The Real Duck Too

-

There was a time—five years ago—when no one knew who she was. You don’t even remember what the other acts sounded like that night.

It was a rainy Thursday—one of those bone-deep, unforgiving downpours that made the walls of your theatre shudder with every gust of wind. Open mic night had been a last-ditch idea. Something to keep the lights on, get a few curious locals in the seats. You’d even printed flyers yourself, leaving stacks at bus stops and cafés, hoping someone—anyone—would show.

Eight people came. Five performed. None stood out.

And then, near the end, just as you were packing up leftover water bottles and untangling mic cords, she walked in.

Mina.

You didn’t know her name then. She wasn’t famous yet. Wasn’t even known. Probably as famous as that quiet ladder tucked away backstage.

She was soaked to the ankles, black coat damp from the rain, clutching a small USB drive in her hand. She didn’t introduce herself. Didn’t smile. She just looked at the stage, then looked at you, and said, flatly:

“Is it still open?”

You were a bit thrown, honestly. She didn’t have that awkward shuffle most people had when walking into a performance space. She just existed there—quiet, still, strangely poised.

“…Yeah,” you said after a beat, gesturing vaguely to the mic stand. “Yeah, sure. We’ve got a few minutes.”

You expected nerves. A shaky voice. Maybe another cover of some indie ballad.

Instead, silence.

Then music. And then her voice.

The room stopped breathing.

It was like glass breaking underwater—delicate but cutting. Soft, yet commanding. You felt it in the back of your teeth. Her voice didn’t beg for attention, didn’t fight to be heard. It simply was. As if the space itself had been built to carry that sound. She didn’t move. Barely blinked. She wasn’t emoting with her face or body—just her voice.

And somehow, that was more powerful and enigmatic than anything you’d seen in months.

You sat there in the front row, dumbfounded. Halfway through the song, you leaned forward without even realizing it, elbows on your knees, heart pounding like you were watching something rare—something fragile that could vanish if you so much as blinked.

When she finished, there was no applause. Just stillness. Reverent and a little stunned. She just walked off stage without a word after giving a light bow.

You shot to your feet, practically tripping over a cable. “Wait—!”

She stopped mid-step, turning slightly, expression unreadable.

You didn’t have a pitch ready. You just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“That was… incredible. I mean, I’ve never—where did you learn to sing like that?”

She tilted her head slightly, as if the question confused her. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“I just sing.”

Wow. Of course she just sings.

You exhaled, trying not to look as breathless as you felt. “Okay. Listen. This is going to sound insane, but—would you consider coming back next week? I mean, it’s just a small slot, nothing fancy, but—hell, I’ll arrange the whole lineup if you want. I’ll find a better mic, or get you a proper spotlight, or—whatever you need. Just say the word.”

She stared at you for a long moment, eyes dark and unreadable.

“…You run this theatre?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you said, a little sheepishly, glancing around at the modest rows of red seats, the modest stage, the modest everything. “Well, I mean, it’s not the fanciest place, but… it’s mine. And I really think people need to hear you.”

Another pause. You didn’t breathe.

“…Okay,” she said simply.

And then she left. Just like that.

You stood in the middle of the aisle long after the door clicked shut, grinning like an idiot.

Luckily, she came back the following week. On time. Alone. Dressed just as plainly. No entourage. No expectations. And when she sang again, the audience was twice as big. And then three times. And then sold out. And the rest is history under the name "Sharon". You didn't remember how that name came to be, but at least it made her feel like a part.

You started paying her more before you even paid yourself. Anything just to keep this lotus here among the mud.

You began managing her schedule personally, not because she asked, but because she forgot to reply to emails. You handled inquiries, screened messages, declined the sketchy contracts she barely glanced at. She never requested anything, but you left tea at her seat anyway. Always warm, like she preferred.

She never said thank you outright. But sometimes she’d hand you a tea before your meetings. Or stand next to you a little longer backstage before a show. Or hum one of your favourite songs during warm-up.

You didn’t need more than that. Not back then.

You were just happy to be near the music. Her music. Happy to help her find a place to be heard. Happy she chose your theatre to sing in.

And now, she’s outgrown you. And you hated that you knew this place hindered her.

-

The theatre is quiet again, the way it always is after everyone’s gone.

You don’t like this kind of quiet. Not anymore.

It used to be peaceful — comforting, even. A sign that you’d made it through another day. That the crew finished the set without killing each other. That the lights didn’t explode, the sound didn’t fail, and no audience member vomited during intermission. These used to be victories.

Now, the silence feels… loaded. Like the air is waiting for something to collapse.

You pass the dressing rooms, scanning for signs of life. Most of the doors are open, lights off, seats empty, clothes gone. But hers — fourth door on the right, with the gold star sticker half-peeled on the top corner — is still shut.

You knock twice. No answer. So you knock again, already pushing the door open. “Mina, it’s me.”

She’s sitting in front of the mirror.

Her back is to you. Her reflection meets you first — smooth porcelain skin under the soft warmth of the mirror bulbs, lips just a touch parted, like she had something to say but forgot it halfway through the thought.

She’s brushing her hair with slow, deliberate movements. One side already sleek and pinned. Her posture is impossibly straight, like she’s carved out of poise. Or maybe like she’s bracing for something.

You linger in the doorway.

“Still here?” you ask, pretending your voice isn’t cracking around the edges.

Mina doesn’t look at you. Her gaze stays fixed on her reflection, like she’s looking at someone she’s trying to recognize.

“We finished over an hour ago,” you say.

“I know,” she replies softly.

You take a breath. It tastes like dust and hairspray and the last ounce of patience you’ve been carrying.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

You scoff and step inside. “Great. Real communicative as always.”

She says nothing.

You run a hand through your hair, gripping it for a second at the root. “Mina, what are we even doing anymore?”

Finally, she turns slightly. Just enough to see you from the corner of her eye. “…you tell me.”

You’re not ready for that answer. And yet, it’s the one you’ve been circling for weeks now. You drop into the armchair by the costume rack, the one with the fraying seam you never got around to fixing.

You don’t look at her when you speak next.

“Starship Theatre’s rep came again,” you say. “This time that guy brought a contract. Tried to slip it under the staff door like he’s a fucking spy.”

Mina hums. “He’s persistent.”

“Because he knows what he’s getting.” You stare at the carpet. “Because everyone does. He has a better hand here.”

She doesn’t respond. You can feel her watching you in the mirror.

You lean forward, elbows on knees, fingers twisting into knots.

“I know you’ve been getting offers,” you continue. “For months now. I know your name’s started showing up in music blogs. I know that video of you singing Doughnut hit over a million views. I didn’t bring it up because… it’s your choice.”

A beat of silence.

“And yet,” she says evenly, “you’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry!” you snap, moving closer. “You’re the reason this theatre is still standing! You’ve been carrying the weight of it for years and—yeah, I didn’t want to admit that, but it’s true. You saved us. You saved me. And if you go—”

You stop yourself. If you go, I lose the only thing that makes this place feel alive. I lose you.

The words hover at the back of your throat, but you swallow them.

Mina doesn’t flinch, but her fingers are tightening around the hairbrush. You notice.

“I told myself I wouldn’t use you. That I’d keep it fair. That I’d only ask for what you were willing to give. But I did ask. Again and again. Even when you were tired. Even when I could tell you didn’t want to.”

Your throat tightens.

“But I was selfish. Because I thought… if I gave you space, if I supported you right, if I never pushed too hard—you’d stay.”

You look at her through the mirror, fully now. “And maybe you still will. Or maybe you’re already gone, and this is just a fucking formality.”

Mina is quiet. Then she places the brush down.

“I know” she says, measured and soft.

You look up, startled. “You… know?”

Her gaze stays in the mirror. “I’ve known for a long time.”

Her voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t falter — but it lands heavy.

“I know this theatre is holding me back. I could have left a year ago, maybe two. But I stayed.”

You blink, unsure where she’s going with this.

“I stayed,” she continues, “because I thought… maybe something else would happen. Between us.”

The floor drops out from under you. “You…” Your voice cracks. “Mina—”

"You were and still…" Mina took a breath. "…a big part of my life. You gave me opportunities. You gave me a future. I gave my all…gave myself…. to this theatre. I want you to…just…look at me properly."

You swore the air got stuck in your lung. "I do-"

“I waited,” she says, turning to look at you directly now. Her expression is calm, but her eyes hold something sharper — the edge of disappointment honed over years. “For years. Hoping you’d say something. Do something. Anything that doesn't make me feel like a product. And every time you didn’t, I told myself to wait just a little longer.”

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t.

She exhales quietly, as if admitting this costs her more than she wants you to see.

“When you asked for more shows, I said yes — because it meant more time here. More time near you. And I kept thinking… maybe this time. Maybe now.” Her eyes drop for the briefest second, then rise again. “But nothing happened. It’s always nothing.”

Her voice is still soft, still steady, but each word is measured like a final judgment.

“And I’m tired,” she says simply. “Tired of expecting something from you. Tired of living in a loop where I give you more, and you give me the same silence back.”

You step toward her, but she doesn’t move.

“So now,” she says, “I’ll give myself to something else. My career. Somewhere I can grow. Somewhere I’m not… waiting.”

You bite down on your lip. The word is right there, clawing its way up your throat, but you choke it back.

“Just like that?” you murmur.

“It’s not just. And it’s not easy.” She lowers her voice. “But I’ve known for a while.”

You stare at the spot on the vanity where her name is taped in crooked gold letters. You put it there. You remember how she didn’t react at all. But you sometimes saw her trace the edge of the tape when she thought you weren’t looking.

“…So that’s it?”

She nods.

Then, for the first time in what feels like years, she says something that breaks your heart more than the rest.

“I’m sorry.”

And this time, you see it — not just the emotion, but the weight behind it. The flicker in her eyes. The tiny, nearly imperceptible tremble in her voice.

You want to tell her it’s okay. You want to scream that it’s not. You don't know what role you should play in this damn tragedy.

Instead, you drop your head into your hands and breathe in the scent of powder and old wood and her.

“…Can I be selfish one last time?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“Yes.”

You take a breath. “Stay for one last performance.”

You don’t realize how much hope you’re putting into the words until they’re out. You’re looking at her like maybe she’ll read your mind. Like maybe she’ll see all the things you can’t say.

Her expression doesn’t change.

For a flicker — less than a heartbeat — her eyes soften. You can almost feel the air shift, the ghost of something unspoken passing between you.

Maybe, just maybe, she thinks — this is it.

But then you stop. You say nothing more. You let the moment die.

And she knows. That tiny ember of hope sputters out.

“Alright,” Mina says quietly. “One last performance.”

-

The afterparty ends in laughter you can’t really quite join in on.

The crew claps your back. The supporting performers hug each other. The staff finally breathe. The new girl in costuming cries a little and wipes it away before anyone notices.

And through it all—you smile. You thank them. You nod. You raise your cup. But you don’t feel any of it.

Because she’s not here.

Not even a goodbye. Not even a glance.

When the last person leaves and the theatre goes quiet again, you lock the side doors, check the back rooms, and finally—finally—let yourself return to the stage.

You walk slowly, as if your feet weigh more tonight. Past the props still stacked from the encore, past the dimmed ghost light humming faintly in the centre. And down the side steps of the stage... to the audience seats. The seats stretch before you like gravestones in orderly rows, still warm from the hundreds that sat through her final performance. You stand at the edge of the aisle, hands deep in your pockets, gaze locked on that one familiar spot.

You sit where you always wanted to. Always wished you did.

Not in the aisle. Not backstage. Not on the ladder hastily fixing that light bulb whenever she comes early despite being told by you and Jihyo. But here. Fourth row. Third seat from the aisle. Mina’s seat.

You don’t sit in it. That feels wrong. Still too warm with her shadow.

Instead, you sit beside it. Close, but not quite touching. As if she’ll walk in any second and (hopefully) scold you for invading her space. As if she’ll glance sideways and say something dry, something cool, something so uniquely her.

But the seat beside you stays cold. Empty.

You lean forward, elbows on your knees, hands clasped together loosely.

The theatre smells faintly of roses. Someone must’ve forgotten a bouquet behind. The kind she always hated receiving. “Too flashy,” she once muttered, when someone tried to hand her thirty-five long stems wrapped in gold foil. “I prefer lilies.”

You should’ve remembered that sooner.

“…I always thought I’d have more time with you,” you say aloud, voice hoarse. “Not forever. Just… more. To properly know you.”

The walls don’t answer.

“I kept telling myself I didn’t want to bother you. That you liked your quiet. That it was enough just to… see you every day, to manage things so you didn’t have to worry.” You stare at the empty seat. “But I should’ve sat here. Just once. I should’ve just talked to you.”

The knot in your chest tightens.

All those days she came early and sat in this very spot. All those moments you caught her staring at the empty stage. You thought she needed silence. You thought she wanted space. But maybe—maybe—she would’ve let you stay, too.

You would’ve asked her how her day was. What song she was into lately. What she would like to do when she wasn’t rehearsing or performing or trapped in this little world you built around her. Maybe she would’ve shared more, even if just in fragments. Maybe it would've helped you know more on how to talk to her last time in the change room. Properly.

You read the crumbled note she left again, even though you’ve already memorized every word.

You were the first person who saw me. I sang for the theatre. I stayed because of you.

I’m sorry I never said it until now.

—Mina

“Why didn’t I just fucking sit next to you?” you whisper, voice cracking.

A part of you knows the answer. Because you were scared that if you did, and she didn’t say anything… it would hurt worse than pretending you didn’t want to. You always got close to just sitting next to her every early morning when she tagged by. Always but lost the courage to.

Now there’s nothing left to pretend. She’s gone.

You sit there a while longer. Not saying anything. Not needing to. You just…breathe out.

The theatre breathes with you. Or maybe it exhales for the first time since she left.

It’s strange—how her absence fills more space than her presence ever did. Like she didn’t take up room until she was gone.

And maybe that’s what you’re really mourning. Not the fact that she left. But the realization that you let her slip through your fingers quietly, gently, without ever asking her to stay. Because you knew she wouldn’t.

Still…you wish she had said goodbye out loud. To you at least.

Just once.

-

You stop sitting next to her seat after the third night.

It was quiet comfort at first — not solace, never that — just the act of occupying the space she left behind. Like you could hold onto the faintest heat her body had left in the cushion. A phantom warmth. A last trace of her presence before the crew moved on without her.

But after three nights, it began to feel pathetic.

So instead, you get up earlier than everyone else. Show up before the city has even warmed beneath the morning sun. You unlock the side door with stiff fingers, lights still dark, and walk into that small, modest theatre that once felt full of life. Your steps echo a little too loud now.  The sound rings back at you like an accusation.

The theatre isn’t falling apart. Not quite.

It was never one of those grand velvet-draped relics with golden balconies and champagne intermissions. No, your theatre was always modest — clean, functional, bare-boned charm with just enough character to feel intimate. It had that gentle kind of age, like a smile line near the corner of a mouth, like it’s been through enough to feel lived in, but not enough to lose its soul.

But now, the soul feels like it’s missing.

You sweep. You rehang posters. You change the lightbulbs before they even have a chance to flicker. You spend hours poring over spreadsheets and emails from underwhelming performers, trying to sell them on a dream that doesn’t exist anymore.

Because the dream was her. And she’s gone.

It’s been a month since Mina’s last show.

And no matter how much you work, how hard you grind your teeth through meetings and rehearsal schedules, you can’t clean away the ache she left behind.

People talk to you less now. Not out of fear. Not exactly. But something colder. Hesitation, maybe. Like they’re walking around someone with a freshly bandaged wound they’re afraid to bump into.

You used to be sharp, sure — biting and sarcastic, that kind of "show not tell" energy the team secretly loved. They used to tease you about it. Laugh when you scolded them for wasting time, even as you handed out snacks during breaks and made sure everyone had water bottles at tech rehearsals. You were cold in words, warm in action. That was the balance.

But now… now it’s just cold.

No more dry jokes. No offhand remarks laced with reluctant affection. Just clipped orders, frustrated sighs, and a silence that wraps around your shoulders like a soaked coat.

Jihyo, your stage manager, tries to hide her concern. She gives you looks. The kind that hover between annoyance and worry. But she doesn’t push. Not at first.

Others aren’t so subtle.

“I heard she’s doing shows at Starship now,” your assistant, says one afternoon, while coiling cables. Her voice is low but pointed. “Sold out four nights consecutively. Must be nice.”

You grunt. Don’t look up. Just keep typing into the budgeting spreadsheet that refuses to balance.

“She probably doesn’t even think about this place anymore.” she mutters.

You glance up slowly, meeting her eyes. There’s a flicker of guilt on her face, but it’s buried under something else. Frustration. Jealousy, maybe. You don’t answer.

“…Probably not.” you say, voice flat.

And that’s all it takes. A shift in the air.

Your silence gives them permission. Not directly. But something changes after that. Whispers get a little louder. The ones who worked with Mina — who watched her light up the stage without even trying — they start to speak of her with less reverence.

“She was distant, anyway.”

“She didn’t care about any of us.”

“She sang, sure, but she never stayed after shows. Never smiled. Never shared anything.”

“She just left.”

You never correct them. You never defend her. Not because they’re right — but because you don’t have the energy to untangle all the mess she left you with. Because deep down, you know that if you open your mouth, it won’t be a neat explanation. It’ll be a dam breaking. A flood of things you never had the courage to say to her face.

So you stay quiet. Bottling up all the things you knew about Mina more than everyone else. And they start to dislike her. Not hate. Not really. Just enough for the resentment to bloom in corners. Just enough to fill the space she left behind.

The new cast members — the ones who came in after Mina’s final bow — hear the bitterness second-hand. They weren’t there to see how she moved. How she never needed grandeur or choreography. How the air would still around her when she stood at centre stage and simply sang. How she didn’t perform for attention, but for some sacred rhythm inside her chest you were never allowed to hear.

They don’t understand. They don’t want to understand.

So they shrug, and say, “She wasn’t that special.”

You hear it backstage. You hear it too many times. Each time, it chips something inside you. But you don’t respond. You just stare at the spot on stage where she used to stand — downstage centre, left foot slightly forward, chin tilted in that exact unintentional elegance. The spotlight always caught her eyes just right.

You remember everything about her presence. It lingers, even now, like perfume in an empty room.

Eventually, Jihyo corners you after a long, soul-crushing rehearsal. The new lead fumbled two lines. The sound tech cut out. You snapped harder than necessary. People left with their heads down.

Jihyo doesn’t sugarcoat it. “You’re bleeding the team dry.”

You barely glance at her, rummaging through your bag. “They’ll live.”

“They’ll leave.”

You stop. Stare at her.

She folds her arms. “You think no one notices? You haven’t smiled in days. You bark at everyone. You’re distant, cold—worse than usual.”

Your jaw tenses. “I’m…keeping the theatre running.”

“We’re all keeping it running,” she fires back. “But you? You’re not directing anymore. You’re surviving. And you’re dragging the rest of us through the mud with you.”

You stare at her long and hard. No energy in your voice this time. Just exhaustion.

“She left,” you whisper. “She walked out the side door without looking back. And I let her.”

There’s a long silence. Jihyo’s face softens, but only slightly. “You didn’t make her leave.”

“No,” you murmur. “But I didn’t ask her to stay, either.”

She leaves you there, standing alone under the harsh fluorescent lights. You think she wants you to take a break. To go home. To rest.

Well, you don’t. You wait until the theatre is empty again. Until the hallway is silent. Until the last staff member has left.

And then, for the first time in a while, you walk to the fourth row.

You don’t sit.

You just stand there. Staring at her seat.

You remember the way she used to sit — poised, always straight-backed, hands folded. Never slouched. Always composed. Like she was made of something quieter than confidence. Something permanent.

You look down at the cushion. It’s just fabric. Just foam. But it still faintly feels like her.

Your fingers brush the armrest.

“Mina,” you whisper. Her name still fits awkwardly in your throat. “Why didn’t you make me stop you?”

There’s no answer. Of course not. So you just clench your jaw and turn away.

And once again, you go back to work. Because the show must go on. Even if the person who made it feel worth watching is no longer in the audience.

No longer in the wings. No longer… yours.

Just a silence, now. And a seat that remains empty.

-

The house lights hadn’t even dimmed yet, but the backstage buzz was already picking up. You stood on the edge of the stage, clipboard pressed tight against your ribs, eyes narrowed as you studied the rigging high above. The familiar scent of old wood mixed with the faint trace of freshly painted set pieces wrapped around you like a familiar shroud. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of light piercing through the upper windows, making the quiet theatre feel almost sacred.

Jihyo approached, her footsteps cautious but steady. “Hey, you okay?” she asked, voice soft but carrying that unmistakable edge of concern. You barely glanced at her.

“…fine,” you muttered, adjusting a spotlight with the long pole. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped it tighter, trying to will the weakness away.

“Ya, you’re not fine.” She stepped closer, folding her arms. “You’ve been rubbing your temple all morning and skipping lunch.”

“I’m just tired, Jihyo. You know how it is.” You tried to force a smile, but it cracked halfway through.

She didn’t buy it. “You don’t look tired. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You swallowed hard and took a breath, willing your legs not to betray you. “I’m fine. Really.”

She frowned, stepping back but keeping her eyes on you. “If you say so.” She glanced toward the wings, where crew members busied themselves setting up. “Look, the others are asking for you. The act's warming up. We start in thirty.”

You nodded stiffly, turning your gaze back upward, focusing on a tangle of cables dangling near the lighting rig. Your vision blurred at the edges for a moment, but you blinked it away. You couldn’t afford to slow down—not now. Not when the theatre was hanging by a thread.

Jihyo lingered, watching you carefully. “Seriously, you need to sit down for a minute.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit’” she insisted, stepping forward and catching your arm before you could move. “Look at me.”

You met her worried eyes. She was always so steady, so grounded—your anchor when everything else threatened to fall apart. But right now, even she looked shaken.

“I—” you started to protest, but the world tipped sideways.

Your knees buckled.

Jihyo’s grip tightened instantly as she caught you before you hit the floor, lowering you gently to the stage. The clipboard slipped from your hands, clattering against the wood like a gunshot.

“Hey! Hey, stay with me!” she said urgently, shaking your shoulder.

Your breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. The dim lights spun overhead, and a cold numbness crept from your fingertips, crawling up your arms.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Jihyo shouted, voice cracking. "Hurry up!"

You tried to speak but the words tangled in your throat. Darkness edged your vision.

“Stay awake! I’m right here!” Jihyo’s voice was the last thing you heard before the world went black.

-

The room smelled like antiseptic and too many flowers.

When you came to, the world was blurred around the edges. The hospital ceiling looked just like the theatre’s light grid—white, rigid, oppressive. You tried to sit up but immediately regretted it, your head pounding like it had stored weeks of pain just for this moment.

“Don’t,” someone said.

The voice was familiar.

Soft. Gentle. A little out of breath.

Your eyes adjusted, and slowly, familiar silhouettes came into focus. Was it Mina? Did she actually came?

….it was Jihyo, eyes red. A few staff. Some of the newer performers. Even the grumpy lighting tech you always butted heads with. All hovering like anxious bees around your bed.

You blinked at them, ignoring the disappointment in your tone. “What… what are you all doing here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up, dumbass,” Jihyo mumbled, brushing their nose. “You scared the living shit out of us.”

"I'm…not dead though…?"

"You're very close to be, boss."

A chorus of relieved laughter rippled around the room, but it didn’t lift the heaviness from your chest. You searched the crowd, eyes scanning. You don't know why you looked around for her anyway.

You thought it was finally time to let her go until the door open. She walked in like she hadn’t been gone a day.

The same dark coat, buttoned neatly to the collar despite the early spring warmth outside. Hair smooth, the kind that didn’t give the wind permission to move it. Her expression was the same as the last time you’d seen her — cool, unhurried, eyes deep enough to reflect every question you wanted to ask but would never answer them first.

But somehow you can see the slight trembling on her lips, the grip on the coat sleeve with her delicate hand that is tighter than usual, the small impatient tap of her foot.

Mina.

She didn’t look at anyone else.

Not Jihyo, not the actors, not the crew members leaning against the far wall. Her gaze locked on you from the moment she stepped through the doorway, and for her, the rest of the room may as well have been furniture.

There was a stiffness from the others. Not open hostility, but the kind of quiet bracing people do when someone they don’t like walks in. Mina either didn’t notice or didn’t care.  You could feel the shift—the tension crackling like static in the air. Everyone knew what she did. Everyone saw what she left behind.

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry. “Mina—”

“Later,” she said, calm and clipped, the kind of tone that left no space for argument.

Her eyes flicked once toward the others, then back to you. “Out.” It wasn't loud. It wasn't even sharp. But it had weight and the room responded to it.

"Are you seri-"

"Jihyo, it's ok." You stopped her, summoning all of your power to. "Can I have a moment with Mina, guys?"

"Bu-"

"Please…?"

Jihyo sighed, loud and reluctant. Then the room began to clear. Your staff shuffled out, muttering and avoiding eye contact. You sat up slightly in the bed, wincing, watching as the door clicked shut behind the last person. Mina remained standing by the foot of your bed, fists clenched at her sides, throat bobbing.

Only then did she let her gaze settle on you again.

Up close, her face was exactly the same as you remembered — controlled, unshaken, every emotion buried just deep enough that you could only guess. If she’d missed you, you wouldn’t see it. If she’d been worried, she wouldn’t let it show.

She stood there like that for a long moment, then finally spoke. “…you idiot.”

The words were quiet. Too quiet for the hallway to hear. But her voice carried a faint tremor that you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from her before.

Then her knees gave out and she fell to her knees at your bedside. Not sat. Not crouched. Fell.

“Mina, are you-” you gasped, but she shook her head violently, both hands clenching the bedsheet like it was the only thing tethering her.

You finally took a proper look at her eyes. They weren’t cold. They weren’t indifferent. They were shattered.

“You think I didn’t hear?” she continued, low but quick, as though saying the words any slower would let them unravel her. “About you skipping meals? About the hours you’ve been pulling? About the fact that you…” She cut herself off, jaw tightening. “Do you even understand how stupid that is?”

You blinked, unsure if the haze in your vision was from fever or disbelief. “You left.”

“I know.” She swallowed, eyes locked on yours like she was daring you to look away first. “I thought you’d be better without me.”

You stayed silence.

“…I thought if I left, you’d rest. I-I thought if I left, maybe you’d finally put yourself first. But you didn’t.” Her hands trembled as they gripped the blanket draped over you. “You got worse. You—god dammit, you collapsed.”

“Mina…”

“I’m so stupid,” she murmured, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Y-you made me who I am. You protected me. You believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. And all I did was leave.”

You tried to shake your head, but she kept going.

Her voice shook, and tears started rolling down her cheeks. Quietly at first. Then faster. More frantic. She buried her face in her palm, soft sobs muffled, her breath catching and hitching as the flood finally broke loose.

“I kept telling myself it was for the best. That bigger stages meant I could make you proud. Make my biggest supporter proud. That maybe you'd… you’d finally stop pushing yourself so hard.” Her shoulders shook, her voice barely holding together. “But I was just being a piece of trash. Running away when things got hard. From you. From everyone.”

"Mina-"

And then it happened. Her voice rose.

She looked up at you then, wailing. “But hearing you like that—hearing you fall in front of everyone—I’d rather just burn out completely and die than let that happen again.”

For anyone outside, the sound must have been jarring — the calm, unreachable Mina breaking through the wall she’d built around herself, her voice spilling out raw and uneven.

Inside, mascara streaks ran down her face. Her lip quivered. Her perfectly done makeup was a mess—but she was still Mina. Still beautiful. Still yours, in some impossible, broken way.

You couldn’t help it. Tears slipped from your eyes too, and you reached out, brushing her cheek with the back of your hand. You choked out a laugh through your tears, finally noticing her attire underneath the coat. “Ya, you ditched your act tonight? Can't believe the Sharon did just that.”

She nodded against your arm, still clutching the sheet like a lifeline. “I couldn’t sing. Not if I didn’t know if you’d ever… wake up.”

"I don't die that easily…" You reached out, hand weak but steady enough to touch her hair. Her soft, raven-black hair. She leaned into the touch like she had been waiting years for it.

And then it hit you. A memory. A name.

Sharon. Her stage name. The name that shook the world.

She had chosen it with you. Late one night in the green room, the two of you huddled over a list of names, laughing at the ridiculous ones and pausing at the ones that meant something.

"Sharon" had stuck. A name of beauty, strength, and determination in solitude. You’d said it suited her. And it did.

But now… now you were reminded of something you hadn’t let yourself remember. That underneath Sharon—the siren-like, enigmatic voice that saved your theatre—was still Mina.

Just Mina.

A girl who didn’t know how to cry in front of anyone until right now. Who didn’t know how to tell you that the spotlight was starting to burn. That she was deep down afraid of letting people down.

Even though she looked so composed around everyone else, her hands always shook behind the curtain. That a cold girl like her can be so beautiful even when in glassy tears while leaning to your palm.

“I missed you…” you whispered.

She looked up then, eyes rimmed red, voice breaking apart with every syllable.

“I missed you more.”

And so, for the first time since that quiet, aching parting weeks ago, you both cried together. No pretences. No walls. Just the sound of regret and longing, unspoken for far too long.

She wept audibly, and you held her, gently and delicately. And for a moment, just a moment, the world beyond the curtain didn't exist.

Well, difficulties along the way put delay after delay which means your grand opening is smack dab at the middle of summer break. You can individually track each customer over the past two weeks, so barren it has been. 

“Ah, well. Good thing dude’s filthy rich. Next month will pay off, trust.” You busy yourself with whatever baristas do when it’s quiet, wiping down tables over and over. There must be more cleaner residue on those than there have been actual stains. The windows, too. At least that you kinda enjoy, as any stains bother you immensely. 

At one point you take over the chill jazz and soul R&B playing on repeat, blasting your own mishmash of genres while singing them to your heart’s content. A decent use of the pricey double glazed glass at least. 

Unfortunately, slaving the speakers to your phone means the welcome bell doesn’t sound when a customer does open the door. “Now let me show you the shape—ahh! My heart!” You jump at the sight of the mythical customer just as she closes the door behind her. She’s hardly affected. Maybe her eyes widened a bit, but that’s it. 

“Sorry, sorry! Pardon me. We are open, yes! Lemme just…” You stumble and scramble to the counter, the squeaky clean floor working against you. The playlist switches back to company SOP, along with your disposition. “Please, come in. What can I get for you today, miss?”

She approaches the counter silently, her eyes only changing when she reads over the menu. “Do you have anything that’s…brightly colored? Except for red,” she croaks like her voice is trying not to disturb the ambience. 

You raise a brow at the peculiar request. “Well…if I’m getting you correctly, our matcha latte’s what you’re looking for.” She winces, curling her lips inwards. “That’s…green, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.”

“Anything that’s like…purple in color? Violet, something like that?”

“Eh…not as of yet, unfortunately,” you give a slight bow. “Maybe you could give some suggestions? We can add it to the menu later, still feeling things out here.”

She sighs, shoulders slumping but not loosening. “No, I’ll just take one large matcha. Normal sugar and ice.” 

“Gotcha. Anything else? Our sandwiches are pretty good—”

“Just…the matcha latte, please. Thank you.” Her answer is curt, but doesn’t bite very hard, like its teeth had been worn down.

“Of course, one large matcha latte, normal sugar and ice.” You give her the QR payment code and she scans it, movements almost robotic. “Very well. I’ll get this ready for—oh, almost forgot!” You chuckle brightly and tap on your forehead, trying to melt away at least parts of the wall of ice she brought in. “What’s the name for the order?”

“Enami. Enami Asa,” she answers, efficient and no warmer, already turning away to look for a seat. “Enami…Asa. Like this?” You show her the writing on her cup. Asa offers a passing glance, confirming with a single nod and continuing on her way. You finally relent and accept the cold. Perhaps it’s what she needs right now far more than whatever you could offer.

You do maintain your own temperature as you deliver the drink to her table. Asa returns a brief thanks; polite, sanitised. You give a slight bow and return to the counter, readying yourself for another customer…that doesn’t come. Back to filler activities you go, minus the obsessive cleaning and personal karaoke, that is. Only you, the gentle music, the air conditioning with hints of coffee, and Asa. 

Seriously, she didn’t bring anything with her other than her phone, it seems. And even that sits idly in her pocket. She takes a small sip every now and then, otherwise just observing the interior in silence, barely moving her head.

Bit by bit her cup empties, and on the last sip she places the cup back in the exact same spot it’s been in; not even the ring of water on the table is out of place. She gets up and puts the chair back in place, turning towards the exit. “Thank you, please come again!” Asa’s arm flies up to chest level before she snaps them back to her sides, offering a half-bow on the way out. You return it and watch her walk away. From where you can see, it seems like her head doesn’t quite know where she’s going, her legs merely following whatever path they’re on.

“Hm. Quiet, uptight…purple drink lady.” You hum and add her to the small bank of customers in your mind, fully expecting this to be your only encounter with her.

But it isn’t. Asa comes back every three to four days, making her the first and so far only recurring customer. Each time she orders the same thing. Sits in the same spot. Makes no conversation beyond what is chiefly necessary. You thought the cold silence would be suffocating, what with your polar opposite energy. Strangely, that’s not the case. You find her presence to be some sort of anchor, something to look forward to with less than ten customers a day. 

***

On the third week after your first encounter, you almost wish for that back. Academic year’s in full swing, numbers previously requiring a week to reach easily surpassed in three hours. You and Takaki both man the counter full-time, no longer taking turns. He’s already thinking about hiring another employee, too.

When Asa shows up again, you almost don’t recognise her amidst all the fast-moving chaos. “One moment! Welcome to the Camel Café. What can I get—oh! Hi!” You just about jump on your feet upon seeing her. A wide, unabashed grin blooms across your features, half of the day’s tension melting away from your shoulders.

Asa seems equally awestruck by the crowd, if not perturbed. It’s the first new expression you’ve seen from her. “I see business has…taken off.” A casual, non pragmatic (well, less than usual) comment too? You can’t help but laugh, to the confusion of Takaki behind you amongst his juggling of four orders.

“Yeah, you don’t say. Weird to see the place so lively, isn’t it?”

Asa shrugs. “Well, its capacity is paying dividends.” 

“Anyways, what can I get you? The usual?” Your fingers hover above the screen, ready to punch in her order.

“Actually…looks like I won’t need anything from you today,” she murmurs. Your smile drops a degree, tilting your head. Your eyes follow where hers seem to be fixed upon, then you hum in understanding. “Ah, your spot’s taken? It’s fine! Hey, Imma let you in on a little secret. See that dude in the sun hoodie? He’s gonna book it out of here in—”

“No, it’s not fine. I’ll return on a later date. Thank you. I won’t obstruct your business any longer.” Asa bows and turns about face before you can begin to argue. You watch her walk away with a small frown on your face, one you immediately have to curve back up for the next customer.   

That continues for the succeeding occasions. Asa will only come in and order if her favourite spot’s available, backing away as soon as it’s taken by someone else. When she does manage, she orders the same drink and does the same thing. Among the hustle and bustle of university students with their drinks, laptops, headphones, extension sockets and the like, her table is jarringly still and sterile. A single large matcha latte. Raised from and lowered onto the exact same spot that it first occupied the table on.

Even on the rare quieter days. If her spot is taken, Asa won’t enter. You decide to make use of the quiet to go after her, asking Takaki to take over. “Wait! Enami-sama!” Her entire body straightens into one line, turning around so smoothly it looks choreographed. “Yes?”

“I just—” You cough as you catch your breath, hands on your knees. Damn, you need to exercise. “Just have one question. I gotta know.” 

“Is it pertaining to me and or important?”

You stand up and face her squarely. “It does pertain to you. And it’s important. To me.” Asa narrows her eyes a bit, one corner of her mouth tugged up in thought. If not for her standoffish, enigmatic nature (or maybe because of it), she does look rather adorable. 

“Go ahead, then. What is it?” Oh, right. The question. “Why…oh—I lied. Well, forgot. Two questions, actually. Is that alright?”

“Was that one of them?”

A snort makes it past your nose before you could stop it. “Eh, no. Unless you count it as one, then it’s three questions.” You could swear that her mouth twitched a few millimetres at that. Maybe you’re just seeing what you want. Whatever, unimportant.

“Very well, then. We’re already here, anyways.” She crosses her arms. “Right, first off. Why that spot in particular? Like, you’ll take nothing else but that spot. Why?”

Asa exhales and looks over her shoulder, then down at her shoes. “It’s…spacious. Secure. But not out in the open.” She looks back up at you. “That’s why I chose that spot.”

“Hm. And there’s no other spot that fits the bill?”

“Well, there are a few others that may, from my observations. But…I fear they won’t achieve the same effect.” You nod and let her answer settle. At least out here the silence isn’t idle. Some cackles in the distance from a group of students, the birds in the trees, the deep diesel rumble of a bus setting off from its stop.

“I see.” Asa’s body starts shifting side-to-side, like your acknowledgement was the permission to loosen up that it was waiting for. “Next question, then. Why purple?”

“Excuse me?”

“When you first came to the café. You asked for brightly colored drinks. Except red. You wanted purple or violet, but settled on green with the matcha.”

Asa scoffs—actually scoffs. Her lips curve up into a small, tangible smile. Which stays. “You…remember all of that?”

“Of course I did! You’re among our first customers, first one to come back, and with that request of yours?” You list off with your fingers. “Pretty hard to forget, Enami-sama.”

She lets out what might have been a chuckle, definitely some humoured expression. “Didn’t dope that as something so memorable.” 

Your eyes and ears perk up. “Dope…it?” 

“Ah, it’s this…when riflemen hone in their scopes to their rifles? And they use the data for quick reference, different ranges—anyway, that’s what that means.”

“Oh…yeah, yeah, I get it. Interesting! You work with firearms or something?”

That small smile droops to only a small hint of it. “I…used to.” 

“Really? What—” You just now catch her expression, feeling like her whole person shrunk a few centimeters. “Oh, sorry. I pried too much, didn’t I?”

Asa waves you off quickly. “It’s alright. And to answer your last question…” She looks you in the eyes, but her pupils unfocus. “I have my reasons. About the colors. It…it isn’t something I’d like to discuss right now.”

“That’s completely fine. I was just curious more than anything.” You put your hands together in front, fingers fiddling. “Well, I should…get back. Thank you for your time, Enami-sama. See you later.” You bow and turn around after she returns it.

“That was more than two, by the way.”

You stop and turn around, finding another, slightly bigger smile on Asa’s face. “Sorry?”

“That was way more than two questions. Shouldn’t you be better with numbers, running a business and all?” she chuckles. It’s soft, but definitely a chuckle this time.

You shoot back a smirk. “Aha. Good point. Though, I think you’re more than just business, Enami-sama.”

“Is that so?” She raises a brow. Your face runs a bit cold. To be honest, you don’t know why you said that or really what it meant. Just saying what felt right at the moment. 

“Since I’ve gone over so much, one more wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“I thought you had to get back to work?”

“Well, call this customer networking…or whatever. Bossman’s the one with all the business jargon.”

“You just said I’m more than business.”

“More than just business. May include business somewhere in there,” you tilt your head.

Asa laughs, the bright noise bouncing around the quiet street. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably good,” you snicker. “Anyways, what I meant to say was…you said there are other tables that could suit you, yeah?”

Asa nods. “Correct.”

“Maybe next time your current spot’s occupied, you could…try those, if available. You might hate them, you might like them more than the usual spot. Nobody knows. Not until you try them.”

Asa smiles and puts her hands in her pockets. “I’ll…keep that in mind. Thank you, ‘More than just business’ barista-san.”

You laugh freely, waving at her. “You’re welcome, Enami—”

“Call me Asa,” she interrupts. “Enami-sama sounds a whole lot like ‘just business’.”

 “Right, right.” You nod. “Then…see you later, Asa-san!” 

***

“Let me have the…peach tea,” Asa gingerly asks. You hum in fascination, nodding. “Different drink? Nice! Hot, right? Or are you an iced tea freak like I am?”

“Hot, please. Like it needs to be any colder this October,” she giggles. She’s been doing that a lot more since that afternoon. Still some tension evident, but she’s letting them off more often. 

“Thank you very much. Well, I know where you’re sitting. One hot peach tea on the way,” you chirp after she makes the payment.

“Actually?” She peruses the interior. “I’m going for a different spot today. Testing out my candidates.”

“Heck yeah! What’s the occasion today? Lots of firsts!”

She smirks. “Does there need to be an occasion?”

“Word,” you nod. “Well, go for it. Let me know about the…assessment later?”

“I will. You’re the only one interested anyways,” she scoffs, waving as she goes for the new seat despite her usual spot being vacant. Delivering her drink feels a bit strange, not taking the route you’ve got wired in. 

***

“Yo.” Takaki nudges your arm. “I got news. Big one.”

“Congrats! When’s the wedding?”

He swats your back with a rag, only making you snicker louder. “Wiseass. I’m thinking about a new line of drinks.”

“Ooh. What kind?” 

“Tropical. Refreshing, colourful, fruit mixes, that kind,” he states with a ‘wow’ gesture.

You scoff. “Tropical? In this climate?”

“Well, not right now, obviously. We need that new staff first.”

“Right! You got someone in mind?”

“Got a couple candidates. Anyways, thought I should let you know early. Pass the news to that VIP customer of yours. Heard she likes colorful drinks?”

“VIP customer, really,” you giggle. “What, she your…girlfriend then?”

“Now hold your fucking horses.” You brandish the portafilter towards him. “She—”

A loud clatter grabs your attention, snapping your head in search of the source. Easy to find with everyone else’s heads turned towards it; Asa’s new table. Her cup is no longer on it, fallen over with its contents spread across a big splatter on the floor. Asa herself is breathing hard, chest rising and falling, mouth partly open. Sweat glistens on her temple, her eyes unfocused and darting all over the place.

“Shit.” You don’t think twice and run around the counter towards her side, navigating around pulled out chairs and extension sockets on the floor. “Asa-san? Can you hear—”

“GET DOWN FROM THERE! Get your head down! What the fuck are you doing!” she roars, hands flying to cover her own head. 

“Okay, okay.” You lower yourself to level with her eyes. “Why are we getting down?”

“Didn’t you—you don’t see what happened to her?!” Asa screeches and wheezes, curling into herself further. “They shot her! THEY SHOT HER IN THE HEAD! She was smiling and they shot her! Blood…there’s blood everywhere…”

“Alright, Asa-san. Listen to me—”

“We’re all gonna die! We’re stuck out here, we’re gonna—”

“Enami Asa!” you call out just loud enough to be heard over her own rambling. “Look at me! Over here, where my voice is. Can you hear me?”

 Asa slowly lowers her head and complies, looking in your general direction. “Good. Now breathe. Slow in, slow out. Don’t rush. Let it through.” She nods and tries, taking multiple attempts to smooth out. 

“Easy…good. Now, what are you sitting on right now? Can you feel it?”

She snakes her hand down, tapping and rubbing her chair. “C–Chair. A…a chair.”

“Can you say it for me?”

“Huh…huh?”

“‘I am sitting on a chair’. Say it. Take a breath first if you need to,” you gently guide her.

“I…I am—” She takes the preceding breath. “I am sitting…on a chair.”

“Good. Now where is that chair?”

“It…ah!” She ducks to avoid something invisible. “In…in the café—Camel Café.”

“Good. Say it for me. ‘I am sitting on a chair in the Camel Café.” This cycle repeats, each time adding more and more components that help guide Asa back to the present she’s been distanced from. 

“Very good. You’re coming back. Now…” You reach out for her still trembling hand, laying your hand on top of it with the lightest touch that’s enough for her to feel all of it. “You are in here, not out on the battlefield. You are with me, not with your troops. You are…safe, Enami Asa. We’re here for you. I’m here for you.”

Some colour begins returning to Asa’s face, her breathing much softer and quieter than before. “I…” she attempts something but it ultimately fades away. “You don’t need to say this one back, just nod if you understand all that. Mmkay?”

Asa stares at you for several more seconds before she nods. A quiet sob breaks through, then breaks down into longer cries. The tables around you breathe out a collective sigh of relief, returning to their business. You softly tap Asa’s hand throughout, whispering quiet assurances to her.

***

“I, uh…” Asa sniffles sometime later, her voice hoarse but relaxed. “I guess you know about my past life now, huh?”

You shrug. “Yeah, very few professions would cause such an…effect on someone. I could see some signs earlier though. Not too big of a surprise, heh.”

She nods and chuckles, wiping her nose. “Not at all.”

“Yeah.” You look over your shoulder at Takaki who’s signing you to get back to the counter. “Well, I…gotta get back now, okay? I’ll be right over there—”

“Wait, wait. Just…stay. A bit longer, please?” Asa reaches out for your hand. You smile and nod, mouthing ‘five more minutes’ to Takaki. 

“How, um…how did you know to do that? The…whatever you did to me.”

“Ah, that?” Your lips stretch to a pensive smile, shifting in your seat. “It…my dad. On his way home from the city he was hit by this…sports car thing. Went stupid fast and blew through a red, and…my dad’s car was in his way.” You nod and swallow, your throat feeling a bit heavy. “Dad made it, but uh, Mom…Mom didn’t.”

Asa’s grip on your hand tightens, some moments of silence passing. “That…I’m sorry. I don’t know…what to say. That’s horrible!” she whispers. 

“You don’t gotta say anything,” you wave. “Anyways, it’s a few years ago now. But, Dad still has these…episodes, occasionally. A lot more then, he’s much better now. But yeah, that’s how I calmed him down whenever it happened!” You shrug and smile, wiping away non-existent snot under your nose.

“Gosh, what a mess. I’m sorry, Asa-san. I shouldn’t…” You sigh. “It was my fault, I–I got you into this, pushed you towards it. It was a big mistake.”

Asa squints her eyes at you, the most hostile expression you’ve ever seen her wear. ”It wasn’t a mistake for me.”

Your eyes open a bit wider. “Wait, what?”

“It…it did create a big mess, and it was scary, but…” Her expression grows warmer again. “ …I’m feeling braver than I’ve felt in years now. Years!”

“Really?”

“Mhm! I don’t know if I would ever have tried it without you.” She cringes and peeks at the floor. “That is a lot of tea on the floor, though. I’m sorry, I would clean it myself, but…I know you won’t let me.”

“You bet!” you scoff as you stand up. “Dude will actually curse me for three generations if I make you do it. It’s my responsibility anyway.”

Asa laughs, looking down at her lap. “Thank you. For that, for…everything, really.”

“You’re welcome—whoa,” you raise your hands, leaning back. “You’re not going away or something, are ya? Why’d you say it like that?” She looks up, slightly flummoxed. It really is adorable, you can’t deny. “Huh?”

“I’m kidding!” you laugh and lower your hands. “You’re fun to tease, Asa-san.”

“Tsch. Get back to work already! Soon enough your boss will ban me for all of your time I’m taking,” she giggles.

“I’ll go on strike if he does that. And I am working,” you say smugly. “But yeah, he might cut my pay, actually. Shit.” Right as you turn around, Asa shoots up to her feet. “Then, um…can–can I have your number?”

“Why, that’s—huh?”

“You know, so that I could…take up your time outside of work instead?” Asa sounds stable and confident, but her hands are shuffling all over the place. You giggle, grinning widely. “Sounds like a plan.”

***

Asa does not waste the established contact at all. She’s way chattier online than in person, and it doesn’t take too long before short, casual messages escalate into sending you all sorts of pictures and thoughts. Things she sees walking, rants about her thesis, would-you-rathers and hear-me-outs that both of you spend far too much time on. A bulk of your downtime is now spent replying and reading them. Honestly, it was a bit overwhelming early on. Now? You enjoy nearly every bit of the noise.

Another new habit Asa’s picked up is waving at you through the window before she enters, jumping in place at times. It warms your heart every time, and you wave back with equal excitement whenever you can.

October has been cold and this late afternoon is the coldest yet, the café’s heating turned up almost to full power. You wear more layers than usual indoors, in preparation for the unpredictable dash outside that happens every so often. 

Then, in the corner of your eye, you see her. Walking slower than everybody else that is trying to keep warm. She’s back in those choreographed steps that you saw the first few times, but this one is different. They’re immensely weighted, yet float across the ground like it’s made of clouds.

The smile growing on your face drops back down, your eyes narrowing a smidge. Atop Asa’s head is a green tricorn hat with some goldish emblem in the center. You don’t need to see exactly what the emblem looks like to know what it is, further confirmed when you peek between her dark green long coat. White shirt, green necktab, green suit jacket, and green trousers; she’s in Army full dress. And those aren’t worn without occasion.

As she gets closer, you can better see her eyes, how tired they are. Dark eyebags that are just about hidden by her makeup, something most passerbys wouldn’t notice. But you do. You’ve seen how bright those eyes can be.

Asa takes longer to notice you, only a few steps from the door when she does. Her expression lights up several degrees, but the fatigue is still evident. You wave back and smile as usual, feeding each other’s warmth. On her side, that dissipates real quick the moment she sees something across the street, something beyond your field of vision. 

You lower your hand, cocking your head around to try and see what she’s seeing. You don’t have to look for long though. From the corner of your vision emerges a man in a long coat, a peaked cap resting stiffly atop his head. The same colour as hers. His coat has one glaring difference though; gold and red epaulettes on the shoulders, with a couple silver cherry blossoms pinned on it. An officer.

Your curiosity turns to mild anxiety, not helped by the way Asa looks at him. That is with seething disdain, sparsely returning his bow. He says something to her, you can see his jaws moving from behind. One arm is clutching something underneath it while the other arm extends toward the door, likely inviting her to continue their discussion inside.

Whatever it was he suggested, Asa shoots it down, slashing it apart with her gaze while hissing something through her teeth. She cocks her head as she turns around and storms somewhere, the officer walking in tow.

***

Minutes grow, so does your unease. Who was he? What did Asa have to do with him? Why’d she have to lead him away somewhere? She was NOT pleased to see him. Maybe it’s not him, it’s the Army as a whole? What did she have to do with them still? What if they—

“Excuse me! I’m trying to order!”

You flinch and nearly fall over from your knee buckling. Breathing hard, spine is stone cold. Nothing to do with the weather, it’s nice and warm in here. “I, uh…um. Welcome! To–to…Camel Café. Where is—I mean, what can I get you?”

The customer shrugs it off and makes their order, you carry out the process as usual. As you make their drinks though, one, two missteps are made. You course correct just in time to not ruin them, but you are cutting it pretty close. 

“Dude, you alright?” Takaki asks, popping out from the kitchen. 

“Yeah man, it’s cool.” The cup sealer feels stiffer for some reason. Perhaps it’s actually you feeling weaker. “No! I don’t know dude, I keep…I keep worrying. It’s so weird, it’s driving me nuts! I don’t worry this much, not me.”

“Ooh, do I detect a…something something?” he snickers, turning dead serious seconds later. “But seriously, I think you need a break. You don’t look too hot.”

“I can handle it,” you grit. “It’s just a…stupid thing in my head.”

“That stupid thing in your head almost ruined two drinks. Finish those and take a walk or something. I’m serious.”

“It’s fine! I’ve gone on enough sidequests on the clock already, I’m gonna make my time’s worth.”

Takaki scoffs, putting his hands on his waist. “Am I some corporate demon or something? Fine. But if you force yourself and get sick later, I will make you work through it.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “Will you really?”

“Take a fucking break!”

“Okay, okay!” You check for leaks on the cups and push them to the pick up counter. “And the new kid? Will she be alright?”

“Ha! She’ll be more than alright. Kid could probably fly a plane after a good enough tutorial. Go on man, I got this. We changed it to a pick-up system for a good reason, hey?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Takaki! I’ll make it up to you!”

“Ew, I have a girlfriend, thank you.” You both laugh loudly as you make your way outside. The freezing cold whiplashes you, but it’s nothing to the anxiety that brews within you again. 

***

You walk to a faraway part of the street you’ve never gone to, trying to clear your mind. Pacing back and forth within the same twenty meters, a brief point of wonder for the few passers by. “It’s okay…it’s okay. It’s all–all worse in my mind. Never—”

“Oh.” A voice brings you back into the present, and the source is right in front as you open your eyes.

“Oh? Oh! Asa-san!”

Asa stares at you, then smiles and waves a bit stiffly. “Hi! What…what are you up to out here?”

“Asa-san! Asa…” You dash towards her, panting despite only going like three meters. “You’re here! You’re…you—” Her appearance is so overwhelming for some reason. With what emotion? You’re not entirely sure yourself.

“Eh? What—are you crying? Why are you crying?” Asa slides her coat off and throws it over your shoulder before you can protest. Not that you really can, being the sobbing, shaking mess that you are.

“Did something happen at the café?”

You shake your head and frantically wipe away tears, stammering repeatedly before uttering something intelligible. “I was…I was really worried about you.”

Asa raises her eyebrows, looking around. “Me? You were worried?”

“Mhm!” you nod. “I had…there—I had all these…thoughts, you know. That something might’ve happened to you. You—you stormed away, and…the way you looked at that officer, it—” You cough hard. “I couldn’t think straight, I was so worried!”

Asa’s mouth opens and closes, then she scoffs. But her subsequent tone isn’t dismissive, rather warm and soft. Enough to reach you, but inaudible to everyone else. “So that’s what made you worried? Did you think he was going to…try things on me?”

“Maybe?” you croak. “I—I don’t know. I’ve been reading a lot of things online, about the…the things that the government and the military had apparently done. Especially to people against that fucking war.” You sigh and ruffle your hair. “I guess all the…anxiety and the doom bled over. It’s probably silly.”

She nods slowly, looking down at her shoes, then back up at you. “It’s…not silly.”

“Really?”

She shakes her head. “My trade wasn’t in that area. You know, PR and Intel. But…I have dealt with their sort. Especially because of my trade. And…” She clicks her tongue, exhaling a visible plume of breath. “A lot of the things you’ve seen are not beyond them to do at all.”

“Of course, it’s all ‘alleged’ because there’s yet to be concrete evidence,” she shrugs and chuckles. “But those playbooks aren’t new. Not in 2032. Been done plenty of times by other parties.”

“R–Right.” You’re starting to shiver now the adrenaline’s wearing off. “So…t–that guy earlier really didn’t do anything foul, right?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t let him.” Asa eyes you up and down, then bursts out laughing. 

“W–What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…you really were worried sick, running out here without a scarf, a coat, or anything!”

“Ah, y–yeah, about that. I uh…left them back at the c–café. ” You shiver hard and rub your hands together. “A–Aren’t you cold? You’re not wearing m–much more than I am. Here—”

“Nu–uh.” Asa stops you from returning her coat. “I can deal with it until we get to the café. You need it a hell of a lot more than I do,” she chuckles.

“I–I guess, heh.” You wrap her coat around yourself harder. “Let’s get back.” You two start walking back to the café, nothing but your shudders and the street’s noises filling the first half.

“You look good, b–by the way,” you chirp. 

“Hm?”

“That uniform. Looks good on you.”

Asa smiles and hums, straightening her already razor sharp collar. “Thanks. It better with how expensive the damn tailor was.”

“Heh. I didn’t know you had to pay for that.”

“Ha! There’s tons we had to pay for ourselves. Makes you wonder where all that defense spending goes.”

You nod, wiping off some ice crystals from your nose. “What was the occasion, if I may know?”

“Occasion?”

“I heard you guys don’t wear this too often, so…what was it for?”

“Ah, this?” She glances at the ribbons above her left breastpocket, then looks into the distance for a few before answering, “A funeral. It was a funeral.”

“I see.” Asa slows down her steps slightly, and you match her. “Someone you knew?”

“Nope. Never heard of her until four days ago,” she shrugs. “I did work with who she left behind, though. And…” She sighs and stretches her arms. “ …I am a bit worried about him. After how he dealt with the last time…” Asa clears her throat and waves her hands like swatting away a thought bubble. “Anyways, that’s what I’m all dressed up for. I don’t want to get into it too much.”

You nod and leave it at that, all the way until you arrive in front of the café. “Here we are. Man, it looks so warm and cozy inside. Here.” You slide off her coat and hand it back to her. “Thanks for letting me use it.”

“You’re welcome. Is it really okay for you to be out this long?”

“Oh, dude was about to boot me through the window if I didn’t take a break.” Asa bursts out laughing at that, making you cackle as well. “You sure got an interesting boss!”

“Yeah, tell me about it. You uh…coming in, or do you have somewhere else to be?” 

Asa tilts her head side-to-side. “Well, there’s my thesis. Probably should get back on that, fuck ton of revisions.”

“Aha. Yeah, I know that feeling.” You stick your hands in your pocket and inhale through your teeth. “Well, good luck with that. I’m rooting for you! See you…whenever I see you again, Asa-san. Bye!” you jump and wave.

Asa grins and waves back with both of her hands. You turn around and are about to open the door when you hear, “Whatabouttonight?” 

It was so fast you didn’t catch a single word. “Sorry, what?” 

“Er…that, ‘whenever I see you again’. What if that whenever is…is tonight?” she asks, voice shrinking towards the end.

You stare at her before chuckling, “Are you asking to hang out?”

Asa snaps her head up at you. “Well, that—yeah! Yes. I mean, we always hang out when you’re on the clock, and I feel bad.” She swings side-to-side, hands behind her back. “So…what if we hang out properly? You know, just…coffee and chat, or snacks and chat, or—or, we don’t even need to do much. Just…walks and stuff. If–if you’re down, of course. No need to force it if you’re not…free.”

You laugh boisterously, tickled by how cute she is all nervous and excited like this. “I am down and will be free. Don’t you worry.”

“Great!” She jumps on her feet. “Then…see you tonight?”

“Yep! I’ll text you when I’m done.” You smile widely and wave with both hands. “Scratch that, I’ll call you when I’m done! Bye!”

But here you are now, and it’s exactly how people described it. Students filling every walkway. Booths lined up along the paths, some with disco lights strung overhead as the sky darkens. Everything trying to overlap each other from different directions–bass booming from the main stage from afar, students singing somewhere nearby, food sizzling, oil crackling, people stopping randomly, laughing too loudly and calling out to each other. Late spring breeze cuts through the night, cool against your skin.

They all weirdly blend together into something easier to take in. Maybe it’s not as suffocating as you thought it’d be. At some point, you feel the corner of your lips pulling upward on its own, even just for a second. This isn’t that bad-

"See? I told you."

Her gentle laugh rings right next to you, light and teasing. She’s been walking next to you the whole time, a wide grin on her face as you look her way.

"Um… not bad."

She scoffs and nudges your arm with her elbow.

"Yah… not bad? You’re seriously missing out on a lot!"

"Really?" you smile after giving a quiet sigh. "It’s not that magical, Jimin-ah."

"It is." she nudges you again, though a little more firmer this time. "I can’t believe you’ve never been to one of these before."

"I mean… I’ve been to high school ones." you look at the crowd ahead. "But it didn’t really feel the same. I just kind of hung out with my friends for a bit. Didn’t help that they all had girlfriends and I was… you know. Just there."

Jimin only hums softly. When you turn your head over, she’s now walking with her hands clasped behind her back, head tilted as she looks at you with quiet curiosity.

"Mmm, so you didn’t have a girlfriend…" she nods slowly, putting pieces together. "Like, actually… ever?"

You raise an eyebrow at her, not annoyed, only a little surprised that she hasn’t figured it all out yet.

"You didn’t know?"

Jimin’s expression changes almost instantly. She straightens, hands slipping from behind her back.

"Ah- wait, I-" she waves denying gestures quickly "Sorry, I didn’t mean to- No, if that sounded weird or anything, I just-"

You only laugh and shake your head.

"It’s okay, relax. I don’t really think much about it."

Jimin still looks a little unsure, her eyebrows pulling together slightly, her lips almost pouting as she mumbles.

"Still… I might’ve said it in a weird way."

"It’s really fine, Jimin-ah." you reassure her. "I thought it was kind of obvious anyway."

"...Hmm?"

"With how the sunbaes kept teasing me and trying to set me up on blind dates all the time. Isn’t it, like, so obvious?"

Jimin pauses for a second, the memories replaying in her head. She turns to you more fully as she walks, mouth slowly taking shape of a wide O as realization hits her.

"...Wait! Wait!" she finally says. "You mean those times they kept dragging you away after meetings?! That wasn’t just them messing with you?"

"Not really."

"They were seriously setting you up?" She repeats the question. Is it that hard to believe that you haven’t ever had a girlfriend?

"Yes… Is it that weird?"

Jimin keeps staring at you before a soft laugh escapes her lips. She looks ahead as you both keep walking, amusement written all over her face.

"Wah… And you keep denying them, time after time."

"I dunno. I don't think I’m in the right… how do you say it, position? Uhh, position to date right now."

Jimin turns back to you, those bubbly eyes of hers make it seem like she’s really studying you before she presses her lips together.

"...You’re a weird kid, you know that?" she decides, pointing at you with those short dinosaurs-like fingers. You haven’t known her for that long yet you’ve already noticed it. That weird, goofy tendency of hers. The way her humor lands a little off earth sometimes, and it doesn’t quite match how she looks yet somehow, it only makes her more attractive. The thought puffs a sudden short laugh out of you as your hand comes up without much thinking, lightly catching her wrist, lowering her finger from pointing at you.

"Thank you. I’ve heard it a lot."

Jimin giggles, her wrist showing only a little bit of resistance before finally slipping away.

"Weird kid. Weird."

You both wander deeper into the festival. Booths are all bumping past on either side with bright signs, students calling out and trying to lure you in with free samples. A group of students nearby huddle around a small stage, singing along to the whatever edition of the university chant. Jimin seems to be amazed by all of it. She points things out as you go, commentating and talking to herself mostly.

"Ah, that one looks fun! Wait, wait… No, that’s just a scam," she stops immediately, wrinkling her nose. A few seconds later, she’s already distracted again, tugging your shirt to get your attention. "Look, look! They have free cotton candy over there!"

You always nod along, already pleased with letting her lead the rhythm of it. After a moment, curiosity gets the better of you.

"Jimin-ah, what about you? Ever had a boyfriend? …or girlfriend?" you finally spit the question out after thinking it through. "Or, you know… I don’t discriminate. I, uh… love people all the same, just so you know."

Jimin stops dead in her tracks.

"…Aeng?"

She takes a small step back and really blinks at you. Then suddenly, Jimin bursts into laughter with her hands covering her mouth.

"What-" she struggles between laughs. "What’s wrong with you!? Really!?" 

Her laughter’s bright and bubbly, even attracting glances from people walking by. You can’t help but smile, relieved that she doesn’t take it the wrong way.

"What? It could happen, for all I know," you shrug. "You’re super popular on campus! Guys and girls all like you, Yu Jimin."

Jimin bends, one hand braced on her knee as her laughter spills out, her shoulders shaking. When she finally looks up at you, her cheeks are almost bright pink under the festival lights. Damn, you really make her laugh. Just when you’re preparing to say something else, she steps in and gives your chest a light punch with that small dinosaur-like fist.

"…Yah. What are you even saying!?"

You bite back a laugh, rubbing the spot just for the sake of it.

"I mean, is it wrong for a guy to try and be respectful?"

Jimin gives one last breathy laugh before reaching out and grabbing the sleeve of your shirt, pulling you forward so you both start walking again.

"No, idiot. I appreciate all the feelings," she smiles, "but no, I don’t swing that way. And yes. I did have a boyfriend back in high school if you’re wondering."

"Ah… I see."

You let her pull you along without resistance. In no time, Jimin shifts closer swiftly, looping her arm through yours. Her hand settles around your bicep, barely pressing. You try not to think much of it but… Is this intentional? The distance between you disappears when her grip tightens only a little around your bicep.

"But… it didn’t last long. I hated that guy."

"Hmm? Why?"

The noise of the festival fills the silence between you for a second when Jimin doesn’t give her answer. Her steps slow just a little and that’s when you know, maybe you shouldn’t have asked. You awkwardly steal a glance at her before looking ahead again.

"I was stupid back then," Jimin finally hums. "I thought love was super fun and all rainbow, you know. Dramas raised me like that."

You nod and Jimin sighs, only a light breath.

"How do I say it? Mmm, the jerk confessed to me on a school trip. Our friends even recorded the whole thing. I said yes… Then like a month in, I found out it was just a bet. Between him and his friends."

You clear your throat quietly, not knowing what to say.

"Ah… I- Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked."

"It’s okay. It’s just an experience, I guess. At least I know what to do when guys start acting weird now."

"Right. So what about uni then? I mean… I know you’re, like, super popular."

Jimin immediately rolls her eyes. "Yah, not like that."

You smile a little.

"Your Instagram has, what? Ten thousand followers? I bet you get like a thousand DMs every day."

"Yes, but I only use it for memories and… work stuff," she says, scrunching her nose. Cute. "All the DMs are just- ugh. I hate it. Some guys seriously don’t know their limits."

"…Right." you nod. "They don’t."

You still walk. Then she turns to you suddenly, eyes suspicious.

"Also… you, weirdo."

You hum out of surprise, that silly nickname she’s given you just ten minutes ago is now starting to grow on you.

"You barely have anything on your Instagram." she points out as if she’s just remembered. "What’s that about? Going for a mysterious guy kinda vibe?"

You snicker, shifting your weight lightly into her side only enough to throw her balance a little. Jimin laughs, gripping your arm tighter to steady herself.

"Yah-" 

"What do you mean? I have, like… I don’t know, twenty pictures or something up there."

"Sure, but you only have three hundred followers!"

You slow your steps a bit, letting Jimin regain her balance properly.

"Only!?" your voice raises as you stare at her. "Are you even hearing yourself!?"

"...What? Am I wrong?"

"Not everyone is as popular as you, Jimin-ah." you say, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Imagine three hundred people chasing you, silly."

Jimin huffs softly, shaking her head a little too quickly with her cheeks painted pink.

"No! Like- I mean… like, your pictures just don’t have much… you don’t really show anything on your Instagram."

"I’m not the type to show much, I guess. I’m fine with it."

She pouts at that, a small hum leaving her as if she doesn’t fully agree but doesn’t push it either. 

"Still…"

Her grip on your arm loosens just a little as you both wander again into the current of people. Jimin glances around, distracted again immediately, pointing at something ahead as you keep walking side by side without really deciding where you’re going. You start noticing it then–the looks, not even subtle. Mostly guys, a few girls too, looking your way as you pass. Some even do double takes, some nudge their friends while others just stare a second too long before looking away.

It’s not surprising. Jimin’s… the Jimin. You’ve heard a lot about how people went out of their way to confess, random gifts left for her. And somehow, she’s always just brushed it off, staying single until now. You glance at her briefly, only to see that she doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just simply doesn’t care.

It’s only been a few months since you first met her anyway. Back then you just randomly decided to join the university volunteer club. No real reason, you just wanted something to do, something positive to turn your life around. Jimin was the one who interviewed you and you remember it very clearly. The same girl walking next to you now, still bright and energetic, asking questions that didn’t really seem easy.

"What would you do if a kid cried and refused to let go of you?"

"Do you think you’re good at comforting people or just pretending to be?"

"Would you rather be a cat or a dog?"

You’d walked out of that room convinced you failed. And then a few days later, you got the email, saying you were accepted. You didn’t really talk much after that, only small interactions during activities and passing conversations. Nothing really sticks until the past month. You didn’t know how it started, Jimin just ended up next to you more often, like tonight.

Jimin drags you around, her grip still hooked around your arm.

"Look at them~"

You don’t react fast enough and suddenly your step catches, you stumble slightly, bumping into her shoulder. Jimin lets out a little squeak but still doesn’t let go, instead just laughs it off. The food stall in front of you is crowded, the smell rich and warm.

"Hungry?" you ask, the food does look good but with her this close, it’s hard to focus on anything properly. Jimin blinks up at you with shiny eyes and nods eagerly.

"Mm! Should we?"

That ‘we’ flicks at your heart a little too hard.

"…Sure, why not?"

Ordering is quick. Jimin hovers beside you, leaning in a little as she points at things on the menu, her shoulder brushing yours every now and then.

"I’ll pay you back later." she says when you hand over the money.

"It’s fine. It’s just food."

Jimin doesn’t fully agree, she hums but doesn’t argue. A minute later, you’re both standing off to the side with little cups in your hand. She takes a bite immediately, then pauses her chewing, eyes turning wide. Cute.

"Oh my… This is actually really good!"

You smile, watching her for a second before taking your own bite.

"It is."

She tries another, not even finishing chewing before holding her skewer up.

"Try this one. It’s chewy."  

You lean in to take a bite and lean back a little too quickly.

"Mmm~ that’s good."

Jimin just smiles, satisfied with the answer she expected. You both linger there a little longer, finishing one thing then another, trading small comments. It was only easy back-and-forth. At some point, she’s already taking you along to the next stall. You slow down in front of the menu, scanning and hesitating. Jimin doesn’t wait.

"Ah! Just get this." she decides, already pointing and telling the worker before you can say anything. A laugh is all you mutter before nodding, paying while Jimin stands there, giggly like she made the right choice–which she usually does, somehow. When the food comes, she takes it first.

"Wait, it’s hot-" she blows on it carefully, her eyebrows almost connecting in concentration. Then she looks up, smiling and holding it out toward you instead.

"You first, for paying. I have manners."

It’s small, yet your chest still tingles.

"…Thanks."

You hesitate while leaning in, only to immediately pull back with a loud hiss, your hand coming up to your mouth.

"Fuh-"

Jimin bursts into laughter.

"Yah! I told you it’s hot!" she laughs, half scolding. She leans in a little closer, now concerned. "Are you okay? Let me see-"

"I’m fine, I’m fine…" You shake your head quickly and stubbornly swallow it down. Her eyes stay on you for a second longer before wrinkling as she laughs again, softer.

"Idiot…"

Further down the path, game booths line the side, waiting for something magical to happen. Plastic rings stacked in buckets, darts pinned against colorful boards, prizes hanging from hooks. Every few steps, someone calls out.

"Three tries for two thousand won!"

"Win one for your girlfriend, guys!"

Jimin slows without letting go of your arm, her eyes have been drifting from one booth to another with curiosity written all over them. You only take your eyes off her when someone screams a little too loud, your attention falls back onto her just as quickly. Only then does a small thought settle in, subtle yet not at all meaningless. Is this really something Jimin didn’t want to come alone to like she said? Because the way she’s been acting doesn’t feel casual. Does she knows?

"Wanna try?" you nod at one of the stalls. "Your mouth’s been open like that for, like, ten minutes."

Cheeks pink, Jimin turns her head back to you.

"...S-sure. Why not?"

She sucks at it, really. Balls thrown, rings tossed… 90% of them missing completely. Jimin looks too serious for someone who’s clearly terrible at games, eyebrows all arched, lips pressed together in concentration. Then she immediately breaks into laughter the moment she fails.

"That was close!"

"It wasn’t even near." you point out and she huffs, ignoring you.

And another try, no surprise, another fail. This time Jimin really groans, her shoulders dropping before she clenches her fists in that exaggerated, dramatic frustration of hers. A couple of students running the booth snicker quietly to themselves. You catch it and glance back at her.

"Argh- Why is this so hard?!"

…

"Let me try."

Before Jimin can protest, your hands settle on her shoulders to guide her back a step. She lets you despite the pout on her lips, clearly not ready to give up.

"Yah…"

You already feel her eyes on you the second you take her place. The first lands by some luck. The second one closer, hitting just right. The third? You miss.

"Shit…"

So you hold your breath, tossing it before you can overthink and it lands. There’s a small cheer from the side, the students already reaching for a prize in the back as when you look back over your shoulder. Jimin’s standing there in her dress, with her arms clasped in front of her, chin tipped up as she looks, adorably, irritated.

"Hmph!"

But it doesn’t quite work with how she presses her lips together. Even an idiot like you knows she’s clearly holding back a smile. 

"Only one left." the booth worker hands you your prize. It’s a ring, tiny and plastic with a little cartoon charm on top. Silly, cheap yet super cute. You stare at it in your palm, already figuring Jimin would definitely like this. She loves silly stuff.

You look back, already opening your mouth and she’s already gone. Jimin’s not far, just a few steps away at another booth, leaning forward like she’s studying, planning her next attempt, completely focused. Like it’s been all night, a smile slips onto your lips again and you walk to her, the ring now resting in your pocket.

Jimin walks by your side again like you both never drifted apart, her hand finding its way back around your arm easily. She hums softly to herself, some song you don’t recognize. But she does sound like she’s happy, like she’s enjoying being here with you tonight. You walk like that for a while, exchanging small, silly comments. A joke here, a quiet laugh there. 

A few minutes later, another path opens. The river cuts through the campus, calmer and darker at this time, reflecting the bright lights from the festival behind you. Trees stand in a straight line along the walk way, their branches decorated with soft pink blossoms. Every now and then, a few petal falls and lands somewhere in the water. It’s less crowded here, cooler and quieter. 

"Look!" Jimin breathes out, you both slow at the same time. "It’s so beautiful!"

You nod, eyes following the way the lights ripple on the water. 

"I haven’t been here at night before. Didn’t know it could look like this…"

Like she’s drawn to it, Jimin releases your arm and wanders toward the railing. She leans forward slightly, both hands resting on the cool metal. You didn’t say a thing, only stopping next to her. You mirror her too, resting only one arm on the railing, eyes looking at the scenery. The reflection, the gentle lights, the soft movement of the night… It doesn’t last long. Just when one pink petal lands near her shoulder, your gaze turns to Jimin. The usually hyper girl’s quieter now, calmer. It sure does take a lot to take the loudness of the festival out of her mind. 

You didn’t think you’d be here tonight. Not like this, not with Jimin. If anything, you figured she was the kind of person you’d just watch from a distance. Someone you’d see, maybe talk to once in a while during club activities and nothing more. Saying she always felt a little out of reach doesn’t feel wrong. But here you are, standing next to her and hearing her breath, her gentle giggles… She’s not like that at all.

A silent breath comes out before you even know it and Jimin turns, cheek on her folded arms against the railing, smiling up at you.

"What’s with the long sigh?"

"Hmm? Nothing." You shake your head. "Just… you know, better than I thought? This whole festival thing."

Jimin squints her eyes only a little, like she doesn’t fully believe your answer. She hums a second later, satisfied anyway.

"Told you~ You’re just too stuck in your own head sometimes."

You laugh at that. You probably would’ve taken that differently if it came from anyone else.

"Really?"

She straightens and pushes herself off the railing.

"Mmm, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but… you’re kind of different from my first impression."

"…How?"

Instead of answering, Jimin suddenly steps closer to the concrete edge of the railing and lifts herself up, trying to climb onto it.

"Yah… Careful." instinct kicking in, your hands quickly hover just behind her back, just in case she slips but you don’t quite touch her. 

"I’m fine…" Jimin giggles, a little breathless as she finally manages to stand up on it. "...See?"

She looks down at you from her slightly higher spot, tilting her head as a grin paints her lips.

"You didn’t look… social enough. I took you for the total bookworm type. Like, you know, the kind who never talks to anyone, sits alone all the time… I almost felt bad for you."

You’re in no position to take offense. And it’s not entirely wrong. You do spend most of your time studying, keeping to yourself.

"Is it that bad?" you bite the inside of your cheek. "So why’d you pass me, then? Into the club?"

Jimin hums, balancing her energetic self on the railing again and rocking on her heels like she’s thinking it through.

"Honestly…? You looked awkward. Like… super awkward, but not in a bad way." she giggles to herself. "I just feel that you weren’t trying to impress anyone. And you seemed real, I figured you wouldn’t fake being nice to people."

"You got all that just from fifteen minutes?"

"And…" she drags it out. "you did say you want to turn your social life around, right?"

You think, leaning more into the railings and exhaling. It was something along that line. 

"I think so…?"

It sounded more certain back then. You remember saying it out a little louder than you meant. Being alone all the time had started to feel heavier than you thought. Jimin watches your expression and smiles.

"I think I can help you with that, the club too. It’s kind of what we do, you know?" her voice stays light as she playfully kicks your knee with her foot from where she’s standing.

"Just… be more active, okay? Don’t be scared. I’ll help."

"...Okay."

But even as you say it, you remind yourself, that this is just Jimin being Jimin. She’s like this with people all the time. Her personality makes it easy to pull them in without thinking too much. This is not rocket science and there’s nothing deeper behind it. You shouldn’t- no, you must not read into it. 

Because there are also moments that you never bring up, where Jimin only comes to you when there’s something needed, urgent and practical. And in those moments, everything else disappears, all gone like it never meant anything more. So you let out a quiet breath and look back at the water. Maybe you’re just lucky to be here tonight. That’s all there is to it.

…

"Mmm~"

The sound’s gentle, full of curiosity as if something’s just caught her attention. You look to the side and Jimin’s already staring at you, head tilted with that look on her face when she's trying to figure something out. What’s with this girl? All sentimental one moment and unpredictable the next.

"Something’s wrong?"

"You know…" she shifts closer on the high concrete, closer to you than before. "You could try something else."

"Something else?"

"Yes." She gestures a circle in the air. "The glasses."

"My glasses?"

"They suit you." she nods a little too eagerly. "But… you know, I feel like they kind of hide you too. In some way." Her hand starts to move before hesitating just short of your face. "…Can I?" 

It takes you a second, yet you know you’re never one to be able to resist that sweet of a voice.

"…Umm, sure."

Jimin gently slides your glasses off your face. She leans forward with her elbows bracing against the railing as she holds them up with both hands, like she’s analyzing something serious. Without your glasses, your vision blur and lights melt into streaks. You’ve had those glasses for a long while, since early high school, maybe. Rectangular. Boring. You did want something a little bit more hip, trendier but your parents always put function over appearance.

"Ah." Jimin tilts the frame slightly, squinting. "...They’re kinda dirty."

You notice it too, even without seeing clearly. Never go out with a baddie without cleaning your glasses, something to live by.

"It’s fine, I can-" You reach out but Jimin quickly pulls them back, smiling.

"Wait."

The girl lifts the edge of her cardigan sleeve and starts wiping the lenses carefully, just a little too much concentration for something with that many scratches. Shapes, blurry colors and the soft outline of her face are you can see of Jimin. But you know, if you could see her clearly right now, you’d probably be blushing even harder.

"You should clean them more often." she smiles, still wiping.

"Umm… I know."

A second later, she lowers the glasses and looks at them one more time. Then she lifts them to her own face.

"Hmm?"

The frame looks a little too big on her, sitting just a bit off but Jimin just simply doesn’t care. Her eyes widen dramatically as she looks around, playing it up.

"Oah… Is this how smart people see the world?"

You roll your eyes and turn away, both hands now over the railing. You’re not easily offended, only trying to hide the warmth which is getting a little too obvious. And if your ears are red too, then at least she can’t see all of it like this. Jimin laughs softly.

"Sorry, sorry." she still giggles. You shake your head lightly and without wasting a second, her short fingers come back into your blurry vision. The glasses are being placed back onto your face. The gesture is playful yet careful too, her touch warm as she adjusts the frame.

"Hold still…" she murmurs and leans a little more, smoothing the hair on the side of your head. This feels… nice.

"You’d look better with something rounder." Jimin suggests. "I actually saw something online the other day. Like, softer frames? I’ll send it to you later."

Clearing your throat, you can only fix your glasses and utter a few basic words.

"…Okay. Thank you."

Jimin doesn’t stop there.

"And maybe…" she circles a finger in the air, outlining your face. "You could try growing your hair out a bit? Instead of cutting it all the time."

"I don’t do that."

"Right~ Sure you don’t." she smirks, clearly not convinced. "And I know I’m not someone you have to listen to, but…" her voice raises toward the end. "…maybe try piercing your earlobe? "

You turn and look at her properly now, an amused smile on your face. That really does come out of nowhere.

"Really!?"

Like she’s just throwing the idea out there, Jimin hums. There’s something in the way her eyes twinkle before she just shrugs it off.

"Sure, I think it’d suit you. You already look good… you just don’t know it yet."

You don’t even get a second to process it. Jimin hops down from the railing with a little sound effect–a small, happy squeal. She lands and already moves, already somewhere else entirely.

"Ah- wait!" she turns back to you, eyes bright again. "Can you take pictures for me? It’s too pretty not to," she points at the river, the swaying blossoms. "My Instagram’s been so empty lately."

"…Uh- sure-"

Jimin’s already tugging your sleeve again and you let yourself be pulled. To be fair, who can reject that look on her face.

"Come on~"

Just a few steps down the path where the lights look better and the petals feel just right, Jimin lets go of your sleeve as she looks around, adjusting her position slightly.

"Here." she smiles, fixing her hair back. "Okay. Don’t make me look weird, alright?"

Golden lights from the bridge in the distance, the glow of the festival further back, cherry blossom trees overhead yet in the middle of it all, Jimin smiles and she doesn’t even need to try. 

She looks pretty just as always. The cardigan slips off her shoulders a little, hanging loose on the smooth lines of her dress. The dress itself fits her effortlessly, hugging her as it moves in the gentle breeze, blending into the night.

"Hold on…" you mutter, adjusting the angle. 

You take one, then another. Jimin laughs softly between shots, changing poses with not much effort. In the back of your mind, you know you should’ve seen this coming. Things are already complicated enough as they are. And still, you press the button again.

Tonight isn’t going to make anything easier, especially with how Jimin can look this soft one moment and leave you second-guessing everything the next.

────── ⋆⋅⋆ ──────

The bus stop is just somewhere outside campus, covered by a row of big trees. Students linger around lectures, some zooming to get home while others talk calmly, just waiting like it’s just another ordinary part of the day. You? You’re standing a little off to the side with your phone in one hand, the other hand in your jacket pocket. You’re staring, and it’s not nothing.

It’s the frame. A pair of round glasses spins around on your screen, the exact kind Jimin mentioned a week ago. They’re different from your current one–thinner rims, more modern. You scroll down, and up, and down, and finally tap the image again. Something like this shouldn’t matter too much, yet it’s been on your mind ever since Jimin sent it to you after the festival. 

A small reflection stares back at you, your current glasses a little off from how you pushed them up earlier. You adjust them.

"Fucking hell…" you sigh a little too loud, a few times already, but again. "400,000 won…"

It’s a little more than that, taxes exist. The frame sure does look good. No one can’t even deny that Jimin has taste. It only makes sense that she’d pick something like and you find it pretty. But four hundred!? Thousand won!? That’s not the kind of money you can just spend so freely. Your thumb swipes up and down, to the price then back up to the model. It doesn’t change the number. 

"Damn it…"

You close your eyes and tilt your head up, the same old frame falls crooked to the side. ‘You already look good… you just don’t know it yet’. 

"Stupid."

You know your ass can’t back down anymore. It’s dumb, and it’s worse that you even know yourself that it’s dumb. Whatever. You’ve checked the store location probably ten times last night, already mapping the route and calculating how much time you have before the club meeting tonight–before you see Jimin again. You’ve been seeing her more lately, through lectures and even the increasing amount of messages.

"Why am I so stupi-"

"Whatcha doing?"

You flinch so hard you almost fling at the voice with your phone.

"Fuck!"

A soft laugh breaks out and you turn back.

Minjeong stands there, maybe she’s been watching you for a while. One hard covers her lips as she giggles, shoulders shaking just a little. That oversized bag hangs off her shoulder again, always looking like it could swallow half her body. Minjeong’s always dressed simply, and now is no exception. White top, light brown pants, nothing flashy but it always suits her. 

"You’re insane, Minjeong-ah… Shit!"

"Sorry~ I had to. You looked so serious." pleased with herself, she tilts her head and eyes your phone. "What were you looking at anyway?"

As the adrenaline fades, you remember.

"It’s nothing," you cover the screen with your fingers. Minjeong leans in, confused.

"Yah, show me."

"It’s just- Nothing, I’m serious."

"Show me~"

She shoots it out, a small whine and she makes sure to drag it out just enough to be annoying… or enough to melt you down, like always.

"…Fine."

You finally turn the screen to Minjeong and she squints immediately as she takes in the image.

"Hmm? New frames?" she then glances up at you. Her eyes scan your face, your current glasses, then back to the screen again. "You’re getting a new one?"

You know you can’t keep brushing it off, especially with Minjeong. Admitting seems like the better choice anyway.

"Yes, I’m actually taking the bus to Seongsu to get it."

"Mm? Seongsu?"

 "I already booked it a few days ago," you try to sound more certain than you feel. "Just, you know, something new. Doesn’t hurt, right?"

"I see…" Minjeong nods slowly but the way her eyes squint a little tells you enough. "But are you sure? Isn’t that expensive?"

"It’s fine." you lie, scratching the back of your head and looking away. "I’ve saved up so it’s not that much." 

You do have money saved up, still, it hurts. Minjeong doesn’t look convinced. Almost immediately, she punches your bicep to make you look back at her. The concern is clearer now in her voice, despite her soft tone.

"Yah, really? Are you sure?"

You open your mouth but Minjeong cuts you off quickly.

"I know somewhere cheaper…" she smiles and her grip on the bag strap tightens. "They have similar styles too. You don’t have to splurge like that. I can show you, it’s not far from here." 

That moment, your mind splits. Jimin’s bright and bubbly, always pulling you into things you wouldn’t normally do. The girl says things like it’s nothing, making everything feel like maybe you could be more than what you’ve been, better than who you are right now.

And Minjeong’s right here. She’s always more of a grounded and realistic person. She notices before you even say anything, never one to let you spend money you don’t have without questioning it. She cares for you in ways that Jimin doesn’t. It would be easier to just go with Minjeong. But-

"It’s okay… I already planned it. I just wanna try something new."

Minjeong hums, the sound long enough for you to take in before she finally exhales, lips pulling into a subtle pout.

"You’re so stubborn."

"You’ve known me for a year and you’re just now figuring this out?"

That earns you a look.

"No. But you’ve been weird lately."

Weird? Your mind jumps at the word a little too fast. Does Minjeong know?

"Have I?" you try a fake laugh, hoping it sounds real.

"...Can I come with you?"

The question catches you a little off guard. Part of you lights up at the idea, having Minjeong next to you. The other part feels much more like fear. Is she just curious? Trying to figure out why you’ve been weird?

"You really want to? It’s gonna take a while."

Minjeong doesn’t hesitate, she smiles–that same smile you’ve known since the first day you met her. It always manages to make you feel some type of way, still does.

"It’s fine~ We’re both going to the club meeting tonight anyway, right?" Then her eyes widen as she gasped. Cute. "Don’t tell me you’re not going on the trip next week?!"

You remember the messages, it’s almost everyday. What to wear, what to eat, places she wanted to go, pictures she wanted to take. She’s been looking forward to the trip since it was first announced two months ago.

"What, silly?" you laugh. "Of course I’m going! What are you talking about?"

"Okay." Minjeong finally breathes, the tension leaving her face as quickly as it came before she smiles. "Then I’m coming with you."

It’s weirdly quiet for a Thursday afternoon, only a few students sit scattered here and there. Late sunlight shines through the window, soft with a yellow-ish shade all across the space, even catching Minjeong's hair. You take a seat near the back and Minjeong follows you like always, her oversized bag on her lap as she sits. A few minutes into the ride, you catch her side profile. The way she pursed her lips a little and how her lashes lower when she focuses.

You hate to admit it. But you have feelings for both of them.

Minjeong pulls you in differently. It started without you even noticing. You don’t even remember exactly when it started, just that you’ve always ended up next to her now. Every single group assignments, lectures, small things that turned into usual meetings. And no matter how much she denies it, Minjeong’s so pretty. That much is obvious. And you used to hate it when guys tried to hit on her. Welp, you still do.

And then there’s Jimin, who comes into your life a little unexpectedly. Someone like her, always bright, popular and gorgeous with… someone like you? It doesn’t make sense, at least to you.

You’ve always told yourself something simple, that if you ever fall for someone, it would be just one person. You hate the thought of being unfaithful, but life’s one hell of a ride and here you are. Things are never that simple, are they?

You feel a tap on your arm and you’re snapped out of it. Minjeong’s looking at you, her eyes soft when she offers one earphone to you, the other already in her ear. She doesn’t say anything and just waits, the corners of her lips pulled up only a little.

You smile and lean in like always. Minjeong puts it in for you before turning her attention back to her phone just as easily. You watch her scroll when a song catches your attention. You don’t even think, your hand already tapping on her phone.

"Really?"

"It’s good. And you know it."

Minjeong lets the song play and she adjusts the volume slightly. The bus sways a little, your shoulders brush, knees touching but neither of you does anything about it. When the chorus comes, she sings under her breath.

"너 하나에 이토록 아플 수 있음에 놀라곤 해 고단했던 하루, 나는 꿈을 꿔도 아파..."

It reminds you of the first time she ever did that, back when you weren’t even close yet. She caught herself halfway through and went quiet immediately, cheeks almost blazing. Now she doesn’t stop and just keeps going when you’re close.

"...너였다면 어떨-"

Right when the song prepares to get to the best part, you feel a buzz in your pocket. You’re already guessing who it is. And just like you predict, it’s Jimin who always shows up at the most unexpected times.

The photo fills your screen.

[katarinabluu] i just bought this toppp how do i look???

"Shit…" you don’t even know you smile, you don’t even know you said it.

Minjeong’s still swaying slightly in her seat when you look back to her side, singing under her breath. You look back down at the girl on her screen again and clear your throat subtly.

You hate yourself and how easy it is for your heart to react to both. It’s not supposed to be like this. So you exhale and lean back into your seat, letting the music fill the silence in your mind while the typing dot bubble appears on your screen.

What do you do now?

H2H stands for head to head, specifically when Jiwoo dings herself against your head and kisses you, a hit of something she really shouldn't have. She's all over you, kissing you hungrily.

"You could afford to be a little nicer to my groupmates." Her hands slip under your t-shirt.

"What did Stella say this time?" You leave her jacket on the floor.

"You said she was rude?" She leaves a hickey on your neck.

"I said she was impudent." You pull her top off and leave one on her chest.

"And she called you an asshole." Down go your shorts.

"Like I said, impudent." Flip up her skirt and pull down her panties.

"It'll help me if you're nice." Jiwoo sinks down.

"How, they're not supposed to find out about us." You thrust up. "Not supposed to know why their leader keeps her jerk friend around." Jiwoo whines as you slip a hand under her bra, pinching her nipple not too gently.

H2H stands for hip to hip, and that's exactly what you two are, your hips flush against Jiwoo's as you bend her over the bed.

"Harder! Please harder!" There's no more talk about being nice to anyone.

"Yeah? Harder?" You slam yourself forward—Jiwoo's hips are going to show bruises if she wears her jeans too low.

"Yes, make me take it, give it to me!" Deep, hard, fast, the three things Choi Jiwoo kept you around for. "Hnngh so big!" That too. Her legs sag as she begins to lose strength, but you have enough for both of you. You keep her pinned against the bed, making her yelp and wail. Jiwoo came to you to let loose, for stress relief, or whatever other excuse she tells herself.

To feel good.

And Jiwoo came plenty of course—there’s already a wet spot on the floor, and she's due to make it a pool before you're done with her.

"Oh fuck I'm cumming again!" she shudders, and the puddle of slick grows beneath her.

"Give me one more Jiwoo." You rub her clit, and she can already feel it coming.

"Yes please..."

H2H stands for head to head again, but this time Jiwoo's lips are pressed against your tip, enveloping it as she kneels in her own wet spot and strokes you off.

"Don't swallow," you grunt as she gets you off, filling her mouth and making sure she tastes your saltiness, your cum pooling on her tongue. "Now spill it."

Jiwoo shifts slightly, and your load flows out, covering your head, leaking out the sides of her mouth, dripping off her chin and joining the mess on the floor—it is utterly obscene perfection.

"Mm!" She waves her hand vaguely, but you're already handing her a tissue, H2H also stands for how the tissue travels, hand to hand.

"Why do you always make me do that?" Jiwoo mutters as she finally cleans your load from her mouth.

"Because you look hot when you make a mess."

"I—" Jiwoo glares but doesn't continue. "I'm going to wash up."

"Should I stay or do you want me to head out first?"

"Stay."

H2H ultimately stands for heart to heart, your chest pressed against her back, slow heartbeats soothing each other as you spoon her.

"How is everything?" you mumble into her neck.

"Good, alright... A lot," Jiwoo finally admits.

"A lot, but manageable?"

"Barely."

"Knew you could do it, you're doing great."

"For now."

"I'm here. Add all the qualifiers you want, but I'm here always." You can feel Jiwoo's heart rate rise against your chest.

"Treat them nicer then, for me."

"You really want them to think better of me?"

"I'd rather hear them complain about other stuff than you." Jiwoo brings your hand to her heart—hand over hand, hand over heart. "For when they find out."

*****

"Whoa Jiwoo unnie, look!" There's a huge coffee cart outside their filming spot, and Jiwoo's face is plastered all over it. "Who got this for you? You're so lucky!"

"Ah, I'm not sure..." Jiwoo had an idea.

"They're such a big fan of you!"

"Yeah, big umm, fan." Jiwoo blushes and gets in line for coffee.

"Unnie, your guy friend, do you know what he said to me yesterday?" Oh no, here we go again.

"No, what?"

Sorry.

“Must've come with the channel package.” Her nonchalance about the whole thing is astonishing, really. Like watching a girl get her ass fucked being broadcasted to late night viewers of whoever the fuck channel provider she's subscribe to is a normal occurrence for her. 

“Right.” The disbelief is thick in your voice, extremely skeptical that Aeri of all people doesn’t know about it.

“Hey, I’m just finding out about this now. I never go this far out,” she says, making your turn just as she nudges your shoulder with her feet. Gives you a full view of her ass in those shorts that are criminally tiny, slowly moving up to the pink tube top that looked way too tight on her, to the immaculate features of Uchinaga Aeri, fiery red hair propped up by an arm, looking like she’s enjoying what’s being played on the television.

You could very well frame it all as another wonder of the world; a very dangerous one at that. And to think you get to see this every week for movie nights.

It’s sort of routine, this relationship you have with Aeri. The only free time she has after wasting away the mornings sleeping and the evenings working and slash or partying depending on the day spent with the one person she can call a best friend.

An odd way of putting things, you know. But when has it ever been normal around her?

“Though–” She turns to look at you, the smirk on her face further reinforcing that fact. “Do I need to be worried that you stopped browsing?”

“I thought you said it didn’t matter what I chose?” you snark, a grin playing around your lips as you lean back and watch. Wasn’t exactly how you were planning to spend your night with Aeri this time around, but you’re not complaining.

You can hear Aeri roll her eyes at you, this playful scoff she’s let out making you shake your head. “We are not watching porn.”

“You said you didn’t wanna watch an action movie–” You shrug your shoulders. “–And this isn’t an action movie.”

“Oh come on,” she whines—laughs, really, but you weren’t focusing on that—before propping herself up and gesturing to the table in front of you both. “I can’t eat pizza, drink diet coke, and watch porn. I mean, who the hell does that?”

“Look at them go though,” you comment, fully focused on watching the debauchery in front of you. Watching the luscious spectacle of having a woman’s ass reamed by cock ever so slowly, letting her get used to the intrusion in her ass, the soft cushion of her ass pressing down against the guy’s groin—

“Are you even listening to me?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just–” You inhale. “Mesmerized.”

Aeri laughs. “You act like this is your first time seeing anal.”

Because it was. It was never really something you were into, or bothered to look up. You were happy enough to explore the realm of sex when the opportunity to get laid arose, or watch whatever it was that caught your eye in hopes of getting yourself off when the need came.

And, sure, you and Aeri have fooled around before, fucked on occasion for a multitude of reasons—getting back at her ex, getting back at your ex, or just plain old sex for the fun of it—but the thought of fucking Aeri’s ass?

You’re almost blown away at how stupid you must be for how the idea has never once crossed your mind.

She doesn’t bother waiting for a response, only going on about how the girl is clearly paid to do this. “Like, mad cash for ass,” she reiterates. “I bet you she doesn’t even like this.”

That gets your attention. “You’re awfully knowledgeable,” you say, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Please.” The sass in her voice is undeniable, and you just know you’re in for a treat now when she starts to–

”You know how many times I’ve had to fake my orgasm so that they can get off quicker? It is stupidly high, I’ll tell you–” You nod along, pondering if she’s ever done that with you. You’re quite surprised she’s telling you this at all, as this can be regarded as forbidden knowledge to some. “–And if I really like the guy, I’ll go along with their weird ass kinks. Whatever the fuck those could be. I mean who knows, I might enjoy it.”

She sighs, propping a leg up to rest her chin on. “So it’s kinda not hard to think she’s doing this for the moolah, cause not everyone likes a cock up their ass.”

Does Aeri like it though? Another stray idea comes to your mind, but you file it away alongside her other bombs she’s decided to drop. 

“I bet the guy does.” It’s a factual statement, something the both of you can agree on. Your hand lazily extends toward her, the remote  dangling on your fingers. “Here, you choose what we’re gonna watch.”

“Finally.” She gladly takes it off your hands. Points it towards the TV, gives it a few clicks, watch the screen turn block for a moment before—

“Aeri, what the fuck am I looking at right now?”

“This–” She makes a whole show out of it, stretching her hands out as if she was presenting a new concept to you. “–is my kind of porn.”

Before you lays a woman surrounded by various men, all dressed up in formal wear as a narrator explains whatever the fuck is going on. You tune it out, really, because Aeri makes a much better explanation of things.

“Watching guys join a competition to fawn over a woman that'll dump them after a few months for the dumbest reasons is amazingly funny,” she says, resting an arm over the sofa's back. “More so when they start getting kicked off the show cause the girl didn't like ‘em.”

“There's gotta be one relationship that worked out.” Surely, there had to be one couple that got off to live a happy life.

Aeri nods, shaking her hand. “Fifty fifty, really,” she answers, before humming in thought. “Well, more like seventy thirty. There's been like, I don't know–two couples that got married?”

You watch as the woman looks at a line of balloons, a pencil in her hand. The narrator goes on about who the girl will be choosing to not continue on to woo her, alongside some dramatic cuts of the guys.

“And you watch this?” you ask, glancing at her. “From start to finish?”

“It’s a guilty pleasure,” she admits, reaching out to grab a slice of pizza. “Besides, it makes a girl feel special.”

“What, choosing your partner in live television?”

“Yeah!” She grins, gesturing to the screen with her pizza. “Like, look at this guy–” In comes some random dude talking, pouring his heart out to her in dire hopes that she doesn’t eliminate him. “He’s got flowers, the speech, the looks, everything. And I bet you she’s still gonna pop his balloon.”

And right on cue, a pop rings out.

You wince. Aeri chuckles.

“Jeez,” you mutter. “That’s tough.”

“It’s cause she’s got options.” Another piece of forbidden knowledge, you think. “All these guys to choose from, and she can still be picky.” 

“Sounds a lot like dating apps, Aeri,” you say, as another pop rings out of the television. “Choose who you like and hope you two match.”

“Those are a lot worse than this.” Debatable, but you’re willing to listen to her reasons. “You don’t get ghosted after a date, or catfished and find out they’re not what they look like on the photos they send.” 

Okay—

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You know the feeling. It’s a little dismaying, being on the receiving end of those situations. Distressing, actually, looking back at your recent dates and they all somehow manage to fall into either category. It doesn’t help that Aeri laughs at you when she finds you sulking about it. 

Brutal, this woman is. And it wasn’t like her own dating life was the same. Which is strange, considering that it’s Aeri you’re talking about. Girl can get anyone in the world and she’s somehow still single.

Makes a guy like you wonder what’s up with that.

“I’m serious,” she continues, and you’re over here thinking she might’ve misinterpreted your words. “Everyone in the show knows what they signed up for. On those apps, you could be talking with someone for days then suddenly it’ll just stop.”

Yeah she definitely took it the wrong way.

“Yeah, I agree with you.” You nod your head, watching another poor sap get eliminated. “That’s why those apps are out of my phone.”

Aeri finishes up her pizza, moving back to lay down on the couch. Her feet resting on your lap, head resting on the pillow, doubt written on her face. “You? Not looking for hookups anymore?”

“What?” Your palms rest on either side of her foot, rubbing your thumb around the arch of her sole. She makes a satisfied hum as you turn to look at her. “It’s not like you didn’t do the same. When was the last time you went out with someone?”

“Oh, fuck you,” she laughs, kicking you with her other foot. “I can still get laid without those shitty apps. Not like you.”

“And when was that?” You ignore her jab, knowing that humoring that line of thought would only entail an incredible amount of trash talk from Aeri. 

She clicks her tongue, waving a finger at you. “Baby, I don’t kiss and tell,” she quips, though you know better. She will, eventually, ultimately, tell you—it’s just a matter of how you can get it out of her. It’s her way of getting deeper under your skin, the tease that she is. “Now be a good boy and keep massaging my feet, hmm?”

“Only if you change the channel.” You’ve gone lower, rubbing down the heels of her foot.

She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Oh come on,” you start, repeating the same words she told you moments ago. “I can’t eat pizza, drink diet coke, and watch this shit show.”

It’s almost as if you’re calling the tragedy, when another balloon gets popped and another contestant gets thrown out the show. You have to ask yourself if it was worth it to be a part of these types of things if you only get embarrassed at the end.

“And what do you propose we watch?” It’s like she knows what you’re about to say, when she beats you to it. “We are not going back to watching porn.”

“I’d take anything except this,” you tell her, fingers still working her soles as you nod to the screen. “I swear if I see another balloon pop I’m turning this off.”

Aeri sits up with a grin, making you stop what you’re doing to look at her. It was never a good sign when she gets all excited, as trouble normally tends to follow soon after. And that’s the thing with her that keeps you hooked; the way things get easier whenever you're around her chaotic orbit, the risk that is intuitively revolving around her. 

“Wanna play a game for it?” You've heard that line countless times, ranging from the easy games such as the classic rock-paper-scissors all the way to the ridiculousness of who can get the most numbers after a night of partying.

And you fall for it every single time.

You sigh. “Lay it on me,” you agree, and she gets up, scurrying off to her bedroom after telling you to wait. Leaving you to continue watching this god awful show. The temptation to swap channels takes you, but you decide against it, muting it instead while you wait for Aeri.

Which wasn't too long, as she comes walking back with a pistol, a small box and a shooting stand.

Wait, what—

“Relax,” she sings, waving the gun around. “It's airsoft, and it's not loaded.” She takes her place back next to you, watching her open the box to show a few magazines and a net. “Yet.”

“We're not actually shooting inside your apartment, are we?” you ask, because it is the sensible thing to question, really. Even if it was airsoft, one wrong hit from either of you can result in one of her things—god forbid it would be the TV—would break.

“Where else would we be doing this?” She's gone on to load the gun, pulling the slide back and placing it down, facing away from you both. “The rooftop? If anyone saw us fucking around with this, they'd think it was a real gun.”

You sigh, knowing she was right. Even if the orange sticking out the barrel would tell people it wasn't shooting real bullets, it still looks quite like a gun. And at the dead of night and far away, you don't think anyone would ever think it's an airsoft.

And it’s not like you can ever say no to her. She always has her ways of convincing you, and you would rather not get a headache from what she’ll try to pull to get you to say yes. Agreeing is the better option than that.

“Fine, fine.” You stand up, picking up the target stand. “But at least not in your living room, please.” Setting it up by the hallway heading to her door, you ask her what this ‘game’ will be.

“Fastest shooter wins.” Aeri's leaning on the wall, gun in her hand with the safety thankfully on. Staring at you intently, the grin on her face is almost infectious as the excitement starts to bubble within you. “Gotta hit all twelve plates to say you're done with your set.”

You give the stand a once over, making sure that the net behind it is secure enough to hold any missed pellets, and you scoff. “Damn Aeri, you gonna make these things spin too?”

“Oh–” Your name comes out of her so endearingly it makes your skin tingle. In dread or in delight, you can't be so sure yourself. “That’d make things impossible for you.” Ouch. “Now get over here so I can shoot.”

A timer and three quick metallic twangs later, and she's starting off strong. She hits another one, the slide of her gun cycling back a few too many times, missing a couple of shots before more plates swing back.

“Maybe I should stand further away.” Even has the gall to make it harder for herself. She hits two more in quick succession, and it’s just unfair how good she is with a pistol. Well, sure, she misses every now and again which you can attribute to her dim lights (for the aesthetic, she swears), but for someone who’s only picked this hobby up for a few weeks or so after being convinced by a friend, she sure has everything down.

It's oddly arousing to think that she looks drop dead gorgeous doing this. Taking aim down her own hallway, unwittingly bragging about her skills with nothing but those short shorts and a flimsy top that causes her rather generous chest a few bounces when the lightest amount of recoil hits.

The way those shorts accentuate her thighs, filling the clothing in nicely—makes you ogle at how damn thick she is before the back view turns you into a drooling—

“Time,” she states, cutting off your thoughts. She lowers the gun down as she turns to you, glancing down to where you're holding your phone.

Your thumb clicks on the screen as you straighten up. “You got–” A quick glance down. “Nine point seventy eight. That's not too bad.”

She makes a disappointed groan. “Could've been better.”

“We aren't really shooting in an open area, Aeri,” you console, since it's all you can do, really. Aside from doing this so late in the night, you'll be surprised that she won't be getting a noise complaint from the amount of noise you two have gotten up to. “That, and your lighting's pretty bad here.”

“It is great!” she refutes, crossing her arms.

“When you're not shooting things, sure.” You get a light kick in the leg for that one.

Aeri flips the gun around, the grip pointed toward you. “Come on, asshole. Your turn.”

The two of you swap items; her gun for your phone. Hers is a lot smaller than the ones that you shot with when you joined her for a session, granted that those were rentals. And it is a gun regardless, after all.

You're giving it an inspection; feel the weight of the metal in your palm, check the amount of pellets that are still in the magazine and check if there's enough gas. You give it a press check, and look up to–

Jesus christ her ass.

Aeri didn't have to lean down to fix the shooting stand. She could've knelt down or stood up straight or hell, anything that would have avoided giving you a free show of that backside of hers being so tight. But no, she just had to bend over at the perfect angle to show off how those nonexistent clothes of hers emphasize what she has.

You really are stupid for never having the idea to fuck that ass of hers. You're even more of an idiot now that it's all you can think about. Blame your interest for being piqued, you suppose. 

Seriously, why the hell is there porn on her network?

Steadying yourself with deep breaths, you focus back on the airsoft in your hands. Purely out of beating her in this unnecessary bet to avoid watching that shitty ass reality show in favor of a pornstar getting her ass fu—

Okay, pause. This is getting out of hand now, really. Brain twisted into thinking the most insane shit that you can’t even make sure that you can aim properly. It’s a lose-lose scenario, almost, when you try to and get greeted by Aeri still fixing the plates. Still bent over.

Still showing you her ass.

“Goddamn it, Aeri,” you mutter under your breath, turning to the side, bringing the weapon up to eye level. Looking through the sights, peering down to focus on the one can of diet coke standing on the table. You’re almost tempted to squeeze the trigger, although the mess it’ll cause would cause Aeri to riot.

Can’t keep that carpet dirty or else it’s your head.

“Done!” Your head turns, and now you understand why she chose those lights. Gets her that cinematic look—the light dim enough that it makes her look alluring, mysterious, hitting her face in that orange glow that floors you. 

Even felt like time slowed, when she’s walking back to you in slow motion. Your eyes gawk at every inch of her body, and it really is dumbfounding how this woman is still single after seeing this once in a lifetime sight. 

“What’s wrong–” She’s so close now, bumping her shoulder with yours, that soft smell of mangoes hitting your nose. You blink, being greeted by her grinning features, looking all so smug that gets your pride going. “Scared of losing?”

Yeah, no.

“Come on, Uchinaga,” you state, pistol at the ready, sights aimed down at a white circle. “Time it.”

She holds the phone up. “In three–”

You breathe deep. “Two–”

Your fingers squeeze. “One–”

“Go.”

Admittedly, you are not the best at this. With two practice sessions in your belt compared to her doing this on a regular basis, your aim isn’t going to beat hers. And as much as you want to win this, you are very outmatched.

Doesn’t mean that you won’t try to beat nine seconds.

You get through the first few easily, being able to knock them down quickly. The transitions always get you, slowing you down, your shots getting messy. Missing a few here and there before the metal slams back, the ding ringing out as you keep going.

Aeri’s letting out all sorts of noises that tell you what she sees—whistling at a made shot, hissing as you miss four in a row, huffing a laugh when you finally hit the halfway point. She's mocking as much as she is encouraging, and it's only serving to get you to concentrate harder, if that was even possible.

Have to lock in and all.

You hit the next few shots you make, leaving you with the last plates to score. Your fingers adjust their hold on the gun; a minute thing to do at a time like this, more so that you're sure as shit not beating her time now. 

But it helps. Gets you your last few plates, a disappointed sigh out of your lips knowing your bad time, and a few congratulatory claps from Aeri on your side as she stops the timer.

“What do you know,” she drawls, and you already know what she'll say. You lost by thirty seconds. She'll tell you, tease you about your poor aim. Submitting you to watch that god awful show for the night, her ego through the goddamn roof.

“You got a good eleven oh three.” Can't say you were surprised. But being two seconds slower than her does send a kick to your pride. She probably sees the dissatisfaction in your face when she gives you another shoulder bump.

“Don't beat yourself too much now,” she adds as you unload the airsoft.

You had to scoff at that, a smile slipping past your lips. “Asking the impossible here, Aeri.”

“Blame the lighting.” Of course she brings that up again. “Now can the loser clean this up while I prepare what we’ll finally be watching?”

You hand her the pistol before waving her away, already walking to the stand. “Where’s your vacuum?” 

“Don’t worry about that,” she replies, wedging the gun between her elbow as she walks back to the living room. “Just hide the stand back in my room!”

You unhook the net and pick the stand up, carrying it back to her room which looked incredibly, oddly tidy. So unlike her, you think, as she’s easily the messiest person you’ve met. You had to pause, because actually seeing a neat bed and a clean desk is actually making you raise an eyebrow.

“Huh.” It’s all you can say, really. If at all. You shake your head, forgetting about this for the time being, heading to place the stand down at the corner of her room, just next to her cabinet. “Hey Aeri!”

“Yeah?” she echoes.

You bring the net up to your face. “You want me to throw away the pellets?”

There’s a short pause, and you can picture the face she must be making when she answers you. “Yes, throw them away. I don’t wanna jam my airsoft with shitty BBs, thank you!”

Your foot hits the pedal of the trashbin, and the little spheres fall into the chute. Leaving the mesh by her desk, you head back to Aeri, finding her languidly draped across the couch, laying down with her legs in the air, chin in hand, smiling and waving at you with the remote.

“Ready to chill?” she asks, her eyebrows wagging up and down.

“Might as well get this over with,” you reply, sitting down on the free spot next to her. She immediately decides to get comfier, exchanging her palm with your lap as a pillow. You look down, and you can’t believe you’re actually pleading with her not to—“Can we please not watch that bachelorette show?”

Aeri laughs. “Got you something better.” She points the remote to the TV and turns it on—

“Yeah, sexy, get it–”

The low sounds of slapping hit your ears, and your eyes are once again treated to the sight of a woman—a different one this time—getting her back blown out. More enthusiastically, you notice immediately.

“Aeri–” Air blows through your nose in an attempt to keep yourself sane. You know she felt your cock twitch; how couldn’t she, when she’s practically breathing down your lap. “Why are we back to watching porn?”

“Already saw that episode earlier. That entire season’s been on replay for the past two weeks,” she says, placing the remote down by the table, her hands joining to rest on your lap. “So we can watch this instead.”

“But I thought you didn’t want to watch porn?” The fucking in the screen gets faster, the same guy (you can’t help but think he’s lucky, but then again it’s his job) pounding down on the bent over girl.

“I’m down to entertain whatever weird ass kink you have,” she chuckles, eyes glancing up towards you, mischief dancing along her features. “Don’t think I didn’t see you peeking at mine. ‘Sides–” Aeri wiggles her hips, showing her own ass off. “You could learn a thing or two from the guy.”

“Right,” you mutter, accepting that she knows—and likes—that you are a normal, horny young male that doesn’t know whether to look at Aeri’s ass or the ass getting fucked in the screen. Your eye twitches, slowly losing your sanity at what’s happening. Forcing to keep things casual, you make an offhanded comment. “Guy’s really going at it.”

“She’s definitely enjoying it,” she adds, grabbing your hand with hers, your fingers lacing together. Her getting touchy is a bad, bad thing to be doing, the bells in your head ringing. Sounding off the good signals; ones that make you breathe deeper, your own fingers getting twitchy. 

Seeing it as an unspoken permission to speak what’s been on your mind since the moment this network decided to invade your night, since the moment the thought of Aeri’s ass took over your entire thought process, since she decided to choose on porn as your Friday movie night, you ask:

“Are you into this type of thing?” 

She chuckles. “Straight to the point tonight, are we?” She’s getting up, making sure to unnecessarily arch her back first before standing.

“It’s a no, then.” You shake your head.

“No, no,” Aeri says as she walks away. “Keep watching, I need to go get something.”

“I can swap the channel, you know.” That makes her stop and turn her head. Hair framing her face so unfairly perfect it makes the smirk she has hit so much more deadly.

“You won’t.”

And she’s resumed her walk, off to her bedroom as you sit on the couch, watching porn on the big screen while there’s pizza and diet coke in front of you. It’s a bit awkward, you’ll admit, having to take a bite out of your pizza while the exaggerated moans of the woman echo in the room.

A lot more awkward, actually.

You manage to finish a slice, getting a few gulps of diet coke before your name gets called from the hallway, followed by the dull footsteps and—

“Catch.” 

A bottle gets thrown in your direction, and your hands scramble to grab it. It rests in your palm, looking at the liquid inside the clear bottle. “What's this?”

“Just a little something to spice up tonight,” Aeri answers, sitting down next to you, body pressed up against yours—almost cuddling you with her feet curled up on the couch. She's made you wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she's twirling a pink rubber stick, balls sticking out on them like—

Oh. Oh what the fu–

“Watch your porn,” she says, reaching up with her free hand to turn your head back to the TV.

You will your face back towards you, the weak restraints that you call her hand not fighting back against your movements. “That is a lot more interesting than the porn, Aeri,” you quip, taking a closer look at what’s in her hands. You’re counting five, six spheres that get smaller the farther out it was from the base.

Suddenly the bottle in your hands makes a lot more sense.

“Is it?” She’s being coy with you, leaning her head on your chest. Looking completely focused on the action happening in front of her, gripping the anal beads in her hand, raising it up to her head. “And what, pray tell, do you think we’ll be doing with this?”

“I don’t know, Aeri,” you start, your palm slowly drifting lower. Yet the words are lost now, its cadence muddled the lower your hand goes. From her shoulders, down to her waist, finally resting yourself on the curve of her ass. You’re tempted to give it a good, nice squeeze; wanting to begin appreciating what she’s got after seemingly ignoring it for so long.

And to be fair to yourself, you were only thinking about how lucky you were that you get to fuck Uchinaga fucking Aeri without managing to completely screw over what friendship you two have. It’s almost a miracle in itself, you think, that neither of you have ever brought up what this was.

Were you fuckbuddies? Friends with benefits? Is that what it will ever be—

“Keep watching,” Aeri chuckles, forcing your head back to the porn on the screen. Leaving your cheeks with a few playful taps, she wanders down herself, coming down to palm your cock over your pants. Rubbing you over the fabric, squeezing lightly that makes you twitch.

“Christ, Aeri,” you exhale, legs parting to allow her more room. It was a sign of permission on both ends, groping her asscheek, fingers squishing her asscheek. It causes her to giggle impishly, biting her lip to slow the coquettish smile that's begun forming.

“You like that dick?”

“Fucking love it, sexy—”

Her grip gets firmer around your length as she leans in to whisper you a question. “Still have that lube?”

You breathe out your answer. Of course, speaking out of your lips, eyes closing; thoughts wandering. Trying to remember the last time you’ve seen her bare ass, thinking of how you’ll be able to bury yourself between her thighs, tongue prodding lower than you normally would. 

Would her moans sound different? Would it be the same when you play with her pucker, letting your tongue explore her in such a different way. It’s getting you harder, pulling you in deeper into the rabbit hole that Aeri’s dug wide open.

“Hey now,” she says, elbowing your stomach lightly. Getting you back to reality as she pushes herself off of you, laying her toy down on the table and taking the bottle from your hands. “Why don’t you take your pants off for me?”

It’s your turn to play pretend, even as your actions speak otherwise—already unzipping your pants, tugging them down to your ankles. “And why should I?”

“Because,” she drawls, thumbing the cap open. Glancing back at you as a dribble of the liquid inside starts to fall down to her palm. “We gotta get you ready, sexy.”

“I should be telling you that,” you say, and it makes her laugh.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll get to play with this ass all you want later,” she replies, giving you a saucy wink. “But for now, let me have some fun.”

“This is what I get for telling dating apps to fuck off, huh?” you joke, your boxers tugged down, and your legs are kicking them off to the floor just as Aeri comes back to your side. 

“Tell them to fuck off later.” Her arm’s wrapped around your shoulder this time, as she lets her wet palm wrap around your cock. “Right now, you're going to fuck me.” The cold warmth makes you tense, and you’re putty in her hands as she slowly begins to pump you.

“Aeri–” You turn your head towards her, and she’s so damn close that one push of your head and you’d be meeting her lips. Although you imagine she has other plans in mind when her breath tickles your neck, and her voice is sent directly to your ear. 

“Shh,” she coos, her hand spreading the lube all over your length. Her thumb circling your tip whenever her fingers pump up, making sure to get you all nice and wet for what’s to come. You let your arm snake around her waist, pulling her as close you can. You can only let out a small prayer to god, allowing yourself to lean back further on the couch. She lets out a breathy giggle, clearly enjoying the reaction she’s getting out of you.

And in her mind, that only means that she can take things up a notch.

“You like how he’s fucking her ass like that?” Oh, it’s over for you. “Pinning her down–” Your grip tightens around her waist, a shaky exhale spilling out of you as her hand goes faster. “–Making her beg for more of that thick cock inside the fat ass she’s got?”

You can only let out a chuckle at her words. She’s jerking you off like this and she’s more interested in if you think porn is fucking hot? “I’m not even watching anymore, Aeri,” you admit, more focused on the feeling of her hand pumping up and down your cock, the lube coating you in a light sheen.

Aeri scoffs playfully, blowing air into your ear. “You should,” she urges, her teeth grazing your earlobe. “It’s really fucking hot.”

“You think–” Your eyes open, and you’re once again saying hello to the debauchery being played on her TV. The dirty talk accentuates what’s happening, the man pounding down the woman’s ass, just like the woman’s been begging him to. “That she likes it?”

“Oh, she fucking loves it,” she purrs, and it’s a completely different response you’re getting from the earlier rant she’s told you. But your perverted brain can’t comprehend that, too caught up in enjoying this than to think of anything that is rational. “This one’s in it for the game, y’know? Not like that other chick–”

“And which one are you?” Your other hand comes to her chest, finger dancing around the top of the fabric. You can’t stop yourself from hooking a few fingers inside her top, tugging it down to expose the supple flesh underneath. 

The grin on her face answers everything and nothing. She doesn't say anything just yet, only reaching behind her to unzip her top, loosening the cloth enough for her to pull it over her head. It fully exposes her chest, such irresistible, impeccable breasts that makes your mouth water.

Such a perfect pair, even as she jokes how there's always bigger ones than hers. One of her friends alone tops everyone you've met, but Aeri's has something so much more special.

It's hers. And you cannot wait to have them in your mouth.

“Take a guess,” she teases, grabbing the bottle from the table and letting her tits get lathered in them. She lets the lube drop on the couch, her hands playing with her breasts as she's climbing on top of you, straddling you and pushing her chest out as an invitation.

You come up to cup one of her breasts, feel the weight of them in your palm as you give a generous squeeze. “You’re the type to be doing this for shits and giggles, Aeri,” you answer, your idle hand resting in her hip as she chuckles.

“Normally, you’d be right,” she says, getting comfier on your lap, a hand on your shoulder as she leans back just a tad to give you more space to play with her tits. “But I think we both have something to talk about after this.”

As ominous as that sounds, you don’t let yourself worry about it. Simply nod your head at her, telling yourself it’s a future you problem, because right now you're worrying more about trying to survive her teasing. Grinding down on your cock as she pulls you into a teat, the hard nub meeting your tongue as you lick away.

“Just focus on this for now,” she mutters, letting you enjoy her full breasts. Your lips wrap around her nipple, your tongue tracing circles around her bud, kissing every inch of skin you can get. You revel in it, sucking on her teat, cupping her breasts together to swap between them, giving them playful bites that make her sigh in pleasure. Aeri doesn’t let you linger for long, pushing you away to plant her lips on yours. 

Moaning into your mouth, letting the sound reverberate around your lips as you taste her lips. You never tire of how soft her lips feel, the utter need that begins rising inside you to have more of them, to taste more of her. And she reciprocates all of it, her tongue prodding your lower lip for permission that you wholeheartedly allow. 

You don’t miss the way she’s rolling her hips as you lock lips; the lazy circling she’s doing on your cock, your palms getting to experience every twirl she makes. It’s driving you crazy, groaning into her mouth as she grows ever faster with her hips, her lips, her arms wrapped around your neck to keep you close.

The need to breathe takes one of you first, and she pulls away. She’s licking her lips, breathing deep while gripping her hips to stop her from moving. “Aeri,” you gasp, letting out another groan as she comes to attack your neck, planting wet pecks all around you. “Fucking hell–”

It’s become noise now, the pornography in front of you. Barely incomprehensible at this point. Only the sounds of skin hitting skin being the few things you can understand aside from the words that are being screamed out. A phrase must’ve gotten Aeri’s attention, because the second they were heard she paused her actions.

“Come on, sexy, spank my ass!”

Aeri lets out a chuckle, her tongue swiping up your neck before she’s getting off you, spinning around and allowing you the beautiful sight of her legs that go on for miles, her shorts that do nothing to hide her thighs, to the beautiful line of her back. She’s got her thumbs hooked under her shorts, her movements torturously slow when she begins to pull them down.

She’s testing your patience—seconds that feel like hours as she bends over, the clothing low enough to expose just that hint of ass hiding underneath. It comes lower, until you see her panties come down with her shorts, lower, until she exposes her wet pussy lips to you, lower, until they are loose enough to let go of. She’s picked them up by her toes, joining the discarded pile of clothes you’ve left before she turns her head, her red mane almost lighting up from the TV.

“Come on, sexy, spank my ass,” She repeats, a smirk on her face, her ass so close to your shaft. Her hands rest on her knees as she starts to grind herself on you, your tip brushing her folds. You're holding onto your dick by the base, not allowing yourself any lost sensation of Aeri’s ass on your cock as she gyrates and rolls her hips back to you.

Leaving your other hand free to do as you wish with her ass. It comes crashing down her cheek, a sharp crack sounding out as she arches her back, a momentary pause as she lets the sting of your palm sit. “More,” she moans, grinding down harder, pushing her ass back against you. And you give it to her. 

Your hand’s coming down her asscheeks, enjoying each gasp she makes when you do. And every time it happens she grows restless, backing down on you harder, making you twitch as she’s rolling her hips at you. It’s an impossible challenge, having to survive this while you’re all but egging her on with each spank. But you make do, making sure that her ass is red by the time she’s decided to get on her knees for you.

Doesn’t grace you with any form of a warning—simply pushes the hand holding your cock to allow hers to take over. Holding you by the base and taking you in deep. No preamble at all, just her lips wrapping around your length, pushing down until she's taken every inch of you down her throat.

“What the hell, Aeri–” is all you can muster out, your hands coming to grip her hair. Holding on tight as she throats your cock, eyes locked onto yours. Bobbing her head quickly, hand pumping what her lips can't reach, her tongue twirling around your length. “Oh my god–”

“What’s wrong?” she teases, tapping your tip against her tongue. Letting the spit that’s accumulated fall down her mouth and coat you, jerking your cock and getting it all over you, her hand, her lips. “Too much for you, sexy?”

That damn pet name’s going to get you killed, more so when she’s doubled her efforts; not even bothering for a response except for your fucked stupid expression. Giggling up at you, the vibrations sending shivers, your thighs clenching from the way her tongue just moves all while she’s fucking her head on your cock.

It is, quite in fact, too much for you to handle, needing to physically get her pouty lips off your cock to stop her from making you finish inside her mouth. “Hold on–” You’re left gasping for air, while Aeri is simply looking at you; all innocent and doll-like, like she’s done no wrong to you in the past few minutes.

And to be fair, she hasn’t. Except for maybe the fact that she isn’t waiting anymore, pulling you in for another kiss. Getting you on the floor with her as your recovering lungs allow her to explore your mouth with no resistance at all.

She knows your body just as much as you know hers—on your lap to keep grinding her bare cunt on your dick, no respite given at all. Her arms are wrapped around your neck to keep her lips kissed with yours while your own hands are holding onto her hips, tapping them, squeezing them, going lower to paw at her ass; anything to get her to slow down because she’s become voracious, always unsatisfied at what she’s getting, what you’re offering. Wanting more of your lips, your cock, of you.

“What–” You had to push her away to get her to pause, leaving you both breathless. “What’s going on with you, Aeri–” You’re cut off with a groan, her hips persistent, wet folds kissing your cock at each roll.

“I just–” Her tongue’s licking her bottom lip, hands steadying her on your shoulders. “Just–want you so fucking bad,” she says, sighing at the slightest bit of tension being released by her grinding.

The admission gets you aching, gets your fingers digging into those cheeks of hers as she’s lazily letting her folds brush against your cock, the desire to pick her up the tiniest bit to get her impaled on your cock sitting in the back of your mind. Everything about you is screaming that you want her too, want her so bad that you’re letting her do whatever she wants with you. 

And she knows it—has her chuckling into your lips, arms locked around your neck growing tighter. It’s almost annoying how easy she can read you at times. Yet as much as you want to keep this going, to see what happens when you let her have her way, what’s being played behind her returns you to what you should really be doing.

Your palm hits her ass, making her freeze. “Up,” you order, nodding to your side. “On the couch, Uchinaga.”

“And if I don’t want to?” She’s challenging you, trying to see how far you would go for what you really, truly are craving for. And hell, you are going to get it one way or the other.

“Fine.” Aeri lets out a cute yelp as you pick her up by the waist, her legs locking around you. Standing up and turning back around to place her down on back on the soft leather, slowly untangling her long legs. And you’re back on your knees, a complete one-eighty to both your positions.

Taking off your shirt and letting it join the increasingly large pile of clothes, you part her legs, giving them a push to show her pussy, dripping wet now from all the foreplay, looking utterly mouthwatering. Yet you’re eyeing her little asshole, speculating at what the taste would be, salivating at the thought you are finally, irrevocably, going to eat Aeri’s ass.

Pulling her closer by her thighs, hearing her sweet mutters and moans of getting your tongue in her cunt. Wide, pleading eyes look down on you, arms spread on the couch to fist whatever she can of it, and the sight of it alone gets you to smile.

Something about seeing Aeri look so messy and begging makes the need to worship her all the more important to you. Hungry to see her lose more of herself in the wreckage of pleasure that you’ll be giving her, to hear her gasp and whimper and cry at how you’ll devote yourself to that pucker of hers, her own excitement showing with her winking rosebud.

“My turn, Aeri,” you tell her, bending forward and giving her left cheek a kiss, right where your palm has left its mark. Then her right, moving back and forth between them, a hand coming down to rub at her clit. It drives her mad, trying to roll her hips towards you, wanting to have your mouth satiate what she needs. Yet it only causes you to keep delaying, keep kissing her marks away, keep playing with her sweet spot.

“Stop fucking playing around–” She’s getting frantic, a hand grabbing your hair in an attempt to get her way. You’re fighting back against the pull, licking up her asscheek, to her thighs and giving her folds a slap with your fingers. It makes her thighs tremble, her hold on you immediately slacking.

“Thought this was what you wanted,” you say, planting a kiss on the plush thighs, your digits leaving her folds. Going lower, tracing the rim of that little hole; looking so tight that you doubt your finger would be able to go in. “I’m focusing on you, just like you told me to.”

You reach out to her side, grabbing the lube and squirting some on your hand. Making sure to get more on your index, you’ve moved back to her ass, back to tracing circles on her backdoor. You’re looking straight at her as you talk about having your complete attention on her ass, just as you push your digit in.

She’s tensing against your grip, flexing the muscles of her thighs as she takes your finger. Watch your lone digit push in ever so slowly, hearing her hiss and sigh at the sensation. “W-Wait,” she gasps, reaching out to take hold of your arm. “Use the beads.”

Your gaze returns to the table, where the pink rubber’s been left since the beginning of this all. Pulling your finger out slowly, you give her asshole a soothing rub before you go and pick it up. Giving it a quick look before you go back to Aeri. “What do you need me to do?”

“Pour some lube on it,” she says, hands coming to pull her asscheeks apart. “And put it in me. Not all of it, okay?”

“Oka–”

“I’m serious,” she cuts you off with a stern look, before biting her lip and looking away. Seemingly in debate with herself for a quick moment before she confesses something that makes your heart race. “It’s my first time doing this, so take it easy alright?”

You’re moving without even noticing it, leaning in to give her a peck. A whisper of your promise to her between your lips. “I’ll make sure to stop if it hurts, Aeri.” 

“Fuck you.” It’s an automatic response, almost on instinct that gets the both of you chuckling. “Just–get back over there and stick it in. Slowly, please.”

You’re pouring lube over the rubber, praying that Aeri doesn’t notice that you dripped a bit of lube down her couch—

“You’re cleaning that up tomorrow, by the way.”

Well shit.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laugh, pointing the edge of the beads towards her pucker. Her hands are back to spreading her ass for you, giving you an easier time to push it in. “Like this?”

Aeri’s humming her consent, watching your every movement as you slowly push a bead in. It was the smallest one, each ball getting bigger the closer it is to the base. “D-Do half.”

Pushing two more in, watching it stretch her, her entrance widening to take each sphere inside her. “What now?”

“Give me a sec,” she replies, eyes closing and taking deep breaths. Your decision to help relieve her tension comes in the form of gently circling your fingers once more above her clit, making her gasp. Cursing at the sensation, moaning as she tells you to keep pushing more.

So you do. Every time she takes another bead she tenses up, your fingers playing with her folds more to help her relax, her entrance widening further to take bigger and bigger beads. It’s good that the difference in sizes weren’t too big, else she’d be taking longer to get used to the feeling. You talk to her in between insertions, asking the most natural thing that comes to mind:

“Why do you have this anyway?”

“What?” Her eyes snap open, a raised eyebrow following as you look up at her. “Have what, toys?”

“I mean, I know you have them–” Remembering the time she threw her dildo at you one time was a funny memory to recall at a time like this, though it still comes to mind. And you got domed in the head with it for no good reason too. “But I didn’t think you’d be into playing with–” It sounds odd, thinking about your next words in your head. It doesn’t stop you from continuing this line of thought, your curiosity taking over everything. “–your ass.”

The next natural thing comes to mind, and you’re already asking her the question before your brain can even catch up with whether you really should be asking it or not.

“Were you planning to have me fuck your ass or something?”

You—honest to god—might have screwed up your possibly one and only chance of ever getting a whiff of anal sex with that question. The sheer ego to think that she would do all this for you makes you cringe internally. What if she just wanted to do this for the fun of it, the adventure, the thrill of doing something new to her—

“Kinda?” What the fuck did she just say? “I thought it'd be a good birthday gift for you–” Oh my god was she actually planning on this? “–and since we're both single and we were already fooling around before and–”

She takes another deep breath. Calming herself down before she starts to ramble. “Can we–” She says them so slowly, carefully, going over each word in her head before she speaks (unlike your dumbass), looking at you with so much emotion that it gets you to just stop. “Can we talk about this later? When you're not about to actually fuck my ass?”

Her first time, giving it to you of all people. The thought sounded so impossible, so insane that hearing her say it out loud causes your entire being to lock up under the total, pure insinuation of it causes your world's axis to tilt.

Yeah, you two really should talk after this.

A chuckle of sheer disbelief leaves your lips at her words, before you stop to look at her. And you really look at her, from the tense muscles due to the beads, the sweat dripping down her cheek, that hint of a smile on her face—all forgotten when you see the fond look in her eyes.

Definitely need to talk about this.

“Alright, Aeri,” you breathe out, kissing her thigh. Saying the only thing you can say that encapsulates everything you want to convey. “Thank you. Even if you were planning on such a crazy birthday gift.”

A laugh escapes her lips. “Happy birthday in advance–” Aeri says your name so adoringly, that familiar teasing lilt in her voice that gets you grinning. “Now, can you stick it all in please? I really want to have you in my ass.”

You see what she means by when she really likes a guy now.

“So impatient,” you chide, pushing the last two beads in. Making sure to let her get used to each additional one you push in her asshole. “Now what?”

“Pull them out, slowly too.” And you follow them to the letter. Tighten your grip on the base and slowly pull each bead out. Treated to a front row seat of having her asshole get stretched out, each bead widening her back entrance. You can hear Aeri's panting as you take each bead out, until you've popped every last bead out from her.

And you're left mesmerized, seeing her asshole look so tight, so ready, so fucking delectable it makes you stop and think how she would taste like.

Never was one to back down from trying something new.

You come back down, your tongue out and reaching for her asshole. Her taste takes your palate, and she is divine. Aeri’s calling out to you, trying to get your attention but you're already tensing your tongue and pushing in, feeling the slightest bit of resistance as you go. Even with the beads making way before you, she’s still so fucking snug that you lather her entrance up even more with your spit.

You can feel her tighten against your tongue, the moans that are muddled by her thighs wrapping around your head and you swear that this might be what you’ll be experiencing once heaven comes knocking about for you. 

It’s a contrast, what she’s saying and what she’s doing. Asking you to stop eating her ass and get on with sticking your cock in (as enticing as it was), telling you that the lube and spit that she’s prepped your length with is gonna be gone (which, are really just excuses). And yet—warm, soft thighs are tightening around your head at every single minute thing that your tongue is doing. Her hand digging deep into your scalp as she pushes you forward, making you go deeper, treating this asshole like it was your last meal.

And you try not to keep yourself too preoccupied with just her ass, snaking a palm up back, running your fingers through her soaked folds and coating your fingers in them. Pressing a few fingers against her lips, allowing her wetness to slide your digits forward.

Aeri's gone, calling your name, broken phrases and words mixing in that gets you even more enthusiastic about this. Slowly pumping your fingers inside her in this rhythm, making sure one hole of hers is full. 

“Oh my god–” She's slumping back against the couch, surrendering herself to you, no longer deciding to fight back. Letting you have your way with her, continuing your worship of her asshole, giving her pussy more attention from the neglect it will inevitably receive once you'll take her ass.

“You like this ass, sexy?”

You almost forgot that that was playing in the background, and it's funny that that was the one thing you both decided to pick up on. Makes Aeri pull your head out from her thighs, and you're looking up at her.

Red cheeks, a lazy, perverse grin as her head tilts to the side. “Well, sexy? You like my ass?”

“Love it.” You let a finger come play with her pucker, making circling motions as you pull the fingers out of her folds. “Can’t wait to fuck it.”

“Don’t have to wait much more,” she says, loosening her hold on your neck as she gives your scalp a gentle tug. “Come on, I think I’m ready for you.”

“You sure?” Your throat is bobbing, gulping as time’s finally come. You’re positioning yourself between her legs, holding yourself by the base. Your other reaches out to caress a thigh; a hand she comes to give a gentle squeeze of with her own.

“Course I am,” she tells you, letting out a chuckle. “Had my mind set on it since forever. And besides, you’re the only one I trust with this.”

You give her thigh a squeeze back. “Tell me what to do then.”

“Well,” she exhales, leaving your hand to spread her asscheeks. “You can start by sticking your cock in my ass.” She adds a stern glare at the end of it, slowly coming out of her lips as your tip meets her asshole.

“Slow, I got you.” You take a deep breath, lining yourself up properly against her. She’s looking up at you with a bitten lip, waiting, anticipating your move. You push agonizingly slow, allowing her entrance to get used to the head of your cock, slowly, slowly, until your entire head’s inside of Aeri’s ass.

She lets out a long hiss, trying to ease herself in with your tip, each second passing making you keep on pushing as she makes you fit inside her tight little hole. Aeri’s cursing, groaning as you continue filling her with your cock. An arm snaps down to grip onto the leather, closing her eyes and letting you feed her more of your length until—

“Tell me that’s all of it,” she says, eyes opening slowly to look at you.

You take your time to answer, because you’re stuck in a trance of an ever-looping state of sanity and intensity. The way that it feels like she’s pulsing around your cock, squeezing and clenching around you with such tightness you almost think she’s trying to milk you of your load right out the gate. Or if she was trying to cut your dick off. 

Hopefully the former.

“Halfway there,” you reply, gritting your teeth at the sheer pressure she’s surrounding you with. Only half, and it feels so mind destroying, more so when you realize that you are her first.

You snap out of your daze when Aeri lets out a scoff. “Fucking christ why do you have to be this  big?”

Yeah, you’re a goner for this woman.

“Don’t–” Her eyes flutter shut. “–put in more of that.”

“What do you want me to do?” The temptation to push further in is strong, but you don’t want to hurt Aeri anymore than she must already be, even with the lube and foreplay to prepare her with this.

“Just start fucking me,” she answers, and your breath hitches from the thought. “But don’t go past half or whatever the fuck length you’re in me.”

An implausible task she is asking of you. And all you can tell her is—“No promises.”

You start pulling back, setting a slow pace for yourself. Taking her ass as delicate as you can, rocking your hips back and forth, her asshole clenching so damn tightly around you it drives you insane with just this much already. You’re almost scared of what would happen if you decide to push every inch of yourself in her.

Fingers caress her legs, in an attempt to give her comfort from the pain, yet every small sigh she airs, every clench of her ass around you seems to break your resolve.

“This looked a lot easier on the TV,” you grunt, steadying yourself, grabbing her legs and pulling them upwards, laying her feet on your shoulders.

“Yeah?” She manages a chuckle out, mouth curling up into a smirk. “She wasn’t taking one this big, you fucking–”

Aeri’s groaning at each thrust, muscles squeezing down on your once more as you push a little further. “Fuck, you feel so–” she mutters, gasping as you go slightly faster. “So much more bigger in my ass.”

Your rhythm gets all fucked up at that, pushing in a bit more than you should’ve, past that barrier that you two have agreed upon. A barrier that quickly gets destroyed as her lips open wide, a curse singing out of her.

“More,” she groans, that familiar hunger in her eyes settling in; it’s one that you’ve seen every time she gets further into things, starting to really let herself enjoy the perversion. And every time you see it, it gets you falling deeper into her, deeper into her body, her tightness, her eyes—fuck, how the hell is this woman still single?

“Go faster.” She’s going to make you fall in love at this point.

You follow her to the very letter, hips thrusting faster, gripping onto her thighs harder. Pretty sure you’ll be leaving handmarks by the end of it but you just can’t find it in yourself to give a fuck anymore, taken completely by Aeri’s ass wrapped around your cock.

“God you feel so tight,” you praise, your hips getting closer and closer to meeting her ass at each push of your hips, each time sending more tingles around your body as the sheer pressure of it gets you addicted.

“And you’re the only one special enough to get this first,” she says, moaning as you finally, finally hit skin upon skin, the sound immaculate. Your arms have wrapped around her legs, thrusting turning into pounding. Eyes closing as you let all restraint come loose, your fucking growing longer, pace going faster, all the while she’s speaking all these dirty sweet nothings that serve to chip away even more at your shot nerves.

“Careful now, I might ask for seconds of this.” You peer over her legs, watching every small change in her expression. That grin on her face growing wider, her gaze almost rabid in the way she’s looking at you.

Aeri laughs—a sultry, slow tone that gets you thrusting deeper. “You can have me as much as you want, sexy.” It’s a statement, one she turns into a speech when she says that you can eat her sweet ass anytime, as long as you promise to fuck it straight after. “Bet you’d like that, huh?” She sounds so damn cocky because she's right; you would like it. You'd love it, even.

Just be on your knees, a face constantly full of her ass. Your tongue digging in, savoring her taste before you go mental the second your length sinks inch by every fucking inch inside her asshole. It'd be a dream come fucking true, honestly.

“Aeri–” You gulp down the thoughts that have become swirling around your head, the imagery that her words have given you, making your strokes harder, pushing her legs down bit by bit as she moans.

Her hands begin to pinch at her nipples, her moans joining that rhythmic slapping. You barely hear the fucking from the TV, engrossed utterly in Aeri's ass. Pumping your length into her, hearing her spit out words along the lines of fuck yes, more, this ass is yours, sexy to go rougher, to take every hole she has as yours.

It’s a treat to watch, all of it—got the front row view of the complete thing. Everything meshes with the groaning that you hear coming out of the screen, and a quick peek to the bright lights makes you pause in your thrusting, engrossed at the ending show; a cock pulling out of the woman’s ass to show her leaking all the cum that’s been dumped inside of it.

“Bet you wanna do that to me.” Aeri’s chuckles turn you back to her, propping herself up with her arm, her other reaching out to you. “Pump me full of cum in my ass, give me my first anal creampie–” Her palm presses against your chest, and she’s pushing you away, your cock pulling out of her pucker. “Gotta wait a little while longer first, sexy.”

She’s pushed you back down the couch, your dick aching and throbbing and fuck you’re so close as she's grabbing the bottle of lube and pouring the remains of it in her hand. Lathering her palm up and grabbing hold of your length to give you another coating. “I want a ride.”

You let out a shaky exhale as she turns around and gets on your lap, legs up on the couch next to your legs as she takes hold of your cock one more, giving you quick tugs before she points the tip right back into her asshole. You’re both letting out pleasured noises as your cockhead widens her hole, taking you back in her intense tightness.

She takes you in faster than the first time, taking you in your entirety as she sinks down, her plush ass meeting your groin. A hum comes out her lips, grinding down and gyrating her hips, making you groan out in response.

“Fuck, Aeri, babe–” You snap your mouth shut, the petname slipping from your lips like it was the natural. As if you should’ve been calling her that from the start. The revelation sparks something in you, and you can feel it in her too. 

“Yeah?” She’s looking back at you, rocking her hips back and forth, that damn smile that’s on her lips telling you everything that it is you need to know. Your hands come to rest on her waist, and the curl of her lips widens into a grin. “Need something, sexy?”

“I need you–” A strangled moan cuts you off as she starts to bounce on your lap, not even bothering to hear the rest of your answer. She already knows what you need—what you’re craving for. It's gotten you both wanting it, a hunger that's grown out of control.

And when she said she's riding, she means it. Hands on your chest, fucking herself on your cock so hard it makes the couch creak, and you're left holding on for dear life. Her hole so overwhelmingly snug around you, clenching and pulsing at every second that you're inside of her that your grip on her waist gets firmer. Her moans grow louder, filthy phrases coming out of her in droves. 

You know you're not going to last at this point—understandably so, when she's set her sights on having your load inside her ass—but you want this to prolong this for as long as you can. And that makes you move.

Fingers roam down to find her clit, and you begin drawing circles around the swollen nub. Your other comes up to a breast, cupping and kneading and getting Aeri off her relentless pace.

“Fuck–” Aeri stumbles, moans and arches her back when your fingers plunge into her dripping cunt, before her body falls down. Almost laying limp on your lap as your cock feels so snug inside her hole. “That's not fair–”

“All's fair in love and war, baby.” You thrust upward; once, enough to get her keening. Twice, and she's mewling at you. Arm wrapping around your neck when you take her ass once more. 

“Oh, fuck off with that.” Aeri's chuckling, laughing at your words, pulling you into a messy kiss to dampen the moans she's letting out. It's of no use, when you're fucking her so well it makes her cries all the more bewitching. That exquisite symphony she's creating as she pulls away, sending music straight to your ears mixed in with the unfiltered filth coming out of her mouth. “Just–fuck me, sexy–fuck my ass till–till you cum in me–fuck me harder–”

You settle into your own flow; fingers pulling out of her soaked pussy just as you thrust into her ass, the sounds that she makes are as beautiful as the day you first heard her sob her name in pleasure. And yet, even when you’re in control, the only thing that it’s done was send you falling down deeper, sending you closer and closer to having your load deep in her ass.

Aeri knows—and she wants you to. Fucking begs you to, whispering so much depravity in your ears as a hand comes to help you out, circling her clit with her digits as your own are fucking her folds. She’s leaving kisses along your neck, clenching her walls around you, tightening around your fingers, your cock. 

“Come on, sexy–cum for me, cum in my tight little virgin asshole–” There’s a delirious giggle mixed in with them, your pounding getting harder, faster, deeper. The reminder sends you into overdrive, makes you groan, your name being whispered so wantonly that you can’t hold it back any longer.

Your fingers come out of her cunt, choosing to grope her breasts just as your hips meet her ass, sinking every inch of yourself inside of her ass, and you finish—spurts of white flooding Aeri’s tight ass, your vision blurring. Your fingers dig into the pert flesh as your orgasm is so overwhelmingly, mind-fuckingly stupidly hard you think you would pass out from the sheer act of cumming.

The only tangible thought in your brain is that you’re cumming inside Uchinaga Aeri’s ass, the very first to do so, and that only makes your release all the more monolithic that you start seeing stars.

Her own climax follows, her screams all you can comprehend aside from her body convulsing on top of you, her muscles clenching, milking you of every drop of cum, wanting it all dumped inside her ass. Your name repeats off her lips like a mantra, silenced only when her mouth comes crashing towards yours. Desperately, softly, never wanting to let you go from her arms.

You respond in kind, pouring every bit of emotion you can into the kiss. Kissing her until your balls stop cumming, until your lips turn raw, until the need of air hits your lungs. And even when one of you pulls away the other comes to lean in for soft, needy pecks. Even when Aeri’s coming up to release your spent cock out of her asshole, feeling your load drip down her hole and onto your shaft, your thighs, the leather—you’ve come to spoon her in your arms, holding onto her as if she’s the only thing that matters right now.

And she is. Really, truly is. 

You couldn’t dwell on it for much longer when she lets out an airy laugh. “I can’t feel my legs,” she says, slumping into your embrace. “God, that was–what the fuck was that even?” There’s disbelief in her tone as she looks at you.

“You're asking me,” you chuckle, catching your breath as the aftermath of your debauchery lingers in your body. “You're the one that offered.”

“Hope you liked your birthday gift then.” Her legs stretch, and you're pulling her down to lay on the couch. 

“Loved it, Aeri–hey!” You flinch as the pinch she gives your arm. “What was that for?”

“You called me something else earlier,” she explains, moving to lay on top of you, her chin resting on your chest. “Call me that again.”

“What, are we–” You're almost afraid of opening this topic up. That even after this, you're still so hesitant of something you know in your heart you shouldn't be. “Are we putting a label on us now?”

“I mean, aren't we something?” she asks, an eyebrow raising. “We've known each other a while, we've fucked a few times–shit, you just fucked my ass–” Both of you chuckle at that. “And you're the only guy that's stayed. That means a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to me,” you say, hand coming to cup her cheek, brushing a strand of crimson stuck on her cheek. “A lot more than you know.”

She leans into your touch, cheeks reddening at your words. “We don't gotta rush anything, you know. We can even count this as our first date.”

“I don't know about that one.” You laugh along with her.

“Why not?” There's that familiar mischief twinkling in her eyes. “We watched a movie, shot airsoft, had sex at the end–” She inches closer to your face. “I'd say it's a wonderful first date.”

“Does that mean you put out on the first date too?” you joke, and she rolls her eyes at you.

“Only to guys I really like.” She smiles, all teeth and confidence. “And right now, it's only happened once.”

“Must be a lucky guy then.” You can't help but grin right back at her, before you lean in for a kiss.

Aeri smiles into it, an arm coming to rest at your nape. “So?” she mutters into your lips, pulling away just enough to ask you. “What'll it be, sexy?”

“Sure, baby,” you answer, and she seals your agreement with a kiss. You feel yourself come alive, an emotion you've long given up on being evoked by her. And it rejuvenates you, your length twitching back to life with each kiss exchanged. 

She senses it too, wiggling her hips at you. “Someone's happy.”

“Can't help it,” you say, peppering her neck with kisses. “You bring it out of me, I guess.”

Aeri scoffs playfully. “You're just happy your dick's getting wet again.”

“Well, I was gonna ask if you want to go out for dinner next week–” You shrug, and she pauses to look at you. “By that new Chinese spot we passed by last time.”

“Thought you'd never ask.” Aeri softens, looking at you with such fondness it makes your heart skip a beat. It comes as quick as it goes however, that usual playfulness returning to her eyes. “Now, would you like your baby to help you with this?”

She's grinding against you, your length hard and throbbing at her actions.

You shake your head. This girl, sometimes. Wouldn't change her for the world.

“If my baby would be so kind to.”

Aeri grins, leaving a trail of kisses down from your lip, to your neck, your chest, your stomach, until she reaches your cock.

“Sit back and relax then, sexy.” 

She gives your cock a kiss.

“That’s not true,” says Kazuha, when you tell her this. “You’re just trying to flatter me.” 

She’s making this real displeased expression when she says it too, brows scrunching together, both corners of her mouth downturned. But it’s not such a bad look when she’s laid out on your bed like that. Worn-thin tank top riding up, one of your hands on the heave of her ribcage. Jesus. Not bad at all. 

You’re not-so-subtly inching up the hem of that top. The twitch of one corner of her frowny mouth: even less subtle. 

“I’m dead serious,” you say. Your pinky finger draws her top up past her tits. “I felt it, physically. Right here.” You clutch at your chest with the hand that’s not pawing at her; you’re both a pervert and a romantic, it’s your whole thing. “Fate got me good. Really—you know, walloped me in the heart, first time I saw your face. No joke. I almost died.” 

“I wish you had,” says Kazuha. But she’s still letting you touch her. “Ugh. You and fate.” 

“I know, right? It was crazy. I didn’t even have a choice.” 

“And I’m sure it was just terrible for you.” She stretches languorously under your palm, back arching for your benefit. “Being shackled to me by destiny or whatever.” 

“Shackled,” you say, briefly losing your train of thought. You are suddenly inundated with ideas about how to fasten her little wrists to your bed frame. 

“See?” says Kazuha, as your fingers hook into the side of her panties, stretched taut over her hipbone. “This is what I mean. You have a one-track mind.” She stays so still for you as you undress her. “When you first met me you were not thinking about marrying me.” 

“My God. You’re so snarky these days.” Her underwear is promptly lost to some dark corner of your bedroom. “What happened to my sweet girl?” 

“You killed that sweet girl,” says Kazuha, batting her lashes. “Shot her dead.” 

She pulls a face that is probably supposed to be disgusting: her best corpse impression, eyelids fluttering, tongue lolling out. Understandably you are less than disgusted by it. You lean in to kiss that pretty gaping dead-girl mouth until she laughs and comes back to life. 

You’re being serious, though, when you say she used to be so sweet. You still remember those early days, her sweater sleeves pulled down over her hands, all that blushing and stammering she did, all the times she looked at you and away, too shy to hold eye contact. She was so meek it drove you crazy; you were sure there was something up with her. You became kind of obsessed with trying to work out her deal. You thought she was maybe religious—toyed frequently with the image of her in one of those pleated private-school skirts, yum—but she wore a locket around her neck and never any crosses, and sometimes the shortest shorts you’d ever seen. 

So you figured: Okay. Not God-fearing. Probably soul-searching anyway. Probably away from home from the first time, new to college and finding herself. You liked the way her eyes crinkled up when she smiled so you took it upon yourself to help with that, Good Samaritan you are. 

“You sure?” you murmur to Kazuha. Two fingers between her thighs. Working her open all slow. “I think this little cunt’s still sweet.” 

Kazuha makes this hitched sound in the back of her throat. She used to cover her face with her hands whenever you talked dirty to her: furious flush, whining, whimpering, dripping wet, the whole nine. Very cute. Now she just spreads her legs wider and takes it.

“Don’t you think?” you prod, when she says nothing. 

Your fingers are down to the knuckle now. Same sound in her throat. “Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” 

You’ve taught her well. Kazuha has no trouble looking you in the eye now. She sighs hard: such a chore, going along with your game, like you can’t feel the needy clench of her cunt about it. “Yes, daddy.” 

Nakamura Kazuha’s deal, turns out, was this: nobody had ever fucked her good in her life. And—you should’ve been able to tell from all her slutty shorts—this was a girl who desperately needed to be fucked. It was so obvious in retrospect. The long-lashed fuck-me eyes. The way she made her voice all soft and breathy. The day she crawled into your lap and you realized this whole thing was some long-con seduction was like seeing color for the first time, just this world-shattering revelation. I want you, she whispered, so embarrassed about it that humiliated tears shone in her eyes. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t. I just do. 

What were you gonna do—say no to that face? Get real. You gave her exactly what she wanted just like you’re giving it to her now. 

Somewhere in the filthy haze of Kazuha gagging on three of your fingers and melting when you get your cock in her and you making her beg daddy to cum inside her, the thought surfaces that it’s possible you ruined her. Like, forever. But you can’t find yourself feeling too sorry about that. The idea that you really fucked this girl up for the rest of her life: better and more binding than a ring on that finger. 

Almost. 

It’s only after you cum inside her and also on her thighs and the smooth plane of her stomach that Kazuha makes an attempt to speak again. Her voice gets thick after sex, like she’s just been crying hard; she has to clear her throat a few times before you can even understand her. Like right now: she tries to say something and just ends up coughing. It reminds you of her laugh, all funny and phlegmy. The first time she got sick around you you could never tell whether she was giggling or hacking up a lung. 

“What?” you ask, dragging your fingers through her long dark hair. Your brain kind of always empties out after you fuck her; right now you’re only staring at her flat tummy, picturing what she’d look like knocked up. Not that you have any real plans to do this—you just like thinking about it sometimes, in a feral animal-brained fog. Whatever. After the ring. You can be patient. 

Kazuha gives a long-suffering sigh. “You heard me.” 

“I really didn’t, baby, I’m sorry.” 

“I said.” Kazuha clears her throat again. Or she’s laughing; see, hard to tell. “Marriage, my ass.” Cum drips from her cunt to the sheets. “Admit it. When you met me, you just wanted to fuck me.” 

“Mmm,” you say, pretending to think. “It’s been so long, I don’t remember. I definitely wanted to do something to you.” 

When Kazuha smiles it shows teeth. You didn’t take her top all the way off; it’s still bunched awkwardly above her tits, a little damp with sweat. But when she yawns and stretches it’s with spades of former ballerina grace, all of it reserved for private performances in your bed. 

“Congrats,” she says, eyes closed. “Your wish came true.” She might be falling asleep again. “Now you can do anything to me.” 

When you touch the fourth finger on her left hand, you swear her smile grows. 

Anything, huh. Well, sure, you know that. You’ve already done a lot of things. You do have that ring in your drawer, though, and it’s been like four years, and you love Kazuha more than life. You’ve checked the forecast; it’s supposed to be a beautiful day today. Might as well let fate have its way. 

-

Actually, most days in your life are beautiful, because most days start like this: 

Kazuha ends up nodding off after all, but she comes downstairs for breakfast and instead drops to her knees on the kitchen tile and makes you cum with her hands and mouth. She’s so nasty about it, mouth droolly and swollen. Her fingernails are chipping with polish, painted blue. She’s got this bikini you love that’s about the same color; for a while you were seriously wondering if you could somehow get her in it for the proposal. Maybe if you did a beach thing. Hell of an engagement photo. Sending it out to all your friends and family, making everyone go wild over your girl. You cum in her mouth thinking about this and hold her hair in your fist while she swallows, then sticks her clean tongue out afterwards, to prove it. 

“Look at you,” you say, patting her cheek. It took Kazuha a while to get used to the whole cum-swallowing thing; she used to spit it up into her hands and look at you with helpless and somewhat betrayed eyes: I’m supposed to like this? “You’ve come so far.” 

“I had a great teacher,” says Kazuha, smiling coyly, and it’s so funny, it really is.

After breakfast she lays out on your couch and scrolls mindlessly on her phone. You just have to give her shit for it, making cracks about kids these days, her whole screen-obsessed generation. She calls you old with her eyes kind of glazed; you’ve seriously got to get a book in that girl’s hand one of these days, do something about that attention span. But you like how she looks on her stomach with her feet kicked up, the liquid spill of dark hair over the leather sofa. You’re selfish. You prefer your eye candy with her head in the clouds—gives you all the time in the world to stare. Plus you need her distracted today if you’re going to pull this off. 

You’ve got this whole plan. You’ve got a huge backyard you’re going to truss up. Bouquets of flowers in the garage. Kazuha can waste half the day melting into your couch like this; she won’t even notice if you’re putting up string lights. 

It’s kind of the best-case scenario—but that’s your whole life, these days. Ever since Kazuha moved in with you at the beginning of summer every morning is this. But you knew it’d be this perfect; you still remember how your heart contracted at the way she looked back in June, running to your car, drowning in her college graduation gown, ponytail streaming like ribbon. You were lovestruck, overcome. You cranked up the AC and gave some sappy and ironically slightly paternal speech about a new chapter for her. Said: Here’s to the rest of your life, kid. She said nothing until you hauled her into your lap and got your cock inside her, and then it was all trying not to bump the horn and going: Fuck, harder, daddy, yeah, like that. And then you took her back to your place and finally the rest of her life began. 

It’s funny. When you first imagined proposing you considered taking Kazuha somewhere fancy, or public, making some huge gesture. Big speech, everything. But you think doing it here says more. This is our life, you’d say; beauty in the mundane and all that. This is what’s real. This is all I’ve ever wanted. Spend every day with me just like this. Marry me. 

Obviously you do still care about aesthetics. You’ll say something to get her in a dress. You’ve got one in mind—blue like the bikini, marginally more fabric involved, thin straps, lace at the low neckline. These days all Kazuha does is lounge around in pajama pants, faded camp t-shirts from middle school. Lazy girl, this one. It might take some finagling to get her in something nicer. But you’re pretty good at getting her right where you want her. 

“Hey, baby,” you call. Kazuha’s head tilts to the side, listening. “You got anywhere to be later?” 

Kazuha’s brows lift. “When do I ever?” 

“Touché.” She’s a homebody at heart. “Just—stick around. I’m gonna make you dinner tonight.” 

“Stick around?” Bark of her phlegmy cough-laugh. “Where else would I go?” 

Her feet swing casually. Her toes are painted the same color as her nails, the gleam of sunlight over frothing ocean, shimmering beautiful blue. You catch her by the shin as you’re passing her so you can kiss the bone of her ankle, and she squirms about it, ticklish, but it earns you a sweet little smile. 

This is your life, all right. Oh, yeah. Living the dream. 

-

Here’s what you’re thinking. There’s this certain perfect time of evening just after the sun goes down—blue hour, they call it. You’ve been looking at photos, so gorgeous and vivid. You’ve been imagining it like a movie. The sky will turn the same color as her dress and her nail polish and her one good bikini. You’ll get down on one knee among all the flowers and lights and you’ll grin and say: Nakamura Kazuha, marry me. She’ll gasp and squeal and cry and kiss you and say: Yes, yes, yes, oh my God, yes, are you kidding, yes, yes, yes. Of course. Yes. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. I love you, I love you so much. You’re it for me. Yes. 

Then you’ll probably get all nasty about it and fuck just like that, out there on the lawn, rucking up her little dress around her waist and getting her hair tangled in the grass and calling your future wife a filthy fucking whore. (Obviously you’re allowed to do that, on account of the future wife part, and that it makes her really wet.) Still she won’t stop, just won’t shut up, so excited. Still she’ll throw her head back and keep answering you in that teary thick voice: Yes, daddy, yes. 

That’s your whole plan. That’ll be it. Happily ever after, the end. 

-

In the end, the dress thing isn’t so hard. In your bedroom she’s peeling off her top, rifling through the dresser in just her panties. You lean into the closet and pluck the dress off the hanger. “Hey,” you say, holding it out to her. “Wear this for me.” 

“What am I, your doll?” Kazuha asks, but she’s already reaching for it. So you both know the answer to that question. 

-

You’ve decided that you still want a big speech before you pop the question. So lately you’ve been drafting one in your head about all of you and Kazuha’s greatest hits. 

There’s this one moment that comes to mind. Spring break of her freshman year of college—you’d only been dating a few months by then. It felt like longer; you’d wanted each other all year, dancing around it all the time. Kazuha was still very sweet but by March you’d fucked her kind of stupid. She got all pouty at having to leave you, sulking into your shoulder until you kissed her hair and made her cum, nice and slow, all over your fingers. You said something dirty to make her shiver, something about her greedy little cunt, so good for daddy. She whispered into your neck: What if I just die without you? 

She was really only half-kidding. She was very attached, clinging to you all the time; at the beginning she was always texting you in her classes instead of paying attention, wondering what you were up to. Naturally you were not complaining about the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen being overly dependent on you. You wiped your wet fingers on her thigh. 

You’re a big girl, you said. You’ll survive. 

Kazuha scrunched up her nose. If you say so, she said. 

Her smile was soft with total trust. That was one of your favorite things about her, that starry-eyed blind-faith look. Anything you said automatically became true. 

During spring break Kazuha went back to her hometown and got into some major drama with one of her little friends from high school. You were only kind of following the messages she was sending about it; you were trying to keep up with work, grading essays, glancing at your phone in between passable term papers. I’m sorry, you replied to Kazuha, squinting at the frantic blocks of text. Who is this girl again? 

chaewon, Kazuha said. 

Chaewon… right. Chaewon? You could not remember for the life of you who this was. Kazuha didn’t talk about high school a lot and when she did it was evasive and often negative; junior prom sucked, senior prom I skipped, it was hard to make friends, hard to figure out what to do with my life, ugh, thank God I never have to be sixteen again. What are you even fighting about? 

idk. kind of everything? 

she was just saying all this stuff about how she doesn’t recognize me anymore

just kept going “what happened to you?” 

and i don’t know what to tell her

it’s always been complicated between me and chaewon

but

i don’t know how to explain it

and when i tried to explain it it just made her even more upset

This was all kind of going in one ear and out the other, metaphorically. You wished Kazuha was there with you; it was so much easier to soothe her when you could touch her, wipe her whole brain clean. You’re not making any sense, you said.

i know

i’m sorry

it’s just hard because she’s supposed to be my best friend

she says she’s just worried about me but like

i don’t know

Best friend. Okay. So: this was all just high school shit, basically. Kid stuff. You could empathize. You also started hearing major alarm bells the second you read worried about me. You said: Did you tell her about me? 

yeah, says Kazuha, after a long moment. i did.

Is that what you’re fighting about? 

kind of? 

What do you mean, kind of? You massaged your temples. Like, you told her everything about me? How we met? 

You could picture the face Kazuha was making as the panicked texts rolled in: crease between her brows, gnawing at her bottom lip like she was trying to draw blood, or bite it clean off. Sometimes she worked herself up into these fits and the only way to get her out of them was to take her apart one piece at a time. A kiss to the wrinkle in her forehead. Plucking out her bottom lip from between her teeth, and then running your tongue over it until it went soft. 

no of course not!

i mean

i told her you were older but

not any of the gory details or anything

Jesus. Gory details, like you had been torturing her, just holding her captive in your basement or something. That was how you knew Kazuha was spiraling. You called her up so you could talk her down. 

It wasn’t so hard. Even without touching her you still had a way of soothing her; sometimes in your bed she’d just curl up, shut her eyes, listen to you talk in circles as you heard her breathing slow. You told her a lot of sweet things on that phone call: how it wasn’t her fault, how Chaewon was being crazy, probably jealous, probably can’t handle how you’re all grown up now, she’s stuck in your hometown, you’re making something of yourself, it’s all so pathetic. If she can’t be supportive of you, she’s no friend to you at all. You said things like: Your life should be filled with people who want to see you be great. People who accept you always. You don’t need to bother with anyone who doesn’t understand you, No, honey, don’t cry, I know it’s hard, I know you were friends with her for a long time. But if she can’t love you unconditionally it might be time to let her go. 

Because that’s what you deserve, Kazuha, you said. Unconditional love. 

Kazuha had stopped sniffling about halfway through the speech. Now her voice was all tender, with a golden thread of awe. 

Is that what you feel for me, then? she murmured, sounding very small. Unconditional love? 

You laughed. You said: I’m not saying it for the first time over the phone. You can wait for it. 

Okay, said Kazuha. She took a deep and shuddering breath. Okay. 

But there were things she couldn’t wait for and she still had tension she needed to work out. So you had sloppy, rushed phone sex, you asking her to fuck herself with her fingers, tell you how much she wished it was your cock instead. Of course she complied gorgeously. Just this vile, incredible little chant of: I miss you, I miss your cock, Daddy, let me cum, daddy-please-fuck-can-I-cum, oh God, thank you, thank you. 

That Sunday night she was back at college. You picked her up from her dorm room that night, parallel parked at the curb, wearing a baseball cap, kind of going incognito. Kazuha ran down to you with her hair in braids, cheeks flushed, breathing hard. 

She opened the passenger side door. She was wearing patterned pajama shorts and her mile-long legs were covered in goosebumps. Her teeth were chattering in her mouth; you could hear the sound of it like something breaking over and over. She looked girlish, every single emotion telegraphed on that innocent wide-open face. She was breathtaking, and all yours. 

Hi, Kazuha said. The one word warbled, expectant. 

I love you, you said. 

She broke into a grin, prettiest thing you’d ever seen. She threw herself into your passenger seat and then into your arms. 

-

Here’s another one, hit for the ages. That summer before her sophomore year you packed up your car and you drove Kazuha out to the beach. It was the first time you ever saw her in a swimsuit. Tiny blue bikini, almost comically small on her—I don’t swim ever, she said, it’s so old and gross, I’m sorry, I don’t own another one. But you were pretty sure she wore it for all the skin, just so you would touch her. You knew how girls like her operated. So you touched her. 

You’re such a tease, you complained, your hands on her waist, in the ocean up to your knees. The water was freezing cold; she was shivering in your arms. You hooked a finger beneath the strap of her bikini top and then you mimed shooting yourself in the head and just dying about it. You’re so hot you’re killing me. 

I got this swimsuit when I was like fourteen, Kazuha said, bemused. How is that hot? 

She kept wanting to go out further and further into the water. You didn’t know why—she had a bad knee that had a tendency to ache in the cold, always bothering her in the winter and when it rained. It was what took her out of ballet as a teenager, this really terrible injury, left a jagged scar on one of those perfect long legs. But she floated out of your arms, long careful fingers skimming gentle as summer breeze over the surface of the sea. If she was in pain you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t see her face. 

You felt ancient watching her drift away, you with your sore back, her with all that silk-soft skin, no wrinkles by her eyes or mouth. Nineteen, almost. Her birthday was in a few weeks. Kazuha was in the sea up to her collarbone, wet hair plastered to her cheeks and throat. 

Don’t drown, kid, you called. 

Kazuha waved a hand. I don’t swim ever, that was what she’d said. But she didn’t seem to be scared as she took a breath and went under. 

The water lapped at your waist, waves gentle, docile even. You looked up at the sky, such a stunning vivid blue. You thought for a while about your life, the former monotony of it, the soul-sucking jobs, that one awful split with your ex. Funny how none of it mattered now. Sometimes it felt like you’d been waiting all this time for Kazuha to find you. 

Out of the blue she was there again. By your side, touching your hand, soaked to the bone. 

Sorry, Kazuha said, breathless. She coughed, or laughed. Did I scare you? 

Actually it hadn’t occurred to you to be scared. You hadn’t been paying attention for how long she was underwater. Despite what you said you never really thought she’d drown. Part of you was sort of convinced she was invincible, immortal. There was something about her and her bright eyes, her smile that showed all her teeth, her sex drive and her naïveté, her shy and ridiculous laugh. She was too beautiful to get hurt. It wasn’t possible. Even with that scar on her leg—you couldn’t imagine it as an open wound, couldn’t picture her bleeding. Even when the sex got rough you never hit her too hard. It would be going against something cosmic, causing her any serious pain. 

Seawater glittered on Kazuha’s cheeks and forehead, in her hair. Her eyes were a little wild. She was shivering all over. Her bikini top had slipped a little; you pulled one of the straps back into place. You kissed her just to taste the salt off her mouth and found her lips trembling and chapped. 

Crazy girl, you said. Your hand were on her hips. You knew suddenly that you were going to make her cum right there in a few minutes, just be a public nuisance, having sex on the beach like you were both crazy, horny teenagers, you could already feel it. You said, for the first time, very sure about it: I’m marrying you.

Oh, you are, huh? Kazuha leaned into your chest and let you touch her stomach, then the waistband of her bikini. Do I get a say in this?

Sure. But I know what you’re gonna say.

Still she says it for you over and over again, as you work your fingers into her cunt. Yes, yes, yes. 

-

Greatest hit of all. Here’s the truth, about when you knew you were going to marry her. 

It wasn’t the first time you saw her. It wasn’t the first time you touched her, even: that one day in the school hallway, you holding the door open for her, you the real gentleman. You’d been so good for so long, but then she’d looked up at you and in a fit of desire you’d touched the small of her back and—good God. The look on her face, then. Trembling mouth, delicious blush. She’d been so gone for you. Schoolgirl crush, literally, fucking adorable, two front teeth in that bottom lip. Made you think stupid words nobody uses anymore like minx and temptress. 

It wasn’t the first time you fucked her, or even the second time, when you locked the door to your office and peeled off her soaked panties and fucked her right there on the desk, holding a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t moan, taking it off so you could ask her to call you something gross. 

Kazuha hadn’t wanted to, at first. Too shy, sweet girl. She blushed fiercely and said: Do I have to say it? 

Yeah, I think you do, you replied, amused. Your cock was inside her, unmoving; you were looming over her, sweating on her filmy sundress, holding her orgasm hostage. Don’t worry. You’ll like it. 

Kazuha’s lashes fluttered. Uncertainty in her dark eyes, maybe even a childish tinge of horror. Really? 

You’ll be into it, I promise. Come on, baby girl. Do it for me. 

Kazuha’s mouth opened and closed, throat working over the conflict, shame, arousal, desire to please, desire to cum. But you were sure she would say it; she would do anything for you. She shut her eyes very tight. She whispered: Daddy. 

Yeah? 

Daddy. She buried her face in your neck. Please fuck me. 

But that wasn’t the moment you knew. Oh, the truth: 

Nakamura Kazuha was having a hard time before she met you. Drifting, aimless, purposeless. She’d had some nothing boyfriend that she’d just broken up with. She’d been a very good ballerina before she fucked up her leg. She’d been gearing up to attend some fancy ballet school overseas; she showed you videos of herself dancing, and even with your less-than-nothing knowledge about ballet you could tell she was fantastic, graceful and glorious, moving like she was floating on air, like the sweep of water over the shore, completely born for it. 

Born for it? said Kazuha, when you told her this. She was frowning hard. No, I—that’s not how it works. With ballet you have to put all of yourself into it, all your time and effort. It’s your whole life. It’s not something that comes naturally to a person. Her voice got quiet. And—I was good, but I wasn’t great. I wasn’t the best. It would’ve ended for me at one point or another anyway. She touched her scarred knee. This just sped up the process. 

You were a beautiful dancer, you said, gently. That’s all I meant. 

Kazuha softened. Sorry, she said. I just—I can be sensitive about it. I’m sorry. Thank you. Sorry.

She was at your house for the first time, sitting on your bed while telling you all this. She’d never been so candid with you before, talking about college, how she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, no clue about her career or even picking a major, scared about everything, about losing her best friend from back home, about disappointing her parents, about failing her classes and her whole sprawling unknown unwritten future, terrified about everything under the sun. Or she was, she said. Until you. 

I just felt so lost for so long, Kazuha was saying. She was laid out on her back now, her hands folded over her stomach. Her eyes were firmly closed; sometimes when she was being very vulnerable she found it impossible to look at you. I was just waiting around for my life to begin. And then I met you. 

Dark eyes peeked open, just the slightest bit. 

Sometimes I think you saved me, she said, sounding deeply embarrassed about it. Is that horrible?

You held her jaw in your hand. Why would that be horrible? 

Tiny shrug. Because. I was supposed to be—like, I’m in college, and I’m nineteen now, and I—people say all these things about being independent, and I feel like I’m just not, I don’t know how to be, I don’t know anything, I rely on you so much sometimes, I’m just this dumb kid, and you already have a whole life, everything all figured out, and I—I—

You kissed her mouth to quiet her. You’re not dumb, Kazuha, you said. Not at all. 

She turned away. She was sinking into your sheets, all that hair like a smear of ink over the pillowcase, like the depths of the bottomless ocean, so dark no light could touch it. When she left you’d bury your face in the pillow to catch the sea-salt smell of her, light like summer air. You were addicted; it was true. You wanted to say something crazy and romantic like: You are my whole life. But she was so young and fragile then and you didn’t want to scare her. No—you wanted to keep her, you realized. Forever, maybe. Forever, if fate allowed, if the stars aligned. 

And then Kazuha looked back at you with such raw tenderness that you began to think forever wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. 

I thought I knew what I wanted, she said. And now I just want to be yours.

-

That’s when you knew. 

-

The perfect day stretches out in front of you. The sun rises high and then begins to fall; your fated blue hour is closer than ever. Kazuha is very tired and goes back to bed in her pretty dress, texting someone lethargically on her phone, the tap of her sapphire nails on the screen halting and slow. “Summer heat,” she says, “it’s getting to me.” You lower the temperature, kiss her head, and go make dinner. 

When you’re done you call for her and Kazuha trundles downstairs to sit with you. She puts her phone face-down on the dining table and doesn’t touch it once as you eat. Tonight, for once, she wants to talk.

“About marriage,” Kazuha clarifies, taking a sip of her water, holding your gaze as she does it, those glittering dark eyes. 

“Oh, really,” you say, nudging her beneath the table. “That’s funny.” 

“Is it?” 

“What do you want to know?” You grin; oh, of course she knows, of course she can feel it. Electricity in the air, live-wire spark. Tonight’s the night everything changes. “About marriage? Specifically?” 

Kazuha smiles back at you. “What happened to yours, again?” 

You laugh out loud. Okay; she’s in one of those moods. Go figure. Precocious fucking girl. 

Yours. As in: your marriage, before Kazuha. Or: during Kazuha, technically, at the beginning, when you were sneaking around behind your then-wife’s back. But you don’t talk about that with Kazuha except to laugh at it: yawn, divorce papers, ugh, so tedious, thank God it was a mostly clean break, thank God she never found out about you. Isn’t it funny, I was with someone so wrong for me for so fucking long. I didn’t know what right would be until I met you. It’s actually a very romantic story, how you gave up everything for Kazuha. But she’s already heard this one. She knew you were married the second you met her and she still opened her legs for you anyway. 

“You know what happened,” you say, tracing your finger up her thigh. “You happened.” 

Kazuha spreads her legs a little wider. “But what was she like?” 

Huh. She’s never really asked that before. You think about your ex-wife. “Miserable. She had a lot of issues. She was never happy, the whole time I knew her.” You remember the protruding notches in her spine, her red-rimmed eyes, always a trembling accusing finger pointed right at you. “She was nothing like you.” 

“I ran into her the other day, actually,” Kazuha says casually. “Your ex.” 

Your hand stops dead on her thigh. You are certain you’ve misheard. “What?” 

“We were out of milk. I went to the grocery store and I just—saw her. Or: she saw me, I guess. But I recognized her from your pictures.” By this she means the pictures that used to be framed around your house, before you got divorced, and your ex moved out, and Kazuha moved in, and you filled the place with new pictures of the two of you. “She looks the same, mostly. She cut her hair.” 

“When did you—you took your car?” She never takes her car—a graduation gift from you, which sits in the garage basically one hundred percent of the time. She’s always at home. She just doesn’t really have anywhere to go. “How did she know who you were?” 

Kazuha shrugs. “Maybe she saw us together,” she says. “Maybe she knew the whole time.” 

You stare at her, dumbfounded. “What did she even say to you?” 

“A bunch of stuff. It was really weird.” Something very strange happens with Kazuha’s mouth here, a contortion you’ve never seen before. Finally she says: “I guess I didn’t really understand how you met her.” 

“Oh,” you say. Your hand falls away. Suddenly it becomes very clear where she’s going with this. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. When you said she was your student—I thought you meant like me. Like, college student. I didn’t know you meant… I didn’t know that you used to teach high school.” 

Ugh. Well: that makes it sound just reprehensible, putting it like that. 

Leave it to your ex-wife to twist the whole story in her favor. You loved her, you did. There was just so much bullshit towards the end. She was so angry. She loved making you the bad guy. Always ranting and raving about things you took from her: stupid shit, the last yogurt from the fridge, or the car keys, or her virginity way back when, or her whole fucking life. You were very patient with her; you tried your best to understand. You sat her down, said talk to me, kid, tell me what you want from me, tell me how I can make it okay. But she could never seem to put it into words. 

And then it was fall semester and you were back at the university and you stumbled across the love of your life in the front row of your twelve o’clock lecture. Fate is a funny, wicked thing. 

“I didn’t teach high school then,” you say. “I was a counselor.” 

“Okay,” says Kazuha. 

“Christ.” You rub the bridge of your nose, already exhausted by this conversation. “It wasn’t as lecherous as it sounds, you know. We didn’t do anything until years after she graduated. I didn’t even work at that school anymore when she and I got together. And even when I met her, she wasn’t—a child, or anything. Probably around the same age you were.” 

“Right,” says Kazuha. 

“Kazuha.” You put your hand on her knee. “What did she say to you?” 

For a moment she doesn’t speak. She looks for a long time at your hand on her leg. Her expression is completely inscrutable, wiped clean. Like when you weren’t looking the tide came in and washed all trace of Nakamura Kazuha away and now it’s just her body sitting hers—or not even really hers, just someone’s body, some gorgeous stranger, some rigid bloodless beautiful carcass, limp beneath your fingertips.

“Kazuha?” 

An odd noise comes from Kazuha’s mouth. Laugh. Cough. Something. She touches her hand to her lips, looking surprised at herself. She looks up at you with wide clear eyes, like she’s seeing you for the very first time. 

All of a sudden her whole face crumples and she begins to cry. 

“Kazuha—”

Immediately you are up out of your chair and scooping her into your arms, rubbing her back, petting her hair. You whisper soothing things into her ear. You kiss her face and touch her all over, you tell her you love her, it’s okay, honey, baby, I love you, it’s okay. But Kazuha will just not stop crying, no matter what you say or do, thick wet sobs that rock her entire body, natural disaster in your arms. Nothing you do seems to be helping. So eventually you hold her close to your chest and try saying nothing at all for a while. 

She’s been doing this more and more lately. Just falling to pieces for no discernible reason. You find her crying violently at random times of the day, in her bed or on the couch, or searching through the refrigerator, scrubbing ferociously at her wet cheeks, standing there with the door open so long the refrigerator starts to beep at her. She doesn’t even seem to notice when this happens. She just cries and cries over the sound. She’s getting a little cabin fever, you think; it makes a lot of sense. Recent college grad, no job, no prospects, no plans for the future. You’re not sure what she does while you’re at work. Sits at home, reads, waters all the plants in your big house, goes on her phone, paces, sleeps, sleeps, wakes breathless in the night, gets up, runs the tap in the bathroom for a long time, comes back to bed, sleeps fitfully, sleeps odd hours, sleeps entire days or weeks away, sleeps. You’re not certain what she does or what she plans to do with her whole life. She’d wanted to go to grad school at some point, or get a job, or had at least vaguely thrown the idea around, but you haven’t heard her talk about that in ages. She had friends once, but then she started spending all her time with you. 

Maybe this isn’t so bad, though. Maybe it stopped mattering what she wanted to do with her whole life when her whole life became you. Which is actually very sweet and romantic. Which is the whole point, isn’t it? That’s what people say. Love: the point of everything. And now the benevolent universe or some higher power has tracked you down and given all that love to you. 

“C’mon, baby. Don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s okay, sweet girl. What’s going on? What’s wrong with you?” 

Maybe she’s just a little lonely. Maybe you’ll get her a dog. Maybe she gets jealous and insecure, all that time you spend at school, all those pretty wide-eyed girls sitting in the front row right where she used to sit. 

Maybe you know how to fix all of this. Maybe you’ll put that ring in your drawer on her finger and she’ll know she’s yours forever. Just like you said. Happily ever after, the end. 

-

After a while, as usual, the terrible sobbing subsides. 

“I’m sorry she upset you,” you tell Kazuha quietly, stroking back her hair. You’re a puddle on the kitchen floor, her ruffly dress like so much water in your lap. “There’s a reason I divorced her, you know. She’s—very difficult.” 

Kazuha’s lips part. Indeterminable sound and expression. Maybe, at last, a smile. She says in a hoarse voice: “I thought the reason you divorced her was because you fell in love with me.” 

“Oh, no, you’re right, that’s it,” you agree, cradling her close to your chest, your girl, your baby. “It was all your fault.” 

You’re not really sure how you end up having sex about this but you do, right there on the kitchen floor, fucking her and her tight hot cunt into the tile. You push up her blue dress and remind her how your love story started. You cushion the back of her head with your palm and watch her face collapse and rebuild itself in all manner of expressions. You lean down and speak very softly into her ear. You say: You remember how it happened, honey. You started all this. You sitting in the front row with your big eyes and your slutty shorts, smiling so big at everything I said. Asking all those questions, little teacher’s pet freshman, acting so innocent, acting like you weren’t dying to be fucked by me. You knew what you were doing to me. You asked for this. And then you came to my office and then you really asked for it, begged for it even, cried like a baby about it, I remember. Putting on a big show, acting all pure and virginal the second you got my cock inside you: Ow, wait, slow down, it hurts. But then you curled up in my lap afterwards anyway with those tears in your eyes and told me it was so good, you swore to God. 

She’s whining, cumming, crumbling, dissolving, turning to liquid underneath you, all slick and no substance. You’re saying only the truth. Yes, your fault, kid. Have you ever looked in a mirror? This one’s all on you. 

“I don’t know,” says Kazuha. “I really—I don’t know about all of that.” She’s crying again, her hands hiding her face, like the sweet girl you shot dead. “I think I was just trying to go to school.” 

-

Fine. The gory details, if people want to know so bad: 

Kazuha walked into that lecture hall first day of fall semester and you knew with perfect shocking clarity that fate was on your side. Kazuha introduced herself that very first day after class by shaking your hand. Kazuha was very polite, all please and thank yous, a real good girl, too good to hide that she had a thing for you, her clammy hand, her darting gaze, her nervous shuffling, so fucking obvious, so cute. Kazuha was your best and brightest and by far most beautiful student, your revelation, your darling angel, your saving grace. Oh, God. Oh, she was something. Her and all those shy front-row questions, barely able to meet your eyes those first few weeks. Her coming rarely and then frequently to your office hours, sitting across from you in that tiny room, making fun of Freud, laughing at your jokes. Calling you professor with a blush, sneaky little cocktease, like re-establishing the boundaries between you two didn’t make her wet. When she smiled hard enough dimples appeared in the apples of her cheeks, like cat whiskers. They were so faint that you could only see them at the right angle, tiny shallow indents when she turned to the side. You thought: Mine. You are meant to be mine. You touched her wrist, you touched her knee, you touched her low on the back as you held the door for her to walk out and she went stiff like a frightened deer, just for a moment, before she melted. 

One day you let her into your office and locked the door behind her. You hauled her into your lap and kissed the gasp off her mouth. You anchored her there, your hands on her hips. You said: Tell me the truth. 

What?

Tell me you want me.

She squirmed and squirmed. There were tears in her eyes; she was turning you on. I want you, Kazuha said, her voice high and trembling. I’m sorry. I know it’s so bad; I’ve been feeling so bad about it, all the time. I know I shouldn’t want you. I just do.

And she wanted you so bad she began to beg about it, just totally fall apart. So in the end the whole thing—fucking her that first day and all the days after, picking her up from her dorm when her roommates were out, sneaking her into your house when your wife wasn’t home, taking her into your bed, taking her around in your car to dark bars and movie theaters and places people wouldn’t stare, wouldn’t care she was half your age, your pretty girl, your most favorite thing—was sweet, real, pure, true love, you know that now. In the end it really wasn’t gory at all.

-

You go to the garage to retrieve the overflowing bouquets of flowers. Inside sits the car you bought Kazuha. You really thought that one would be a bigger gesture than it was; you had some fantasy about her filling it with her perfume and lotion and lip gloss, plastering it with bumper stickers, leaving coffee old cups in there that you could nag her about. But she never touches it. Never puts any of her things in it. She’s like that in your house, too: scrupulously neat. She cleans her hair out of the shower drain. If she weren’t there, physically, all the time, no one would ever know anyone else lived here. 

Well—no. The pictures. People would know from the pictures. Pictures of her at eighteen and nineteen and twenty and twenty-one, her little face pressed up against yours, smiling shyly. People will know when you take pictures of that ring on her finger, in her blue dress, surrounded by flowers, her mouth still forming the word yes. People will know where she belongs, that she’s yours. 

It’s kind of beautiful, actually, about the unused car. She has nowhere to go only because you already give her everything. 

-

You set up the backyard for a long time. It’s lovely, those lush blossoming petals out on the lawn, the twinkling lights. You’ll play music, maybe, some candy-sweet love song. You have the ring in your pocket. You are incandescently happy. You have until the end of the time to be with the love of your life. You go back inside to find her. 

You hear the sound of the garage door. 

-

Blue hour. Nothing else to call it: everything so sapphire blue, impossibly blue. Stretching overhead for miles and miles. It’s a little bit like you’re back on that beach, adrift in the middle of the ocean, watching your girl’s head go underwater. You hadn’t felt relief when she came back up because you never considered it, that she’d get hurt, that she’d leave you. You walk out the open garage door and onto the driveway. Your world has inverted; nothing is as it was. The sea above your head, the sky beneath your feet. You crane your neck up like you think you’ll find her there somewhere, treading water, or drowning in all that blue. 

“Kazuha?” you say. Your voice comes out funny, like you’re making a joke. “Kazuha? Hello?” 

It is a joke, a little bit. Kazuha’s car isn’t here and neither is she. But for a second you still think you’re going to get an answer. 

You raise your voice. “Kazuha?” 

She’d been wearing blue that first day in your office, too: periwinkle, actually, pale on her paler skin, slice of the washed-out autumn sky. She was bashfully asking questions about the material, blushing under the full sunlit beam of your attention. She talked about herself a little when prompted. She’d just had a big birthday—eighteen, can you believe it, finally grown up. She was excited and terrified to be in college. She was out from under her parents’ thumb. She was floating free and unmoored. She had all these outlandish ideas about what she wanted and wanted to be before you caught her by the wrist and brought her safely back down to earth. 

At the end of the street, a car idles at a stop sign. It turns left, out of your neighborhood, out of sight. 

You look up again. All around you, an inescapable embrace: glittering, gorgeous, endless blue. 

-

🦋🌀🪼💙🪁

-

That stumped you for a good moment. Can't really blame the adverts for doing their job, so all you can answer is—

“I mean, I guess so.”

You watch her yank the plastic away from the unit, grab the big white cat ears and attach them to the band with an array of sensors before showcasing it to you like she's selling the thing to you.

“See? It looks cool,” Nakyoung reiterates, carefully placing it on her head, giving the side a few taps to turn the thing on. The contraption whirs to life, giving those relaxing beeps before the ears start to move. It perks up, the ears tilting and drooping. “Wait, what's it doing?”

“I don’t know, but at least you know it’s not a fake.” You look around the box, grabbing the manual and flipping through it, landing on what—”Looks like it's calibrating. Give it a few and it'll make another beep.”

“Okay!” She looks positively ecstatic waiting for it, grinning widely at you as she waits. You shake your head as her patience, and by extension, her attention to it slowly fade away. 

She notices it, of course. Sees your fond smile pointed straight at her. For how troublesome she can be, which is arguably on the side of ‘very’, considering how adorably gullible she is half the time. Yet it's part of her charm, and you would not do a damn thing to change any of it.

“What?” Nakyoung smiles, her head resting on her palm, arm supported by the sofa back. 

You chuckle. “Nothing. Just–” Your fingers come up to her chin, thumb rubbing her cheek. “Thought it looks cute on you.”

“Aw–oh I can feel it moving!” She’s bouncing in joy, making her look a hell of a lot cuter than she normally already does. “It's working, it's working!”

There's that faint whirring in her head, the beeping on the side of the contraption she bought not even an hour ago showing you that it is, in fact, working. The white ears move from side to side as she laughs.

“I told you it works!” The grin on her face isn’t leaving anytime soon, and you’re grinning right back at her. She starts doing this little happy dance, closed eyes and pursed lips while her arms wave in the air.

You smile, leaning back into the couch as she continues on in her own little world. The ears on her head dance alongside her antics, reinforcing how happy she is. “Alright, you've sold me.”

Your hand reaches up to pat her head, and she freezes. Her eyes shoot open, her arms stop swaying and the cat ears perk up. 

Her hair gets ruffled as you rub her head,  and the ears slowly begin wiggling again. “That's nice,” she utters, her head leaning forward. Her arms come to rest in her lap, fingers getting twitchy. Teeth come to bite her lower lip, her body inching closer and closer to you.

The light on the side blinking blue, the cat ears never cease their excited shaking, letting you know how delighted she feels with each pat and rub of her hair. Nakyoung's almost pressing up against you, wanting your touch. 

You never thought about it before, but she acts eerily similar to a cat. Has the features of one too, the headband supporting that idea. Which, again, leaves you to ask her—

“Do you like this, kitten?”

The nickname sounded foreign coming out of you. More so that you’ve never once called her anything other than her name and the occasional variation of ‘babe’. You certainly see the appeal of the pet name when the ears on her head noticeably tilt faster, red warming her cheeks.

“W-What?” she squeaks out, thighs pressing together.

“I said–” Your free hand reaches towards one of her said thighs, covered by the soft denim as you slide upwards to her waist. “If you like this, kitten.”

“I-I–” She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Too caught up in her mind to give you a verbal answer, but you know better. Seen this happen enough times to know what she's thinking. 

Plus the headband going haywire gives you enough of an idea to keep going.

“Come here.” You pull your hands back, parting your legs and giving your lap a good pat. “On my lap, kitten.”

Nakyoung doesn't say a word as she shifts, getting up for a moment before she settles across your lap. Her back leaning back against your chest as you wrap your arms around her.

“Good kitten.” The cat ears give a tilt. You wonder how much charge it has left, considering it's newly bought and neither Nakyoung nor the place she bought it from probably didn't bother charging it first. 

That does give you a very unorthodox way of finding out how long it can stay on.

“Wanna play a game, Naky?” you ask, hands coming to rest on her hips. 

She turns back to look at you. “What kind of game?”

“Oh, you know–” You’re being coy with it. “Just a fun little Q and A.”

Her ears stand straight. “Like an interview?”

“Nothing too formal, kitten,” you chuckle, letting her get comfy on your lap. “Wanted to see if those ears really work.”

She’s a little suspicious of you, turning to you with narrow eyes and a raised brow. “But they do work.”

“You don’t want to see if it can be a lie detector too?” You give her hips a slight squeeze. The bullshit dripping off your lips could land you an acting career somewhere. “Could be a cool add on for it, don’t you think?”

The doubt in her eyes disappear, her expression perking up. “That does sound cool–” The ears tilt slowly. “So I just–what, answer your questions?”

“Honestly,” you add, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “And sit pretty on my lap.”

Nakyoung blushes, giving your arm a pinch while she nods. “Okay, okay.”

You lean back, pulling her with you as you let out a hum. Trying to think of a simple question to start things off. You don’t notice your thumbs tracing small circles against her sides, causing her ears to twitch again. 

“I got one,” you start, making Nakyoung sit up straighter. “Did you eat my yogurt last night?”

“Wh-What?” she stutters, not expecting that question from you. “No.”

You can see the ears droop. “Naky…”

“Okay, so maybe I did,” she admits. Folding so easily under the slightest pressure, this girl. “But I was hungry and we didn’t have any instant ramen left and–”

“Babe, relax,” you laugh, giving her waist a poke. “I only wanted to find out if you did. You’re not in trouble.”

You try to ignore the urge to ask her why the ears decided to droop further instead of perking up as you thought it should have, since finding out that one not doing anything wrong would warrant a good reaction instead of a sad one.

Odd.

Shrugging it off, you keep the questions coming. Asking her things such as if she actually did convince her friend to get back together with her ex (you still don’t know what to feel about that one), she likes sitting on your lap (she does, especially when she falls asleep while she is), and a few more mundane ones. Letting her get more comfortable as the game goes on.

The headband helps find out if she's telling the truth or not. And if it doesn't, it certainly tells you that she's slowly getting more and more excited, the ears beginning to find the pace in its movements. Her entire demeanor is relaxed against you, happy to be in your hold.

But you know better. You feel her pressing harder against your lap whenever she shifts her weight. The ears turning downwards when you didn't get annoyed at finding out she forgot to buy detergent for this week's laundry earlier. The very same ears that immediately perk up when you gave her a small bop to the head and told her to buy them tomorrow.

It’s happened a few times now, where you think she’s going to be scolded from you finding out about something clumsy she’s done. You're not even sure she notices, or if she feels the ears reflecting what she really wants out of you. And seeing as this is the third time that it's happened, maybe you should start asking the real questions.

“Do you like it when I get a little rough with you?” You almost let out a laugh at how fast Nakyoung stiffens, the cats on the head following suit. 

“W-What kind of question is that?” she stammers, trying to twist around to look at you. Your hold on her tightens, denying her of it as she wiggles around. “H-Hey–”

“Answer the question, kitten,” you urge, the pet name coming back, your back meeting the couch rest. Pulling her with you as you get a little handsy with her. Teasing her waist, creeping higher to brush underneath her breasts where you let them rest. 

She bites her lip, squirming under your grasp. “M-Maybe–” She gets cut off when your hands come to cup her tits, giving them a squeeze.

“Yes or no, kitten,” you say, a hand leaving her chest to rest on her thighs, parting a leg slowly. “Don’t be shy, now.”

She only lets out a whine, her back arching to have more of your touch. She reaches out to your wrists, steadying herself as you continue your assault on her body. Enjoying the soft flesh underneath all the cloth, your fingers kneading her chest, your other hand circling between her thighs. “P-Please–” she chokes up, her head lolling to meet your gaze, eyes pleading with you.

“Please what, hmm?” You smile, taking a look at the ears that are wiggling as you pause your teasing. “I’m not hearing what I want, kitten.”

Nakyoung only nods rapidly, pursing her lips at you. The blush in her cheeks a deep shade of red, her ears on her head matching her answer. Yet you want to hear it. Not with some silly toy or some gestures, no. You want her to admit it. 

“With your words, kitten,” you demand, your lips inches away from her ear. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I-I do,” she confesses, and the moan that follows as you continue touching her body so aggressively sounded so obscene it makes you throb. “I love it–love it when you touch me like this–”

“Like what?” Your fingers unbutton her shorts, pulling her zipper down excruciatingly slow. 

“Like I’m a–” She licks her lips, eyes squeezing shut, feeling embarrassed at what the next set of words that comes out of her. “–a stupid slut that thinks about your cock all the time.”

Now, you won’t lie, Nakyoung is a klutz. It’s an endearing trait she has, and it’s half the reason you’ve fallen in love with her. But hearing her profess that she’s essentially an airhead that wants to get fucked stupid?

You won’t lie, you’ve never been harder in your life.

“Is that what you are?” Your fingers snake down her shorts, sliding down her panties until it reaches her wet folds. “My dumb little kitten?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, mewling as you circle her clit. Rubbing it lazily, as much as you could within the tight confines of her clothes. Then you push a single digit into her folds, and she’s moaning in your ear. “More, please, one’s not enough–”

“Silly kitten thinks she’s earned it,” you laugh, knowing that this isn’t what she wants. The ears on top of her head shaking quickly, even as you thrust painfully slow. “Do you? Have you earned it, you moronic bitch?”

“Yes!” she gasps, reaching down to clutch whatever she can of the couch, her ears gaining momentum. “I-I’ve done so many things wrong, I d-deserve it–please punish me master–” That’s new. And that alone is enough to make you fall deeper into this fucked up rabbit hole.

You use her panties as a sort of guide; pulling back as far as the fabric would allow you to before you shove three digits into her cunt. Wiggling them inside her walls, thrusting them without a care for her well-being, even as she starts to sob in relief. Your free hand comes to the hem of her shirt, pulling it up to expose her bra-covered tits. The nylon follows soon after, causing her beautiful pair of breasts to spill out.

“God, kitten, the things I would do to you,” you growl, your palm crashing against a tit, taking pleasure in seeing the flesh ripple at the impact. Your fingers don’t let up, abusing her poor, gushing pussy that would guarantee a pair of ruined panties. She’s trembling at the pleasure, unabashed at the incoherent noises she’s letting out. 

“Let me–” she moans, shuddering at the next smack of her chest. “–M-me hear it, master. Wanna hear all the things you’d do to make me dumber, please–”

It’s irresistible, her begging. Add those fucking cat ears that are going on overdrive—the audible whirring as it tries to catch up with what Nakyoung is feeling, and you satiate the need that’s pooling in your groin.

You start it off by telling her that you’d be fucking her the first thing in the morning. Doesn’t matter if she’s awake by then, you want her to wake up getting dicked down on the bed until you cum, feeding your load straight into her mouth. You’d take her in the shower, fuck her right in front of the bathroom mirror where she can see herself get plowed, then make her scoop the cum that’ll inevitably drip down her abused cunt.

Every. Damn. Day. 

Each pump of your fingers inside her signify a story—you'd make her choke on your cock whenever the mood hits, eat her pussy out in the most inconvenient times for her till she breaks, fucking your cum straight into her womb until she's begging for you to stop. Fuck, and you'd would take it all like a good kitten would, wouldn't you? Turn her into a mess everyday because all she wants is to be a toy for you.

It's degrading, you admit. Spouting such demeaning words to Nakyoung. Yet she clings onto every word as if it was gospel. Managing to stutter out her agreement, as if she’ll let you start making your dream into a reality the next morning. Her lips are curled into a grin as she listens to what you would do to her, drunk giggles mixed in with her moans telling you just how much she's wanting them too.

“Look at you,” you grunt, her walls clamping down on your fingers. “Must be so hard, trying to figure out how to get fucked.” Your pace grows faster, digits pumping faster, and she starts wailing on your lap, her grip tightening its hold on you. Your continued abuse of her chest reddens the soft pair, and you're leaving marks all over her neck as you continue whispering all your filthiest imaginations.

“Don't need to think so hard on it anymore, kitten,” you continue, sucking on a particular spot on her neck that gets her sobbing. You swipe your tongue across it, letting the hickey settle. “I'll fuck you stupid everyday until all you can think of will gonna be my cock inside you.” Nakyoung can only let this lewd symphony come out of her lips, singular words repeating on loop that makes you chuckle.

“Can't even talk anymore, can you, kitten? Already letting yourself be the stupid little bitch that you were meant to be. Fucking made to take cock like the dumb cocksleeve you are–”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes–”

“–And all you’ll ever think about is cumming your little brain out after this. Gonna use you every single minute I can cause that'll be all your good for, you fucking idiot–”

“Fuck, please please please–”

“I bet you wanna cum on my fingers. Do you, kitten? Come on, wanna see you lose it over some fingers and maybe, just maybe, I’ll use your mouth and paint that throat of yours–”

It starts to drive her mad—her eyes start to roll back, her tongue starting to loll out of her mouth, wailing unintelligible curses and noises and fuck she sounds absolutely, painfully magnificent as her climax hits. Legs straightening up and shaking as your fingers fuck her through it, your tempo unforgiving, her juices wetting your digits, her panties, her shorts—the white accessory sticking in her head been on max speed for the past however minutes.

“Good girl,” you praise, watching her come apart for you. Your fingers pull out to rub her clit instead, slowly letting her come off her high. You're kneading her breasts as you whisper how well she's done for you, kissing her neck and giving her a moment to breathe.

Nakyoung's eyes flutter open, panting as she cups your cheek, licking her lips to speak. “T-That was–” she sighs, letting out a disappointed whine as you stop your circling. “Wow.”

“You okay, kitten?” Your fingers leave her clit, pulling away from her legs and bringing them up to your face, admiring the way she's coated you. 

“Uhuh.” She follows your gaze, looking at your wet palm before she leans forward to take your fingers into her lips. Tasting herself on them, licking away every drop of her juices. Taking each finger one by one until there's nothing left to clean. “I'm okay, master. Just–”

Nakyoung pauses, an adorable thinking noise coming off her, and you can almost hear the gears turn in her head at the same time as the whirring of the device (that you're still surprised hasn't died yet) on her head. She turns, looking straight at you, and asks:

“Can you make me choke on your dick next?”

Oh, she's completely lost her mind. Fucked in the head, gone absolute crazy after the whole debauchery you've let loose upon Nakyoung, and now she wants to make it a reality.

You had to raise an eyebrow at it. “You sure?” you ask, not wanting to push her so much, so quickly. “We can always–”

She interrupts you with a kiss. “I want to,” she whispers against your lips. “Don't hold back, master. Let me be a good kitten for you and suck on that cock like you said you’d make me, please?”

The ears sit still on her head, faintly tilting as she waits for you to answer. You can faintly spot the red beeping on the side of her head, though that's the least of your concerns because right now, all you can think of is Nakyoung's lips on your cock.

“On your knees,” you tell her, patting her legs. She’s getting up on quivering legs, and you’re holding onto her hips while she slowly kneels to the floor. You’re about to pull the ears off her head, but she stops you with a shake of her head.

“Leave it on,” she says, hands pulling her top off, coming to her back to unhook her bra and throwing it next to you, her tits in full display. She leans in close, where you can feel her breath on your groin. Lips inches away from the button of your pants as she rests her hands on your thighs. “Want to be your kitten for a bit longer.”

You want to tell her that you’re pretty sure that’s not how pet names work, but the words die in your throat when she starts to unbutton you with her teeth and loosening your pants. She does the same with your zipper, mouth clamping down on the metal, eyes looking up at you reverently, ears shaking steadily as she starts to pull the zipper down. Letting each pair of metallic teeth fall away, counting down the seconds before she’ll come fishing your cock from your pants.

Her hands grip onto your waistband, tugging them down to your ankles. Scooting closer, as much as she can to press up against you, nuzzling her cheek along your length. Her breath makes your thighs flex, your lips cursing as she gives you a lick upwards, ending up back to her pulling your underwear down with one smooth pull.

Your cock hits her square on the cheek, making her gasp. Her hand comes up to your side, and you’re fucking throbbing at the sight. Watching her tongue swipe through her lips, ears ramrod straight as she begins to salivate at your dick. She wraps a hand around your length, stroking you ever so slowly.

“Kitten–” Your hand rests on the back of her head, careful not to mess up the headband as you push her closer to your cock. Your patience is thin, your libido skyrocketing—you’d be surprised if you could last for long when all you want is to make Nakyoung gag on your length, make her cry as you abuse her beautiful face, have her guzzle your load down—

A wet squelch rings in the air, and you look down to see Nakyoung throating your entire length, your hold on her hair pushing her down until her nose meets your groin. Her hands grip your thighs, fighting the natural instinct to pull away as she looks up at you, unblinking as she gags once more. The faux fur on her head are swaying excitedly, the red light on the side blinking faster, and you had to let out a scoff in disbelief.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, tugging her back by her hair, and she gasps—chest heaving as air finally comes back in her lungs. It causes her breasts to look delectable, watching them get wet from all the spit falling down her chin, bouncing from every minor movement she does.

“Yes–” she rasps, slurping what saliva she can, spitting it back on your cock. “I want it back in my mouth, please–”

Both hands come to hold her head now, shoving her mouth back onto your cock, burying back deep into her throat, relishing in the sounds of her gags, the constricting of her throat alongside the moans she’s barely managing to let out. Using her head as a toy, pushing and pulling her down on your shaft, and you can almost spot the way her lips are curling up into a smile as you do so.

All the while you’re telling her how good she’s doing, taking you down that pretty throat of hers so well you would make her do this for you every day from now on. 

“God, Naky, you really are made to take dick, aren't you? Look so perfect on your knees and being my silly little cumdump.” You'd use her like a cockwarmer, you tell her. Slide into that tight pussy of hers while you're working, let her squirm on your lap as you do meetings, then fold her in half straight after and blow your load inside. 

Those ears perk up at your words, the tilting getting increasingly quicker at each filthy thing you promise her. “I’d fuck those lips whenever I want, kitten–” Didn’t matter where in the apartment you’d do it, but you would get her down on her knees for you at a snap of a finger. “Besides, isn’t this all you can think about? Cock inside my dumb kitten–” you groan, your thumb running over her cheek as a tear slips out of her eye. It makes you pull her off you, giving her another reprieve because you know that there won’t be another one until you’ve painted her tight throat white. 

Her voice is hoarse when she answers, the most ruined you’ve ever seen her. “Yes,” she utters, giggles following soon after. “Want you to punish me all the time with this cock, master–” And she’s right back to swallowing you, head bobbing so fast that you let your control slip, your hips thrusting up to match her pace.

You can’t stop yourself—you don’t want to stop it. You’re so, so close to getting off, so close to making her swallow all that cum you’ve stored up in your balls. You’re meeting her each time she sheathes her cock down her throat, every thrust making the ears twist faster that you’d think they would overheat, fucking her face while you spout more profanities, more promises, more of Nakyoung getting what she fucking deserves like—

“–The good fucking kitten you are. Gonna make yo–fuck–make you drink down all this cum–”

She can only reply with garbled noises, your hips her only tether to reality as she's in her own world. Getting off to you abusing her throat, to hearing how you would ruin her next. She only spurs you on further, getting sloppier with her spit, running it down her chin without a care.

“Kitten, cumming–”

It sends you spiraling to the end, until you finally let yourself go. Forcing her back down until she’s met your groin, emptying yourself into her. Nakyoung’s eyes are rolling back her head, taking every throb of your cock, swallowing every drop of your cum until she has to pull back, the lasting remnants of your orgasm covering her face. Painting her lips, her cheek, her chin—her mouth wide open as you aim it to her outstretched tongue, jerking yourself off to feed her what remains of your load.

The sight makes you twitch. Inflamed cheeks, hazy eyes that try to focus on you. Spit, tears, and cum all mixed in and coating her face, strays falling down to her chest. The headband’s gone crooked on her head, the ears no longer moving, that faint noise coming off of it gone. 

You’ve made Nakyoung into a complete mess, just like she’s made of you, slumping back into the couch. Catching your breath, letting your body recover from the aftershocks that she’s left on you. She’s resting her head on your thigh, your dick laid against her cheek as she lets out this dopey giggle, a hand coming up to finally take the cat ears off her head.

“Happy now, kitten?” you let out as she lets it clatter on the ground.

“I am,” she answers, closing her eyes for a moment. “Thank you, master.”

You hope she won't call you that in public. Which, knowing her, she'll do it to get a rise out of you, to get you to do this exact thing again, even if this has the possibility of becoming a regular thing for the both of you.

Your thoughts get interrupted when she's stirring awake, focus coming back into her eyes. “C-Can we–” Nakyoung's grinning up at you with this giddy, ditzy, borderline asinine look on her face. Her palm is cupping your balls, coming up to hold you by the base and giving herself a few wet slaps on the cheek.

“Can we do that again, master? Maybe–” She gives you a kiss right on the tip. “Maybe you can use my pussy next? Or, or my ass if you want to? You didn't say anything about my ass, master–Do you want me to prep it for you? I promise I can do it well–”

She's completely gone now, only thinking about where you wanna stick your cock in her next while worshipping your cock, prepping you for the next round.

It's not about your heartbeat stopping.

Nor is it your body failing.

It's just the slow dissolution of everything that made you you.

Names.

Faces.

Regrets.

First kisses.

The smell of rain on concrete.

The exact weight of a spray can in your palm.

Do you seize every remaining second, splatter it across walls before it’s gone?

Or do you stand frozen, watching the pigment run like cheap ink?

You don’t decide.

You can't decide.

Or is it because you can't remember what you decided?

In any case, your body decides for you.

You open your eyes to the same ceiling you’ve stared at for years, except today the crack in the corner plaster looks unfamiliar, like it appeared overnight. You reach for your phone on the nightstand — habit, or perhaps muscle memory — and the screen lights up with notifications you don’t recognise.

You swipe to unlock the phone — no password, you can't remember anyway. A meeting reminder for 2 p.m. today. You have no memory of scheduling it. The calendar entry is in your calendar app, your email address. But the context is gone. You stare at the words until they blur, then close the app.

The day unravels in small, quiet self betrayals.

You pay for your usual black coffee which you manage to “order” despite forgetting what you usually drink, courtesy of the barista who you also forget the name of. Her name tag reads “Haewon”, but the word slides off her tongue before you can say it. You mumble your thanks and leave, cheeks burning with a shame you can’t explain.

No matter, you’ll forget about it soon enough.

You blank on the shortcut through the back alley you’ve taken every morning for three years. In the end, you find yourself circling the same block twice before muscle memory finally kicks in and turns your feet the right way.

At work you stare at a half-finished design file on your screen. It’s your own handiwork, but you feel a cold certainty that you don’t remember starting it. The layers are meticulous, the colour palette is purposeful, and the composition is balanced. Someone who knew what they were doing made this.

But you aren’t sure that person is still you.

By late afternoon the voids feel physical, like someone is slowly erasing pencil lines from the sketch of your life. You sit on the edge of your desk chair, hands flat on your thighs, breathing carefully, waiting for the next thing to disappear.

Nothing dramatic.

No shatter. No collapse.

Just absence, creeping in like fog.

You can't sustain this any longer.

Perhaps you’ll make yourself disappear from here first.

You hand in your resignation letter and leave the office early. No one asks why. You walk without direction until your feet slow near the reservoir, then turn automatically toward the district where the lights start earlier and stay brighter.

The night market district begins where the office towers give way to narrower streets. Neon signs buzz in electric reds, purples and blues. Food stalls line both sides, selling anything and everything. Vendors call out discounted prices and promotions. Students in school uniforms cluster around claw and gacha machines. Office workers loosen ties and laugh too loud after one too many beers. Buskers strum guitars or beatbox into portable speakers. The air is thick with charcoal smoke, cigarette ash, and the faint sweat of exhaustion of the day.

In the middle of it all stands a wall. The wall.

A long stretch of raw concrete between a noodle stall and a bar. It’s been painted over so many times the surface is textured and raised from layers of paint and old primer and whatever you put on it every other night. The crowds flow around it like water around a rock.

No one stops to look for long.

After all, it’s just another surface in a city that’s full of walls.

You pull the backpack off your shoulder. Inside are cans of spray paint of different colours — black, red, white and gold — and you have no idea why those colours in particular. The gloves inside are already stained. You set the bag down carefully.

You shake the black can first. The rattle is sharp, familiar and comforting.

The pattern is always the same.

Two abstract figures, intertwined at the waist, rising from a pool of bleeding red. One face is half-turned away, black features dissolving into a shadowy white. The other reaches for the disappearing, golden fingers trailing after like tears.

You never planned it. The image simply arrives each night, fully formed, demanding to exist. Sometimes you think it’s trying to tell you something. Most nights you just let it speak.

Tonight the lines come clean and sure, just like it always does. You step in close, the hiss of the nozzle steady in your hand. Outlines come first in sharp, confident curves. Crimson red pools at the bottom like deep water. Gold edges flare across from one side to another, chasing after the fading black into white.

You step back. The crowd surges past, oblivious. A young lady with long and straight bubblegum pink hair takes a selfie in front of it without even glancing at the figures.

A couple walks by, his hand protective on her rounded belly, talking quietly about blueprints. Their shadows slide across the wet paint.

All fleeting encounters that you appreciate but will be forgotten anyway.

It’s beautiful for exactly as long as it takes for the paint to set, since the painting will stay there for three full nights before the cleaning automata come at dawn on the fourth.

They are tall, brass-and-steam machines with faint glowing blue sigils etched into their chests. Everyone has seen them rumble through the streets in the dark of the night, hoses hissing jets of hot steam that lifts paint and graffiti alike without leaving a trace. They’re just part of the city. No one questions them any more than asking why the sky is blue.

By the fourth dawn it will be gone again. Blank slate. Ready for your next art night.

You don’t know why you keep returning.

You just do.

Across the street, half-hidden behind a cluster of teenagers taking selfies, a woman catches your eye.

She wades through the crowd.

She has dark hair that catches the red neon lights like dye. She wears a simple black coat, scarf loose around her neck. Her posture is calm amid the chaos. Her shoulders are relaxed with her hands stuffed deep in her pockets, eyes wandering around in an almost practiced scan.

You feel her gaze sweep across you before she turns to another side again.

Yet another impressionable person you’ll forget.

You pack the cans, slinging the backpack over your shoulder, and turn to leave.

The crowd has exponentially thickened. It's peak hour, and everyone is spilling out of offices to flood the chaos with more chaos. You weave through bodies with your shoulder lowered, eyes on the alley opening ahead.

You hope your feet remember the way home.

Halfway across the narrow path between stalls, you brush against someone.

It's not hard — just the lightest graze of shoulder against shoulder, and you feel it before you register it: the faint warmth of leather, the quick jolt of someone startled but not recoiling, and a sharp inhale of a subtle gentle and calming floral and earthy scent.

You glance sideways on instinct — can't forget how to do that.

It's the lady from earlier. The one that's seemingly looking for a needle in a haystack in the crowd. Dark hair framing a calm face. Her eyes open wide for a split second on the impact, flustered, before the composure snaps back into place. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t reach out. She just looks at you, lips parted as if she has something to say.

The moment stretches for eternity.

But there is no eternity.

Everything has a finality.

A sudden current of laughing students surge between you. A vendor pushes a cart and inches into the small gap where you thought she would squeeze through, but she doesn't.

When the wave passes, she’s already turning away, scarf fluttering, disappearing into the flow towards the wall you just left.

You stand frozen for a few seconds, your somehow thumping heart pulsing loud in your ears.

Something aches in your chest sharply. You shake it off, telling yourself it’s nothing. It's just the crowd, just another stranger, probably just your dissipating stress from the resignation earlier. But as you slip into the alley, the feeling of her shoulder lingers on yours longer than it should.

That very night, you dream of something different.

An old canvas hanging in darkness.

One side is almost white, edges fraying into nothing.

The other side is overcrowded.

The colours are clashing, and random figures overlap until the original shapes blur. Thin lines of red run from each chaotic figure, converging into the growing white.

It's eerily similar to what you draw every night.

You wake with a paint smell stained in your nostrils, the ghost of leather against your shoulder, and no memory of falling asleep.

The crack in the ceiling is still unfamiliar.

And the day begins again.

———

Your eyes flash open from the recurring alarm you set ages ago.

You do the same old out of habit, washing up, showering, throwing on the set of clothes you left hanging on the chair’s backrest the night before.

You smell it — it's clean. Perhaps one day you’ll forget the need to wash it. You look at the sticky notes plastered all over the main door as you put on your shoes.

“Buy more black spray.”

“Don’t forget the wall.”

“Shoulder—warmth?”

The first seems to be the easiest to understand.

You still remember the second for now.

But the third… you can't remember anything.

You raise your hand and place it on your shoulder, but you don't feel anything other than a soft serenity that spreads through your bones. Weird, but you brush the thought aside. Perhaps it’s just the relief from comforting yourself.

You leave for the café near your office and walk in.

“Uhhh… I-I…” you stutter.

“Hi, I'm Haewon, take a seat! I’ll bring you your usual black coffee,” the lady chirps, yes “Haewon”, as stated on her name tag. “Just tap your card here — the one in your wallet, right pocket, third slot behind your ID!”

You aren't even surprised anymore. At least someone remembers you.

You follow her instructions and make payment, sitting down whilst you wait for your coffee. Once acquired, you make your way to work.

The office building looks the same. You approach the lobby turnstile and swipe your card.

Nothing happens.

The light stays red.

You swipe again.

Red.

You try to push the turnstile, hoping that it's a glitch in the system, but it's jammed. It doesn't move an inch.

The security guard — an older man with a familiar face, but you don’t remember his name — leans out of his booth and shouts, “Sorry, sir. Your card’s been deactivated. Why are you still coming back?”

He glances at his screen. “You’ve been here the last three days, have you forgotten? Your resignation has already gone through. HR already processed it.”

“Young man, you should let go of certain things,” he gives you a sympathetic shrug. “Might as well head home.”

The words land like stones in water.

Ripples spread.

You don't remember writing any letter.

You don't remember hitting send.

You do remember walking out, but not because you resigned.

But you guess you did.

Did you not care enough to write a note about your resignation?

Or are you keeping it as a reminder to see when you’ll actually forget that you have work?

You turn away from the turnstile. The lobby noise fades behind you — chatter, footsteps, the soft chime of the elevator you once used to frequent.

No matter. You have to buy more spray paint.

The city swallows you again.

You walk without looking at signs or maps.

Your feet know the route: past the reservoir, down the narrow street lined with shuttered bookshops, across the small square where buskers sometimes play at dusk.

The hardware store is tucked between a noodle stall and a pawn shop. The bell above the door jingles as you push in.

“You're early today?” the old man behind the counter nods with surprise.

It isn’t a question.

You don’t remember being here before.

You don’t remember not being here.

Whatever. You have to buy paint.

You point to the shelf behind him.

Black. White. Gold. Red.

He slides four cans of the same four colours across the counter without asking why.

You pay with the card in the third slot behind your ID. You don't forget this since Haewon reminded you today.

He doesn’t comment on how your hand shakes when you sign the receipt.

“Do you know a lady who has black hair and wears a leather jacket?” the old man asks, packing the cans into an un-environmentally friendly but sturdy plastic bag.

“No,” you answer. “Why would I? Furthermore, that's a very vague description. It doesn't tell me much.”

“That's true. But she has been bugging me at various times everyday, asking if she knows or has seen someone who buys paints with the same colours you always buy.”

“I have no friends,” you declare.

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

You take the bag from him and leave.

Outside, the sun is already low. You're seated on the low stone ledge by the reservoir, staring into the flat and still water under the late afternoon sky. You stare at the contents of your bag. The new cans gleam in the plastic bag beside the half-used one from nights you can't fully recall. You bore holes into them with your eyes until your vision blurs.

You sift through your fragmented memory, each blurrier than the last.

Three nights.

Three different walls.

Three paintings that got worse each time.

The first was a wall behind an old theater. The lines were mostly clean, but the fingers looked strained. Some unnecessarily long, others awkwardly short.

The second was behind a shuttered bookshop. The curves wobbled badly for this one, and the red pool was a weird splash of faded red. The gold fingers were replaced by black and the white by black. Everything is a mess.

The one yesterday night was right in front of a subway exit. The faces were no longer recognisable, and the limbs were all smeared.

That time the crowd paid more attention, but it's an uneasy silence of puzzlement and unappreciation.

You close the backpack and stand, letting your feet guide the way. Night falls as you walk.

Once again, you let your feet carry you. In the middle of the evening chaos stands the wall from three nights ago. It's already clean. The automata have done their scheduled cleaning in the wee hours of today. Is it supposed to be today? You can't recall. In any case, the wall is clean, and it's time to spray.

You approach the wall and notice something by the side. Someone had left a single white flower at the base.

You kneel and set the backpack down, moving the white flower away. A small folded note is tucked under a loose brick near the bottom and you reach to pick it up. Unfolding it presents a small short sentence in neat handwriting.

I know about you.

You stare at the words, pondering about their cryptic meaning. Nothing registers. You throw the thoughts to the back of your mind and fold the note, slipping it into your pocket. You make a mental note to think about it later, but you’ll probably forget.

You shake the black can. The rattle is sharp, familiar and comforting, and the pattern is always the same. You raise the can, ready to paint.

Your hand hovers and the nozzle points at the concrete, but nothing comes out.

You don’t know how to start.

The emptiness stares back at you.

You lower the can.

Then a call and a steady voice soothes behind you.

“The lines curve like this.”

You turn.

She is there.

Not hidden.

Not searching.

She stands just outside the ring of onlookers, black leather coat open at the collar, scarf loose. Dark hair catching red neon like spilled ink. Eyes steady and unflinching.

She steps forward slowly.

The crowd parts without noticing.

She stops an arm’s length away.

She doesn’t smile.

She doesn't speak at first.

She just looks at you.

Then she reaches out.

Her fingers close over yours on the can. It's gentle but firm, but the contact is immediate and electric.

The same leather warmth you felt when you touched your shoulder earlier today.

The same subtle pressure.

The same temperature.

Your breath catches.

“You…” The word escapes before you can stop it. “I know this feeling.”

She doesn’t pull away.

Her thumb brushes the back of your hand.

“Two bleeding into one,” she says quietly.

Her voice is low and calm, but there’s a thread of something unsteady beneath it.

“Not apart. Together.”

She guides your hand.

Together you draw the first line. It's clean and sharp, nothing like the hesitation you had earlier.

Crimson red follows in a controlled bleed.

Gold flares properly this time, stretching into the growing white.

The intertwined figures rise together, less broken, less fading.

The crowd flows in silence.

No phones.

No whispers.

Just the hiss of the nozzle and the soft scrape of shoes shifting on concrete as you both dance across the wall.

When the basic outline is restored, she lets go, but her fingers linger on your wrist a second longer than necessary.

You finally look at her.

Really look.

She has dark eyes, steady but shadowed underneath. Her lips are pressed thin, like she’s holding back a thousand words. A faint flush has bloomed on her cheeks.

Embarrassment? Not exactly.

It's more like the effort of composure when everything inside is fraying.

“You’ve been searching,” you say.

She nods once.

“Three nights. Every cycle. I arrive just after you leave. Every time.”

She glances at the painting, then back at you.

“I know about you,” she says.

They're the same words from the note.

“But I think you’ve forgotten why.”

You swallow.

Your free hand rises and presses to your left shoulder, the spot she brushed twice now.

She notices the gesture, and her eyes soften.

“That first night,” she says. “When our shoulders touched in the crowd… I felt it too. Like a memory I didn’t own yet.”

She lifts her own hand slowly, mirroring your motion, resting her palm flat against her left shoulder.

“It’s still there. On my skin. Even when you and I are slipping.”

You stare at her hand. Her fingers curl slightly, as if holding onto something invisible.

“Who are you?” you ask.

She exhales shakily.

“Chaewon,” she says.

“My name is Chaewon.”

The name stabs into your heart.

You don’t know why it feels important, but it feels important.

She lowers her hand and looks at the half-finished painting. Then she looks back at the crowd, that's still silent, still watching as they streak past the wall.

“We can’t finish it here,” she says, glancing towards the alley. “Not tonight. Not with them staring.”

“Finish what? The wall is here, Chaewon,” you say.

“Come with me. Just a little farther. I need to explain before the next cycle starts.”

“Cycle? What cycle?” you hesitate, hand still on your shoulder. She slides her palm underneath yours, now clasped between your hand and shoulder.

You shiver from her warmth. It's jamais vu — familiar, yet unfamiliar.

She waits patiently without pressure. Just that calm, focused patience you’ve started to feel inside your own chest sometimes.

You still don't know what to make of it, but you feel compelled to follow. Who is Chaewon, and why does she make you feel like this? You need answers.

You nod.

She turns, and you follow.

She leads you into a narrow side street behind the karaoke lounge, where the neon fades with the chaotic frenzy. The noise muffles. It’s just the two of you now, footsteps echoing off brick, with the faint hiss of distant steam from a vendor cart.

She stops under a flickering lamp and turns to face you. “I don’t know how much time we have before you forget tonight,” she says, “so I’ll be quick.”

She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a folded sketch. You peer at it, and it's the perfect version of your motif.

“I drew this from a memory that isn’t mine,” she says. “It came to me weeks ago. Vivid and detailed. A wall, a can, two figures bleeding together. I didn’t understand it until I saw your painting.”

She unfolds the paper. “And mind you, I am a terrible artist. My art skills are only comparable to that of a toddler drawing stickmen.”

You just stare at her, trying to take in something that probably leaks out into oblivion every night.

“I’ve been gaining memories that aren't mine,” she says, holding the sketch between you. “Skills that I never had. Ridiculous, right?”

You look at her absentmindedly, flabbergasted.

“I’ll show you more,” she says, taking out her phone. She shows you an image that you don't remember where it came from, but it's your wallpaper. “This image? This is what you drew before you resigned from NOVATION. You still remember NOVATION right? You’ve been visiting there the past two days despite already resigning, and I bet you went there today too.”

Your expression softens as you slide your fingers across her screen, brushing her hand slightly.

“What's happening to me?” you finally blurt out.

“I’ve been losing things too,” Chaewon continues. “My own memories. Places I loved as a child. The taste of a recipe my mother used to make. Dreams I used to chase. They’re slipping away, replaced by yours. Your regrets. Your drawings. Your scars. Your… touches.”

Her voice cracks on the last word, looking down at the sketch.

"There was an oracle,” she says. “Old. Hidden. She painted fates on canvases that still breathe. We met there once a long time ago. Neither of us remembers it. It was the first thing erased.”

“That’s ridiculous…”

“Listen. The reason why I am able to tell you all these now is because of an unexplainable glitch in the fate drawn. Instead of both our memories disappearing entirely, your memories are bleeding into me. Mine are being overwritten in return.”

She touches her own shoulder lightly.

“The glitch… it won’t let me see your face clearly. Every time I try to picture it in your memories, the colours run. But I feel you. Here.”

She presses her palm flat against her left shoulder.

“And here.”

She moves her hand to cover yours that's still resting on your own shoulder.

The contact is warm and steady.

“I’ve watched the walls you paint every time,” she says, “hoping to find you. But I always miss you.”

“Every time the automata come, I lose a little more of myself. But I keep coming back. Because if I stop… you disappear completely. And I disappear because of you.”

Silence stretches between you. The distant market hums like a heartbeat.

You look at her hand on yours.

Then at the sketch.

Then at her eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

“You don’t have to say anything yet,” she says.

“Is there anything we can do to stop this?” you ask.

“As far as I know, no. Fate is absolute.”

“Then… what now?” your voice trembles, finally showing a hint of consternation and dread.

“Just… give me your address. You probably won't remember anything tomorrow. I’ll find you at your apartment.”

“The only thing holding you together is the painting. The moment you forget completely, you will forget everything completely. We'll paint together. We can try to finish it together. Piece by piece.”

She lets go slowly.

But her fingers brush your wrist one last time.

She steps back.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she says. “Waiting for the next cycle.”

You nod.

She turns, walking toward the end of the alley.

Before she disappears around the corner, she pauses and looks back at you. And for the first time, she smiles. It’s small and almost shy, but you sense a chaotic mix of desperation, displacement, fear, and a blooming hint of relief.

“Touch your shoulder if you start to forget me tonight,” she says.

“It’ll help.”

Then she’s gone.

You stand there alone under the flickering lamp. Your hand rises automatically now, pressing to your left shoulder.

The leather warmth is still there. Her soft touch is still there. And you hope whatever she said will remain there.

You walk home slowly.

You don't know how many more nights until you forget yourself completely.

Probably the same number of nights she will forget herself completely.

But at least there's someone new who remembers something.

———

knock knock knock

It doesn't sound like your alarm. You drift back to sleep.

knock knock knock

Why is anyone even looking for you? Other than electricity and water, you should have suspended and removed all possible subscriptions.

knock knock knock knock knock knock knock

knock knock knock knock knock knock knock

You pull yourself out of the bed and shuffle to the door. It's silent now, and you peer out of the peephole. No one is there. Regardless, you swing it open, hoping to catch the shadow of the prankster who just left.

A woman sits crouched on the ground, leaning against the gate. Her eyes are red-rimmed.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“I'm Chaewon.”

The name makes your heart leap, but you don't know why. “Chaewon?”

“I know about you,” she says, looking up at you. “I know that you've forgotten things. And you know why.”

You don't know why again, but you let her, a complete stranger into your house.

She takes a seat on your couch. Her hands tremble when she sets the mug down.

“You probably don’t remember, but I came early for our prearranged meeting,” she says hoarsely. “I couldn’t wait for night.”

You press your palm to the spot without thinking. The shoulder echo is faint, but it’s still there.

She watches the gesture.

Her lips part, then press tight again.

“I lost them,” she says. “My parents.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss—”

“No, they didn't die,” she mumbles. “I tried to picture their faces this morning. Nothing comes out.”

She starts crying. “Just… your riverbank. Your broken arm. Your resignation letter on the screen at NOVATION.”

“I know all about you,” she says, moving to the edge of the couch, right beside you. Close enough that her knee brushes yours. She doesn’t look at you. She stares at her own hands that are clenched so tightly the knuckles are white.

She explains everything to you. The oracle. The glitch. The memory transfer. Your fates.

“I tried to remember my mother’s voice. I had two memories of mothers before. I remember the way she laughed when I burned the rice. Is it mine or yours? One is gone.” Tears drip out of her eyes onto her thighs. “My shade of father’s coat. Gone. I stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes trying to remember my own birthday.”

“I couldn’t.”

She finally meets your eyes.

Streams of tears flow down her two cheeks, but she doesn’t wipe them away.

“It happened faster after last night,” she whispers. “After we met. After I touched you. After you heard my name. It’s like… the moment the thread connected, everything started pouring out of me faster.”

You reach out.

Your hand finds her left shoulder, the same spot she’s been mirroring on you. The leather of her coat is cool now. Underneath, her warmth bleeds through.

She leans into the touch. “We have to try,” she says. “Tonight. At the wall. If we paint together… maybe it slows down. Maybe it anchors something.”

You nod. You don’t know if it will help. But you don’t know what else to do.

The day passes in fragments.

She stays.

You make instant ramen that neither of you eats. She shows you more fragments on her phone — screenshots, sketches, notes she’s taken since the memories started bleeding in.

Your wallpaper from NOVATION.

A photo of you climbing the oak tree.

A half-finished doodle you drew on a napkin years ago.

She scrolls through them like they’re evidence.

Like they’re proof you still exist somewhere.

You look through them, trying to feel something, but you've forgotten everything. Even if you see them, you draw no connection to them.

When night falls, you walk to the wall together.

The first painting from four nights ago is gone — the automata came at dawn today. Off schedule, and no one knows why.

The concrete is clean, blank, and ready.

You stare there blankly, not knowing what to do. Chaewon kneels and takes out the black can, passing it to you.

You hold it cluelessly, reading the instructions as if you're holding it for the first time.

But she places her hand over yours, guiding you along as she shakes if together with you.

She stretches her hands up.

Your arm follows along.

The lines come steadier tonight. It's not perfect and your hand still shakes, but it's cleaner than the last three nights alone.

Crimson bleeding controlled.

Gold flaring briefly.

The intertwined figures rise.

The crowd gathers quietly.

Flowers appear at the base.

Someone leaves a small unlit candle.

When the motif is as complete as it can be, Chaewon steps back, looking at the painting before looking back at you. She takes your hand, threading her fingers through yours.

“Let’s go home,” she says.

You walk back slowly, fingers still intertwined, shoulder to shoulder.

In the apartment, she doesn’t turn on the lamp.

She just shrugs off the leather coat, letting it fall to the floor in a heavy, careless heap.

You step closer instinctively, hands finding her shoulders as you pull her into a hug. “I don't know if this whole thing is my fault, but I'm sorry that my memories are replacing yours…”

She shivers involuntarily in your words. Chaewon pushes off and looks into your eyes. It's an unmistakable sexual tension sprouting from the memory death between you two. She kisses you first, hard and hungry, like she’s trying to swallow the fear before it swallows her. Her tongue strokes against yours with intent, wet and demanding.

She breaks away only to breathe against your mouth, “I need your cock in my mouth tonight. I need to taste you, feel you throb on my tongue, before I forget my most sensitive spots.”

“Let me choke on you. Please.” She drops to her knees right there on the living-room floor. Hands on your hips without any question, yanking your pants down in one impatient tug, underwear dragged along with them.

Your cock springs free. It's already half-hard from the walk home, from the way her body pressed against yours at the wall, from the way her fingers had guided yours on the can.

She looks up at you with her dark, wet and desperate eyes. Her lips are parted, already glistening from the kiss.

“Fuck my mouth,” she whispers. “Use me like I’m yours. I want to feel you lose control down my throat.” She licks the tip first, teasing slow circles around the head.

You groan low in your throat, eliciting a smile from her. Her first smile you've seen.

Then she takes you deeper.

Her tongue flattens against the underside, dragging along the sensitive vein in one long, wet pull. She swirls around the ridge, then sucks hard on the head, hollowing her cheek as she gives a consistent yet mind-breaking pleasure that you've long forgotten.

You thread your fingers through her hair as she moans around you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily.

She pulls off with a wet pop, hands wrapping around the base. She strokes you slowly and firmly while she licks the slit, collecting the bead of pre-cum there.

“Right here,” she murmurs, voice thick with spit and need. “This little spot under the head. It makes you leak so much for me. Look at how you twitch every time I flick it.”

“Your mind may forget, but your body doesn't.” She says and does it again, darting quick, teasing flicks with the tip of her tongue.

You buck.

She laughs and takes you back in. It's deeper this time. She pushes in slowly, taking you more and more, all the way until you disappear entirely into her mouth. Her nose brushes your stomach. She stays there for a while, feeling her throat working around you, swallowing rhythmically. Then she starts bobbing slowly, then faster. Her hands grab your base, twisting in time with her mouth.

Wet, sloppy sounds fill the room.

She gags and her eyes water, but she doesn’t pull off. She pushes deeper instead. She's attacking all your sensitive spots that you didn’t know, no, you forgot.

You groan and shiver. You feel the pressure building fast. You're about to bust. It's all too much.

She senses it and pulls off again, this time with strings of spit connecting her lips to your cock. “Not yet,” she pants. “I want to play with you first.”

She strokes you with both hands now, one at the base, one twisting around the head. Her thumbs rub slow circles over the frenulum, pressing just hard enough to make your knees weak.

“You love this spot, don’t you?” she teases. “Every time I rub here you leak more. So fucking sensitive. I could make you come just from this if I wanted.”

She leans in, licking a long stripe from balls to tip. Then she sucks one ball into her mouth. She pulls her mouth back gently, dragging your balls with it, tongue twirling and tasting the sweat of your crumbling. You groan even louder as she switches to the other one, humming around it.

She pulls back and looks up at you with wet eyes. “Your left nipple,” she says. “Show me.”

You hesitate for half a second.

She doesn’t wait for your consent. Chaewon reaches up and finds it through your shirt, pinching it hard, making you hiss, making her grin.

“There it is. So fucking sensitive. I bet if I suck it while I jerk you off you’ll lose it.”

She stands and pushes up your shirt, latching her mouth on your left nipple immediately, licking in circles, then sucking hard. Her teeth graze just enough to sting, and your cock jumps in her hand. Everything she's doing is sending small tingling shocks down to your cock.

She smirks as you succumb and she strokes you even faster, occasionally bending down to make you slick with her spit. Her thumb rubs the head on every upstroke.

“Look at you,” she murmurs against your skin.

“Leaking all over my hand. You’re so close already. But I’m not letting you cum yet.”

She drops back to her knees.

“Fuck my face,” she begs. “Hold my head. Use me. I want to feel you lose control down my throat.”

You lace your hands into her hair, thrusting shallow at first for a warm up, before pushing deeper. She moans around you encouragingly, reassuring that you're doing the right thing.

Her hands grip your thighs, nails digging in.

You can’t do anything but feel the edge rush up again.

“Not yet,” she pants, pulling off completely. “I want you inside me when you come. I want to feel you spill deep.”

Chaewon grabs the base once again. “Sensitive little cock,” she teases. “Every time I flick this spot you leak more. I love watching you drip for me.”

She dances her tongue around the head, drawing slow circles once again, then pointed flicks right on the slit. You’re leaking steadily now. She laps it up with slow and savoring licks, humming like she’s tasting something sweet.

Then she slides two fingers into her own mouth, getting them wet with spit and your pre-cum.

She reaches between your legs, pressing one slick finger against the flesh between your balls and your asshole, rubbing in slow, firm circles.

You gasp immediately, hips jerking up.

“And here,” she says. “This spot makes you shake like a leaf.”

She adds pressure in steady, rhythmic circles, making your cock twitch harder than before, making more pre-cum leak from the tip. She then leans up and kisses you, letting you taste yourself.

“Finger me,” she demands, guiding your hand between her legs. “Two fingers, and curve them up. Find that spot inside me that makes me drip for you.”

You follow through under her instructions, sliding two fingers inside her. She’s utterly soaked, pussy that's hot, tight and fluttering around you like she’s already close. You curl upward, finding the rough, spongy patch.

She moans immediately. It's loud and needy, and her hips rocks down onto your hand.

“Fuck—yes,” she gasps. “Right there. Rub it. Harder. Make me cum on your fingers.”

You curl harder, thrusting in and out. Your thumb finds her clit, brushing in time with your fingers. She trembles as her legs weaken, and her walls clamp down on you.

“Add another,” she pants. “Three fingers. Stretch me. I want to feel full.”

You add a third.

She cries out, body shaking, thighs quivering. Her hips grind down harder, chasing the pressure.

“Fuck—don’t stop,” she begs. “Keep curling. Keep rubbing that spot. Make me soak your hand. I want to cum all over your fingers.”

You thrust faster. Curl deeper. Thumb circling her clit relentlessly. She sobs with a mix of pleasure and grief, tears spilling freely now.

“I’m close—fuck—I’m so close,” she chants. “Harder. Make me cum. Make me focus on nothing except your hand inside me.”

You angle deeper and press harder on that spot, making her walls flutter violently. Then she shatters. She shrieks with a loud, broken cry tearing from her throat. Her orgasm hits her hard as her walls clamp down, a gush of wetness coating your fingers and wrist.

She rides it out, hips grinding against your fingers. Her body shakes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She collapses forward onto your chest, breathing hard, trembling. She looks at you.

“Now fuck me,” she says, voice still wrecked. “I want to see your face when you cum inside me.

I want to watch you lose it while you’re buried deep.”

She lies back onto the couch and spreads her legs wide. You settle between them and line yourself up, pushing in slow. She arches at the intrusion, a soft cry escaping her throat. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” she groans. “Fill me up. All the way. I want every inch.”

You thrust with slow and deep rolls, and she sits up, moving her hips to meet you, nails digging into your shoulders.

“Kiss my neck,” she begs. “Bite it while you fuck me.”

You lean in and lick her where the pulse runs the strongest. You nibble gently. She melts entirely, shaking with full-body shivers, moans tearing from her throat.

“Harder,” she pants. “Bite harder. Mark me. I want to feel the bruise tomorrow even if I forget why it’s there.”

You sink your teeth in. Licking to soothe her marked parts. She clenches harder, sobbing with pleasure.

“Press on my belly,” she says. “Push down while you pump into me. Make me feel every thrust.”

Your hand slides to her lower stomach and presses firmly as you thrust harder. She cries out loud and broken.

“I can feel every inch. Fuck—don’t stop. Make me cum again.” You angle deeper and hit that spot inside her again.”

“You know, this is my favourite position—” she gasps. “Fuck me—kiss me—cum inside of me—”

You grab on to her hips and hammer into her continuously. Her legs dangle at the side now, unable to form any grip on you with the intense pleasure she's receiving. Her body shakes as she wraps her arms around your neck, diving onto you, into a deep, passionate, wanting kiss.

You slam and thrust and hammer and piston and pump and fucking fuck into her until you can't hold it anymore.

That detonates her. She shatters for the second time, sending gushes of hot warm liquid onto you. It feels so good. So good that you can't stop pumping into her throughout. And that breaks you too. You roar and unload deep into her, sending waves and waves of thick white spurts, flooding her insides entirely. You're cumming so hard, and you don't know if you’ve ever cummed this hard before. You've forgotten.

But it doesn't matter. Because right now, Chaewon is all that matters.

When your orgasms finally die down, you collapse together.

She curls into you, hand on your left shoulder. Yours on hers.

She falls asleep first.

Her tears are still wet on her cheeks. You lie awake a little longer, listening to her breathing, feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest against yours.

———

Morning comes too soon.

The room smells of sex, tears, and the faint metallic tang of drying sweat.

You wake slowly, body heavy, mind blanker than it’s ever been.

The ceiling is unfamiliar.

The bed is unfamiliar.

The woman curled against your chest is familiar in the way a dream is familiar.

But still unfamiliar.

She stirs.

She lifts her head and looks at you with eyes that are red, swollen, and terrifyingly empty.

“I don’t know who you are,” you say. The words come out flat, like you're reading them from a script you don't understand.

“I know I should. I know I did. But I don’t.”

She sits up and pulls the sheet around herself like armor.

You sit up too.

She looks at you again. Tears well up, but she blinks them back.

“I’m Chaewon,” she says. “But I don't know where I live.

I forgot my parents’ faces.

I forgot my birthday.

I forgot the way my mother laughed when I burned the rice.

I forgot why I ever wanted to draw.

I forgot… everything except you.”

She reaches out and brushes your cheek.

It's trembling.

“But I remember you,” she says. “I remember your riverbank.

Your broken arm.

Your resignation letter you don’t remember writing.

I remember the way you looked at the wall the first time we painted together.

I remember how you touched me last night.

I remember how you came inside me.

I remember the touch on my shoulder.

It’s the only thing left.”

She laughs.

“I hate that the last thing I have is you.”

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t know if there’s anything left to say.

So you reach for her instead.

Your hand finds her left shoulder.

She flinches but leans into it.

“Tell me,” you say.

“Everything you have left.

Every detail.

Every memory.

Every regret.

Every dream.

Tell me now.

Before it’s gone.”

She stares at you.

“What does that do?” Chaewon cries.

“If you tell me, I’ll remember it. They get transferred over to you. So you won't forget everything.”

Her tears flow down without control.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” she sobs uncontrollably. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

“If I’d found you earlier… if I’d pushed harder… I could’ve carried more of us. I could’ve kept more of me. I could’ve kept us.”

She buries her face in your chest, shoulders shaking violently.

You hold her tight.

The city hums outside indifferent to both of your demise. She pulls back after a long minute and wipes her face with the back of her hand, looking at you with eyes that are already dimmer than yesterday.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll tell you everything I have left. One last time.”

She starts.

She tells you about her childhood apartment that's small and cluttered with yellow curtains that always smelled like sesame oil.

She tells you about her siblings’ arguments but she can’t remember their faces anymore. They were loud and sudden, arguing over the lamest things.

She tells you about her favourite drink, the only consumable left that she now remembers she likes.

She tells you about the first time she drew something that felt like hers — a crooked bird on a napkin, wings spread like it wanted to escape the paper.

She tells you about regrets — not calling her mother more, not saying sorry to someone she hurt, not finding you sooner.

She tells you everything left.

Her hands shake.

She trembles.

You listen.

You don’t interrupt.

You don’t ask questions.

You just hold her shoulder. Hold the same spot she’s been holding yours.

When she finishes, she’s empty.

Completely.

She looks at you.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll remember this,” she says. “But when you forget tomorrow… it’ll come back to me. Right?”

You nod.

“Then it’s worth it,” she says, finally smiling. “Even if I disappear first. At least some of us will stay.”

She leans in and kisses you again.

The wall waits for tonight.

But tonight, there will be no painting.

Tonight, she will sleep in your arms.

Tomorrow, one of you will wake up blank.

And the other will carry what’s left.

———

The next morning, your eyes open once again.

A pair of serene and calm eyes look down into yours.

You don't know who she is.

She presses her hand to your left shoulder.

Her lips part.

Yujin had texted you that morning with a simple "pick me up at 2 <3" and you'd thought—fine, easy. Lunch, maybe walk around, watch the sunset over dinner. Standard relationship stuff. You should've known better the second you pulled up and saw what she was wearing.

The sundress is light blue, thin cotton that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact she's not wearing a bra. It hugs her waist before flowing down to mid-thigh, and when she bounces over to the car, you can see everything move in ways that make it very clear she planned this outfit specifically to fuck with you.

It's working.

"Hi baby," she says sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning over to kiss your cheek. Innocent enough, except her hand lands directly on your thigh and stays there while she buckles her seatbelt.

"You're evil," you tell her.

"I'm adorable." She grins, adjusting the dress that's already riding up her thighs. "Where are we going?"

"That café you wanted to try."

The drive is only ten minutes, but Yujin makes it feel like an hour. Her hand doesn't leave your thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns while she chatters about her week. Every time you glance over, she's doing something designed to distract you—adjusting her hair so the dress pulls tighter across her chest, crossing and uncrossing her legs, biting her bottom lip while she looks out the window.

At the café, she orders an iced vanilla latte and immediately wraps her lips around the straw in a way that's just absolutely not necessary for drinking coffee.

You watch her take a slow sip, eyes locked on yours.

"What?" she asks, like she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.

"Nothing," you mutter, taking a drink of your own coffee and trying to focus on literally anything else.

She leans forward on her elbows, and the neckline of her dress dips low enough that you can see the curve of her tits. "You seem tense."

"I'm fine."

"Mm." She doesn't believe you, and that little smirk says she knows exactly why you're tense.

You finish your coffees and decide to walk through the nearby park since the weather's nice and you're clearly a masochist. Yujin loops her arm through yours, pressing close enough that you can feel the heat of her body through that thin dress.

"Isn't this romantic?" she says, full of fake innocence as her free hand traces up your arm.

"Very," you say flatly.

She's already sliding that hand down, lacing her fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands to rest at her hip where the dress cinches.

The park is busier than you expected—couples on blankets, families with kids, people walking dogs. Yujin doesn't seem to care. She steers you toward a quieter path lined with trees, and the second you're out of immediate sight, she stops and turns to face you.

"I want a picture," she announces, already pulling out her phone.

"You take like fifty pictures a day."

"And I'm going to take fifty-one." She steps close, arm around your waist, phone up for a selfie. You're about to smile when her ass presses back against your crotch—a deliberate roll of her hips.

You grab her waist on reflex.

The camera clicks.

Wow. That is not a graceful expression.

"Perfect," she says, grinning at the photo before tucking the phone away.

She doesn't move away from you. You don't let go of her waist. She leans her head back against your shoulder.

"You're being very well-behaved so far."

"I'm being patient."

"And how long do you think that'll last?" She turns in your arms, and suddenly you're face to face with her, close enough to kiss. Her hands slide up your chest, fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. You can smell her perfume, feel her breath against your mouth.

"Yujin—"

"What?" Those big, innocent eyes blink at you, like she's never done a thing wrong her entire life. Her thigh presses between your legs, just enough pressure to make her point. "We're just taking pictures, baby."

Someone walks past on the main path and you step back, mostly to maintain some semblance of dignity in public. Yujin just laughs, bright and delighted, before grabbing your hand and pulling you back toward the park exit.

"Come on, I want to look at the shops before dinner."

The boutique she drags you into is small, full of expensive clothes and a bored-looking attendant who barely glances up when you enter. Yujin immediately starts browsing through racks, pulling out dresses and holding them up against her body.

"What do you think of this one?" A black one that would barely cover her ass.

"It's short."

"That's not a no." She grins and drapes it over her arm, moving to the next rack. You follow behind. Her fingers trail over the different materials, hips swaying just a little more than necessary.

She disappears into the dressing room with three dresses, and you lean against the wall outside to wait. The curtain doesn't close all the way—you can see flashes of movement, the sundress pooling at her feet. Then her hand appears, crooking a finger at you.

"I need a second opinion," she calls out.

You glance at the attendant, who's fully absorbed in her phone, and slip behind the curtain.

Yujin is standing in just her panties. Holding up one of the dresses in front of her body.

Not wearing it.

The dressing room mirror shows everything—the curve of her bare tits, those panties sitting low on her hips, the cheeky smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.

"Well?"

"You're not even wearing it," you point out.

"I wanted to see your reaction first." She drops the dress entirely, closing the small distance between you. Her hands find your belt, fingers tracing the leather. "Are you going to do something about it?"

"There's a person right outside."

"So you'll have to be quiet." She's already popping the button on your jeans, and fuck, her hand sliding into your boxers is not helping your resolve.

You grab her wrist, stopping her before this gets completely out of hand. "Get dressed. We have dinner reservations."

The look she gives you is pure frustration, but there's need underneath it. "You're no fun."

"I'm RESPONSIBLE."

"I don't like responsible," she pouts, but she lets you pull her hand away and picks the sundress back up. You slip out before you do something stupid.

She emerges a minute later. Doesn't buy any of the clothes she tried on.

She does, however, grab your ass when you're walking out of the store.

"An Yujin."

"Hand slipped!"

The restaurant is one of those places with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. You'd picked it specifically because Yujin mentioned wanting to watch the sunset over dinner.

Romantic as hell. Seemed like a good idea this morning.

You’re having second thoughts.

The golden light of the sunset coming through the windows catches in Yujin's hair when she sits down, makes her skin glow in a way that's entirely unfair. She's gorgeous in normal lighting, but with a sunset behind her she looks… unreal.

"This place is beautiful," she says, and she actually sounds genuine for once, looking out at the water where the sun is starting to paint the sky in shades of orange and pink.

"Yeah," you manage, trying to focus on your own menu and not the way the light is hitting her.

The waiter comes by and you both order—she gets the salmon, you get the steak, and she requests a wine she definitely can't pronounce but sounds expensive. (She knows you’re paying, after all).  She's suspiciously polite, ordering without any funny business.

Then the waiter leaves and you feel her foot slide up your calf.

"Yujin."

"What?" She’s staring at the sunset like she’s never done a thing wrong in her life.

"We're in public."

"I'm just getting comfortable." She blinks at you as her foot reaches your thigh and stays there, and you become very aware of how thin her dress is, how the sunset behind her makes it… almost see-through in places…

The wine arrives and she takes a slow sip, eyes on you over the rim of the glass. When she sets it down, her hand disappears under the table, and a second later you feel her fingers on your knee, sliding up your thigh with clear intent.

"Can't you just wait for the food," you plead, grabbing her wrist under the table.

"I'm not hungry for food." She leans forward, and the neckline of her dress dips dangerously low. The sunset behind her creates this halo effect that would be romantic if she wasn't currently trying to get her hand on your cock in a public restaurant.

You don't let go of her wrist, keeping her hand firmly on your thigh and nowhere else. "Behave."

"Make me," she says, and there's that fucking smirk again.

The food arrives. You let go of her hand so the waiter can set down the plates.

Yujin thanks him sweetly. He's barely gone before her hand is back—making it all the way to your crotch before you can stop her.

She palms you through your jeans, and fuck, you're already half-hard from her teasing all day. Her fingers trace the outline of your cock while she cuts into her salmon with her other hand like nothing's happening.

"How's your food?" she asks conversationally.

"Yujin, I swear to god—"

"You should try the salmon, it's really good." She takes a bite, and her hand squeezes you just enough to make you bite back a groan.

The sun is almost touching the horizon now, the entire sky turning brilliant shades of orange and red. The light hits her face and she looks like a fucking angel. 

An evil little cock-teasing angel who’s decided getting you off under the table is way more fun than eating.

"You're so hard already," she murmurs, leaning closer like she's sharing a secret. Her hand works you through the denim, and you're trying to keep your expression neutral while she's clearly enjoying watching you struggle.

"Stop," you say, but it comes out strained.

"You don't want me to stop." Her thumb finds the head of your cock through your jeans, rubbing in slow circles. "You've been wanting to fuck me since I got in your car."

She's not wrong, and you're done.

You grab her wrist, pull her hand away. Harder than necessary. "We're leaving."

"But we haven't finished—"

"Now, Yujin."

Pure triumph on her face. This is exactly what she wanted.

She doesn't argue, just grabs her purse while you flag down the waiter and hand him your card without even looking at the bill.

The sun is halfway below the horizon when you walk out, the sky on fire with color, and Yujin is practically skipping to the car.

She beats you to the passenger side, slides in with that pleased smile still on her face.

You're barely in the driver's seat. She's already leaning over the center console, hand on your thigh again.

"That was mean," she says, not sounding very sorry at all.

"You started it." You turn the key and pull out of the parking lot faster than necessary, and the sky is deepening now—brilliant orange fading to pink and purple at the edges.

"So you're admitting I won?"

"I'm admitting I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

The way her breath catches is supremely satisfying, but she recovers quick. "Promises, promises."

Her hand slides higher on your thigh and you grab it, pinning it in place. "You're going to make me crash."

"Then drive faster."

"You… want me to make our crash worse?"

"Just drive, idiot!"

The sunset is in your rearview mirror now, the sky ahead darker where night is already creeping in. You make it maybe two minutes before her other hand finds your belt, and you have to move your grip to catch that one too.

"Yujin."

"What? I'm just sitting here." She's absolutely not just sitting there—she's shifted in her seat so that dress is riding up her thighs, and when you glance over at a red light, you can see the lace edge of her panties.

"You're insane."

"You love it," she says again, and manages to get one hand free to palm you through your jeans. You're fully hard now, have been since the restaurant, and her touch makes you grip the steering wheel hard enough that your knuckles go white.

The light turns green. You have to let go of her to shift gears.

She takes full advantage—gets the button of your jeans open before you can stop her.

"Jesus Christ, Yujin—"

"Keep your eyes on the road, baby." Her hand slips into your boxers, fingers wrapping around your cock, and the feeling of her actually touching you after hours of teasing makes you groan.

You catch her wrist but don't pull her away, too far gone to pretend you don't want this. The sky outside is streaked with the last colors of sunset, deep purple and orange, and her hand is stroking you slowly while you're trying to drive through downtown traffic.

"Let me reiterate. You, me, a semi-truck, all meeting in less than a second if you don't get your stupidly smooth hand off my cock."

She laughs but settles back in her seat, pulling her hand away with clear reluctance. You make it three more blocks before you have to pull over at another red light, and the second the car stops you're hauling her in for a kiss.

It's messy and desperate, her mouth opening for you immediately, and your hand finds her thigh, pushing that dress up until you can feel the heat of her through those thin panties. She's soaked, and when you press against her she makes this needy sound that goes straight to your cock.

Someone honks behind you and you realize the light's green.

"Fuck," you mutter, pulling back and trying to focus on driving. Your hand stays on her thigh though, high enough that your fingers brush against the lace edge of her panties every time you shift.

The sun is gone now, just the afterglow painting the sky, and you can see your building up ahead. Yujin sees it too, and her hand goes right back to your cock, stroking you through your open jeans.

"Almost there," she purrs, and you don't know if she means the building or something else entirely.

You pull into your spot and kill the engine, and then you're both out of the car and you're crowding her against the door, kissing her hard while she fumbles with your keys. She gets the door open and you're inside, kicking it shut behind you, and her back hits the wall in the entryway.

"Now?" she asks breathlessly, and there's triumph in her voice even now.

You don't even dignify her with an answer.

The dress hits the floor before you've even moved away from the door, and Yujin's hands are already pulling at your shirt, yanking it over your head while you work your jeans down. She's in just those lace panties now, and you can see the wet spot where she's been soaked for hours.

"Took you long enough," she breathes, but you shut her up by shoving her harder against the wall and kissing her like you're trying to devour her whole.

Your hand slides between her legs, fingers pressing against the soaked lace, and she gasps into your mouth. "You've been wet all fucking day, haven't you?"

"Since the car," she admits, hips rolling against your hand. "Maybe before."

You hook your fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs, and the second they're off you're dropping to your knees. Her eyes go wide.

"Wait, I thought you were going to—oh fuck!"

Your mouth is on her pussy before she can finish the sentence. Tongue dragging through her folds.

She tastes as good as she looks.

Your hands grip her thighs, holding her against the wall while you eat her out like you're starving for it. Maybe you are, after the torture she's put you through today.

"Oh god, oh f-fuck, yes—" Her hands fist in your hair, and she's trying to grind against your face, shameless and desperate. You focus on her clit, sucking it between your lips, and her whole body jerks.

"Right there, don't stop, please don't fucking stop—"

You don't. You work her with your tongue until her thighs are shaking, until she's practically sobbing, and when she cums it's with your name broken on her lips and her pussy clenching against nothing.

She's still trembling when you stand up and kiss her, letting her taste herself on your tongue. "Bedroom. Now."

"Fuck the bedroom," she pants, already reaching for your cock. "Right here."

Her hand wraps around you and strokes, and you're so fucking hard it almost hurts. But you catch her wrist, spin her around so she's facing the wall, and kick her legs apart.

"You wanted this so badly," you growl against her ear, lining yourself up. "So take it."

You push into her in one thrust and she cries out, hands splaying against the wall for balance. She's so wet and tight that you have to pause, breathing hard, trying not to cum immediately like a teenager.

"Move," she demands, pushing her hips back. "Fuck me already."

"Greedy, aren't we?"

You pull out and slam back in, and the sound she makes is perfect—broken and needy and so fucking desperate. You set a brutal pace, one hand on her hip and the other sliding up to grip her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place while you fuck up into her.

"Yes, yes, fuck, harder—"

The angle is incredible, and you can feel her getting wetter with every thrust, slick dripping down her thighs. Your grip tightens on her hip, hard enough to leave marks, and she loves it, pushing back to meet you.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice rough. "Teasing me all day just so I'd fuck you like this?"

"Yes," she gasps. "Knew you'd—ah!—knew you'd s-snap eventually."

You pull out suddenly. She whines at the loss.

Then you're turning her around, lifting her up. Her legs wrap around your waist automatically. You push back inside her, using the wall for leverage.

"Oh fuck, so deep—" Her nails dig into your shoulders, and you can feel her pussy clenching around you, tight and perfect.

You kiss her while you fuck her, messy and hard, and she's moaning into your mouth. The angle has you hitting the spot inside that makes her gasp every time, and her tits are pressed against your chest, nipples hard.

"Gonna cum again," she warns, "don't stop, please—"

"Cum on my cock," you tell her. "Let me feel it."

She does, her whole body tensing and then releasing, pussy spasming around you in a way that almost takes you over the edge. You carry her to the couch—fuck the bedroom—and lay her down, pulling out just long enough to flip her onto her stomach.

"Ass up," you command, and she scrambles to obey, presenting herself to you.

The view is impeccable—her pussy swollen and dripping, cum already leaking out of her. You push back inside and she moans into the cushions, and this angle lets you go even deeper.

You fuck her hard, hands gripping her hips. The wet sounds of your cock driving into her pussy fill the room.

She's babbling now—words barely coherent, just broken pleas and your name and "yes" over and over.

"So fucking perfect," you groan, watching your cock disappear into her. Wet coating your shaft. Dripping down to make a mess on the couch. "Look at you, taking it so well."

"More," she gasps. "Harder, p-please, I need—"

You give her what she wants, slamming into her with enough force that she has to brace herself against the arm of the couch. Her pussy clenches around you, still sensitive from cumming twice already, and you can feel how close you are.

Your hand slides around to find her clit. She practically screams, body jerking. "Can't, too much, I can't—"

"Yes you can." Your fingers rub tight circles. "Cum with me."

She's shaking, thighs trembling, and you can feel her getting tighter. You lean over her, changing the angle, and she sobs out something that might be your name.

"Gonna fill you up," you warn, thrusts getting erratic. "Gonna cum so deep inside you."

"Please," she begs, "please, I want it, want you to—fuck!"

She cums first, pussy spasming around your cock, and that's all it takes to drag you over with her. You slam in one final time and cum hard, spilling deep inside her while she moans. You can feel it flooding her, so much that it starts leaking out around your cock even while you're still inside her.

You stay buried in her for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, before finally pulling out. Your cum immediately starts dripping down her thighs, obscene and perfect, and she's so thoroughly fucked that she just stays there, ass in the air, too wrecked to move.

"Bed," you finally manage.

She makes a sound that might be agreement. You both stumble to the bedroom, collapse onto the sheets.

You should probably stop.

You don't stop.

You're on her immediately, pinning her wrists above her head, and she gasps when you push back inside her. She's oversensitive and so fucking wet—cum from earlier mixed with how turned on she still is—and the slide is almost too easy.

"Sure you can handle one more round?" she teases, but her legs are already wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper.

"You started this," you remind her, rolling your hips. "We finish when I say we finish."

She moans, head falling back against the pillow, and you take the opportunity to bite down on her neck, hard enough to leave another mark. Her pussy clenches around you in response, and you can feel how swollen she is, how thoroughly fucked.

You let go of her wrists, brace yourself above her.

Her hands find your back. Nails dig in immediately, dragging down your shoulder blades as you thrust into her.

The sting is perfect.

"Fuck, Yujin—"

"Harder," she demands, and her nails scrape down your back again, definitely breaking skin this time. "Give it to me harder!"

You shift the angle, driving deeper, and she cries out. The bed frame is hitting the wall with every thrust, and the sheets are getting soaked beneath her—sweat and cum and her pussy dripping everywhere.

"Look at me," you tell her, and when her eyes meet yours they're glazed and desperate. "This is what you wanted all day, isn't it? To get fucked until you can't think straight?"

"Yes," she gasps, nails carving new lines down your back. "Yes, god, don't stop—"

You don't. You fuck her hard into the mattress, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up to wrap around her throat. Not squeezing, just holding her there while you fuck her apart.

She's babbling again, that incoherent mix of your name and "fuck" and "please," and you can feel her getting close. Her nails are brutal on your back, scratching hard enough that you know you'll be marked for days.

"Gonna cum again?" you ask, and she nods frantically.

"Can't help it, you're so deep, I can't—"

"Do it," you command. "Cum on my cock one more time."

She does, and it's like her whole body seizes up. Her nails rake down your back viciously as she screams, pussy clamping down so tight around you that it's almost painful. The sensation drags your own orgasm out of you, and you bury yourself as deep as possible, filling her up for the second time.

You can feel it mixing with the first load, so much cum that it's leaking out around your cock, soaking into the sheets beneath you. When you finally pull out, the evidence is everywhere—her thighs covered in it, the sheets stained, her pussy absolutely wrecked and dripping.

You collapse beside her, and she immediately sprawls out, chest heaving. Her makeup is completely destroyed now, smeared down her face, and her hair is a disaster. She looks thoroughly, completely fucked.

Perfect.

Your back is on fire where she scratched you, and when you shift, the sting reminds you of every mark she left.

"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even now—completely fucked out, thighs still trembling—she's got that fucking pleased little smile on her face.

You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing.

~~~

Sorry for the wait! I have a big project waiting to go, and also maybe another Twice smut that should be out within the next week or two :)