Oh hi, didn't see you there

that’s exactly how you ended up with going on a motorcycle ride with your boyfriend wearing a scandalous skirt with nothing underneath. just your cunt against the warm leather that rumbles the slightest bit from the purr of his powerful engine.

“you’re such a brat, jason.” your whiny voice is slightly muffled from your balaclava but still sounding the perfect mix of frustrated and desperate that has jason grinning from ear to ear. you’re hearing double, the faintest echo of your voice heard from the sound system in his wine red shoei helmet that he refuses to take off.

according to him, you look hot with your helmet on, and it’s hot to see your eyes flash with faux anger before it melts away into pure desire.

you’re on the back of his bike while he stands behind you, one large hand guiding your hips up and down as you grind your weeping pussy lips and clit on his new seat.

 “oh i’m the brat for asking if you wanted to go on a ride.” he chuckles in amusement. “i thought you knew what’s going to happen when i showed you the new seat on my v-star?” his tone is almost condescending as he lifts up the back of your skirt to watch your ass and pussy lips grinding on the textured brown leather.

a low whistle is pulled from his lips. he lowers himself until he’s on his knees, face-to-face with your core. using both of his hands, he lifts your hips up and he groans when he sees the shimmering slick coating the material, with thin, stringy strands connecting to your cunt.

it’s so fucking embarrassing. you could get caught like this.

he found some multi-storey parking lot in the early evening, right before the sun set. he parked you right on the highest level where it gives a stunning view of gotham as the sun sets, all while he gets to defile you on the back of his bike.

sure, there’s only one other car parked and there hasn’t been any signs of life, but it’ll be peak traffic in about an hour.

“jason, people are gonna see!” you whine as you brace yourself on your forearms against his seat. your back is arching—traitorous of your body, really—and pushing your hips back against him. you’re dripping wet, your clit begging for any form of attention, and you know you’re going to cum if he uses his mouth properly instead of just running it.

“what’s wrong with letting people see how much of a slut my baby is for me?” he blows gently at your puffy folds, the action sending goosebumps down the back of your arms and heat shooting straight to your core. “such a pretty, pretty view, isn’t it?”

his voice is no longer clear in the sound system of your helmet now. it sounds a little faded through the carbon fibre, meaning he’s already taken off his helmet.

you look up. you know that he’s not talking about the view of the sun slowly dipping down the towering skyscrapers, painting the watercolour sky in strokes of salmon, peach, violet and fading gold. jason makes sure that your feet are supported by the pillion footrest on his bike before he’s using his large hands to pull your ass up and body down against the warm leather.

you can’t even protest, instead a long moan of relief is dragging from your throat when he spreads your cheeks apart to start eating you out from the back. he works you like it’s the last time he can. the heat of his tongue slides between your folds, swiping the sharpened tip side to side when he catches your throbbing clit. he moans when you do and the vibrations are sending electrifying shockwaves straight to your cunt.

he’s nipping playfully at the flesh of your ass, biting and spanking it as he stands up to his full height.

“jason.” his name comes in the mix of a whine and a moan when you feel his chest pressed against your back, and his bare erection rubbing against the cleft of your ass while he continues to make you ride his leather seat.

“come on, baby. be a good slut and cum all over my bike for me, yeah? it’s my good luck for the road.” you know better than anyone that it’s bullshit but you still find yourself chasing your orgasm anyway. your clit throbs as you grind down against the stitches, his hands playing with your sensitive nipples whilst his mouth busies away at kissing and nipping at your sensitive spots. “make a mess for me and i’ll let you do whatever you want with me for being so good, baby.”

jason pushes you over the edge when he moves around to wrap his mouth around your breast. between the slightly constricted air flow because of your balaclava and his ministrations, it’s enough to heighten the buzzing sensation of your pleasure to make you cum. he suckles around your nipple harshly, tongue flicking rapidly around the sensitive bud whilst the other twists and rolls. your orgasm crashes upon you—not too hard, but just hard enough for you to grip onto him for support instead.

he helps you with your helmet, taking it off and letting it fall unceremoniously to the ground before you’re yanking your balaclava off.

“fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.” jason grins, his own balaclava pooling around his neck. you use that as a leverage to yank him down to your height to kiss him. his smile only widens knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants you. without breaking the desperate liplock, he carefully shifts your position until you’re somehow lying down with your back on his tank, legs spread apart whilst propped up on his thick thighs, and his cock fully erect. “now i get to cum inside of you while i get to—”

 you know him well enough to know that being turned on and horny will not deter him from making stupid jokes.

“if you finish that sentence, i’m going to cut your balls off, todd.” your threat is met with your boyfriend gleefully grinning ear to ear as he slides his thick erection between your puffy, slick folds.“yeah, yeah, you love me. now let me fuck my baby’s sweet cunt on my bike to avoid any bad luck.”

IT HAD TAKEN SOME CONSIDERABLE TIME TO GET AROUND TO DOING WHAT HAD TO BE DONE. It wasn’t because it was difficult to say or admit, but because life had a way of stacking things up for the two of you at the worst possible time, when you needed it to be compliant. But alas, you cannot control time.

You both had held off saying anything for some time, about the things that happened, about the two of you. It would be hard to not be able to deal with it personally, so the least you could do was act like everything still was the way it was, even when you were fucking each other at night, and looking at each other like you wanted to devour the other right then and there.

You had stage management class and then some scriptwriting homework piling up, and there were deadlines you couldn’t afford to miss now that you were very close to being a junior. Higuruma Hiromi, who had just begun his new job at the law firm nearby, had to balance attending some classes and getting stuff done at the law firm. 

Between the two of you, there was always something.

So yes, it had taken a while to say anything about it. 

But that’s the only way you could do it on your own terms.

Still, this was the kind of “it takes a while” where people could at least find themselves giving understanding with some time. The kind that made it seem reasonable to go and nod it off as acceptable, so long as it was perfectly, appropriately timed.

But the truth was, you hadn’t been trying to meet that standard at all. If anything, you don’t particularly care to give it that much time. It really didn’t need it. You weren’t dating these people that seriously.

People fall in love all the time, things happen all the time, it can't be helped. Who has the right to judge when it is appropriate to be there to love, to feel that overwhelming feeling of wanting to be with someone they feel like they love?

No one. No one had that right, not one in this world deserves to pass that judgment. Any sense of their morality would fall apart rather quickly once you point out how they too were hypocrites, anyway. Half the people in the dorm, in the university, sleep with each other, get in adventures with each other, even when they have partners.

You and Hiromi were just two of them.

And you just happened to fall in love.

You chose to be with each other, that’s all.

That’s certainly why things moved rather quickly after that. Within a few months or so of the two of you being together in secret, law major Higuruma Hiromi had ended things with his ex right then and there, the first time he saw her during a break. 

You didn’t hear it from him first. Of course you didn’t. That’s just not how he works, and certainly, gossip travels quicker than your new boyfriend’s words do. And most of the time, you really don’t have the chance to talk anyway, with how much you desire to be tangled in one another.

Someone from his law department beat him to it, someone whom you had become close to at one of your mixer parties. She came rushing to you the moment she did get the chance, clearly unable to keep the hot gossip to herself, especially knowing how close you and Hiromi were, as “friends” to the world.

The two of you sat there drinking your milk teas. You were intently listening as she spoke, her tone caught somewhere between being stumpified and intrigued, almost like she couldn’t decide if what she’d witnessed was immensely bold or just outright stupid.

“He just came out and said it, [name]!” she told you, still shaking her head. “Loud enough for everyone to hear, just like that.”

You didn’t interrupt her, you just kept nodding as you stirred your drink. She seemed to sigh, as she let her elbows rest on the table as she put her palms at her jaw, locking it there as she tenderly shook her head. 

“Poor girl got broken up with in one go, you know?” she continued. “There wasn’t even any build-up. No easing into it. He just went, ‘This isn’t working out. It’s over.’ And then he just… walked away.”

You didn’t need anything else.

You could already see it.

You even wanted to laugh.

Higuruma Hiromi, standing there in his well fitted suit, his posture straighter than a ruler, with the same unreadable expression you find him using on a cross-examination exercise. His dark eyes slightly narrowed in that way he got when he was certain of something. 

His voice level, almost monotone, as he laid everything out exactly as it was in his head. He doesn’t find any time needed wasted on sugarcoating. Even people he works with in the law firm think he doesn’t do cushioning when a fall comes.

Just the truth, as he saw it.

It was so him that it almost made you sigh.

You know it didn’t go over well with the girl.

You lifted a brow slightly. “What happened next?”

“She chased after him around!” the girl said quickly. “Like, immediately. And then he turned around and—” She paused for effect, clearly enjoying this part a little too much. “—she slapped him.”

You blinked once. “…She what?”

“Full on, like BAM!” she said, gesturing dramatically. “Hard smack, across the face.”

There was a brief pause as you let that settle. Then you exhaled softly, something faintly amused pulling at the corner of your lips. “…Considering how he talks, I guess that makes sense. That does sound like him. He would end a relationship like that.”

She laughed, relieved that you weren’t reacting badly. “Right? That’s what I said!”

The next day, you did the same as him. Or, well…not quite the same. You sat your boyfriend down in his dorm room, already knowing how the conversation would go before it even started. You knew what to do.

There was no anxiety twisting in your stomach, no rehearsed lines running through your head. Just a quiet certainty that this was overdue. He seemed to know it too. He slouches on the couch as he rubs the back of his head.

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” he said before you could even start.

You take a breath before you nod. “Yeah.”

He leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he let out a small, tired laugh. “About time.”

That threw you off more than anything else could have. “…You’re not mad?”

“I mean, not really….I’m not innocent either, I’ve been seeing other girls too.” Your boyfriend admitted to you. He glanced at you, expression more resigned than anything. “We haven’t been right for a while. You know that.”

“I do.”

“So this?” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “I know this is probably for the best.”

There were no raised voices, no accusations thrown back and forth, no desperate attempts to fix something that had already fallen apart. Just acceptance. Just two people acknowledging something that had already ended long before either of you said it out loud.

“I’m sorry about all this.” you said anyway.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I think I’d be more upset if you stayed. I’d also be more upset if you tolerated being miserable when I’m happy around other women.”

You snicker. “I would have dumped you outright, you’re right about that.”

He laughs at your remark. “I suppose that’s why this is right.”

What he said sat with you for a moment before you nodded, a quiet sense of relief settling in your chest. It didn’t feel like losing something. It felt like finally putting it down. There was no reason to deal with that for any longer than you needed to.

When you saw your new boyfriend Hiromi that day again, it was him finding his way into your bedroom, as you lay on the bed, your head resting on the headboard lazily, your hand resting on a book you were enjoying. 

He comes in as though he himself is the tenant. His school bag already kept away beside your own on your school table. He takes off his suit jacket and rests it on your vanity chair. Soon enough, he removes his silver watch and places it along your bowl of jewelry. He looks at his face in the mirror and purses his lips in a tight line. 

When he turned his cheek, the first thing you noticed was the faint mark on his face. It wasn’t obvious, at least not to anyone else who might have missed it. But because you knew about it, you can tell there was something rousing to be something at his cheek. And likely tomorrow a small bruise. Still, it wasn’t anything make-up couldn't fix.

“…She slapped you, huh?”

His hand lifted instinctively, fingers brushing lightly against his cheek before dropping back down. “…Yes, she did.”

“It seems like she hit you knowledgably.” You tried not to smile. You really did. But it was too hard to resist. “You probably deserved that, though, honey.”

His dark gaze flicked toward you, unimpressed. “I don’t believe I did.”

“You broke up with her like you were presenting a case, didn’t you?”

“I was clear and concise.” He sighs, loosening his tie. 

“You were blunt.”

“I was honest, sweetheart.” He whispers to you, smiling. “Thought you would have known that by now.”

You crossed your arms, studying him. “There’s a difference, you do know that, right?”

“I don’t see one.”

“…Of course you don’t.” There was a brief pause before you shook your head, a small huff of amusement escaping you. “Yeah, that checks out.”

“She’ll find someone quickly.” He tells you, rolling his eyes. “You know how these things work, right?”

“Well, I suppose you’]re right.”

His attention shifted then, his expression turning more focused as he looked at you. “…And you?”

“What about me?”

“Did it go the same way?”

A quiet laugh slipped out of you. “Not even close.”

He waited, clearly expecting more. “Go on, speak. I’d love to hear about it.”

“No slapping, no yelling, no anything. He’s been seeing other girls already.” you continued. 

Hiromi couldn’t help but raise an intrigue brow. “Well, the apple certainly isn’t falling far from the tree.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh shut up. We were already over. We just hadn’t said it to each other yet.”

“And when you did?”

“He agreed, almost immediately.” You say as you lower your book down. “I mean it’s incredible. I thought he would put up much more of a fight. He seemed to be the type to do that, you know?”

That seemed to catch him off guard, if only slightly. “…Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to understand something deeper beneath your answer. “…I see.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. The contrast between the two situations lingered in the space. His ending is sharp and abrupt, yours quiet and mutual. Two completely different breakups. But at the end of the day, it really didn’t matter. You got the same result. The result you both wanted. 

You tilted your head slightly, a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Yours sounds more dramatic, though.”

“It wasn’t intended to be, sweetheart.” Higuruma Hiromi replies to you slowly, almost  too absentmindedly.

It was like the word sweetheart had slipped out without him thinking and all at once, almost like the word was just as natural as the breath that comes straight to his lungs. You looked at the way his darkened eyes dilated. He moves closer as he speaks.

The mattress dips slightly under his weight as he settles near you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric between you. His strong hand braces lightly beside your thigh, not quite touching, but close enough that you’re aware of the feeling of him, in that very second.

“Still, honey, getting slapped is an experience.” you murmur, your voice quieter now, a hint of amusement threading through it. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

He exhales softly through his nose, something almost amused flickering in his expression, though it never quite reaches a full smile. “.....Is this a genuine offer?”

“Who knows?” You smile at him naughtily.

“You’re quite a spirit tonight, aren’t you?”

“Hm, that’s why you like me so much.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t move away. Instead, he stays right there by your legs, ever so close, ever so grounded in the proximity between you and him. Everything about the moment felt steady, almost in a way that feels heavier more than it was ever without pressure.

Your smile lingers as you look at him, and further along the quiet moment, it just instantly softens, shifting into something quieter. The teasing edge fades, replaced by something more thoughtful, more aware. It was now almost something so private and intimate, a look that only belongs for him and because of him.

With him this close to you, with his presence filling the space so easily, consuming you, it’s harder to pretend this is just the same as before. Because it never will be. You have claimed him as he has claimed you. You were his and he was yours. 

Everything has changed.

You had forced this change.

Nothing was sweeter than this.

If this was sin, then it was delicious.

Your fingers shift slightly against the sheets, brushing near his wrist without quite closing the distance. You can feel the tension there, controlled, restrained, like he’s always holding himself back just enough. It makes you wonder, if he even realizes he’s doing it.

Your thoughts falter for half a second. You find yourself looking at him, almost as if you were trying to make this moment yours, as though you were trying to lock it away from the world. There was nothing reasonable about how intensely you felt as you looked at him. Yet this feeling settled its way in your heart.

You knew it was the same for him. It has to be. And it always has to be. You don’t think you can bear not having that same sparrow gaze meet your own every single time. You just couldn’t. Not when he has made a home into your existence.

“…It was enough.” you say softly, though you’re not entirely sure if you’re saying it for him or for yourself. “To feel judgment, to see everyone be hypocrites. Just to have you here, like this.”

His gaze shifts slightly, catching yours. “It is, isn’t it, sweetheart?” he replies just as quietly.

And the way he says it. He says it so calmly. Almost as if he was far too certain about this, about you. Perhaps more than you were. His tone felt as though this was his everything. This moment has become something that is made up of his entire universe. 

Higuruma Hiromi has changed. He knew that much. But every single bit of his morality had shifted. You had burnt everything under the sun that had been the compass to his soul and twisted it, made into something that had never been.

You had made him.

You had created him.

And he wants it this way.

Higuruma Hiromi's heart raced as he gazed into your eyes, the intensity of his feelings reflected back at him. He knew he was lost, completely and utterly consumed by you. Without thinking, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. 

You moan against his lips as he slowly wraps his hands around your hips, pulling your head from the headboard and onto your pillow. You slowly wrap your arms around his shoulders, all the while deepening the way your lips embraced.

His calloused hands started their march and roamed all over your body, from top to bottom, touching and exploring as if he couldn't get enough, even when he had already memorized your body. He broke the kiss between the two of you, both the set of your orbs shining against each other, pleasure burning in its pressure point.

“You’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart.”

“Am I really?”

He smiled. “You’re everything I want in this world.”

“Already making promises, huh?”

“It’s not such a bad thing.”

You place your hand on his face, your thumb tenderly touching where he had been slapped. “Well, do well to keep them.”

It wasn’t long before he leaned in once again and started kissing you. A moment’s notice, you could feel the way his hand slid between your legs, earning a moan against his lips. It didn’t take long for him to find your entrance and circling it with his fingers.

Hiromi's fingers slowly pushed inside you, stretching and filling you as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort. Your head threw itself to the side, the kiss once more breaking as he expertly pushed up and down, trying to assess your comfort. 

When he felt you relax enough around his fingers, it was then when he began to move them, pumping his fingers in and out of your heat. You could feel the pleasure build little by little. He knew too well now, knew too well where you liked his fingers to curl or when you wanted him to keep going deeper, shallower.

It felt too good.

His strong fingers.

They’re everything.

His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive bud, earning a plethora of pleasure-ridden sounds from your lips. Hiromi leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck as he fingered you deeply. 

"You feel incredible, sweetheart." he murmured against your skin. "So tight and wet for me already, and it isn’t my cock just yet, hm? Such a good girl, you are."

“But I know you want more. You’re a greedy little wanton, aren’t you? Shall I keep doing it, sweetheart? Do you want more?”

You couldn’t help but cry out at his words. He wasn’t wrong. You do want more. He had made you want more. He let out a silent laugh, his eyes beaming in pleasure. It wasn’t long before he added a third finger, scissoring them.

Hiromi's other hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you in place as he pleased you with his fingers. "I can't wait for more, sweetheart." he said hoarsely. “I’m eager to make my way loving you like this, being greedy with you over and over.”

You gasped as Hiromi's fingers slid deeper inside you, your hips lifting instinctively to meet his touch. "Ahh...Hiromi, honey….Fuck." you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “It’s so good.”

He kissed along your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. "It feels too, you’re too good.” you whimpered as he added another finger. “Oh my god….’romi, honey. It's almost too much..."

“You can take it, sweetheart. I know you’re a good girl.” Hiromi's thumb circled your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. "Shh, don’t worry, I've got you.”

He pumped his fingers faster, deeper, over and over. It wasn’t long before he started curling them tighter, letting them hit that sweet spot inside you. You could feel your legs trembling and your breath came in short pants as he brought you closer to the edge of your pleasure.

"Please...I need… fuck, fuck. It’s too much—" you cried out, unsure of what you were asking for. Hiromi's eyes darkened with desire as he watched you fall apart on his hand. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart." Hiromi urged, his voice low and husky. 

He continued to pump his long fingers inside you, his strong thumb pressing firmly against your clit. You could feel his sweet drift against your skin. You could feel your body arching more and more into his touch, chasing the pleasure he was giving you.

"I...I need you." you gasped out to him, breathless. “Please. I need you…Need your cock inside me. Please, honey..."

He groaned at your words, his own arousal straining against his pants. "Fuck, I love when you beg for me, sweetheart. Love it when you’re so desperate for me like this." he said hoarsely, feeling the heat burn all over his body.

He slowly withdrew his fingers from your sweltering heat. He pressed kisses all over your body, multitasking as he found himself quickly shedding his clothes. You watched hungrily, wantonly as he revealed his muscular body and thick, hard cock. Hiromi positioned himself between your legs, the head of his dick pressing against your entrance.

"Look at me, sweetheart.” Hiromi commanded you. "I want to see your face when I enter you for the first time."

You locked eyes with your boyfriend as he slowly pushed his hips forward, watching as his thick length slid into your tight heat inch by inch. You both groaned at the sensation, throwing your head to the side as your bodies trembled together with pleasure and anticipation.

"Fuck, you're so tight, sweeheart." Hiromi gritted out lowly against your skin. "You’re so perfect for me, so perfect around my cock."

You could feel yourself feel overwhelmed, your tears falling thoroughly against your warm cheeks. He had paused when he was fully seated inside you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He presses small kisses, wiping the tears away.

"Are you okay?" Hiromi asked softly, concern etched on his face. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Let’s just wait a little bit, if you need it, okay?”

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "More than okay, honey." You whispered hotly against him. "It feels incredible. Please, move..."

Hiromi smiled at you as he began to thrust slowly, his hips rolling against yours as he set a steady rhythm. He leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, swallowing your moans as he filled you completely.

Your boyfriend’s warm, passionate kisses grew more urgent as his thrusts became deeper and faster, his hips snapping against yours with increasing fervor. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

"You're mine, sweetheart. Only mine." He growled possessively. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

His hand slid between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight circles. Hiromi's other hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you in place as he pounded into you relentlessly. Your nails dug into his back, scoring his skin as you clung to him desperately.

"Hiromi! Yes….fuck, fuck. Too good—I'm yours!" You cried out,  choking in the drool that spurs out of your lips in pleasure. "Only yours! Please...fuck, fuck. I'm so close..."

He groaned as he adjusted himself slightly, his thrust still reaching deeper than before. It wasn’t long till he felt your walls starting to flutter around his cock, signaling your impending orgasm. Hiromi all but redoubled his efforts, determined to send you over the edge before finding his own release.

"Come for me, sweetheart. I’m here, it’s okay to let go. Ah, fucking hell—" 

With a final, powerful thrust, Hiromi pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with pleasure as you screamed his name. Hiromi followed soon after, his own release flooding your insides as he groaned loudly against your neck.

He pumped his hips slowly, milking every last drop from his cock as he rode out the aftershocks of his climax. He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and covered in sweat. Hiromi pressed gentle kisses to your face and neck, murmuring soft words of affection against your skin.

It wasn’t long before you could feel the way his body collapsed besides you, his breath still uneven as it fanned warm against your skin. For a moment, neither of you spoke. A moment passes before the room is filled only with the quiet aftermath. 

There were only soft breaths, the faint rustle of sheets, the lingering heat between you. Higuruma Hiromi shifted first. His hand came up almost instinctively, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face, his touch gentler than anything he allowed himself outside of moments like this.

“Easy, sweetheart.” he murmured, voice low, steadier now.

You let out a small, tired laugh, eyes still half-lidded. “You’re the one who needs to take it easy.”

“I am, don’t worry about me.” he replied simply. “You should go and pee first. Wash up a bit.”

“Give me a moment.”

“Do you need help getting up?”

You shake your head. “I’m alright, don’t worry.”

You sat up slowly, lowering your legs onto the floor, before standing up. You try your best not to stumble as you walk towards your bathroom slowly. You sat down on the toilet bowl patiently waiting for the pee to rush out. 

You didn’t take long in there, because within five minutes, you had washed and cleaned yourself, walking back fully naked. You went to your vanity to take some lotion and started rubbing it on your body.

Higuruma Hiromi slowly walked back in the room just in time, dressed in your mint colored robe, carrying some sandwiches he made for you and some cool water. You smiled as you sat up back from bed, watching him walk towards you.

“You didn’t have to.”

He shakes his head as he hands you the water. “I have to. It’s my job, as your boyfriend.”

You smiled as you took the water, drinking it carefully. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” He says, kissing your head. He puts the plate of sandwich on your lamp table, where your morning pill was already out. “Drink as much as you can.”

You put the water just beside the plate of the sandwich. Hiromi lays back on the bed beside you, still in the robe. You looked at him as you leaned against his body, following suit. The two of you look at each other tenderly, almost too in love. 

After a second, he leaned over, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over you both, tucking it around your shoulders with quiet efficiency. Then he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, then your jaw and then the corner of your mouth, each one slower than the last. You smiled widely.

“I love you, sweetheart….I really do.”

The words settled warm in your chest, heavier than everything that came before it.  You exhaled, turning your head slightly toward him, your tender, warm fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt. 

“…You always say that after.”

“I always mean it, and you know it.” he said.

You huffed softly, but there was no real argument in it. For a while, you just stayed like that. The two of you close and quiet, your legs tangled under the sheets, his loving hand resting at your waist like it belonged there.

Eventually, you shifted, stretching slightly before settling back against the pillows. “You know, honey.” you muttered, voice still a little hoarse. “You’re basically living here at this point. Look at you, you’re wearing my robe.”

Higuruma Hiromi didn’t react immediately. 

Which, in itself, was suspicious.

You furrowed your brows.

You glanced at him. “…Hiromi, honey. Focus.”

“I spend a reasonable amount of time here.” he said to you, looking around. “I can see some of my law books here. Wait, is that my medical law notes? So that’s where I left it. Did you know I had to rewrite it, sweetheart?”

You pointed to your drawers. “You have clothes in one of my drawers, honey. Some of them are full blown suits.”

“That’s for convenience.”

“You have a toothbrush here.”

“…Efficiency, when I accidentally fall asleep here.”

“You fell asleep here three nights in a row.” 

“That was circumstantial.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m practical.” He argues back to you.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head before dropping back down onto the pillow. “You practically live in my dorm. Don’t you see?”

There was a pause.

You waited for him to speak.

He takes a breath.

“…Then maybe we should just move in together.” He says to you casually.

You blinked, your head turned slowly to look at him. “…Excuse me?”

Hiromi met your gaze evenly, like he hadn’t just said something completely insane. “It would be more efficient.”

You stared at him for another second, finding yourself snickering a little while later. You leaned to the side, taking a sandwich he worked hard on. You take a bite. “Hiromi, honey.” you said, barely holding back your amusement. “We’ve only been dating for a while. Don’t you think it’s unwise?”

“I’m aware of that, sweetheart. I was there.” 

“And your solution is to move in together?”

“It’s a logical progression, isn’t it?” He raised a brow at you. “I mean we like each other enough.”

“It is not a logical progression.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering you. “I already spend most of my time here.”

“That doesn’t mean we sign a lease together, honey. That is at the very least semi-permanent.”

“It would reduce redundancy.” You hand him your sandwich for him to bite in. He snickers before taking it from you and biting onto it. He handed it back to you, you bite down too. Chewing, he continued. “Besides, aren’t we semi-permanent?”

You laughed outright this time, covering your face with your hand. “You’re insane.”

“I’m being realistic, sweetheart.”

“You’re being a law student….” You shot back, swallowing down, looking at him. “There’s a difference.”

A small pause followed. He smiles. “…You’re not opposed to it, then? I didn’t hear a no.”

You lowered your hand slowly, eyeing him. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s part of the point.”

You narrowed your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “…We are not moving in together just yet.”

“Yet is not a no.” he repeated.

You groaned, turning away from him and burying your face into the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

His hand found your waist again, pulling you back toward him without effort. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

“I already answered it.”

“You deflected.”

You huffed, but didn’t pull away, settling back against him with a quiet sigh. “…Give me some time.” you muttered back to him.

He smiles softly, leaning in before giving you a small kiss on the lips. “…Alright.”

It wasn't an agreement, yet.

But it was close enough.

And for now, that was enough.

YOU TRIED TO HOLD BACK FOR A LITTLE WHILE. But you were just a human being. It didn’t take you long to find yourself in this reality. What started as passing comments, those half-jokes about toothbrushes left behind and clothes that somehow never made it back to their original place had suddenly turned into something a little more real. A little more deliberate.

And before either of you could really question it, you and Higuruma Hiromi found yourselves apartment hunting in Ikebukuro. It made sense for the two of you. Conveniently placed between your departments at the university, close enough that neither of you would have to go too far out of your way.

Doing this means that there won’t be anymore late-night walks back to separate dorms, no more deciding whose place to stay at, no more packing and unpacking the same things over and over again. You had both gotten tired of the back and forth. This was easier.

“This one’s too small, isn’t it?” Hiromi says to you. 

You stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed as you looked around. “It’s adequate, isn’t it?”

“It barely fits a couch, sweetheart.” He says as he finds himself looking around. “You need your own space, I need my own space.”

“We don’t currently own a couch.” You pointed it out to him, wagging a finger. “I don’t think we even needed it.”

“That’s not the point, though.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need a budget.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yes, we do. We’re students. I work and—”

“You forget I do have the money, right?” He points it out to you. “I can pay for it wholly.”

You shake your head. “I want to contribute.”

“You contribute by being with me. And you do a lot for me already. Let me worry about the payments.” He says to you, walking towards you and taking your hand. He squeezes it. He smiles. “Let me do it for you, for us.”

You turned to look at him, pouting, your cheeks hot. You found it impossible to argue with him, especially when he’s like this, holding your hand, being this close. His eyes mirrored yours, full of love for you. It was far too much.  

“You’re impossible to apartment hunt with.”

“I love efficiency, sweetheart.”

“You have no vision.”

“I have priorities. And it’s being with you at the same home, quicker.”

You sighed, already moving toward the next room. “Your other priority is whether your desk will fit, isn’t it?”

He laughs, placing his hands on his pocket. “That’s an important consideration.”

“And what about my things?”

“They will also fit, don’t worry. Buy as many as you want with my card.”

You shake your head at him, laughing. “You’re impossible, aren’t you?”

“Impossible, but yours and yours alone.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a smile. “I know.”

With him being completely unreasonable about it, constantly insisting, with a straight face, that “budget isn’t a real constraint” while casually pulling out that black card of his, you found yourself with a furrowed brow, quickly realizing there was no point trying to keep the search to smaller locations. You decided to go big.

“You’re not helping, Mr. Higuruma.” you told him flatly, pouting.

“I’m removing unnecessary limitations, sweetheart.” Higuruma Hiromi replied, as if that explained anything. “If anything, I am helping.”

“It is necessary. Normal people have budgets for this!”

He all but laughed about that. He kissed your cheek, his hand at the small of your back. “We are accounting for quality for our life together, sweetheart.”

“You’re accounting for chaos, honey.” You shot back, already rubbing your temples. “I do not like it. It’s a headache.”

He rubbed the small of your back. “Well, sweetheart, let’s bear with it a bit together. It’s a small sacrifice for happier days.”

You sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

In your free time, between classes and rehearsals, you sat down with your laptop and did the most you could with what you had. Listings, locations, rent ranges, commute times. You pulled everything together, sorting through what felt like an endless number of options in Ikebukuro. It was tedious.

But also…strangely satisfying. You were seeing your life come together in front of your eyes. And that made you happy. You were happy to imagine the days you would be together, enjoying the hard work that would live to you living side by side.

So you bore with the tediousness of it all. You built lists and properly organized them. You even color-coded at some point, though you refused to acknowledge how far you’d gone until it was already done. By the time you showed it to him, it wasn’t just a list.

It was a full breakdown of your future.

“These are the top eight, honey.” you said, turning the screen toward him. “Closest to both our departments, reasonable space, decent pricing and I swear, don’t argue with me about that. Oh, the red highlight is for good reviews, don’t skip those.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the screen. “This is a lawyer’s work, sweetheart. This is a well built case.”

You smirked at him, far too proud of your hardwork. “Aren’t I? Now, focus! The other ones are there too.”

He smiled at you, flipping through the pages. “And what’s the yellow highlights?”

“Oh these are backups. Smaller, or slightly farther, but still workable. They’ll fit your desk, don’t worry.”

“Okay then, any more thoughts I should know about?”

“Oh, so much more, honey.”

“Then talk about it more.”

And that you did, for the next half hour. He didn’t interrupt. Of course he didn’t. He just listened to you explain it in detail. He focused on you, on your passionate ramblings, taking in everything, his expression unreadable but attentive in that way he always was.

“This one has better lighting but thinner walls. This one’s more private, but the commute’s longer. This one’s perfect location-wise, but the kitchen is—honestly, it’s tragic. But we’ll certainly make it work! Well, I’ll make it work, don’t worry.”

“…Tragic, huh?” he repeated.

“You’ll understand when you see it.”

“…You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

You glanced at him briefly, smiling to yourself. “Well, it’s our life together. I want it to be good for us. You aren’t the one excited for it, honey.”

He looked at you and smiled. He left a lingering kiss on your cheek. “Then thank you for making the effort, sweetheart.”

Over the next few weeks, whenever your schedules allowed it, you went to see them. Always together. Walking side by side through the streets of Ikebukuro, sometimes with your hands brushing, sometimes fully intertwined without either of you acknowledging when it happened.

It became routine on your time off from your daily life. Day after day, you found yourselves in appointments with agents. Sometimes it was a quick meeting, sometimes longer. You give a small polite greeting, taking your shoes off at the door. 

The real estate agent gives a pitch, you patiently listen, they show you around. When that was over, you found yourself looking around and starting to go ahead and asking your list of questions here and there.

“Is the noise level bad at night?”

“Are utilities included?”

“Has there been any recent renovation?”

But as always, the law student Higuruma Hiromi was…thorough with everything and anything that was within each place, each appointment. It was painfully thorough, that it would take longer than the hour you and him were promised together.

“What is the exact lease duration?”

“Are there any penalties for early termination?”

“How often are maintenance checks conducted?”

“Has there been any history of structural issues in the past five years?”

You watched as the agent blinked, slightly caught off guard. “…I can check on that for you, Mr. Higuruma.”

“Please do. We’d like to know all of them, before we gamble away a signature and a hefty sum on a two year lease. Which you put on your website.”

The agent looked flustered. “O–oh, of course.”

The agent excused himself as he types away a number and starts a phone call. You nudged his arm lightly as the agent stepped away. “You’re interrogating them.”

“I’m asking necessary questions.”

“You sound like you’re cross-examining a witness.”

“They’re providing information. It should be accurate.”

You shook your head, though there was a small smile tugging at your lips. “Remind me never to lie to you.”

“That would be advisable.”

It was probably through his thoroughness and your pickiness that made it take longer than expected for you two to find the place you wanted to start your new lives together.  Every place had something that you both didn’t like and therefore nitpick. 

Too small. Too far. 

Too expensive. Too cramped. 

Bad lighting. Poor layout. 

Questionable neighbors.

“You’re being too picky, honey.” you told him once, arms crossed as you stood in yet another empty living room. “We’re never going to find a place.”

“It lacks practicality, sweetheart.” he replied, pointing at the latest one you viewed. There was now a big cross on it. “Let’s be honest, it wasn’t all good.”

“It’s fine!”

“It’s inefficient and you know it.”

You slump on the chair exhausted. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re compromising, which isn’t bad at all. But doing that at this moment, at our home together, you can be a bit more picky.”

“I’m being realistic!”

You sighed. “…We have different definitions of that.”

He smiled at him. “That’s why you love me, don’t you think?”

You stared at him, sighing. “…Next one.”

Despite the annoyance you felt about it, and the rare arguments about it, the two of you kept looking. Because as frustrating as it got, as many times as you walked out of a place only half-satisfied, there was something steady beneath it all. 

That was the belief of your future together.

But as luck would have it, your patience does get rewarded.

It happened on a day that wasn't particularly special. 

There were no big expectations for the two of you, especially after the last appointment ended up in a disaster. So going in for this appointment, there was no “this might be the one” feeling as you walked up to the building. If anything, you were already half-prepared to add another cross to the list and move on.

“This is the last one for today, honey.” you muttered, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Noted, sweetheart.” He says, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

You glanced at him. “…Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He smiled, as though he was innocent at all. 

“That tone says otherwise, mister.”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re imagining things.”

You narrowed your eyes, but the agent was already unlocking the door, beaming at both of you. “Please, come in.”

The moment you stepped inside, you were stunned. There was no sudden realization, no overwhelming feeling. There was only that feeling of comfort you had found when you were in Hiromi’s arms, during the quiet of the dull night, almost embodied in this 3LDK high rise apartment.

The space wasn’t overly large, but it was substantially sized. Much of it was modern design, almost closer to a Nordic home than what you both would have liked. But it wasn’t that bad that you found yourself thinking it’s the worst thing ever. 

The layout made sense, which was important to the two of you. It was open enough to feel comfortable, structured enough to feel intentional. Light filtered in through wide windows, soft and natural, settling into the room like it belonged there.

You took a few steps forward without thinking. “…Oh.”

It slipped out before you could stop it. Behind you, Hiromi stepped in as well, his raven colored gaze already moving, taking everything in with quiet precision. You could practically see it in his eyes, in his movements. 

He liked this one.

“The lighting is good, don’t you think?” Hiromi found himself saying, his hands in his pants pocket. “It’s good enough for our reading nights.”

You glanced at him. “…You noticed that too, huh?”

He gives you a soft smile. “It’s the first thing I noticed.”

You walked further in, peeking into the kitchen. “…Okay, this one’s not tragic.” you admitted.

“That’s an improvement from the last time. You’re going to enjoy this a lot, sweetheart.”

You ignored him, already moving toward the next room. The bedroom wasn’t the largest one,  but it was enough. It felt comely to you. It was enough space for both of you without feeling like you were both confined but just enough room to think you’ll feel warmth in its intimacy. 

You turned back toward him. “What do you think?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, Hiromi walked through the space once more, slower this time, more deliberate. One of his hands released from the pocket. Before long, he let it be brushed lightly against the wall near the window, his raven-like gaze lingering just a second longer than usual.

“…Hiromi, honey, what is it?”

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re always thinking.”

He shrugs. “And it’s usually beneficial.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m evaluating.”

You stared at him. “That look says you came to a conclusion. The question is what it would be.”

He exhaled softly, looking at you, as though you caught him red handed. “…It’s good.”

You blinked. “Just good?”

“It meets our requirements, doesn’t it? I think it’s swell. There’s two other rooms we can make into our own private spaces. I can see a sizable dining room, you can hold your social parties there. I can bring Kento over for study. It’s nice.”

“That’s your version of approval? I might need something more informal from you.

He looks at you for a moment and sighs, before giving you a small soft smile. “…I like it. I like it very much, sweetheart.”

That caught you off guard. Because he didn’t say things like that lightly, not when he has the highest of standards. You looked around again, slower this time, taking it all in for the first time since you both got here. 

The light. The space. The way it didn’t feel like you had to force yourself to imagine living there. Certainly this place will change, you will redecorate, make it your own. But that didn’t matter right now. That can come later. What mattered more in that moment is that this is your home. And finally, you and Hiromi fit in together.

“…Yeah.” you murmured, looking at him, smiling back. “Me too.”

IT WASN’T ALL EASY, BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN IT WASN’T ENJOYABLE. Living together wasn’t something new to you. You’ve lived with so many roommates before this, so you knew what it was like to share life with someone. But this is a whole different thing, a whole new world to explore for you. Well, for both of you.

You weren’t just living with another roommate. This was with your partner, your boyfriend. It was something else. It had made you nervous, of course. You had stayed at each other’s dorms back then. But this was living together. Being around each other all the time.

It was nerve-wrecking, trying to get the tempo of your life right. But having Hiromi here all the time, living the experience moment to moment with you, even clumsily,  it reassured you. It reassured you that you were doing what you could.

HIguruma Hiromi was far busier than you half the time. He woke up earlier than he had to, prepping for his class, prepping for his internship. You don’t know how he does it, and how he wasn’t exhausted by it all. But he made an effort to be discreet about getting up and not waking you.

There would be extremely rare times when you’d wake up to the quiet sound of him getting ready in the mornings, the soft rustle of fabric of his suit, the low hum of the coffee maker and the sizzling of the pan as he made breakfast for the two of you, one which you could reheat later.

In the days he left earlier, he would leave before you were fully awake, pressing a brief kiss to your temple and proceeding to whisper sweet nothings that you only half-registered in your sleep. Then he would quietly write a note and be on his way.

Though, there would be times where you’d be the one leaving first, since you have a modelling gig, or you have a play at university, or you have a casting call. You would be screaming,  rushing out the door with your bag barely zipped, calling out a quick goodbye as he glanced up from whatever he was reading

“I’ll be late, okay?” you’d say to him, barely audible as you ate the toast on the way out. “I’ll call you if I need you to pick me up!”

“I’ll be here, sweetheart” he’d reply, fixing his glasses as he smiled. “I’ll be here.”

Simple as that.

You know you’d have a home to come back to.

And him, to come back to.

Evenings were quieter, and in your opinion, more enjoyable. At times you would be cooking dinner, if you got home first, which was more the usual situation. You’d wait for him sometimes, sprawled across the couch or your shared bed, scrolling through your phone or reviewing lines, the soft ticking of time passing in the background. The door would click open eventually. You’d glance up.

“You’re home.” You greeted him with a small wave, smiling. “I was just finishing dinner.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, sweetheart.” He says to you, getting in hurriedly. He removes his shoes far too quickly before he places his coat and his bag on the couch. Hiromi kisses you in the You laugh, before watching him bounce about and take an apron. “There was that god awful client who refused to give into his wife’s demands about the divorce.”

You raised a brow as you stirred the broth. “Oh? What was it about?”

“Something about how he’s not giving up until she admits she cheated.” He shakes his head as he starts prepping the soba. “The head lawyer nearly jumped off the table to attack the man, we had to pull him away.”

You gave a small whistle. “That’s insane.”

“It’s even more insane that the man even thought he had an argument.” You watched as he started heating them up in hot water.

“You better not let the soba get soggy!”

“I’m gonna try. But if I fail, soggy soba, it is.”

“Hey, I like them firm!”

Other nights, it was the opposite. He’d be the one waiting for you to get home after a long day of auditions. Sitting at the table, or on the edge of the bed, or sometimes just standing by the window, arms crossed as he watched the street below.

You finally pushed open the apartment door, the quiet click of the lock echoing through the small entryway. Your entire body aches from hours under the brutish nature of the most disturbingly artificial lights shining down on you, smiling on command, being thrown around on command, being slapped on command, repeating the same lines again and again until they stop feeling like your own voice.

Audition rooms always feel the same to you. More often than not, they were too cold or too hot, too dim or too bright, and full of people pretending not to judge you while judging you completely, with the fakest smiles on their faces and at times the worst frigid frowns on their faces.

You close the door behind you and lean against it for a second. Your new apartment feels like a relief to be in. Everything about it is familiar, and feels truly like home. The endless smells of freshly brewed coffee, the appearance of stacks and stacks of legal papers, and the faint ink scent of markers, pens and highlighters.

Higuruma Hiromi is exactly where you expected him to be at this time of night. At the small table by the window, surrounded by a fortress of casebooks and loose pages, sits your third-year law student boyfriend, suppressing a yawn, his reading glasses finally resting around his charcoal colored hair.

The yellow desk lamp throws soft light across the table, catching the frames of his glasses as he scans a page with quiet intensity. His sleeves are rolled neatly to his forearms, tie loosened slightly like he forgot about it hours ago. There’s a pen balanced between his fingers. He’s underlining something with the same seriousness most people reserve for life-changing decisions.

You stand there watching him for a moment, so still in your silence, watching him carefully. Somehow the sight of him, like this. So focused, so calm…it makes the weight of this horrendous day settle in your bones all at once.

He notices you without even looking up. “You’re home already?” he says, voice even. “Thought you would have called me to pick you up, sweetheart.”

Then his eyes finally lift from the book. He takes in the smudged makeup around your eyes, the way your shoulders are drooping, the slow tired blink you give him.

“…….Was the auditions alright today?

You drag yourself further into the apartment, kicking off your shoes halfway across the floor. “Seven.” you groan. “Seven auditions today, honey.”

Hiromi’s eyebrow lifts slightly. “That sounds statistically inefficient, isn’t it? Your agent really is working hard trying to get you to book.”

You collapse dramatically against the wall for a second. “I repeated the same monologue so many times I forgot what my own voice sounds like. So many demands on the tone and they dismissed me anyway. Ugh.”

He studies you carefully, his expression shifting. It was subtle but noticeable. The sharp analytical focus he usually wears while studying softens around the edges. “You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted, honey.” you mutter to him. “I just wished I had just stayed home today instead of having to deal with all of it.”

Without thinking much about it, you shuffle over toward him. Hiromi turns a page in his textbook just as you reach the table. But just before he can react, you drop straight down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around him as you rest your head on his shoulder.

The chair creaks loudly in protest. For a brief moment, Hiromi completely freezes. His pen is still mid-air, with his law book still open, and yet that didn’t matter at this moment now. His dark eyes turn to you, his mind still registering the situation. He sighs softly, looking at you.

“…You’re heavier than my criminal law textbook, sweetheart.” he says flatly.

You groan and immediately bury your face deeper into his shoulder, your features disappearing from his sights. “Wow. Thank you. I feel so supported with all of this, honey.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, sweetheart.I’m sorry.” he replies calmly. “I hope you know that you can carry on making me feel like your bed to plop on any single time.”

You hit his arm and he lets out a groan. He was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just let you get closer to him, with your arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders, your cheek pressed against his shirt. 

The fabric smells faintly like detergent and coffee. It’s warm to you, and it’s welcoming. Comforting even. Being in Hiromi’s arms was very different from the harsh studio lights and polite rejection you spent all day dealing with. Everything about your boyfriend was comforting. Everything about him felt like home. 

Hiromi’s hand hovers awkwardly in the air for a second like he’s unsure what to do with it. Technically, he should probably be studying for his exam on his criminal procedure. Technically, letting his exhausted acting major girlfriend occupy his lap during peak review hours is not the most efficient use of time. 

He sighs quietly in that moment, trying to gather all of his strength to take care of you. It took a moment but he dropped everything and immediately let his arm settle around your back. His hand rests between your shoulder blades. 

“It was such a rough day, wasn’t it?” he asks, pressing a kiss on your hair. “You did a good job today, sweetheart. You do it every single day. I’m so proud of you. You did everything you could.”

You mumble into his shoulder. “One of the other casting directors kept interrupting me on another audition. If my manager didn’t pull me out of there immediately, I would have attacked him.”

His thumb begins rubbing slow circles against your back without him realizing it. “Oh my darling, I’m really sorry.”

“Then that other one asked me to cry on command.” you continued weakly, pouting. “Like I’m a faucet. He kept pressuring me. He was rude.”

“Were you able to?”

“No!”

He hums thoughtfully. “Then they requested an unreasonable demonstration.”

You lift your head slightly and look at him. “That’s not how acting works.”

“That’s how logic works, sweetheart.”

You stare at him for a second. Then you start laughing quietly at first, then louder. The sound fills the small apartment. Hiromi watches you with a faint hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. You slump against him again as he picks up his book again. He adjusts slightly so the chair doesn’t tip over. He puts his glasses on his eyes once again.

“Are you seriously studying while I’m sitting on you?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“Rude.”

“I have a criminal law exam, sweetheart. Please bear with me.”

Your eyes drift down to the open textbook. “Are you reading while holding me?”

“Yes, I need to do it.”

“That’s multitasking.”

“It’s necessary if I want to have a good high paying job to take care of us.”

You pout. “I could do that too, you know? I’m a model and I will get more money once I land a big role.”

He smiles, pressing a small kiss at your temple. “I know you will. But let me do it first, okay?”

“You already do that.”

“Well, let me do it some more.”

You sigh contentedly and relax completely against him. For a moment the apartment is quiet again except for the rustle of pages and the scratch of his pen. Hiromi glances down at you over the rim of his glasses. Your eyes are half-closed now.

“You should rest.” he says.

“I will.” you murmur. “Right here, in your arms.”

He considers this. From a purely logistical standpoint, this position makes studying slightly inconvenient. From a personal standpoint, however….He could only sigh and then smile. His arm tightens a little around your waist.

“…Very well, darling.” he says quietly. “Don’t drool on me, though. My books are precious. And I just got this shirt.”

You glare at him. “I do not drool.”

“That acting isn’t gonna fool what I see every day.”

“You know what, fuck off.”

He laughs.

You roll your eyes.

He lets out a hum.

Your voice is already drifting. “So this counts as therapy, right?”

“No.” he shakes his head. 

You peek up at him. “No?”

“This, my dearest sweetheart, it's something different.” Hiromi says, tapping his pen against the book before setting it aside. “This counts as providing counsel to a distressed client.”

You grin weakly. “And what’s your legal advice, mister future lawyer?”

He looks down at you, expression calm but warm in the quiet way he rarely shows to anyone else. “Rest, and a lot of comfort in my arms.” he says, kissing your cheek this time. 

"Is that so?"

He smiles as his fingers continue tracing slow circles along your back. “…Hm. The court will reconvene tomorrow. So get some strength, okay?”

You pout. "Okay."

He looks at the calendar. "Tomorrow's white day too. Let's go out tomorrow. I'll take the day off studying."

You looked at him, tenderly. “I love you so much, honey.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

AS YOU MELLOWED INTO YOUR NEW LIVES, YOU FOUND LIVING A LIFE THAT BLEED THROUGH THAT BUSY SUMMER. You enjoyed living the life you had. Perhaps more than you expected you would, and certainly more than what the world expected you would. But that was how it was, living like a normal couple, so utterly spell-bound by endless love, in the heart of Tokyo. At least to the two of you. 

Everyone envied the two of you for it. How could you have done it, and maintained something like this for so long, for nearly a year and a half, without losing yourselves into it? That was often the question that people asked you against the loud booming echoes of music during your house parties.

There was a quiet kind of pride in it for the two of you, pride in the rhythm you and Hiromi had built together. The mornings that once felt uncertain became the utmost routine in your days ahead. The nights that used to stretch endlessly with doubt now ended in the familiar warmth of his presence. It was all too good. And it was just as much the realist thing in your lives. 

And maybe that was where the danger began.

Because comfort, as warm-hearted and gentle as it is, as much as it is what we want in life, comfort has a way of softening your edges. It lulls you into believing that what is stable will always remain so, that love which was once secured no longer needs to be fought for in the same quiet, deliberate ways it once did. 

You didn’t notice it at first, how easily you began to sink into that ease. How both of you did. You told yourself it was natural. After all, what else were you supposed to do but enjoy the life you built with the most important person in your life, the person you loved? 

Love was not meant to be a constant struggle. It was not meant to feel like something you had to chase every single day. It was meant to be lived in, rested in with the security of having a home to return to, a warm body to embrace, share loving words with, enjoying a good meal with, a good night's rest with. 

And more than that, you and your dark haired boyfriend believed firmly that loving someone did not mean losing yourself in the relationship. You agreed on that from the start. It’s why you never tell each other everything. 

You held onto that idea like a principle, something immovable in your own lives. Two people, two separate worlds, all trying to do their best to learn how to exist side by side without one consuming the other wholeheartedly.

They must find balance. They must learn the steps of each other’s rhythm, moving not in competition, but in harmony. Otherwise, what would be the point of it all? What would be the point of sharing a life together?

But somewhere along the way, and you didn’t notice until it was far too late that your belief which you held so closely to your heart, thinking it so truly to be the counter balance of your worlds, had all but begun to blur into a haze.

Balance is not something that maintains itself. It is not a state you think you reach, as though like a state of nirvana and then keep forever. Like everything in life, it changes and it shifts. It demands attention. It demands the need to be recalibrated. And the moment you assume it will hold on its own is the moment it begins to tilt. 

You didn’t think you were in danger of that, not in this relationship, you believed. You trusted Hiromi. You trusted that the steadiness you found in him was something enduring, something unshakeable. He trusted you just the same. 

There was no reason to doubt it, you think to yourself. There was no reason to question the way things had always been between you. You would still find your way back to each other at the end of every day, still collapse into shared laughter and quiet conversations, still exist in that space that belonged only to the two of you.

That was what you believed.

But life, as it always does, pressed harder.

And still, like always, demands change.

Coming along that winter time were tighter schedules. There were more demands for longer hours. Expectations that did not bend, instead it remained so strident and stiff like mountains.  It was indifferent to your needs, no matter how much you needed them to. 

Your days became something you endured every waking moment rather than something you lived to experience. Your university productions become tedious to you. Immediately after that, you’re rushing to rehearsals as it bleeds into real casting auditions.

Half the time, the modelling gig’s free meals remain untouched as you read the script for your next audition. Almost every single time, your sleep is taken away from you, rest coming only in fragments that never quite felt like enough. 

You told yourself it was temporary, that this was just what it meant to chase something bigger. But the more it dragged on, the more it led to overwhelming feelings that you wished you didn’t feel. Feelings that you knew would cause more harm than good. It felt too much to bear with all  of it, and you hated it.

Higuruma Hiromi was no different.

At the end of the day, he was a man too.

Every single day, he found himself drowning.

Drowning in their expectations and his wants

Within the past few months, the firm took a liking to him and what he could offer to cases. They had offered him the opportunity to do more work, which would allow him more experience in the real act of the practice. This however meant he would sacrifice time with you, time for himself, for his wants and his needs. 

He was conflicted, very much so. But each and every time, you would either give him a smile and tell him that it would be fine, that you have something going on for yourself too or you would not be there at all. He would send you messages, sure. But many of them came with late responses and or no responses at all.

And he could not confront you about it at all. The firm asked more of him with each passing week that came, as he tried to balance it with his university classes. It was endless. Endless files brimmed on the table he occupied, ink all over his fingers, packets of a week's worth of food jumbled into a trash bag. He felt like he was stuck in a zoo, with no place to go.

Without either of you realizing it, there was less and less of him left to bring home with him in those days that passed by. But there wasn’t much of you to give back to him to call home when you weren’t even there to be by his side.

More and more, the two of you started missing each other in ways that didn’t feel urgent enough to fix. Coming home to an empty apartment that still carried the faint trace of his cologne, like something that lingered just out of reach. 

Finding a cup of coffee gone cold on the counter, the lone evidence that he had been there, but not anymore. The stain of the coffee remained there, waiting to be cleaned and emptied. Just beside the water bottle you had neglected three days ago, still full of the water you never got to drink.

Yet the two of you were still lying on the opposite sides of the same bed, separated not by distance, but by timing, by the world that yearned for more of you than you could yearn for each other. Always. And that kept the two of you wide awake.

One of you always arrives too late, leaving too early. One of you was always leaving, and the two of you are never staying. It was too much, to remember wanting everything and then not even having the time to want it or to live it.

You couldn’t remember how many spoons of sugar he needed on his coffee, he doesn’t remember how you liked your eggs fried. He doesn’t remember the type of socks you liked, you don’t remember the sort of ties he wore.

It didn’t even help when you actually had time together. When you were together,  it wasn’t the same as before. Everything was there. The place was the same, the room was in its perfect condition. And yet, everything around you felt like it was running out of time. 

The road to each other felt thinner by the second. Like something stretched too far, pulled gently but persistently until the space between you began to show, and diverge. Diverge in ways you didn’t even wish for.

“You didn’t call me today.” you said one night, your voice softer than you intended, almost swallowed by the room itself.

Hiromi barely looked up from where he was loosening his tie, exhaustion written plainly across his face. “I was busy with a case.”

“I was too, with a shoot for a magazine, I mean.” you replied, too quickly. “But I still thought about it. It took five minutes to call—”

Your words made him pause. It was not enough to turn to you fully but enough that you noticed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

And there it was. You can tell it wasn’t anger, at least not yet. Still it was something. Something sharper than indifference. You sat up, the sheets shifting quietly beneath you. “It means I miss you, Hiromi. And I don’t think you realize that I do.”

He exhaled, slow and measured. It was almost like he was choosing his words carefully, biting his tongue as hard as he could, holding back something he didn’t want to say. Because he knows he can’t take those words back when they leave his mouth in venom.

“You think I don’t miss you?”

“I think that you….” you said, and for a moment your voice faltered. “I think that you don’t have time to.”

Silence settled between you then, heavier than anything either of you had said. Because it wasn’t entirely fair. But it wasn’t entirely wrong, either. You knew that too well. Higuruma Hiromi finally looked at you. You can tell there was something conflicted in his expression. Frustration, yes. But underneath it, something more fragile. Something weary from the depths of his soul.

“What do you want me to do, sweetheart?” he asked, quieter now. “Walk away from everything I’ve worked for these past few years?”

You shook your head immediately. “That’s not what I’m asking of you and you know that.”

“Then what are you asking?” he pressed, and now there was something raw in it, something rough in its edges. “Because it feels like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. And when I give it, it doesn’t seem to be worth having for you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. In an instant, he feels like he understood what he said. He opened his mouth but all he could do was lower his dark gaze, face crestfallen in the devastation of words that were hastily said, with such carelessness. 

The words hung there for a long while. You tried to open your mouth, but your lips kept shutting back closed. You could feel the way your heart skipped a beat, your hand fell onto the pleats of your skirt, crumpling itself into a tight fist. 

In that moment you realized all at once that this wasn’t just about missed calls or late nights or empty apartments. There was something that was growing in between the two of you. A space growing between who you were as individuals and who you were together.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. This was a feeling you never thought you would feel here. Your fingers tightened against the fabric of your skirt, your knuckles paling as you tried to steady yourself back into the same reality.

“That’s not…” you started, but the words came out thinner than you intended. You swallowed, forcing yourself to try again. “That’s not what I meant, Hiromi.”

“I know,” he said quickly. But he still didn’t look at you. His jaw was tense, his shoulders drawn in as if bracing against something unseen. “I know that’s not what you meant.”

But it didn’t sound like he believed it. Or maybe it didn’t sound like he believed himself. Silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t just heavy, but you could feel how brittle it was, how rough it could have been. 

Everything about that moment felt fragile, almost like something that might crack if either of you said the wrong thing next. You forced yourself to stand, even though your legs felt unsteady, even though part of you wanted to stay exactly where you were and pretend this moment wasn’t happening. 

“When did it start feeling like that?” you asked quietly.

That made him look at you. And for a second, you saw it. You saw something unguarded within him, something almost startled, like he hadn’t expected the question to be something you would go ahead and be blunt to ask him.

“…I don’t know.” he admitted after a pause, voice lower now. “Maybe when I started feeling like I had to choose.”

Your breath caught. “Choose?”

“Between everything else.” he said, exhaling as he dragged a hand down his face. “Work. University. You. Myself. It feels like no matter where I am, I’m neglecting something else.” He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “And somehow, I keep getting it wrong, I keep getting you wrong.”

“That’s not fair, isn’t it?” you said, stepping closer despite the tightness in your chest. “You’re not getting it wrong, neither of us are. You’re just…we’re just—we’re just tired. We both are, beyond our limits with everything.”

“But that doesn’t change anything, [name].” he replied, sharper this time. At least not at you, but at the situation itself. “Being tired doesn’t make it hurt less when I see that look on your face.”

“What look?”

He hesitated. And that hesitation told you everything. “…Like you’re disappointed in it all. Like you can’t deal with this life with me anymore.” he said to you, finally meeting your eyes with that sadness he was pushing down. “It hurts, [name]. Far too much.”

You shook your head immediately, the motion almost desperate. “I’m not disappointed in you.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, and this time there was no edge, no defensiveness. It came out raw, something almost uncertain. “Because I see it. Every time I come home too late, every time I miss something, every time I can’t give you what you deserve—”

“Stop it. Just….” you cut in, your voice breaking just slightly. You closed the distance between you then, reaching for him before you could second-guess yourself, your fingers curling lightly around his wrist. “Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

He stilled under your touch. 

He leaned against the couch.

His eyes are still on yours.

“I’m not asking you to be more, honey.” you continued, softer now, your grip loosening but not letting go. “I’m asking if we’re still…here. With each other. Because lately it feels like we keep just barely missing.”

Your thumb brushed against his skin, a small, unconscious motion. “I don’t feel disappointed in you, Hiromi. I feel…” You faltered, searching for the right word, something that wouldn’t break under the weight of what you were trying to say. “…I feel lonely.” 

That was what it was.

Not anger. Not resentment.

Loneliness, sitting quietly abandoned.

Higuruma Hiromi’s expression shifted at that. There was something in him, in his grievances that started to feel some sort of relief and all at once something that was hurting. His shoulders dropped, just slightly, as if the tension he’d been holding had nowhere left to go.

“I didn’t know it got that bad, sweetheart.” he said.

“I don’t think I did either.” you admitted.

Another silence followed. Hiromi moves out of the sofa, before moving towards you. He kneels right in front of you. He takes a moment before taking your hands into his own. They felt cold, probably from how cold the summer evening was this time tonight.  

“I don’t want to lose this, sweetheart.” he said after a while, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to, honey.” you replied instinctively, a ghostly smile on your lips. “I’ll be with you, all the way while.”

He looks at you as he takes in your words. Before long he rests his head on your joint hands, trying to let his warmth bring you back to life. You let out a small sigh as you felt tears fall from your eyes, marring your joint hands tear by tear.

Higuruma Hiromi notices it all, he does.

And yet he could not bear to lift his head.

He felt shame dwell into him.

He made you burst into those tears

And he still couldn’t look up to face you.

HE STARTED TO THINK ABOUT HIS PROSPECTS IN THE LEGAL PROFESSION. The more he allowed himself to sit with it, the more he found that he hated it. Perhaps not in a loud or impulsive way, but it was quieter, something that settled deep in his chest and refused to loosen its hold. Almost like how one would not see a snake come for one’s neck, till the snake’s skin tightens against the throat to death.

It was not simple dissatisfaction, nor was it something he could dismiss as exhaustion. It was the slow, creeping realization that the path he had committed himself to no longer felt like something he had chosen with certainty, but something he had followed because it had always been expected of him.

He remembered being a child and looking up to his parents. Higuruma Hiromi had been born of privilege, a silver spoon on his mouth. He was expected for greatness, one that shined favorably on both his parents, who themselves set the path he had to walk on too.

Both of his parents had built their lives in medicine and the sciences. Their work had made them quite a fair bit of fame in the field, which resulted in the medical empire they have today. They were strident people, disciplined, exacting, and unwavering in their expectations. 

From the outside, it had always looked admirable. Stability, prestige, a life that made sense to everyone who observed it. But growing up within it had been something else entirely. Their presence in their only son’s life had never been loud in the way most people would describe domineering, but it had been absolute. 

Every decision made was not argued. Instead, they were guided and they were corrected, pushed into a child whose brain was almost like a sponge, absorbing everything and anything they would like him to. There has always been a right direction, as long as it's their way. Deviation from it was treated less like rebellion and more like error.

For a long time, Higuruma Hiromi had learned to move only within those approved boundaries. He chose law instead of medicine, and even that had felt, at the time, like an act of independence. 

But that was still respectable for them. His grandfather was a lawyer and that had been applauded by the family a generation ago. Hiromi felt sick to his stomach thinking about it. His independence was short lived for something that still aligned with the values his parents represented. 

Hiromi felt like it had been his mother, more than anyone, who shaped that understanding. She was the one who handled the business side of things, when his father focused on the physical aspect of the work. Just as she dominated the industry, she did the same with her family.

She had a way of reducing things without ever raising her voice. Anything that fell outside of what she deemed appropriate was not rejected outright. Before he could say anything, it was diminished, reframed, quietly stripped of its importance until it no longer felt worth holding onto.

The things he had once enjoyed, interests he had tried to nurture, ideas he had entertained about himself, almost all of them had been met with the same measured response. It was not enough. It was not practical. It was not bound to last.

Over time, it has been easier to let those things go than to defend them, for the sake of his peace. But now, standing where he was, it seemed like he couldn’t do it anymore. Choosing peace of mind over the chaos is making him more miserable.

Working as a judicial scrivener had once felt like a reasonable beginning. It was structured, respectable, aligned with everything he had been taught to value. But the longer he remained in the system, the more it began to feel hollow. 

The repetition, the detachment, the way people’s lives were reduced to formal disputes and paperwork. Somehow, it all left him with a quiet dissatisfaction he could no longer ignore. And beneath that dissatisfaction was something more unsettling.

The realization that he had never truly questioned whether this was what he wanted. When the thought came, that thought of leaving, it did not bring fear. If anything, the thought of going away and hiding away from this life he had been living, it brought him relief. 

That alone should have been enough to tell him something was wrong. But relief, he had learned, was not something his far too involved and domineering mother considered a valid reason to change direction in his life. 

His mother came not long after that realization.

She did not frame her arrival as anything more than a visit, but nothing about her presence had ever felt casual. The moment she stepped into the apartment you and him shared, the air shifted in a way that was subtle but unmistakable, like something unseen had been drawn tight.

You were there when she arrived. You had just arrived back home, and climbed the stairs. When you heard people talking within the apartment, you just stopped. You could tell that it was his mother. You heard her voice before, when he talked with her about his progress in his classes in sophomore year. 

You were close enough to hear the cadence of her voice, the careful, deliberate way she spoke, and the even quieter way Hiromi responded. But you could not see what was happening there. You didn’t want to. You knew it was not the time. 

Her gaze moved across the apartment with quiet precision, taking in details without lingering, before settling on him. “You’ve been staying here.”

“I have.”

She looked around. “I had raised you better than to choose such a drab, Hiromi. Your father and  I give you more than enough to set up a place worthy of your station.”

“It is home, mother.” He replies to her, shaking his head. “And I choose where I feel comfortable living. It’s adequate enough. It’s not far from the firm, from university. It’s a place I like.”

His mother raises him brow. “And you live here with that girl?”

“Yes, I do.” He tells his mother without hesitation. “I enjoy living with her. It’s wonderful.”

There was a pause. His mother scoffs. “She’s not from our world, Hiromi. It is not appropriate that a boy of your status enjoy a life below his means.”

Hiromi frowned at his mother’s words and started berating her for what she’s said, for which she had rebuttals ready. From where you stood, you felt your chest tighten, your fingers curling slightly at your sides. You told yourself not to move, not to interrupt but you couldn’t ignore the way the words settled, as if they had weight.

“You should be dating Minister Chiba’s daughter, she’s more—”

“I don’t give a damn about her or any other girl.”

His mother frowns. “Your tone is not appreciated, young man.”

“I do not care for whether or not it's appropriate.” He retorts back at her, his tone more heavy handed than he would have liked. But he couldn’t help it. He’s riled up. “I love her.”

“Loving her is foolish.”

“It still doesn’t change that I love her.”

“I disapprove of this.”

He snickers. “And I’m still choosing it. I’m choosing her.”

Her gaze sharpened, just slightly. “You’re letting yourself get distracted. Your work is suffering.”

“It’s not.”

“It is, and you know it.” she said, her voice cutting through his with quiet finality. “Have you seen the way your grades have been dropping? The professors have called me concerned. And the firm is concerned with you—”

“Enough!” He finally yelled, standing up from his chair. His brows furrowed angrily, his body felt hot from anguish. “I refuse to hear you speak of the woman I love that way. I refuse for you to demean her.”

“You’re throwing away something stable for a foolish, flimsy girl who has nothing to offer you. It’s pathetic how you’ve lowered yourself. Have I not taught you better?” she continued, her tone lowering without softening. She snickers. “Doing this for a common ditz—”

“Leave.” He did not hesitate for one moment. 

“I will not—”

“I told you to leave!” Your chest tightened further at that, the words echoing louder than they should have. “You may be the domineering force of this family, but father still decides. I refuse to listen to you.”

“She won’t understand the life you’re meant to have, my son.” His mother narrowed her eyes at him, her disappointment palpable. “She doesn’t belong in it and you know it. You will admit it soon enough.”

“I don’t want that life if she’s not in it. And certainly, I reject you and what you believe.” His voice was steady when he said it, but there was something beneath that had been building for much longer than this moment. “You are not welcome here anymore, I am going to talk to management and have you banned.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, mother. I refuse for you to talk to my girl like that.” He tells her as he heads close to the door. “You may leave now or I will throw you out.”

“You’re being careless.”

“I’m being honest.”

“You’re being influenced.”

“I’m making a choice. Like the man I am.”

She exhaled, slow and measured. “You’ll regret it.”

Hiromi didn’t answer her. Instead he moves to close the door on her. “No, I won’t.”

By the time you reached the street, your breathing had already grown uneven. You had left before you could even think about anything coherent or logical. It was all too much, hearing all of that, hearing him talk like that to his mother.

The walls had felt too close, the air too heavy, every word you had heard pressing against you all at once until staying had felt impossible. You didn’t even remember making it past the lobby. All you knew was that you needed space, you needed air. And fast.

You stopped abruptly, your hand bracing against the nearest wall as your stomach twisted sharply, the nausea rising so suddenly it made your head spin. Your breaths came in shallow, uneven pulls, your chest tightening as if it couldn’t quite expand the way it needed to.

His mother’s words echoed, unrelenting. Foolish. Flimsy. Nothing to offer.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers curling tightly against the surface you leaned on, as if grounding yourself would somehow quiet the noise in your head. It wasn’t just what she said. You have heard it a thousand times.

It was how easily she had said it to you, of how certain she had been. It sounded so familiar to you. It was making you feel nauseous. You take a deep breath against the wall. Perhaps that had been the reason that you panicked. 

His mother sounded so much like your mother. It reminded you of when she would demean you. Or make fun of you, all the while she beat you, as she told you over and over again that she regrets you most in her life, that you shouldn’t have ever been born.

You had always known you came from different worlds. You had always known that what you had built with the illustrious, proud son of the Higuruma Group, Higuruma Hiromi, existed outside of what people like her would consider acceptable.

But hearing it, hearing it said so plainly, so definitively….it made something inside you falter. You  found yourself feeling the tears fall from your eyes.  A shaky breath left your lips as your hand moved to your chest, fingers pressing lightly as if trying to steady the erratic rhythm of your heart.

He had chosen you, you knew that he did. But you can tell that there was something in all those words that felt shaky, almost akin to hesitation. It wasn’t when he spoke, it was when he didn’t.  Your throat tightened at the thought, your gaze dropping as your vision blurred slightly.

You knew it wasn’t fair. You knew he had chosen you over and over, clearly, loudly, without backing down. And yet,  why did it still feel like something fragile? Why did it all feel so fleeting? Almost like it was something that had just been shaken hard enough to reveal the cracks underneath?

“...Why does it hurt like this?” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the distant noise of passing cars. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be crying like this.”

It couldn’t have been just trauma or his mother’s disapproval of you. It was what it threatened. You realized it clearly then. Love can be so strong and so real and yet, it was so fragile that it could be attacked so distinctly by questions, it could still be weighed against expectations and come out uncertain.

Just like a satellite that passes through the world, there was uncertainty. You could think about how strong it was, how durable its existence in the sky above the giant big blue rock we lived in. And yet, it was fragile. 

One day it could be above us.

Orbiting the earth so faithfully.

And one day, it would not be there.

The tears fall faster than you could wipe away. You pressed your lips together, trying to steady yourself, but your hands trembled slightly at your sides. You didn’t notice the sound of hurried footsteps until it was too late.

“—There you are, sweetheart.” 

You froze as your boyfriend Higuruma Hiromi slowly approached you, his breathing uneven from his motions, as though he had rushed without thinking, without stopping to consider anything beyond finding you.

His dark raven eyes moved over you quickly, searching, checking, still making sure you were still there, still within reach. His eyes widened as he noticed you wipe tears away. You didn’t turn back just yet. You took your time, and he let you, his palm closing into a fist. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. And then his expression shifted, something in it softening the moment he really saw your face. You turned back to look at him, your eyes red and your face full of pain, pain that he hadn’t seen in a while.

 “…You heard everything.” It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” he said quietly.

You let out a small, unsteady breath, your gaze dropping because you couldn’t quite hold his right now. “Is she right?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. And the moment it did, you wished you could take it back. Because it wasn’t what you meant to ask. Not really. But it was the question that had been sitting, heavy and persistent, since the moment you heard her voice.

“No.” he said immediately.

He stepped closer, slower this time, more deliberate, as if approaching you too quickly might make you pull away. “She doesn’t get to decide what my life is, okay?” he continued, his voice steadier now, though still carrying the weight of everything that had just happened. “And she doesn’t get to decide what you are to me.”

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. “…But she’s not wrong about everything.” you murmured.

He frowned. “Don’t, sweetheart. She is wrong—”

“I mean it.” you insisted, finally looking up at him, your expression strained. “We are different. The way we live, the way we think about things and it’s not the same. And if it’s already this hard now, what happens later?”

Hiromi’s jaw tightened slightly, but not in frustration. But more like he was holding something in place, something he refused to let waver. “Then we deal with it later. We can always deal with it later. We’re good at that. You know that—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is, sweetheart. It’s an answer worth giving.” he replied, more firmly now. “Because I’m still here. I’m still choosing this. I’m still choosing you, sweetheart. I’m not going to let her or anyone else turn you into something small just because it’s easier for them to understand.”

The words settled between you, warm and steady in a way that made your chest ache for a different reason this time. But  even as you stood there, facing him, hearing the certainty in his voice,  you couldn’t fully quiet the unease that had taken root.

Because love, you were beginning to realize, was not just about choosing each other in moments like this. It was about everything that came after. And neither of you knew, yet if that would be enough.

When you got home, you were too exhausted to do anything else but lay onto the bed you both shared. He had left you to yourself, after you asked for some time to yourself. You fumbled over the cigarettes, frantically lighting one to settle your nerves.

The tears had long gone as you found him coming back into the room, finally out of his suit and into his regular clothes. He watched you for a moment, before he laid on his side of the bed, just watching you take one half after another, the ashes falling on the porcelain ashtray he had gotten you on your birthday.

“I think we could last forever.” Hiromi lets out a quiet breath at that, the kind that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest all day. He's lying on his back, one arm draped over his darkened eyes as if even the dim light of the room is too much after everything. “I'm afraid that everything will disappear.” Your voice is softer, your body almost swallowed by the sheets. You’re turned toward him, the burning cigarette small in the throes of your fingertips. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, as if trying to memorize the rhythm. There's a pause. You were too exhausted to think about it all.

But you found yourself sitting there on the bed you shared, languid in the grievance of this feeling you don't recognize anymore, long enough that it feels like the world might actually slip through the cracks of it. Far too long that your cigarette was half burnt already. “Just trust me.” His arm shifts, sliding down from his face. He turns his head toward you, dark eyes tired but steady. It was always steady, even now. "Can't you trust me?" “You’re asking the wrong person for blind faith.” you murmurs, a faint, wry edge to his voice. “i’ve made a habit out of doubting everything. You thought me that, didn't you?” His hand finds yours under the blanket anyway. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. It was absent-minded at first, then more deliberate, almost like he’s grounding himself, in the comfort of something that wasn't there.

He gives you a soft, sad smile. “Yes, I did.”

YOU THOUGHT THAT AFTER YOU GRADUATE FROM UNIVERSITY, YOU WOULD FIND YOURSELF BETTER. Well, you think that was dramatic. Not entirely changed, and not  suddenly complete. That was impossible to do in such  a short time. But still, you wished that at the very least, your footing would be steadier. More certain than the shaken path you were stranded on.

As though the years you spent working toward something like a degree would finally settle into a version of yourself that made sense. You had imagined that there would be a great big shift in your life, however small, some quiet clarity that would come with finishing one chapter and stepping into the next. 

But that clarity never arrived.

If anything, the uncertainty followed you more closely than before, lingering in the spaces where you had expected relief to take its place. The questions you thought you would outgrow only seemed to deepen, becoming harder to ignore now that there was no longer a structure forcing you forward. 

There was no syllabus, no deadlines handed to you, no clear outline of what came next. There was only choice and with it, the unsettling realization that you didn’t feel as certain about your choices as you thought you would.

And yet, you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t afford to.

Because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant sitting with things you weren’t ready to face. Stopping meant screaming and crying over the nightmares of the past, seeing your mother’s face so clearly, feeling the way her hand scalped your hair as she pulled. 

Stopping meant acknowledging the doubts that had begun to take shape, the quiet fears that had been building in the background of everything else. It meant asking yourself questions you didn’t know how to answer. About your life, about your career, about your future, and most especially about him.

So instead, you kept moving.

Soon after your graduation, you didn’t take the time to rest, nor did you allow yourself the space to celebrate what you had accomplished. There were no long pauses, no indulgent moments of reflection. Almost immediately, you reached for your phone and called your agent, then your manager, your voice composed in a way that made it seem like this had already been decided.

You told them to ramp up the jobs you were getting. You told them you were ready, more than ready and to take on whatever came next. And then, almost as an afterthought, but not really, you added a condition.

All the jobs concentrate only within the metropolis of Tokyo. Well, at least for the time being. You don’t think you could be apart from Hiromi that long. At this moment, when you are fragile and full of anxious feelings, you think that staying close to him would be good for your well-being.

Anything beyond that, you had flat out declined. But it gets to a point where you are losing yourself. Even when he wasn’t there, you were using him as an excuse. Hiding away from the world that had deemed you less than, you didn’t know what else to do. Not when everything was hazy.

At first, it felt like a reasonable boundary. Practical, even. You told yourself that you were simply being selective, that you were prioritizing both yourself, your career and your relationship in a way that made sense. There would be other opportunities, you reasoned. Other roles, other projects that wouldn’t require you to leave everything behind for weeks or months at a time.

You told yourself you weren’t losing anything. But as the days turned into weeks, and the offers came and went, you began to notice the pattern more clearly. The roles that passed through your hands weren’t insignificant. 

Some were small, yes. But the others were not. Some had weight to them, the kind that could have pushed you forward in ways you couldn’t replicate with smaller, local projects. And each time you turned one down, you felt it. You had that fear in you, that edge of hesitation dwelling on its edges, wondering if this was right for you. 

But what is the alternative?

Would you feel good leaving?

Your relationship was fragile.

Your heart and soul were fragile.

What was left for you in that distance?

Across the city, you stood in a room that suddenly felt too small. You looked at your shoot costume, fixing it mindlessly, over and over again. Like some wind-up doll that only acted in ways it thought it had to. Something inside you had shifted, tightening your chest in a way that made it difficult to breathe normally.

“You turned it down?”

Your agent’s voice carried sharp disbelief, brows furrowed in a horribly confused manner. Everything about her reaction reflected the kind that came from watching a pattern repeat one too many times. She wasn't asking for confirmation as much as they were demanding an explanation. 

“It was too far.” you replied, keeping your tone even, controlled, as though this decision hadn’t already been questioned in your own mind more times than you could count. “I didn’t want to go far.”

“It was just Kyoto, you could come back in a day or two. That was such a good deal, [name]. What were you thinking?” they shot back immediately. “It was such a good role for you, practically a perfect fit.”

“I know that.” 

She crosses her arms to her chest. “I just don’t understand. This is the kind of role people wait years for. And you have it! Practically within reach for you, and I just…Why turn it down?”

“You don’t have to keep yelling to me about it.”

Your agent lets out an exasperated sound as she eyed your manager, who just came in the room, for a moment. Your kind-hearted manager looked at you with such sad eyes, almost like she doesn’t recognize the person you were anymore. 

“Then why do you keep doing this?” Your agent says to you, shaking her head. “[name], we are worried about you. Please just…just talk to us.”

The question hung between you, heavier than it should have been. You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t have one, but because saying it out loud would make it sound smaller than it felt, easier to judge, easier to dismiss.

Your agent and your manager stared at you for a moment, their frustration and their worry building in a way that was no longer subtle. Your manager stepped in closer, just a little bit behind you. 

“Every opportunity that takes you away for more than a few days, you turn it down.  It’s impractical, [name]. This is how you make it, you gotta keep working. But you just keep ignoring every single one. Do you think that isn’t worrying us?”

You kept your gaze steady, but your silence gave you away. Your agent narrowed her eyes.  “This is about him, isn’t it?”

You didn’t confirm it.

You didn’t deny it.

But the absence of either was enough.

Your agent exhaled sharply, something between disbelief and irritation crossing their face. “You’re choosing a man over your career, is that it?”

“I’m choosing what I want. I need this right now.” you said, but even to your own ears, the words sounded thinner than they should have. “I need to have him by my side. He takes care of me and—”

“You haven’t seen him in days.” Your agent pointed it out to you. “How is that caring for you?”

“He’s busy, he’s working and I—”

“You don’t even know if he’s permanent, [name].” Your agent suddenly said, far too harshly than she intended. “And you’re letting all your hard work be about him.”

Your manager tapped her shoulder. “Hey, stop that—”

“No, no, I will not stop. She has to hear this.” Your agent shook her head as she narrowed her eyes at you. “We have given you grace for the situation you’re in and we’re sorry it hasn’t been alright. But you cannot keep doing this to yourself. That man cannot be your entire world. That man cannot overshadow the life you are living.”

Your fingers tightened slightly at your sides, a reflex you couldn’t quite control. “It’s not…It’s not like that.”

“You don’t know that he’ll stay, [name].” She continued, her tone losing its edge but gaining something heavier, something more insistent. “You don’t know that this—whatever this is—is going to last. And you’re already shaping your life around it like it’s guaranteed.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dried, but your expression didn’t change. “That’s not your decision to make.”

“It becomes my problem when you start limiting yourself like this for the sake of something you aren’t even sure of. And at such a young age.” She replied flatly, sighing. “You are cutting the flower before it blossoms.”

“I’m not limiting myself.” You insist.

“You are.” She replied, without hesitation. “And when this ends—and it might end—you’re going to look back and realize you said no to opportunities you can’t get back. This industry doesn’t wait for anyone. Not for love, not for hesitation, and definitely not for someone who keeps stepping away from it.”

She puts a hand on your cheek. You raise your eyes to look at her. “Don’t lose yourself over uncertain love, child. You deserve better than that.”

For a brief moment, something in you wavered. It wasn’t enough to break your composure. But it was enough to sting. Because this wasn’t the first time you had heard something like this today. Different words. Same meaning.

You straightened slightly, forcing your voice to steady. “Then I’ll regret it. If it comes to that.”

She looked at you for a long moment, as if trying to understand something she ultimately couldn’t. It was then where she shook her head, at least not angrily, but in a way that felt worse. Almost like sorrow, almost like quiet resignation.

“I don’t understand you, [name].” She said, turning her back. “If that’s what you want, fine.”

Your manager looked at you, walking closer to touch you when your agent walked out. But your manager didn’t know what to do. A pursed tight lip echoed on your manager’s face, before letting that raised hand go down to the side. 

The tears fall once again.

When you were finally alone, the silence didn’t feel like relief. It pressed in around you, filling the space your agent’s voice had left behind, giving your thoughts far too much room to move in that confined space.

You sat down slowly, your movements almost automatic, your hands resting in your lap as your gaze fixed somewhere unfocused ahead of you. Everything has started to bubble to the surface, the thoughts you pushed down are starting to resurface in ways that you didn’t want.

Palms hiding away your face, tears still piercing your cheeks, you could feel your chest tightened as that realization settled in, uncomfortable and persistent. You scream out loud, releasing the heavy burden in your heart.

What if you weren’t just making careful choices? What if you were slowly narrowing your own life without fully realizing it? And worse, what if you were doing it for something you couldn’t guarantee would last, just because it felt like you couldn’t let it go?

Your boyfriend Hiromi’s voice echoed in your mind, the way he had defended you, the way he had chosen you without hesitation. You knew he loved you, you knew he wanted to be with you.  And yet, that brief, almost imperceptible pause after his mother’s words echoes in your head.

You pressed your lips together, your fingers curling tightly against the fabric of your skirt as the two things collided in your mind, refusing to settle into something clear. You love him. You didn’t doubt that. But love didn’t erase reality.

It didn’t erase the differences between you, the expectations surrounding him, the life he had been raised to live. And it didn’t erase the possibility that one day, those things that surrounded him might matter more than what he felt right now, might matter more than you. 

How would you be able to counter that?

How could he not resent you when that time came?

How could he love you then?

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, the feeling of reality shuttering you back into your senses. For a moment, your heart lifted in a way you couldn’t control. But something in your chest told you it wasn’t Hiromi.

When you opened the door, that feeling was confirmed. Hiromi’s mother stood there, composed and dignified as ever, her presence just as controlled and deliberate as it had been before. There was no hesitation in her posture, no uncertainty in her expression. If anything, she looked more certain now than she had before.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you.” The older woman said, her red lips curved as sharp as a blade. “They told me you were here.”

It didn’t sound like a question. You hesitated only briefly before stepping aside, not because you were comfortable with her presence, but because refusing her felt like something you weren’t prepared to do this time around.

She entered without waiting, her gaze, your boyfriend’s gaze, focused on you coldly as she walked across the room in the same measured way as before, taking everything in without appearing impressed or unimpressed. It was simply an assessment.

She turned to you. “You care about my son.”

The statement was calm, almost neutral. “…Yes…Yes, I do.”

She nodded slightly, as if confirming something already known. “Then I won’t waste time being polite about this for you. I know you can take hard truths, and give some good womanly advice. Woman to woman.”

Your chest tightened at that. “....Is that so?”

“Do you believe you’re doing the right thing?”She asked, almost ignoring your own question in reply. “Limiting yourself, limiting my son. Hiding away.”

The question caught you off guard. “I—” You paused, then steadied yourself. “I’m choosing what I want. I am choosing the life that I want and that’s with your son."

“For an actress, you seem to be such a bad liar.” Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something close enough to feel condescending. “That’s what people say when they don’t want to examine the consequences of their choices.”

You felt that, sharper than you expected. “That’s not true at all.”

“You are adjusting your life around him.” she continued, her tone measured, controlled. “You are declining opportunities that would take you away from him. You are making decisions based on proximity rather than progression. And that’s not fair to him, not fair to you.”

Your jaw tightened slightly. “That’s my decision.”

“It is, and that is also what he wants.” She agreed easily. “But that doesn’t make it a wise one. Not when you’re in this state. Not when he is in that state.”

Silence settled for a moment before she continued, her voice lowering slightly, not softer, but more deliberate. “I have seen this before.” she said. “People convince themselves that sacrifice is the same as love. That giving things up proves something meaningful. It doesn’t. It only creates an imbalance.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “You don’t have the right to say this to me, not to me.”

“You may not feel it now.” She went on. “But you will. Slowly, gradually. You will feel it. In ways that are easy to ignore at first. Then you will begin to notice what you’ve missed, what you’ve turned away from. And at some point, you will ask yourself whether it was worth it.”

Her gaze held yours, unwavering. “And when you reach that point, you will not resent yourself. And in turn, you will resent him.”

“That’s not—” you started, but your voice faltered slightly.

She tilted her head just enough to interrupt without raising her voice. “You think you are choosing him. But what you are actually doing is placing him at the center of your life in a way that will eventually demand something back from him that he cannot give.”

Your chest tightened. “And when he fails to meet that expectation and he will, because no one can carry that kind of weight, you will feel disappointed. Not because he has done anything wrong, but because you have built your choices around him.”

She let that sit before continuing. “My son has spent his entire life being shaped into something specific. Disciplined. Focused. Directed. I did that. And that does not disappear simply because he says he wants something different today.”

There was something sharper in her expression now, something that bordered on vindictive. There was honesty in all of her words, but each word is unmistakable in its intent. You know what sort of woman she is. 

“He believes he is choosing you….But he has not yet lived long enough outside of expectation to understand what that choice truly costs.”

Your throat felt tight. “And when that reality catches up to him, it will be too much.” she added, laughing. "And he will correct himself. Because that is what he has always done.”

You forced yourself to speak. “You don’t know that.”

“I know my son, girl.” she replied simply. “Far better than you do.”

The certainty in her voice made something in your chest twist. She took a small step back, smoothing her sleeve as if the conversation had already reached its conclusion. You felt the tears prickle at the edges of your eyes.

“I am not telling you to leave him. People are stubborn as much as they’re prideful, even when they’re hurt.” The older woman said to you. “But if you choose to continue like this, that is entirely your decision.”

Her gaze met yours one last time. “But if you are going to shape your life around him, around this toxicity….” she continued, smiling at you. “Then you should at least be honest with yourself about what that means.”

“It means you are taking a risk he may not be willing to take for you in the end.” She continued. “And when that happens, you will not walk away unchanged.”

She turned then, heading for the door without waiting for a response. This time, you didn’t try to stop her. You couldn’t. Because as the door closed behind her, her words didn’t feel like something you could simply reject.

They settled into you, uncomfortable and persistent, threading through the doubts that had already begun to take shape. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure whether the life you were building was something you were choosing freely, or something you were slowly losing yourself to.

You didn’t come home that night.

You just couldn’t do it to him.

Letting him know all of these tears.

The next day, a script arrives for you.

‘Satellite by Takanashi Akuto.’

YOU REALLY DIDN’T HAVE ANY APPETITE AT ALL. Still, you decided to order food, just to make everything seem normal tonight. The food you made the effort to order has gone cold, though neither of you remembers when it happened. 

It sits there between you, untouched, forgotten. The stillness is felt as though something that was supposed to mean normalcy, like if you just went through the motions, if you just sat across from each other and ate like you always did during date nights, then maybe everything else would settle on its own.

But nothing about tonight feels normal.

You sit across from him, fingers loosely wrapped around your fork, pushing rice into a small, uneven pile. The overhead light hums faintly, too bright, too harsh for how tired your eyes feel. It makes everything look clearer than it should.

Every movement, every shift in expression, every second that stretches too long. Higuruma Hiromi notices every bit of its dimensions, which of course he does. He always does. When it comes to you, he just knew he had to do something.

Even now, when everything between you has grown quieter, thinner, stretched in ways neither of you has fully addressed, he still watches you the same way. Carefully. Attentively. You are the one person in this world he refuses to misunderstand.

“I read the script.”

Your hand stills, unable to look up and meet his eyes. Silence follows, but it’s not empty. It fills quickly, thick with everything you’ve been avoiding. You continue cutting your meat, holding your steak knife too brutishly, finding it clashing against the plate.

“It’s from the U.S., isn’t it?” he continues, his voice calm, almost too calm. “That’s why you’ve been going back to it.”

You swallow. “I told them I wasn’t taking it.”

“I know that.” Hiromi says to you. “Your agent and manager called me. They told me to convince you.”

That makes you look at him, you could feel the way your chest tighten. “Ignore them. They’re just being pushy and it’s just….I rejected it already, don’t think about it too much. It’s okay—”

“Sweetheart, hear me for a bit….I’ve been thinking about it.” he continues, his gaze steady on you. “About everything, actually.”

You don’t like the way he says that. You knew there was nothing wrong with that. You were both getting older, it was only right to think about it. Yet it made you feel uncomfortable. But because it sounds like he’s already decided something, for the both of you.

“I’m going to take a break.”

The words don’t register immediately. Your brows furrowed curiously. “A break?” you repeat, quieter than you intend. “What do you mean?”

“From law school.” he clarifies. “From the firm. From all of it. ”

Your breath catches. “Hiromi—”

“I’ve decided on it a while back. It just…It just took me some time.” Hiromi leans forward slightly, his hands resting against the table, fingers curling faintly as if grounding himself. “I’ve written my documents declaring the break, its all settled. I’ve spoken to my father too.”

You could feel your chest tighten. “Hiromi, listen to me first, please—”

“I don’t think I want that life anymore, sweetheart.” he says to you, and there’s no hesitation in it.  He takes your hand into his all the sudden. “Not the way I thought I did. Not if it means—” he pauses, just briefly. “Not if it means losing this.”

Something in your chest twists painfully. “Hiromi…”

“I’ve already looked into it, visas and everything like that.” he continues, like if he keeps talking, you won’t interrupt him. “A gap year isn’t complicated and if I need to stay away longer, it’s fine.  I can step away, figure things out properly. And if you take the role—”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean with all of this?”

“—I’ll go with you.”

The words settle between you. “.....What?”

“We won’t have to do this long-distance, sweetheart.” he says, quieter now, but more certain. “You don’t have to turn anything down. You don’t have to keep choosing between us and everything else. I’ll be there.”

You stare at him. Because this is everything you were afraid of. This is what his mother warned you about. You feel it, sharp and immediate, the way your chest tightens, the way your thoughts stumble over themselves trying to catch up to what he’s offering.

“You don’t have to do that, Hiromi.” you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intend.

“I want to, sweetheart.” he replies, without hesitation. “I want to support you….to be us, again.”

“That’s not—”

“It makes sense, doesn't it?” he cuts in, his tone still calm, but there’s something underneath it now, something more urgent. “Right now, this is the only thing that makes sense to me.”

That lands harder than anything else. Because he means it. You knew that this wasn’t thought of impulsively. It wasn’t done so carelessly. But completely, wholeheartedly, logically, he had made this with a lot of deliberation. 

You look down at your hands, your grip tightening slightly around your fork before you set it down entirely. You can’t hold onto it anymore. You can’t hold onto anything that makes this feel normal. The food has gone colder than before. And suddenly, so has everything else.

“Hiromi, listen to me.” you say, and your voice feels too small in the space between you. “You’re talking about stepping away from everything you’ve worked for.”

“And you’re not?” he asks, raising a brow. “You have a booming career here too. You would not be able to handle being alone.”

You flinch slightly. “That script, it’s so beautiful.” he continues, quieter now. “Your career. The opportunities you keep turning down. You think I don’t see that?”

You don’t answer. 

Because you know he does.

You lower your gaze.

“Then why is it different when I do it?” he asks.

Your throat tightens. Because you don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound like the truth. “That’s not the same and you know it.” you manage.

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t even know if this is what you want, from me, from us, from the world.” you say, your voice trembling just slightly now. “You’re already questioning everything, and now you’re making a decision like this because of me?”

“I’m making this decision with you.” he corrects.

“No, no. Do you not hear yourself right now?” you shake your head, the movement small but firm. “You’re making it around me.”

The words land. You see it in the way his expression shifts, in the way something in him falters just slightly. You look at him with grievances, burdened with the heartache this was causing you. “And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?” you continue, your voice quieter now, but heavier. “Because I’ve been doing the same thing. And I’ve been avoiding it.”

Silence settles.

“I keep choosing things based on you, based on this, based on our life.” you say, forcing the words out before you can stop yourself. “Where I go, what I take, what I turn down. I keep telling myself it’s balance, that it’s what people do when they love someone—but I…but it doesn’t feel like balance anymore.”

Your hands rest flat against the table now, fingers trembling just slightly. “It feels like I’m losing parts of myself just to keep this from falling apart.”

“I think…” you start, your voice catching before you steady it, watching Hiromi catch a glimpse of the truth for the first time in your eyes. “I think we should break up.”

The words hang there. And for a moment, nothing moves. Higuruma Hiromi doesn’t react immediately. He just looks at you, like he’s trying to understand what changed in the span of a single conversation, like he’s searching for the point where this became something he didn’t see coming.

“…What?” he asks quietly.

You can’t look at him. “I don’t think this is working anymore.” you say, each word deliberate, like if you don’t place them carefully, they’ll fall apart. “Your mother is right, my agent is right, my manager is right. The world has been right all along, and we’ve been wrong.”

A long silence follows.

“You’re saying this after I just told you I’d choose you?” he asks you, crestfallen. “After I have just bore my heart to you and told you how much I’m willing to change my life for you, to be with you?”

There’s no anger in it. Just something that sounds dangerously close to hurt. You shake your head at him.  “That’s exactly why I’m saying it, Hiromi.” you reply, your voice softer now. “Because you shouldn’t have to.”

His jaw tightens. “And you think leaving fixes that, [name]?”

“No, I know it doesn’t…It never will.” you admit. “But staying like this doesn’t either.”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair, the composure he’s held onto slipping just enough to show how much this is affecting him. “So that’s it?” he asks. “You don’t even want to try to fix it?”

Your chest aches. Because you do. You do. With everything in you, all you wanted was to be with him, to love him, to live this sort of life with him. But not like this, not this miserable. Not when trying feels like slowly unraveling everything else you are.

“It’s not about not wanting to try.” you say quietly. “It’s about not knowing who I am if I keep trying like this, when it’s only hurting you and me.”

The words settle between you. And across from you, Higuruma Hiromi just stands there, the future he had just offered still lingering in the space between you. There was something earnest in all of it, something real, something that should have been enough. 

“I love you so much.” Hiromi whispers to you, in a low, cracking tone. His eyes echoing in the most broken way, where tears are falling. “I loved you so much.”

“I did too….I still do too. More than anything in this world.” You smiled at him brokenly, eyes filled with hot tears. “But even satellites have to stop orbiting the only world it knows.”

Higuruma Hiromi breaks down in tears.

You walked towards him and embraced him.

Your shadows fit so perfectly together in this light.

Yet, shadows also disappear when the light goes.

But that was just how it goes, for life is as it is.

And that perhaps is the greatest gift of all.

epilogue 

More than two and a half years later, Higuruma Hiromi watched the film alone on the same day he graduated law school. It was the same movie he had already watched, one that was running another extra week, due to popular demand. 

He has seen the film Satellite on opening week, then again a month later, and once more on a late night when the theater had been nearly empty. He had not done so obsessively, but with a kind of steady loyalty that he does not question. 

When he has the time, he finds it important to follow your work the way someone follows something they believe in, something they respect, something they once loved and, in a way that has changed but never disappeared, still does. Like justice, or even devotion.

Tonight is different only because of the timing. He should be studying for his bar right now. After all, it’s going to be in three days. But he knew that he just couldn’t. Not when the movie was on the last run. It would be fine, he knew it would be.

He’s studied for so long, one night isn’t going to make him lose focus. By this point, Hiromi would have memorized everything in all his law books at this point. He already had piles upon piles of paper outlines, question and answers, quiz cards all over his desk on everything that was surely going to be asked in the exams. 

This was only one more night.

It’s going to be fine.

The world can wait a little while.

The theater is quiet, dim, the air carrying that familiar stillness that exists only in places meant for watching, for listening, for feeling things you do not always have the time to process elsewhere. He takes his seat without much thought, settling in with the same composed posture he has learned to carry over the past few years.

The screen flickers to life.

Satellite.

Even now, the title does something to him. Your name follows shortly after, appearing in clean white text, and he watches it without looking away. His heart skips a beat. The film begins the same way it always does and that was your face.

Then it pans slowly towards the expansive stretch of space, the distant, unreachable image of Earth, and the quiet hum of something mechanical, something constant. It is a stillness that feels almost deceptive, because he already knows what it holds beneath it. Once again, it turns to you.

He notices the details every time. The way your expression settles before you speak, the restraint in your movements, the way you allow silence to carry as much weight as dialogue. There is a confidence in it now, something deliberate and controlled, something that tells him you understand exactly what you are doing on that screen.

He finds himself, not for the first time, feeling something close to pride. The same sort he’s had for all the things you had ever done in your life. The story unfolds, familiar but no less affecting. Two astronauts, bound together not only by marriage but by circumstance, suspended in a place where time feels stretched and reality feels distant. 

They cannot return to Earth, at least not yet and perhaps not ever, if the scientists don’t find a way to make it happen. So the two astronauts are stuck figuring out what remains of life they have within the fragments of this small sterile space.

At first, they move as though nothing has changed. There is routine. Small talk. The quiet, practiced ways of people who know each other well enough to exist without constant conversation. But the film does not rush what comes next.

It lets it settle.

It lets it grow.

It becomes life.

The two fall in love again.

Your character soon stands by the small window of the station, looking out at Earth, your reflection faintly visible in the glass. Your co-star speaks from behind you, his voice careful, almost hesitant.

“We’ll go back, don’t worry.” he says. “Once they fix things down there, we’ll go back to how it was.”

You don’t turn immediately. But when you do, it was impactful. Your expression is composed, but there is something beneath it. There was something restrained about it, something that does not quite believe in what has just been said. It was written all over your face.

“How was it?” you repeat softly. “You say that it hasn't changed.”

The line is simple, yet it lingers deep. Hiromi exhales quietly through his nose, his gaze steady on the screen. He does not shift in his seat, does not look away, but something in his chest tightens in a way he has come to recognize without resisting.

The film continues, and with it, the slow unraveling that is never framed as failure, never reduced to something as simple as fault. Your character now sits across from your co-star, the two of you framed in dim, artificial light. 

The hum of the station fills the silence between you, and the food on the table remains untouched. It is almost too familiar. Your co-star speaks first this time, his voice strained in a way that tries to remain calm.

“We’re still here, you know that?” he says, giving you a tender look. “We’re still us. That has to count for something.”

You look at him then, fully, your expression soft but unwavering. “I don’t think love is supposed to feel like survival. And certainly, not meant to be fixed to make you feel good.”

The line settles into the space between them, into the theater, into him. He does not move. Because it is not just the words. It is the understanding behind them, one that happened similar to you two all those years ago. 

The way the film refuses to turn either of them into something easy to blame, the way it allows both characters to exist as they are trying, holding on, and still, somehow, unable to remain without losing themselves.

The ending does not offer reconciliation. It instead offers a harsher, more painful option.The decision to leave. Not because love has disappeared, but because it is no longer enough to sustain what has become.

When the credits begin to roll, Hiromi remains seated, his hands resting loosely in his lap, his gaze still fixed on the screen even as the names begin to pass. He notices yours again. He always does.

There is no bitterness in it.

Only something tender.

There is only love.

He has followed your work since you left, but in the same quiet caring way he usually does. He steadily watches your films over these two and a half years, he reads the interviews when they surface, notes the way your career has grown into something expansive, something undeniable.

And recently, he heard you were engaged.

To a Japanese-American scriptwriter and producer, it seems. Someone whose name appears not far from yours in the credits of films like this one, someone who exists within the same world you chose, the one you built for yourself with decisions he now understands far more clearly than he did then.

He had paused when he first heard it, drinking some sake alone for a day or two, before he got himself settled. He chose his path as you have and he knew that was it. He continued on. There was nothing else to do. Life was as it was, even in the bittersweet of it all.

Sitting here now, the knowledge does not feel new. It does not press into him in a way that disrupts what he has built. It simply exists, alongside everything else he has come to accept.

Just like how your character accepts that she cannot continue loving this man, even when distance mandated it. Things cannot stay the way they were forever, even when he wanted it to.

He respects the life you chose for yourself. The clarity it required. The courage it took to walk away when staying would have been easier in the short term, but more damaging in the long run. That's why he was so happy for you. And that's why.....

Thats why he took a page off your book. He had learned to grow without you, watching the steps you had made in the snow, so he could follow you in that world, in that world where he could be the person he knew he'd be without you, inspired by your love, by your humanity, by your love for yourself too.

Still, there is a quiet ache that remains.

It wasn’t sharp and it wasn’t overwhelming either. But persistent in a way that feels permanent. He supposed that’s just how it is when you love so deeply until the end, even when it ends up something that hurts.

As the lights come up, he finally stands, gathering his things with a practiced ease. He walks out without rushing, his thoughts settling into something more grounded as the initial weight of the film fades out to black.

He smiles to himself as he leaves the theater.

You had grown into yourself after all this time.

All he feel for you was pride, pride that will never go away.

“Uh... thanks. I think?” 

You weren’t entirely sure if that was praise or exploitation — because with Mei-Mei, the line was always blurred. 

“Of course, baby!” she cooed. “Your ratings are exceptionally high. But... let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” And grinning like a cheshire cat, she slid a detailed spreadsheet in front of you encouragingly. 

“We need a story so massive before Christmas. Don’t ask me why, but holiday trauma performs extremely well. I expect your report by early-December. Get back out there, hm?” 

Apparently, love is dead. Because people live for drama. For tragedy. It’s unfortunate, but it gets the clicks. And despite all the ‘new material’ you’re looking for? A part of you still aches — still yearns — for love. 

So, like a well-trained masochist, you swipe. Again. 

| Brett, 27 — Los Angeles, CA |   “Hey, kitten. I’m Sapiosexual. An INTJ. Love your profile. Let’s chat, yeah?” 

Sent a dick pic and texted “U up?” at 3:17 a.m. on a Tuesday. (You weren’t) 

Swipe. 

| Colin, 32 — Santa Monica, CA |   “Sup. I’m just a nice guy. Totally not like other guys.” 

Sent a three-paragraph spiral about how nice guys finish last due to unrequited love. (With his childhood best friend.) 

Swipe. 

| Naoya, 22 — Orange County, CA |   “What do you do for fun? Because let me set the record straight. I love a woman who knows their place. Preferably, three steps behind me. Or in the kitchen.” 

You reported him. Twice. (Just to be sure…) 

Swipe. 

| Greg, 25 — San Francisco, CA |   “Hey. Uh... I’m married btw. But it’s complicated, u know?” 

You almost admire the honesty. (Almost.) 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

You were about five more red flags away from joining a monastery when suddenly, you got an idea. Perhaps... it’s just California? You’ve been living here your whole damn life. Let’s try escaping the endless sea of self-proclaimed “entrepreneurs” — the gym bros, the surfer stoners. The men who think that being emotionally available is a liability.  

So? You expand your distance radius. 

Like...  

Way out.  

Just to see what would happen. 

| Satoru, 26 — Kyoto, Japan |   “Hey. I’m not here to play games. Unless it’s Mario Kart. But don’t cry, because I’d totally win, sweetheart.” 

It’s a miracle. Because for once, there’s no shirtless mirror selfie. It’s just a guy on a front porch, wearing a hoodie. There’s a coffee cupped in his hands, with long raven hair falling against the violet hue of his eyes.  

He has gauges, a sleepy smile, and oh my god he’s— 

…gorgeous.  

And not the curated, flex-for-attention kind of gorgeous you’ve learned to dodge. No. There’s something… approachable about him. Soft. Stupidly warm. Like if you sat beside him, he wouldn’t talk — he’d listen. 

~  ♡ ︎ You’ve matched with Satoru Gojo!  ♡ ︎  ~  ...typing  Satoru: Did you know that the universe is 13.8 billion years old? There are billions of galaxies. Trillions of stars. And yet… here we are. Matched on a dating app.  Satoru: So… hi! Satoru: Wanna test fate?  You: lol 😂 You: well then... You: that’s one way to say hello!! 😝 Satoru: Yeah... figured I’d lead with existential dread instead of wyd 😉

He was... normal. 

Stupidly normal. Maybe a bit nerdy.  But somehow? It worked. He made you smile. 

...typing  Satoru: Okayokayokay... but REAL question...   Satoru: Do you pour milk before cereal??? 🤨 Or are you a functioning member of society?  You: 😨😨 You: excuse you!!   You: what kind of monster do you think i am??? 😒 Satoru: Phew 😩 Satoru: Just needed to be sure!! People have surprised me before 

And just like that, you were hooked. 

You talked while brushing your teeth. On your lunch break. In bed, half-asleep, phone screen dimmed but still open to his thread. He’s got opinions on everything. 

Anime, horror movies, why candy canes are overrated, the superiority of old-school consoles, and the tragic fall of Yahoo Answers. 

One day he asked: 

...typing  Satoru: Are you more of a salty girl or a sweet girl? 

You paused, halfway through folding laundry, holding one sock while you reach for your phone. 

...typing  You: hmmm..... You: are we talking snacks?? or personality type?  Satoru: 👀 Satoru: Well shit... Satoru: Now I wanna know the answer to both...  You: hehehe 😇 You: what do YOU think i am?  Satoru: Oh, hell no... Satoru: I’m not falling for that Satoru: Bc if I guess wrong, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.  You: pshhh...  You: that response answers for me 😛  You: but hmm... i guess i’m both? You: bc it depends on the day... OR the person.  Satoru: Okay cool Satoru: Soooo... I’m either incredibly lucky, or you’re about to ruin my life in a really interesting way. You: ruin you?? You: never!! You: ...you're one of the few people i actually wanna be sweet to ❤️  Satoru: ❤️  Satoru: Guess it's a good thing that I'm a sweet guy 😉 both snack AND personality wise Satoru: Which brings me back to the important question... Satoru: Snacks Satoru: Salty or sweet. Answer wisely, sweetheart. You: hmm...  Satoru: This data could make or break us 🤨 You: imma salty kinda girl Satoru: ...  You: but i don’t dislike sweet things! 😘 Satoru: Siiiiiigh...  Satoru: Fine. I respect it Satoru: Even though it’s OBJECTIVELY the wrong answer 🙄 guess I’ll just have to be the sweet one in this relationship

Somehow, it never felt forced. You didn’t have to explain your jokes. You didn’t have to shrink yourself or play dumb or brace for silence. He got it. He got you. And he made you laugh — constantly. But more than that… he made you feel safe. 

It was easy to forget you’d never seen him move. Never heard his laugh in real life. 

Until you started calling each other. 

What started as a five-minute “just wanted to hear your voice” spiraled into two hours. Then three. Now it’s just… what you do. The sound of his voice has become background music — familiar and warm, the kind of thing you could fall asleep to. Soft, a little raspy, warm around the edges when he laughs. 

He talks fast when he gets excited — usually about Digimon lore, bad anime dubs, or some absurd theory he read online at 3 a.m. He jumps from tangent to tangent like he’s chasing thoughts through constellations — but somehow, never leaves you behind. 

And when he’s really into something, you can hear it. His voice lifts like gravity can’t hold it. 

“Hmm… if we were two particles traveling at the speed of light,” he murmured, “do you think we’d still find each other in another timeline?” 

“Oh my god…” you smiled against your pillow; voice thick with sleep. “Is this your version of ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm’ Satoru?” 

His laugh was soft and breathy, wrapping around your ribs like ribbon.

“Pshh… no,” he scoffed, and you could hear the pout in his voice as he shuffled against his own bedsheets. Then, with a huff he drawled. “This is my scientifically superior version of that question.” 

“Mmm… I see,” your hum was sleepy, curling deeper under the blanket. Grinning, your eyes fluttered closed as you murmured. “Yes. I think we would”

A comfortable silence settled, and you could hear the line crackle softly as he exhaled.

“I wish…” he said after a beat, “…we could spend Christmas together. It’s not fair you’re so far away.”

His voice was quiet, like he was afraid to say it too loud. And somehow, it landed harder than any confession. You pressed your ear closer to the phone, like maybe, if you try hard enough, you’ll feel the weight of him on the mattress beside you.

“Yeah…” you whispered. “Me too.”

You’d been talking to Satoru for a month now — and honestly, every other man you come across can’t hold a candle to him. So, when Mei Mei saunters to your desk December 1st, silk blouse pristine and judgment already locked and loaded, you know she’s not going to like what she finds.

“It’s officially December, my dear,” she hums, lowering herself into the chair across from you, tilting her head in that familiar, patronizing way. “So. Where are my lines?”

Your fingers still over the keyboard. Time to come clean.

“I know, I know…” you say, rubbing at your temples before finally looking up. Your heart thumps harder than it should. “And… don’t be mad. But… just hear me out. What if this year… I don’t write about heartbreak?”

It’s like you might as well have told her you quit. The silence is deafening while she blinks at you, deadpan — like you’ve grown a second head.

“Darling,” she says coolly, with a bitter laugh. “Christmas is in three weeks. I don’t need pleasantries — I need pain.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” you push gently, sitting a little straighter in your chair. “Christmas is supposed to feel… good. Warm. Like something you lean into, not brace yourself against.” You gesture vaguely toward the window, the gray sky.

You’ve always been alone for the holidays. No family. No one asking when you’ll be home.

“I mean… people are… tired. Stressed. Lonely. The world already feels cold enough without another reminder that love is awful. Right?”

Mei scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder, repulsed by the suggestion. “That mushy shit doesn’t sell…” And her eyes sharpen, flicking back to you. “You sound dangerously sentimental. Very unlike you, darling.”

Your mouth opens. Closes.

Little does she know… this is you. Or at least, the you that’s been kept hidden your entire career — doing something that feels so… empty. You’re tired. Tired of pretending that love is dead. For once, you want to believe in it. Believe that all this with Satoru — the potential for love — could be real.

“…I met someone.”

That gives her pause.

“Oh?”

Her snobbish tone is hard to ignore, but you don’t let it diminish the excitement you feel from the thought of him.

Satoru.

“Yeah… he’s—” you begin with a breathless laugh, tucking your chin into your palm like it might hide your grin. “Ugh. He’s good, Mei. Like… really fucking good. Funny… smart… thoughtful…”

But Mei’s sculpted brow arches as you continue to gush.

“Ohmygod and so handsome too,” you breathe, face lighting up. “Like. It’s unfair how good-looking he is, I swear. Plus, he remembers the little things I say, and he always checks in when I’ve had a rough day. It’s like…” you pause, breath catching as your heart aches with longing.

“It’s like… he sees me, Mei.”

At that, a knowing hum rumbles through your boss.

“I see…” she nods, lips tugging upward. “Well. Can you show me a picture, then?”

“Oh, sure!” you chirp, already digging for your phone in your bag. Your heart flutters at the sight of his photo, and after navigating to his profile, you hand the device over to her.

Her eyes narrow, then flick back to you. “This guy is in Japan…” and you can already hear it, that condescending tone, syrupy sweet. “I wonder… have you seen him yet?”

“W-What?” you blink, crossing your arms, instantly on guard. “Well… no. But it’s a sixteen-hour time difference! It’s hard to line up video calls, but we talk all the time and—”

“Mm.” That’s all she needs. She’s handing the phone back with a noise you’d describe as infuriatingly smug. “No way he’s that perfect,” she says, already rising to her feet. “I bet he’s catfishing you.”

Your heart drops.

God. That’d be just your luck.

“What?! N-No!” you argue, unwilling to entertain the idea. “It’s real, Mei. He’s real.”

“Mmm. So is Santa Claus~”

You scoff, brows furrowing.

“No, seriously. He said he wanted to spend Christmas with me. I was actually thinking of surprising him — flying out and —”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she interrupts, saccharine and sharp. “Flying to Japan? To meet a man you’ve never met?” a loud pompous laugh bursts out of her lips, making your blood boil. “Ahhh… what a story! I expect lines, my dear~”

And as her heels are clicking away, you glare after her, cheeks hot, heart thudding with equal parts embarrassment and fury.

That… bitch.

Fine. You’re going to prove her wrong.

You must.

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Satoru’s address.

You told him you wanted to send a Christmas present. He teased you, of course.

“A present? For little old me?” he drawled. “Awh… what is it? Is it scandalous? Oh!! Is it Digimon related??” You could practically hear the grin in his voice. And sure enough, a minute later, he sent his address with a laughing “Fine. But only if it’s Digimon-related, sweetheart.”

Little does he know…

It’s you you’re sending.

(Though yes, he’s still getting something Digimon-related too. You spent two weeks hand-knitting a Gabumon scarf hat — complete with floppy ears, tiny claws, and a ridiculous little horn. It’s absolutely absurd. You hope he’ll love it.)

Kyoto is blanketed in snow when you land — your breath visible in the air as you drag your suitcase outside the airport, gloved fingers fumbling with your phone. You manage to request a car (thank god for global apps), but the second the driver steps out and starts speaking rapid-fire Japanese, your brain goes static.

“Uh…. sumimasen?”

It’s the only word you know that seems remotely polite. That, and arigatou. Oh, and you know, baka, (thanks to Satoru’s anime rants about how “sub is superior to dub.” He swears by it, so naturally, you’ve started watching anime. In sub. Maybe because it feels like holding onto a piece of him.)

As you enter the car, you press your face to the frosty window and Kyoto whirls past — ancient shrines nestled between sleek buildings, power lines framed by snow-laced branches, vending machines glowing like beacons in the dark. The city is beautiful. Foreign. Dreamlike.

But then, the car pulls up to his house — and suddenly, you’re the one who feels foreign.

Because what the hell.

The place is huge.

It’s walled off with an iron gate, and a winding stone path leading up to a home that looks like a cross between a modern compound and a high-end ryokan. He’d told you his family was well off, but you didn’t realize well off meant a fucking dynasty.

Great. Now you’re standing here with your thrifted suitcase, the handmade gift for him, wrapped in a flimsy bag, wearing your own knitted scarf and a coat you borrowed from your roommate because your own has a busted zipper. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every chipped nail, every dollar you don’t have in your bank account.

God. What are you even doing here? This man seems ever more too good to be true. What if he’s playing you? What if… Mei’s right. Does he even want you? What’ll he do when he sees you? What’ll he say?

Fuck.

You take a deep breath, tugging your scarf a little higher, gripping his present like a lifeline. It’s fine. Whatever. You came all this way. No turning back now, right?

When you ring the doorbell, a faint chime echoes inside the estate. The air bites at your cheeks while voices murmur on the other side. Footsteps near the entrance and then—

Click!

The shoji slides open. You’re grinning nervously — heart hammering in your chest, steadying yourself as a figure comes into sight. A figure whom is—

A woman.

“えっ…誰？何かご用ですか？”

She stands with one hand on the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the house behind her. Dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, a cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. She’s tall. Cool. Effortlessly poised in a way you’ve never been. And she looks… young. Maybe your age.

Mei’s laugh is echoing in your goddamn ears.

Double fuck…

Did Satoru lie? Is this his girlfriend? His wife? A casual fling he forgot to mention? God. Is this why he never video chatted you?

It feels like a kick to the chest.

What the hell were you thinking?? Flying across the world for a guy you’ve never met in person?!

 “ちょっと、聞こえてる？”

She’s still looking at you, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed with vague curiosity — and you realize with a jolt you haven’t said anything. Not a word.

“Oh! I—uh—sumimasen?” you stammer, fumbling with the little Japanese you know. “S-Sorry, I… I don’t speak Japanese,” you laugh, awkward and breathless. “I think I have the wrong house, though. I was looking for someone named Satoru but—” with a glance past her, you try not to look desperate.

God. You’re such an idiot.

“Uhhh… never mind,” and clutching your suitcase, you attempt to retreat. “I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

Though her hand shoots out, catching your sleeve.

“Oh. Satoru? That idiot?” she says casually, in English this time — voice smooth, tinged with amusement. She flicks ash off the edge of the porch. “Yeah, you’re at the right house. He’s just at the FamilyMart with Yuji right now. Craving strawberry shortcake, apparently.”

As your brain begins to short-circuit, she takes one last drag of her cigarette, then steps aside, gesturing toward the entryway.

“C’mon. You’ll freeze your ass off.”

“Oiii,” Shoko calls. “We have a guest, guys! Say hello to—oh, um… sorry, what’s your name again?”

Before you know it, you’re stepping inside – toeing off your shoes at the entrance. Your feet pad against the tatami as you round the corner, and you’re greeted with a group of three other men sitting casually around a low table, with an abundance of snacks at the center.

Though, despite how laid-back the room appears, with pillows and drinks and half opened bags – there’s an underlying tension so thick, you swear it could cut glass.

They’re all staring at you with stone faces.

One man is blonde, with a chiseled jawline and a stern demeaner. Another has bubblegum-pink hair and tattoos crawling up both arms, and the third is a teenager with messy black hair who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

Are these Satoru’s… friends? Family? He’s never mentioned them before.

Shoko takes another drag from her cigarette, unfazed. “I’m Shoko, by the way,” she says lazily, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Known Satoru for years. Unfortunately.” She smirks. “This is Kento, Sukuna, and Megumi.”

“H-Hello…” you murmur, gripping the handle of your suitcase as you hold a tight, nervous smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for… dropping in like this. I just flew in from America and… I was hoping that — well, Satoru would be here?”

“Gojo?” Sukuna gruffs, leaning back on one elbow. He plucks a piece of pocky from the snack tray and chews it without breaking eye contact. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be? His secret girlfriend or somethin’?”

The words hits harder than it should.

Girlfriend? Secret?

God, what are you to him?

And now, it dawns on you that they haven’t a clue who you are either. Of course, they don’t. Why would they?

You feel your cheeks heat. “O-oh, no. No, it’s not like that,” you say quickly, waving your hand like it’ll brush the embarrassment away. “I mean… we talk. We’ve been talking. But—”

You trail off and they’re all looking at you with raised brows.

“We don’t have a label or anything. We’re just… friends.”

“Friends?” Sukuna perks up, grin widening. “So lemme get this straight. You flew twelve hours across the globe for that pretentious dick?” He scoffs. “And he hasn’t even put a label on you?”

There’s something dangerously amused in his tone now, and he tosses the half-eaten pocky stick back onto the tray.

“Damn. Lucky bastard.”

You blink, unsure whether to feel insulted or embarrassed or both.

"Don’t you worry sweet thing. You decide to stay and I can show ya how a real man can take care of ya, hm?"

Kento shifts, cutting him a glance. “Sukuna…”

“What?” he says, raising both hands innocently. “This girl is hot as fuck. And I’m just saying — if it were me? I’d at least make sure she knew what she was walking into. Or out of. I'm not like that asshole.”

You blink again.

Is he… hitting on you?

“Great... here we go…” Megumi mutters.

And Kento sighs, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Please ignore him,” he tells you, voice calm but firm. “Everything is a pissing contest with Gojo where he’s concerned.”

“Okay, first of all — fuck you,” Sukuna snaps, sitting up straighter now, suddenly defensive. “It’s not about competition. I’m just not blind. Look at her!”

You blush subtly, and Megumi mutters, barely glancing up.

“Don't take him seriously... trust me. He says that. But every time Gojo brings a fangirl around, he's always trying to take her home like it’s a fucking game.”

...fangirl?

The word slams into your chest like a hammer. Is that what they think you are? You stiffen, heart dropping. Because that proves it. You shouldn’t be here. Of course someone like him would get dozens of women throwing themselves at him.

What made you think you were any different?

You shouldn’t have come.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, grip tightening around the suitcase as you fumble to gather your things. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to barge in. I’ll just—”

And bowing your head, you spin on your heel, until suddenly you collide into someone. But it all happens so quickly; you don’t register who. Because with a gasp, you stumble backwards, entirely focused on how your giftbag slipped from your grip, making Satoru’s scarf fall to the floor.

“W-What… what are you doing here?!”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

'Sorry' must be your go to word tonight. You’re too embarrassed to look up and see more of Satoru’s friends judging you. You’re dropping on your knees, scrambling to gather things with shaking hands mumbling under your breath.

“I’m leaving now… god, I shouldn’t have come. Please don’t tell Satoru I was—"

“WHOA, is that Gabumon?!” a new voice exclaims, bright with curiosity. “Hey Gojo, who’s this?”

At the mention of his name, you freeze.

Your head slowly lifts, eyes tracing up to catch sight of another pink-haired boy, peeking out from behind the man directly in front of you.

But… the man doesn’t look like Satoru. Not the Satoru you’ve come to know.

No. He has snowy-white tousled hair, tucked beneath a beanie, with bright blue eyes, blinking behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Nothing like his profile pictures.

“Satoru?” you breathe.

His mouth parts, speechless while he’s looking at you like you’re a ghost.

“Dude, that’s so cool! Did you make that?” Yuji asks, eyes sparkling. “Gojo she’s a keeper, huh?”

“Mmm… clearly.” Nanami glances over. “Because since when do you let girls know you like Digimon?”

“About damn time,” Shoko snorts, already lighting another cigarette like this is the most amusing thing she’s seen all week.

“And, she flew here for you,” Sukuna laughs from the back, sounding far too smug for someone uninvolved. “Shit, I’ll marry her if you don’t, asshole.”

The voices layer over each other — praise, laughter, awe. But it’s too bright, too loud, and you’re frozen in the middle of it. Feeling completely detached from reality while the blatant truth stands directly in front of you.

He lied.

And the worst part? You believed him. You came all this way. Mei Mei was right.

Love is dead.

“Um, actually. I—I left something outside,” you blurt, shoving the scarf back in the bag and clutching it to your chest, blinking back the tears. “Excuse me a moment.”

And before anyone can stop you, you’re slipping past them — out the door, out of breath — your chest aching with something you can’t yet name. While behind you, footsteps follow as he calls your name.

“Wait—shit. Wait!”

Satoru knows he fucked up. And by the time he barrels out the front door, you’re already halfway down the street, boots crunching through the snow like you’re marching to war.

He feels like a grade A idiot. Because somehow, against all odds, you — this ridiculously perfect girl — came all the way to Japan thinking he was someone worth showing up for.

And now he’s watching you walk away.

“Waitwaitwaitwait…” he groans, jogging after you, breath puffing white in the air. “Slow down and just… can you just—fuck. Just stop for a second?!”

“Stop?!” You whirl around, eyes wet and furious. “Why should I? Who the fuck even are you? What kind of psycho catfishes someone for months and then just lies to their face?!”

He blinks, defensive instinct kicking in before his brain can catch up.

“W‑Well—what kind of psycho flies across the country and shows up on someone’s front lawn?” he fires back, hands flailing. “In Japan, might I add!”

A bitter scoff tears out of you. “You said—and I quote—‘I wish you were here with me for Christmas,’” your arms fold tight across your chest like you’re holding yourself together. “Why the hell would you say that if you didn’t mean it?”

He backpedals immediately. Because fuck — he did mean it. Every late‑night call. Every laugh. Every stupid wish whispered into the dark.

But instead of admitting that, panic takes over.

“L‑Look—that’s just—something people say, okay?” he rambles. “Like… ‘your baby’s so cute,’ or—um— ‘my diet starts tomorrow,’ or—”

He’s waving his hand, scrambling for humor — something to soften it — but the words die on his lips when he sees your face drop. You blink hard, like something inside you just broke. And the sight of it makes his stomach twist into knots.

Great. Now he feels like even more of an asshole.

“Shit… okay,” he blurts, voice softer now. “That was... yeah. Um. That was a dick move. I know...”

“Fuck you…” you mutter, turning back around.

“Hold up! Please… just come inside, yeah? We can talk it out. If you'll just let me explain—"

“I don’t want to talk to you. Ever again.”

He can hear the hurt underneath the edge of your voice, and he stands there, watching you trudge through the snow – your figure getting smaller against the snow-washed street. He knows there is no salvaging this. He fucked it up. But still… reality slams into him all at once.

You don’t speak the language.

You don’t know the city.

You don’t have a car.

Fuck. Do you even have anywhere to go?

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck… fuck!” he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to jog back toward the house, bursting through the door.

“Guys, I’ll be right back!” he shouts to no one in particular as he grabs his keys off the counter, hands shaking. “She left something at the airport!”

Then, he’s gone again. Chasing the only girl who ever made him feel seen.

It’s cold. Too cold for someone with no plan and no fucking clue where you’re going. But the cold doesn’t sting as much as your heart does.

You don’t even know how far you’ve walked. Five minutes? Ten? Your fingers are numb, your phone battery is nearly dead, and your boots are soaked through.

By pure luck, you stumbled into some sort of Japanese bar. And the kanji on the glowing sign outside might as well be ancient runes, but the warmth spilling through the door felt like something close to safety. Like maybe if you just stepped inside, you’d stop feeling so fucking alone.

Because hey, at least the sake tastes good.

You have no Wi-Fi, no plan, not a single ounce of pride left. All you have is the stupid hope that maybe if you drown yourself in enough of this bitter rice wine, it’ll burn the ache out of your chest.

The edges of the bar blur slightly. Everything’s warm and loud. Someone’s laughing too hard in the corner. Across the room, beyond the haze, there’s a man with a dark bun and violet eyes, sipping from a bottle with his head tilted back.

Beautiful.

Almost like…

The photos on Satoru’s profile?

Are you delusional? Drunk? No... that is him. Right??

You’re blinking through the blur, trying to make sense of it. But then? The room begins to spin and sure enough, nausea hits.

“Shit—” you whisper, grabbing the edge of the bar.

You’re pushing off your stool, stumbling outside the icy curb, before you double over and hurl into the snowbank.

Great. Fucking perfect. Can this day get any worse?

“Hey—hey! There you are!”

Oh, yeah. It can.

Tires crunch as a car jerks to a stop beside the curb. The door flies open, left swinging in the cold and Satoru rushes out, barely remembering to throw the gear into park before he’s crossing to you, boots skidding slightly on slush.

“Jesus—fuck. Are you okay?” he drops beside you, crouching low. “What the hell happened—”

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, pushing at him weakly while your body sways. He pulls back like you burned him.

“I’m fffine,” you slur, though your stomach still churns and your face is damp with cold sweat. “Gooo away.”

He sighs, exasperated.

“You’re not fine. You’re pale and shaking and—wait. Are you… drunk?” He exhales, brushing his hand through his hair like he’s trying not to lose it. “Come on. Let me take you home.”

“Home?” you laugh, bitter and sharp, scoffing as you shove at him again. “You mean your home?”

“No. I meant… wherever you’re safe. I just—can we not do this right now? Please?”

You snort, head lolling as you stare at the ground. “You’re a liarrrr,” you mutter, voice thick and sloppy. “Jus’ like everyone else.”

The words land heavier than he expects. Wind howls between you, carrying the smell of snow and alcohol and regret. Satoru opens his mouth—closes it. For once, he doesn’t have a smart comeback.

“I’m gonna stay right here,” you announce suddenly, sliding down until your back hits the wall. You cross your arms, chin lifting like it’s some kind of moral victory. “I don’t need you.”

“…in the snow?” he asks flatly.

“Yup,” you nod, blinking too hard. “Maybe I’ll meet someone who doesn’t lie for fun.”

“Jesus, woman—” he drags a hand down his face. “You’re in a foreign country. You don’t speak the language. You’re drunk off your ass. I’m not just gonna abandon you in an alley behind a bar you can’t even read the name of!”

“Pffft... well I liiike this bar,” you say bitterly, voice cracking. “S'greeat. They poured the sake fast. And nobody lied to me.”

Every time you say it, it hurts him even more. Satoru exhales hard, pacing a few steps like if he stops moving, he might actually lose it. But when he turns back, ready with another argument — another plea — he freezes.

Because you’re... crying.

Not quiet tears. Not dignified ones. Ugly, shaking sobs that pull from somewhere deep in your chest, shoulders hitching as you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your coat.

“I hate you,” you mutter, voice wrecked.

His chest tightens. He doesn’t know what to do with that. With this.

“I really liked you,” you continue, words tumbling out now, unstoppable. “Like—really liked you. I don’t do this. I don’t fly across the world for people. I don’t—” you hiccup, laughing wetly through the tears. “S'bullshit…” you mutter bitterly.

He blinks, lips pressing in a thin line like he’s unsure what to say. The cold wind blows as you sniffle.

“Plus… you’re hot as fuck. I don’t get it. Like… you didn’t even need to lie…”

You mutter, shifting in the snow. And that one makes him flinch.

“S’stupid… you could’ve jus' been you,” you say, gesturing vaguely at him. “But no. Instead you make up this whole fake version. Lying about everything. Liarrr. And now I can’t trust you. Betcha lied about liking me too, huh? All of it.“

He opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because that’s the cruel part.

He didn’t lie about everything.

He thinks of the way people’s eyes light up when they recognize his last name. The way conversations shift the second they realize he’s that Gojo. He thinks of years spent being wanted for the wrong reasons — money, status, face value.

And you’re the one person who ever made him feel like it’s okay for liking what he liked. The nerdy, cocky, compulsively sarcastic guy who collects Digimon cards and corrects Wikipedia entries in his spare time.

“Oh yeah… ya know who I saw in there?” you suddenly say, jerking your thumb toward the glowing doorway behind you. “That hot guy from yer pictures.”

Satoru stiffens.

“Uh… Suguru?”

“Oh,” you sniff. “So he’s a real guy?” You laugh again, hollow and dizzy. “Figures. Y’know what? He looks like he wouldn’t lie. Bet he’s honest. Bet he doesn’t make fake profiles and pretend to be someone else.”

You’re too drunk to notice the flinch in his jaw, the way he shifts his weight like the words physically hurt. 

“Maybe I’ll go back in and see if he’ll take me home, huh?”

You try to shove off the wall and nearly trip again, but Satoru steadies you without thinking — hands warm and steady under your arms.

“Look…” he murmurs, voice gentler now. “I know you’re mad. And I deserve it. But I’m worried about you.”

His grip adjusts — one hand rising to gently cradle your elbow, the other slipping around to the small of your back as he lowers his head to meet your bleary, mascara-smudged eyes.

“It’s cold,” he says, voice pitched just above a whisper. “It’s late. You’re probably jet-lagged out of your mind. Just… come back to the house with me, alright? Sleep it off. And if you still hate me in the morning—fine. I’ll even help you hook up with Suguru… if you want.”

Your head jerks back slightly, eyes narrowing. “W-What?” You squint at him, breath curling white between you. “Seriously?”

He shrugs with the ghost of a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, me and him used to be friends. I’m your best bet.”

“That’s insane,” you mutter.

“I’m aware,” he says dryly. Then, more cautiously: “All I’m asking is that you pretend to be my girlfriend. Just until Christmas is over.”

You scoff, half stumbling again as you try to push away from him. “Why the hell would I do that?”

He hesitates. Then breathes out through his nose, gaze flicking away for a second.

“Because… you saw how excited my friends were to meet you. I don’t have a great relationship with my family, okay? Those guys… they’re all I have. I’ve spent holidays alone more years than I haven’t.” His voice cracks a little, just a hair. “I don’t wanna ruin this one… please?”

Something in your expression softens. It hits you all at once, stupid and sharp: how close he is. How blue his eyes are. Maybe it’s the crack in his voice, or the tired honesty in his face, or the fact that for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like a liar. He just looks… sad.

“…okay,” you whisper. “Fine. Let’s just… go.”

But when you step forward, you falter slightly, ankle twisting in the snow, and he moves without hesitation — an arm looping under yours, the other bracing your elbow as he helps you upright.

“Shit—okay. Easy, sweetheart. I got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heartbreak, or the fact that your guard’s been sanded down to nothing. But for a second? You let yourself lean into him. Just a little. Just enough.

He guides you carefully toward the car. The passenger door creaks open. He ducks down to guide you in, one hand braced above your head so you don’t hit it on the frame. His other hand lingers at your lower back. You glance up at him in the doorway.

“Do you… really think Suguru would like me?”

There’s a flicker in his expression. Then a tight smile.

“I think… he’d be lucky if he did.”

You frown, unsure how to read that. But you don’t press.

He closes the door behind you, gently. And as he rounds the car to take his seat, you rest your head against the window — watching snow dust the windshield like ash.

It’s going to be a long Christmas.

The drive home was quiet. When Satoru glanced through the rearview mirror, he realized you were out cold before he even hit the second red light. Your head was tilted against the window, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even.

You looked impossibly beautiful.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, the snow picked up again, soft and powdery in the glow of the porch light. Satoru kills the engine and glances at you one more time.

“Hey… uh. We’re here?”

But you don’t wake. And honestly, he can’t find it in his heart to wake you himself. So instead, he sighs, “C’mon, sleeping beauty…” climbing out and circling the car. “Right… well. Up and at ‘em.”

He lifts you gently, bridal style. And your head lolls against his shoulder, warm breath ghosting across his collar. When he adjusts his grip, you snuggle closer, burrowing into the crook of his neck. And he tries to act like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting.

As he approaches the estate’s entrance, the door slides open before he can knock. Yuji stands there with a bag of chips in one hand and a soda in the other.

“Woah. Dude. She okay?”

“What?! Of course!” Satoru huffs. “She’s fine. Just—tired. Long flight. Jet lag hit her hard, y’know?”

Yuji nods solemnly. “RIP.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Move. Gotta put her to bed.”

Yuji moves. Nobody presses further. Satoru doesn’t stop in the hallway, just takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for his room, nudging the door open with his foot while he eases you inside.

He lowers you onto the bed slowly, like you might break. Your coat bunches beneath you, and he hesitates — then gently shrugs it off your shoulders, exposing some of your bare skin. You murmur something incoherent, head rolling to the side.

“Shhh… time to get some rest, sweetheart…” he breathes. “Lay back for me, yeah?”

As you lay back, he slips your boots off next, one at a time, fingers brushing your ankles. And god, your feet are freezing.

But as he’s reaching for the blanket—

“Mmmph.”

Your hand fumbles blindly and finds his shirt, tugging him down with you. He stumbles forward slightly, one knee landing on the edge of the bed, catching himself on his palms as you tug him down. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist, burying your face into his chest.

“W-Woah—hey,” he breathes, voice cracking a little. “You’re—uh. Kinda clinging there, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just… sigh. Sleepy and content. He lies beside you, unsure where to put his hands, heart racing. You’re cold. He can feel the way you press into him, like he’s the warmest thing in the world. Your fingers bunch his shirt. Your nose nuzzles the fabric.

“Mm… s’toru…”

His heart flutters, and he knows you’ll probably hate him again in the morning, but he doesn’t move.

Because he likes the way you cling to him. Because he’s selfish. Because the girl he lied to for weeks is now curled up in his bed, face pressed to his ribs, saying his name like she’s dreamt it a hundred times.

So, he sleeps beside you that night. Pretending, just for now, that none of it was a lie.

‘I keep thinking… if this is what you’re like over the phone, what the hell am I gonna do if I ever see you in person?’

You’re dreaming again.

Of his voice — that voice. Warm and easy. The one that used to call you at midnight, laughing through the line like it was nothing, like you weren’t slowly losing your mind for a stranger you’d never met.

‘Cause… I really love talking to you. Might just get addicted to you, sweetheart.’

You sigh, stirring slightly against the warmth pressed to you. It’s a heavy, encompassing warmth – like you’ve been swaddled in sunlight and something sweet. There’s an arm draped languidly around your waist, and a thumb twitching against your lower back.

Dreaming.

“Mmph…”

Your thighs are warm, tangled, clinging to something… hard. You wiggle your hips as the rhythm of breathing ebbs and flows beneath you. And that movement makes a low, sleepy sound rumble against your chest.

“Fffuck…”

The groan isn’t innocent, and your brow furrows with a whimper as something firm twitches between your legs. Beginning to grow. A hand flexes at your back, and you instinctively press your thighs tighter, making him gasp.

“Unngh… b-baby…”

As your eyes flutter open, fluttering against his skin, you’re greeted with the slope of his throat, pale in the gray morning light. And the throbbing heat between your legs makes it undeniable now.

This isn’t a dream. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your blanket. And your thighs are straddling Satoru’s hips with his morning wood right there and holy shit—

“S-Satoru?!”

You squeak. And his brow twitches, snowy lashes fluttering, lips parting on a sleepy inhale. When his hazy gaze focuses, you’re met with that blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than anything should be this early in the goddamn morning.

But then, awareness sinks in, and he stutters. “H-Huh…?” gaze flicking down to the very compromising position you’re both in.

“Shit!” his voice cracks as you shove at his chest, face molten.

“Oh my god—why the hell are we sleeping together?!” you shriek, and he’s desperately trying to explain. “I—You—” he wheezes as you push his again. “Ow, okay, damn, don’t commit a felony! You literally pulled me into the bed when you were drunk. And then you passed out on top of me! I’m the victim here!”

Your hands are still on his chest, mid-push. But you stop. Breath catching. Eyes locking.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

You both look down at his dick.

“…so,” he mutters, throat bobbing as his eyes flick back up to your face—very carefully avoiding your chest, failing miserably. “You, uh… gonna move?”

“R-Right!” your cheeks erupt in flames as you scramble off him like he’s on fire, nearly tripping over the bed. “Shit—sorry—I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s uh… fine. Totally fine.” He mumbles with an awkward laugh. “I mean… not that I’m complaining… but damn. If this is how you serve breakfast in America? I might need to move and—”

“Don’t.” You snap, making him freeze. “Don’t say that…”

Your arms are crossed as you stand, pressing your lips together tightly. His expression instantly drops, the humor fading. And god. You want to be mad at him. You should be mad.

But mostly?

Last night comes flashing back – your drunk, pathetic sob story. And really, you just feel… humiliated.

“You don’t get to make jokes right now,” your tone trembles as you try to hold it tight. “Not after last night. Not after I flew across the world for someone who doesn’t exist. For some who—” you trail off, failing to find words that don’t sound even more pathetic. And scoff. “God… I’m such an idiot…”

There’s a long pause. Satoru’s quiet, but then you hear him sigh.

“…you’re not. You’re not an idiot.”

Your eyes flick over as you watch him shift upright, pushing a hand through his messy hair. His expression softens, vibrant eyes dimming with a tenderness. And for once, it doesn’t feel like he’s reaching for some smartass line to soften to blow.

“I told you… I shouldn’t have lied. Okay? I know that…” he scratches the back of his head, knowing there’s no excuse he can give you that’ll make him sound any less pathetic. He exhales, pushing on. “Look… just stay until Christmas. Please? I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you. Even… hook you up with Suguru, like I said.”

He hesitates as he says it. But that’s what you want… right? After all, you expected him. You expected Suguru.

You blink, mouth parting as your conversation at the bar comes crashing back towards your foggy memory. You’d said it to spite him. You were drunk and stupid and humiliated, and you just wanted to wound him.

Because you liked him.

You really, really wanted it to be real.

Your mouth parts. You’re about to answer when your phone buzzes.

Mei: How’s Japan, darling? Is he real? I expect those lines~

You stare at the screen. Something twists in your chest — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. And with a bitter smile, you tuck the phone away.

“Right…” you mutter, rubbing your arm nervously. “Uh… sure. I guess I’ll stay.”

a/n. hello my darlings. merry christmas, i hope you all are enjoying your holiday! i will have pt 2 out before the end of december, lmk if you wanna be tagged. this fic kinda gives me supermodel! gojo vibes? at least with the message it's exploring. hehe. anyways, love you all. thanks for reading 💖