with…). Suspected resident in Tokyo—concentration of fights here; in close contact with the Justice League who has headquarters here in Tokyo. Furthermore, seems familiar with the alleyways for her ‘disappearing act’ (for more thorough analysis see more on…) and mapping (more on…) has revealed that Supergirl tends to head in the wider direction of—Kabukicho. 

(Follow up).

Your eyes widen.

Fuck.

You have to change up the bars you hit after fights.

And just when you think your heart can’t leap any higher; he flips through a few more pages and stops on one particular piece of evidence - the biggest of them all - a frontpage newspaper clipping of you…and him. Nanami all dust-covered and dishevelled, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, as you threw his arm over your shoulders and helped him out of Tokyo Downtown Bakery. You had your face twisted in fury, and Nanami…you never noticed it before, but Nanami was looking at you like you were the Sun.

The fight had happened just last week: you’d been heading home after work when your superhearing told you something was off. An explosion downtown. 

Tokyo Downtown Bakery was a favorite of gods, mutants, aliens, and other non-humans alike. Known for it, in fact. And there was only one villain you could think of that wanted to take down such non-humans—Kenjaku.

You’d zipped there as fast as your flight could take you, and only once you were there had you heard a familiar heartbeat. More frantic now, of course. But familiar.

Nanami was trapped underneath the rubble.

Kenjaku saw your momentary distraction - the realization that made your blood grow cold - and had taken the chance to disappear into the shadows. 

After making sure that every other customer and employee didn’t have to be flown to the hospital urgently, you dropped onto your knees in front of the mountain of rubble and dug and dug. And dug. And dug. You dug until you felt the control over your physiology slipping, and small cuts started to apply at your fingertips—healing over instantly. Then getting ripped open all over as you just kept- on- digging.

In reality it must have been less than five or ten minutes, but it felt like months, before you finally flung away the last block of debris from a soft body. And Nanami Kento stirred.

That was what had resulted in the photograph, and the headlines that followed.

SUPERGIRL A WEEK INTO SUPERHEROISM AND ALREADY LETTING VILLAINS ESCAPE?

SUPERGIRL PAUSES FIGHT FOR BREAK?! MORE LIKE LAZYGIRL (Exclusive)

SUPERGIRL SAVES THE DAY AGAIN—BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE?

SUPERGIRL SAVES RUBBLE-TRAPPED CIVILIANS: “I owe her my life.” 

That last one boasted the picture. And the byline of Nanami Kento. 

You try to control your breathing.

“Ever since she saved me, I’ve been trying to understand Supergirl better. That fury on her face…I’ve been trying to figure out who she is-”

“To…expose her?”

“No.” Nanami shakes his head. The both of you were breathless - though for very different reasons. Excitement practically makes him glow, “To maybe try and interview her- personally. I want to see what she’s like beyond all those cashgrab headlines and the rumors. And…” 

You’re silent as he pauses.

“-and I want to thank her personally.” So soft.

“Oh.” Your voice sounds small. Smaller than you’ve ever heard it. 

 He’s then closing his file and looking up at you so sweetly—“And if you’re interested, then maybe we could work together on it? I actually got a tip that I’m about to go do some field work on right now.” A sudden burst of shyness makes Nanami’s cheekbones burn a pretty rouge as you stare at him intensely. That was one thing you loved about humans - immense control over your physiology meant Kryptonians couldn’t blush unless you made yourselves. Humans couldn’t control when they blushed and it was just the sweetest thing to you. Was Nanami’s heartbeat picking up? “That is…if you would like to? I know you likely have better articles to work on, but just in case…”

He trails off and you’re trailing behind your head and your heart.

Your heart that wanted you to say yes.

Your head that made you say—

“I’m sorry.” You feel your heart fall. There’s a simmering of anger at yourself; soothed partially by the understanding that the more time you spent with Nanami…the higher the chance was of him finding out who you were. There were countless people out to get you: villains, henchmen, reporters. And the second-best thing to getting you was getting someone you cared for that knew you. About you. 

The only powerless humans that knew about you were Clark’s- Superman’s adoptive parents. 

And whatever misery that might put you in - you’d take it twofold if it meant keeping one more normal Earthling like Nanami safe. You’re taking a step back and giving him a sheepish smile. “It’s just I have this really ah- riveting story to write about the erm- tax refunds and the economic implications of Supergirl’s last fight and…”

“Oh!” Nanami nods fervently, pushing his glasses up. Embarrassment radiated off of him like a miniature Sun, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and tell him this was on you. But alas. “Oh, right, of course- I wish you luck with that.”

“Thank you.” You smile, lips pressed together to prevent a sigh. “I’m going to need it.”

“A journalist like you? Not in the least.”

With a nod of graciousness, you’re just about to leave Nanami’s table and pretend that the latter half of this interaction perhaps never happened. You almost wished Kryptonians had the ability to hypnotize themselves as they could to others. And you’re considering a much more interesting article about that before you’re stopping in your tracks and half-glancing at Nanami over your shoulder. 

He was hard at work gathering his things for what you assume to be the extra field work regarding his Supergirl article.

You feel your heart clench.

“Nanami?”

He looks up eagerly. “Yes?”

Your words are slightly less than steady once you speak again. “If- when you discover Supergirl’s identity…you might be…disappointed. They say she’s nothing like Superman.”

“She doesn’t have to be.”

As Nanami throws his messenger bag over his shoulder and stands to leave—“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.” But he calls everyone that, doesn’t he?

“And I’ll…be working late.”

“Be careful not to miss your train.”

You don’t look at him until the very last second. When his tall frame is ducking beneath the doorway to the Daily Planet journalism department; cream-colored suit and golden glasses; old movie star looks drawing eyes, but not too close so he’ll never know that you stared at him from afar. Never.

You sink into your chair.

“What was that about?”

Had your superhuman senses not told you about Shoko’s nearing presence, you would have been startled. But you’re throwing in a slight jump just for the sake of it.

“Oh- come on.” Shoko says with a roguish grin. There was a slender cigarette tucked between her index and her middle finger; as was wont to have if one was Ieiri Shoko. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever seen her without one. “Not dramatic enough. Next time try throwing in a little gasp there.”

It seems that you still had work to do on your human reactions…“What have I told you about the cigarette smell getting on the papers?” You grimace at her - this particular human pleasure was especially sensitive to your nose.

“Can’t remember.” She replies, blowing out her last puff of smoke.

Shoko was perhaps your one exception to humans not knowing about your true identity—for the sole fact that she wasn’t your average human. Smooth. Silent. And stupidly intelligent - Shoko was perhaps the best investigative journalist Tokyo had to offer.

Which was to be expected, of course, given that she was the protégé of The Question.

A normal human journalist—just with enough combat skill and power to get him inducted into the Justice League. The Question had been a master in hand-to-hand combat even amongst the most trained superheroes; which paired well with the depth of investigative journalism that he would do. He exposed criminal underworlds that led to likely half the lodgers at Tokyo Island Penitentiary. 

When you’d been reading up on the superheroes of Earth - both current and inactive - it was his sheer heroism as a mere human that’d inspired you to become a journalist as well.

The Question had hand-picked Shoko as his successor—and for good reason. After his passing due to old age, Shoko quickly proved herself to be a master with the pen; she cracked her ink like a whip. Just last week, she’d exposed that damned Lex Luthor’s embezzling which at least got him out of Superman’s hair for some time. And despite the publicity of the event, the covert nature of her heroism meant she didn’t have to deal with the constant headlines.

Shoko was no different than those at the Justice League. Than you.

But she was an enigma.

So you couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have walked in on you hurriedly changing into your supersuit in the cramped cubicle bathrooms at the Daily Planet - there was a train about to go off-course a few thousand kilometers away - than Shoko.

“Oh.” You remember it like it was yesterday. The door had swung open as you had one foot into the suit. “The lock’s broken.” She’d said.

“Uh…occupied?” You’d murmured then, in a voice higher-pitched than usual. You considered hypnotizing her twofold- no wait, there was some power to do with amnesia even though you weren’t sure whether it would be—

“I know what you’re thinking.” Shoko had smiled then. “And don’t you dare try - not because I’d say anything, but because the Justice League’s paperwork is a pain in the ass when you try to fight another superhero.”

Your jaw had dropped. “Another…?” You’d shove that paperwork up their asses- but another superhero?

“Haven’t guessed it already?” Shoko shoved a hand into her long jacket, pulling out a square piece of what almost looked like rubber. It was in the exact shade as her skin tone, and when she placed it over her face—

“Featureless.” You’d gasped. Pseudoderm. “Just like The Question.”

“Flattered you know us, Supergirl.”

But there was no more time for chit-chat—that train you’d been hearing was dangerously close to going off-tracks now, and you’d hastily begun stuffing yourself into your supersuit. To which Shoko hadn’t flinched - instead appraising you curiously. “Why don’t you just wear that underneath your suit?”

“Because…” Because you were too afraid of someone sneaking a peak at the suit underneath. Because you were too afraid of being Supergirl when you were your ‘human’ self—hated. At least as a human you weren’t hated. Because you were too afraid of walking around as two halves making up one whole, when one half was all you needed at a time to feel content.

Ultimately you settled for not saying anything at all. “Listen- please don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah- I’ve already been through this song and dance.” She waved you off absent-mindedly. “Don’t reveal your secret identity to anyone. Don’t make it obvious when you’re off saving the world.”

You felt a smile come to your face at those last few words.

“You don’t think I’m…ruining justice instead?” A rush of embarrassment ran through you for even asking.

But Shoko merely cocked her silky head. “Hah, no? And who cares what the Justice League thinks? Now go do superhero things, superhero.”

The train and its passengers were saved in record time that day. And just like she’d said, Shoko hadn’t spilled a word.

Though for all the secrets she kept- she did love hearing them.

“So…” She relights her cigarette. “Did Nanami finally ask you out and you rejected him?”

“What-” You’re turning to her with a yelp. “He did not—” She takes the moment to blow a cloud of smoke at your papers, and you’re snatching the cigarette from between her lips and snuffing it out on one of your ceramic desk decorations. 

“Hey…” Shoko whines.

Finally you’re whispering to her in a low tone - “He did not ask me out. And I did not reject him.”

“Then why’d he leave all sad and puppy-eyed?”

You’re turning around—almost as if expecting Nanami there still. “He didn’t…did he?”

“Maybe. I didn’t see. But you looked, didn’t you?” Chuckling. The Question takes the cigarette back from you, and holds it out of your reach.

“That was only because you-” You find that you don’t quite have much to say - at least not something that Shoko would pay heed to. And so you’re settling for a few grumbled curses—“No. He just asked me to be part of one of his articles.”

Shoko looks up in interest. “Oh? About what?”

“Supergirl.” You cross your arms. “He said he wanted to figure out who she was so he could interview her- I said no, of course.”

Shoko - who’d now newly relit her cigarette - takes a long drag and lets it free into the air. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why’d you say no?”

You take her cigarette and put it out again. “Because the more time I spend with him, the more likely he is to…find out. And with everything going on, I can’t risk putting him in danger.”

“Hm…” Shoko thinks for some time. “Putting him in danger? Or putting his image of you in danger?” She stares at you intently. “Are you really afraid that he’s going to be captured by villains you’ve been defeating time and time again these past few weeks? Maybe.” Then she’s gently tugging the cigarette from between your fingertips - to light it again. A final time. “Or are you more afraid that once he finds out who you truly are- he’s going to be just like the rest of them?”

You don’t bother reaching for the cigarette anymore. “I…”

But Shoko wasn’t done just yet. She blows her smoke into the air and lets it linger. “It’s just like these papers and this smoke. When the nicotine sticks to them, it’s invisible but it’s there—even if you don’t like it. But that doesn’t change its contents. Nor does that make it any less worthy than any other article here.”

You crinkle your nose. “But others won’t like it either.”

“So fuck them.” She stands. “It’s gonna be printed into a damn article, it doesn’t need to smell like rainbows and roses. No two newspapers are printed the same.”

And with that said, Shoko striding off. Cigarette and all.

And you’re left staring at a blank paper—ready for typing.

.

.

.

Nanami Kento had never quite been to this area of Tokyo.

It was one of the seedier places; an amalgamation of everything your mother advises you against. Past the bars and the spas, past the graffiti-tattooed walls and the alleyways that seemed to stretch into darkness endlessly. Past men slouched on roads - drunk or dead. Past the rattle of trains in the distance and rats who chittered at the only abode they truly ruled. Where even those cowered standing next to—and one goes to share the same fear doused upon this neighborhood, doled, perhaps to replace that of their own.

Then again, there was a strange beauty in it itself - like a giant wound mending itself.

There was a stun gun in his pocket. He wondered what this place would look like in daylight. 

He ignored the knot in his throat as he kept on walking.

It wasn’t the place you’d expect to find a superhero - then again, Supergirl didn’t listen to anyone’s expectations of her. 

Often after fights, he’d see you disappearing into the shadows of a building or a lone alleyway such as these. As if never there. You didn’t wait around for any authorities or paparazzi. And it was only after weeks of investigation that he’d managed to narrow it down to one district that you were frequenting: Kabukicho. 

Even afterwards, he’d quickly learned that it wasn’t simply the entertainment district that you were fond of.

You were fond of hiding.

Asking around for sightings of a person of your description took Nanami meters away from actual Kabukicho, and down narrow alleys and underground streets. Into clubs and behind hotels. Into the seediest, smallest establishments hadn’t even the faintest waft of a main street. Currently he was heading towards a bar he was directed towards by an anonymous tip; the tip had said that you came here at least once a week or so. Sometimes not even to drink - just to people-watch.

And if Nanami Kento knew anything about you: it was that you found humans fascinating.

He’d seen it after fights, when you’d watch families rush to one another and embrace. He’d seen it even during fights, as you analyzed villains that were easy prey.

And he wondered…did you find humans interesting as much as they found you? Or at least, he did. 

It’s after a few minutes of walking down this small street, lit only by the angry neon signs of underground clubs, that he stops before a squat bat. THE CHAMELEON—the sign said.

He pats the stun gun in his pocket. 

And with a deep breath, he’s walking in.

The stench of liquor dances a frenzied waltz with cigarettes; it reaches his nose though he doesn’t cringe as he weaves between closely-pressed tables. Patrons hunched over nursing their columns of glasses look up at him suspiciously as he walks past them. He knew he should have changed out of his cream-colored suit. 

It was barely visible in the bar, due to the faint light buzzing solely from a few spots on the ceiling, surrounded by wine-drunk flies, but Nanami managed to sit himself down at the counter. A bartender with long greyish-blue hair wiping greasy glasses with an even greasier rag looks up at him.

“Ah…” Nanami’s eyes fall to the glass and the rag - he himself was a good drinker, though the establishments he frequented were nothing of this sort. “Just a beer, please.”

The bartender asks, “Mmm, tap?”

“Do you have bottles-”

“No bottles.”

“Then ah- just a water, please.”

“No water either.” He says in a strangely melodic voice, “Just cider. Just cider. Apple, peach, and pear~!”

Nanami looks at the man warily, “Then…a peach cider please.”

The bartender shrugs then takes the rag—blowing his nose into it- before he throws it somewhere over his shoulder and fetches a peach cider for Nanami. It pools condensation onto the counter as it’s set in front of him, but he doesn’t reach for it even a single millimeter.

“What are you trying to find, young man?”

Nanami almost flinches. 

The voice comes from the seat next to him; gruff and gravelly like when one has smoked far too many cigarettes for far too long. As he turns—the man next to him laughs. He had a white, wide-rimmed hat tipped low over his face, and was wearing an equally stark white suit. It was just about the only things he could make of him - nothing of his actual features.

And though Nanami didn’t know the man, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of kinship as the two patrons of the bar that didn’t seem like they belonged there.

Despite this, however, this other man’s fingers found a chip in his cider glass with familiarity. 

“There are only two reasons that folks come down to a bar like this: either to lose something—pain, memories, fatigue; or to find something.” He nods his head over at the younger man, but still doesn’t reveal a sliver of a face. “And since you haven’t touched that cider of yours, young man, I’m assuming…”

“Finding something, I suppose.” Almost robotic, Nanami grasps his glass. 

He thinks he sees a flash of a smile from the other man.

Nanami continues, “Maybe you can help me? Would you happen to have seen someone come in tonight-” His heart thunders as he lists off the features written down in that file of his—and the man keeps nodding with each one. “-perhaps around my age, though-”

“So it’s love problems.”

He stops short. “What?”

“Love problems.” That man clucks out a wet laugh, then takes a swig of his cider.

Nanami responds hesitantly. “I’m…afraid you misunderstand. I’m just trying to find-”

“I know perfectly what you mean.” He displays a set of paper-white teeth, gleaming. Reaching into his coat pocket, he slaps something down on the marble counter. “Her, right?”

Nanami peers in and finds it to be a blurry polaroid of you at this very bar, taken like you hadn’t known it was happening. And you weren’t revelling like one would have expected you to after a constant winning streak against villains. You weren’t even lamenting your woes with your fellow bar patrons.

You were just…watching. 

Alone at a booth. Nothing in front of you but a water- perhaps that bartender had lied to him. 

It was a night livelier than this one, evidently, as bachelor celebrations and 21st birthday parties and seemingly drunken singing surrounded you from all angles. But you simply watched. Waited. There was something so sorrowfully beautiful about you that it made Nanami’s heart ache. 

“It’d been my buddy’s divorce party and someone had pulled out the polaroid. He snapped a picture and somehow I just couldn’t find it in myself to part with it…there’s something so haunting about it.”

Nanami merely stares speechlessly, running his finger down the edge of the picture.

“Trying to understand someone is, too, an act of love isn’t it?” The other man says. Before Nanami could respond, he’s polishing off the last few drops of his cider and getting off the chair—he seemed much taller when he was standing. “Come now. This Supergirl of yours is quite the party- after draining The Chameleon she tends to head East towards the Golden Gai. Finish up your cider and then we can go.”

“R-right.” Nanami’s hand almost falls to pat his stun gun reassuringly- but under the man’s scrutiny he reaches for the cider instead. “And sorry- what was your name again Mr…?”

“Come now, come now. We can save the pleasantries for when we walk there, young man.”

“Right.” 

Bringing it up to his lips. 

Almost. “But how did you know I was searching for Super-”

He sighs. “You journalists ask too many questions.”

And with a forceful shove, he’s making Nanami chug down the cider - blood and peaches coating his tongue. And the sharp shot of something else he couldn’t place. 

“And you can call me Kenjaku, young man.”

And then it’s black.

“I saw the way Supergirl—” Spit. “—looked at you. And I must thank you for leading her to me.”

Kilometers away, you’re in the middle of heading to the train station with Shoko. You’d both gotten off work late and were lamenting what a pain it’d be to get up tomorrow morning—

Your head snaps up.

You’re immediately looking behind you.

“What is it?” Shoko asks with no small sense of emergency.

That gasp. That thud. 

You’ve never heard it; yet you’d recognize it anywhere.

“Something bad has happened.”

.

.

.

Alleyways. Bar. Rats. Love Hotel. Alleyways. Bar. Bar. Alleyways. Alleyways. Alleyways.

Why did you have to go down so many alleyways?

It was a bar that you’d only been to once; the shadows were long and the cider was sweet—but ultimately you’d decided that you didn’t want to return. It was the day after you’d saved Nanami Kento. 

And now you were doing the very same thing.

THE CHAMALEON had wound down for the night by the time that you skidded to a halt before it - with the tar road cratering beneath you as you stopped. There’s a thundering noise that echoes down the gloomy streets of this forgotten part of Kabukicho. You don’t waste a single second longer before kicking the door open and storming inside—

“Ah~ my lovely Supergirl.”

“Kenjaku.” You spit. The bar was empty save for the man seated at the counter - a dark waterfall of hair, darker eyes - and in his hand he held a single glass of what you assumed to be cider. “Where is he-”

“Slow down, my dear.” He croons. “Why don’t you sit back? Have a drink or two? And then maybe we can-”

“Where the fuck is he.”

It happens instantaneously—in a jerky movement you’re picking up an entire table by its leg. Using a mere fraction of your strength, you chuck it at the man - not quite to hit just yet - and it flies past him with naught a hair’s breadth of space between the side of his head and the table. Crashing against the wall of alcohol bottles in the back; liquor and shards of glass explode behind Kenjaku, yet he doesn’t move a single muscle. Not a single muscle.

Not even his lips to speak. 

It infuriates you that he can remain sitting and sipping his cider without a care in the world- and so you’re striding towards him. Though striding was perhaps a kinder word.

Grabbing a bottle off the counter, he breaks its end and attempts to stab you.

You dodge.

He stabs.

You dodge.

He swipes your cheek—

“Motherfucker you better know that I don’t care what you do to me-” Each word leaves you like a dagger. “I don’t care how you hurt me-” And within a few seconds, you’ve closed the gap completely to grip him by the collar and raise Kenjaku a foot off his chair. “But what the fuck have these innocent people ever done to you?”

Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he starts laughing.

And you’re only watching in stunned silence.

You only can watch—Kenjaku laughs long and unabashed, with a strange hitch like a crow’s call - he laughs so hard that he has to wipe away a tear. It sends red-hot fury curdling in your veins.

You reel your fist back.

Tightly-coiled. Trembling with anger.

And you’re just about to swing—

When Kenjaku raises a single finger - the gesture humans often do when asking for a moment of your time - that makes you halt in your tracks. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, you didn’t want to risk anything that might put Nanami in danger.

And so you wait.

And you watch.

As Kenjaku’s eyes fall to the glass of cider that had been kept on the counter. He takes it in his hand. He clears his throat, “You should have been here earlier, oh- your little boyfriend was just drinking away his woes. Something about his love being a filthy alien, you see?” Those deep amethyst eyes—they were so dark that they seemed to leave a stain where they then turned to look at you.

You can’t take your eyes off of him - even as you bring your raised punch back and instead grasp Kenjaku’s neck with both hands. If you can’t pummel him to death, you were ready to strangle him.

Your hands tighten.

“O-oh.” Kenjaku’s hands claw down your forearms, but he’s powerless against you. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

They tighten.

“And you already know it’s true, don’t you? You know that deep down—you’re everything they say you are- you’re everything and worse-” They tighten. His skin starts turning blue then purple. “Why else would they hate you so? They know- they know it and you do, too.”

They tighten.

And even though you had the upperhand, seemingly, Kenjaku seems to crane his head down to whisper to you.

“You were nothing. You are nothing. You will always and forevermore be nothing.”

Your breath hitches- and Kenjaku knows he’s got you.

Unbidden from your senses, you’re letting go of him - he stumbles to the ground but manages to catch himself on the bar counter. Throwing an arm over it to steady himself, Kenjaku looks down at his cider glass once more, with only a few drops at the bottom of it.

He throws back those last few ounces and holds the glass out to you- “Be a dear for me, and help your little boyfriend get me another glass, will you? It seems he’s gotten his…hands full.”

Shit.

Shit.

You’re forgetting to even fly down to the bar—you’re breaking off a leg of a nearby stool then bending the metal into something that resembles a handcuff, quickly restraining Kenjaku for the time being before darting downstairs. There was a dingy staircase in the corner of the room, of which the rusty handrailing bends and warps as you grip it with your superhuman strength.

As you do, Kenjaku calls after you…“But do be careful not to miss your train~!”

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself at the bottom of a damp cellar- running to a Nanami Kento who’d been hopelessly bound and gagged. His golden hair falls in front of his face. His skin glistens with sweat.

And as soon as you reach him, you’re noticing the sheer heat that radiates off of him.

It was as if he was on fire—

Was this…?

“Nanami- Kento.” You’re hissing - you don’t need to untie those cloth restraints, you’re tearing straight through them. Removing the fabric gag and cupping his face, you look deep into his eyes. “Kento- oh, are you alright? Speak to me-”

“Go.”

“What-”

“The train.” Tears fell down his handsome cheeks. His bottom lip was trembling as though he was cold - even though he felt like an inferno to the touch. “My darling, don’t worry about me worry about the train-”

You insist. “What about the train, Kento?”

“Kenjaku- fuck, I overheard him telling his henchmen to destruct the Yurikamome line on the Rainbow Bridge- the train is going to go over it any second now—”

Brows furrowing, you focus your supersenses. Hearing. “But that can’t be, I should hear…”

The zooming of a train. The distant rattling of train tracks that sounded different than usual - too different, too distant. 

Then it hits you.

“Kento, while you were here, did you encounter anything…strange?”

He strangles out. “The peach cider he gave me- a-after that I just…”

“I understand.” Your mind was racing a mile a minute—Kento. The train. Kento. The train. Kento. “Kenjaku probably laced it with something to weaken you, and amongst that he must have added…”

Your blood goes cold.

“Hold on tight.” And without another word, you’re scooping the man into your arms - a princess carry. You hold him to you like the most precious thing on Earth and Krypton as you crash! through the top of the cellar—past several stories without a single scratch nor ache. Past bottles of liquor and ceramic tiles. Past layers of concrete and your fear.

Once you’re out into the wild night, you’re taking in incredible lungfuls of crisp air, soothing the burning sensation in your lungs.

You could almost ignore the gasps around you- as people whip out their cameras. This time, you don’t shy from them.

Gently; you’re hovering down to the street below and setting Nanami down. “Are you okay, Kento?”

“Yes- yes.” He’s gasping as he struggles to stand- you’re attempting to help him, only for Nanami to back away as though afraid. Something painful twinges inside you.

And he must see the breaking of your expression - because he’s immediately rushing to answer. “The thing that was in that cider…it was Kryptonite, wasn’t it?” Your silence is enough of an answer. “You have to go.”

You step towards him. “We have to get you to a hospital. The Kryptonite-”

“The train-”

“Just let me-”

“The Kryptonite will poison you before it ever even thinks of poisoning me. Do you really think I’d ever- fucking ever put my life above yours?” Nanami Kento doesn’t exactly yell—but his voice carries to your superhuman senses above anything else. Anything else. “Save the people on the train. Save the world. Save yourself- for everything I love, please please leave me- save them, Supergirl.”

You’re straightening.

“I’ll be back for you, Kento.”

Stumbling back a few steps; you have to shake your head to do away with the fogginess of the Kryptonite.

And then you’re in the air once more.

Wind whipping your face. Cape thrashing behind you.

The clouds stick to your features and form condensation with how fast you’re flying to the train- fuck.

Once you get there, you’re seeing exactly what Nanami had been talking about.

The train track where the Yurikamome Line was going on top of - the lower deck of Rainbow Bridge - was completely obliterated in the middle. Throngs of metal sticking upwards. Train track rattling like a wounded snake. The train was charging full speed ahead, the driverless transit unaware of any anomaly in the track. 

Just enough of a gap that it would prove fatal to the 160,000 passengers aboard. 

Just enough of a gap that you could zip down—as fast as you could go. As low as you could afford. And as fearful as any human would have been in that moment - and just as foolhardy. 

And as the Yurikamome Line heads towards the broken railroad, you’re lifting the train once it passes. The dip in the train track; you’re making up for it with your hands and your shoulders—never letting the Line falter even a single decree—it stretches and stretches and sinks its heavy metal body down onto yours. Rolling over your shoulders. Like nothing you’ve ever felt before- you have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. 

Your body was indestructible. But you’re feeling cuts on your palms. But you’re feeling the strain on your core and your deltoids.

Every single axiom in your body was screaming—

Towards the middle mark of the Yurikamome Line, you feel a dip- fuck.

Gritting your teeth, you let out a clenched groan as you push the train up. From inside you can hear passengers scream. And from the horizon, you can hear news helicopters thundering.

Please.

A tear runs down your cheek. You struggle to move. 

Please. Please. Please.

You’re pushing the train upwards with all your might. 

Humanity above, only you know how strong you can be. 

Be strong.

.

.

.

Birds are twittering.

You would have assumed that the afterlife had no shortage of birds, too; but it’s a bit odd to you that they’re singing a tune so jolly.

Personally, since you were dead, you’d like to sing something more lamentable.

“My darling?”

It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear it - but of course, you do. You’re Supergirl—and you hear everything everyone says to you whether you want to or not. But this one in particular sounds quite pretty in your ears - even prettier than the spring melodies of birds - and it makes you realize ah- angels…

But at the same time you’re realizing that angels didn’t exist on Krypton.

And then you’re shooting awake.

“Fucking fuck!”

Your graceful resurrection is marked by knocking your head with none other than Nanami Kento - whom you found quite understandable to mistake for an angel. As you’re clutching your forehead and letting out a few swears, he lets out nothing but the sweetest, soft chuckle—and as your vision slowly grows used to the light and unblurs, you’re seeing the most beautiful smile on his face. 

His eyes crinkled at the edges, framed by golden glasses. His cheeks had one faint dimple each. And he was looking at you with something humans had never looked at you with - love.

It couldn’t…

Was that your heart thundering or his?

“You don’t know how happy I am that you’re awake.” Nanami whispers, as if afraid to break this fragile piece. This suspension in a place that didn’t quite seem to be Earth nor Krypton. He presses his forehead to yours—“I wanted to thank you first, my darling.”

“Thank me…for what?” You ask- your voice is incredibly hoarse. How long have you been out for? 

Once you clutch your throat, Nanami hastens to pluck a glass of water off the bedside cabinet. And as you drink- you’re looking around the room. The next time you speak, it’s with a slightly steadier tone. “And where are we?”

“Ah- I guess I should apologize first.” Nanami says, sheepishly rubbing the blushing back of his neck. “We’re at my apartment. You’ve been asleep for about sixteen hours now.”

Your lips part.

He hurries to explain. “Chief Yaga from the police station wanted to keep you under their protection at the hospital, the Justice League insisted on keeping you at one of their quarters- your fan club wanted you all to themselves but…I…insisted you wake up in a place that’s somewhat of a home.” Eyes darting shyly downwards. “Just until you wake up- I asked Shoko and she wasn’t sure where you lived, either. You’re a very private person, Supergirl. And Superman is in outer space right now so…”

“Oh…I…I see.” You hold the glass limply in your hand. “And ah- fan club, you said?”

Nanami nods - you don’t see any humor in his eyes. “Your rescue of the train was shown on every channel and program- every breaking news. The Daily Planet won’t stop printing, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That…” You feel strangely numb. “I don’t even know what to say. And the casualties-”

“Zero.”

“How did you get to the hospital?”

“Just after you left, Shoko arrived with the police to save me and arrest Kenjaku. Did you know that she’s a vigilante?”

You bite back a smile. “I did.”

He unabashedly smiles, as if meeting you for the first time. “And did you know that I know?”

“I figured by now.” Cocking your head.

“I always had a suspicion but…I don’t know what hypnosis you did but it just wouldn’t make sense in my mind. But when you came down to save me at the cellar, when you were affected by that Kryptonite it just…clicked.”

He’s reaching a hand up to softly cup your right cheek.

“It wouldn’t have made sense to be anyone else.”

It’s warm in Nanami’s bedroom. And it’s even warmer underneath the thin nightdress you’re wearing- you wonder where he got such a thing? And when you’d been put into it? It seems that he catches the questions in your gaze as it dawns upon you what you’re wearing—“I bought it for you after you got discharged at the hospital.” Nanami says. “Shoko helped you into it- althought…I did help.” With a shy blush, he’s looking away.

And you’re closing your eyes and leaning into the touch of his hand. “Thank you.” 

You don’t need to specify for what.

“And then there’s that.” Nanami surprises you as he says, reinvigorated. And how completely correct you were in him having those old movie star looks - that smile of his, with the soft little dimple on each cheek, should be on the big screen. He has a knowing glint in his eyes. “Thank you for saving me- that time at the bakery.”

You feel a little breathless. “It’s no problem.”

“No but it was- it’s how Kenjaku managed to escape. And I know how much you got torn apart in the papers for it—” His jaw clenches. “I saw it everyday.”

You look down at your hands, clasped on top of Nanami’s sweet cream-white sheets. “It’s nothing.”

And slowly - but surely - at a pace that matches the hesitant staccato of your heartbeat, Nanami’s own larger, roughened hands are sliding across the sheets. Intertwining with yours. “It’s not.” 

Your gaze was now flickering between your tangled hands and his unyielding gaze—you didn’t know which was more beautiful.

He continues, “And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. I know you don’t feel as if you’ve done enough to be thanked, but I can assure you- w-well, I don’t know how much my word will mean to you if anything at all, but just-”

“Kento.” You cut him off. “Kiss me.”

His lips meet yours and you never wish for them to leave; he tastes like coffee with a hint of honey and everything you’ve ever wanted. You feel as though you can finally breathe.

And he feels as though he can’t—and he’s searching for his first breath between your lips. Nanami gasps as you clutch his baby-blue button-up. 

Nanami’s hand caresses the back of your neck, and he’s cockin’ your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss. Eventually you’re feeling that initial sweetness of first contact melt into somthing…more…something that makes your skin simmer, as he’s letting his pinkish tongue brush your lower lip.

With a gasp you’re welcoming him inside.

And before you know it, you’re being laid flat on your back with Nanami hovering on top of you. With a tap at his broad shoulders, you signal him to get up—and when Nanami’s on his knees before you you’re letting your hands…wander.

“O-oh.” His breath hitches. His Adam’s apple bobs. And a sizzling heat takes over the man’s body as your fingers trace the line of this throat- the valley of his pecs- the bumps of his abs. 

All your knowledge of human anatomy led you to believe that he must be hiding immense strength beneath suits too-big for him, but even this was a surprise.

And then lower, lower, lower—until you’re reaching his rock-hard erection. 

“Shit…” The soft grunt escapes the back of Nanami’s throat—unbidden. He immediately brings one roughened hand up to his mouth, chewin’ on the insides of his cheek as he watches your workings down below. Watches through half-lidded eyes as your palm’s meeting the bulge of his perfectly plaid pants. Cupping. Caressing.

Nanami’s breath grows more n’ more ragged as you keep palming- fuck, he was so big.

You don’t even have to use your x-ray vision to figure that out - but you’re doing so anyway. And what you’re seeing are about seven- eight? Inches of his swollen cock, all throbbing and pulsating underneath your touch. And beads—no, puddles of precum were constantly tearing out from the top of his shaft, creating a mess underneath that made Nanami feel shy.

You swear he’s growing even bigger once he feels the staring.

“A-are you using your…?” Nanami asks, pushing his thick glasses up.

“Mmm, maybe.” You’re cheekily replying. And in mere split-seconds you’ve used your heat vision to incinerate Nanami’s fabrics without actually hurting him.

He gasps and instinctively goes up to cover his aching erection-

But you’re stopping him with a hand of your own. Those fingers of yours wrapping around Nanami’s pale pink cock—he’s oh-so-thick at the base of it, surrounded by a scattering of golden tresses that graze the bottom of your hand.

You’re squeezing the hilt of Nanami’s shaft and he lets his head drop backwards with a moan- “Fuh-fuck. I could cum right here and right now, you know….”

“So do it.” You’re tugging his cock- until you’re reaching the mushroomy top of it and wipin’ away a speckle of precum. It feels so warm underneath your touch—he was just melting for you. “But just know that this is going to be a looooong night, Nanami Kento.”

He gulps.

Meanwhilst you’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s while you keep a constant pace fisting his length. Breaking off from the heated kiss only to lean down and spit-

A direct glob of your saliva gluing to Nanami’s puckered tip.

He’s shivering as it gleamingly trickles down his length—then reeling you into a kiss once more. “Mmm- I can hear your heartbeat, Kento.” You smile into the kiss. “Any reason why it increases when you’re around me?”

“I’m in love with you and I cannot lie about it.” And you don’t know what you expected - banter? Denial? But it certainly wasn’t outright confession, and it certainly wasn’t for Nanami to pant against your lips—to push you back onto the coiled mattress, and shuffle his body down until he’s between your legs. 

With languid movements, he’s pressing your legs to the side until each one is pinned to the soft cotton sheets. And you let him.

Your peripherals locked with his. Nanami’s gold-rimmed glasses tracing your skin. You’re running a hand through Nanami’s blond mane as he presses a line of kisses up your right thigh, up your left thigh, before finally…“May I?”

“Please.”

The next sound escaping you is a deafening trill—as in that very moment Nanami pushes his face nose-deep between those legs. And his tongue’s darting outwards and swabbin’ up - eating you out as though he was starving.

Almost wolfish.

Mouth gaped wide open. Honed canines stickin’ against the opened sides of your folds. 

Your eyes dart to the back of your head- as you’re feeling the dots of his tastebuds push through your nightgown. He was eating you out through your nightgown—

“Kento, take a breather.” You’re whispering down at him, peeping at the ravenous man through struggling lids. The pleasure was consuming every inch of you rapidly; and before long you snake a hand to lift up the nightgown. “Let me just take this off-”

“No.” Nanami’s warm hand comes gripping yours - with surprising strength for a human. “Please- please keep it on.” He struggles.

To even speak.

To even keep his breathing even.

To even unlatch himself from your pussy for the mere moments he has to speak- he didn’t want to waste a single second. And it’s with carnal ferocity that he’s stuffin’ himself back between your legs, flattening his tongue and pressing it against your hot folds. “A-at this point, it might just be the only thing keeping me sane, my darling…if I feel you in all your entirety then I might just-” Nanami’s voice cracks. “-break.”

“What do you mean, Kento…?” You’re breathing. 

There was something…off about the handsome man. Sure, it could’ve just been the heated proximity that was warping your perception of him; but—

But that couldn’t explain the nearly-frenzied pace of his heartbeat - 112 BPM to be exact - or the furious red flush creeping down his neck, or the way he was plastered in a cold sweat. Golden tresses gluing to his forehead and the forefront of your pelvis. One of those beads of perspiration runs down his attractive nosebridge n’ ends up positioning where he was pushing and pushing his sensual face into your puffy folds. Cheeks hollowing as he’s sucklin’ on them through the barely-there barrier of your nightgown.

And you’re swiping your thumb across it - feeling the slightly-sticker consistency of his sweat. 

More so than normal.

And somehow…sweeter?

It doesn’t take your heightened senses to realize—you start to tug on Nanami’s sweaty scalp- but he’s hesitant to remove himself. Merely parting an inch or so with the most agonized groan. “Kento- Kento, don’t you feel a little different right now?”

“Hmmmgh?” He asks with his bleary eyes struggling to focus on you.

“A little different? Maybe a little…warmer?” You watch as he has to think a little bit before nodding. “Don’t you feel like you’re going to- hah, shatter on my pussy?”

“I do.” Nanami spits a glob of spittle down on your cunt, kissing it away before it trickles. “Fuck, I do.”

“Mmm—” Your back arches as his tongue straightens then starts dragging up and down your sopping slit languidly. “And aren’t you wondering h-how exactly I know?”

“How do you know, my darling…?” Sounding barely awake as he questions so.

“It’s because…” And then you’re sitting up and starin’ down at his movie-star face, eyes half-lidded and his blond hair a mess. A few strands of it were falling in front of his gorgeous eyes—so you’re pushing them away with your hand- and Nanami shivers as though just splashed with cold water. “-I’m feeling the same way.” A shiver runs down Nanami’s spine. “That aphrodisiac seems to be contagious.”

“A-aphrodisiac?” Nanami’s eyes widen behind his spectacles.

And you’re giving him a soothing nod. “Mhm. Back at the bar, it seems that what Kenjaku spiked you with was a Kryptonite solution. But what he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that sometimes…Kryptonite can have a bit of an…aphrodisical effect on humans.”

You’re leaning down and kissing his pussy-drenched lips. “Mmm, yeah, I can taste it on you still.”

Nanami’s immediately lurching back- but this time, it’s your turn to be reeling him back in. 

Keeping him delightfully hostage between your legs. “And where do you think you’re going, Earthling?”

“But the Kryptonite-” Nanami pants. Even though his eyes kept constantly flickering down to your cunt as if his favorite baked good set out right in front of him. Syrupy-filled. “It can’t be good for you-”

“At the weakened state it’s in now, it’s not bad for me either.” You smile. “The aphrodisiac shouldn’t impair you, either. But if you do not wish to fully continue-”

“I do.” The words can’t leave Nanami’s lips faster. He’s shoving your legs further apart and whispering. “I do I do I do—”

Then pressing such a harsh open-mouthed kiss against your swollen folds - so hard that it honestly felt as though he was trying to permanently imprint its outline against your pussy. And then when he’s pressed hard enough and long enough and deeeep enough—Nanami jerks away with a wrangled moan.

“But then since I’m already broken…”

And in robotic movements- he pushes your nightgown up until your tits- and he’s plastering his hot lips aaaaall over your cunt. Tongue swiping urgently between your folds and fuckin’ inside like a damn animal.

“Shit—” Moans bubble to your throat- seeping out with bubbles of spit. You’re clawing through his sweaty locks, holding onto him for dear life. “Shit, shit, shit- I didn’t expect humans to be so…”

“S’this your first time on Earth?” He peeks up at you through his long lashes.

“It is.” You’re nodding. Biting onto your lower lip.

And something seems to shift behind Nanami’s darkened eyes; he fixates them on you and doesn’t waver a single second as he lets his tongue fully out. Lavishes the tender in-betweens of your pussylips with all his sensual kisses- “Then I better give you a proper welcome to Earth.”

And it’s with absolutely no warning that he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts.

Flarin’ that sopping wet muscle out so that it stretches out your first ring of muscle- you can feel the sides of Nanami’s tongue slide-slide-sliding all down your channel. He was just so thick- you were feeling him so perfectly like this- and you can’t help yourself…you’re activating your x-ray vision to see how deep Nanami’s really going.

“A-a bit more to the left, Kento…” You murmur. “And a little deeper- ngh.”

He looks up at you in slight surprise. “Oh? You can see where I’m going, my darling?” Experimentally, Nanami stabs a few more thorough probes- deep.

“X-ray vision, remember?” You gasp. Buckin’ up in a sloppy staccato every time Nanami’s nearing with his tongue and his prominent nose- fuck, you loved how the tip of his nose pressed into your clit every time he surged forwards. “Just a bit deeper- oh, your fingers?”

With two of his calloused fingertips slidin’ up and down your vertical slit - accumulating the dewy droplets of slick you were letting out - he smiles. “I may not have superpowers, but something tells me you’re going to like this, Supergirl.”

“Oh- shiiiiiit.” It’s letting out the sloppiest squelch to have Nanami’s fingers easing inside. 

They’re so large- oh, your mouth drops as he’s burgeoning inside. Through your x-ray vision you could see that he’s scissoring inside- stretching aside that velvety channel- letting the doughy tips of his fingers probe inside like two searchlights attempting to pinpoint your most treasured spots. He’s rovering in deeeeeep- and you’re letting your face press into the damp mattress. “You’re enjoying this, Supergirl?”

“I-I am.” You huff. You’re humpin’ up into his pretty face so hard that the bedframe was creaking and moaning. Just as you must have been.

“And is your- hah, favorite Earthling making you feel good—?”

You’re levelling a half-hearted glare at him. “Bold of you to assume- but yes.” His fingers are just so close- “To the right…”

And he’s immediately heeding your every word- meanwhile, his mouth seemed to have felt a little lonely. Because Nanami hastens to latch his kiss-bitten lips around your throbbing clit. “Good. Because I’m just made to make you feel good, my darling. I need this. I need this. M’made for this.” Huffing. “Don’t be afraid to fuck my tongue as hard as you want- don’t be afraid to s-suffocate me, because m’here just to make you—ngh, feel good—”

Pushing up into you.

Pressing himself between your legs even harder.

“I don’t need to breathe- I need you to tell me where that g-spot is.”

Your head’s throwing backwards, thighs trembling around him- you’re soon wrapping your legs around Nanami’s perspired head and locking your ankles around him. Digging his tongue even deeper- he crashes and crashes them against your clit in time with his probin’ fingers. “A little more-”

“How much more?”

“Just about an inch- oh.” You’re squawking out in a way that’d be so embarrassing if it was anytime but now. “And to the left…upwards.”

He notices that you’re almost shying away from his touch with every plap! of his palm hitting the forefront of your cunt. Harder. Faster—even though he may have been a gentleman, Nanami’s fingers were decidedly not. They’re ravenous; managing to curl against the side of your walls, with your direction perfectly locating that one spot you’ve been aching to be touched this entire time. And the human wastes no time pushing against it- you think you’re seeing stars—hey, was that Krypton?

Too occupied to come up with a concrete answer, however, you’re simply basking in the pleasure that Nanami was pouring through your veins.

And he only seems too happy to have your hips hikin’ higher and your pussy pushing up all the way until his nose- with every single thrust he was battering. Your gooey insides are shuddering at the sheer force, you’re feeling a tightness start to formulate at the pit of your stomach. 

Something sore - blissfully so.

“I think…” You gasp. “No I know—” And the thing about being Kryptonian was that it came with immense control over your physiology- which also meant that you could cum on demand. But oh, how much better it felt when it was being drawn out of you by Nanami’s sweet sweet fingers.

Plunging - each time from the rounded tips of his digits and down until those knuckles, reddening at the persistent skin-to-skin contact - towards your g-spot every time. Multiple times a second.

“-Kento, I’m going to cum—”

“So cum f’me, Supergirl-” Nanami spits against your cunt. He sounds ragged- he sounds gone. His tone was a barely-there husk of what it had once been, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on anything but the pretty soakin’ pussy right in front of him. He kept his mouth so fucking full of your throbbing clit as he continued speaking. “Cum f’me…my girl.”

Shit—he’s blushing just saying it. But the effect on you is undeniable - you’re throwing your head into the fluffy pillows and finally letting loose. 

Wrenching on Nanami’s hair. Squeezing his head till he almost suffocates- you’ve got the feeling that he gladly would. Dragging your slick-glazed folds against his face and cumming and cumming.

As your euphoria rips straight through you - Nanami leaves his mouth further ajar and swivels his tongue inside as well. In addition to his fingers, he’s now attempting to squeeze his tongue inside to fuck you silly- to make your dazed peripherals roll to the back of your scalp. “This is what I’m made for.” And you’re unsure whether that was him or the aphrodisiac talking. “This is all I ever wanna do now—mmm—” He moans as syrupy juices stream down either side of his mouth and he’s sucking in your pussy. “My darling, you don’t know how badly I mean it when I say m’made for you. For this pussy.”

You whimper as he perfects his tonguing thrusts to the rhythm of your orgasm. Hitting every single peak. “Sh-shit…it’s becoming sensitive…”

“My darling, I’d rather die than leave this pussy from now onwards.”

“Never expected a gentleman like you to be so filthy.” You huff- rather difficult, considering how much he managed to take your breath away. As he prolongs your high until you’re dizzy—

And then some.

“Mmmm, I’m sensitive.” Fondly; you tug on his golden strands. Nanami lets out a rumble of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t move a single inch - merely grazing- not even properly eating you out anymore, he’s just sloppy grazing his hungry mouth against your sensitive cunt. 

Lapping up the last few dredges of your slick.

Occasionally wishing to feel the clench of your hole- and letting it dip inside—

“Hck!” Tears start to well up behind your eyes. And you have to speak to something deep and carnal within Nanami - otherwise you’re getting the feeling that he’s never going to part his lips from your own drenched ones. “Kento, you can stay here if you want…”

“Mmm-” He eagerly runs his tongue between your velvety folds again.

“-but I was really thinking that we could use my x-ray vision…” That seems to finally pique his interest, and he’s looking up at you. “-for something else. Something bigger, hm?” Pointedly, your eyes dip down.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about.

And in no time, Nanami Kento’s shuffling up your twitching body - still oh-so-sensitive from your previous high. And his hips are closing towards yours, his ruby-red tip is slipping between your legs and sandwiching between your pussylips for a few thrust-thrust-thrusts—“A-are you sure, my darl- oh.”

Before you claw at Nanami’s muscular back and crush him against your body.

Against your hips- your readily awaiting cunt.

Just that sopping, sap-covered tip of his manages to fit inside in that moment - and you’re feeling it throb like he’s always wanted to be here. Filling up the cavern of your cunt and making your toes curl- such a delicious streeeetch—! you’ve never felt before. And Nanami watches as you’re on the verge of shattering just as he already has—and he leans down to press a quick press on the edge of your chin. “M-mmmm.” 

But it’s hard even think let alone fucking speak with your soaking wet cunt wrapped around him like this. His very own taste of heaven.

Nanami’s letting escape a few botched moans- before he decides to preserve whatever is left of his dignity, and bites down on his pathetically wobbling lip. Trying his very best to keep any noise from leaving him as he experimentally moves his hips behind and probes back inwards with his plump, puckered tip. Just the round girth of it openin’ you up even more. “Sh-shiiiiiiit—my darling, am I even…”

You’re looping your arms around him and dragging him even closer. But Nanami’s too far gone to even kiss you properly- and his lips end up sliding around your jawline. “Even what, Kento?”

Bleary eyes damn-near popping out of his skull. Skin flushed ever-redder due to the aphrodisiac or simply just…you. Cock spurting out wad after wad of eager precum—he just couldn’t stop himself.

“Alive…” Nanami rasps out.

And your jaw drops at the question. “Is that…is that a joke, baby?” Although you already knew the answer- Nanami Kento was never the type to just joke.

And just as you’d expected, he’s furiously shaking his head and pumping out a few more overeager semi-thrusts. So overeager, in fact, that he’s ending up plopped out of your wettened cavern- and Nanami almost blows a fuse trying to get himself back in.

“Let me help you with that, Kento.” You giggle. Pushing aside his fumbling fingers, you’re wrapping your own around his incredibly thickened base - enough to make your mouth water.

Pointing the globular top of his shaft towards your cunt, you allow him to push inside once more. Breath hitching. Thighs shaking. Pants erratic as he does so- “Are you alright, baby?” You ask him—this time opening your legs wider to let his furious inches shovel in. “D’you think you can handle it if I use my powers to bring all of you inside?”

“Yes but…no.” Nanami admits. He wears a sheepish smile on his face - almost shy. Which was in direct contrast with the way he’s scrapin’ his right hand down your core and resting it atop your womb. He looks at you with raised brows. “Here?”

You nod. “Right there.” Then you’re wiggling your hips down in order to take him deeper—

But Nanami’s stopping you with a hand at your waist- practically glued onto your skin. He’s firm in his touch though not unkind. And Nanami’s boring deeeeply into your eyes - your very soul - as he’s giving you light, shallow thrusts. Poking himself past that ruthless squeeze of your entrance. “I…hah, I’ll need your superpowers to tell me where I am, my darling. And exactly where you want me.” 

Then Nanami plants you with a particularly hard strike that sends his long cock digging. His sides were decorated with a zig-zagging pattern of veins that massages your delicate insides.

“But as for fitting inside…” His mouth fucking waters at the prospect - and you already know with your senses. The gentleman leans down and spits in your mouth. “-we’re gonna do it the human way, okay?”

“Please-” Your nails start to dig into the shifting muscles of his back. “Please-”

And he’s not doing it the human way—not instantly. Before that; Nanami removes your palms from his shoulders and pins them above your head. Using but a single hand of his.

And you know you could easily overpower him - you just know it - but in this instance it makes something carnal twitch inside you to have the calm, soft-spoken gentleman shatter in this way on your pussy. It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac: he was using one hand to restraint yours- so hard that you feel his nail marks, he was using the other to push your knees up until they hit your tits, he was pulling his cock out until it was juuuust the pretty, pinkish top of his shaft.

And then plunging back in.

As deep as he could go - until he’s feeling the little tightness of your entrance. Then reeling back out to repeat. And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

Nanami Kento was stabbing you with his cock nearly a dozen times a second—and he wasn’t sweet with it- he wasn’t fucking gentle. 

He was utterly pussydrunk and fucking you just like it. “Please, please, please—” Nanami’s attractive baritone hitches at the very end of his sentence, breaking into a million pieces just as he was. “Sh-shit, it’s like the deeper I go…the more I can’t- hngh.”

“Think?” You flutter your lashes up at him.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “That.”

And you can’t help but let out a little giggle—the way his flared tip rubbed your insides was addictive. He was so wiiiiide above his sensitive slit, and that was pushing forcefully into every one of your hidden spots. “You’re so close to my- hck! favorite spot, Kento. Do you remember where that was?” 

“Mmm, my darling- remember?” Nanami looks down at you with crazed eyes. “I can’t even remember my own name right now.”

“Then I’ll guide you.”

Though your arms were pinned to the bed, you’re able to careen your hips up into his. And that ruggedly handsome v-line of his was slowly growing redder at the repeated contact- to which you’re only pushing up even harder. “Just a little deeper- two inches?” You’re using your x-ray vision to map out the perfect route to your g-spot. “And then a little more- fuck, angle your hips a little more to the left.”

“Like this?” He asks. Beautiful hazel eyes almost fluttering shut at the onslaught of sudden squeezes that your cunt was blessing him with. “Fuck, how are you squeezing me even- deeper?”

“My superhuman powers?” You’re joking- joking.

But that doesn’t stop Nanami from asking- “Then does that mean you can…snap my dick off with that pussy, my darling?”

At first you’re in disbelief that such words could have possibly left Nanami Kento’s - the Nanami Kento’s - mouth. And then when it’s finally sunken in, you’re debating whether he was actually serious about it—he looked serious enough. “Ah…” Your lips part. “Kiss me.”

He does.

And as he does, that winding restraint of your legs tugs n’ tugs him ever-closer. Ever-deeper.

That bulbous tip of his was openin’ you up so fucking well—hidden nooks you hadn’t even known existed. And after a few more jerky thrusts, Nanami breaks the kiss with a rather lecherous slurp! and moves to huff against your ear. “I-is it all the way in, my dearest?”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that?” You’re chuckling before looking down using your x-ray vision once more.

“Tell me, my darling- tell me.” And Nanami Kento was always rather the stoic man—never combusting, never overreacting. But at this moment, it feels as though the longer he’s not fully stuffed in your cunt, the more and more he’s fucking losing it-

“Well…just a few inches longer until you’re gonna be- hah-” Untangling one of your hands from his, you’re running it down your core. Your womb. “-here.”

And Nanami can’t hurry up enough to pin your hands back on the mattress, replacing it with his own. He fucking moans when he realizes that - if he presses down hard enough, perhaps through your superhuman powers - you can make him feel himself bumpin’ thrusts from the outside. You continue. “But you’re actually pretty close to- ah.”

Just then your words are taking on a trilling tone.

Almost matching his in terms of neediness.

Nanami’s running his lengthy cock so deeeeep inside that he ends up rubbin’ his flared tip along either side of your channel—perfectly massaging that one spot you’ve been yearning for this entire time. It’s like a pretty target then that he’s never failing to hit over and over and over again- until you’re throbbing and raw inside.

And every one of his thrusts end up puncturing that spot. That sweet bundle of nerves that makes his mouth water- you’re shattering around his shaft every time he repeats the motion. “Deeper.” Nanami chokes out. “Deeper- now I just need you to take me even deeper. I don’t just want it- I need it.”

And pressing your legs apart with his strong pelvis- he’s murmuring as he hones in.

That target at the back of your pussy.

That gummy surface that just seemed to be calling to him.

That area at the very bottom that just seemed soaked in his never-ending precum—“I need it. I need it. I need it so fuckin’ badly.” He was slurring on his words by this point, and Nanami noses down the column of your throat. “It’s like every atom inside me is burning up. Not just because of the fuck- aphrodisiac.”

“Not just…?” You ask with widened eyes.

And he’s grinding down on the heavenly spot between your legs - so hard that the scruff of his happy trail massages your clit. And it’s such a primal sensation that you don’t think you’d ever be able to replicate—not even with your hypercontrol. “Not just.” He dips his face into the crook of your neck, hair sticking to your clammy skin. “My darling, your body’s liquor.”

Harder and harder. 

With a few more thorough strokes, Nanami’s finally - finally - bottoming out. 

You feel the moment he empties out those thick, throbbing inches with a rough bang! The velvety end of his tip swipes across your cervix- and you’re shivering at the rope of goey precum he’s leaving behind. “Sh-shiiiiiit.”

“Have I…?” Nanami’s pupils dilate. “Have I…” And he keeps fucking you in merciless thrusts.

You smile, “Why don’t you see for yourself, Kento?” He seriously didn’t realize, yet?

Nanami blinks dazedly a few times- before he’s slowly ducking his head downwards and staring at the place where you two were connected. Where your puffy pussylips were struggling to swallow down his red cock—and his heavy balls were thwack-thwack-thwacking away. And it’s enough to make his mouth water.

“Oh.”

His breath hitches as he sees that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

And Nanami falters his hips - for just a split-second - so that he could reach down and give that tummy bulge a kiss—a fucking kiss. Coming back up with the most accomplished smile- “I-I think m’close, my darling.”

“So then cum, Kento.” You’re breaking free of his restraint to throw your arms around him again. “And I’ll-”

“No.” The blond man already knew what you were going to say. Shaking his sweaty head, “I won’t let you make yourself cum using your powers, my dear—this Earthling is going to do it himself.”

So you’re keeping your mouth shut and giving into the pleasure - and on Krypton you may have had to use your physiological control to get yourself off most of the time- but Nanami was hellbent on making you feel better than he already was. He’s slammin’ away into your g-spot. He’s using his now-free hand to roll over your clit.

Again and again and again—

As many times as he needed to in order to push you towards your high - even if it meant rubbin’ his reddened cock raw against the sopping hot insides of your cunt. In next to no time; Nanami has your toes curling at the sheer amount of pleasure shooting up from them.

And you’re babbling away into the grove of his neck, “K-Kento, I’m close…”

“Please-” He sounds very much ruined by how he’s had to push his own orgasm for yours- gladly, at that. “P-please…” A ribbon of spit glides from the corner of his mouth, and Nanami pushes down on your tummy bulge using his chiselled abs. “Cum on my cock, my girl.”

You’re both reaching your highs at the same time - Nanami’s with a few more choked-up groans and the sloppiest thrusts you’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and you with a few more replays of his name and the bed frame shattering underneath you. It’s solely from using your super strength to fuck back into Nanami’s cock - something you hadn’t even realized you’d been doing.

Your brain feels completely fried by the crescendo of your high- getting every peak of it smacked! by Nanami’s ruthless hips.

Again and again—he’s pumping out scalding white globs of cum.

It empties out midway down your walls and smears once he’s hittin’ your cervix. “Cum on my- cum on my…oh, fuck.” Nanami’s pupils tremble- “Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before…”

“Mmm, me neither.” You coo up at him. Your own orgasm was taking over you nerve by nerve—flooding it with white-hot pleasure. Back arching. Knees trembling. It thrums inside of you - and you’re wondering just how potent that aphrodisiac is, because your heartbeat’s almost concerningly fast—

“S’that so?” Nanami slurs. Pressing a chaste peck to your lips as he fucks his cum inside you. “Because I’m not just talking about the sex.”

Oh.

The realization hits you like a freight truck - or maybe a block of Kryptonite. Your heartbeat wasn’t increasing just because of the aphrodisiac. Not at all.

You’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s once more, and you can see yourself doing it over and over and over again.

“Me too.”

And then after a moment, you laugh.

“Kento, we broke the bed.”

.

.

.

SUPERGIRL SAVES 160,000 AT RAINBOW BRIDGE—A TIMELINE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE’S NEWEST ADDITION.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

SUPERVILLAIN KENJAKU FINALLY ARRESTED! REVEALED TO BE BEHIND RAINBOW BRIDGE SITUATION AND SLANDER CAMPAIGN AGAINST SUPERGIRL…

“I spy with my little eye…” Shoko’s knowing gaze flickers between you and Nanami. “-a smile. Two smiles.”

Nanami’s warm gaze turns to you. “Ah, what’s there not to smile about?”

“Considering I’ve finally cleared up my name.” You respond. And it was true; ever since the highly-publicized double heroism in which you saved both Nanami and managed to prevent the Yurikamome Line accident, the headlines couldn’t get enough of your name. Except this time…it wasn’t a bitter taste on their tongues. 

Were we wrong about Supergirl? Was Kenjaku behind the hate campaign?

(Partially. You don’t doubt that that man had his fingers in every pot and scheme possible, but you don’t doubt that most of it was pure human vitriol. And you hoped Kenjaku continued seething…from Tokyo Island Penitentiary.)

It was sweet.

And you weren’t naive enough to believe that the criticism would stop immediately - or in fact ever - but that was alright now. That was fine. 

When you were you.

And you had Nanami beside you—

He intertwines his hand with yours- and Shoko pretends to gag at the sweet, sweet act. The both of you are shaking your heads at her dramatics; which you know she didn’t mean considering the cover page that she’d been staring at at that very moment.

That second headline.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

By Nanami Kento.

Underneath those words were a picture snapped from the night you’d save Nanami for the second time. 

You’re crashing through the ceiling of Kenjaku’s bar. You’re carrying Nanami Kento in a princess carry. You. You. You. Powerful and precise. And the way that Nanami was staring at you- oh, he had stars in his eyes brighter than the night sky in the background. His arms were holding onto you like a lifeline, and you were unfettered as you held him close like a star himself.

It was the very picture of heroism.

But to you, it was also…

“Love.” Shoko whispers. “You’re in love.”

And you’re opening your mouth in response - but you’re spared from answering, as you hear something in the distance—a scream. Downtown Shibuya. There was a mugging in occurrence and the perpetrator seemed to have a weapon.

You’re looking at Nanami and Shoko, and both nod as they recognize the hardened glint in your eye.

They’d come up with some believable excuse for your absence, surely. And if they didn’t…

You’re sweeping a glance at the mundane cubicles to make sure no one was watching- then ducking out of the nearest open window as fast as light. On strong summer winds, you’re flying off to save someone—and underneath that grey coat of yours flapped your iconic suit. You tear it open at the chest to reveal the ‘S’ underneath.

-it didn’t matter, anyway.

You were Supergirl.

A/N. Hehehehehe-

It was bound to happen eventually

Really, it was.

Boy lives with girl.

One bathroom between the two of them.

Boy walks in on girl half way into getting dressed.

He curses and shuts the door immediately, praying to god you didn’t see how red his face became.

His nose could have started bleeding.

Naturally, you burst out laughing.

He rolls his hangdog eyes.

Higuruma felt like an idiot, so groggy and out of it he forgot he wasn’t the only person in this domicile anymore.

He really didn’t want the first time he saw your half naked form to be in one of embarrassment. He sighs and shakes his head, composure is definitely a skill he can thank his previous profession for.

With a deep breath his face has settled into its natural mask of indifference. He can’t even scold you for the laughter on the other side of the door because it was his fault.

He stalks to the living room and plops down on the couch.

It’s not long before you are entering the room, a grin still plastered on your face.

Fully clothed now, thank Christ.

He looks up, “Sorry.”

“Bathrooms free now.” You tease, removing the towel from your hair, “But I would knock just in case.”

“Shut up.” He grumbled walking by you down the hallway.

He walks in and shuts the door behind him, exhaling before leaning against it.

It’s not long before he’s thinking about it again, really thinking about it.

He’s rock hard before the shower runs hot.

God damn you, he thinks.

He does his best to ignore it, he really does.

But the eye full he caught of your panties won’t let him.

He sighs in frustration and brings his hand down to his length. He gives himself a couple of experimental strokes before committing to a rhythm.

He goes slow at first. Mind drifting back to you and those damn panties.

They were so sexy, he never imagined you owning something like that with your boyish attitude and such.

They were a pretty shade of pastel pink, completely made of lace. It left nothing to the imagination when it came to what was underneath.

Your ass looked plumper and juicer than he imagined, he wanted to sink his teeth into the plush flesh. Smack it until it was red and welted with the shape of his hand, squeeze until he left bruises behind.

He imagines the whines and whimpers coming from your throat every time his large hand meets your ass cheek.

He’d make you count them.

And thank him after each one.

He groans leaning back against the cool shower tile, it does nothing to extinguish the fire in his bones.

He cursed himself as he let his mind continue to wander to debauched places.

He wonders what those very same panties would feel like wrapped around his cock, the soft lace rubbing against his shaft.

He’d love to cum in them and then make you wear them after.

He groans a little too loudly at the thought of you whining when his cooling cum makes contact with your heated skin as you slide your used panties back on.

“Jesus Christ…” he mutters, hand faltering just a little bit.

He also wonders if you would notice if they went missing.

I’m so fucking gross, is all he can think but yet he doesn’t stop.

Actually he quickens his pace at the thought of what they would smell like used.

You probably smell so good, so yummy, God did he want a taste, even if it was a small taste he would kill for it.

The plap, plap, plap of his hand working his cock fills the room.

His breaths become quick uneven pants, he’s trying so hard to keep quiet, he’s always been so vocal.

He groans and whines as quietly as possible but it’s so hard to keep quiet when all he can think about is your pussy wrapped around his cock.

He wonders if you would like that, him groaning and whimpering for you.

As one hand works his cock the other trails down to his balls, fondling and squeezing them lightly.

The extra stimulation has his thighs shaking.

“Hah-fuck.”

He’s close.

Tipping his head back he can’t help it when your name falls from his lips as he cums.

He gives himself a few more light strokes riding out the last of the aftershocks.

Eyes opening, tilting his head down he watches the mess be washed away like it never happened.

He almost thinks it a shame, his cum disappearing in the water when it should be inside you.

What a waste.

He runs a hand down his face in frustration at the thought, scolding himself once again for being ‘gross’

He’s just a man, a pent up, tired man.

-

He exits the bathroom, entering the living room to find you in your spot on the couch.

“I hope you didn’t find anyone else in the bathroom.” You tease.

“Sorry about that.”

You smile and start giggling again “It’s fine, the look on you face was priceless.”

He flops down on the couch dramatically with a muttered shut up leaving his lips.

He makes sure he stretches out so all of his limbs are taking over the majority of the space.

Shoving at his feet on your lap you continue you poke at him.

“Really, Hiro, you were red as a tomato.” You say through your giggle fit.

He makes an irritated noise signaling you to stop picking at him.

“Okay,okay, subject change, no mission today?” You question

“That would be correct.”

“You doing anything?”

“Probably whatever you’re about to ask me to do.”

He didn’t mean for it to come out as grumpy as it did.

“Oof grumpy old man.” You mutter

“Not old, however I may be a little grumpy.”

You stick out your tongue at him, he just shakes his head.

“Anyway! I was gonna suggest we be lazy together and watch TV all day but since you’re so grumpy I can go watch TV and be lazy by myself.”

“Oh my, I’m so heartbroken.” He rolls his eyes

You go to stand up but Hiromi uses his legs to push you back down.

“Are you gonna make me watch all of your stupid American TLC shows?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Excellent.” A soft smile comes to his features.

The two of you settle on a show and proceed to binge watch it into nightfall, food was ordered, delivered and ate.

And at some point you two had gotten close enough to be shoulder to shoulder.

At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you adjust your position to be curled up against him.

This is nice, Hiromi thinks.

Having you tucked up against him curled up in your blanket felt so right.

Like you were meant to be there.

Your breathing slows and becomes even.

Fast asleep.

Hiromi doesn’t dare move, he wants this to last forever.

His eyes still on the screen when he feels it, your hand skirting across his stomach and finding purchase on his side.

He could have had a heart attack.

The way your sleepy hand brushed against his stomach so softly and then finding its grip around his waist could have sent him into cardiac arrest right there.

You’re cuddling him.

It’s only when his own eyes start to droop does he tap you on the head, rousing you from your slumber.

“Hey, it’s 1am.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft.

You start to stir when his hand taps the crown of your head again.

You look so cute coming too, pouty look on your lips from being disturbed.

You slowly lift yourself up taking in your surroundings.

Once it appears that you realize that you’ve been holding on to him you jump back.

Not in a big way but noticeable enough to make him frown.

“Sorry.” You mumble.

Hiromi shakes his head, silly of you, if only you knew how much I was enjoying that.

“You’re okay, but I think you need to lay down.”

You nod and stand up, shrugging your blanket off of you shoulders you move to start cleaning off the coffee table.

“Go, I got it.”

You don’t try to fight it, you nod wrapping yourself back up in your blanket.

“Goodnight Hiro, I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too, goodnight.”

He watches you disappear around the corner down the dark hallway.

The domestic bliss of it all had his heart thrumming in his chest.

He could get used to this.

—

The next morning you rouse and immediately turn to your #1 addiction, your phone.

You recall last night as you absentmindedly scroll and can’t help the smile accompanying the heat rising to your face.

You felt slightly embarrassed, having woken up to find you had that poor man in a death grip.

You feel your heart race at the thought of how he didn’t push you off.

You wondered how long you two had been like that.

The thud of small paws hitting the ground brings you from your train of thought. peeking over the bed to see that Mable has had enough of your company and has jumped down..

You watch her.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as Mable so rudely pushes the door open a little too far for your liking.

Lately she has been such a queen about having access to every room in the apartment. So closing doors such as the ones to yours and Hiromi’s rooms was an act punishable by death….or loud meowing and scratching until she gains access.

Just as you are about to get up and adjust said door again you watch Mable saunter directly across the hall into Hiromi’s room. Doing the same thing, pushing the door wider than it needed to be.

You look down at your phone for half a second.

You hear him greet the small feline and it brings a warm smile to your face, then you look up.

Your breath catches, Hiromi’s door is open just enough to find him shirtless.

Just clad in grey sweat pants that ride low on his hips.

You bite your lip as your eyes catch the Calvin Klein logo of his briefs poking out at the top.

It appears he was in the midst of a small workout routine before being interrupted.

You watch as Mable jumps up on his bed and makes herself comfortable.

You do the same, settling back into your spot on your bed.

Who are you to deny a free show?

His back to the door he returns to his task at hand, you watch him push his body up and down on the floor.

You take note of two things.

The first being how his back muscles moved with each lift.

Yummy, you think before immediately cringing at yourself.

Second being the soft grunting you can faintly hear leaving his lips.

I wonder if he sounds like during- stop.

you don’t let that thought get too far.

You feel the heat run from your face to your core.

Hiromi, while having toned up and hardened in some ways from the physicality of the work he now does, is still soft in all the right places.

You almost start drooling.

You feel a little ashamed for ogling a man who has always been nothing but respectful to you

However, you’re just a woman at the end of the day.

You fight desperately with the idea of sliding a hand down into your panties to really enjoy the show.

You commit the scene before you into a little folder in the back of your mind marked ‘For later use’

Your eyes focus on his upper back, the way the muscles pull and contract with each movement.

You begin to wonder how his back would look decorated with your teeth and scratch marks.

You shut your eyes briefly and rub your thighs together.

Again you feel so ashamed for objectifying him like that.

Sighing again you finally get up and adjust the door.

You flop into the bed.

Hiromi deserves more respect than that, you can’t help but scold yourself.

Oh little did you know.

Hey, thanks for reading.

I’ve been toying with the idea of this just being a oneshot series of them stumbling through this whatever they have together.

I feel like I struggle to keep a plot. I fear boring you guys or not being able to keep things interesting.

I also feel like I struggle with the sustenance like I’m not writing enough or being descriptive enough, like I’m moving too fast.

Does this make sense?

I hope you guys still come around no matter where I take this, I’ve been having fun.

-Lee

He looked beside him and saw Y/N completely asleep. He stood up, took off his jacket, and placed it over her shoulders to cover her. He looked through her notes and Google searches, all related to the case.

He was surprised to see her phone still on and open to a messaging app. His eyes widened when he noticed a conversation in a group chat of employees from Kirara and Kinji's business.

"You worked harder than anyone else, didn't you?"

he whispered before kissing the top of her head.

He turned off her computer and phone while smiling proudly.

At 9 a.m., they were already inside the courtroom. Hiromi was wearing the same suit as the previous days. Meanwhile, Y/N had gone home to shower and put on more formal clothes for the trial.

They were still waiting for the judge to arrive, and Hiromi was already close to having a nervous breakdown.

"Relax. I'm sure Kirara is hurrying Kinji along."

"If they don't arrive within ten minutes..."

"No, Hiromi..."

She took his hands and brought them to her chest before smiling at him.

"They'll come, and we'll give it everything we've got to win this trial."

Hiromi looked at her.

He had never looked at or felt this way about someone before. Y/N had held Hiromi's attention from the very first day; over these days, his attraction toward her had only grown.

At that moment, Hiromi blinked and nodded, relaxing.

"I trust your intuition more than my own."

Hiromi moved closer with the intention of hugging her. Y/N also seemed ready to return the embrace, but the courtroom doors suddenly burst open.

"Damn it. Can't I watch my favorite anime?"

Kinji entered wearing a neon pink puffer jacket that stood out immediately and heart-shaped sunglasses. Kirara was dressed like a model, wearing a dress that exposed her back and silver belt chains.

"Y/N, please tell me those aren't our clients."

"I'm sorry, Hiromi. They are."

Kinji walked in holding Kirara's hand, followed by a crowd carrying various LGBTQ+ flags.

"We've arrived," Kirara said with a smile as she sat on Kinji's lap. "Good thing we made it in time."

"Are you trying to provoke them?"

"Defense attorney, you still don't get it."

"No, I don't understand why you've brought so many people and why you've come dressed so casually to a trial."

"Attorney, this is formal clothing."

She gestured toward her outfit.

"The more they try to hide us, the more we'll come out into the open, and the more extreme we'll become."

"That's how you end up getting sued."

Y/N elbowed him, and Hiromi raised his hands in surrender.

He pulled out some papers and moved his chair closer to Y/N's.

"I'll use your evidence. I've numbered everything. When I present my arguments, you'll just need to switch to the correct exhibits..."

"Okay."

"It's a saiban-in trial."

"Saiban-in?"

"A mixed jury trial. There are three professional judges and six citizen judges. Normally they're only used for serious crimes such as murder."

"Then why is it being used for this case?"

"They argued that it was a moral attack against traditional Japanese values. They're taking it seriously. They're going straight for the jugular."

"Are you worried Hakari and Hoshi won't be up to the task?"

"They're the least of my problems."

The judge entered.

Everyone stood.

The first phase, the opening procedure, began.

The judge reviewed the defendants' information and read the charges aloud. Then, as always, he reminded them that they had the right to remain silent during questioning.

"I plead innocent," Kirara said with a smile.

"So do I. Innocent."

"We contest the accusations. The crimes my clients are accused of are nothing more than prejudice and intolerance."

At that point, the trial was adjourned until the following month.

Y/N and Hiromi worked side by side to gain an advantage. Sleepless nights and weekends filled with work followed, along with preparing and advising the couple for possible questioning.

At the next hearing, Hiromi had begun questioning the leader of the neighborhood association.

"Tell me, Mr. Gakuganji, why do my clients threaten morality?"

"As a retiree, I volunteer to make sure kindergarten children travel safely. Whenever we passed by their café, we witnessed inappropriate behavior."

"For example?"

"Behavior that is not considered proper: excessive noise, public displays of affection, vulgar language... We always practiced Mizaru, Kikazaru, Iwazaru in pursuit of peaceful coexistence."

"I understand that you visited repeatedly during the first months after the café opened, correct?"

"I wouldn't say repeatedly. I simply passed by many times."

Y/N switched to a slide displaying photos taken from social media posts of regular customers, and Gakuganji could be seen in the background.

Hiromi pointed at the screen.

"Do you deny being the person in the background of these images?"

"Objection, Your Honor. We challenge the admissibility of this evidence. Nowadays images can easily be edited or taken out of context."

"Your Honor, there are witnesses who can verify the authenticity of these images."

"Objection overruled. Continue, Mr. Higuruma."

"Do you deny being in those photographs?"

Gakuganji remained silent, clearly refusing to answer.

"That's all."

Hiromi sat back down beside Y/N.

The prosecutor stood and approached his witness.

"Mr. Gakuganji, is it true that you were violently confronted by Mr. Hakari on September 23rd while walking with your grandchildren and family?"

"Correct. On September 23rd, while I was going to the park with my grandchildren and family during a family outing, he approached me and attacked me without reason. He hit me with a right hook, shoved me, and threatened my life."

"That concludes my questioning."

Hiromi glanced at Hakari for having kept that detail hidden this entire time.

"Relax. You're doing well."

Y/N took his hand and squeezed it, making Hiromi release the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

This couldn't become another Mr. Tanaka case.

This time there was a chance to win.

Hakari took the stand.

"Very well, Mr. Hakari. What was the reason for your assault that day?"

"Because he's a dirty old man."

"Could you be more specific?"

"Your Honor, I demand that he be reprimanded. He's attacking my client's dignity."

The prosecutor immediately objected.

"Mr. Hakari, refrain from making offensive remarks."

Hiromi wasn't sure what to do.

He looked back, and when he saw Y/N's smile, he cleared his throat and turned back to his client.

"Can you explain what happened?"

"He came around a lot at first. We didn't pay much attention because we thought he came for the tea and pastries he always ordered. But he kept crossing the line with my girl, and one day..."

Hakari clenched his teeth and slammed his fist against the witness stand.

"I already told you!" he shouted angrily at the man. "I'll kill you, bastard!"

The entire courtroom fell silent.

Hiromi could have sworn his blood pressure dropped and he was about to faint.

Once again, Y/N's gaze kept him standing.

"Mr. Higuruma, I won't repeat myself. Control your client."

"Yes, Your Honor."

For the sake of the trial and Hiromi's defense strategy, Hakari left the stand and Kirara took his place.

She was calm, and Higuruma immediately felt calmer as well. Without a doubt, she knew how to keep her composure.

"Do you admit that what your partner said is true?"

"Yes. It's true."

"Why didn't you report it?"

"I didn't want rumors spreading around the café, and I knew nobody would believe me."

"Perhaps you were the one who seduced him, and after being rejected, you decided to lie to your boyfriend."

"Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is making assumptions unrelated to the case."

"Sustained. Prosecution, rephrase your question."

"No need."

That concluded the questioning.

Hiromi had to stop Hakari from throwing himself at the prosecutor.

The judge called for a five-minute recess.

Y/N was comforting Kirara, who was visibly affected.

"He did that to plant doubt in the minds of the citizen judges."

"Hiromi, I'm sure your closing argument will tip the scales in our favor."

Hiromi turned and looked at Y/N.

His heart started racing again.

No one had ever believed in him this much.

He pulled her into a tight embrace.

"I'd like you to be beside me during the closing argument."

"I'll be by your side."

"Even closer. Having you beside me isn't enough anymore."

"I'll be closer."

She hugged Hiromi and closed her eyes.

She was blushing, and all he could do was hold her as he let go of the stress he had carried for so long.

For the entire term, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him raise his voice or even laugh at anything, despite your professor’s occasional corny jokes that you can’t help but laugh out of sheer pity. He just sat there like a statue, except for the occasional clicking of the pen that would also, quite frankly, irk you (maybe you should really reevaluate your anger issues like your friends have told you. Or maybe it's just him.

You constantly hear about the praise he receives, despite not having some courses together; always mentioned for being “brilliant” and “ahead of the curve”. Obviously, given the fact he can be quite a prick, and the fact that he is your "academic rival" as you'd put it, of course you were irritated.

He always came to lecture dressed like he had a deposition afterward. Ironed his clothes perfectly pressed, and his plain expression looked like he was bored with everything. 

That shit drove you absolutely insane.

Not to mention, that he simply seems conceited—cocky. He doesn’t greet anyone, and apparently during group presentations, he does his part and leaves everyone else scrambling. 

You hated vain people like that. Hated people that thought they were above others and acted that way.

“Interesting, Higuruma. Very interesting.” Your professor said, looking devastatingly bored. “Does anyone care to respond? Any commentary or inquiry?” Again, your professor's tone seriously sounded quite monotone. Granted, this was a 9 A.M..

Suguru, your friend beside you, shot you a glance that was practically screaming “don’t do it”. 

Suguru, along with almost everyone in the class, were already aware of Higuruma’s antics. That is who he was known as: the know-it-all that always had his hand raised.

He was also unfortunately aware of your disdain for the guy; how he aggravated you with his constant "raise of the hand" and refusal for human interaction in the hallways. To be fair, he didn’t even want to take the class but had to as a philosophy major. However, that isn’t to say he didn’t find your one-sided beef with the guy not entertaining. Just the sheer mention of Higuruma had you fuming. It was fucking hilarious.

“Y/N. Don’t,” he whispered.

Too late.

You already raised your hand with a prissy little smile etched on your face. 

Maybe it was the fact that you woke up late, got your coffee order done wrong, and the fact that you lost your train card. But you weren’t about to deal with Higuruma getting the last word like always.

You didn't back down. And you didn't want to (unfortunately, you were also too prideful to put your hand down given the fact it shot up so fast).

“Yes,” you said, clearing your throat. “With respect, Higuruma’s argument assumes that liberty is transactional—that it is something handed down or withheld depending on someone’s access to institutional power, is not liberty’s fault rather those systems.”

You noted the way Higuruma turned to look at you from the front of the lecture hall. He didn’t even look at you with disdain rather interest. His gaze towards you lacked the usual judgement it had when someone said something stupid or redundant during class and his eyebrows were pinched together. 

He was listening intently to what you were saying.

“Rousseau would argue that liberty must exist independently from power structures and when it doesn’t, that just means the social contract is broken—not that liberty itself is just leverage. Then that means, we risk reducing liberty to a tool of oppression rather than a foundational principle worth reclaiming.“

You could hear Suguru’s slight chuckle at your words, challenging Mister ‘Definitely-Going-To-A-Top-10-Law-School’. He looked at the rest of the class to notice that everyone was looking at you—and how could they not? 

You were the first person to really challenge something “the genius of the class” said. And you kind of had a point with your words? Oh, how could you. How utterly preposterous.

You shot your professor and Higuruma a smile. Higuruma tilted his head towards you almost innocently. Like he wasn’t aware that your words were dripping with malice and opposition. 

One to nothing.

Your professor went back to pacing and his expression ceased from looking bored. “You have a point, Miss L/N. Very valid challenge to Mister Higuruma and his commentary. Now back to page 466…”

Suguru snickered as he tapped his pen on the table. “That is probably the first time in the semester that someone’s gone up against him during lecture time. How nice, Y/N.”

“Yeah. No thanks to you,” you sneered, gaining post-discussion clarity.  

However, you never thought that you would really interact with Hiromi Higuruma again after that. He was an uptight know-it-all with his personality depth equivalent to white-out, and you purposefully avoided him even before all of this. Even so, he had his own pretentious clique of future law school students in his work study and internship. 

To be fair, the only moments you did was the occasional disagreement in class after the first time, however that itself was rare.

But here you were, emailed a few weeks later regarding your selection to the prestigious school journal for the political science column—and being paired with that fucker. 

The universe—or rather your professor—must hate you.

“Congratulations! You have been selected by the Liberal Arts department to co-author the semester's Political Science journal piece. The assigned topic is Civil Liberties in Post-Democratic Systems, and the writers will be Y/N L/N and…Hiromi Higuruma.”

You tapped on your phone in disdain when you finished reading the email. “I just got asked to write something for the Political Science journal piece for the LAS department,” you scoffed. "What a start to my weekend."

The setting you were at was pretty loud, dimly lit, and typical for a Friday at your campus bar. You were already a few drinks in when you got the notification alerting you of the dreaded, fucking email. 

You took a dramatic swig of your beverage and placed it on the table. “You three are smart—to some extent. Tell me why I, such a sophisticated scholar, am being punished like this.” 

Suguru raised an amused eyebrow at your reaction and laughed. “You literally got into the most competitive writing fellowship on campus and you’re calling it punishment? God, you’re such a piece of work.”

Shoko nodded, taking a drag of her cigarette. “Fuck, are you drunk already?”

You frowned and unlocked your phone to show them the email. Satoru took your phone dramatically and cleared his voice like he was reciting a Shakespearean poem at a slam poetry event. 

“Congratulations, Miss Y/N. Yada yada blah blah, selected for Civil Liberties…Writers will be…Oh...” Satoru hummed before letting out a hearty guffaw. “Are you serious? You’re stuck with Hiromi Higuruma of all people? Holy shit, these jokes write themselves.”

"Shut up," you groaned, covering your face and hitting your phone on your forehead in an attempt to look dramatic. “Now I'm stuck with a guy that has a damn superiority complex? How thrilling.”

“Awh. I’m sorry, Y/N,” Suguru said, mock sympathy dripping from his words. “You know how that guy is, but I can’t lie, this is quite entertaining.”

Satoru’s eyebrow quirked up. “The same Higuruma in your Social Justice 201 class who made Yuki cry? Didn’t he say she ‘didn’t belong in the class’ over a misunderstanding?”

Shoko laughed. “Oh my god. I remember when you told me the story about him submitting an entire paper with case citations for a damn theory class? God, I’m not in liberal arts but that sounds insane. He’s already quite the character in our stats class. Right, Satoru?”

Satoru laughed and nodded. "That guy might be a bigger piece of work than you, Y/N, and that says a lot."

You paused for a moment before really thinking; you didn’t hate the guy based on everything he did… some things were rather…

“Fuck, I can’t even lie… but that whole ‘being prepared’ thing is hot if he isn’t being pretentious about it.”

The three of your friends went silent before Satoru let out a giggle. You didn’t even catch what you said out loud until Satoru spoke to call you out.

“So…you’re sayin’ you’re into him? Ouu shit...”

Suguru let out a damn giggle at your misfortune. “You bitch about him all the time during class and now this happens to you?  This couldn’t get better.” Shoko hummed, "oh but it could... Let's just see how Y/N gets after this."

You flicked Satoru’s forehead and frowned. “No. I’m not into him, I’m into winning. I’m into being the first in that class because I need a recommendation letter from that professor.”

Then you turned to the others. “You two are really, really full of shit.”

“Wouldn’t you just need a good relationship with the teacher to do so?” Shoko asked.

You shook your head. “No. He’s putting a cap for 3 recommendation letters—or the top person in each of the classes he teaches.”

Shoko nodded. “Gotcha. So you’re into leverage? Smart, smart.”

You nodded. “Exactly. I’m gonna make him so irritated that he’ll drop out of the journal and it’s gonna be all me. Then I’ll be at that Top Three.”

“You sound like a movie villain, holy fuck.”

“Or…” Satoru said, swirling his drink.

“Oh no.”

“You seduce him.” He said, deadpan. It was quiet for a moment between the four of you, with everyone looking at Satoru like he had gained a third head.

“From all the shit you’ve ever said, Satoru,” Shoko laughed. “This might be the smartest yet most stupid idea you’ve ever come up with.”

You frowned. “You too? You’re better off watching 10 Things I Hate About You or How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days? I fear there’s no romance happening between me and that guy.”

Satoru giggled. “No, this would be ‘10 Objections On How To Seduce A Poli Sci Student’ or I don’t know. Whatever legal jargon you future lawyers use.”

“Think about it,” Suguru said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “These guys aren’t wrong and imagine if he did fall for you. This might surprise you to know, but I know some of his ‘friends’ and overheard them talk about his type.”

“His type?” Your eyes narrowed at him. Hiromi Higurumahas friends? He has an ideal type? Fuck, wait, why are you even curious about this?

Suguru nodded and dabbed some of the ash onto the little ashtray beside him. “Mhm. He’s into those political science girls. And oh my God! Look! You major in that! Well, what a coincidence.”

You snorted. “Uh huh, tough shit. You forget I minor in Economics too... Y’know, I’ve been thinking of what he reminds me of. He’s like, very Miles Edgeworth in real life—and not in a good way. In a bad way. Very.”

“But, you could.” Satoru grinned. “You’ve got the looks—because you’re pretty, no weird shit—the brains, and ability to say those weird Latin legal terms without brutally mispronouncing them. He wouldn’t stand a damn chance. You’re gonna have that guy wrapped around your slimy little finger.”

“Gross... but on some actual serious shit, I don't even think he is capable of romance,” you said meekly. “What if he’s like…Gee, I don’t know? Not interested in dating? I’ve never heard of him ever dating anyone. He’s probably better off with his books.”

You then shrugged. “Besides, he’s not my type. I’m not into over-the-top bastards who have an insanely inflated ego.”

Your eyes widened at Satoru letting out the biggest cackle of the night, his face practically turning red like you said the funniest thing ever. “Are you serious? Let’s be honest, your type is shit. Higuruma is a much better option in comparison to the other two guys you’ve dated: stupid and utterly incompetent. Let's not forget Naoya, now."

He had a point… 

“You’ve got nothing to lose, Y/N.” Shoko said. “Let’s make a bet.”

You felt your stomach drop at what she said and feared for the worst. “Uh huh. What type of bet are you trying to make?”

She leaned in and put her hand on your shoulder mockingly. “You make Hiromi Higuruma—Mister Top-of-the-Class—fall for you by the end of the semester. We’ll give you 400 bucks from all of us.”

Suguru shrugged. “I catch him taking a little look at you occasionally. A little here and there. You’re like practically a quarter there.”

Satoru snickered at your reaction. “Awh, this is so like the movies. So so cute!”

You scoffed at the proposition and at the shitty nicknames given to the guy. “He looks at everyone like he’s about to cross-examine them. Don’t start with that bullshit.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Suguru said.

“Let’s raise the stakes a bit, then.” Satoru raised his finger like a little kid attempting to call the teacher’s attention and cleared his throat. 

“Father dearest is planning to hire some undergrad student shadows for the legal department at our humble family finance group.”

You froze. “Are you suggesting…Corporate law experience..?”

While Satoru pretends to be “dumb”, he comes from the Gojo financial conglomerate. He’s the epitome of being a “daddy’s money” “trust fund” baby.

He smiled. “Precisely. It’s paid, prestigious according to some accounts, and exclusive, according to my uncle. But you already have me. He recently told me that they're planning to receive applications and well, you'll be a favorite considering you have me."

“And if I lose..?”

Shoko shot you a saccharine smile. “You do our stats homework for the rest of the semester. All of it.”

You frowned, weighing the options of attention from your potential-future legal peers to stats homework. You hate that class. It was too annoying.

Higuruma’s face flashed in your mind for a second; his stupid thin wire-frame glasses and that stupid fucking face he makes when someone says something obviously dumb in class. His cocky demeanor also came to mind, making you frown.

You let out a deep exhale. “Fine, but when I succeed—and trust me, I will—I expect all of you to kneel to me during graduation.”

They smiled. 

“You’ve got it.”

                              ──────────────────── 

When you entered, the library smelled like old parchment, the smell of wood polish, and the presumable tears of first year students getting through exams. The sun gleamed over the area of the library from the large windows overlooking the rest of campus.

You glanced at your wristwatch and looked at the time, it being 4:25 in the afternoon. 

You had emailed Higuruma during your stats class to meet when the afternoon lecture was done at the library at 4:35.

The window seat with the two outlets was bare and you decided to station there while waiting for him. 

You placed your things and were finally starting to accommodate yourself and establish your amazing intellectual dominance with your long and cluttered notes. You typed away on a starting document, sharing him on it and sipping on your sadly overpriced matcha from the cafe by campus.

However, just when you were starting to find a bit of solace in your typing and rich matcha, you felt a shift and heard the doors clash open rather dramatically.

He was here.

Your eyes shifted in front of you, where you spotted Hiromi walking towards you—walking like he just walked out of a courtroom where his client was just fucking sentenced to death. 

Yeah, that type of ominous and serious presence.

He was dressed in a dark grey turtleneck, dark colored slacks, and some expensive looking, black leather loafers from the looks of it. And worst of all, he had his stupid little leather satchel that screamed ‘future pretentious law student’.

He looked like he jumped out of The Secret History; dark academia aesthetic and all.

“L/N,” he said, acknowledging you while he set his things down across from you on the table. 

“Higuruma,” you replied, not looking up from your laptop in fear of looking him in the eye. 

A little beat of silence passed amongst the two of you where he spoke—the same pretentious authority he usually spoke with. “I didn’t expect you to be early.”

“I didn’t expect you to show up at all, quite frankly,” you muttered, taking a sip of your matcha before realizing you actually said that out loud. 

You weren’t wrong when saying that. Amongst your peers in your Political Theory class, Higuruma had quite the reputation for being neglectful to his peers when it came to group projects, or so you’ve heard.

“May I look at these?” You felt relief that he ignored your stupid little quip and you nodded, sliding your notes from class over to him. 

You felt your face get warm and looked up to see him already reading your notes; he was taking out a legal pad and fucking Levenger fountain pens. His stupid expression was neutral but focused—analysing your notes. 

How annoying.

“So, I thought we could start with outlining the major arguments and split the sections based on the scope,” he said bluntly. Despite Higuruma being your age, you felt like you were speaking to one of your professors due to his demeanor; even more the reason to mess with him.

“No foreplay?” Your voice sounded more deadpanned than usual, which wasn’t on purpose. It slipped out, causing your face to turn warm, but it proved useful when it came to being the cause for Higuruma’s expression to be anything but a stone-cold one.

His expression faltered and his eyebrow twitched; the pen he was holding had its ink bleeding through the pages of his legal pad while he appeared to be thinking on what to say to your interesting choice of words.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “...Excuse me?”

You shot him a smile: sweet and extremely fake. “Metaphorically, I meant. I was thinking of starting with a basic thesis breakdown before jumping into the actual structure of what we were going to discuss—before we get too far ahead of ourselves. Then, obviously, construct our abstract of the paper so execution can go smoothly.”

He stared at you blankly—like he didn’t know what to say again, before returning to his own notes and placing yours back to your side of the table. “Your choice of metaphor is quite…strange.”

You kissed your teeth and nodded. “Yup. I get that a lot. What can I say?”

Hiromi paused and glanced up at you, his gaze lingering a bit longer than expected for someone like him—like he was almost examining your face? You felt like a witness in court being cross-examined.

Your eyebrow raised. “Problem, Higuruma?”

“No…” he said, leaning his head onto his wrist. “Just confirming that you’re as unconventional as everyone says…”

Your smirk faltered and you leaned back in your chair. So the little bastard talks bad about you?

“That sounds like gossip. Didn’t take you for the type to indulge in that, Higuruma.” His expression was rather plain as his eyes were glued onto his screen as he wrote some things down in his legal pad.

“I’m not,” he said simply. “But your name has come up before.”

You blinked. 

What the fuck? 

You scoffed. “The hell does that mean?”

Higuruma didn’t answer, rather just turned his folder and passed you a printed outline of a running bibliography with disgustingly clean formatting of his APA citations and the precis on what he wrote. They were color coded by ideology and in alphabetical order with a key up top.

Fucking show-off.

You narrowed your eyes at him and scoffed a bit. You had barely gotten the email two days prior and he had a running bib that was 7 pages long front and back. 

“You do realize that this is just a student journal piece, right? Not a damn dissertation?”

He didn’t react, but instead, continued looking over his notes and typing some notes on his MacBook. “If you are going to write about something like post-democratic systems, it’s better to be precise and do it properly.”

You rolled your eyes at his stiff response and took the outline he placed on the table. From your peripheral, you noted how his eyes went to you and how he watched you do it.

You couldn’t help but admire the organization—how neat, logical, and useful it was. 

It was, unfortunately, useful and easy to work with.

“Okay,” you began. “I’ll take the opening section of the paper and look at Hobbes and Rousseau—some basics and classic theory. You can take modern structures. So like Hayek, Schmitt, and all that constitutionalism shit you obsess over during lecture.” You said the last part rather low in hopes that he wouldn’t hear you.

You looked up to see his expression and his lips twitched upward; he almost cracked a smile. Almost. 

“Fair.”

His tone was plain like always, but with a twinge of something else. You felt your stomach turn... For some reason you didn't feel irritated rather...

Your eyes widened a bit. “You didn’t argue.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was hoping you would tell me about the structure. It helps me really look at what you’re good at so we could work together accordingly.”

What? He was waiting for you to announce who took what? And he thinks you're good at it? Isn’t he just a prick who doesn’t take that into consideration? 

Maybe he thinks you’re competent. You both were chosen and recommended by a professor. But he just admitted to talking shit about you? 

Or maybe Higuruma just doesn’t know how to word ‘I think you’re so awesome and deserve the first spot’ properly.

His comment caught you off guard and you looked at him for a moment, his eyes already on you. 

“Careful, Higuruma. I could mistake that for a compliment.”

“I know.”

You stared at him and maintained eye contact before you dropped your gaze back to your laptop and began using the running bib he had given you for some reference. It was a mix of some classic theories from class up to some other commentaries from different professors about this topic from other universities. 

But he almost complimented you?!

Shady fucking bastard.

Minutes passed and he didn’t joke, flirt, nor comment. But you felt on edge, like if you breathed too heavily, he could say something. However, you maintained your rhythm, not speaking a word until you were kicked out of the library and you ended your meeting with a simple ‘bye, see you next class’. 

He was rather dry and had you on the edge of your seat, and you hated that with a passion.

                              ────────────────────

You felt like the sun was going to blind you. You had forgotten your contacts and dealt with your glasses, with the sun specifically shining and reflecting on the glass of your lenses.

But it felt wrong feeling that way; despite it being rather chilly outside and perfect for sweater weather. It was a nice day—weather wise.

The lecture hall for your Political Inquiry class was still locked and you waited outside, leaning against the ivy-ridden, red brick wall of the building, looking at your surroundings. Your gaze followed the occasional cyclist and jogger who went by the trail in front of you. 

You felt your eyes close and you let out a deep exhale. The thought of what happened yesterday left you anticipating—for what? You didn’t know. 

You never had the chance to properly digest the fact you actually interacted with Higuruma alone. Maybe it was overthinking but, you couldn’t help but feel rather weird about it. Despite the initial joking with your friends, in hindsight, you didn’t know how to feel.

It wasn’t an unpleasant encounter, despite his unexpected quips here and there. Maybe you could work with him. But what about the bet? You needed that recommendation letter.

“L/N?” Your eyes flickered to the ground, meeting the sight of black leather loafers in front of you. You looked up to see Higuruma, pushing his wire glasses up the bridge of his nose and carrying a textbook. “What are you doing out here?”

“I–I mean…lecture?” You stammered, feeling your face warm for no reason. “Why? The lecture hall is closed and—”

“Didn’t you catch the email? Our professor wanted to meet in the library. I was just passing by to go.” His tone wasn’t mean but dry—clinical and superficial. Like you were another stupid classmate who didn’t know the difference between political ideals.

You narrowed your eyes at him, his expression plain. “I…didn’t know. Thanks, I guess, for letting me know. Unless you’re joking with me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

You kissed your teeth and nodded. “Alright.”

You began walking down the trail and noticed how he walked beside you. The creeping heat in your cheeks returned and you felt like you couldn’t speak. 

He walked with such authority, like he was headed to a courtroom. And he smelled good—maybe cedarwood? You reached in your sweater’s pocket and pulled out your AirPods to cancel out the silence.

“What do you have so far for the paper?”

Your eyebrows raised and you hesitated. “I have a good 4 paragraphs done so far, but I’m definitely going to revise it when I get back. I’m definitely gonna add some structuralist angles and Rousseau. Then it would be much more intuitive.”

You noticed the manner in which his brow twitched. He hummed in acknowledgment to your words before he spoke up. 

“You write very…defensively,” he said looking at you sideways. “It’s not bad.”

You frowned. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m not trying to offend you. It means you’re smart in your own way.”

You fought off a smile. “Is that…a compliment?”

“An observation.” His tone was flat, forcing you to laugh out of pure awkwardness. “You’re quoting? Correct?”

You snorted. “Of course. This isn’t a damn Buzzfeed article.”

Then you saw how the corners of his mouth twitched like he was going to smile at your quip. “That’s…fair.”

You took out your AirPod from your ear and placed it in the case snug in your pocket as you walked. Maybe he wasn’t as unbearable as always. 

“You said you’re starting with Hobbes, right?”

“Mhm. Framework-wise and then I’ll tie it all together. You?”

He nodded. “Well, I’m building off that with Hayek and market structure in constitutional states.”

You blinked. “That’s…not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess something more cutthroat. That’s how you are in class anyway…”

“So are you,” he shot back plainly. Like his words were so normal in the context of who he was. 

You stopped walking for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed while your mouth was agape at his bluntness. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I haven’t not noticed the fact that you’re the only person in our Political Theory who has had something to say to my commentary. I’m pretty sure everyone else doesn’t even care to be there.”

You felt your ego rise and a twinge of disbelief. Since when was he so direct? 

“Right…so you remember what I said?”

“It wasn’t a bad argument.”

“Uh huh…I’m honored.”

The sound of your sneakers clashed with the sound of his sleek loafers on the pavement and before you knew it, Higuruma had tapped you on the shoulder, phone in hand. 

“Would it be alright if I got your number?”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words and he noticed. “Excuse me?” 

He blinked profusely and motioned his hands awkwardly. “Strictly for coordination. Email would be too tedious, especially with our course load. This would be the most convenient for the both of us.”

You hesitated for a moment before taking it. “Sure. But if you send me some political Instagram Reel bullshit at night, consider yourself blocked.”

A slight twinge of a smile graced his face before he nodded. “Noted.”

You smirked and shoved the AirPod back in your ear as the two of you walked again in peaceful silence to your lecture.

                                ──────────────────── 

“What do you think of the edits so far?” 

Higuruma is a punctual man, you were already aware of that. So much so that he established a schedule to meet twice a week every week for the next month and a half or so. 

That’s how you found yourself constantly leaving to the library once the afternoon lecture was over. And how you found yourself currently revising his part of the paper on his couch. The library was currently under renovations so you felt a bit surprised that Higuruma waited for you outside your stats class to “walk over to his place” to revise the paper. 

He had said it in such a calm and casual voice that you didn’t think anything of it. That was until you actually were in front of his apartment door, waiting for him to unlock it and enter. 

You were in your academic rival’s apartment. Alone. With him.

This was the last time you were going to revise this since the term was almost over. All that was left was submitting the piece and your final.

The actual apartment wasn’t as cold and scary as you thought. You spotted some pictures of him with his parents and what appeared to be a little novelty figure of a chess rook on a table, along with a little action figure. His apartment was also littered with bookshelves that were aesthetically organized and it was nice. 

Not what you thought. You imagined something painfully boring and beige, yet this was actually depicting some type of personality. 

You held your red pen and printed copy of your piece tightly, analyzing the structuring of his paragraphs while he did the same to yours. 

“For your Rousseau part,” he started,  “it needs a bit of restructuring. He sounds like he contradicts himself when speaking about natural liberty and civil liberty. The transition is too abrupt. Change it. Other than that, your argument is fairly strong and good.”

You narrowed your eyes at him from across the couch despite the twinge in your heart from his clear compliment about your writing. The two of you had been making final revisions for hours and you yawned, ignoring his commentary.

“Hiromi. Do you ever just turn it off? Like just relax...Okay?” Now you were full-on ignoring him, yet now, you have gotten to the point where you had gotten comfortable enough to do so. "Do you ever just... get on social media and talk shit or something? Reddit, Quora, maybe you're a little freak and you use Twitter."

His lips curved to a slight smile. “To do that, I’d need to be on social media constantly in the first place.”

You snorted. “Oh right. God forbid you don’t have the masses begging to access a piece of your intricate little mind.”

“You seem to have access just fine.”

You glared at him to which he looked at you deadpanned and covered his face with the printed paper he held. His ears were pink.

That was something in your mind too when it came to Higuruma, it was like a switch flipped.

When you had first met with him to look at the paper in the library, he was simply stoic and quite dense, dressed like he was to go to a courtroom after your meeting. But now, he still dressed like a pretentious law student, but he almost seemed like he was getting more casual. 

His attire shifted from Oxfords to casual Asics or Nike shoes, and from his knit sweaters and cardigans to sweatshirts from your college and such.

He was less blunt and ‘old man’ when he spoke to you. Now, he actually sounded like someone in your age range rather than an 80 year old professor on his 5th divorce (a.k.a, your current Political Theory professor). His tone shifted from completely academic to more human.

You had even started calling each other by your first names. 

Truth be told, you’ve really gotten quite comfortable with him.

You looked over to check the time on your phone, it being around 8:50.

“We’re probably gonna be here for a while, and I don't think you'd kick me out so suddenly. It’s the weekend tomorrow,” you said, yawning. “Let’s get some caffeine. I saw a coffee shop by here. Let’s go.”

To your surprise, Hiromi didn’t seem bothered by it. He hummed in agreement and nodded. 

He got up from the carpet and stretched. “Okay. Let me get my wallet and keys.”

You didn’t know why, but you felt your heart slightly flutter at the sound of his raspy voice. Even more so when you accidentally looked at him while he stretched and got the view of his toned lower stomach as his sweater lifted. 

It’s not like his outfit was anything out of the ordinary either; he wore his regular old purple sweatshirt that had your college crest embroidered on it and regular old jeans—however, it did look good on him. It...kinda...really did.

God, you felt like a 19th century prude. Seriously? Getting flustered over his lower stomach and boxers peeking out? Your ex-boyfriend would strip and you wouldn't feel anything but now?

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Hiromi looked at you concerned, keys and wallet in hand as he was putting on his shoes by the door of his apartment. You were still on the couch, head against your wrist and daydreaming.

You felt your face get warm and nodded profusely, grabbing your own wallet beside your phone on the coffee table and putting on your own shoes. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The apartment complex he lived in was rather quaint, taking a good 3 minutes to get to the ground level from the emergency stairs. The cafe itself was also quite a short distance—only being some 4 blocks away. It seemed familiar but maybe it was because you were familiar with the area already.

The smell of coffee beans and lavender hit you while the two of you went over to the barista taking orders. 

“What can I get you two?” They asked, to which Hiromi answered. 

“May I get a medium black coffee and a small iced matcha with brown sugar?”

“15.98, please.” 

He handed the barista his card and waited for the transaction to pass where you then found yourself waiting for the order with him by the pick-up area. 

It was so quick, you didn’t know what to say.

“You remembered my order? I must be spending too much time with you,” you joked. “You didn’t have to pay. I could have.”

He didn’t say anything and you just went on your phone to see what games you could play while you waited. You felt a strange feeling at the fact that he remembered your order; so mundane and small yet…it left you with a weird feeling. You just couldn’t explain what it was. You felt warm.

Maybe it was courtesy on his behalf. You didn’t know—just that it felt a bit casual.

You placed an AirPod in your ear while waiting for the order to be completed, scrolling through your playlists. The cafe was littered with college students in presumably similar situations to finish their own individual papers. 

Maybe it was a bit of a cringe thing, but you began humming the lyrics of the song you listened to, and then noticed Hiromi moving a bit to look at you, specifically looking at the AirPod peeking through your hair. 

“What is it today?” He inquired, making note of your habit of listening to your AirPods when you weren’t speaking in public. 

“Oh. It’s The Smiths.”

Hiromi nodded slowly before he said something that nearly shook you to your core. “May I?”

You blinked slightly at his words. 

Never did you think someone like Hiromi Higuruma—the person you were in such a weird frenemy-ship with, would ask for an AirPod of all things. Something so mundane yet so…intimate? Or maybe you were over-thinking... What the hell?

“You want one?”

He didn’t verbally respond, rather extended his hand towards you. You looked at his blank face then at his hand—big, calloused—and took out your AirPod case to which you gave him the left one and placed it on his palm. 

He gently tucked it into his ear and listened to the music resuming for the both of you. It played a song off The Smiths’s The Queen Is Dead album—one of your favorites. You looked over to see Hiromi, slightly smiling. 

It was calm and gentle. You felt oddly at peace with the man you nearly professed your hatred to at your first meeting. 

You really were calm right now, really. But then—

“You bitch!” 

Holy shit, you thought your heart was about to jump out of your chest. 

You turned around to see lo and behold, your best friends Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru appeared out of thin air. In the fucking flesh. In the cafe right by Hiromi’s apartment.  

No wonder it felt so familiar. Those three idiots lived nearby.

“No fucking way,” you muttered. 

Hiromi looked confused and opened his mouth to say something until he noticed your order was ready and walked over to get it, where your triple threat set of friends walked over to you. Except from what you can tell, Suguru was missing, and was rather, next to your project partner.

“You’re such a slut.” Satoru said mockingly, pointing at your outfit up and down while giggling like a damn moron. 

“Oh shut it.” You sneered. He was right to note your outfit—but you swear it wasn’t to seduce Hiromi. Not in the slightest. The most it did was showcase cleavage.

“Tomorrow’s laundry day, you idiots.” You heard Hiromi cough from beside you, covering his face as he turned around with Suguru beside him.

You felt on edge considering their expressions; with Suguru having a smile while Hiromi looked rather contemplative. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were pursed, almost like he was anxious.

Shoko snickered. “It’s okay, girl.”

“Well, Satoru, Shoko, we should leave these two on their date. Wouldn’t wanna interrupt.” Suguru said, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

“Study break,” you corrected, feeling your face become flushed and warm. 

Hiromi nodded and you noticed the way that your friends smiled at each other and exchanged knowing glances.

His face was turning pink.

“Okay then. Bye, Y/N. Bye, Higuruma. Have fun.” Satoru called out. Rather ominously. 

You eyed the three of them as they left the cafe and waved at you from the window. 

“Are those your friends?” Hiromi quietly asked, leaning over to see if he could still spot your friends. His hand was awkwardly placed near his face where it was slightly covered.

“Unfortunately,” you said with an annoyed smirk. “I swear that their combined IQ is the equivalent that of a carrot’s.”

You heard him let out a slight chuckle. “Gotcha.”

He handed you your drink and the both of you walked over to leave the cafe after that strange encounter. You still were sharing your AirPods with him and the melody of a random, you were pretty sure, Radiohead song filled the silence. 

You glanced over to him, who was sipping his coffee rather calmly. You felt the tension and disdain for him slowly disappear and you walked in peace. Then, you turned to him with a teasing smile and asked, “So…what do you think of my lovely friends?”

Hiromi’s lips twitched to a slight smirk. “I recognize Ieiri and Gojo from my statistics class. Then, we have Geto in our political theory class and he’s also in my public speaking class. They seem alright. We don’t really speak.”

You hummed and nodded. “Right.”

He looked over at you and cleared his throat a bit, noticing the song transition. “What song is this?”

You checked your phone and showed him the screen— the title of "High and Dry” appearing beneath the album cover plastered on the home screen.

He nodded. “It’s good. The frontman sings really nice.”

"Mhm... I like him too." Your eyebrow quirked up. “You don’t seem the type to like alternative rock. I kinda doubted you'd even like this in the first place. Like yeah, this is quite basic but regardless...” 

You snorted. He didn’t seem the type to even like music at all and came off as someone who preferred white noise instead.

His eyebrows raised and he drank his coffee. “Do I really seem that type? Tell me, what music do you think I like?”

You smiled. “Probably some shit like Mozart? Bach? Dunno. Something smart like that.”

You felt your muscles relax and felt your cheeks warm. You felt comfortable in his presence despite having thoughts back to the stupid bet you made. 

Your heart fluttered at what happened next: he laughed, like an actual laugh.

Your eyes widened as you simply gawked at him laughing. It wasn’t a quick chuckle nor a scoff, he actually laughed. 

It was a melodic sound—something you didn’t expect from him of all people. It flowed natural and smooth despite his usually tired and deep sounding voice. 

You wanted to hear it again.

“Really? I seem like that? I know you’re quite the jokester but I’m not like that.” He smiled at you, and all you did was simply gawk at him like he gained a third head.

You shrugged. “You give off those vibes. But hey, I’d love to get music recommendations from the great Hiromi Higuruma someday. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find my next favorite song.” You said, unaware of his raised eyebrow at your words. 

He didn’t seem opposed. 

“You use Spotify, right? We can make a shared playlist. We can listen to it while we make some final edits to the paper.”

“Oh! Sure.” You stopped for a second before handing him your phone where he made a blank playlist and shared his own Spotify profile. 

You took your phone back and raised an eyebrow at the title of the playlist. “Poli-Sci Journal Playlist? Is that the best you could come up with? How dry.”

“You choose then, if you have such a problem with my chosen playlist title.”

And before you were going to respond, he spoke up. “We’re here.”

The casualness between you two made you feel warm. Especially considering the fact that he was now initiating it; it made you feel like you weren’t annoying him. Like the quips you let out weren’t just one-sided. 

Like you had nothing to really “hate” on him for. You initially hated him for being dry, but as of now he was anything but.

You were lost in thought while taking the elevator to his apartment where he tapped your shoulder. 

“C’mon.”

“Right.”

Once you reached his apartment, you got readjusted onto the couch, grabbed the coasters he had lying around in the coffee table, and placed your matcha there. 

He walked over to the couch and sat by you, on his phone. Surprisingly.

You smiled and attempted to peer over his shoulder to see his screen. “Talking to your girlfriend, Higuruma?” You didn't know why that quick quip you threw at him made your chest feel heavy. Maybe it was because you were worried about that he would say... but you could always pass it off as you joking...?

His eyebrow raised at your quip and shrugged, handing you his phone. “That’s up for interpretation, I guess,” he paused and glanced at you, smiling shyly. “Here, I added some songs to the playlist.”

You took it and looked at it. “‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’? ‘About You’? 'To the End'? I think it’s safe to assume you don’t have a girlfriend, but hey. These are really good songs.” Again, your chest began to feel heavy.

“That’s up to your interpretation. But yeah, I enjoy those songs.” His voice sounded like as if he was nervous—like he was trying something new, but you decided not to question it despite it being out of character from his usual authoritative nature.

You went back onto analyzing the paper and read it—anything to avert your attention from him and his stupid face. His phone was playing the songs the two of you had chosen on the playlist. 

As of now, The 1975 was playing, a popular song of their's that you've heard on the radio before, filling the slight silence in the apartment. You loved the song—but felt anxious—you felt antsy.

Still, one thing was on your mind: why was he being so cryptic?

You sat on the couch with him, analyzing a draft paragraph on theory of fairness when you noticed his expression changed as you leaned closer. 

You noted the change in his gaze from your peripheral; the manner he leaned against the edge of the couch and the way he was just looking at your figure. It was methodical, careful—almost reverent.

You glanced back at him. His eyes lingered on the slope of your neck, the pretty shape of your lips, to finally the allure of your eyes. 

The lamplight, all warm and dimmed, softened his features. 

In the light, he didn’t look like the same harsh classmate that executed everything he did in a precise manner.

The shadows softened his features in a way that could make angels cry and he looked like a muse for a classical Roman statue. The way his pretty lips parted like he was going to say something, the way his eyes softened under your returning gaze and the way his nose looked so sharp yet alluringly sexy. 

You felt a clench in your chest at the thought, at the effect he had on you. His expression was unreadable. 

You swallowed and cleared your throat. “This is perfect now, Hiromi. I think that we did pretty good…” Your voice was a bit shaky, anxious-sounding. 

You were just blabbering about the topics covered when he suddenly interrupted you.

“You’re always so confident, L/N.“

You became stiff. His voice was lower—deeper, almost seductive. It had an edge you couldn’t explain.

He tilted his head slightly and the corners of his lips curved. “Is that to our—my benefit?”

The pronunciation of his words left you breathless—the way he said ‘my’ left shivers down your spine. 

Maybe it was the caffeine and sleep deprivation making you think in such a manner. Despite that, you couldn’t deny how aggravatingly good he looked. How much you felt drawn to him—not by lust but by the natural law of attraction. 

His mannerisms, his rhetoric, everything. His tone wasn’t deadpan, rather lifted by a charm you couldn’t explain.

You slightly smiled, your voice dripping with tease to appear calm. Anything to appear like he didn’t have such a visceral effect on you. 

“Do you want it to be, Hiromi?”

The smooth roll of his name on your tongue felt foreign, usually being said quick and easy but now having a different weight. 

“You don’t even flinch when I speak in class anymore.” His voice was calm but there was a twinge of dissatisfaction in his words. 

“You would have some type of reaction. A glance, sigh. That little frown you have when you disagree with something I want to say.”

He leaned his head against his wrist while he looked at you with an analytical gaze. He was looking at you like you were a court case he had to revise for class—same intense look. “No reaction from you anymore.”

So he does that on purpose. 

You shot him a grin. “Because why not? I have nothing of substance to say. What can I say? I only argue when needed.”

“I think I miss it,” he muttered. His gaze averted from you and you felt a pang in your chest. 

“Maybe I’ve grown” He glanced at you, your words dripping with unexpected sarcasm. “Y’know, selective silence is my new thing. Gotta keep them on their toes.”

He hummed. “It keeps the lecture interesting when you do so. You should keep doing that. I at least knew someone paid attention to what I say.”

You didn’t respond immediately and averted your gaze over to his collarbone out of shyness. Like if you kept staring at his eyes, you would start screaming out of embarrassment.

“I notice,” you murmured. “You don’t have to worry about me not listening.”

He let out a deep exhale. “You’re difficult, you know that? You say things and sometimes I’m not even sure you mean it.”

You smiled. “I mean you’re not wrong. Sometimes I just talk and talk…”

His gaze was still on you and you lightly laughed at your predicament. “I’m shocked I didn’t talk your ear off yet. I’ve been expecting you to tell me to shut up but nothing…”

“Okay. Then stop talking.”

Your eyes widened and lips parted. His words weren’t with malice or offense rather low and breathless. Like he didn’t think about what he just said. 

“That simple, hm?” Your laugh turned almost bitter, dry. He sat closer to you and you could smell his cedarwood cologne closer to the point where your senses were drawn. 

“Nothing with you is ever that simple.”

Your fingers were intertwined with your red gel pen, flicking it against the edge of your fingers as you tapped it on your knee. But with his stupid words, you accidentally flung it. 

Such a simple move like leaning forward to grab it affected him. You moved your shoulders to prevent them from being stiff and you ran your fingers through your hair without thinking.  By the time you turned over to him, you met his gaze. It wasn’t just intense, rather like he was starving. 

“Should I be worried?” You asked. “You look at me the same way you look at the documents we’re covering. You got this intense look in your eye, so I can’t help but feel a little nervous.”

He looked like he was caught off guard. “Really?”

“Mhm. Makes me feel like I’m about to be cross-examined, counselor.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply, a ghost of a laugh escaping his lips from the stupid nickname. “It’s not that…You just…throw me off.”

Your eyebrow raised in an amused manner. “Really, Hiromi? That’s not very academic of you, I fear. Not very Hiromi of you.” You shot him a meek smile, like you were unsure... and quite frankly you were. It felt as if you were tethering on the edge of him telling you to either get out, or you on the verge of pouncing on him and kissing him. Hard. 

“Yeah…I know.” He let out a small, pitiful laugh. For a moment, he didn’t look at you, rather his gaze drifted to the floor. Like he was nervous.

“The first week of class, I overheard you telling Geto that I spoke like a scary litigator.”

You blinked. “I did?”

He nodded. “Was that a moment where you spoke without thinking?”

You felt that pang in your heart again. This was too intimate, too much to bear. It mirrored a confession scene like in those movies you watched and you felt nervous. You realistically had no reason to; he was someone your friends bet on, not someone you should fall for.

“Well,” you shot him a nervous smile, “you kind of do. And you sound professional. Cutthroat.”

He stayed quiet until he hesitantly spoke. “If anything, you’re the same…”

Your breath caught in your throat. That wasn’t flirting…that was something else.

“I don’t really know what to do with that,” you whispered. 

He looked at you again with that same intense gaze. “I—neither do I…”

The pen you’d thrown earlier rolled slightly across the floor with the shift of your knee, but neither of you moved to get it.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears and felt how warm your face had gotten. 

He leaned back slightly, like he was going to speak but slightly hesitated. “I thought that if I acted like this didn’t affect me then it would carry on and not…”

“And how’s that working for you now?” you asked. 

He hesitated. “Not working. Not in the slightest.”

The silence engulfed the both of you, except the sound of the train and cars outside along with the playlist still ringing on his phone— specifically a Radiohead song. 

It was impossible to ignore how you felt. Impossible to ignore how he made you feel. So you leaned in ever so slightly; possibly an inch. 

He met you the rest of the way. 

Just like that. And you didn’t stop him. Not even in the slightest.

He tasted like the black coffee he drank, vanilla chapstick, and smelled like his annoyingly expensive, woody cologne that drove your senses on overdrive. 

His lips moved with vigor and desperation. It was a move of pure desire—different from pure lusting rather it being anticipation. 

Like he’s been waiting to do this for a while. And the way he held you was like he was afraid of breaking you.

You didn’t push back rather wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him onto you; the both of you were laid onto his couch, him on top of you while your lips moved with even more aggression. 

Your fingers clutched the hem of your jeans and his hand grazed your cheek. He pulled back slightly, looking in your eyes like he was looking for your reaction.

You shot him a half-frown, albeit flustered. “Was that supposed to shut me up?”

For the first time, you felt butterflies in the manner that he smiled at you; it was cute and sexy. “It worked. Didn’t it?”

“I’ve been thinking of doing that…” he muttered. For the first time, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so unsure and not confident in his words. Like he was anxious on your reaction and response.

You swallowed and let out a jagged exhale. “Me too…”

His gaze brightened towards you. Then you latched your lips onto his with just enough aggression to make him want more as he held your face with one hand and placed the other on your hip.

His hands roamed over your body, hesitant to feel you. You grabbed him by the collars of his stupid sweatshirt and felt his body weight and warmth against yours. 

Fuck Hiromi Higuruma. 

Him and his nonchalant demeanor, shitty awkward smile, shitty know-it-all personality. Even the way his hair was styled that day and his little wrist-watch pissed you off. 

But God…you wanted to fuck him so bad in that moment. You wanted to touch and feel all of him.

“Touch me…please,” you murmured in the heat of the moment. You looked at him, foggy glasses and flushed face. Your tinted lip gloss was smeared on his lips and he blinked profusely at your words. 

“Okay.” His hands fiddled with the front of your jeans as he slid them off. His eyes widened at the sight of your pink panties all soaked and at your beautiful toned legs. 

Hiromi looked up at you for reassurance; as if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

You smiled. “Do you know how?”

His face got redder and he blinked, slowly shaking his head ‘no’. “I—I want to try.”

“I’ll help you.” You grabbed his wrists and guided them to the waistline of your panties. His breath became shaky and you leaned forward to kiss him. 

“Do you trust me?” You whispered, eyes filled with need. 

He nodded profusely. “Yes.”

You guided his dominant hand down to your folds and clit. Your fingers adjusted his own so that his thumb was on your clit while his ring and middle fingers played with your folds—aching for his touch. 

“Oh my God…Hiro— k-keep doing that…” Your breathing became shaky as he kept rubbing at your clit and his fingers curled into you. He continued his pace while you grabbed at his wrist in reaction to his touch. 

You moved your hips to feel his fingers further as they thrusted inside you. 

Your lips latched onto his one more time; the action overtaken with lust and need, like you absolutely needed each other.

“Damn it…” he muttered, feeling the way your pussy clenched around his long fingers. 

He brought his arousal-slicked fingers and put them in his mouth, savoring the sweet taste of your pussy. 

“Fuck…You’re so damn sweet.”

Hiromi glanced at you again and parted his lips in hesitation. “Y/N? May I try something?” 

You shot him a glance and nodded. “Of course.”

Hiromi nodded, a smile playing on his lips while he leaned back, positioning his face by your bare pussy; wet, puffy, and desperate for him. 

Your lips parted as you felt him go down on you, calloused and large hands gripping your soft, smooth, lush thighs. 

“Please let me know if I’m doing okay.”

You fought off a smile at his words and nodded. You felt the presence of his tongue licking the slit of your pussy while you felt his nose rub on your clit. 

His tongue slowly entered your hole to which you gripped on his black hair in reaction while the point of his nose rubbed on your puffy clit.

Your hips bucked against his face, moving them up and down so deliciously. The sound of him slurping up your pussy drove you mad. His calloused hands gripped your thighs and his thumbs traced circles on your skin: littered with goosebumps at the sensation of him eating your pussy out. 

He ate you out like a starved man, gripping your inner thighs with more strength as he tilted his head while working his tongue. You felt your back arch as your breathing turned almost jagged, feeling his moans against your core.

“Y-You’re doing so good, Hiro…Fuck.” You shut your eyes, feeling the way that little knot in your stomach was inching towards release the more his nose rubbed your clit and thrusted his tongue in and out like he was insatiable for your sweet taste.

You felt your legs shake over his shoulders and that knot slowly undo itself; where you came and shuddered as he slurped even louder. 

“Did I do alright..?” He lifted himself up to see you; his face was absolutely pink and his glasses were resting on the top of his head. His lips and nose were glistening with your arousal and you fought off a smile at the sight.

“More than alright.” You moved yourself to kneel before him, working with the buckle of his belt and sliding his pants and briefs down. Your legs slightly shook at the foreign position but you began stroking his cock: large, veiny, and certainly girthy.

You took his cute strawberry-tinted tip leaking with pre in your mouth, licking it slightly. Your hand worked at the base of his cock, stroking it while his tip stayed in. The taste of his salty sweet cum in your mouth made you feel almost needy for more as you took him whole. 

Tears began brimming at your eyes as you looked up at him, eyes closed and lips parted as he said your name like a prayer. His breathing became more jagged and his forehead gleamed with sweat already, a string of curses leaving his lips. 

“Mm…” He squeezed his eyes shut cutely as your tongue teased his cock slightly, giving him butterfly kisses until you took him whole again. His cock twitched and you sucked him further, squeezing his thighs from how fast you were going. 

You slurped on his cock further, milking him dry from his release in your mouth. His hands gripped on your hair as you did so, his voice cracking with every whine, and you’ve never felt more aroused.

You wiped the corners of your lips and swallowed. “Now fuck me. Please, Hiro.” Your widened doe eyes looked up at him, still on your knees. He blinked, nodding to your immediate request. 

He stripped off his upper half and lifted your shirt up as well. You poked his chest for him to sit down on the couch as you unclipped your bra.

His hooded eyes were glued onto your cute breasts, perky from the cold air hitting them. His gaze roamed on your body; all bare and beautiful in the dim, golden light of his lamp illuminating the place.

“God, you’re beautiful…” he muttered, his gaze mirroring that of before: analytical except there was that hint of gentleness that seemed to overtake the rest of his expression. 

“You flatter me too much,” you murmured, climbing on top of him slowly as you felt his hard on against the inner of your thighs. Your lips met his neck as you kissed it softly; simultaneously, you felt his hands roam on your body again, massaging your ass as you grind against his cock. 

You noticed how he swallowed and touched you like he didn’t know what to do, and you smiled. 

“You’re a damn tease,” he said, letting out a breathless laugh.

“I’m aware, but I know you like it too.” 

You grabbed his cock from the small space between the two of you and stroked it slowly, giving it a few pumps. Your hips bucked up as you aligned the tip of his cock to your puffy, wet slit. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, looking at you as he followed your instruction. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you slowly adjusted yourself.

You moved your hips to the side and shifted your weight on your knees as you went up and down his cock. You could feel every pulsating vein and how lengthy yet filling his cock was to your tiny pussy, begging for him to fuck you. 

“Move. Fuck me. Please.” You said it in such a manner that your voice cracks and whiny tone almost unlocked something in him. His slow touches on your ass became rougher, with more weight and force.

His hips went at a damn near animalistic pace, rutting into you with vigor as his hands maneuvered your ass. The pitter-patter sound of your soaked thighs meeting his echoed through the apartment loudly and that alone made you whine, feeling the sticky and hot skin with every move of the hips.

“Ahh…F-Fucking damn it,” you whined, scratching at his tan toned biceps; they were so defined, strong. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you felt him pant against your warm skin. Hiromi had pressed your body closer to his, your perky breasts against his toned chest while he fucked you with finesse.

“Don’t stop, please,” he groaned, the raspy sound of his voice leaving you with butterflies in your stomach and your pussy fluttering around his cock.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—Y/N…” he closed his eyes and held you tighter, the sensation of him bottoming out only had you squeezing your eyes shut and knees bucking. It was warm, leaving you filled up with serotonin and his cum. 

You kept riding him, feeling how your release was approaching and how your pussy squeezed on him. Hiromi let out such raspy moans that it led you to quicken your pace; such alluring yet seductive sounds coming out of the lips of someone you should hate. 

“Fuck—Hiromi..!” You felt yourself soon reaching your climax and throwing your head back, wanton moans slipping from your lips as your hips gyrated back and forth slowly until you stopped.

You felt your body slump down against him, panting while a sheen of sweat decorated your skin as you both breathed heavily in attempts to catch your breath. He held you gently—with such care as if you were made of sugar, about to crumble on his fingers.

His fingertips brushed on the skin of your hips while he kissed the crown of your head. You were laid on his chest and could hear how rapid his heartbeat was—and how it was matching your own.

There was no sassy quip you could come up with nor any dramatic diss you could throw on him. It was silent between you two, except for the beeping of cars and the train outside. 

You felt your heart clench at your current state: clung to him while he was still inside you.

You couldn’t deny your feelings at your current situation. 

You attempted to get out of his grasp but he held you tighter. 

“Stay the night,” he whispered. It was such a simple offering but your face got warm again. You couldn’t.

“I–I don’t know…”

“Please, love.”

There was a beat of silence before you let out a deep exhale, his nickname causing your heart to beat faster. He spoke to you with gentleness, care. The authority in his voice that you’d gotten used to was dimmed, and your heartbeat sped up.

“Okay.”

You couldn’t deny the sensation in your chest just thinking of the vulnerable state you were in. Letting someone like him see.

You’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that you’ve gained feelings—and now face a weird ultimatum.

Give up your pride, tell him the truth, and risk not getting that rank; or getting that rank no matter the cost. 

And at that moment, you didn’t know. So for then, you just stayed in his arms, and closed your eyes. 

                               ──────────────────── 

You weren’t one to call for an emergency meeting, but this time, you had no choice but to. 

Shoko had barely sat down before raising an eyebrow at your nervous demeanor. “Something happened. Didn’t it?” Her voice was flat and deadpan. 

Satoru and Suguru were across from you and mid-sip their coffees before they exchanged a knowing glance. They both looked at you, your appearance and demeanor.

“You slept with him,” Suguru said bluntly, like he was absolutely positive and all-knowing. "...Right?"

Your lack of response gave you away and Suguru and Shoko lightly laughed while Satoru’s jaw dropped. 

“Hold up…” Satoru leaned in like he was telling you a secret and shot you a shocked look. “You fucked that guy?”

Your face burned and you looked away. “Stop...: 

“No fucking way,” he murmured, “You’re telling me you actually slept with Higuruma? You’re lying…”

You let out a deep exhale and buried your face in your hands. “I’m not lying.”

Suguru had an amused look on his face and pointed at the sweatshirt you were wearing—the law firm’s insignia embroidered on the left side of the chest. Specifically the law firm’s insignia Higuruma interned at.  

“That’s his. I’ve seen him wear it during midterms.”

You groaned and covered your face meekly. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I mean—It just happened. And now I feel like I’m gonna be sick and I don’t know what to do…”

“Probably because you like him. Like really like him,” Shoko said, matter-of-fact. 

You blinked at her like she had three heads. “What?”

“Look, you dense girl,” Suguru added, “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be spiraling like this.”

You slumped in your seat and groaned, your coffee untouched and cooled. “Look, I’ve been thinking…about ending the bet. Like no more, calling it off for good. He’s not who I thought he was and he’s really nice…”

Shoko leaned back smugly and extended her hand towards Satoru, earning a glare from him. “Pay up, good sir.”

He sighed and slapped a crumpled twenty dollar bill from his wallet into her palm. 

Suguru chuckled. “You were the one who said he ‘probably had no game’ or am I mistaken?”

Satoru pouted. “Still does but I guess his whole…melodramatic intense poli-sci vibe works…Maybe I should consider trying that.”

Shoko snorted. “Right…I’m sure every girl on campus would love to hear you rant about the philosophy behind finance bros,” to which Satoru flipped her off. 

They were teasing, sure, but none of it felt mean. 

“We get it,” Shoko continued, her tone softer and understanding. “You’re not doing it for just the game anymore. That’s understandable.”

You sighed. “I don’t even know if he feels the same way…”

Satoru shrugged. “Tell him regardless. As much of an ass that he might be, he deserves to know.”

Suguru nodded, a knowing smile gracing his face. “Worst case? He doesn’t feel the same. But now you wouldn’t have to be on eggshells. Do it.” 

You nodded slowly, your stomach churning. But even if they might be stupid sometimes, your friends were definitely right. 

────────────────────

He hadn’t texted you all week, until today. 

His message was brief, curt—“Let’s go over final revisions before the journal deadline.” Despite the paper already being turned in to the department head. 

Still, there you were: outside his apartment and cold from the wind outside. Your palms felt clammy and your hair was still wet from the shower. You did your routine the best you could for the whole week yet you couldn’t shake the feeling of the pit in your stomach residing every time you thought about him. 

That even caused you to sit all the way in the back during lecture; somewhere he couldn’t hear or see you.

“Y/N…” Hiromi looked at you, his gaze shifting from one of hesitance to one of worry. His eyes narrowed at the way you were pacing outside of his door and went to a stop the moment he opened the door. "Are you alright? Come in."

You slowly stepped inside, your body suddenly going stiff as the intimate smell of cedarwood and eucalyptus hit you. The apartment was dimly lit, courtesy of the lamps in Hiromi's living room. Yet, everything felt different. 

You turned around, standing in the center of his apartment with your arms crossed to your chest. He shut the door and watched you carefully. "You...didn't bring your laptop."

"No," you said. "I didn't bring it."

You met his gaze for a second and looked away. The view of his eyes: narrowed and emotion practically leaking from his look, made you feel guilty—sick. 

"Hiromi, just...please stop." You whispered softly. Despite the bustling city life of downtown, it was like everything was silent between the two of you, slow. 

His eyebrows slightly furrowed but he didn't move from where he was. "Okay."

You swallowed and cleared your throat. "I know this isn't about the paper," you started, your voice low and hesitant. "And I know I've been avoiding you and not speaking to you, but I didn't want to say anything until I knew how...I felt."

"There was a bet.”

He didn’t react—not at first.

You kept talking before you lost all your nerve. "Back when we got paired for the journal, my friends thought it would be funny if I got you to fall for me or to piss you off. And if I did, then they would help with getting a recommendation letter from Kitagawa."

You paused for a moment, swallowing the immense guilt you felt bubbling in your chest. "At first...I didn't think it would matter. You were so...closed off, focused. I thought it would be harmless and a joke."

You looked up and you felt your heart crack at his still expression; he was looking at you like you were a person in your lecture saying something stupid. And you didn't blame him, you couldn't. Not in the slightest.

"But then I got to know you. The way your mind works and the way you speak when you think I'm not listening and how kind you are and how you have such strong fucking integrity."

You looked to the side, to the living room, and exhaled sharply. "And it stopped being a joke. And I didn't know how to come clean without ruining everything, so I just...stopped. Because I liked—like—you. And I hated myself for it.”

There was a pregnant pause between the both of you. It was silent—but you didn't feel any hostility. Despite that, you could practically feel your pulse in your ears.

Then he spoke, calm, collected. Like he was restraining himself. 

"Thank you for telling me."

You blinked. His tone was completely calm. "Y-You're not mad..?"

He let out a slow breath. "I don't know what I am right now."

Hiromi ran a hand down his face and then looked at you again—not with anger or resentment rather something close to prostration, like he was hurt. 

"I had a feeling something was off. Especially after that...night." 

He paused and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose shortly after. "I didn't reach out because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I thought maybe you regretted it, because you were very quick to leave soon after."

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, but you literally couldn't.

"I've been thinking about it all week," he said, his voice cracking the slightest amount. "And not just that night but you. The way you laugh when you're trying not to be nervous. The way you argue when you know you're right—which is almost all the damn time. The way you snap your fingers when you figure something out."

Your heart felt like it was going to break. 

"I like you," he said, his voice slightly above a whisper. "I really like you. Even if it started with those intentions. Even if I don't know what to do with all of that. All I know is that I’ve never done something like this before—liked someone how I like you.”

Your body moved before you could even process everything he just told you and took a step forward. Then you felt his arms snake around your waist, engulfing you in his pretty cederwood scent that you liked so much.

Then, he spoke softly, face buried in your hair. "For the record, if it even matters, I was going to call you. A dozen damn times."

Your lips curved into a smile. "Why didn't you?"

"Thought I would come across as too strong or pushy. Or that everything that happened was a figment of my imagination."

You snorted at his words, despite the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. "You didn't."

He smiled too—a real genuine smile. Not those forced ones he gives professors rather one that simply came about. Your heart clenched at the sight. 

Hiromi hummed and he lightly laughed before speaking. "I guess I should go thank Geto."

Your eyebrows furrowed at the mention of your friend and he laughed again. "What the hell? For what?"

"He told me to 'man the hell up because it's obvious'. He said you liked guys who made the first move."

You slightly blinked. "So that's why you were so...confident?"

His smile dropped and a look of concern flashed on his face. "Was it that bad?"

You giggled and covered your face. "A little slutty, I can't lie."

He kissed his teeth and his lips twitched. "Damn. I tried, though."

You extended your hand and held his, intertwining your fingers together. "For what it's worth, though...I liked it. Maybe a bit too much."

And then, before you could make another stupid joke, he caught your face between his warm hands, catching your lips with his in a slow kiss. 

You didn't pull away. And you didn't want to.

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