J Muns

“Don’t you have games that you have to play?” she asks, focus entirely on the yarn in the hands. “You have like, what, ten games you haven’t played yet since the sale?”

“I’m not in the mood to play ‘em.” You let out a deep sigh, fingers rhythmically tapping at the bedsheets. “I don’t even know why I got them in the first place.”

“That’s what you get for buying them all,” she giggles, glancing at her tablet momentarily, holding up the in-progress-cloth. “Why don’t you play that one game?”

“Which one?” You prop yourself up by the elbow, chin on your hand. Watching her fingers deftly weave the wool, admiring how good she looks. Light makeup, glasses that make her look delectably adorable, your flannel over the white top she has on. You’re not sure if she knows that a hint of the black lace underneath is peeking out, but it’s not like there’s anyone that isn’t you have the privilege to see it right now.

“The one with the big number,” she replies, tilting her head. “All about paintings, from what I remember?”

“Oh, that one.” You’re not going to tell her that you bought that game full price and not on the recent sale. A game on the backlog is a game on the backlog, after all. “Maybe I should pick it up.”

“I heard it won a lot of awards,” she adds, face scrunching up cutely when she inspects her work. “And the story’s got everyone hooked.”

“Maybe you can watch while I play?” You grin, knowing that she’ll be taking the controller from you at some point. Even on the intended difficulty, you knew how hard that game was. Add the fact that Sakura gets extremely competitive on wanting to be the best, and you’ll most likely need to add a few controllers to the cart. 

“Later, hun.” She smiles, turning to look at you. “I want to finish this hat for Sana first.”

“But I’m bored,” you whine, pleading with your eyes. Silently begging for her to give you some much needed attention.

“You’re so needy today,” she teases, letting out a little chuckle at your dilemma. “Can’t you play it without me?”

“I can, but I wanna play it with you.” That makes her melt, and her hand reaches out to boop your nose.

“Sweet,” she says, making you smile. “I promise I’ll play it with you later, okay?”

“Fine,” you relent, rolling back down onto the bed. Eyes gazing up on an upside down Sakura, who’s gone back to focusing on the yarn in her hands. “Still bored, by the way.”

“I’m sure there’s something you can do,” she says, her tongue sticking out, struggling at this one part.

Her statement gets you to think. No missed chores that you can pick back up, not in the mood to head to the gym after yesterday’s leg day, don’t want to play without Sakura—

Playing with Sakura is a thought. A fun one, upon giving it much thought. You glance back down to where the hint of her bra is peeking out of that tight top she has on, and even your flannel—as loose as it was on her—can’t hide how busty she is.

You move to sit behind her, arms wrapped around her tiny waist. Pulling her close, her arms come up to face level as she leans back against you. The face she must be making would tell you that she has an inkling of what you have in store to get rid of your boredom.

She’ll still ask what you’re doing. Give you that raise of her brow as she gives you a side eye. Roll her eyes at you when you give her a noncommittal answer, like a shrug and a nonchalant “Just watching you do your thing, sweetheart.”

You let your hands slide underneath her top, feeling the milky smooth skin and the contour of her abs, fingers running through the hard muscle. She lets you, of course; continuing on with completing the beige ‘hat’ that you quite can’t tell how far along it is from being one.

Your chin rests on her shoulder, the view of her deep cleavage from the top gets your fingers feeling frisky, and you gulp at the sight. You distract yourself with a whiff of her shampoo and her body wash wafting through your nostrils. It gets you nuzzling into her neck, lips leaving a peck by her pulse, your breath getting her ticklish and getting her to giggle.

“Stop.” The playful way in her tone along with a small nudge of her elbow against your chest tells you otherwise, and your hands come to join. Touching the spots you know where she’s ticklish, getting your fingers stabbing into them lightly that gets her to reveal the melody of her laugh that never fails to get you to smile.

It gets to a point where the yarn falls down to her lap, her own hands trying to get you to stop your assault on her spots. Every giggle, every laugh—it’s intoxicating, such a beautiful harmony that you could never grow tired of hearing.

Doesn’t help that her thrashing to get you to stop is unintentionally making her ass grind against your pants, her short shorts doing wonders for your cock that’s slowly straining against your pants. 

Sakura manages to end it, one way or another. In this case she puts her entire weight on top of you, trapping you between her and the bed. She grabs hold of one of your hands, getting you to stop at least half of your tickle attack. With a quick swivel around, she faces you, her messy hair along with the crooked glasses that you’re surprised managed to stay on her face takes your breath away.

God, you could stare at the visage of her angelic features. A goddess, right in your arms—such irresistible pulchritude that you’re even lucky to breathe so close next to. Combined with the fond look on Sakura's face, the softening look in her eyes, the slight shake of her head that gets her hair framing her face. 

And that damned smile that gets you all the time.

“Do you have nothing else to do?” she jokes, straddling you properly, her grip on your hand loosening.

The fingers that are on her waist squeeze gently. “Other than doing you, not really.”

Sakura scoffs, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Needy and horny.” She leans in close, her lips inches away from yours. “Whatever will we do?”

“I was thinking if you can maybe, hopefully—” You raise your hips slightly, making her gasp when your erection is against her shorts. “Possibly help me out?” 

“After messing up my hat?” You take the chance to look down at what’s happened with her work. It doesn’t look that bad, though that's what your ignorant brain sees. “I should leave you blue balled for that.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, your free hand resting on her thigh, thumb running circles over the smooth expanse under your palm.

She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even know how to crochet, hun.”

You reach up to fix the pair of glasses on her face. “I’ll buy you new polaroid film?”

Sakura narrows her eyes, humming thoughtfully. Her answer doesn’t come out quickly, as if she was actually debating on whether she’ll take your offer or not. It comes with a mocking sigh followed by a chaste kiss on your lips. “Deal.” She tilts her head, giving you a smirk. “How does my honey want my help?”

“Well–” you start, already dead set on what you want, running your finger down to give her breast a quick squeeze. “These would be fucking amazing on my face, sweetie.”

Another roll of her eyes. “You and your fascination with my tits,” she comments, shaking her head at your antics.

“Are you complaining?”

“Of course not.” Pulling away to sit upright once more, her legs tuck under into a kneeling position, palms tapping her thighs. “Come on, hun.”

You follow her order, laying your head on her soft thighs while she pulls the flannel down her arms, the buttons of her top becoming undone enough to loosen the fabric and give way for her cleavage. You’re already salivating at the idea of what she’s offering, arm wrapping around her waist to pull yourself closer to her chest.

Your other hand reaches up, parting her shirt in the middle, that lacy black bra of hers an even more thought reducing sight on her than you realize. The exposure has you paralyzed, the one and only action you can do is let out a quiet curse at the fact that you’ll be drooling all over those magnificent tits, followed by—

“I fucking love you so much,” you blurt out, gazing up at Sakura’s smug face, the adoration bleeding through her eyes. 

“Love you too, you horny little shit.” The nickname gets you both laughing, and it’s such a stark contrast to what both your hands are doing that it’s a wonder how you two can get into these situations. Hers fishing your cock out of your sweatpants, yours pulling her bra to the side to expose the soft, mouth watering flesh underneath.

Her laughs become breathless once your mouth latches on to the pink little nub of hers, suckling on her teat like a baby. Giving them a little nibble as your other hand reaches up to grab hold of her other breast, wanting to give her as equal attention as you can. And even through all those layers, you’ll never get enough of playing with her chest.

Sakura isn’t idle throughout, spitting down her hand and wrapping her fingers around your length, stroking you languidly. It gets you moaning, your hips bucking up at her hand as your eyes close. The sweetheart that she is, helping prop you up with her palm resting at the back of your head too, making sure that you never leave her soft, warm, delicious embrace.

“You look like a baby,” she giggles, turning to focus her attention to your cock. She thumbs your slit at every stroke upward, brushing against your balls when she reaches the base, her fingers hitting your every weakness like she was getting revenge for your earlier actions. “Take your time, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”

The words only spur you on, getting you to suck harder, grope rougher. You’re in a haze of pleasure, the pink nipple you’re nursing tasting so scrumptious that you wonder how much better it would taste like if milk were to ever come out of her breasts. You can only let out a muffled noise at the concept, biting down on her nub.

Her strokes grow faster on your cock, cooing such dirty provocations watching you lose yourself. The seduction in your ear, whispering how nice and hard you are for her, feeling you throb in her hands. Her giggles are temptation symphonized, words of encouragement coming out of her in droves as you worship her. That’s it, honey, you’re doing so good sucking on my tits. 

Feeding you more fantasies at every groan you let out, thrusting into her hand in an attempt to chase your release. Growing desperate in her arms, your hunger grows ravenous as you suck fervently on her bud, with the only thing that gets you to stop was a one, simple possibility that she can turn into reality.

“I bet you want to fuck my tits so bad, don’t you?”

That gets you humming excitedly, head nodding, your eyes finally opening to be greeted with Sakura’s gorgeous face—flushed and warm and grinning down at you. You pull away, and if you could get on your knees to beg, you could. “Fuck, please.”

“Stand up for me.” You scramble, your feet hitting the floor in record time, Sakura sitting in front of you by the edge of the bed. She’s biting her lip at the sight of you positively throbbing, leaking precum because of her. “Already so close?”

“Me and my fascination with your tits.” You’re putty in her hands, jerking you off slowly to keep you wanting more. And more she gives, when she’s taking off her glasses and pulling her shirt off her head to expose her bra.

She makes a show of it, pressing them together to remind you just how deep her cleavage can go, of how big her chest is under all those layers of clothing. Baggy, fit, tight—all that doesn’t matter in the face of genetics.

“Starting to think you love my tits more than me,” she says, taking hold of your cock by the base. She gathers drool in her mouth, letting it trickle down her lips and coating your shaft.

“Kkura, sweetie, you know I love you a lot more than your tits, right?” you begin, hands resting on her shoulders.

“Mhmm.” She’s smirking, enjoying you squirm. “Your point?”

“My point is–” You’re interrupted by the softest sensation in the world wrapping around your cock, your words turning into mush when she slips your cock in between her tits, bra still on to entrap you in the pillowy hold. “Oh for fuck’s sake, can I please fuck the utter shit out of your tits?”

Sakura devilishly chuckles, pressing her tits together, the velvety embrace growing tighter. “Love you too, honey.”

You’re fucked stupid, and you haven’t even started fucking her chest yet. She starts it for you instead, fucking your cock on her breasts with this insufferably slow pace, letting another batch of spit down your cock, pooling into her cleavage. And the pressure is intense, thought shattering, god you need to fuck them—

Your hips thrust up, making your tip peek up her breasts. That alone gets your thighs to tremble at the sensation, and you’re biting your lip in a feeble attempt to delay your fate. “Oh my god.” Another thrust, and that unlocks the flood gates. “I’m never gonna leave your tits alone after this.”

“Not like you weren’t already doing that.” She leans down, pressing her lips against your head when you thrust up a third time, and you can only help yourself with a curse slipping out your lips. “Starting fucking ‘em already, hun.” Another dose of spit falls down your cock. “Or are you all talk?”

The pace you set off the bat is harsh; hands gripping her shoulders firmer as your hips snap upwards. The filthy grin on her face as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts adds to the entire sight. Her hands dig down harder on her tits, the embrace impossibly tight that every thrust has the odds of you cumming down her cleavage.

And Sakura has no say as to when you will. She’s given you the reins, letting you whatever you want to her breasts, looking delighted at the mess you must look like by now. You can barely talk, completely taken over by the need to chase that high, and she knows it. 

“Cum for me,” she says, those three words making you growl. Your rhythm goes erratic, and you reach up to hold onto the back of her neck. “Come on, honey. Paint these tits that you love so much.”

“Kkura, fuck–”

“Please?” It’s so innocent, the way she says it. Until the next set of words come out of her mouth, and all you can hear is pure, unadulterated depravity. “Need you to mark me with your cum. Want it so bad, please–”

You come down, taking her lips with your own as your orgasm hits, and your entire body is trembling. Your moans grow muted as the first spurt shoots up her breasts and hits her collarbone. The next few pool in her cleavage, a few strays staining her bra with your seed. 

Her tongue plays with yours as you glaze her, her hands coming up to hold you upright. Her chest follows your hips, moving up and down your cock, each pulse sending another streak of white across her skin.

By the end of it you’re almost slumped against her, your forehead pressing against hers. Your lips linked with a string of saliva, her breath hot against your face. You can barely stand up, lungs in dire need of air, the only thing that’s keeping you up are your hands on Sakura and her own on your hips.

Sakura leans up to plant a wet peck on your lips before she pulls your cock off from between her bra, ruined and stained full of white. “Look at that,” she breathes, looking down at the mess that you’ve created. “I’ll need to throw this bra away because of you.”

You let out a shaky chuckle. “I’ll buy you a new one.” You move to sit beside her, but the aftereffects of your high cause you sagging into the bed.

“Hun, please.” She turns to you with a playful glint. “You’ll just ruin it again.” Her fingers run down her cleavage, scooping up a dollop of your cum and taking it in her mouth. “Yum.”

Her gaze cast downward, toward your softening cock. She takes a glance up to your face, that playfulness turning dark before she sweeps down to take you in her mouth. Your legs jolt, the sudden sensation of her tongue swirling around your length such an overwhelming feeling. It makes you crave for it when she pulls away just as quick.

“Happy now?” she asks, all casual and smiles. Like you’re not dead on the bed and on life support.

“Ecstatic, sweetheart.” You barely have the strength to reach up and cup her cheek.

Sakura smiles sweetly, taking your hand in hers, her lips kissing your palm. “Want me to get some water for you?”

“Please,” you say, and with another, parting kiss on your palm she stands up—cum painted in her chest, bra utterly ruined, and completely glowing that make you shout out—

“Have I mentioned how much I love you yet?”

“Multiple times, hun!”

As she leaves to grab some well needed hydration, you can’t help but let out a smile.

You damn near crash onto the train car’s grab handle, panting. Glance at the station’s scratched, seldom cleaned clock, its minute hand is nay a hair’s breadth away from striking the thirty-minute mark. Climb aboard as soon as you catch your breath. No reserved seating, any empty bench is fair game. Find one on the left. As soon as you drop into it, the conductor blows his whistle and steam hisses from the locomotive’s undercarriage as its pistons work to pull the consist forward.

You made it, not a moment sooner. Panting and huffing almost harder than the locomotive, you lean against the open window frame and let your heavy eyelids settle.

“Excuse me, mister! Tickets please!” The conductor’s stern voice jolts you awake. Your hands roam your pockets faster than your brain regains its bearings, finding the small piece of paper after passing the same pocket thrice. “H–Here you go, conductor. Pardon me.”

The conductor’s wrinkled cheeks tug up as he smirks, checking your ticket and stamping it. “I saw you scramble to this train like your tail’s on fire.” He hands your ticket back with a soft chuckle. “What’s a young fella like you in such a hurry for in that quiet little town anyways?”

You squint and rub your face, peering at the outside. “How far along has the train gotten, sir?” He flips his pocket watch open, clicking his tongue at the same frequency as the second hand. “We just passed the Lorraine Tunnel. Albrecht Tunnel is…fifteen kilometers.”

You nod. “How about the next stop?”

“That’ll be Darmstadt am Gelbbach, four kilometers after the Albrecht—you didn’t answer my question, mister,” he tilts his head, closing his watch. “Oh, do forgive me. What was the question? I…I didn’t catch it.”

The conductor sighs and lowers himself next to you, bracing on the front bench. “What exactly had you running like the devil himself was on your tail? Seven years I worked this line. Never seen anyone done that. Not in that quiet little town.” You shift in your seat as you process his question. He chuckles gently, raising his hand. “Excuse me if I come off as prying. I am merely curious.”

You rub your hands together. Lower your head, your lips weakly curving in the opposite direction. “Well, last night’s drinking didn’t do my schedule any favors, firstly. But uh, I…one could say I was fleeing from my own devils, sir.”

“Hm. Weighted answer for a young man. Something you could share with me, mister?”

You look towards his face. His shaded wrinkles carry history, likely as long as you’ve been alive. A history you don’t wish to pile yours onto, not right now. “No sir, it is not. Forgive me.”

The conductor bursts out laughing, stirring a few other passengers in their sleep. “No need to apologize for that, mister. We’re entitled to our privacy in this here country.” He rises from the seat, straightening his faded blue jacket. “Well, I’ll leave you to your own devices. May you escape those…devils of yours.” He tips his hat and starts walking away, then stops and turns around after two paces. “Or perhaps…they’re something you need to stop for,” he remarks quietly, almost to himself. “Safe travels, mister. Good day.” He turns around and walks again before you could reply. 

Your head rests on the window frame again, trying to catch more sleep. Your eyes drift to the carriage’s interior lighting and scoff. The recent war means oil supply routes are still disrupted, be it crude oil or whale oil. This carriage was just retrofitted for oil lamps before the war, and now it’s back to candles. 

“That cursed war. All for what? Three long years for a morsel of land in the northeast?” Your nails dig into the old varnished wood. Your gazing is interrupted by the glint of an old businessman’s silver ring, pointing towards the landscape while muttering something to what seems to be his wife. Or mistress. 

“No, no, certainly not. It's the coin. It always comes back to the coin. Those greedy, snivelling sycophants we call businessmen will do anything for the damn things.” You fish out your wallet from your jacket’s inner pocket. Pull out a wrinkled banknote, stare at it, squinting. “Just how do you yield such power?”

You fold it between your fingers, resting your elbow on the window. “The power to raze lands, sink ships, take…” Breath catches in your throat, images flashing as a stark reminder. “Take away families. Men. Wives. Children.” Your eyes scan the cabin, spotting the few ladies travelling onboard. One sits at the very front right, next to the gangway. 

She isn’t as covered as the others, long silky hair flowing freely over her shoulders. Clothing’s pristine white. Thin, too. Seems like her skin is visible through the fabric. You raise a brow, murmur to yourself. “Now what are you doing wearing that in winter? All the mud and cold must be a right bother for—” The lady turns her head, exposing her side profile. Your blood drops several degrees, shifting backwards in your seat. 

“No…no, that—can’t be. Not…I must be mistaken.” Caught between avoidance and curiosity, you lean back and angle your head at the same time, trying to get a better look at the woman. “Wandering willows! Doyeon? Kim Doyeon?” Mouth babbles silence, fingers mapping wrinkles on your pants. Something caught in your throat and you cough loudly, tapping your chest. 

The lady looks over entirely upon hearing it, her face displayed in full. You yelp and duck behind the front bench, hunching over. “No…how? How could she possibly end up…all the way out here?”

You spend the next several minutes tucked behind the front bench, peeking out once the train approaches the tunnel. Flinch back down. She seems to be frozen in that last position. The train enters the Albrecht tunnel and you feel a great wind upon you. Its strength is uncanny, blowing around loose dirt, papers and cloths. The cabin is plunged into darkness as the candles are blown out. And then it feels like your consciousness is being blown away as well, eyelids falling against your will, the deafening thrash of wind fading away…

“Excuse me, mister! Tickets please!” The conductor’s voice jolts you awake. You look around, you’re back to leaning against the open window. Brain isn’t hazy like it usually is after a nap. “Didn’t—” Throat is dry. “Did you not check my ticket sometime ago, sir?”

The conductor grumbles. “No sir, I did not. I left you for last ‘cause I didn’t wish to disturb your slumber. But I gotta check your ticket eventually, don’t I?” He chuckles and extends his palm. You find the ticket right away, seeing that it doesn’t have the conductor’s stamp. He takes it and gives it one. 

“I saw you scramble to this train like your tail’s on fire.” He hands your ticket back with a soft chuckle. “What’s a young fella like you in such a hurry for in that quiet little town anyways?”

“Wh—” That question again. Didn’t you go through this already? Was that a dream? Didn’t feel like a dream. You remember it like it was mere minutes ago. “I…it’s not something I’m comfortable sharing as of yet, sir. Forgive me.”

The conductor laughs. “No need to apologize for that, mister. We’re entitled to our privacy in this here country.” He adjusts his hat and straightens his faded blue jacket. “Well, I’ll leave you to your own dev—”

“Wait! Where…where are we, conductor? How far along have we gotten?”

He flips his pocket watch open, clicking his tongue at the same frequency as the second hand. “We just passed the Lorraine Tunnel. Albrecht Tunnel is…fifteen kilometers.” 

Your brows furrow, breath hangs heavy. “How about the next stop?”

“That’ll be Darmstadt am Gelbbach, four kilometers after the Albrecht. Plenty of time until your stop, mister. Get some shut-eye. I can wake you up if you wish?”

You look out the window. You’re not terribly familiar with the landscape, but it does seem like the same one you passed. “No need, sire. Thank you.”

He nods. “Very well. Anything else I can help you with, mister?”

There is something. It’s right on the tip of your tongue. What is it? “No, sir. Have a good day.”

“Likewise, mister. Safe travels.” He tips his hat and walks away. Your eyes follow him all the way to the front gangway and there she is. Same spot. Same questionably thin and pearly layers. Same…unmistakable spitting image of Kim Doyeon. 

Keep your flappy mouth shut this time. Look away, don’t acknowledge her. Don’t acknowledge it. Act like nothing is out of order. “Just…coincidences. That’s it.” A glint from the front catches your eye. That same old businessman with the silver ring, pointing towards the landscape while muttering something to his lady companion of unclear relation. You swallow a dry gulp. “Disturbingly aligned…coincidences. But coincidences nonetheless. What did that N’dhia priest say that time? Dreams are windows into other worlds? Oh, wandering willows! Shut up, man!”

And you do. Head locked towards the landscape, which eventually gives way to the hills which the Albrecht Tunnel cuts through. The locomotive’s smokestack enters, steam puffs up behind it, then your carriage enters. 

Winds surge through the interior again, not the sort that tunnels cause. Not this strong and loud. Not in this weather. Various light objects get blown around again. The candles blown out, cabin plunged into darkness. “No, no, no…” And your eyes. Your eyes grow heavy and begin shutting, ferrying away your consciousness despite your best efforts to will it still. The winds fade out, your body feels light—

“Excuse me, mister! Tickets please!”

You awake with an exasperated whine. “What on earth is happening?” You pant, eyes bouncing around.

“Well, as the conductor it is my duty to check your legitimacy as a passenger—”

“Oh, for—not that!” Your lash at the conductor turns a few heads towards you. Hers included? Don’t know, not looking. “Forgive me, sir. Here you go.” Your hands move on muscle memory at this point. He scrutinizes you for a moment before stamping the ticket.

“I saw—”

“Are you going to say something about me scrambling to this train like my tail’s on fire?”

He lets out a hum. “As a matter of fact, I was. Verbatim.” His eyes squint as he leans in slightly. You cut him off just as he reopens his mouth, “And…and, what about, um. Where are we? How far has the train gotten?”

The conductor leans back and opens his pocket watch. “We just passed the Lorraine Tunnel. Albrecht Tunnel is…”

“Fifteen kilometers. Nearest stop is Darmstadt am Gelbbach, four kilometers after it,” you murmur, completing the sentence in the conductor’s cadence. He scoffs, closing his watch and resting his elbow on the front bench. “By the Lord.” Leans in closer, his voice just enough to reach you. “You read minds, mister?”

You exhale a tight breath, your leg trembling. “No sir, I do not. Merely…confirming something.”

The conductor hangs for a bit before standing straight, adjusting his hat. “Well, I sincerely hope you received your…confirmation, mister. Safe travels.” He turns away and walks a few paces before you once again interrupt him.

“Wait! Wait, I–I need to ask something else, sir.”

He sighs and turns around slowly, his lips stretched. “Another one of your confirmations, mister?”

“No. No, I truly must ask you something.”

He puts away his stamp. “What is it?”

You crane your head around him, getting a better view of the front. “Where did that lady in white board get on?”

The conductor looks behind him for several seconds, scanning it and glancing at you a few times. “What lady in white?”

You click your tongue and point at her seat. “That lady in white. Whiter than the northern snow. Right upfront, sat next to the gangway.”

“Mister…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “As much as I try to be of service, entertaining your pranks falls beyond my responsibilities.”

“No! This is no prank, I swear! Is there not a lady in white sitting there?”

“No, sir. There is none. Or anybody, for that matter. Seat’s been empty since we set off all the way back in Port Carrilho.”

A quivering breath escapes you, your legs bouncing harder. “Th–thank you, conductor. Good day.” He continues his walk, pauses near the seat to look it over. Not five seconds pass before he shrugs it off, truly seeming to not see anybody in that seat. Even when you see her clear as day.

You keep your eyes on her. She turns her head, first partly, then faces you squarely. It sends the same shiver down your spine, but this time you’re transfixed. Her lips curve up into a full smile, though not reaching her eyes. You remain like that for the subsequent minutes. Frozen, staring, mind galloping in so many different directions it comes up blank. The tunnel comes and the candles are blown out. The cycle restarts.

Same line, same wake up. You gently bar off any and all curious inquiry from the conductor, sticking to the bare necessities of exchanges. Sure enough, there she is again. You realize this will keep happening. Again and again and again, until you do something about it. Only one direction to go.

You know. You tell yourself that. But you don’t move. Shift in your seat, sliding all over the place. Arms and legs tremble now, briefly inviting the curiosity of the passenger right in front of you. Takes so long for you to finally progress that the tunnel’s fast approaching by the time you’re on your feet. Two long, tense steps in and it’s over. Candles out, start again.

This rinse and repeat continues, each time you cover more distance. They’re small increments, the carriage’s shaking of no help. The last four meters though, you’re way too frustrated to hesitate. Make a mad dash, stopping just in front of the gangway. Clench your fists hard and turn around slowly, a miniscule sliver of hope hanging by a thread. Hope that she’ll be gone and this was all an agonizingly long and convoluted dream. 

“D–Doyeon?” Your voice comes out coarser than the railroad’s old ballasts.

She’s right there. Up close. Surreal. Her red lips curve up just a bit further. “Hello, darling.” That is indeed Doyeon’s voice. But there’s something off about it you can’t grasp. You can tell, even after over three years of not hearing it.

Now you look her down, something in general isn’t quite right. Slick, voluminous black hair frames her sharp features. Makeup that enhances them further, she looks like a damn aristocrat. You’ve never seen Doyeon like this. Never had the money to. 

“Well? Are you going to…stand there for the entire journey?” She points with her chin and pats the spot next to her. “Come, sit.” 

You keep your eyes on Doyeon as you sheepishly approach the seat. Her attire is practically the exact opposite of her luxurious getup above the shoulder. A simple corset covers her chemise. Below it a pair of drawers, not covered by a petticoat. All very basic, very clean. 

“How do you do?” she says casually. 

Your mouth’s gone dry, lubricate it first. “Wh…did—how are you here, Doyeon? And…why are you in these?” Your arms reach out by instinct, trying to cover her. She crosses her legs, cancelling that reaction. “What do you mean why?”

“Look how thin these are! You get cold easily, and these are utterly inappropriate for travel! Nowhere beyond the bed is this…appropriate.” Your heart drops again. This attire is no mistake, it is the spitting image of what Doyeon wore that night. The night you left.

“You…you’re not Kim Doyeon, are you?” You slide away from her in your seat, back against the window. “Who are you? What are you? What have you done to me? To this train? Why do events keep repeating?”

Doyeon’s smile shrinks to a bare semblance of one as she looks forward, sighing. “You are asking the wrong questions, darling.” She turns to face you again. Despite her expression unchanging, the air it carries is different. “The only questions to be asked are for yourself. Regarding what happened between you and this woman.” You recoil as she shifts closer. “So ask away,” she whispers.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean by that.” 

Doyeon chuckles, stretching her arms and legs to occupy as much space as possible which makes you shrink. “Oh, you know. You know it very well, darling. You always have. And yet…” she trails off.

You’re further agitated. Insides feel like they go in two different directions. Conscious you wants to keep protesting. Subconscious you hears her, he does have an inkling as to what she’s referring to, but not quite courageous enough to communicate.

It ultimately results in nil, just squinting with your mouth hung open. Doyeon claps her hand and rolls her eyes, sitting up straight. “Very well. I’ll get us started. Gone through these cycles enough, haven’t you?” She licks her lip and begins, “Why did you leave?”

And we’re off. “I…it. It was…”

“Avoid any embellishments. Why did you leave this woman? At twilight, without a word?”

Deep breaths. Annoyance rises within you, even as its presence is well understood. “It wasn’t—I left a letter.”

“You left a letter,” she mocks. “Any literate fellow might as well have written her that letter.”

“Are you—” Heat rises in your chest. “Is that what all this is about? Punishment for my ignorance that evening? Curse me to be confined to this train, never to see another twilight?”

“Ugh, you keep doing that,” she growls. “You asked for this, you know.”

“What?!” You’re properly angry now. “Asked for this, how? What do I keep doing? You are not providing any clarity to all this!”

“Don’t deny it.” Her voice is much calmer than yours yet carries more authority. “You’ve thought about it often. So much that your way of thinking has resorted to it.”

“Resorted to what? You’re not making any—”

“Resorted to groveling at your hardships, not making the adequate effort. Wishing that somehow, sometime, somewhere…” She takes a breath. “A sudden savior will appear. With keys to all your exact problems.”

Doyeon’s right on the mark, your chest taking a jab. “It’s…” You sigh. “You’re right.”

“And now you have that divine intervention you’ve so begged for. Whoever sent me is either immensely beneficent…or fed up.”

You scoff. “Perhaps both.”

“Perhaps.” Her expression softens. “So think, Artur Noronha. Is this truly a curse for you?”

You exchange only looks before she resumes, “Don’t answer that. Answer the first question instead. Why did you leave her?”

“I was…anxious. Afraid,” you answer in the next cycle as the previous ended with a long silence after her question. 

“Afraid of what?”

“Of not being able to provide for her.” Your hands quiver hard. “The war was looming over our heads, and…I’d already made multiple unwise decisions by that point.”

Doyeon nods slowly. “What sort of ‘unwise decisions’?”

“The sort that would debilitate us if they kept occurring. So I…took initiative.” She visibly recoils, her face crunching. “Initiative?”

“Yes. There was this…wealthy family near our home. They had been coveting Doyeon for their son for…well, about as long as we’d settled there.”

She gasps. “So what, you sold her to them?” 

“Wandering willows, no! She was not a slave!” you retort. “I merely…suggested it to her. Or pushed for it, rather.”

“Wait, just—” Doyeon holds up her hand. “You told your lover, to her face, that you would prefer she be with another man? Because of his wealth?”

“No—well, I didn’t utter it directly.”

“Oh dear.”

“I…alluded to it in conversation. And wrote it in the letter.” Your voice shrinks with every word.

“Gods above,” Doyeon murmurs in apparent horror. 

“I know! I am a fool, a coward!” You grab your hair with both hands. “It has haunted me ever since. No need to parrot it for me.”

Doyeon sighs, hands running through her hair. “There lies your problem.”

You scoff, looking out the window. “Tell me something I didn’t know.”

“You are no fool nor coward, Noronha,” she states firmly. It catches you off-guard, head snapping to face her. “I beg your pardon?”

You hear wheels squealing a moment later, accompanied by a loud hiss as the train grounds to a rapid halt. You look around in confusion, but not as long as the other passengers. “Did you cause this?”

“Not myself, no.” Doyeon brushes her chest. The conductor appears and is immediately bombarded with questions.

“Please calm down, ladies and gentlemen. We have a technical issue with the brakes. Our engineer is working to resolve it as we speak. Please, sit down.” That was enough to assure most passengers, a few still moaning but not towards the conductor. “These damn new pneumatics. Whatever happened to brakemen?” you hear him grumble as he walks past.

Doyeon paid no attention to any of this discourse, staying on you. “Anyhow, you heard me right. You are no fool nor coward.”

“But…you said my problem lies therein!”

“Not that you are either of those things.”

You stammer and sigh, rubbing your face with both hands. “I do not follow.”

“Look at me.” You do, shoulders slumped. Doyeon shifts closer still. You don’t move away. “No coward is able to fend for himself as well as you did for the past three years. No fool is able to avoid the draft by expertly making himself an indispensable worker, like you did.”

You shake your head, not replying. She continues. “Do you understand? Those actions were courageous, ingenious. Yet do you consider yourself to be a genius? A warrior?”

“No.” Your lips twitch. 

“Exactly. You committed acts of great persistence and intelligence, but do not define yourself as either. So why…” She reaches for your hand, the latter flinching before settling under her cold palm. “ …do you define yourself by the foolish, cowardly acts you had committed?”

You look at her hands, they feel the exact same as your Doyeon’s did. “I think…I understand what you mean.”

Doyeon grins, smile reaching her eyes now. “We will trust you on that. ”

You chuckle, heart feeling warm for the first time in this journey. “So…what—oh!” The train jolts as it starts moving again, its whistle soaring through the landscape. “Marvelous. So what…what’s next for me?”

Doyeon stretches her free arm, yawning. “That’s on you to decide. What is next for Artur Noronha?” She tilts her head side-to-side, clicking her tongue. “Alright, fine. Do you still love this woman?”

Your eyes feel warm as well, tears welling. Take a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Enough to resist resorting to labels, to make the effort towards bringing her back into your life?”

“Yes. Yes, and yes.” Another deep breath. “It will be difficult though, won't it? Haven’t the foggiest where she is, or what she is doing today. Wandering willows.”

“It will. Because it matters.”

“Hm?” You raise a brow.

“It will be difficult because it matters.”

“Interesting.” You groan and bury your face in your palms, anxiety rising from the challenges ahead. “Ugh, will she welcome me again after I left her like that? What if she’s been harboring vengeance? Or worse, will she even acknowledge me? These—”

“Hey.” Doyeon snaps her fingers. “Do you read minds or something?”

You lower your hands and scoff. “That’s the second time someone’s asked me today. No, no I don’t.”

“Perhaps you are familiar with the concept of ‘telepathy’?”

“Telepathy? No, never heard of such a thing. Why are you asking all this?”

“So you do understand there are no means to know what Kim Doyeon thinks of you presently, let alone have reign over it?”

“I—” Something inside clicks. “No, there are none.”

“Then there we are.” She claps her hands. “You restrain, resign, undermine your own abilities over the possibility that she holds animosity. Disregarding the possibility that things will go well.”

“But…I have wronged her badly in the past—”

“Is that the present? The future? Is it?!” she snarls.

“The—” You sigh and whine. “No.”

“Then stop fussing about it!” She taps your shoulder. “This vengeful imagery you conjure of hers is nothing more than a projection of your own insecurities!”

“Huh.” You were about to say something, but started giggling instead, becoming more tickled by the second. 

“What’s so funny?” she asks, eyes wide.

“You sounded—” Burst out laughing now. “You speak more eloquently than she did, but when you said stop fussing you sounded exactly like her!”

Doyeon smirks and scoffs, punching your arm lightly. “Look at you. All smitten when she enters your mind, even now. Still not worth embarking on the challenging journey?”

“Oh, she absolutely is.” You hum, arm raised to brush aside a tuft of hair on this Doyeon’s face. It does nothing to her, expression unchanging. On your end, welled up tears begin to fall. 

“Now I remember, we were amorous far more than we were hostile. Conflicts were resolved amicably.” You shake your head, half-sobbing half-laughing. “Conjuring these awful ideas truly was…foolish.”

Doyeon caresses your cheek with her hand, the only thing different from your Doyeon being the lack of warmth on her palm. “I am satisfied you understand. My task here is done.”

You sniffle and nod, letting her go. She lets you go also. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Please deliver my gratitude to…whoever sent you here.”

“Show us with your actions,” she giggles, sitting more relaxed. “Many men don’t receive such…otherwordly opportunities. Use it well.”

Exhale and wipe your tears, nodding firmly. “I will. For me, and for her.”

Doyeon exhales as well, glancing at you with a small smile. “Farewell, Artur Noronha. Safe travels.”

“Farewell.”

The train reaches the Albrecht Tunnel. The wind isn’t as intense as it was all those cycles ago, its strength more inline with what you’ve experienced with tunnels. Some particles get caught in your eye, shut them and rub it away. When they’re open, she’s gone, vanished with no traces whatsoever.

Emerging out the other side, you leap to your feet, searching for the conductor. Find him one two cars ahead, observing the coupler to the locomotive. “Conductor?”

“Ah, what brings you out here, mister? Anything I can help you with?” he asks, surprised but warm.

“Am I allowed to disembark before the station on my ticket?”

He furrows his brows and hums. “Well, there is nothing prohibiting it, to my knowledge. But why would you do such a thing, mister? It’s a loss to you and your coin. A particularly great loss with how far your station is.”

You smile and nod, perusing the rolling landscape. “I have a different train to catch, as it turns out.”

“Is that so? Where to? I could be of assistance in that regard.”

You laugh freely. “No idea.”

Steam hisses from the pistons, whistle blares as the train pulls out of Darmstadt am Gelbbach. “I wish you an expedient journey, mister! Godspeed!” the conductor yells over the noise, waving his hat. 

Fuck you’re so tight. You whisper to your monthly budget after spending three thousand dollars. You then realize it is in your best financial interest if you just died yesterday.

That’s what the plate costs. You’d balked at the number when you researched it, but then you’d calculated the potential return on investment and transferred the money anyway (you’re starting to feel like you don’t have a choice in Tsuki’s games). 

It’s just a month of eating nothing but instant ramen, all good.

Now you’re standing in the Park Hyatt ballroom, nursing champagne you’re forced to carry around, scanning the crowd for a woman you’ve never actually seen.

Kwon Eunbi. Runs the family’s venture fund. Daughter of Kwon Minjun, the shipping magnate who built an empire from a single cargo container and what your research politely categorized  “aggressive business practices.”

You’ve perused her resume. You know her role in this game of thrones. Her mask is still on and you’ve yet to see her true face.

She keeps a low profile which means no socials—no press conferences; a ghost to people who are not in the same tax bracket. The only photo you found was from a Harvard alumni newsletter, grainy and five years old, mostly obscured by a podium. Smart, probably. When your family’s net worth has eleven digits, anonymity is a luxury worth protecting.

Your phone buzzes. You’re not surprised anymore.

But this time it isn’t Tsuki.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review · Voicemail (3)

Three voicemails. Three. From a journalist whose byline alone makes lawyers nervous. This is fine. You silence the phone in your pocket and pull it out again, this time braced for what comes next.

般若: stop looking so constipated

般若: show them that you belong here

般若: act like it Akihiro-kun~

You glance around the room. She’s nowhere to be found. Of course, she’s never anywhere until she wants to be. You give up trying to figure it out.

You slide your phone in your pocket and try to actually look like you belong.

Nope. It doesn’t work. Who am I kidding?

Three people you recognize from past industry events have already done the classic Tokyo Sidestep: That maneuver when someone spots you; calculates the reputational cost of association; and then suddenly discovers the most fascinating painting on the opposite wall.

The gratitude of the finance world. So fickle. Truly heartwarming.

You’re contemplating whether the open bar is worth the walk across the room when someone appears at your elbow.

“You look like a man who’s doing math he doesn’t want to do.”

The words hit you like a slap. You turn, half-expecting dark eyes and that dangerous smile.

But the woman standing there is nothing like Tsuki.

“Sorry”, you manage. “What?”

She’s short. Barely reaches your shoulder, even in heels. But she carries herself like she’s six feet tall, shoulders back, chin lifted, taking up space in a way that makes you notice her despite her size. Her face is open and expressive, eyes bright with amusement, mouth curved into a smile that’s warm instead of cunning.

“You’re doing calculations.” She points and gestures at your face with her champagne glass. “I can see the spreadsheets running behind your eyes. Let me guess. Cost-benefit analysis of whether the networking potential justifies the plate price?”

“More or less.”

“The answer is no, by the way. The people worth talking to at these things don’t care about the gala. They come for the after-parties.” She extends her hand. Her grip is firm, warm, no hesitation. “Kwon Eunbi.”

Kwon…

Kwon!

Your brain, still hungover from a week of Tsuki’s games, takes a full three seconds to catch up. This is her. The daughter. The one Tsuki pointed you toward.

“You’re…”

“The chairman’s daughter. Yes.” She’s still smiling, and finally lets go of your hand. “And you’re Hinode Akihiro. The Ishikawa refugee father won’t stop talking about.”

“Your father…”

“Mentioned you, raved about you even. Multiple times over dinner, actually. Something about discretion, and restructuring and a man who actually reads the fine print.” She tilts her head, studying you so openly that it’s almost unsettling after Tsuki’s constant obscurity. “He said you seemed like someone who could be trusted. And hmm. I wanted to see that for myself.”

“And? What do you think so far?”

“Hmmm. I’m not sold yet.” She’s still smiling; the corner of lips reaches her eyes. “Buy me a drink or two and improve your odds.”

You’re already walking toward the bar before you realize you’re doing it. I hope she likes water because that’s all you can afford right now.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

She’s an animated yapper; talks with her whole face and her hands. 

That’s the first thing you notice. Everything she says comes with gestures: pointing, waving, occasionally touching your arm with her soft, warm hands when she’s making a point. 

Normally, it would be annoying. It isn’t; far from it.

“Harvard was a blast but academically, it was fine,” she’s saying, swirling her wine. “The MBA was useful. But true education was watching my father breeze through a hostile takeover when I was just fifteen: Boardroom politics, shareholder manipulation, the art of knowing which knife goes in which back—and when to twist it.” She grins. “You don’t learn that in business school.”

“Uh… Your father seems…”

“Ruthless? Yeah, of course he is. But, he is also fair, which I understand might be hard to believe.” She sets her glass down. “He’s a man who respects competence. Maybe that’s why he’s drawn towards you.”

“He doesn’t know me that well yet.”

“He knows your work. The Taniguchi restructuring, that was all you, wasn’t it? Everyone assumed it was Matsuda leading, but the footnotes told a different story.”

You blink. Closed your mouth you didn’t know opened. The Taniguchi deal was four years ago. Buried in the middle of your tenure, overshadowed by bigger clients, and flashier wins. You’d honestly forgotten anyone outside the firm even knew about it.

“Wait, how did you…”

“My father taught me that truth lives in what people don’t say out loud.” She leans in, conspiratorial, and you notice the curve of her neckline, the fullness suggested beneath her understated black dress. You look away before she catches you. “Font-size twelve is for show. It’s theatre. The real story is buried in font-size eight, where details are synonymous to the truth.”

“And what did you find buried about me?”

“That you’re thorough… you’re careful. That you caught three errors in the Taniguchi financials that could have tanked the whole deal, and you fixed them behind the scenes without stealing the show.” She sits back. “It’s a rare quality you showed there. Most people would have made a scene. You just.. Played your part. And you played your part well.”

Your shoulders drop. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding them so tight. 

“It wasn’t my intention to look noble,” you say. “I just wanted to get the job done, move on, and close the deal.”

“No need to minimize your accomplishments Hinode-san.” She flags down a waiter, orders something in rapid Korean that you don’t catch. “To pose as a noble man is easy. Literally anyone can look noble with an audience. Continuing to do so when no one’s watching? That’s the quality of a man I look for.”

The waiter returns with two small plates. Some kind of appetizer. Looks expensive, it has caviar on it so it must be. She pushes one towards you.

“Eat. You look like you’ve been running on coffee, instant ramen, and spite for a week.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly lying.” She picks up her fork, takes a bite, side-eyes you until you do the same. “There. Was that so hard Hinode-san?”

It wasn’t. The food is good—sooo fucking good. You’re famished, actually. It’s been the most normal food you’ve eaten in days. You’d skipped multiple meals just to save up for the plate fee.

“My father wants to meet you properly,” she says. “Not in this gala. Somewhere we can actually talk. I’m flying to Seoul on Wednesday. You should come with.”

“I… what?”

“You sound like I’m taking you hostage.” She laughs, nothing like Tsuki’s. Bright and loud and unbothered by who might hear. “It’s a business opportunity, Hinode-san. The family has some restructuring needs. Complicated, sensitive, the kind of thing that requires someone who reads between the lines and doesn’t make scenes.”

“You don’t know me all that well yet.”

“I know enough.” She meets your eyes; holds them. “The question is whether you’re willing to go tit-for-tat. Full disclosure, Hinode-san: I don’t do slow. So… are you in or should we go back to pretending we’re enjoying our time in this gala as just acquaintances.”

What is this? You’re taken aback by the directness. It’s the opposite of Tsuki: She’s not an abyss with the sole intention of manipulating you. Just a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it wholeheartedly.

“Why me?” you ask. “Your father could hire anyone, firms or people without scandals attached to their names.”

“Because the firms are slow and people who play safe are boring.” She leans forward, and you catch a hint of her perfume. Airy floral with a hint of citrus and musky notes; subtle, and expensive. Not loud, nothing you can name, like the whisper she imparts: “And I’ve talked with your old firm and one thing is consistent when they mention you: he’s good, but he’ll never make partner because he refuses to play the game.”

“That’s not a compliment at all.”

“Of course it is.” Her hand finds your arm again. “The game is rigged anyways. I don’t need someone who plays it. I need someone who wins despite it.” 

The words land somewhere deep and you just had to take a mental note on it.

“Before I give my answer. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“You can ask me anything. Whether I answer is a different question.”

“Why venture capital? With your family’s resources, you could easily do anything. Run a division. Start your own company. Why spend your time evaluating other people’s dreams when you can just build on the foundations you already own?”

Her eyebrows lift. 

“Because building something from scratch is terrifying,” she says. “And I like being terrified.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does. My father built his empire from nothing: Started with one shipping container, made a lot of friends and enemies, and faced it all head on. By the time I was born, we had everything. Money, power, the whole package. I’ve never had to struggle for anything in my life.”

“Most people would call that lucky, privileged, and being blessed.”

“Most people get it wrong.” She sets her wine down, her expressions stiffen. “I refuse to be a nepo baby coasting life carefree on comfortable ground. That’s how people get soft, weak, and they start believing they deserve things they never earned.” She picks up her glass, takes a sip, and leans back; watching you. “I’ve seen my cousins live like that. Drowning in money, no clue how to survive without it. I’d rather burn than end up like those pathetic losers.”

“So instead you chose the hardest path to get there?”

“I chose a path that scares me. Venture capital isn’t hard, it’s just math and trusting your gut instinct. But every investment is a bet. Every bet can fail. And every failure is mine. Not my father’s. Not my family’s. Mine.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I needed something that was mine.”

“Ishikawa wasn’t mine,” you say. “It only felt like it was. I gave it twelve years. I worked my ass off, but when everything fell apart… they cut me out like I was nothing. Like I’d never been there at all. Like everything I’ve done isn’t the reason why we’re up there in the first place.”

“That’s what happens when you build someone else’s house.” Her eyes lock in on yours. “You’re never going to do that again, are you?”

“No.”

“Good boy.” She finishes her wine. Sets down the glass with a decisive click. “Then we’re quite the compatible pair, aren’t we?”

Your heart did a thing. Your body who you’ve trusted all these years betrays you as well. Those combinations of words are not what you’d expect in this setting. 

You should really be saying no; ask for time to think. You should do the careful, logical thing that twelve years of professional discipline has trained you to do.

“Wednesday,” you say. “What time?”

Her smile could power a small nation.

“I’ll text you the details.” She stands, and when she stretches slightly you finally see her full figure. Compact but curved. Full bust straining subtly against understated fabric. Hips that move with confident purpose. She’s been hiding it well, but now that you’ve noticed, you can’t unnotice. “And Hinode-san? Wear something that fits. You’ve got the shoulders for a good suit. Stop hiding them in whatever that is.”

“This suit is fine.”

“That suit makes you look like a grandpa.” She’s already walking away. “I’ll send you the name of our tailor. Consider it a business expense.”

Why does everyone always have something to say about your suits?

She’s gone before you can respond.

You stand there, holding an empty champagne glass, trying to understand what just happened. A woman you’ve never met just offered you a lifeline, insulted your wardrobe, and walked away like she owned the room. (She probably does own this room—or her family does at least; you figured it’s the same thing.)

Your phone buzzes.

般若: good boy~

般若: she’s exactly what you need

般若: stable, normal, everything I’m not, am I right?

般若: she’ll take good care of you

般若: in ways I won’t~

般若: oh and are you not curious about me yet, Akihiro-kun?

You stare at the screen. Then at the bustling crowd, where Eunbi has disappeared. Then back at the screen.

In ways I won’t.

What the fuck does that mean?

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Tsuki is waiting when you get home.

She’s sitting on your couch like she belongs there, legs crossed, one of your books open in her lap. The lamp casts warm light across her face, and for a moment you just stand in the doorway, keys in hand, too tired to even be surprised.

“The key under the fire escape,” you say. “Really?”

“You should find a better hiding spot.” She doesn’t look up from the book. “That’s the first place anyone checks.”

“Anyone who’s breaking in, maybe.”

“Anyone who’s paying attention.” Now she looks up. Those eyes. You notice it now in a way you didn’t before. At the bar, in the hotel, in the corridor, and here in your apartment. The same flat darkness, catching light wrong. Human eyes dilate with arousal, fear, interest. Hers don’t. “I pay attention.”

You close the door behind you. Drop your keys on the counter.

“That Kwon daughter,” you say. “That was all you, huh? You set that up.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t.” You cross the room, stop in front of her. “Don’t play games. Not tonight. I’m tired.”

She sets the book aside. Uncrosses her legs. Stands in one fluid motion, close enough that you can smell her. That dark sweet scent that’s haunted you for a week.

“You’re tense, Aki-kun” she says. Her hands find your chest. Presses flat over your heart. “I can feel it. All that anxiety, all that fear about what comes next, about Seoul, about whether you’re good enough.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.” She steps closer. Her body presses against yours. “But I can help with that.”

“How?”

“How about I take care of you tonight.” Her fingers work at your tie, loosening it. “Let me remind you what you’re capable of.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well. It’s the only answer I’m giving.” She pulls the tie free. Drops it on the floor. “Do you want me to stop?”

You should say yes. You should demand explanations, answers, something that makes sense. You should—”

“No.”

“Good boy.”

She kisses you. Hard. Hungry. Her tongue slides against yours and her hands are everywhere, pulling at your shirt, your belt, anything between her skin and yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” she breathes against your mouth. “Thinking about how you tasted. How you sounded when I had you in my mouth.”

“Tsuki—”

“Shhh.” She pushes your shirt off your shoulders. Her nails rake down your chest, just hard enough to sting. “Stop talking and just…” She drops to her knees. Your belt is already undone. She pulls down your zipper, frees your already throbbing cock from your boxers, and looks up at you with those flat dark eyes.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “Already aching hard for me. Already. This. Desperate.” She wraps her hand around your base, strokes slowly. “Did you touch yourself this week thinking about me Aki-kun?”

“Yes.” The words come out strangled.

“How many times?”

“I don’t—”

“How many times, Akihiro?” She squeezes. Just enough pressure to make you gasp. “Three. Maybe four.”

“Did you come?”

“No.” You hadn’t let yourself. It felt wrong. It felt like cheating. “I couldn’t.”

“Because you knew, all this belonged to me.” She strokes again. Twists her wrist at the top.

“Your cock. Your cum. Your pleasure. All. Of. It. Mine.”

She leans forward and licks a stripe from base to tip. Slow. Savoring. You shudder.

“Tsuki—”

“I love the way you say my name.” She swirls her tongue around your cockhead. You start almost chanting her name like a prayer—barely coherent; like you’re begging but words won’t form.

She takes you in.

Hot. Wet. Her mouth is impossibly soft, you swear it’s borderline illegal how her tongue moves, and she takes you deep, deeper than should be comfortable, until you feel the back of her throat and she swallows around you.

“Fuck—” Your hands find her hair. Grip without meaning to. She moans around your cock. The vibration makes your knees buckle.

She pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing your top. “That’s it. Feel free to fuck my mouth. Take what you need.”

“I don’t want to hurt—”

“Don’t worry, you won’t.” She looks up at you through dark lashes. “I can take it. I can take anything you give me.” She opens her mouth. Sticks out her tongue. Looks at you directly with her dark eyes. Waits.

You thrust.

Shallow at first. Testing. But she moans encouragingly, her hands gripping your hips, pulling you deeper. So you thrust again. Harder. And again. Until you’re fucking her face with a rhythm that’s animal and desperate and nothing like the man you thought you were.

Spit starts to drop down her chin. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. And still she takes it, takes all of it, making sounds that are wet and obscene and somehow grateful.

“God, you’re—” You can’t finish the sentence. Can barely form coherent thoughts. If this is how you die, then so be it. You’re nearing nirvana. “I’m going to—”

She pulls off.

Fucking hell.

“No.” She wipes her chin with the back of her hand. Stands. “Not yet Aki-kun.”

“Please, Tsuki.” The words come out broken. You’re so hard it hurts, cock slick with her spit, throbbing. “Tsuki, please, let me—”

“I know what you need.” She turns. Walks towards your bedroom. Looks back over her shoulder. “Come with me Akihiro.” You follow her with no hesitation.

She’s already undressing when you reach the doorway. Her dress pools at her feet. No bra. Just black lace panties that barely cover anything. Her breasts are full and perfect, nipples already hard, and she watches your face as you take her in.

“See something you like?”

“Everything.”

“Good answer.” She lies back on your bed. Spreads her legs. Hooks her thumb into her panties and slowly, torturously, slides them down her milky thighs. “Your turn.”

You strip. Practically tear off your remaining clothes. Stand at the edge of the bed, naked and aching, and she looks at you like you’re exactly where she wants you. “On your knees boy,” she says. “I want that mouth of yours on me.”

You kneel. She’s already wet, glistening in the low light, and when you lean in and breathe against her, she shivers. 

“Stop teasing Aki-kun,” she warns.

Your tongue navigates through her already soaked folds and when it finds her clit she gasps, her hips jerking up off the mattress.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Right there. Just like that.”

You eat her like you’re starving; like she’s the first meal you’ve had in weeks. You learn the rhythm she responds to, the pressure, the way she cries out when you suck her clit and push two fingers inside her.

“Fuck. Aki-kun~” Her hands find your hair. Pull hard enough to hurt. “That mouth of yours is so good, so fucking good, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop—” You don’t plan on stopping any time soon. You work her with your tongue and your fingers until she’s shaking, until her thighs are clamped around your head and her moans have become one long continuous sound.

“I’m going to come,” she gasps. “I’m going to—oh god—”

She breaks.

Her whole body seizes, cunt clenching around your fingers, her cry sharp enough to echo off the walls. You work her through it, gentler now, drawing out every aftershock until she’s pushing you at your shoulders.

“Enough.” She’s panting. Flushed. “Enough. Come here.”

You crawl up her body. She kisses you, tasting herself on your lips, and wraps her legs around your waist.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “I’ve wanted it since that first night. Wanted to feel you stretch me, fill me to the brim, fuck me until I can’t think.”

“Then let me—”

“Just. Kidding~”

She pushes you off. Rolls you onto your back. Straddles you, her wet heat hovering just above your cock, so close you can feel her.

“Not tonight Aki-kun.” She rocks her hips. Your cock slides through her folds, slick and hot, the head catching against her entrance on every pass. “Tonight you learn.”

“Learn what?” 

“That I decide when you get to come.” She reaches down. Takes your cock in her hand. Positions you right at her entrance, just barely pressing in. “That I decide how much you get. That every time you close your eyes in Seoul and think about what you want, you’ll think about this—” She presses down. Just the tip slides in. You nearly black out. “—about how close you were. About how good it would have felt.”

She lifts off. Completely. Your cock slaps against your stomach, wet, and desperate, and denied.

“No.” She’s already climbing off the bed. “That’s enough for tonight.”

“Tsuki—”

“Hush.” She picks up her dress. Pulls it on like nothing happened. Like you’re not lying there ruined. “Go to Seoul. Meet her father. Let her take care of you.”

“And then?”

“Then come back to me~” She pauses at the doorway. Looks back over her shoulder with those flat, dark eyes. “I’ll be here.”

“What are you?”

She smiles. Lips closed. Her face is unreadable.

“I’m what you can’t stop wanting. No matter what happens, some part of you will wish it was me.”

Then she’s gone.

You lie there on your bed, cock aching, body thrumming with denied release, more confused than you’ve ever been in your life. Her underwear from the networking event is still in your dresser drawer. You never threw it away.

You don’t touch yourself tonight either.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

般若: looks like your flight is at noon

般若: nice suit, her tailor?

般若: oooh, that’s expensive~

般若: did you get a sugar mommy now?

般若: oh, and Aki-kun…

般若: try not to fall too hard, ok? (wink tongue emoji)

You stare at her texts until your screen goes dark. Then you close your eyes and try to sleep. You dream of nothing.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Wednesday, 6:03 AM

Kwon Eunbi: Good morning! Here’s the flight details: KE706, Narita to Incheon, 12:15 PM

Kwon Eunbi: First class. My treat. Don’t argue.

Kwon Eunbi: 6:04 AM

You: That’s too generous. I can pay for my own ticket.

Kwon Eunbi: 🙄

Kwon Eunbi: No! I’m gonna reimburse this when we get there. Business expense!

You: What happened to refusing the life of a nepo baby?

Kwon Eunbi: 🙄🙄🙄

Kwon Eunbi: Consider it hazard pay then. You’ll be sitting next to me for a few hours. 

You: Hazard pay?

Kwon Eunbi: I’m a terrible plane companion. I don’t stop yapping 😜

Kwon Eunbi: Also I’ve been known to aggressively critique strangers’ work over their shoulders

You: I don’t think I’ll be able to do any work in the air anyways with you yapping beside me

Kwon Eunbi: Then you’re safe

Kwon Eunbi: Text me your address. Car will pick you up at 10.

Kwon Eunbi: See you soon, Hinode-san

You set your phone down. Stare at the ceiling.

Try not to fall too hard.

Too late for that.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

By noon, you’re in a window seat watching Tokyo shrink beneath the clouds, and Eunbi beside you with a laptop open, running numbers that would make most CFOs weep.

“Stop watching me work,” she says without looking up. “It’s creepy.”

“I’m not watching you work.”

“Well if you’re not watching me work, then you’re watching something.” She glances over; catches you staring at her hands. You can’t help but do so: the way her fingers almost glide across the keyboard, quick and certain; like each character she inputs has already been considered. “Ah. The hands thing. My ex used to do that too.”

“The hands thing?”

“Apparently I have ‘pianist hands.’” She wiggles her fingers. “I can’t play piano, for the record. Complete waste of good genetics. I wonder what it’s good for though.”

“I wasn’t…”

“You were. It’s fine. I get that a lot.” She closes the laptop. Gives you her full attention. “Talk to me. You’re nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous. I’m meeting your father. This will be my first job ever since leaving Ishikawa.”

“You’re meeting my dad. A potential client that already thinks of you highly.” She shifts in her seat, angling toward you. “You’re going to be fine. You’ve already passed the first test. Stop catastrophizing.”

“I’m not catastrophizing.”

“Your legs say otherwise.”

You look down. It has. Goddamnit.

“I don’t do well with… uncertainty.”

“Then you’re going to hate this, because nothing about working with my family is certain, like at all.” She says it matter-of-factly; no apology. “We’re extremely complicated. We fight. We scheme. Oh, we scheme a lot, you’re not gonna hear the end of it. Half of my cousins want my father’s job and the other half want him dead. It’s like Game of Thrones but with better skincare.”

“Yeah, that’s totally reassuring.”

“It should be. If I wanted safe, I would have hired literally anyone else, you know.” She reaches over; squeezes your hand once, then lets go. “I want someone who can handle messy. Who doesn’t flinch when things get ugly.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“I think you survived Ishikawa and you walked out of that building with your integrity intact, which is more than most people manage. And I think…” She pauses; studies your face with an intensity that makes you want to look away. “You look like someone who’s tired of playing defense. You’re ready to fight again. You just need someone to point you at the right enemy.”

Fight.

That word again. Tsuki said the same thing. That first night. After she left you aching in the hotel room.

“Is there anything wrong? You’re making a weird face,” Eunbi says.

“What face?”

“It looked like you zoned out there, like you’re somewhere else.” She doesn’t seem offended, just curious. “Where do you go? When you check out like that?”

“Nowhere important.”

“Liar.” But she doesn’t push. Just flags down the flight attendant and orders two whiskeys. “Drink with me. It’ll make the rest of the flight less boring.”

The whiskey arrives. You both drink. The silence isn’t awkward exactly, but it’s become weighted. You’re both starting to feel a bit more loose too. The alcohol doing its job.

“Can I ask you something more personal?” you say.

“You can, but I reserve the right to deflect with humor.”

“What do you do for fun?” Her face changes; like she’s expecting a punchline from you. “When you’re not reading financial records and terrorizing your cousins.”

She laughs without restraint. Surprised, maybe, that you’d ask.

“I watch the worst reality TV shows imaginable,” she admits. “The trashier the better. Singles Inferno, The Bachelor, dating shows, anything where people make increasingly dramatic poor life choices.”

“Really? But why reality tv, specifically?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I spend all day making rational decisions. Sometimes you need to watch someone throw wine at another person because they’re being a bitch.” She takes a sip of her whiskey. “What about you? What does the Hinode Akihiro do when he’s not staring at spreadsheets?”

“I used to rock climb before everything fell apart.”

“Used to?”

“Hard to motivate yourself when you’re not sure what you’re climbing toward.” You swirl your drink. “Now I mostly drink and read. I must sound so fucking miserable, huh?”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you. I’m cultivating a specific aesthetic.”

“Brooding middle-aged accountant?”

“Hey, I’m not that old.”

“Brooding almost-middle-aged accountant.” She grins. “It’s a good look. Very Mr. Darcy energy.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Oh, what the heck do you read? You are absolutely getting a reading list.” She pulls out her phone, starts typing. “Pride and Prejudice. Mandatory. No arguments.”

“I don’t… I mostly read self-help books.”

“Eew. Self-help books? No. You don’t need that at all. You’re changing that, now. No further arguments.” She looks up. Mock-stern. “This is happening, ok? Consider it part of your professional development.”

“How is reading a two-hundred-year-old romance novel professional development?”

“It’s about a smart woman falling for a man who’s terrible at expressing emotions but secretly has a good heart. Very applicable to our working relationship.”

“Which one am I in this scenario?”

“Not sure yet.” But she’s giving you the biggest smile. “Probably Darcy. You’ve got the brooding down.”

You laugh uncontrollably. You haven’t laughed like this in a while. It surprises both of you.

“Oh and by the way, my father will ask about your failures,” Eunbi says as the seatbelt sign dings on. “Not your successes—he already knows those. He wants to know how you handle losing.”

“What should I tell him?”

“The truth. He can smell bullshit from three prefectures away. So, don’t even try.”

“What if the truth makes me look bad?”

“Then at least he’ll know you’re honest.” She smiles and it’s so different; so warm and unguarded. “That’s infinitely worth more than looking good.”

You swear your heart skipped a beat, but it could as well be the whiskey playing tricks on you. It has enchanted you a couple of times, you might as well not know the difference between fantasy and reality with it in your system.

The plane touches down. And as you taxi toward the gate, watching Seoul sprawl beneath the overcast afternoon sky, you realize something.

You haven’t thought about Tsuki at all in almost three hours.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The meeting with Kwon Minjun goes surprisingly better than you deserve.

He’s smaller than you expected. You swear he was a titan back at the networking event; maybe clout in a public setting grows you a few inches.

His place reflects him very well. High ceiling, wood-paneled walls, dim warm lighting, and a single window with a serene view of the river. Modern interiors mixed with traditional accents. One wall has a glass case with three masks mounted. Two are masks you recognize from the textbooks. The third is a Hannya. Female’s face, twisted between rage and grief, small horns curving from the forehead. 

It’s an artform that eludes you but seeing it somehow evokes some kind of fight or flight. You’ve seen it before. The hotel hallway, the night Tsuki took you upstairs. You were not sure what it was called then.

Minjun catches you looking. “My wife’s. She was into traditional Japanese folklore.”

“Was?”

“She passed, twelve years ago.” A pause. “Some of her collection ended up in my office. I look at them more than I should.”

You’re not sure why but that information feels useful, you file it away for now.

He spends the first thirty minutes asking about everything except your business: Your family. Your education. The book you’re currently reading (you’re currently realizing how much of a bookworm this family is, not that it’s a bad thing but it’s making you rethink your current collection.)

Whether you prefer mountains or oceans:

“Mountains,” you answer. “The ocean is vast and deep, it reminds me of how small I am.”

“And mountains don’t?”

“They do but mountains at least make me feel like there’s something worth climbing.”

He laughs at that; a short, surprised sound. He looks at Eunbi, who’s been watching from the corner of the room with barely concealed amusement.

“Tell me about the day you decided to ‘leave.’ Ishikawa”

You set down your tea. “It wasn’t my decision, I was basically forced into it. I resigned because the alternative was being laid off.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His face switched into serious-mode; first time this happened throughout the conversation. “I asked when you decided. There’s a difference between resigning and choosing to resign. You made the call before HR did. I want to know when.”

You think. Honestly. “There was an incident two years ago… An arrangement I helped structure. I had questions but decided not to ask them. When I recalled that I knew I wasn’t fully innocent.”

A long pause. “Then we understand each other.” A pause. “You were right,” he tells Eunbi. “This man is interesting.”

“Father, I’m always right,” Eunbi says. “You should remember that.”

The business discussion happens over dinner: Three hours of restructuring proposals, tax implications, family trust complications that would make a lesser accountant wet their pants and cry themselves to sleep. You take notes on your phone. Ask questions that got Minjun to pause and reconsider. By the time the last course arrives, you’ve outlined a preliminary strategy that addresses concerns he hasn’t even voiced yet.

“Incredible! You’re really good at this, huh, young man?” he says.

“I try, sir.”

“Alright, we’re done for today.” He stands, signaling to everyone in the room that the meeting is over. “My daughter will handle the details. I look forward to working with you, Hinode-san.”

He leaves. And suddenly you’re alone with Eunbi in a private dining room that probably costs more per hour than your rent for the whole year.

“That was terrifying,” you say.

“That was him at his nicest.” She’s grinning. “He usually makes people feel dumb and have them cry by the second course. You made it to dessert with no speck in your eye. That’s impressive.”

“You really think so? I think I blacked out for a better part of it.”

“You didn’t. You were brilliant. Be proud of yourself, I am.” She stands, stretches. The movement pulls her dress tight, and you see her full figure now without obstruction. Compact but curved. The kind of body that expensive clothes are designed to downplay and now you’re suddenly very aware of. “Come on. I’m starving.” 

“Huh? We just ate dinner.”

“We ate business dinner. That doesn’t count. Pretty much empty calories. I know a place nearby that cooks real food.” She’s already heading for the door. “My treat. Don’t argue.”

“You’re going to bankrupt yourself treating me to things.”

“I’m worth eight hundred million dollars, Akihiro. I think I’ll survive buying you food.”

You follow her out into the Seoul night.

(Eight hundred million. You can’t even conceptualize that number.)

(Also: she called you Akihiro. Not Hinode-san. You noticed. Progress. You’re not sure why you’re tracking progress suddenly.)

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The “place nearby” turns out to be a pojangmacha. A street tent with plastic chairs and a woman who greets Eunbi by name.

“They know you. You come here often?”

“When I need to feel normal and when I want actually good food.” She orders for both of you in rapid Korean. “Tteokbokki. Kimbap. Soju. The essentials.”

“Eunbi-ah,” the woman says, swatting at her arm with a kitchen towel. “Where have you been? You don’t visit auntie anymore.”

“Auntie, I was here last Friday.”

“Aigoo~ You’re getting thin-ah! I’ll give you extra, eat more! Eat more!” She squints at you. “Mmm. He’s new.”

“He’s working.”

“Working at what?”

“Numbers.”

The woman makes a face like numbers personally offended her. “Sit! Get comfortable. I’ll bring you what you should eat. Not whatever you ordered.” She walks off.

Eunbi turns to you. “She’ll feed you something with intestines. Don’t react.”

“Noted.”

“Also, she might ask if we’re married. Just go along with it.”

You wait for the smile to break. It doesn’t. “Are you serious?”

“It speeds up the meal, and they give us more servings because of it.”

The food arrives fast. It’s spicy and cheap and perfect. Everything you’ve been missing this past few hours.

“So,” she says, pouring soju into tiny glasses. “You survived my father. You good? How are you feeling right now?”

“Like I just ran a marathon while someone asked me increasingly personal questions.”

“That’s accurate.” She hands you a glass. “To surviving.”

You drink. The soju burns.

“Can I ask you something?” you say.

“You’re asking that a lot today. But sure.”

“Why are you doing this? The dinner. The streetfood. The…” You gesture vaguely at everything. “You could be anywhere. With anyone. Why are you eating intestines with a disgraced accountant?”

“You’re not disgraced, don’t be dramatic. You’re just… undergoing a transition in your career. There is a clear difference.”

“Well, the world doesn’t see it that way.”

“The world is… well, frankly it’s stupid.” She takes another drink. “And I’m doing this because I like you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

“That’s the saddest thing you’ve said yet.” She pours more soju. “You know what I think? I think you’ve spent so long performing competence that you’ve forgotten people might actually just enjoy your company.”

You nod. “That’s a good theory.”

“It’s a fact you dum-dum. You’re funny. You’re smart. You ask good questions and you actually listen to the answers. Most men I meet spend the whole conversation calculating: my net worth, my cup size, or what I can do for their career. It’s exhausting.” She meets your eyes. “You’re also present; like, actually in the room with me instead of three moves ahead. Do you know how rare that is for a man nowadays?”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you drink instead and gulp the burning alcohol.

“I should show you the apartment,” she says eventually. “It’s getting late, and tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“What do you mean apartment, huh?”

“Where you’re staying. Family guest suite. It’s nicer than a hotel and the kitchen is stocked.” She’s already standing, leaving won on the table and waves farewell to the auntie with her signature big smile. “Plus it’s attached to my suite, so if you have any questions about tomorrow’s meetings, I’m right there.”

She’s… right… there…

You follow her into the Seoul night, feeling something you haven’t felt in weeks.

Hope, maybe. Or something that resembles it.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The Kwon family apartment is less an apartment and more a penthouse that happens to have multiple apartments inside it. Your ‘guest suite’ has two bedrooms, a full kitchen, and a view of the Han River that looks like a postcard. People would kill to get this vantage point.

“This is the small one,” Eunbi says, watching your face as you take it in. “My father’s is upstairs.”

“Seriously? The small one.”

“I know. It’s too much.” She doesn’t sound bothered. “Bathroom’s through there. Kitchen’s stocked, feel free to take anything. I’m through that door if you need me.”

She points to a connecting door between the suites.

“Get some rest,” she says. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Eunbi…”

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you. For today. For… all of it.”

She looks at you. The sharpness leaves her face for a moment. She looks warm.

“You don’t have to thank me. This is all just business.”

“Is it?”

The question hangs there. She doesn’t look away.

“Get some rest now Akihiro,” she says again. Way softer this time.

She disappears through the connecting door. You hear it click shut behind her.

You shower. Change into the one nice pair of pajamas you packed. Lie down in a bed that’s too comfortable, in a room that’s too big, in a life that suddenly makes no sense.

Your phone buzzes.

般若: sooo… how was daddy kwon?

般若: did he make you cry?

般若: mhmmph~! no response. it means you’re either sleeping or sulking

般若: either way~

般若: sweet dreams, aki-kun

般若: don’t think about me too much 💋

You turn off your phone. Press your face into the pillow, cool and soft to the touch.

You dream of dark eyes, dangerous smiles, and the sound of your own name; distorted and mocking.

Akihiro-kun.

Aki-kun.

Akihiro.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Day Two in Seoul

Another day. Another opportunity to kill it; or yourself. You haven’t decided yet but work today went well at least.

You spend the morning going through different files with Eunbi, untangling the Kwon family’s trust structures, finding the pressure points and leverage opportunities. She’s extremely sharp, sharper than you expected, catching details you miss and building on your insights.

By afternoon, you’ve developed a preliminary framework. By dinner, you’re finishing each other’s sentences.

“This cousin here, Wonbin, he’s the problem,” you say, pointing at a family tree scrawled on a hotel stationery.

“He’s always been the problem. But we can’t cut him out without destabilizing the whole eastern division.”

“What if we don’t cut him out? What if we give him something he wants more than a chairmanship?”

“Like what?”

“Autonomy. His own subsidiary. Let him feel like a king of a smaller kingdom instead of a prince in a larger one. Let him think he holds the cards.”

She stares at you. Dumbfounded. Proud. A mix of things. Then grins.

“You’re either brilliant or insane.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“No,” she says. “They’re not.”

She orders room service. You eat on the floor of her suite, papers spread around you like a nest.

“Can I ask you something?” she says.

“You’re asking that a lot this week.”

“Touché.” She sets down her chopsticks. “What happened at Ishikawa? What really happened? Not the PR bullshit that spread around.”

You’re quiet for a long moment. You’ve told this story before, to lawyers and HR and partly to her father. But you’ve never really laid it all out honestly.

“I didn’t know,” you say finally. “That’s the short version. The partners were running a scheme, using client accounts to funnel money into shell companies, and I didn’t know. I should have. The signs were all there, if you knew where to look. But I was so focused on my work, on making partner, that I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”

“That’s…That’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it? I prided myself on catching what others missed. I was that guy. The one that reads between the lines. But I missed the biggest thing that’s happening in my own firm.” You stare at the mess of papers on the floor. “I think that’s what bothers me the most. Not that I lost my job. That I was so blind.”

“You weren’t blind. You were trusting. There’s a difference.”

“The result is the same.”

“No, it’s not.” She moves closer. Sits beside you instead of across from you. “Blind people don’t learn. Trusting people who get burned learn to be more careful next time. You’re not going to make that mistake again.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re already looking to be redeemed. You’re already questioning everything. You double-check every assumption. That’s not blindness. That’s someone who got hurt and refuses to get hurt the same way twice.”

You really don’t know what to say after that. So you don’t say anything.

She reaches over. Squeezes your hand. Lets go before it becomes something else.

“Well, we should get some sleep,” she says. “Tomorrow’s going to be long.”

“You said the same thing yesterday.”

“Every day with my family is long.” She stands. Offers you a hand up. “Come on. Out of my suite. You’ve got your own perfectly nice apartment to brood in.”

You take her hand. She pulls you to your feet. And for a moment you’re standing very close, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes, close enough to feel her breath.

Neither of you moves.

“Goodnight, Akihiro,” she says. Softly.

“Goodnight, Eunbi.”

You walk to the connecting door. Open it. Look back.

She’s still standing where you left her. Watching you with an expression you can’t read.

You close the door behind you.

Your phone buzzes.

般若: still thinking about me Aki-kun?

般若: good boy~ ♡

You turn off your phone and try to sleep.

You don’t dream of Tsuki tonight.

You dream of Eunbi instead. (Great. This. Whatever this is. It’s going to be a problem.)

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Day Three

You’re in a meeting room with three Kwon cousins arguing about a holding entity. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t check.

Later, in the bathroom, you look.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review: “I know you’re in Seoul, Hinode-san. I’m based here. Coffee? Twenty minutes anywhere you pick. I just want to have a conversation.”

You close the message.

Walking back to the meeting room you wonder briefly how the fuck she knows you’re in Seoul.

The day goes by with more work. A lot more progress. Extremely more time spent in her orbit, gravity pulling you close but not quite touching.

She brushes against you when she reaches for the documents. Her hand finds your arm when she’s making a point. Once, leaning over your shoulder to look at something on your laptop, you feel her breath against your ear and have to excuse yourself to get water. (The skinship that’s happening is beyond what you imagine.)

“You okay?” she asks when you return.

“Fine. Just needed to stretch.”

“You’ve been stretching a lot today.”

“I’m a stretchy person.”

“Who are you? Monkey D. Luffy?”

“No. Sorry. I just panicked.”

You both burst of laughter and the tension ratchets up another notch.

By dinner, you’re both avoiding eye contact.

“This is ridiculous,” she says finally. “We’re adults. I like you and you clearly like me. We can both acknowledge attraction like grown adults without making it weird.”

“Can we?”

“Apparently not, based on the last three hours.” She sets down her chopsticks. “Cards on the table. I find you attractive. I’m pretty sure you also find me attractive. We’re both single, we’re both consenting adults, and we’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future. So we need to decide how to handle this.”

“How do you want to handle… this?”

“I asked you first.”

“That’s… That’s not fair.”

“I never said I was fair.” She leans back in her chair. “Tell me what you want, Akihiro. No wrong answers. Just honest ones.”

What do you want?

If you really are being honest then… You want to kiss her. You want to pull her into your lap and find out what sounds she makes when she’s not the feisty venture capitalist that she is. You want to forget about Tsuki, about Ishikawa, about everything that’s happened in the last month, and just be present with someone who seems to actually see through you.

But you also know there’s something else. Someone else. A presence in your head that won’t let go, no matter how much you want it to.

“I want to figure out what I want,” you finally say. “That’s the honest answer. I’m attracted to you. I like spending my time with you. But there’s… something else. Something I’m still trying to understand. And until I do, I don’t think I can give you what you deserve.”

For a moment the room is filled with silence.

“That’s either the most honest thing a man has ever said to me,” she says, “or the most elaborate brush-off.”

“It’s not a brush-off Eunbi.”

“Then what is it?”

“A rain check.” You meet her eyes. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying not yet. Not until I can be fully present with you.”

She nods slowly; processing. 

“Okay,” she says. “I can work with that.”

“You sure you can?”

“I’m not going to force myself on someone who isn’t ready. That’s not who I am.” She stands. Starts aggressively gathering the dinner containers. “But I’m also not going to wait forever. Figure out your shit, Akihiro. Then let me know.”

She leaves the room. You hear her in the kitchen, washing dishes with more force than strictly necessary.

You don’t blame her.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Day Four

Meetings all morning with various Kwon relatives, each more complicated than the last. Then a working lunch with Minjun where he asks pointed questions about your five-year plan and seem satisfied with your answers.

By evening, you’re exhausted. You order room service and eat alone in your suite, staring out at the river.

Your phone buzzes.

Kwon Eunbi: I owe you an apology

You: For what?

Kwon Eunbi: Last night. I was pushy. You set a boundary and I made it weird.

You: Don’t worry about it.

You: You didn’t make it weird.

Kwon Eunbi: I definitely made it a little weird. Let me buy you a drink to make up for it.

You: You’ve bought me a lot of drinks this week.

Kwon Eunbi: One drink. Connecting door. Bring your best brooding face.

You: I’ll be there in twenty

You shower. Change into a clean shirt. Tell yourself this is just a drink. (You know it’s not just a drink. She knows it’s not just a drink. You repeat it over and over inside your head, this ain’t just a drink, right? You’re clearly going insane.)

You knock on the connecting door anyway.

She opens it in silk pajamas. Hair loose. Face bare of makeup.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

“You asked.”

She steps aside. You step through.

The suite is warm. Jazz playing softly from somewhere. Two glasses of wine already poured on the coffee table.

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” she admits.

“What would you have done if I said no?”

“Drank both glasses myself and pretend it never happened.” She hands you a glass. “Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?”

“Everything about this makes me nervous.” She sits on the couch. Leaves space for you. “I don’t do this, you know. Invite men to my suite. Mix business with… whatever this is.”

“What is this?”

“I don’t know yet.” She looks at you. Those bright eyes, so different from Tsuki’s. “But I’d like to find out. If you’re willing.”

You should say no. You should protect her from whatever’s happening in your head, the presence that won’t let go, the unfinished business you have with someone you don’t understand.

But she’s looking at you like you matter. Like you’re worth the risk.

“I’m willing,” you hear yourself say.

She sets down her wine. Moves closer. Her hand finds your jaw, turns your face toward hers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because once we do this, we can’t undo it.”

“I know.”

“And I meant what I said. I don’t like sharing. If this happens, I need you here. With me. Fully present.”

“I’m here.”

“Are you?”

You kiss her instead of answering.

She makes a sound against your mouth. Surprised, maybe. Then her hands are in your hair and she’s kissing you back, and everything you’ve been holding back floods out.

“Wait.” She pulls back. Breathing hard. “Wait. I need to tell you something first.”

“What?”

“I haven’t—” She closes her eyes. Opens them slowly. “It’s been a long time. Years. I’ve been so focused on work, on proving myself, that I haven’t… this is the first time I’ve wanted anyone in a very long time.”

“Eunbi—”

“I’m not saying that to pressure you. I’m just saying it because I need you to know that this means something to me. I don’t do casual.”

You touch her face. Trace the line of her jaw.

“Neither do I.”

She kisses you again.

This time neither of you pulls back.

Her hands find the buttons of your shirt. She works them open one by one, her mouth never leaving yours, and when the fabric parts she runs her palms across your chest.

“Mhmm~” She pulls back just enough to look. “You’ve been hiding this.”

“I haven’t been—”

“Shut up.” She pushes the shirt off your shoulders. Kisses your collarbone. Your sternum. The hollow of your throat. “Let me enjoy this.”

You reach for her pajama top. She raises her arms and lets you pull it over her head.

God.

Her breasts are fuller than you expected. Heavy and round, nipples already hard, flushed pink against her skin. Nothing like Tsuki’s, which were pert and perfect and calculated to destroy you. Eunbi’s are generous. Soft. Extremely soft. The kind you want to bury your face in and willingly suffocate in.

“You’re staring,” she says.

“I can’t help it.” (You really can’t. Her body is a super massive blackhole and your eyes are getting pulled into it and your mind is in mid-spaghettification)

“Good.” She takes your hands. Place them on her breasts. “Don’t help it.”

You cup them. Feel their weight in your palms. When your thumb brush her nipples she gasps, arching into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Like that. Fuck, like that—”

You lean down and take one nipple in your mouth. She cries out, her hands flying to your hair, pulling you closer. You suck. Roll the other nipple between your fingers. She writhes beneath you making sounds that are nothing like Tsuki’s. These are raw and real.

“More,” she gasps. “I need more—”

You kiss down her stomach. Hook your fingers into the waistband of her pajama bottoms and pull them down slowly, kissing each new inch of skin as it’s revealed. Her hips. Her thighs. The crease where her leg meets her body. She lifts her hips to help you, kicking the fabric away, and then she’s naked beneath you.

A gift from the gods unwrapped in its full glory. All of her. Curved and soft and warm and confident and… all yours.

“Your turn,” she says, reaching for your belt.

She undoes it with fumbling fingers. Pulls down your zipper. You help her get your pants and boxers off, and when your cock springs free she makes a sound low in her throat.

“Oh.” She wraps her hand around you. Strokes. “Oh!~”

“That good or bad?”

“That’s…” She gulped. “Good. That’s very, very good.” She strokes again, watching your face.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the plane. Watching your hands. Wondering how they’d feel.”

“Oh?” She slides off the couch onto her knees. “How does it feel so far?” Looks up at you with those bright eyes.

You fail to give her any sort of response from that assault.

“Let me taste you.”

Before you can respond, her mouth is already on you.

“Fuck,” you groan as she takes you deeper. “Your mouth—”

She hums around your cock. The vibration makes your hips jerk.

“You like that?” She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips brushing your tip. “You like my mouth on your cock?”

“Yes—”

She takes you deep again. Deeper. You feel the back of her throat, feel her swallow around you, and your hands fist in her hair.

“I’m gonna—if you keep doing that—”

She pulls off. Stands. Climbs onto your lap, straddling you, and before your mind catches up to what’s happening she’s reaching between you, positioning you at her entrance. She’s soaked. You can feel it. The head of your cock sliding through her folds, coating you in her wetness.

“Look at me,” she says. “I want to see your face when you finally stop calculating.” You look at her. Time stops. Seconds become years.

She sinks down.

“Oh fuck—” Her head falls back, her mouth open, her whole body trembling. “Christ. Christ, Akihiro. I had a number for this in my head and you just blew right past it.”

You try to find the right words in your head. She’s tight. Tighter than you expected, her walls gripping you, and wet, so fucking wet that you slide all the way to the hilt.

“Eunbi—”

“Shhh.” She rolls her hips. Adjusts. Takes a shaky breath. “Just—let me feel you. It’s been so long. Let me feel how deep you can go.”

“Eunbi—”

She starts to move. Slow at first. Finding her rhythm. Her hands on your chest, her eyes half-closed, making sounds that are high and breathless and abso-fucking-lutely real.

“You feel amazing,” she gasps. “Fuck, you feel—I forgot how good this could—You’re so big inside me—Fuck!”

You grip her hips. Start moving with her. She cries out.

“There—right there—don’t stop—please—fill me up—”

You don’t stop. You fuck up into her while she rides you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Her breasts bounce with every thrust and you can’t stop watching them, can’t stop thinking about how different this is from Tsuki. She controlled you, denied you access, always keeping you on the edge without ever letting you fall. But Eunbi is giving everything. All she’s got. Generous. Taking everything you have and giving it back twofold.

“Harder,” she moans. “Fuck me harder—”

You flip her. Put her on her back, her legs wrapped around your waist, and you pound into her tight pussy the way you’ve wanted to pound into someone for longer than you can remember.

“Yes—yes—yes—yes!” She’s almost chanting now, mindless, her nails raking down your back. “Just like that, please don’t stop, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—Fuck!”

She comes. Her whole body seizes, her cunt clamping down on you so hard you start seeing stars constructing whole constellations in your head. You fuck her through it, watching her face contort with pleasure, feeling her pulse around your cock.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps as soon as she can breathe. “Keep going. I told you I don’t do slow. I told you I don’t do half. Don’t make me a liar.”

“Turn around.”

She gives you the horniest grin. Wild. Hungry. The composed heiress is gone; this version wants to devour you.

She flips onto her hands and knees. Look back at you over her shoulder. And the view—fuck, the view. Her ass is round and peach-perfect, her pussy glistening and swollen, her spine curved in invitation.

“Like this?”

You grab her hips. She arches. God that arch. You push inside. She moans, dropping her head, pushing back against you.

“Oh God. There. Right—there. Akihiro, there.”

You fuck her like you’ve never fucked anyone else. Hard. Deep. Starved. Watching yourself disappear into her over and over. Watching her body shake with each impact. Feeling how tight she grips you with every thrust. She’s so wet you can hear it, slick and obscene, and her moans are building higher with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck yes—don’t stop—”

And then—

Something shifts.

Her hair looks darker suddenly. Her skin paler. The curve of her spine changes, becomes something more familiar, and when she looks back over her shoulder her eyes turn flat and dark and everything warm turns cold, everything bright turns dark, and—

Tsuki.

She’s Tsuki. Under you, taking you, moaning your name, and you’re fucking her the way you’ve wanted to fuck her for weeks, hard and deep, and desperate, and she’s finally letting you, finally giving you what she’s been denying—

“This is what you’ve been wanting, Aki-kun,” Tsuki croons. “Take. Take it. I let you, this once. Don’t think I won’t take it back.”

You slam into her. Feral. Desperate. Angry. All the frustration of the past week pouring out. She takes it, takes all of it, crying out with every thrust, and you’re so close, so fucking close—

“Akihiro—”

It shifts again. Eunbi’s voice. Eunbi’s face. Eunbi’s body. The vision shatters.

You freeze. Heart pounding hard. Cock still throbbing inside her. (What the fuck was that?!)

“Akihiro please don’t stop,” she gasps. “God, don’t stop, I’m so fucking close—”

You force yourself to move. Force yourself to be present. This is Eunbi. This is real. She is real. Her warm, soft body. Her genuine moans. Her need that matches your own.

Stay here, stay with her.

I’m gonna cum again,” she warns. “Fuck I’m gonna—”

She does. Harder than before. Her whole body convulses, her cunt milking you, and this time you finally let yourself go with her. You bury yourself to the hilt and come, pumping your seed into her, filling her up while she shakes beneath you.

“Oh fuck—” She’s still trembling. “Oh fuck, I can feel it—you’re cumming so much—so warm”

You collapse on top of her. Both of you panting. Both of you wrecked.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Yeah.”

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

She laughs. Breathless. Turns her head to kiss you sloppily.

But she’s not done. After a minute, she pushes you onto your back. Your cock is still half hard, slick with her wetness and your cum, and she wraps her hand around it, stroking until you’re fully hard again.

“I told you,” she says, grinning down at you. “It’s been three years. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

She straddles you. Sinks down onto your cock in one smooth motion, and you can feel how wet she is, slick with you, dripping at each motion.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” she breathes, starting to move. “Feeling you inside me like this. Feeling how wet I am from you. Feeling your cum going deeper in me.”

She rides you slowly this time. Her hips rolling in lazy circles, her breasts swaying in your face. You watch them. Reach up and cup them, squeeze them, roll her nipples between your fingers.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Touch me. Take what’s yours. I love the way you touch my tits.”

You lean up. Take one nipple in your mouth. She cries out, her rhythm stuttering.

“Fuck—and your mouth—” You suck harder. She fucks you faster. Her moans building again, her walls tightening around you, and you can feel another orgasm building in both of you.

“I’m close,” she gasps. “Fuck, I’m close again—”

“Me too Eunbi.”

“Come with me.” She’s riding you frantically now, chasing it. “Come inside me again—I want you to fill me up—”

She comes. Clenches around you, crying out, and you follow her over the edge. Spilling into her for a second time, adding to the mess you already made inside her, and she collapses onto your chest with a satisfied groan.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles against your skin. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“I don’t really know where I came from but just know that now, I feel like I’m in heaven.”

You laugh. She laughs.

“Well you and me both.” She lifts her head. Grins at you, sweaty and satisfied, your cum leaking out of her onto your thigh. “We’re doing that at least three more times before you leave.”

“I might actually die.”

“Worth it.” She kisses you, soft and sweet. Nothing like Tsuki. “Totally fucking worth it.” You hold her. Let yourself be held. You don’t mention anything about the vision.

You really don’t know how.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

She curls against your side, pulls the blanket over both of you, rest her head on your chest.

“That was so good,” she says, sleepy and satisfied. “I forgot how good that could be.” She traced patterns on your chest. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten how.”

“You definitely didn’t forget.”

“Good to know the equipment still works.” She yawns. “You’re staying in Seoul for another few days. My father has more meetings scheduled.”

“Okay.”

“And I cleared my calendar.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m keeping you.”

You should clarify. Set expectations. Manage whatever this is becoming.

“Okay,” you say.

She falls asleep within minutes

You lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, watching Seoul glitter beyond the windows.

You’re thinking about the vision. About Tsuki’s face where Eunbi’s should have been.

No matter what happens, some part of you will wish it was me.

Some part of you does. You don’t know how to feel about that.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The nightmare comes around 3AM.

Masks. Hundreds of them. The mask you saw from the hotel hallway when you first met Tsuki, multiplied across every wall of an endless room. Their faces shift, anguish to rage, to something that might be hunger, and they’re all watching you.

You try to run. The floor is soft, wet, giving way beneath your feet. Slowly eating you alive.

Laughter echoes from everywhere. High-pitched. Demonic. Distorted. Mocking.

“Aki-kun,” a voice croons. Tsuki’s voice, but wrong. “Where are you going, Akihiro-kun?”

You run faster. The masks lean down from the walls.

“Akihiro.” The voice is everywhere. Nowhere. “Did you think you could escape me?”

“AKIHIRO.”

You jerk awake. Heart pounding. Sheets damp with sweat.

Eunbi is propped up beside you. Her hand is on your chest.

“Nightmare?” she asks softly.

“I—yeah.”

“You were saying a name.”

Your blood goes cold.

“What name?”

“Tsuki.”

The word hangs between you. Heavy. Damning. (You’re fucking screwed)

“So that’s the mystery woman,” she says.

“Yes.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she pushes the blankets aside and stands.

You see her in the low light. All of her. The curve of her spine, the fullness of her hips, her breasts swaying slightly as she moves. Even now, even in this moment, she’s beautiful. Unconsciously sensual in a way that’s nothing like Tsuki.

She walks to the bathroom. You hear water running. She returns with a glass, sits on the edge of the bed, offers it to you.

“Drink.”

You take the glass. Drink. Your hands are shaking slightly.

“How long has this been happening?” she asks. “The nightmares.”

“Since I met her. About a week ago.”

“That’s when you met me too.”

“I know.”

She nods. Processing.

“We all have our ghosts,” she says finally.

“Eunbi, I—”

“Don’t.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “Don’t apologize for your subconscious. You can’t control what you dream about.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me.” She takes the glass from your hands. Sets it on the nightstand. “But I knew what this was when I started it. I knew you were carrying something. I just didn’t know her name.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be.” She lies back down. But there’s distance now. Inches that weren’t there before. “Try to sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Eunbi—”

“Morning, Hinode-san. Everything makes more sense in daylight.”

She turns away. Not hostile. Just… done.

You lie there in the dark, watching the ceiling, feeling like you’ve broken something you didn’t know was fragile.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Morning comes too early.

You wake to gray light and an empty bed. For a moment you think she left. But then you hear sounds from the kitchen.

She’s making coffee.

You find her at the counter, wearing nothing but one of your shirts. It barely covers her thighs. Her hair is mussed. She looks soft. Domestic. She looks like something you could have.

“Cream and sugar are on the table,” she says without looking up. “I didn’t know how you take it.”

“Black is fine.”

“Of course it is.” She pushes a cup toward you. Meets your eyes. “You look terrible.”

“Didn’t sleep well.”

“I noticed.” She takes a sip of her own coffee. Studies you over the rim. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“Last night. The nightmare. Tsuki.”

You wait.

“I like you, Hinode-san,” she says. “I think we could be good together. Professionally, personally, whatever. But I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

“You’re not…”

“Let me finish.” She holds up a hand. “I believe you when you say you don’t understand what’s happening with this Tsuki person. I even believe you when you say you want to be here, with me.”

“I do.”

“I know.” She sets down her cup. “But I also know what I heard last night. You weren’t just dreaming about her. You were terrified of her. And when you said her name…” She trails off. Shakes her head. “There was longing in your voice. Need.”

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Then don’t. Not now.” She takes another sip. “Here’s what I propose. The business arrangement stands. My father likes you. The restructuring work is real. I’ll make sure you get it, because you deserve it, and because it’s the right decision for the family.”

“But?”

“But this—” she gestures between you “—needs to wait. Until you figure out what you want. Who you want.”

“Eunbi…”

“Figure it out Hinode-san.” She says it simply. Without cruelty. “I mean that. Whatever this is, obsession, curse, trauma response, I don’t know, you need to figure it out. Not for me. For you.”

“And if I do? If I figure it out and come back?”

Her jaw unclenches. The sharpness leaves her face.

“If I’m still not taken then we’ll have a different conversation.” She reaches across the counter. Squeezes your hand once, then lets go. “I like you, Akihiro. More than I probably should. But I didn’t build a career by making exceptions for people who couldn’t even meet me halfway.”

“That’s fair.”

“I know it is.” She checks her watch. “You have a meeting with my father in two hours. The car will be here in ninety minutes. I suggest you shower.”

“Eunbi…”

“We’re okay.” She says it firmly. Like she’s decided it. “This isn’t goodbye. It’s just… a pause. Figure out your ghost. Then call me.”

She disappears into her bedroom before you can respond.

You stand alone in the kitchen of her penthouse you don’t deserve, drinking coffee that’s better than anything you’ve ever made, watching Seoul wake up beyond the windows.

Your phone buzzes. You check it more reflexively than expectantly.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review: Hinode-san. Following up. The Polaris piece is closing this week and I think we should talk before it runs.

You don’t answer. You don’t even read past the first line. You put the phone face-down on the countertop.

A minute later it buzzes again. This time you look.

般若: well done

Two words. Nothing else. You stare at the screen until it goes dark.

She knew. She always knows.

I’m what you can’t stop wanting.

You’re starting to believe her.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The rest of the week passes in a blur of meetings, contracts, and careful distance.

Eunbi is professional, cordial, and warm; business associates type of warm. A hand on your shoulder during introductions. A smile when you make a clever point. Nothing that would seem out of place to an observer.

But she doesn’t touch you or look at you like she did that night. Whatever door opened between you, she’s closed it. Gently but firmly. You don’t push. You wouldn’t know how.

The work is solid. The Kwon family is complicated but you’re used to complicated (Eunbi wasn’t exaggerating comparing it to Game of Thrones, only unlike the show you’ve produced a better ending).

By Saturday, you’ve outlined a restructuring plan that will save them approximately twelve million dollars in tax liability while keeping the various cousins from actively murdering each other.

“Impressive,” Minjun says when you present it. “You work fast.”

“I had good information to work with.”

“My daughter said you’d be modest.” He signs the retainer agreement with a flourish. “She also said you were more interesting than you let on. I’m inclined to agree.”

You fly back to Tokyo that evening. Eunbi sees you off at the airport.

“Thank you,” you tell her. “For all of it.”

“Don’t thank me. This is business.” But she smiles when she says it. “Figure out your ghost, Hinode-san. Then call me.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you’ll have a very successful consulting career and a string of mediocre relationships.” She kisses your cheek. “But I don’t think that’s what you want.”

Your phone buzzes between you. Eunbi glances at the screen automatically. So do you.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review

“The Polaris journalist,” Eunbi says. “I know her.”

“She’s been emailing for weeks.”

“About Ishikawa?”

“About something else, she keeps saying. I haven’t found out what.”

Eunbi looks at you. Says nothing. Files the information away the way you’ve watched her file every other piece of information about you all week.

She walks away before you can respond.

Your flight lands at Narita at 8PM. You take the train home. Climb the stairs to your apartment.

The door is unlocked.

You know who’s waiting before you even step inside.

But when you open the door, what you find stops you cold.

Tsuki is on your couch. Same position as before. Same book in her hands.

She’s completely naked.

Every inch of her exposed. Pale skin glowing in the lamplight. Those full breasts you’ve only glimpsed before. The curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.

She doesn’t look up from the book.

Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“Welcome home, Aki-kun,” she says. “We need to talk.”

You don’t react. But you’ve never seen her hesitate. Three weeks of texts. Two encounters: the hotel and your apartment. The corridor. And you’ve never seen her need a second to find a word.

You don’t say anything about it.

You don’t think she noticed.

You stand in the doorway, frozen, unable to look away.

“Close the door, Akihiro-kun.” She finally looks up. Those flat, dark eyes. That dangerous smile. “You’re letting the cold in.”

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Aphrodite incarnate. A goddess coming to Earth. Chou Tzuyu is wearing a cream sweater that's stretched tight across her tits, and yoga pants that should be illegal. Her hair is up in a loose ponytail, with a few strands framing her gorgeous face. And she has the most sweet, most motherly smile on her face.

Anyone who hasn't seen her with lips stretched around a cock would fall for that image in a heart beat.

You, of course, know better.

"Oh you're here!" She gushes the cookie-cutter host greeting. "The girls are so excited—Diana! Hanna! Your friend is here!"

From deeper in the house you hear a faint "Mrow!"

Your sister visibly cringes. Even poor Tzuyu's bright smile falters slightly before she recovers.

"They're… going through a phase," Tzuyu explains weakly, stepping aside. Your sister sulks past like she's heading to her own execution, shooting you a venomous glare as she goes.

The second she's out of sight, Tzuyu's hand brushes yours.

"Coffee?" She asks, entirely too loudly for the empty hallway you're standing in, but her eyes are screaming a very different request. Something close to I need you to fuck me until I forget my own name.

"Yeah. Coffee sounds great."

"Perfect." The way she draws the word out, followed by her dragging her tongue across her lips, should damn well be considered foreplay.

From what you assume is the playroom, your sister's defeated sigh carries over to where you're standing, followed by synchronized meowing.

You purse your lips to contain your laughter as Tzuyu turns to the wall, tapping her forehead against it softly.

"Not. A fucking. Word." She murmurs.

You make a zipping motion across your mouth.

Tzuyu leads you to the kitchen. Those yoga pants hug the curve of her ass, outlining the thick thighs you've had the pleasure of being trapped between more times than you can count.

You're already plotting all the possible ways to get between them again today.

She pours two cups of coffee that you both know neither of you will touch. Her husband is at work as usual. The man is practically married to his job, which means Tzuyu is perpetually horny.

Not that you're complaining, of course.

"So," she starts, leaning against the counter in a way that makes her tits press together, "I was thinking—"

"Bedroom?"

Fuck the small talk. You both know why you're here, why bother with the bullshit game of cat and mouse?

Her expression changes instantly, that sweet, motherly mask cracking.

"Eager today, are we?"

"You sent me that photo during my lecture." You move toward her. "I've been hard thinking about those thick fucking thighs of yours the entire way over here."

She bites her lip, grabbing your shirt and pulling you close. "My bedroom. Now."

No need to say that twice.

"So impatient," you tease, but in no way shape or form are you complaining as she takes your hand and leads you out of the kitchen.

The stairs feel endless. Tzuyu keeps glancing back at you, tugging her bottom lip with her teeth, and you're becoming very tempted to say fuck it and rail her against the wall halfway up.

But the bedroom is probably smarter. And it has plenty of pillows for you to press her face into, which is a great bonus.

The second you're through the door, she's on you. Mouth crashing into yours, her hands pulling at your clothes, backing you towards the bed. You let her push you down onto the mattress, watching her stand over you, chest heaving.

Damn she's beautiful.

She climbs onto the bed, straddles your hips, grinds down against the bulge in your jeans. "You have no idea how badly I need this."

"Why don't you show me then?"

She doesn't bother answering with words.

Her hands find the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. You do your best to help, shrugging out of it. The second it's off she runs her hands down your chest, nails dragging lightly over your skin.

You reach for her sweater but she swats your hands away. "Patience."

"That's not my strong suit and you know it." You pout.

"I know." She grinds down harder, and you can feel the heat spreading through both layers of fabric. "That's why this is fun."

She leans down, mouth finding your neck. Kisses turn into bites, her teeth scraping against your skin. Your hands busy themselves by gripping her hips, fingers digging into the yoga pants.

"God I missed you," she murmurs against your throat. "Missed this."

"It's only been like three days."

"Exactly, three days too long." Her hands move to your jeans, popping the button. "I've been going crazy waiting."

The zipper comes down and she's working your jeans off, and you lift your hips to help. Once they're gone she sits back, taking in the sight of you in only your boxers, your cock straining against the fabric.

"Look at you," she purrs, palming you through the thin material as you hiss. "So hard already."

"Your fault," you manage.

"I know." The smirk on her face grows. "I'm very good at what I do."

She is. Too good, sometimes. You watch her lean down, hair falling around her face, and just before her mouth reaches your cock—

"Meow," you say.

She freezes.

Sits back up slowly.

The look on her face is full of murderous intent.

"What," she starts, voice barely a whisper, "did you just say?"

"I—" you start, but you're already laughing because the look on her face is just priceless. "I couldn't help it, the girls—"

"You think that's funny huh?"

Before you can react, she moves. Her hands shove against your chest, and she uses her weight to pin you down as those deadly thighs slide up on either side of your head.

Ah fuck.

"Oh, Tzu wait—"

Too late. They're locked around your skull.

The pressure is both immediate and immaculate. Warm, smooth skin pressing against your head, cutting off everything except the sight of her yoga pants stretched tight across her pussy right in front of your face. It's easy to see the damp spot forming.

Your hands fly to her thighs on instinct, gripping the firm muscle underneath.

"Think you're funny?" She squeezes harder. Stars dance at the edges of your vision. "Meowing at me in my own bedroom?"

You try to respond but what comes out is muffled against her skin.

"That's what I thought." She grinds forward, dragging the warm, damp fabric across your face, and you groan into her.

She's appears to be trying to suffocate you. Not that your dick has any complaints.

"Nothing to say now?" Another squeeze. Your vision starts going fuzzy. "No more stupid jokes?"

Your fingers dig into her thighs and you manage to turn your head just enough to press your mouth against her inner thigh.

She shudders and the grip loosens ever so slightly.

You drag your tongue along the inside of her thigh, and she makes a choked sound that manages to make your already rock-hard cock even harder.

"You're such a brat," she breathes, but there's no real anger anymore.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of those damn yoga pants and pull. She lifts her hips just enough to let you drag them down along with her panties, and finally, FINALLY, that pretty pussy is revealed to your gaze.

Beautiful.

Her pussy is bare, inches away from your face. It's glistening and swollen, her clit already peeking out.

"You going to suffocate me before I can eat this pussy?" Your voice comes out rough.

"Afterwards," she decides, lowering herself back onto your mouth.

The first taste of her makes you groan into her pussy. She's absolutely soaked, and you waste no time before getting to work, licking broad strokes through her folds before placing special focus on her clit.

Her thighs tighten around your head.

"Fuck—right there—"

You circle her clit with your tongue, then suck it between your lips. Her whole body jerks violently above you,

"Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop—"

Yeah. Like you had any fucking intention of doing that.

You double down, sucking her clit even harder, your tongue working in tight circles. You can barely breathe with her thighs clamping your head like a vice, but god the way she's gasping above you makes it all worthwhile.

"Fuck, fuck, just like that—" Her hips start rolling, grinding her pussy against your mouth. She's chasing her orgasm, using you, and your cock is throbbing so fucking hard in your boxers its borderline painful.

You slide your tongue down, pushing it into her entrance. Her soaked pussy drips down your chin, the sweet taste of it making you drool. Your hands grip her ass harder, kneading as you pull her down onto your face.

"Oh god, oh fuck—" Her voice pitches higher. She's close, you can feel it. Her thighs shake, her pussy clenching around your tongue.

You pull back just enough to suck her clit between your lips again, and that does it.

Tzuyu cums with a loud cry, her whole body going rigid above you. Her thighs lock around your head so tight you can see the pearly gates, and her pussy pulses against your mouth dragging you straight back down into hell. You keep licking, keep sucking, drawing out her orgasm as long as you can while she shakes and gasps.

"Stop, stop, too much—" She's trying to lift her hips but you won't let her go that easily. You give her clit one more slow lick and she shudders, a choked whimper escaping her throat.

Finally she manages to pull away, swinging her leg over your head. She collapses beside you on the bed, her face flushed.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your entire lower face is covered in her.

"You're evil," she pants, throwing an arm over her eyes.

"You literally tried to suffocate me like 2 minutes ago, babe."

"You meowed at me."

"Fair."

She turns to look at you, and even post orgasm with her makeup ruined and her hair fucked up beyond all recognition, she's unfairly beautiful. Then her eyes slowly travel down your body to the tent in your boxers.

"Mm," she says, breathlessly, "That looks uncomfortable ."

"Yeah, no shit."

Her hand reaches over, palming you through the fabric. You hiss at the contact. "Aw, poor baby. You want me to do something about that?"

"I think you know damn well what I'm going to say to that."

She smirks, energy already back. Her stamina is fucking insane. "I don't know, maybe I should just leave you like this. Payback for the meowing. And you look so cute all desperate and worked up for me."

"Tzuyu—"

"I'm kidding." She sits up, grabbing the hem of her sweater. "Besides, I need you to fuck me. Right fucking now."

She pulls the sweater over her head and chucks it somewhere behind her.

No bra.

Of course there's no bra.

Her tits are perfect, full and perky in a way that seems to defy the very laws of physics.

You're staring. You know you're staring. She knows you're staring.

"See something you like?" She shimmies a little, a cocky little smirk on her face.

You consciously pick your jaw up off the floor before responding. "You know I do."

She leans down, kissing you hard. She can absolutely taste herself on your tongue, but she doesn't seem to give a singular fuck, licking into your mouth like she's trying to scrape every last drop out. When she pulls back you're both breathing hard.

Her hands go to your boxers, yanking them down. Your cock springs free and she wraps her hand around it, stroking slowly.

"God, you're so hard." She squeezes and you groan. "All for me?"

"Who else would it be for? Your husband?"

She smacks your chest. "Don't talk about my husband while I'm holding your dick."

"You brought him up last week when—"

"That was different." She cuts you off with another stroke, thumb swiping over the head of your cock. She spreads the leaking precum around, using it as lube.

"How was that different?" You grunt.

"Because I was winning that argument."

"You're always winning arguments when you have your hand on my cock. It's basically cheating."

"Pretty smart strategy though, isn't it?" She strokes you again, slow and torturous. "Keeps you from saying stupid shit."

"No I'm pretty sure I can still say some stupid sh—" Your thoughts scatter when she squeezes again. "Fuck, Tzuyu."

"That's what I thought, baby."

She lets go of your cock and you have to choke back a frankly embarrassing whine, but then she's moving. Swinging her leg over your hips, straddling you again. Her bare pussy presses against your shaft, the heat making you throb.

"I," She grinds down, sliding her wet pussy along your length, "Am going to ride you until you can't remember your own fucking name. Sound good?"

"Sounds fucking perfect."

She lifts her hips, reaching down to line you up. The head of your cock presses against her entrance. She's so wet you could slide in with ease, but she takes her time, lowering herself inch by torturous inch.

She's so, so fucking tight. It doesn't matter how many times you fuck her, it always feels like the first. Her pussy grips your cock like it was made for it, lips clinging to it like it's trying to suck you inwards.

"Fuck," she breathes, sinking down until you're buried completely inside her. She sits there for a moment, hands braced on your chest. "You feel so good."

"This is great. You do all the work and I just get to enjoy."

"Not for long." She rolls her hips, grinding on your cock, and you both groan. "Just let me enjoy this for a second."

"Take your time. I've got an amazing view."

And you do. Her tits right in front of your face, abs flexing as she shifts, those thick thighs spread on either side of you. Your hands find those thighs, gripping the firm muscle.

"Obsessed," she teases.

"Yeah, like any warm-blooded male wouldn't be."

She lifts up slowly, almost, almost letting the head slip out, then slams back down. You both moan at the sensation.

"Fuck, Tzuyu—"

"What's wrong baby?" She lifts up again, slow as can be, then drops back down hard. The slap of skin echoes through the bedroom. "Can't handle me?"

"I can handle plenty. You're just—fuck—."

She does it again, rising up until just the tip of your cock is inside her, then slamming down. Her tits bounce with the impact and you can't help but stare, mesmerized.

"Just what?" She teases breathlessly.

"Being a fucking tease."

"Oh, baby," she leans down nipping at your ear, "you haven't seen half of it."

Then she really starts moving.

Her hips roll in a steady pattern, rising and falling on your cock. Every time she drops down, you can feel her pussy clench around you. The sounds filling the room are obscene. The slick noise of her pussy taking your cock over and over, her moans, your groans.

Your hands move from her thighs to her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. You help guide her movements, pulling her down a little harder each time.

"Yes, yes just like that—" Her nails scratch into your chest. It stings like hell but you frankly don't give a shit. "Your cock feels so fucking good."

"You're so tight," you manage. Coherent thought is becoming difficult. "So fucking wet for me."

"Always—oh fuck—always wet for you."

She's riding you faster now, chasing her own pleasure. Sweat forms on her skin, a drop rolling down between her breasts. You want nothing more than to lick it off but she's moving too fast for you to reach.

The bed is creaking under you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember the girls are downstairs but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when Tzuyu looks like this, head thrown back, mouth open, riding your cock like her life depends on it.

"Touch me," she gasps. "Play with my tits."

You don't need to be told twice. Your hands leave her hips to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. She moans, loud and shameless.

"Harder."

You pinch her nipples and she clenches around your cock so tight you nearly cum right there.

"Fuck, do that again—"

You oblige, rolling the stiff peaks between your fingers. Her pussy floods with wetness, dripping down your cock to your balls warm and slick.

"I'm close," she whimpers. Her rhythm is getting sloppy, desperate. "So fucking close—"

"Yeah? You gonna cum on my cock?"

"Yes, yes, fuck yes—"

You thrust up to meet her, matching her pace, the angle making her cry out.

"Right there, oh god right there—"

You do it again, driving up into her. Her whole body shudders.

"Don't stop, please don't fucking stop—"

Like you could stop now even if you wanted to. You're getting close too, that familiar feeling building at the base of your spine. But you want her to cum first. Want to feel her pussy spasm and clench around you.

You sit up suddenly, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady. The position change makes her gasp. You can get deeper like this, and it finally allows you to capture one of those perfect nipples in your mouth.

"Oh fuck—" Her hands tangle in your hair, holding you against her chest. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna—"

You suck hard on her nipple and thrust up at the same time.

She cums with a scream, her pussy clamping down on your cock. You can feel her pulsing, gushing wetness soaking you both.

You slow your movements, letting her ride it out. Her forehead drops to your shoulder.

"Holy shit," she pants against your neck.

You're still rock hard inside her. Throbbing.

She notices with visible interest, clenching around you once to hear you grunt.

"Your turn," she breathes, pulling back to look at you with heavy lidded eyes.

You flip her.

One moment she's on top of you, the next she's on her back with you between her legs. She lets out a surprised laugh.

"Someone's eager."

"You got to cum. My turn."

You hook her legs over your shoulders, pushing them back toward her chest. The position makes her gasp, spreads her wide open for you. Those thighs press against your face and shoulders, warm and soft and absolutely perfect.

"Fuck, I love these thighs," you mutter, turning your head to kiss the inside of one.

"I'm aware." She's still breathless. "You never shut up about them."

"Can you blame me?"

You don't wait for an answer. You thrust into her, burying yourself deep. She's so wet from her orgasm that you slide in easily, and the sound she makes goes directly to your cock.

"Oh fuck—"

You set a hard pace immediately. Fucking her into the mattress while her thighs frame your head like a goddamn work of art.

"Yes, yes, harder—" Her hands grip the sheets. "Fuck me harder—"

You oblige. Each thrust makes her tits bounce, makes the bed creak louder. She's so tight around you it's almost painful, her pussy still sensitive from cumming.

"You feel so fucking good," you grunt, squeezing her thighs. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh.

"Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop—"

You can feel your orgasm building. That pressure at the base of your spine getting harder and harder to push off. You're close. Too close.

You slow down.

"What—no, why are you—" Tzuyu looks up at you with desperation in her eyes.

"Just pacing myself." You roll your hips slowly, grinding deep instead of thrusting.

"I was getting close again," she whines.

"I know."

"You're such an asshole."

"You love it."

She does. You can tell by the way she's clenching around you, by that pout on her lips.

You pick up the pace again, just enough to make her moan. Your hands slide along her thighs, feeling the muscle flex as she tries to pull you deeper.

"Please," she gasps. "I need—fuck—I need you to fuck me properly."

"This isn't proper?"

"You know what I mean—"

You thrust hard, once, and she nearly sobs.

"Like that?"

"Yes! Just like that, please—"

You do it again. Then stop. Her pussy clenches around you in frustration.

"I hate you," she pants.

"No you don't."

"I'm going to kill you."

"With these thighs, I hope." You kiss her inner thigh again, scraping your teeth against the skin. She shudders.

"You're obsessed."

"Yep."

You start moving again, finding a rhythm that's just enough to keep you both on edge. Not enough to push either of you over. Her legs are shaking around your head, her pussy dripping down onto the sheets.

"Please," Tzuyu begs. The sound of her begging does something to you. "Please, I'm so close—"

"Not yet."

"I'm going to fucking—"

You thrust deep and grind against her, cutting off whatever threat she was about to make. She just moans instead, nails scratching desperately at your arms.

You're playing with fire. You know if you keep this up much longer you won't be able to hold back.

"I need to cum," you grunt. "Fuck, Tzuyu, I need to cum."

"Then cum." She pulls you down, her legs unwrapping from your shoulders to lock around your waist instead. "Cum inside me. Fill me up."

You drop down, bracing yourself on your forearms on either side of her head. You slide deeper.

"I'm close too," she whimpers. "So fucking close."

You kiss her hard. Your hips move on autopilot now, chasing the release you've been craving. The wet slap of your bodies fills the room, mixing with her moans and your grunts.

"Together," she gasps against your mouth. "Cum with me, please—"

Her pussy tightens around you. You can feel her getting close, that little flutter.

"Fuck, Tzuyu—"

"I'm gonna—oh god I'm gonna—"

It hits you both at the same time. You groan as your cock pulses inside her, pumping her full of cum, and you can feel her pussy clenching and spasming around you, milking every drop.

And because you're apparently an idiot with approximately zero self preservation—

"Meow," you moan into her ear.

For a second she's too lost in her orgasm to process it. Her body is still shaking, pussy still pulsing around your cock. You're both riding out the aftershocks, your cum leaking out around your cock because there's just too much.

Then she goes very, very still.

You're still buried inside her. Still trying to catch your breath. Your brain is fuzzy from the orgasm, a dopey smile plastered on your face.

Tzuyu's hands grip your shoulders. Tight.

She slowly, deliberately, pushes you off of her. You slip out with a wet sound, cum immediately spilling out of her onto the sheets. She sits up, and the look on her face makes your survival instincts finally kick in.

"Did you—" Her voice is dangerously quiet. "Did you just fucking meow while you were cumming inside me?"

Oh you're in trouble.

"I—"

"Did you?"

Your brain scrambles for something, anything that might save you.

"...meow?" you offer weakly.

Her eye twitches.

"You're dead."

"Wait—"

Too late. She's on you in a second, tackling you back onto the bed. Those deadly thighs wrap around your head again and this time there's no mercy. She's actually trying to kill you.

"You think you're funny?" She squeezes. Hard. "You think that's fucking funny?"

You try to answer but your face is pressed directly against her cum-filled pussy, your own load dripping onto your face. You're suffocating in the mess you made and honestly? You can't even complain.

"Meowing." Squeeze. "While cumming." Squeeze. "Inside me."

Your hands tap frantically against her thighs but she ignores it.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

She loosens just enough for you to gasp out, "Worth it?"

That is, apparently, the wrong answer.

The thighs clamp back down with a vengeance. You're genuinely seeing the light now. Your vision is going dark at the edges.

But god, what a way to go.

Just when you think you might actually pass out, she releases you. You gasp for air, coughing.

Tzuyu looks down at you with a satisfied smirk. Your face is covered in cum, hers and yours mixed together. You probably look absolutely destroyed.

"You're lucky you're cute," she says.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"Absolutely not." She climbs off you, stretching. "But I'll let you live. For now."

"Shame. Death by thighs is actually a bucket list item of mine."

"Can you go 20 fucking seconds without saying something stupid or mentioning my thighs?"

"…no."

~~~

Hi all! If you haven't already heard, most of the writers on this platform have switched to FanProse. I'm a lot more active on there for sure! But, to be fair, I also took a bit of a break from writing to deal with some life shit. I'm trying to ease back into this, but I have two commissions and a new series to work on, so hopefully it won't be another two months this time!!

Thank you all for reading :)

You find it surprising how whenever it rains, the moment that thunder echoes across the city, there's an almost frantic knock that follows. And of course, once you finally open it, the culprit is right there on the other side.

Ning Yizhuo. Your annoying, meddling, definitely too-involved, overly-attached-and-obsessed, whatever the fuck you wanna call the relationship you share with the girl. You'd call her an ex, but you never officially ended anything. Even with an ocean between the two of you, she'd still find a way, at some point or another, to show up at the doorstep in the middle of the night,

So you sigh at her presence—yet, not because you hate seeing her. No, quite the opposite. It's only out of some kind of spite that you keep her waiting, lingering there outside your house in the rain. Like this is the universe punishing you for past transgressions.

Against your better judgment, you open the door, checking if the doorknob is hot first.

There she stands, looking too attractive in all black, thin stockings, torn somehow, a way too tight skirt hugging her waist. Low cut top, visible through a dark coat, with far too much cleavage to defend against.

And somehow, nothing looks out of place—despite having no other option but to brave the rain to see you.

"Is this your doing, I assume?"

The expression on her face drops from hopeful to annoyance in mere seconds. Ningning rolls her eyes and takes a step forward. You take a step back.

"What, the sky? Please, not even I can control the weather."

"Then why do you always show up whenever there's a storm?"

She pauses, folding her arms. "Call it a coincidence. Now, aren't you gonna invite me inside?"

You hesitate as the storm begins to worsen. Not only the rain but the booming thunder and lightning that chases it, so bad that the entire street lights up. In all honesty, you know that you don't really have another choice. It's not like she'll physically enter the house if you don't allow it, yet she's just insufferable enough to camp in the driveway until the sun comes out.

"Do you even get wet, Ning? You're practically standing in a monsoon out there, and not a spot on you."

"Depends if your pants are still on or not," she fires back, that wicked smile always wide and ready to strike.

You've made worse mistakes than this, you suppose—even though a little voice at the back of your mind urges otherwise.

"Come inside," you say, already regretting the words the moment they leave your lips, gesturing to the open door.

Ningning can't help but smirk. "If things go right tonight, that's what I'll be telling you later, baby."

And just like that, she moves past the doorframe into your place—heading inside like she owns the place.

There's no point in pretending that this isn't an impromptu visit from your not-ex. She kicks her heels off, hanging her coat on the rack beside the door and making you wonder just how many times Ningning has shown up completely dry in the midst of pouring rain.

"So, what did I interrupt that was so important that you took forever to open the door?" Ningning asks, standing around as if she didn't show up uninvited, as if you're expected to drop to your knees just because she's arrived.

"Enjoying the peace, Ning, that's what. It's late," you reply, feeling an incoming headache at having to deal with her. "Maybe if you sent a warning—"

She ignores everything. Stares as you sit back down on the couch, your tea more than a little cold now. "Typical."

You roll your eyes, fighting not to pick an argument while she surveys the place. "Typical what?"

She ignores you again. Somehow unbothered and distant, focused entirely elsewhere—just as if nothing has happened between the two of you. The absolute gall, she has.

"Well, I'm glad you're up at this hour. Even better you're alone."

Now you're the one ignoring her, leaning back down on the couch to finish the last sips of tea, a nagging feeling brewing the pit of your stomach—because there's only ever one reason why she shows up late at night, and it's not to chat over tea.

Much to your chagrin, Ningning looks directly at you, but she moves close—very close, until there's a dangerous look in her eyes while she smiles. "Have you eaten yet?

"A bit, but not really—"

Ningning shakes her head, taunting with a feigned annoyance at your response. "How is it you never have food in this damn house?"

"Don't get hungry often enough, I guess," you say, fighting to keep your eyes off of her outfit.

She nods in response, crossing her arms. "I see. Well then—"

The storm rages on outside the living room window, but your focus is stolen entirely away as Ningning approaches, positioning herself in a spot right in front of your line of sight, as if to distract. Not that it's a hard thing to do. Not when she's wearing a tiny little thing she calls a skirt, stockings that do her legs far too much of a favor, and a top that struggles to contain much of anything.

"Yes, Ning?"

There's a moment that passes by where Ningning stares long enough that you're uncomfortable, long enough to where you feel as if the moment can shatter at any second.

"Look, before I say anything else," she begins, still standing in place as those eyes stay locked on you. "Had to take the train here. Nothing was fucking available. Then a taxi—since you had to live out in bumfuck nowhere. I'm tired, and sore—I'm absolutely starving. Not for food, obviously."

"Obviously," you repeat, hardly in shock with her direct nature. She's hardly ever subtle. "Then take what you need. Don't have to ask twice."

Her lips curl up. "Thanks, sweetie. Knew there was a reason why I liked you."

Without anything further, Ningning is quick—far too quick for your liking while she climbs atop, legs on either side, straddling you—close enough so you can feel the heat on your skin. You sit idly by and soak it all in.

"This'll hurt just a little bit—" she says, before her lips press deep so she can pepper several kisses along the side of your neck. "Just keep still. I'll be quick."

"Don't be."

You don't even register the words that come out of your mouth, not fully, at least. Ningning smirks, running her fingers through your hair, smiling in satisfaction that you've somehow fallen into her trap yet again.

"Darling, I will tear you apart if you let me have my way."

You'd damn near let her.

Ningning's not the type to wait around, tilting her head back so she can bare her glistening fangs, primed and ready to devour you whole in the process. They sink in at the crook of your neck, piercing the skin with ease—almost at the exact same spot you remember from the last time.

Sharp pain shoots through your body in a matter of seconds, as blood flows out without pause, succumbing to her hunger, letting Ningning takes what she pleases. You hiss at the sensation—a strange mixture of pleasure and pain, not sure which is winning out, only able to watch her drain you, eyes locked in an almost sinister trance while she feeds.

Then, just like that, Ningning pulls her head back, lips stained with a crimson red that she wipes off with the back of her hand. She looks more vibrant, alive—eyes that pierce deep, more than satisfied for the night.

"Thanks, love. That's enough," she replies softly, running her fingers over the bite mark before planting a little kiss on your cheek. "Took a little more than usual. Hope you don't mind."

You laugh, looking up, lost in her gaze. "What am I gonna do, Ning, take it back? Don't worry."

"That'd be very inconvenient," Ningning says, smiling at that. "You should rest a bit, yeah? How do you feel?"

You shrug. "I'll manage. Little dizzy, but I'll survive."

"Because you have nothing to eat in this shithole. You sure you're good?"

You nod, smile returning to your face as you glance up. "Yeah, of course. Nothing I haven't handled before."

"Good." Those devilish fangs fully on display linger for one more moment until they retract. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little disappointed.

"So, is this the part where you tell me why you showed up at midnight, wearing next to nothing?"

Ningning presses her body close, offering just enough cleavage for your eyes to wander. "Like it's a surprise I'm here."

You say nothing, and somehow, that's the one thing that actually bothers her a bit. Ningning rises, turning away, more annoyed than offended—a bit different than her usual arrogant nature. "Haven't seen you in a few months. Didn't think I needed an invitation."

"And maybe there's a reason for that."

Surprisingly, Ningning says nothing else for a fleeting moment. Laughing in spite of it all. "Wow. Is there another vampire bitch here giving you what I can't? Because last time I checked—"

"Of course not," you answer immediately, ignoring the tone in her voice.

"Good. Like I was saying, nobody fucks you like I do, and I don't think there's anyone else out there that can."

You sigh, attempting not to feed that overzealous ego even more. "Ning—"

"Don't Ning me," she snaps, the fangs exposed again, retracting within seconds. "You should be so damn grateful that I'm here right now."

"For what, so you can have a midnight snack?"

Ningning ignores that entirely, moving quickly to straddle you once more, wrapping a set of slender, ice cold fingers around your neck.

Her eyes burn into you, and you're too powerless to look away. "Say it. Say I fuck you the best. I won't leave. Not until you say it."

You ponder whether or not to comply, the air leaving your body bit by bit. Ningning squeezes just the right amount—just enough to leave you wanting more, leaving an ache between your legs.

"You're unbelievable."

"In bed, yeah, I am, aren't I?" she purrs, bringing her lips to yours, crashing them into you, hard. You kiss back, already done with resisting, because like it or not—you need Ning as much as she needs you.

"If you didn't look so sexy right now—"

Ningning cuts off the thought, shoving her tongue down your mouth to silence you. "When do I not? You've seen me at every point possible, at every hour, dressed up, down. Sexy is just the norm for me."

"Always so fucking cocky," you mutter under your breath, diving back in for another taste.

"It's not cocky, it's just the truth," Ningning says, sliding off your lap so she can lower to her knees before you. "Let me prove how accurate that statement is. Let's get these pants off…"

You're far too weak to say no, and not because of the blood loss. One swift movement from Ningning, and she has her fingers hooked at the waistband of your pants.

"May I?"

So polite. With a nod, she tugs them down, just far enough for what she has planned, revealing your boxers that aren't doing a very good job at hiding how aroused you are.

"Mmm, yeah," Ningning purrs, satisfied at what she sees as she begins to palm you over the fabric. "Was kinda worried, but got plenty of blood pumping here..."

There's only one thing left, to let Ningning do whatever she pleases, shove your boxers down so your cock can spring out, the tip practically oozing already.

 "All this for me? Gonna milk you dry tonight."

Again, there are no words that come from you, not a single thing outside a gasp. You try and keep your focus on Ningning herself—on that depraved stare when she strokes you. And she gets right down to business, pressing her tongue against the underside of your cock, flicking it a few times before taking a long drag down.

"I really missed this, baby," Ningning admits, planting several teasing kisses from base to tip, giving such satisfying strokes that make your stiff shaft leak.

You barely catch what she's saying—too focused on her touch, one that you haven't felt in far too long, by the person that knows you best. The heat from her mouth as her kisses linger along each and every inch, every vein that her hand travels down, familiarizing herself once more.

"Missed this inside my pussy, feeling how deep you fill me. Missed sucking it, missing making you cum just from this," she murmurs, staring up through those long eyelashes at you while she presses those full lips around your sensitive head, peppering it with affectionate kisses.

You simply moan, unable to get anything else out with her wet tongue swirling all over the head, savoring the taste.

"You missed me too, didn't you?"I know you did. That's why you won't push me away, or kick me out. That's why you won't ever tell me to stop."

Before you have a moment to breathe, Ningning wraps her lips around the head of your cock, trapping it in warmth, sinking down slowly. You can't hold what comes next, another loud moan that escapes as she gives a pleased hum in response, fondling your balls while her head bobs between your legs.

"Ning—"

She descends again, satisfied with that. And keeps at it—never fully down, never allowing her throat to be too full. Just slow, steady suction and delicious warmth while her tongue teases all over, sliding along base to tip, and back down, using all her tricks to draw your bliss out.

"This beautiful cock, fuck, missed the way you taste. The way you throb, how sexy you sound when you moan, mm," Ningning says, pausing just to run her tongue down every last throbbing inch. "And so, so fucking big. Mine. All mine."

Her head lowers, so sloppy and desperate, popping off just to spit on your stiff cock, spreading it all over before that heat envelops your shaft once more. All you can do is stare, every bob of her head drawing you closer to the back of her throat, a sight far too beautiful not to watch.

"God, Ning. Your fucking mouth…"

"Feels amazing, right? Nobody can make you feel this good. Nobody takes care of you like I do, baby? "

Ningning's right—of course, she's right, just like she always is, and you couldn't fight her words even if you wanted to. Because those lips know what they're doing—know how to please you, how to make you groan so pathetically, like her mouth was made just for your cock.

"I could suck your dick all day."

And you'd let her. Let Ningning take everything she wants and more. Everything feels too good—each flick, each slurp, the heat of her mouth—everything is taking you away, especially when she holds your gaze, until she finally swallows you whole in one fluid motion, nose pressed to your stomach as her lips seal tight.

"Fucking hell—"

It's almost a mistake to watch, to watch how her lips slide to the base and back down, this constant urge to please as her throat fills with every inch, tongue out with every stroke. The wetness that covers your shaft with every pass, mouth engulfing you, and all you can do is grab the back of her head, not to guide, not to control, but to simply indulge.

"Feels so fucking good, shit, nobody can do what you do, Ning."

She just stays still, eyes wide, appreciative at your words with her hands caressing your thighs, hardly any strain on her expression to have your entire aching cock buried in her throat.

"The best part is watching you lose yourself," she murmurs, popping off as saliva connects to your tip, breaking that connection so shes can stroke your the spit-covered shaft. "Lucky for you, I have no use for breathing, so I can have that big fucking cock just where it needs to be.

You're practically trembling, so close already it won't be difficult for Ningning to finish you off. That devious look she gives when reaching down to pull up her tight skirt without her lips leaving you. And it takes all you have not to lose it once you realize she has absolutely nothing underneath, her pretty, wet cunt for your viewing pleasure.

"It's a good thing you had an appetite," she says, shifting position just enough so you can see her fingers rub at her bare pussy. "Because my cunt is about ready to devour you."

Ningning says that as she picks up the pace, one finger between her legs, other hand resting on your thigh—bobbing her head at a frantic rate, taking you down and back up like nothing, not a single gag or struggle. You can't do much more than moan and stare, mouth parted and helpless, balls so tense the longer she keeps going, until Ning mercifully pops her lips from your throbbing cock.

"Thinking about how bad I want to ride you, baby. Or maybe you should have me bend over—fill me from behind and slap my ass as you give it to me. Or get all sprawled out, wrap my legs around you so you can't pull out, pound me while I scream how bad I need you. Lots of options for you to ravage my pussy, isn't there?"

The room is practically silent except for the sloppy, hungry sounds of Ningning awaiting your response, bobbing up and down your cock, tongue gliding flicking along every wet inch.

"Upstairs," you say, all out of breath—and it's all she needs to hear.

Ningning swallows you one more time, leaving a wet kiss on your swollen tip once she pulls off, ignoring your body's pleas to stay.

"Well then, lead the way my cute little fangbanger—but do be careful, I did just drain you."

In more ways than one, that's for sure.

There's a surge in motivation as you begin the trek up the stairs, Ningning close behind. Every footstep up the stairs, each thud echoes, like a countdown to your fate that awaits. You can only think of what's about to happen, the way she will take your body, and the sinful things you're going to do to her own in turn, nothing holding either of you back.

Once you arrive at the foot of your bed, Ningning is quick to shove you back with surprising force, giggling as she watches your weakened frame stumble back and land. She steps away, positioning herself close to the window, so you can see everything illuminated in the moonlight.

Ningning is unreal. Her ethereal beauty too much to handle as she undresses, her complexion glowing, that pale skin more beautiful than anything else. Those painted nails that have dug into your flesh almost as much as her sharp fangs, and your thoughts wander, watching each piece fall until a pile of her clothes lingers on underneath her bare feet.

You nearly faint once she's fully naked and turns to face you.

Every delicious curve for your eyes only, you feast on that naked skin, those pretty nipples, hardened by the cool air, those hips, luscious legs—every single inch of her more than overwhelming you. The silhouette of her body can't compare to the real thing once she closes the distance, climbing your lap in record time, hovering dangerously close to your erection.

"Been a while since you last fucked a vampire," Ningning teases, the heat of her cunt teasing the tip of your cock.

"And just whose fault is that?"

Ningning glares, spreading her wetness over the head and doing little else. "Now you're blaming me? When you made it so difficult just for me to see you?"

Before she drops her hips, Ningning allows her fangs to extend again, almost a reminder of her advantage over you. She's grazing over your chest, not using the full force just yet, merely playing with you. Little lovebites left scattered over her favorite parts of you, as if you won't remember the deep ones on your neck from earlier.

"Fucking love you like this—vulnerable, compliant, all fucking mine," Ningning purrs, catching her breath in between bites. "Bet you'd let me do anything to you tonight."

"I'd let you do anything you want anytime," you admit, realizing what comes from that statement.

She smirks at that, at your sudden honestly. Her tongue swipes the side of your face before trailing the shell of your ear, sucking on the soft flesh of your lobe. "Aren't I the lucky one, then?"

Without anything further, Ningning continues her path of destruction, trailing kisses and licks down your body. Like she's for the right moment to strike, or at god knows what else she has planned. Her lips catch a nipple, giving a few swirls that don't allow the pleasure you need, kissing down your abdomen and grazing the flesh with those fangs—those sharp things coming dangerously close, the thought of them puncturing the skin sending an orgasmic mixture of fear and arousal.

"Don't be nervous, baby," Ningning murmurs, lips tracing lower, planting kisses right below your navel that make you gasp. "Would never hurt you or do without warning. Well, without prior permission."

There's no time to give a snarky reply, nothing witty coming from your mouth as she looks at your skin she's made so sensitive, appreciating her work.

"Not nervous, Ning."

"Oh? Then I might wanna let you do what you want for a change," she murmurs into your skin. Ningning's lips hover right above your inner thighs, her hot breath enough to make you flinch, the anticipation of the bite, the delicate tease making every muscle tense up.

"You'll let me?"

Ningning laughs at your question, tongue dancing from where she left off. "Yeah, I'm giving you a freebie tonight. Have your way with me, darling."

It's a hard bargain—you don't trust her intentions, but there's no time for negotiation.

You lift her off with little effort, almost as if your strength returns without warning. Ningning's on her back, legs spread wide, glistening folds exposed to you as she waits for your next move.

"Yeah, this'll do," you say, drinking in that gorgeous view of her pretty cunt that's about to be made yours.

Ningning just smiles at the gesture. "Always knew you were a stickler for the basics. It's cute, really."

That's what she thinks. With that, you lift her legs up, resting both on your shoulders and folding her tiny frame, each of her feet by your ears. In an instant, her face changes from one of disappointment to realization, just at that split second before the plunge.

"Okay, this is different. I've misjudged, it seems—"

You say little else as your cock buries every inch in, sinking inside that soaking mess, making sure you fill her aching pussy perfectly. The groans slip out at her tightness, the wetness that consumes you, the way that Ningning looks once the motion of your hips start.

"You're fucking mine," you growl at the next slam, while her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head, her intoxicating cunt swallowing you up and clenching to make sure you won't dare leave.

"Ah, f-fuck!" she whimpers once you start to fuck her the way she needs. The way you think she deserves, the way you know the bed is going to protest to. No time for her to adjust, Ningning's tight little cunt clamps down with each desperate thrust, making sure you bury every last inch inside her.

"You're so tight—" you grunt, sweat gathering on your forehead already. "Feel too fucking good—always feel so fucking good.

Ningning looks gorgeous when she takes your cock. Hair a tangled mess, all spread out, completely at your mercy. "And you're so deep, so much deeper this way, damn, baby."

"Don't act so surprised, Ning."

"Oh, don't think I can be surprised? As if I expected this? You're never this aggressive."

"Maybe you pulled it out of me," you admit, hips snapping, watching Ningning's expression falter with each slam to the hilt. It's addicting to see her fall apart for a change, to watch those moans escape, pummeling her cunt like there's no other way, no other alternative—like your dick belongs inside her at all times.

"God, baby, look at you go," Ningning huffs out, parting her lips at the forceful treatment you're dishing out. "Making my pussy feel so good, ah—I haven't been fucked this good in ages."

"Then allow me to remedy that situation," you start, taking pleasure in the way she crumbles, the gasp she makes when you withdraw, the frantic moan when you hilt back in.

"Fuck yes, baby—give it to me. Harder, can feel you in my guts, shit," Ning cries out, throwing her head back, content to bask in the pleasure each time your cock disappears fully into her tight little pussy. "God, I needed you so bad. Needed you to fill me up so well."

"Here I am, Ning. Not going anywhere."

There's this rare moment where she can't find any witty comeback, not when that mouth hangs wide open, no snarky comments falling, nothing but pure unadulterated bliss. She's squirming, nails digging into the sheets, lifting her hips higher to let you reach places she'll feel for days.

"Fuck! Fuck, please, god yes," she pleads, struggling to find the words, staring at you through in hopes that you'll get the memo. "Please. Fuck me deeper, wanna feel all of you, want that cock to ruin me."

And that's precisely what you do—holding that position and looking Ningning right in those pretty eyes as you sink deep, pound that wet pussy until she's clinging for dear life to the sheets. She's powerless to you, or at least, pretending to be, words lost to lust as you fill her again and again.

Knowing that for once, she isn't the one in control—there's no strings attached or manipulating factors—that Ningning, that bloodthirsty, cunning, dominating vampire who can bring anyone and anything under her power, is nothing but a toy under you now. She's yours to do whatever with.

That sets something off inside of you, makes you want to push things further, take things to the next level. You shift, spread those legs wider and lift them off you until her knees almost meet her chest, folding her in half even.

Ningning's expression is filled with approval once you do, hips thrusting wildly with no mercy on her drenched pussy, hitting deeper than even before.

And now she looks delirious with pleasure, and your knees are digging into the mattress so you can get that little extra leverage, more power behind those harsh thrusts, hips working to the max, determined to ruin Ning—if it were even possible.

"That's it, destroy me, baby, make my pussy yours. Isn't it funny—you've got me in this, what do you humans call it? A mating press? And it's almost a shame that you can't breed me—makes me wish you could. Give all that hot, yummy cum something to do besides make my pussy gush."

"That's the last thing we need, another Ning. One of you is more than enough."

"You wish you had two. One to suck your hard cock in the morning and another to sit on your face. Yeah, you'd love that."

Your mind can't seem to even grasp the reality of that, picturing it all for a brief moment, only to continue hammering Ningning's tiny wet cunt. The urge, the carnal need to bring her to her brink and beyond consumes you—your hips working without rest, giving the girl no chance to recover, fucking her over and over in that delicate position with no way out of it.

Her body can't keep up with the intensity, and you can't almost either. Pinned against the mattress with nowhere to go, all that attention focused on her soaking cunt—too sensitive, too wet, too inescapable, each thrust becoming impossible to handle. For both of you.

You take pleasure watching her fall to pieces with each thrust that fills her, savoring every gasp that you cause, each plea for you to keep on driving in deep and hard.

"You, baby, keep pounding me like that—fucking my pussy and ruining it. Giving it to me so hard because you know I can take it, I can handle everything you give. Keep it going, keep going and give me what I deserve, empty those balls inside me like you own this pussy."

Hard not to when she's so convincing—staring at you, demanding your load, pleading to keep hammering that greedy cunt, your balls smacking against her asshole more than ready to dump it all in her.

"Get ready then," you say, hips losing all control—that pussy just won't relent, sucking and squeezing all around and making it harder than ever to keep going any longer.

"Oh, baby, please—I was ready to be pumped full of cum the moment you invited me in. You're gonna cum so hard, I know, fill me, make my pussy so messy. Get that hot load nice and deep in me," Ning pleads, bracing for the inevitable, too far gone for anything else.

"Don't you fucking worry, Ning, this tight pussy is getting everything," you say, sheathing yourself deep in that wetness for as long as you can stand.

"Good, then you know what to do—cum inside me."

You groan out—more than compliant with those demands, no longer fighting against the pressure boiling deep inside. No fight left from that tightness you can't escape from, so you give in, unloading as your cock empties into Ningning. The relief is heavenly, each violent throb, each hot spurt that floods her insides, her cunt clenching to demand it all, keeping you captive while you fuck it all deep.

Ningning follows not a second later, struggling to keep her composure as her own orgasm hits, face contorting in pleasure at her reward, toes curling, walls tightening even more as the sticky mess mixes with her own juices together in her hot depths.

And before you can even finishing pumping it all inside her, your fresh load leaks out that sopping, ruined cunt, pooling underneath your pleasure-stricken bodies.

"That's it, fuck… can always count on you to fill my pussy up, baby, just how I need," Ning groans, a tired smile creeping up on her face as she embraces her own bliss. "So fucking hot."

You linger in your high, and do little other than fall against her body and embrace the relief, cock slipping out enough as your cum begins to spill out and ruin the sheets further, something Ningning wears in such satisfaction.

"See?" Ning asks, a bit of smugness returning her voice, playing with your hair. "Aren't you glad you kept that sexy ass mine? "

Your body shifts, so you can focus your gaze on her beautiful complexion. Even if things may end messy again, you have no regrets. For now, all that matters is being right in the arms of the person who's never been more certain.

"You know how much I missed you, Ning," you respond, watching the way her breasts heave with the breaths that follow.

Ningning glances down at you, like that's an obvious conclusion. "Typical."

Too tired to even roll your eyes, too tired to put up with Ningning's usual antics. "Alright, sounds like its time to go back home, and—"

She wraps her legs around you, preventing movement. "And why do you think that is?"

"You got what you wanted, you drained my blood and my balls. Now you can go."

Ningning's quiet as she ponders, just long enough for a mischievous smile. "No, I don't think so. It's late—let me sleep on your sofa."

"Sleep? You don't sleep until morning."

Ningning just giggles, peppering you with kisses that break down your protests. "Then you get to entertain me until then. Deal?"

"And what if I want to sleep?"

She squeezes tighter with her legs around your waist, keeping you firmly in place. "Then you let the wrong girl inside. Do you think I'm done with you?"

Well, no, you certainly don't. That's something she'll make abundantly clear.

"Okay, fine, I'll stay up—but let me take a shower. You really made a fucking mess."

"Me? You were the one that dumped all that cum in me."

You simply stare at Ning, glaring right back at you. The more you stare, the more you both burst out into a fit of laughter, any attempts at acting serious not lasting more than a few seconds.

"No, I think your pussy deserves some blame. It had my cock trapped pretty tight—"

"But you had me all folded like a goddamn chair. Pinned and begging for your cum, that's on you."

Her eyes narrow and Ningning raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow in disbelief. You just remain there, hands lingering atop her waist. "Oh, my apologies for how rough I got with your pussy. Wasn't aware my precious Ningning was so delicate."

Ningning scoffs, using her strength to move your hands off. "I'm a goddamn vampire, don't talk to me about delicate. You can't hurt me no matter how hard you fuck."

"Is that a challenge?"

Her glare continues. "Don't get fucking cocky, love. You'll hurt yourself more than me."

"Hm, sounds like a challenge to me."

"You're such an idiot. You could literally use both hands to choke me with no mercy and I'll just laugh at how pathetic you look. Nothing you can do."

You tilt your head. "Does that mean you'd enjoy the idea?"

"I didn't say I was against it. Just won't do anything, is the point."

There's little sense in debating the merits of that claim. And you're so exhausted that you wouldn't even try. For tonight at least, you can let Ning have this victory.

The rain eventually calms down, enough for the two of you to head outside the balcony and enjoy the weather without risk. Freshly showered, with Ningning in nothing but a stolen shirt from your closet. It's late—so late, but you don't really care.

"Are you planning to make a habit of this?" you ask, knowing what you're asking might be dangerous territory.

Ningning's head turns, the grin on her face looking devilish from so close as she leans over the balcony railing. "Would it upset you if I did?"

An hour ago and you'd have a very different answer—now you aren't so sure. "No, not really. I mean, not like I can ever stop you."

Ningning just takes in your reaction, her own expression not changing a bit. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me."

You sigh, staring up at the night sky as she inches a little bit closer. "A pretty girl shows up at my door and lets me do whatever I want, lets me fuck her hard against the shower wall—yeah, maybe a little."

Ningning laughs, her hand creeping around to find yours, fingers interlocking and thumb rubbing slowly against your flesh. "Is that all it takes? For me to show up, suck your dick and let you empty your balls into me, then I'm suddenly a good person?"

"Hey, I never said that—"

"Darling," she says, tightening her grip, bringing her head right next to yours, warm breath ghosting over your ear. "I'd bend over and do every dirty little thing you ask without complaint. I'd worship your cock just for the sake of making you happy. All I need is for you to say you want that. That you want me."

That gets your attention. You can't say that this night has been anything but wonderful, despite your trepidation in at the beginning. Your fingers squeeze tightly around hers, eyes focused on Ningning's pretty face in the dark, moon illuminating her features.

"God, what am I getting myself into.."

She laughs, flashing that bright smile before turning back to face the city skyline. "Hopefully me again, love."

You snake your arms over around her small waist until she's tight against you. With no shame whatsoever, you slide your hands underneath, squeezing Ningning's bare ass and pulling her into a kiss.

"But what if I wanted to do all kinds of crazy things to you, Ning? Or wanted you to do them to me?"

Ningning struggles not to smile, doing all she can to not succumb to the giddy laughter that tries to emerge. "Just tell me a time and date then. So I can catch that goddamn train."

Not letting up, you steal her lips, tasting them, savoring how soft they feel against yours, running your hands all over her cold, bare skin.

"Why catch a train when I have a perfectly good sofa for you to crash on?" you ask between kisses, trying to spend as much time pressed up against her body as possible.

"Darling," she interrupts, almost annoyed, staring directly into your eyes. "Please be serious right now. Don't treat me like I'm some random hookup."

You raise an eyebrow, confused. "I wasn't. I'm offering you a place to stay."

Ningning breaks out into a little laugh. She stops herself when you show no sign of joking.

"Wait, you're actually serious? Really? Stay?"

You interrupt her with another kiss. "Isn't that what I said? Not gonna make you sit on some shitty train for hours just to get dicked down at some ungodly hour. Stay with me. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Whenever you want."

She doesn't know what to say to that, only that her smile is spreading from ear to ear. "Of course I'll stay—thought you'd never ask. I'll happily get dicked down any time I come. Suck your dick the moment you wake up. Make breakfast, talk dirty to you while you stroke and cum on my tits, all kinds of crazy, naughty things—"

"Ning, you already have an invite, you don't need to try so hard."

She laughs it off. "What can I say, I get excited by the idea of seeing that cock at any hour."

"Christ. Is that the only reason you want to live here? Just so you can drain me dry every hour on the hour?"

The little giggle that Ningning gives is enough of an answer, knowing she can't deny the fact that it's a strong motivating force behind her plans. "No, of course not, baby. I also need you around so I can take your blood whenever I need it."

You scoff at that, threatening to leave the balcony altogether. Ningning, laughing again, wraps her arms tight around yours, refusing to let you out of her grasp. "I'm not a buffet, Ning."

"Mm," she hums, nuzzling into your neck. "You're whatever I need you to be. Your cock certainly is. Your thick, juicy, delicious—"

"Ning—"

"Yes, darling?"

"Come inside. It's freezing and the rain is starting up again. And you're not wearing anything to speak of."

Ningning laughs, clinging to your side. "Or what, I might die? Vampire, love. I could do this all night."

Another sigh escapes, pulling away only to lift her up into your arms, getting a good grip under her ass so the resounding sound of her squeal fills your ears once you carry her back inside.

"Someone is eager to go again," Ningning says, more than happy with where things are heading. You pretend that the thought doesn't cross your mind.

"No, I'm freezing and wanna go to sleep. I have work tomorrow," you say, depositing her ass right onto the cushions of the sofa before she can put up a fuss.

"It's the weekend, love," she reminds, pulling you down on the couch with her, legs already wrapping around and taking the fight out of you. "Which means you're stuck with me until Monday."

Nothing you can do but laugh at her persistence. You kiss her, once, and then pull away. Staring into her eyes, taking in her beauty, wondering if it would always be this difficult for you to escape.

"Should have listened. When people say you shouldn't feed strays. Because they always keep coming back."

Ningning's expression changes, lips turning into a far more offended pout. "Are you calling me a stray? What the fuck—"

"You always show up on my doorstep, wanting scraps and a place to rest. Is that not far off the mark?" you tease, only to be cut off by her lips.

"Rude," she mumbles between each kiss. "There are plenty of places I could be. Men to see. Bars to visit. Places to collect victims. Yet, here I am. Guess where I've chosen."

"Just sounds like you don't have anywhere else to go if you ask—"

Ningning's kisses stop abruptly, grabbing your head and guiding it down between her legs. "I didn't ask, thanks. Now if you don't mind, be a good boy and eat my pussy before I need to feed again."

You've never been much of an "alpha male", and frankly, you're fine with that. Your childhood is a classic tale: always last picked in school sports, struggled to make many guy friends, called every homophobic slur under the sun just for having basic hygiene. Despite it all, you ended up in an alright place—a quiet and unassuming existence.

Then, you met Kazuha, and your quiet and unassuming existence turned upside down.

"He ordered the chicken sandwich, not the burger," she scolds, dropping the tray of food onto the counter with enough force to send a couple fries flying.

You meekly tug her sleeve. "It's fine, really—"

"Hush, baby." In an instant, she shuts you up with a quick glance with those piercing eyes. "Let momma handle this."

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," the cashier says with his squeaky, prepubescent voice. "I'll have the kitchen put a rush on his chicken sandwich right away. Uh, may I interest you in a free dessert for your troubles?"

Kazuha turns to you, patiently waiting for your answer.

"Uh, I guess a vanilla milkshake wouldn't be so bad—"

"Vanilla milkshake," she repeats, leaning against the counter. "And no cherries. My boyfriend doesn't like cherries."

The cashier gulps, his Adam's apple practically disappearing in sheer terror. "U-uh, yes ma'am. No cherries. Understood."

"Good." Kazuha shoots him one final glare before taking your hand and leading you back to your booth.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter. "I would've been fine with the burger."

She slinks into the seat across from you with a huff. "It's not what you ordered though. And I know how much you like the chicken sandwich at this place."

You shrug. "The burger isn't that bad."

"Then why didn't you order the burger?" She raises her brow in that "I'm right and you know it" kinda way that you're all too familiar with.

"Well…"

Kazuha reaches across the table and lifts up your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Repeat after me: Thank you for fixing my order, Kazuha. You're the best," she says in a high-pitched voice.

You chuckle softly. "I don't sound like that."

"Say it."

"Thank you for—"

"Do it in the voice."

"Wha—I'm not gonna do t—"

"Do it!"

Her outburst attracts some unwanted attention from other tables, making you shrink in your seat. "Kazuha, people are looking…"

Her lips curl into that smirk—the one that never fails to make your heart do a somersault even after eight months of dating. "Aw, sorry," she brushes her thumb against your bottom lip, "did I embarrass you, baby?"

"W-whatever." You pull away before you do something that'll get both of you kicked out for overt PDA. "Thanks for fixing my order. You're the best," you utter flatly.

Kazuha sits back, arms behind her head and chin held high like those cool kids in old movies. "I know. I'm pretty fuckin' sick."

"And humble too."

The cashier from earlier drops off your food, making an effort to avoid looking Kazuha in the eye. "Here you go, is there anything else I can get you two?" he asks.

Kazuha looks over at you for an answer. "No, thank you," you say. You swear you see him breathe a heavy sigh of relief as he walks away. Poor guy.

"I feel bad," you unwrap your chicken sandwich, the one you ordered initially. "He's probably got enough things going on without us giving him grief."

"Relax babe, we're doing him a favor. Now he knows not to mess up people's orders," she points out, coolly tossing a fry into her mouth.

"Still," you linger on the flakes of salt on her lip for a second too long, "you know how badly service people are treated on the daily. I don't wanna add to that."

"Then don't. I'll do it for you," she smirks.

"Kazuha, that's not funny."

"What, I didn't laugh."

"Yeah, but you're smiling."

"I'm smiling because you're cute."

You bite your tongue, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a grin. Unknowingly or not, she sets her food to the side and leans forward, eyeing you like a piece of art.

"Ugh, I hate when you do that," you mutter.

"Do what? I'm just lookin' at ya." Her eyes trace over your lips, and you wonder if she'll like the taste of that new chapstick you just bought.

"I'm trying to eat."

"Am I disturbing your eating?" You feel her foot press against your calf, drawing slow lines with the toe of her boot.

Trying to win against Kazuha is a sisyphean task. She does what she wants, and you follow her around like a loyal puppy. Behave well enough, she'll give you a treat—and just like any puppy, you like your treats.

"Not here, at least," you pout. "I haven't had a single thing to eat all day."

"Aww." She gives you one last drag against your leg before settling back into her seat. "Okay, I'll let you eat."

"Thank you."

Even then, you find your foot gently rubbing against hers as you eat. You can act annoyed all you want, but face it: you're completely smitten with Kazuha.

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"Baby?" Kazuha grabs a leather jacket off of the rack and holds it up to her torso. "What do you think?"

"I think," you sigh, "you have way too many leather jackets."

"What's wrong with that? I'm a collector."

"That looks exactly like the one you bought last week." You take a closer look at the oddly familiar looking tag. "I'm pretty sure that is the exact same one."

"Oh." She takes one last look at it before putting it back. "See, this is why I like having you around. I've probably saved, like, a billion dollars thanks to you."

"Whatever," you chuckle, linking your arm with hers. It's just common sense, you think, but the warmth of her compliment is leagues better than being right.

The two of you pass by racks and racks full of the new wave of summer trends. Personally, you've always been a fan of the fall—cardigans, sweaters, the ability to wear jeans without your legs feeling like tinfoil-wrapped burritos. You and summer are just a match made in Hell. Inevitably, it comes around to torment you for three months out of the year and you're forced to scramble for a wardrobe that won't burn you alive.

"See anything you like?" Kazuha asks.

You scan the men's section, grimacing at the typical suspects that plague the shelves—tank tops, cargo shorts, ugly graphic tees with abominations like "summer vibes" written all over them. "Not really."

"You sure?" She grabs a simple black tank top off the rack. "This one seems pretty nice."

You physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Something like that would only look good on her, with her pretty arms that are deceptively strong, and when she flexes, you can see the shadows dance around her biceps, which reminds you of that one time she put you in a chokehold as a joke and you could feel her muscles pushing against your throat, and you were so mesmerized by the feeling that you forgot to fight back, and—

"Baby?" Kazuha shakes you out of your trance. "You okay?" she chuckles.

"I-I'm good." You wipe away the droplet of drool that almost leaked from your lips. "Let's keep looking."

Deeper and deeper through the men's section you go, yet nothing seems to tickle your fancy. Go figure. You knew looking for clothes this time of year would be futile, but Kazuha wanted to hang out and you already said yes before realizing how much of a waste of time this would amount to.

"Ugh, these all suck," you groan.

"Maybe we'd have found something by now if you weren't so picky," Kazuha points out, brow raised at you.

"Not all of us were born to look good in just about anything," you bite back with a cheesy grin. "Some of us have to put effort into looking nice."

"Hey, don't blame me for being sexy." She drapes her arm around your shoulders, and for a split second, you think she's going to put you into another chokehold. So close. "I don't want you overheating just because you're being stubborn, baby."

"I'm not being stubborn, I just—"

You glance over at the women's section and stop at one of the mannequins. It's wearing a simple outfit, fitting for the weather, but what catches your eyes is the skirt—floor length and ruffled, made of a pure white cotton that seems to dance, even on the still mannequin. 

For one reason or another, you can't take your eyes off of it. It wouldn't be too hard to fit into your current wardrobe, and it's a much nicer alternative to the dull beige of all the cargo shorts that seems to infect every corner of the men's options. But, it's just—you're a guy, and Kazuha, well—you already wonder why she even likes you, and—

Kazuha follows your gaze. "Are you getting the hots for the mannequin?" she teases.

"W-what? No, I just—maybe we can find somewhere else to—"

She grips your hand before you have a chance to escape. "Hey, be honest with me." Her voice turns softer, more sincere compared to her usual mischief. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I—" You peer into her round eyes. They're void of any kind of judgment or disgust, the usual reaction you expect when girls you're interested learn of your 'peculiar tastes'. "I just thought the skirt was pretty. That's all."

"Pretty on me, or pretty on you?"

"Well, of course you'd look pretty in it—"

"Hey." She tilts your chin up, the tip of her thumb pressing your bottom lip. You practically sink into her touch. Never have you felt a presence safer than Kazuha's.

"I… wanna try it on," you admit shyly. "Is that okay?"

She bares her pretty white teeth at you before pressing a soft kiss onto your lips. "Of course you can, baby. You don't need my permission to wear whatever you want."

Heat creeps up your cheeks like lava bubbling to the top of a volcano. "Thanks," you utter, biting back your excitement at the thought of looking pretty.

The second your staring at your reflection in the dressing room mirror, the ruffled skirt in your hands, it all starts to feel a little too real. Your first ever skirt. The thought has crossed your mind a handful of times before, but you never thought you'd actually get to this point. If it weren't for Kazuha and her charming eyes, this moment would just be another figment of your imagination.

You take a deep breath, and you put it on—it fits. Your reflection doesn't look half bad either. The breeze between your legs will take some getting used to, and you'll need to be wary of what color underwear you wear with these, but for now, you're just in awe of how good it looks. How good you look.

You do a little twirl for fun, giggling at the way the dress flows like petals on a blooming flower. Kazuha knocks against the dressing room door. "Did you try it on yet? I wanna see."

"Yeah! Come in."

As soon as Kazuha sees you, her expression drops. In that moment, worry starts to creep into your mind.

Does she not like it?

Does she not like you?

Will she leave just like the rest of them?

All your anxieties are laid to rest as Kazuha envelops you into a tight squeeze. "Holy fuck, my boyfriend is so pretty," she breathes, rocking you back and forth in her arms. You immerse yourself in her warmth, the kind of warmth that steadies your heart and quiets your mind; the kind you want to feel every day until you die.

"Does that mean you like it?" you ask.

"I love it," she says, pecking your lips. "I'm totally buying you every single color they have."

You chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Maybe we can just stick to this one for now? Until I get used to it, at least."

"That's fine with me." Her lips find yours once again, this one a little longer, a little more tender. "It really suits you, baby."

This kiss leaves you wobbly-kneed and blubbering, reduced to a puddle of lovestruck goop in her arms. Her strong, toned arms that you somehow fit perfectly in between.

"Let's hurry up and pay for it so I can take it off you later tonight," she winks, shutting the door behind her and leaving you to feel like the luckiest boy on the planet.

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The two of you kick off your shoes by the front door of your apartment, tossing the shopping bags haphazardly on your coffee table. Those will be for future you to deal with; right now, your feet are dead from all the walking and your body is in desperate need of a bed to collapse on.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Kazuha urges, dragging you to your bedroom. In there, she collapses back onto your bed, arms above her head and her eyes staring you down like a hawk to a little mouse. "Hurry up and take me, pretty boy."

"O-oh." You gulp. "You mean, like, right now? Um—"

"What's that?" Kazuha asks, a smirk growing on her lips. On your usually tidy desk, a small pile of crumpled tissues sits next to your closed laptop, and the memory of what you did last night hits you all at once.

"W-wait, it's not what it looks like—!"

"You little freak!" Before you have a chance to explain yourself, Kazuha jumps to her feet, grabbing at your laptop with the cunning of a fox. "Ooh, let's see what kind of perversions you were watching!"

"Kazuha, don't—"

She flips open your laptop, and on the screen lies a still of the last scene you had watched—a boy with cerebral palsy and his grandma overlooking the edge of a mountain.

"What?" Kazuha asks. "Where's the porn?"

"I wasn't watching porn," you sigh in embarrassment, "I was watching a movie."

She gasps. "An adult movie?!"

"No!" 

Kazuha falls into a fit of giggles. Real mature of her.

"I was watching a… sad movie." You point at the pile of tissues. "I was crying…"

"Aw." She holds your head to her chest, kissing the top of your scalp. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make of fun of you for crying."

"It's fine." It's impossible to be upset with her when she feels this nice.

"Was it good? Can I watch it with you?"

"You want to? What about the whole, um, 'taking you' thing?"

She chuckles softly. "Maybe some other time. Walking around all day has got me feeling lazy." Kazuha crawls into your bed, cozying up under your covers. "C'mon, I wanna watch!"

You relent, following her onto your bed. "I might cry again."

"That's okay," she wraps you in her embrace, "mama's here."

You drag the little red dot all the way to the beginning and hit play, safe and sound in her arms.

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"Grandma?" Chunhe utters, cradling the box of his beloved cat's ashes in his arms.

"Hmm?" she replies.

"After you take me to school, I'll buy you a meal at the cafeteria."

His grandma smiles at him. "All right."

"And then," Chunhe continues, "Buy yourself a train ticket and go wherever you want. Go look around. Go have some fun. Let me walk the rest of my path my way. All right?"

His words may be slow or clumsy, but his sincerity cuts through like the sharpest blade, and his grandma knows this. No more is Chunhe the helpless little boy he once was; now, he stands tall against the prejudice that the world throws at him.

Even after knowing how it ends, it doesn't get easier the second time around.

"There, there," Kazuha coos, gently brushing your head. "It's okay, baby."

"Sorry," you sniffle, "It's just—"

"I know."

She holds you to her chest, letting you sob your little heart out for what feels like forever. For every tear that falls, Kazuha is there with a brush of her thumb or a comforting kiss to pick up all the broken pieces that the movie left you in.

It feels unfair, undeserved, you think, to know such tenderness like it's home. In the original script, the roles would be reversed—Kazuha sobbing into your arms while you comfort her. 

But they aren't. And even in this tenderness that you cherish so deeply, inklings of insecurities that you've long held still manage to seep through.

"Can I ask you something?" you say, wiping away at the last of your tears.

"What is it, baby?"

You breathe, slowly. "Why do you… why do you like me?"

She leans into you, the soft weight of her cheek resting on your head. "Hmm… Well, other guys just suck," Kazuha answers simply.

"Don't you ever wish I was more, uh, 'manlier' or something?"

"Hell no," she grimaces. "Those kinds of guys are the worst. I say one funny thing and they're all like 'Damn, your energy is different, for real!' and it's so annoying! I just have a personality!"

Kazuha holds you tighter, and it becomes clear just how much she wants you over any other guy. "Besides, I like my boys on the softer side." She kisses your damp cheek. "It means they have a soul."

The thought of it alone is more than enough to freeze the blood in your veins. You still get stiff when you recall the way your face warped from relief after seeing your girlfriend again in the flesh, then into confusion when you began to wonder where this was all coming from, and finally into dread when you finally realized where this discussion might be headed.

What was that supposed to mean? What does that spell for your relationship?

You wish it was that easy. You really wish it could be that simple. To just talk to her. To just ask her directly about it. To confront her and her unspoken fears and insecurities about your long-distance relationship.

But the words don’t come out. You can’t find it in you to scrape them from the pit of your chest and lay them bare before her. She doesn’t seem like she wants to breach the subject either—not again. Whenever your eyes met since she popped the question, you could tell from the way she darts her gaze away within milliseconds that she just wanted to instigate. She was hoping you would progress it.

Did she really think you—let alone anyone—could have prepared for something like this?

You’re happy enough as it is. You have many things to be thankful for.

You’re glad you managed to save up enough money to attend their concert tonight—SVIP tickets. Bougie little shit. She offers to not just get you a free ticket to the soundcheck, but also a special backstage pass so you could hang out with her and the other members during the breaks and lulls of their performances. But you told her some cheesy and cringey spiel about wanting to ‘earn your way’ to be by her side when she’s on the stage. So she let you do it your way.

You’re relieved that your little gambit after the concert paid off. The moment she told you that the flight was almost immediately after their concert, you began planning for a means of escape. You knew it would be difficult to reach her, so you pulled some strings, which included buying a cheap ticket to South Korea, bribing the staff in charge of the lounge areas, and sending her a script meant for her manager to allow her to be excused for a moment before their departure. It was hard enough for her to come up with bullshit reasons for her other members, but you’re just glad it worked.

But most of all, you’re glad that she’s with you. Really with you right now.

Leaning into your stiff body planted firmly against the soft padded cushions of the lounge couch, she’s pressing her cheek between the folds of your lap, holding onto the stretch of leg between your hip and knee, allowing you to caress the stray strands of her hair away from her face, Naoi Rei acts as if nothing had just happened between you two.

As if you two hadn’t soft-launched your break up.

There’s a whole self-service buffet in front of you two: pastries, all-day breakfast, specialty items from the local cuisine, finger foods, light snacks. There’s even a cocktail bar stocking one of her favorite drinks. But she doesn’t budge. And neither do you.

You know you should probably get some food for her—even feed her if you have to. You didn’t want to bring it up before whenever you two got on video call, and you weren’t even sure if it was real or if it was all just in your head, but you couldn’t help but notice the amount of weight she’s losing. One of your hands crests over her bare thighs and squeezes it in comfort. Your other hand dangles just above her laying face and pokes a finger into her cheek to test its plushness. Thankfully she hasn’t gotten too skinny, but it concerns you. Greatly. And you should probably be a decent boyfriend anyway and get her a bite or two to help her recharge after her concert.

And yet, you still find yourself motionless by her side, halfway between wanting to embrace her tightly and helping her sit up so you can walk out and run as far away from the airport as possible.

You shut your eyes and let out a sigh so deep that it rumbles in your stomach, alerting her.

She shifts, swapping from her previous fixation—the F1 race on one of the TVs that she knows absolutely nothing about—and instead now looks up at you. 

You try your best not to look at the sulk in her eyes, at the pale of her cheeks, at the longing in her pout. You feel your pettiness bubble up to the surface. She was the one who hinted at breaking up, so why should you feel any pity towards her?

But who are you kidding? One glimpse of her and your knees buckle. Soon, you find yourself staring right back at her from above.

You don’t know what to say, and that’s probably part of the problem. You gather she doesn’t know what to tell you either. You’re not really a person of many words. You were never verbose nor well-spoken enough growing up. You just let things happen and left the thoughts alone to simmer in your head. So what were you supposed to do now? What were you supposed to say now?

Should you circle back to the topic? Bring it up again? Raise your concern? That seems very risky. Maybe she already forgot about her break up idea. If so, then reminding her about it would just place it back into the forefront of her mind and develop the thought further.

Should you maybe break the ice somehow at least and try to lighten the mood? Whether or not she’s still actively thinking about the question she asked you—and your lack of a decent intelligible response—you should at least try to support her right? Try to support her? You can only imagine how physically exhausted she must be right now. The setlist they had for tonight’s concert was insane and afforded Rei and the other girls little to no breaks. Maybe being silly for a bit to lift her spirits isn’t such a bad ieda.

Should you maybe just … let it be?

Among the multitude of thoughts swimming around in your head, you let that line of thinking simmer the longest before entertaining it further.

You avoid her gaze for this one, and you swear to god you could hear her whine because of it.

What if you just let it be?

The last time you saw Rei in person was back in 2024, when she came to your area for a second time following their group’s first world tour. You two were more lovestruck back then. More carried by passion. More limited through the view of each of your own rose-tinted glasses. You didn’t care if she was only around for two days. You didn’t care if you could only have her for an hour after their fan meet on the evening before the concert proper. You didn’t care about what you’d both do, or say, or profess to each other when you could finally meet again. You just let your emotions take control and wash over you, and you both found yourselves forming the treasured memory of nearly falling down the stairs of her hotel’s fire escape because she wouldn’t let go of your face to stop kissing you for even just a second—even if it could cost her her life.

And now?

Now you had more time. More leeway. More comfort. More freedom. And yet you both have done less with each other this year than you did two years ago. Hell—you could even argue that you both have done way less together tonight than you normally did over voice or video call. You swear you had everything planned down to a tee, calculated everything for your plan to be executed successfully, refined all the different scripts you had in mind for what you’d finally tell her once you were with her again face-to-face. But none of it mattered in the end, did it? She came into tonight with something else on her mind.

So what if you just let it be?

What if you just allowed yourself a final moment of respite with her? One last chance to just hold her intimately like this—like you are right now—in the silence of the lounge. No cameras. No fans. No overprotective manager or nosey members to be wary of. Just the two of you. Not as idol and fan. Not as random strangers who matched on a whim using a silly dating app. Not as oppa and dongsaeng. Just boyfriend and girlfriend.

What if you just let her go?

You wanted this relationship to last. You really did. You still do, in fact. Even after all the doubt that she casted deep within the well of your being. It shattered you. Collapsed you into yourself. Weighed down on you from start to finish. But you held onto hope. You believed that one day, your monthly photo-journal compilations on Google Drive would turn into a collage of physical photos scattered across the space of your soon-to-be shared apartment. That one day, your weekly dates across the screen would spill over into reality, and you could finally take her out around the fancier parts of town for Saturdates or Sundates—whenever she was more free. That one day, your nightly calls in bed that lasted until someone passes out or cries themselves to sleep would culminate with you both falling asleep and waking up next to each other in the same shared bed. 

But as those words echo in your head like the toll of the dead, you can’t help but wonder if those memories? Those wishes? Those hopes and dreams of yours? Were all just a veil for you to hide from the reality of the situation.

She’s an idol. She’s meant for the stage, and the limelight, and the fame. She’s meant to be loved by many—more than just you. And you? You’re just a normal dude trying to live paycheck to paycheck. Just outrunning life before it starts to get ahold of you. Just … trying to chase after her and finally merge onto her path as well.

But who are you kidding? That’s never going to happen. Rei’s never giving up on being an idol. And you are never going to be within her league in your lifetime.

So, you return to the thought. That damn ever-present thought.

What if you just let her go?

It’s easier that way, isn’t it? After all, it saves you the impending heartbreak that’s looming over you like a hurricane in the horizon. It saves you all the messy bits. It saves you from taking longer to move on.

“Move on?”

You flinch, glance slowly back down at her until you’re staring at her similarly confused expression, and raise a brow. “What did you say?”

“Move on?” she asks again, tapping a finger now against your knee. “You were writing it. On my body. ‘Move on’.”

You didn’t notice it, but Rei’s right. The hand that you unknowingly moved down towards your waist had its pointer stretched forward as if it was tracing something against her skin.

“Sorry, I was just … thinking. About things,” you feign, opting to go with the first option—to not talk about it.

Rei nods, cheek grazing gently against your jeans. “Can you guess what this spells?”

With her own finger, she mimics your writing and actually attempts to write something across your thigh. At first, you couldn’t really tell what it is. But after the third attempt, you stopped comparing it to morse code and instead tried to treat it like brushstrokes of a pen.

“Con … -cert?”

Rei nods again with a smile, clapping her hands in small flits. “That took a while, but that was good. Ok now, your turn!”

You aren’t really in the mood to be playing games, but you indulge her. It’s the least you can do to decompress.

“Bes … No, beau …? Beau … Ah! Beautiful!” she completes with a roll of her eyes. In the same vein, she writes out her next word for you.

“Back? Back ga … Wait is this even in English anymore?”

The smirk she pulls when you ask this is enough to confirm it. You furrow your brows and try to focus on the strokes, on the way they see a bit more rounded on the curves and sharper against the edges. When the ‘Eureka moment’ finally strikes you, you thank the heavens for blessing you with enough patience to study Japanese on the daily ever since you started dating Rei.

“Baka? Hey now!”

Burying her face into your lap, she does a little wiggle to try and ignore you. Either that or she was just unknowingly being adorable once again. You want to smile. You want to caress the side of her face. But the bitter taste of her words blossom once more at the back of your tongue, so you hold yourself back.

“Your turn. Write me something. Anything. And I’ll guess it again.”

You scratch at the nail of your pointer with the tip of your thumb. Like you’re sharpening it. You use this moment to think.

“Re … Rei! Rei-chan … wa … totemo … kawa … kawaii? Rei-chan wa totemo totemo kawaii, nee!”

“Ok you clearly added more things to that, but sure,” you tease, earning you a pinch to your cheek. “Go on, it’s your turn now.”

She palms over your thigh like she’s erasing her previous message before writing anew with her finger, leaving you to guess what it is again.

“Moo … moo …?”

Rei is bawling, hair fanning out behind her on your lap as she clutches her stomach to try and relieve herself from the manic laughter. “You sound just like a cow—I should have recorded it.”

You bite your lip. “Hey, I’m trying my best, alright? Wasn’t fair that you shifted the game to your mother tongue.”

She nods, gesturing towards you with her chin, inviting you to finish what you started.

“Moo … moogenkai?”

She’s at her limit? At her limit for what?

At first, you figure that she might just be hungry. That she might just be hinting at you to go get her something to eat already. To stop being a coward and treat your girlfriend right. But when you motion like you might stand up, she pushes hard against the joint of your knee as if to stop you from your idiocy.

When she looks into your eyes this time, you can tell something’s changed. She continues writing on your lap.

“Gan …  Ganbatteru yo ne? Demo … demo …”

The moment your mind translates what she’s trying to tell you into English, you freeze. You don’t say it out loud anymore. You simply voice it out in your own mind.

Ganbatteru you ne? Soredemo mada fujubunda.

Watashi no tame ni.

Anata no tame ni.

You feel knot after knot starting to tighten in your guts. But Rei doesn’t look away from you—even when you do. She knows you understood what that meant word for word, and the way she’s gazing right up at you right now feels like she’s waiting for your response.

I’m trying my best, but it doesn’t feel enough.

Not for me.

Not for you.

Suddenly, it’s gotten quite difficult to breathe. You’re certain the AC in the room hasn’t changed in the slightest, and you haven’t had the faintest bit of contact with the different food offered before you two to have triggered one of your many allergies. But you find yourself, nonetheless, both breathless and speechless to the point that just the simple flexion of your throat muscles feels like you’re swallowing shards of glass.

How do you tell her?

How do you tell her that, because of her, you’ve found meaning in the smallest pleasures? That you always keep your phone charged in case she ever wanted to call? That you always check her Bubble, her Instagram, her Twitter to make sure you never missed a post or message? That you always carve time for a few minutes—just a few moments—every hour amidst your daily schedule to write out your thoughts about your long-distance relationship together in your journal, hoping you might one day read them to her? How do you tell her that seeing her smile after a long day of work—even it’s a bare-faced one, or a tired one, or a silly one—feels more refreshing than any ounce of sleep you can get? That you play her voice messages on repeat in your earphones, every train ride to work and every bus ride home, just to hear her voice again? That you dream of her, every single fucking night, to the point you spin fantasies in your head about future dates, vacation plans, and even your fucking wedding just to state your unbridled and overflowing love for her?

How exactly are you supposed to tell Naoi Rei that you are unapologetically, maddeningly, and absolutely in love with her? That she could even slit your throat with the butter knife sitting nineteen feet away from you, and you would still thank her, and instead apologize for bleeding all over her?

How exactly are you supposed to tell Rei that she is enough? 

For you?

So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You throw away the letters you’ve written her and memorized by heart. You shred the romantic and cheesy lines you forced yourself to gobble down and stow away for whenever you might need to say something profound to her. Hell—you don’t even consider quoting some of her favorite poems or favorite lyrics and songs even if you know that’s guaranteed to cheer her up.

Instead, you let the little voice in your heart do the talking.

So you tuck the final lock of her sugar brown hair behind one ear, lean forwards to press your lips against the side of her temple, take a deep breath, take in the scent of her skin and sweat and cologne, and plant the longest, warmest, and likely final kiss you will ever give your girlfriend.

And then, you write it down across her body.

And then, through bated breaths, she mutters it out.

“A-Ai … shi … tte … r-r-ru …?”

One drop. Then two. Then three. Soon, a whole garden of tears begins blooming across your jeans. 

Clutching your hand against her clavicle, tucking her chin in as if to trap your wrist and all your fingers so you can never leave, she begins to write in reply across the stretch of your palm. But you don’t say it out loud—you keep in locked up in your heart.

Zutto … soba … ni … itai …

Her phone rings. She doesn’t even need to check it to know who it is.

Rei pushes up from her laying position and keeps her head down, now sitting inches away from you. Your pinky lifts, then twitches, then reaches out, but it never leaves its position. Her thumb raises, then circles the air, then jerks towards you, but it never meets you where you are.

“It’s been great. Wonderful really … b-being your girlfriend … Even from afar. I’m glad we could end—.”

You throw yourself onto her so hard that you knock the wind right out of her sails. But you embrace her harder than that as you begin scribbling into her back.

She never says it out loud. She never looks to you to verify what she thinks you’ve written. Instead, Rei just detaches herself from you, slides off the couch, and bows down deeply to her waist.

“Then I’ll be holding out for you until then. I … I can’t make any promises. And I don’t want to hurt you, o-oppa, but … but if you want this … then I will.”

And that’s all you could ever ask from her.

Between the unsteady cadence of her leaving footsteps and the tears she’s trying to stop flowing down her cheeks, with each passing minute, you can both feel it—the relief. The fingers that slip over the promise ring you gifted her two years ago sparkle into your eyes like a renewed vow. Ten-thirty-two. Barely three minutes before she’s rushing down the airport hallways to try and catch her flight by the skin of her teeth. Barely two minutes before she’s coughing up explanation after explanation for her members on being late, bursting into tears, and learning a new language. Barely one minute before she’s settling into her seat, looking out the airplane window, and counting the days until the next time you both get to meet in person again. 

And in your solace, you don’t even find it in you to fall to your knees and wail. You know what this—all of this—spells now.

The way she leaves you? The way she’s gone? It’s silent.

The cafe wasn’t all that big, situated on this gravel lot with a neat side garden facing the street, but it definitely maximized the space. Brick stepstones were inlaid to lead to the heavy wood-and-glass door, with its sleek black “Welcome” sign hanging. The larger cement wall extended to the right of the door, sporting this large, seamless circular window, its wedges smoothed out to serve as momentary seating or a place to take a photo, as the neat sidewalks and the bunched-up shops outside, with the shadow of the nearby bridge, serving as the background.

Your feet crunched on the gravel as you took the brick path towards the door. Fixing and undoing your pack straps, you pushed the door inward. The bell overhead rang. The staff, all clad in matching navy blue polo shirts and cream-colored aprons, looked toward the entryway and offered a warm welcome. Fors was a spacious cafe, its cashier and brewing station situated to your left atop slabs of the same cement. Just past the cashier was the cold glass display, chock-full of illuminated pastries and cakes, each with its price. To the right of the cashier and pastry area was the front-of-house. It was designed to be sunken, so there was a small downstep to reach the various chairs and tables for customers. Off to the side, where the large circular window had been, were these velvet couches and small coffee tables, basking in the natural light. On the opposite, far end of that were more tables distributed evenly, orbiting the cafe’s large shelves filled with books. The sconces attached to the walls leaked out the same orange light that caught your attention, tying all the elements together cohesively.

To be truthful, you weren’t a big fan of cafes. More specifically, you weren’t a big fan of how cafes tried hard to be “commercially unique”, going so far as to rename the sizes of coffee cups or complicate coffee orders with a dash of this or that, a dollop of foreign syrup, a shot of exotic bean grounds. You had your gripes, too, with this new wave of muted, minimalist, and sleek aesthetic that all cafes seem to go for nowadays. You’d always wonder which Heaven a cafe’s soul goes to whenever it loses its life and trades it for cold, stone floors. 

However, you never turned down a good old croissant. It’s simple, not too crazy — plain. Seizing the moment, you walked to the cashier and placed your order.

“Would you like a regular coffee with that, Sir? It comes in three sizes, Micro, Mean, and Maxim,” the young female barista pointed up at the overhead menu with the drink sizing.

“Yeah, I’ll have the…uh…the Mean.” You cursed internally.

“Okay, that’ll be $25.50.”

I will never return here, you thought as you weakly handed over your card. After a few taps and prints, you took it back alongside the warm croissant and ventured down towards the seats.

Scanning the area, most customers were seated near the circular window, hoping to get a shot for Instagram or whatever. So you walk past them and take a window-side wood seat with a small square table. Comparatively, this window was a bit dirtier, with blurry fingerprints streaking and dotting the pane.

“Guess they neglected you, huh, buddy?” You softly asked the window, pulling out the seat. “Well, don’t worry, I’m not much for circle windows,” you whispered as you finally sat down to wait for your coffee.

“You usually talk to inanimate objects, or just windows?”

On the table directly in front of you, nearer to the books, there was a woman. Fair. Olive-shaped face. A gentle and delicate nose with a smooth bridge. Subtle smirk. Silky deep-brown locks styled in a wolfcut that flowed just down to her shoulders. Time-stopping.

“No, just—just windows…” You sighed.

The woman’s gaze was sharp. You felt it cut you four different ways as she scanned your appearance, searching for…something. The slicing ceased as her gaze fell back down to the opened laptop in front of her.

You gulped a bit as you shifted in your seat, uncomfortable with the sudden connection this stranger initiated. But hey, with a knockout of a woman such as her, you found it hard to complain. She sat down like grace and hard work combined, a delicate posture accenting the way her fingers typed swiftly, her eyes twinkling from the laptop light. She seemed around your age, with smooth skin sculpting and defining her cheeks and neck, with waves of her hair flowing downwards in subtle curls.

“You usually stare this long at strangers?” she piped up again, never taking her eyes off the laptop screen.

You cursed under your breath. “No, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. That’s weird,” you said with a shift of your head away from her general direction. 

What is wrong with me? You thought. Your heart raced just looking at the woman; any longer and you’d die. But fuck, this girl’s beautiful, you awed silently. 

And so, like addiction and relapse and all that, your gaze flowed and waned, wandering and detouring, but ultimately landing back on her. 

Her brow was raised, still immersed in whatever she had on that laptop. Her eyes narrowed a bit further. Then it happened. Seemingly frustrated, her nose scrunched like something she didn’t mean to do and instantly corrected. The crinkles at the top of her nose bridge eased as her expression settled. It happened for a split second, but you caught it.

Then you felt a slash, the gash quickly rising from your arms and up to your face. Warmth flushed your cheek. Her almond eyes lacerated you. You were leveled.

You nervously smiled, getting caught again. You fiddled with the complimentary Fors creamer and sugar, hoping that mindless actions would undo the last three minutes of awkwardness. You drummed the table a bit, conveniently looking to the counter, waiting for this dumb century-long coffee. 

Coffee beans must’ve still been harvested from exotic red-soil countries, you mused.

The woman suddenly stood up, chair whining against the floor. Grabbing her sling bag and books in one hand, and holding the corner of her still open laptop with the other, she strode shortly and stopped at your table. She set her belongings on the table, occupying more than half of your table space, and sat directly in front of you, resuming her nonchalant typing, not even acknowledging you with brief eye contact.

“Uh…”

“It’s self-service.”

“Excuse me?”

The woman nodded to the cashier. “That’s probably your coffee right now, cooling away.” Right enough, your eyes found a pastel grey mug sitting alone on the countertop.

“Excuse me,” you said with a half-hearted smile as you peel away from the table. And so you walked over, grabbed your now less-hot-than-desirable coffee, and stopped just before you reached your table. The woman still sat there. 

Okay, I’m still in it, you rejoiced silently.

You took a seat again, placing the coffee just beside your croissant and the newly placed leather books. You craned your neck subtly, trying to read the titles on the spines.

“Law books,” she answered.

“Law student,” you responded in understanding.

So she was older, you thought.

She gave a nod as you took a seat, trepidation hanging over you as you thought of how to fill the silence.

“Got a paper due?” you asked meekly. 

“A digest, yeah.”

“Cool, cool,” you said with a sip of your coffee.

“You?”

“Me?”

“Your major.”

“Gotcha. I’m a nursing student.”

“Hm. Younger.”

“Well, not that young,” you replied sheepishly.

“Young enough.”

“I mean, it’s not like we’re ages apart,” you replied. “You’re what, four years ahead?”

“Flattering, but no. I’m 37,” she winced. 

You almost spat out your coffee. “Shut up.”

That made the corner of her lips lift a bit, and her face rose to look up at you instead of her work. The edge of her gaze stung less.

“Yup, 37. Majored in Poli Sci. Left for a bit. Came back.”

“But you look…” You pointed at all of her.

“Yes?”

“Absolutely not 37,” you said in awe, wrapped in a jest, but you caught yourself.  

“I’m sorry.” You played it cool. “You’re just…wow.”

She laughed a single melodious laugh, her nose scrunch more visible now. Then you noticed it — the lodged maturity in her laugh, the seriousness seeping through her smile as her face eased back into a composed smirk, the intensity in the corners of her eyebrow. Her brown gaze stabbed you, but you didn’t mind.

“So you do laugh.”

“I do. Unfortunately.” She released a short sigh, thought for a bit, and decided to shut her laptop. “Kazuha.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kazuha,” you offered your hand. She shook it firmly, but friendly.

“So how do you…?” you motioned up and down.

“Exercise and diet. Mainly genetics, too. Aren’t you supposed to be an expert on this, Nursing?”

“Oh shut up. You’re lucky I don’t quiz you on…” You leaned closer, tilted your head, and read off the spine of one of her books. “…torts, obligations, and civil proceedings.”

“I’m sure I can handle it.” She sized you up.

“I’m sure I can handle it,” you repeated sarcastically.

“Christ, you’re a child,” she scoffed slightly.

“Hey, a child you specifically chose to sit next to.” You pouted with false-surrendered hands. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.” You leaned back a bit. 

Her gaze sliced down to your arms and back up to your eyes.

You relented immediately.

“Obviously, I’m kidding. Thank you for sitting here,” you said as you leaned back in towards her. This rewarded you with another laugh, the melody ringing in your ears as she chuckled.

“I’m 23,” you eased her mind.

She nodded with a slight smile. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright.”

Kazuha stowed her laptop, piled the cluttered paper, and stacked the uneven books. With a sling of her bag and a grip on her books, her tall frame stood before you, hips cocked to the side. 

“Nursing. 23.” She repeated your details back to you, seemingly memorizing and rehearsing the information. “I’ll see you around then, 23. Enjoy the coffee.” The older woman pivoted and strode away, her heels tapping across cement.

Alright, you smile to yourself, satisfied. You took a sip of your coffee and finally dug into the croissant. 

Kazuha sliced the back of your head with one last peek at you. You never noticed.

-

With a zip of your duffel bag, you neatly fold and store your scrub top and the casing of your stethoscope, ready to head out. Packing most of your things, you venture out of the clinic, eager to start that commute home. Your ID beeps at the employee monitor as you say goodbye to your clinical instructor, hoping to split before they have any “last-minute tasks” for you. With a dash across intersections, you quickly navigate past the rabble of people also rushing to head home. Like obstacles, the buzz of people filled your night commute; a group of teenagers on skateboards, similar college students probably on their 5th Red Bull, businessmen guffawing as they turn off work mode, and you — this aquamarine smear in a mosaic of muted clothes and the scattered bounces of car lights. Pulling out your phone, you cross off the last item of your to-do list and walk down the same street-lined shop, the last stretch before your commute.

You glance at the familiar shops, giving an occasional wave at the vendors you’ve personally gotten to know while studying. You see Mr. Lee, resident loudmouth teokbokki monger, as he shouts out his low prices over his steaming boiler of rice cakes. Just further down, Mrs. Bang, the no-nonsense street food mogul and local grandmother of all, fans the coals just under sizzling skewers and tin-foiled sweet potatoes. Across Mrs. Bang’s side, the Kim brothers chase off young kids staying too late at their neon-highlighted computer gaming lounge. You chuckle a bit, staring at this picture of comfort. Miles and miles of pavement and hours of train tracks separate your college from your house, but walking down this lane has always felt like home.

You walk a few more meters and come up to Fors again, its human vibrance sheltered by its grayscaled exterior. The circular window, an amber eye staring back into city streets and cloudless nights. Words and conversations spill through the glass door, decoding long enough whenever the door opens for a customer and vanishing as quickly as it shuts.

You were never a cafe guy.

You take a few strides past Fors, walk the crossing, and stand just before the steps leading down into the subway and, eventually, home. Something gnawed at the back of your mind.

You were never a cafe guy. 

You could go back now, just to check. No harm done.

You were never a cafe guy.

It’s only a few steps. You check your wristwatch. 7:23. Two hours before the final train.

You were never a cafe guy.

You still had a lot of studying to do.

You were never a cafe guy.

You didn’t even have any money left.

You were never a cafe guy.

And you never will be, if they didn’t have…this.

Her hair is whimsical, flowing through the air in slow-motion curls and waves. A million love songs play as a part of her face, now comes into view. Her skin is bright and rose-cheeked and warmed by orange cafe beams, a stained-glass display of jaw-drop, devotion being the only appropriate response. Her lips are sweet and kind and lightly pouted, as if inviting a reply only lips can make. Her name flits from your mouth like a short kiss you never want to end, like those you make before leaving for work or wanting to stay in the moment. Cherubs softly sigh as she scans the room, gracing each customer with a momentary glimpse of her— those split-seconds freeze as you find yourself actively trying to pause the world and the hands of time, just to commit the image to memory. Her eyes shatter the last of your inhibitions as you physically feel weak in her gaze. Daggers dig into your torso, then your face, your beating heart bleeding true onto your sleeves. Your chest rises and falls as you try to steady your breathing from the sprint back.

“Hey,” you pipe up.

“Hey.” Her smile twinkled in the sea of strangers, like faraway lights beckoning you to come close. A smirk rises from her lips as her wolf cut cascades down her cheeks. You notice something.

“Hoop earrings.”

“Working eyes.” Kazuha’s scoff turns into a laugh as she turns her attention back to her books.

You come up to the empty seat across from her.

“Taken?”

Kazuha shrugs with a brow raised. “Maybe.”

Crap.

“Really?” You drop the bravado a bit, concerned.

She suddenly laughs, hand immediately coming up to cover her grin. She gestures with an open palm toward the empty seat.

You nod, pulling out the chair and taking a seat, face-to-face with Kazuha again. Well, face to book. A dark green leather-bound book with spidery gold lettering blocked her face from view – Environmental Law.

You lean back a bit, breathing finally evening out. Now, with you sitting down and thinking clearly, you realize the next step is unknown to you. She was right there, just a few feet from you, and yet the distance was canyon-like. You glance back down at your watch – 7:31. Maybe not too late to catch that train.

Her voice cuts through cafe conversation.

“So…” Environmental Law is lowered for a bit, her sharp eyes now coming into view. “You ran all the way here just to see me?”

“Just to see you?” you echoed sheepishly. “No, of course not. I was just, you know, walking. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten yet. So, I wanted to grab a bite to eat before that train ride home. So, yeah,” you finish with a shrug.

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes narrow for a bit as she scans you up and down. “You beelined here, didn’t you?”

You exhale and admit. “Yeah…”

A short giggle leaves her, but a smile stays. She closes up stupid Environmental Law and sets it aside, along with her other law books. She leans forward, her knit sweater accentuating her slim waist and graceful frame.

“Am I a bite to eat, 23?” Her voice suddenly takes on this sultry lowness. Blood rushes to your cheeks as you are hit by her sudden boldness and the obvious double entendre.

“No! I just mea—“

Kazuha bursts out a quick chuckle, her hand waving it off as she makes light of the conversation. “Jesus, chill out!” She smiles at you, satisfied with the jest.

“But did you? Beeline here, I mean?” She asks again, her voice rising with a slight tone of hope. The contrast jarred you. 

For how brief you’ve known her, Kazuha’s voice was markedly unique. Hers was a symphony made by madmen — confident, clear, contradicting. Her voice could be light and easy, with a small rise in pitch. But then, it’d have this surprisingly low quality to it, like a sudden flip of sentience and suave — and Kazuha seemed to abuse that switch.

“You’re going to be dangerous, huh?”

“Pretty much,” she says with sly eyes and a smirk.

-

“So yeah, graduated, did ballet, hated it, got confused, then took time off.”

“Mhm…yeah.”

“Then got back here to take up law finally.”

“You liking it…?”

“Mmm…just a bit lower, please.” Kazuha’s fingers interlace in your hair, pushing you a bit lower, down her open legs.

You chuckle as you give a compensatory lick lower on her wetness, nearer her smooshed asscheeks. “I meant law,” you say in between pecks to her pussy lips and kisses to her smooth thighs propped up on your shoulders.

“Fuck yes!” Her grip tightens when you hit a spot right at the crease of her ass, using your tongue for all its worth. “Yeah, I’m-I’m liking it, yeah.” She giggles through strained breaths.

You hook your arm around her left thigh, come back down towards her pussy, and start rubbing the bud at the top of her splayed lips. Your tongue takes care of business nearer the entrance, lapping up the leaking lubricant.

“Fuck, yeah, right there! Yes, yes, right there!” Kazuha’s mouth widens as her neck arches to the ceiling of her quiet flat, her slender throat on display, moonlight streaking through her blinds, the strips of light dying to touch the scene.

You maintain the pace Kazuha liked, rubbing faster only at her clit. Heaven collapses onto you as her strong thighs smother you, the soft flesh clamping down the sides of your head. 

“You’re dripping.” You can’t help but smile through suffocation. 

“For you,” Kazuha breathes out your name, caressing your head with surprising sweetness. “Oh fuck!— You make me so wet.”

You grip her outer thighs, your fingers sinking into the plump skin, as you lower them from your head. Her pink pussy lips are spread for you, liquid still dripping down the ring of her ass. An idea pops into your head.

“Shit! Yes!” Kazuha’s head snaps back onto the pillow as your tongue trails from her asshole and up to her clit in one long, deep lick. 

Your head finally comes into her view. “Really?” you coo, intrigued.

A laugh rises through her exhausted breath as she nods with a smile. “Mhm…” Her voice softens in erotic embarrassment. 

You lean back down and, after a few more coaxes with your index and middle finger, her hips buck against your head as her sex twitches in orgasm. You drown in the erotic liquid and the salt in her sweat that was beading down her navel. You open your mouth wide, tongue flat in acceptance of the fruit of your hard work. The older woman’s legs wrap around your head, humping in response, as if trying to get another orgasm going.

With the added juices, you slide your tongue down her pussy lips and back onto her tight rim. She shrieks in delight with the repeated contact, the tip of your tongue circles and teasing entrance, baiting her for a bit before letting her cunt settle down from the high. You sit back up, satisfied with your work.

Kazuha lies there for a few moments, recollecting. Her tits bounce ever so slightly with each inhale and exhale. With a flick of a switch, her post-orgasm vulnerability vanishes, leaving only a deep need to retaliate. She rises to plant a few kisses on your neck before pulling you lower, her mouth now close to your ear. 

“My turn.”

She adeptly reverses your position, with you now lying down on your back, your bare chest and boxers subjected to her gaze. Kazuha straddles you, the tent in your underwear lightly touching her pussy.

With you now on the bottom, Kazuha leans down, her lips seeking a target. First, they land on your cheek. Then the side of your mouth. Your jaw. Ear. Jugular. Pecs. Her face stops near your now-hardened nipple, eyes staring back up at you. Her open mouth breathes warmth onto you. Your cock twitches visibly at the possibility, now straining even harder. This catches her attention. Her sharp gaze widens.

“Really?” She echoes. 

Fuck.

You admit with a slow nod.

Her pink tongue slowly darts out, dragging across the hard nub. 

Sparks fly immediately. You jerk in pleasure, your torso rising on instinct, inadvertently bumping your nipple back onto her tongue. You squirm in the unexpected gratification, your breathing quickens as you grip tighter on her pastel blue bed sheets.

Hunger consumes her now. Her mouth latches down onto your left nipple, tongue coating the sensitive nerve endings with slick saliva. She licks repeatedly, around the nub, alternating clockwise and counter. She releases you with an open-mouthed gasp, her tongue coming down to poke and flick the nub lightly and minutely, just enough for you to feel the stimulation — and ultimately crave more.

A neural pathway must have short-circuited because the words that came out of your mouth surprised even you.

“The other one, too. Please…”

After a few last licks, Kazuha smirks up at you. She kisses your left nipple one last time as she shifts a bit, eager to focus her attention on your other erect bud. Saliva coats your right nipple now, Kazuha working hard to keep it moist. Seemingly satisfied, she now blows a cold breath onto it.

“Kazuha—shit!” Your abdomen flexes in response to the cool feeling. Your fingers find her hair, tightening and coiling a few strands before loosening. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s alright,” she whispers back, a comforting smile manifests on her cheeks. “You feel good?” Her gaze is a different kind of sharp now — less edge, more eager. Less cut, more care.

You nod back, letting her continue. And she does. She brings her index and middle finger to your mouth now, eyes wide with this concentrated gaze, lashes batting and beckoning for you to give in.

You open up a bit, her fingers now brushing against your lips. Her lithe fingers dance around your tongue, sliding and slipping, making sure you taste her skin. Without breaking eye contact, she brings out her now-wet fingers and places them back on your left nipple. She traces circles around the center, cutting across occasionally, rubbing your nipple for you. You squirm again, the nerve endings overloaded with the pleasurable stimuli, your body needing to do something to try and regain control. But Kazuha was everything — consent and control. She coaxed and cooed whenever she tried new things, making sure you were alright with it. But the moment you said yes, her disposition steeled. She would fixate on those boundaries she could cross and punish you for it, building you up for your eventual breaking down.

With her fingers focusing on your left nipple, you finally see her plan: her mouth latches onto your nipple on the right. Surges of electricity course through your chest and up your spine, wetness now coating both of the nubs. You curse out in pleasure as you feel the onslaught of sensation, Kazuha pushing and driving you further. She giggles at your response, and you feel her mouth curl into a smile as she licks and sucks at your areola. Your hard dick flexes painfully, begging, pleading, for release as it strains against your boxers. Kazuha looks up at you with an erotic open mouth, her tongue flicking your nipple. Her eyes dart to your cock and back to you, debating whether to give you a journey into that one last frontier you’ve been wishing she’d venture to.

“Should I?” Her low voice inquires in faux apprehension.

Not able to take it anymore, you snap. “Kazuha, you fucking better,” you whisper.

She laughs in surprise, gasping at your boldness. Her eyes sharpen for a moment, but glaze over with this newfound warmth. Kazuha leans over, her gorgeous features becoming clearer. She lowers and gives you a sweet kiss, lips pressing against yours firmly, but not hungrily. The sentiment of the kiss caught you off guard, but you reciprocated. You close your eyes and let yourself go.

A few seconds deep into the liplock, Kazuha pulls back. Like magnets, your lips chase and follow her, both of you now sitting up, with her on your lap. You stare at her face again, this beauty staring back at you in the middle of her muted apartment. Once again, those seconds play in slow motion. The curl of her hair stops mid-fall; the blanket flows off her waist like linen waterfalls; her lips, like sweet fruit, accent the light pink tinge of her cheeks. Her body was on yours, graceful, toned, and fragile. You’ve begun hoarding those moments.

Her thumb caresses your cheek, and the world resumes its turning.

“Hey, you okay?” Her voice is sultry, sweet, almost a soft squeeze on your shoulder.

You hold her hand and rub her palm for a bit. “I can’t help but try and memorize every detail of your face…” You trail off.

“Eh?” she squeaks, her voice high now. She shifts back a bit. Much to your dismay, you sense the warmth in her fade a tad, that stinging facade of the Fors cafe girl flooding back in just a smidge.

“No, I just meant— You’re beautiful,” you stammer through, trying to save the conversation from, well, whatever it was you were trying to save it from. “From when I saw you the first time, you were just so— “

“God, shut up.”

Her lips collide with yours. You feel her smile through the kiss as her lower lip lightly bites yours. “Just lie back down, okay?” Kazuha says, with a flat palm, lowering you back onto the mattress.

Her nails run down lightly on your sternum and down to your stomach, your abs tightening suddenly at the mix of tingles and sensuality. Her fingers stop at the band of your boxers, just a few inches from the large tent, aggressively trying to find much-needed contact from Kazuha’s anything at this point. She hooks both thumbs as you also lift your hips a bit, helping her remove the last roadblock to your sexual resolution.

Your cock stands proudly, throbbing and flexing for the older woman, putting on a show so she could finally touch the whole you. You stare at Kazuha, her lips coming to a pout, eyebrows rising as she evaluates your length. You gulp.

“Relax. It’s bigger than I thought.” Kazuha croons. “Biggest I’ve had,” she mutters under her breath, quiet enough to escape you.

She wraps her fingers around the tense muscle, her cool skin grasping and pumping it slowly. Kazuha watches you, observing every squint, twitch, and groan she can make you perform for her. You moan out her name in weakness, the vowels slipping off your tongue like honey. With a quick swoop, both your lips reunite, her tongue slipping inside to tangle with yours. You share a hot breath as Kazuha pulls back, her nose nuzzles yours for a bit before she dives back in to make out with you. With a sigh, she pushes against you, kissing harder as she grows more insatiable, before peppering smooches down your neck and back onto your right nipple. Her tongue comes out, flicking at it once more before going to your other nipple. Her mouth licks in a constant circle while her other hand lies across your chest, finding your erect right nipple. Your head pounds from the overstimulation — a tongue and a hand on your sensitive pecs, her smooth left palm jerking your length, and a pair of eyes that stare up at you as you go insane. Waves upon waves of signals and zings course through your brain and spine, tingling and rushing through your veins as you grow increasingly numb and sensitive at the same time. You stiffen up unconsciously, puffing your chest and giving Kazuha more space to wreak havoc. You feel simultaneous wet corkscrews from both her tongue and her precum-lubricated hand.

Then, for whatever fucking reason, Kazuha speeds up.

“Zuha! Wait!” you croak with weak knees. A tightness starts in your abdomen and starts rising at the base of your steaming length. You buck erratically into Kazuha’s palm as she pumps you relentlessly. The pleasure builds, you feel this tightening in your core as you breathe quicker now.

“Zuha, please!” you manage to moan out, but the older woman jerks you off anyway. Her palm travels your length, squeezing and twisting, stopping just at the tip, and starting back down at the base. With quick strokes, you feel your orgasm building and rumbling along your length.

Then, nothing.

A pit forms in your stomach as your eyes widen, taking in a motionless Kazuha with a stupid, teasing, edging smirk. “Wait, no, fuck! Zuha, you can’t do thi—“

Her warm, silky mouth suddenly plunges on your thick length, tongue slipping down your shaft and reaching the base in one smooth stroke. With a quick maneuver, Kazuha lies between your spread knees, hands reaching up to stimulate your chest one last time before you eventually…

“Fuck!” You unknowingly grip Kazuha’s hair tighter as you slam her mouth deeper onto your meat, her nose meeting your navel. Your cock releases a shot of cum into her mouth, the pressure immediately releasing and gratifying. You hear a slight audible gag as your cock keeps going, dumping and firing off strands of white into her (very receptive) throat and pink tongue. Kazuha bobs for a few moments, making sure to pump every last rope out of you, before releasing your cock from the caverns of her mouth.

Kazuha sits back as she angles her face slightly upward. Her erotic clavicle and neck flex for a bit as she gulps down your seed. She sighs after swallowing, tired and satiated, for now.

The once-spinning apartment has now slowed to a stop, the blue bed and the ravishing woman now clear instead of a sex-hazed blur. Kazuha tucks a stray lock behind her ear, her eyes satisfied with the hurdles she just put you through. Your head collapses back down onto her pillow, sweat soaking just under your chin and neck.

The sheets crinkle and fold as Kazuha plops herself beside you to your left, your two naked bodies touching shoulder to shoulder.

You turn your head to look at her. She looks back.

“So…” she begins. “Zuha’s new.”

“Hey, you try moaning out a three-syllable name,” you retort.

“Oh, Kazuha! Fuck, yes, yes, Kazuha!” she yelps out suddenly, eyes closing in dramatized pleasure as your eyes widen. Her face returns to normal as she playfully shrugs. “Not so bad to me.”

You push her shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”

She squeals, laughing at you, her voice taking on a new pitch and decibel. Her eyes smile at you, a blade sheathed momentarily.

“I like it, though. ‘Zuha’.” She repeats the nickname, testing it out for herself and being satisfied.

You can’t help but beam. “Okay then.”

-

You stir awake to the sound of the bedroom door closing. Your eyes focus for a bit, taking in Kazuha’s apartment walls. A plant in the corner. Pictures of friends on a desk nearby. Pastel blue living room.

Kazuha smirking in the doorway.

She wore classy cat eye sunglasses perched atop her forehead, her round eyes visible and scanning. A pair of pearl earrings glint slightly in the panel of Sunday sunlight streaming through the window. She wore high-waist jeans, a simple white shirt, a brown wool cardigan, and boots. She held a cardboard cup holder, two coffee cups in stow — Fors coffee cups — and a paper bag with the cafe logo in her other hand.

You, on the other hand, were still naked, comfortably under her covers.

“You’re up early.” You rub your eyes for a bit.

“It’s 10.” 

You whip around to find your phone. 10:07. You text back home that you were fine. Your gaze lowers to the coffee in her hand. She catches it.

“Yeah, figured I’d do something nice for you while you were knocked out.” Kazuha shrugs sarcastically, stepping away from the door and into the hallway leading to her living room.

“Thanks!” you call out.

“Just get dressed! I don’t want crumbs on my bed.”

You sigh a few more times, streaks of the midnight adventure seeping through your closed eyelids. You can’t help but smile, your heart feeling heavier and fuller. 

This thing with Kazuha? It was thrilling. But at the same time, waking up in her apartment for the first time was calm and still — it was certain. Your heart races, not for the chase or the “game”, but for the serenity of something stable. 

You hold yourself back a bit. This has to be superficial, you think. Who wouldn’t be infatuated with a natural beauty taking an interest? You’ve literally only known her for a day.

But you’ll be damned if you don’t try and stretch that into years.

You rise out of bed, slip on your boxers, and look around for your shirt. You rifle through your bag and through some of Kazuha’s clothes from last night — still nothing.

“You must really like cold coffee, huh?” Kazuha pipes up from the living room, impatient but teasing.

You sigh, walking out into the hallway, shirtless, bashfully covering yourself.

It didn’t take long for you to see exactly where the shirt went. You see Kazuha facing away from you, fiddling with her microwave, wearing your white shirt. It hung low on her frame, hugging her shoulders but flowing loosely down, giving her a boxy sort of look. Your eyes trail down the shirt and see her legs, extending gracefully. Kazuha was a tall woman, taller than average, standing just a few inches below you, but her legs went on for miles. Her hips curved sensually, followed by those strong thighs that wrapped around your head previously, then her smooth calves, all the way down to her feet. Her hips were cocked again, the swell of her ass accentuated by her black panties, as she was preoccupied with the appliance.

“You had pants on a while ago.”

“Perceptive.” She snorts. “More comfortable this way.”

You hear a metallic clang and the closing of a microwave door. The appliance beeps, its internal timer being set before a constant drone picks up as it stirs to life.

“I expected shorts but not…” You can’t help but ogle the curves of her thighs as they transition to her legs. You slightly drool at the sight. 

“Stop staring and take a seat.” She tilts her head to look back, her eyes meeting yours.

You scoot over to her kitchen area, taking a seat on the corner nearest a window. On the table are the two coffees she bought from Fors, you take off their tops, trying to discern which one was yours. You place the latte near you and Kazuha’s americano on her side of the table. With a ping from the microwave, Kazuha brings a tray over — two croissants. She plops the pastries in the middle of the table, taking a seat across from you. You stare at her a bit before deciding to inch your chair closer to her side. You were now sitting to her left.

“There’s enough room for both of us, c’mon.” She bumps your shoulder playfully.

“I know. Just wanted to be closer.” You shrug, sheepishly.

“You’re a sap.” She chuckles briefly as she nudges the tray of croissants.

“Thanks, Zuha.” You lean over to try to kiss her cheek.

She clicks her tongue as your lips land on her palm instead. “Eat.”

“Bossy.”

“Insisting,” she corrects.

You pick up a croissant, take a bite of the flaky pointed end, place it back on the tray, and chew in front of her. 

“Happy?” you ask through munches.

“Jesus, just eat!” she whines with a small laugh, hitting you on your shoulder.

“You don’t really talk much, huh?” you say with a sip of coffee.

“You don’t really stay quiet much, huh?” Her nose scrunches as she acts irritated.

“Not in my nature. Learned that a long time ago.” You shrug.

She sighs as she looks into your eyes, a small smirk plastered on her face. “I rarely talk to people, let alone have breakfast with them. So I stay quiet most of the time.”

“So, is this a first for you?”

“Not exactly. Just…the first time in a long while.”

“I see.” You tap your fingers a bit on her table. A few silent seconds pass. But you can’t help yourself. “How’re you liking it so far?”

“You’re really annoying, do you know that?” She replies snarkily.

“Wow, tell me how you really feel. Am I right?” you chuckle, poking her side a bit.

“And you’re really stupid.”

“That I can accept a bit.”

She laughs at you, her hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Instinctively, it seems.

“But,” Kazuha thinks hard for a bit. “…you’re charming,” she finishes honestly.

Your chest pounds as her hand comes into contact with the side of your face. Your stomach feels full, butterflies fluttering and drifting up your throat, trying to crawl out of your mouth in the form of stutters and stammers. Your brain kicks into overdrive again, trying to encode the sight before you. 

Her nose was adorable, the folds on her bridge on the verge of scrunching. The corner of her lips rose, a smirk about to form again. Her lashes batted, as her eyes were softer now, their edge now an old friend you dare not reunite with.

Kazuha senses what you were doing; her nose now actually scrunches in amusement before smoothing, like reflex suppressed. She rolls her eyes and averts her gaze as she scoffs, a hint of light pink appearing on her cheeks. Her hand lowers from your cheek, landing back on the table, near her coffee cup.

“So…” you cough a bit. “I thought you hated ballet.” You nod across the kitchen, motioning towards a wall in the living room. On it, hung a picture of a younger Kazuha, mid-pirouette.

Kazuha follows your gaze and clicks her tongue. “Ah. Yeah. I think it’s all I’ve ever known, and I don’t really have any other pictures.” A somber quality to her voice reached you.

“Why’d you do it, anyway?”

“Well, my father was a prestigious man.” Kazuha puts on a fake gruff voice. “Only the best for my little girl. The best schools, the best clothes, the best lessons. It was either the best or nothing at all.” Kazuha laughs it off, but continues. “I liked it at first. Then, I got confused. Did I like it? Or did my dad like it, so I liked it too? Maybe decided I didn’t like it. Told him about it. He obviously wasn't happy. We stop talking. I moved away. Next thing I know, I’m back here, all dressed in black, staring at his casket being lowered.”

Shame fills you. “Oh no, Zuha. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even mean to…” You wrap an arm around her, and her head rests on your shoulder.

“No, I know. It’s alright.” Her voice stiffens a bit, trying to play it tough. “It’s just not really a conversation over coffee.”

You nod silently as your thumb strokes her shoulder.

Kazuha blurts out, the moroseness in her now absent. “I was close to getting married once.”

“Excuse me?” you gasp, shock evident in your voice.

“I know, right? Had a ring too!” she lays her palm flat, staring at the bare space the ring used to inhabit. “But stuff happened, so I don’t really go for that anymore— the commitment thing.” Her voice softens as she trails off. 

“Oh.” 

A few awkward minutes pass by without a word being uttered. 

Your heart beats a little bit faster, nervous and ashamed, for even yearning a little bit. Her eyes wander upwards, trying to catch your expression. 

“Hey, look, this was—“

You cut her off. “So! You like croissants too?” you cough, bypassing that conversation for now. You prod at both of your croissants with a fork.

Kazuha pouts but nods slowly. “Uh, yeah. Croissants, pastries, bread, in general.” Kazuha eyes you but plays along, her voice sullen now.

Given where you are in your life now, you’ve always appreciated honesty. Playing social games has been a pain, so to speak, and you’ve always made it a point to be clear. Now, you reassess.

So you nod.

And then you sigh.

And then you speak up.

“Look, Kazuha. This…” You motion to both of you. “Don’t you want to try?”

Kazuha breathes deeply, the conflict obvious in her brows. “Dating?”

“We don’t have to go out all the time! I’ve got school, I know you’ve got law. We can just, y’know, hang out— like see each other at the end of the day.”

“But—“

“And, I’ll respect your time. If you just wanna stay here and not meet up, I’ll understand.”

With pursed lips, Kazuha slightly nods, still trying to think about the proposition.

“What about the sex?” she inquires innocently, despite the subject matter.

“Oh. No, no, we don’t have to. I’m fine without it.”

Kazuha stifles a laugh, a smile coming back to her cheeks, her face brightening now. 

“You’ll be fine without it?” she says with a roll of her eyes, a brow sharply rising now.

You blush suddenly. “I mean, yeah. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“You really are a sap,” Kazuha confirms. There was a certain sweetness to her voice, like a slow realization of you.

Her face is a few inches from yours. You’re still shoulder-to-shoulder. The seconds tick by as millennia. You study her face in the pause.

Her eyebrows.

That’s what made her gaze so sharp. Those eyebrows that furrow, arch, or dip with every expression passing through her. They’re angled when she’s thinking, pointed when she’s scoffing, and rounded whenever her nose scrunches. Together with her eyes, her brows complete her blade.

The ambient sounds of Kazuha’s flat unwarp as temporal flow is restored. Her eyes move minutely across your face, and you feel small cuts on your lip.

“What is it?” you whisper.

“I’m worse, y’know, when we become closer. You just don’t know me yet,” she whispers back.

“Give me a chance to then.”

Your lips meet again that morning in her flat.

-

A week passes by after that day. Then a month. And then three. And, true enough, you’ve consistently met up with Zuha. You’d catch up with her after her classes, she’d sometimes wait after you clocked out, or you’d just stop by her flat. You’ve settled into that familiar routine, taking into account your commute time and all that. Although you have spent many a night at Zuha’s place, too, when she points out how you’ll only be cramped in that train ride (albeit while her lips are on you). But, all in all, Zuha was a part of your day.

And yet, she remained mysterious.

You’ve been observing her on the days you spent time together in her apartment. And, honestly, you felt perplexed. 

Zuha was the type of person who had this cold exterior, especially when it came to her studies, but at the same time bawled over her 7th watch of The Lion King (getting through Mufasa’s death was always a trip through all the stages of grief). 

She’d keep all her notes and digests organized, but she’d highlight like a maniac afterward — a mosaic of colors, lines, arrows, offshoot notes, and tangent case references. It was incomprehensible, but Kazuha would read them and judge you for not understanding. 

She’d shut down most jokes you make, rebutting and parrying with a deadpan expression, but then she’d drop a few dad jokes, grin sweetly, and then assert that she’s just funnier than you.

She’s clumsy, but only once. She’s precise in a way that ensures she won’t make the same mistake twice. She mispronounces words, looks them up on Google, and then she practices. She overcooks a dish, tries again angrily, and then proudly serves it when she gets it right. She knocks over furniture sometimes, but then arranges them in a way that allows her to perform chaînés across her apartment. 

Which brings you to ballet. 

Each movement of hers seemed like a calculated performance. An afternoon at hers was a quiet recital just for you. You’d see ballet in everything she did — the way she’d gracefully bend to pick up a dropped spoon, or the way her lines extend when you stare at her putting on jeans, or the way she’d unscrunch her nose and tuck a strand of hair neatly behind her ear. You’ve been wondering whether she still likes ballet. You’d watch her and just be stuck.

She’d catch you staring sometimes, too. You felt it whenever you got cut. She would raise an eyebrow, a small, confused smirk forming. Then a roll of the eyes. A rare middle finger. But most commonly a blush.

Was the age gap between you and her apparent? Surprisingly no. Both of your personalities jived, and Zuha never made a point of talking down to you, and you always respected her whenever she knew something you didn’t. Being with her was refreshing. She had an impulsiveness about her that was such a thrill ride, but then you’d also have these deeply meaningful conversations that went on for ages. She was the perfect woman, in addition to being the perfect girlfriend.

And, you’ve had girlfriends before, but it was always the high school crash-and-burn ones. It was never a “go straight to their place after school to cook dinner” type. I mean, you’ve never even introduced anybody to your parents.

Not until your 10th night staying over at Zuha’s flat.

-

“You never told us it was a girl!” Your mom squealed on the other side of the video call. All this time, you’ve told her you’re staying over at a friend’s but never bothered to specify a girl. But then, Zuha accidentally walked behind you a few minutes ago, her feminine form obvious through the video. Your mom was now seated and audibly excited.

From the background, you hear your dad laugh. “So that’s where he’s been!”

“Yes, okay, she’s a girl. But that’s enough! I’m just staying over here to bypass the stupid commute times!” You whine, uncharacteristically. 

Zuha sat in front of you and to the right, sitting just outside of the phone’s view.

“Remember when you kept sneaking in to stay over, ‘hon?” Your mom sighs, reminiscing.

“Yeah, we were around his age then, too, ‘hon,” your parents laugh. Zuha is dying, her stomach flexing as she giggles silently.

“Well, where is she? Show her to us!” Your mom whines, insisting.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mom. She’s kinda bu—“

“Wait!” Zuha protests, suddenly and swiftly walks over behind the couch to lean over your shoulder. Her face now comes into view and on camera.

“Oh, honey. She is gorgeous.” Your mom gasps in shock. “Wow.”

Zuha giggles lightly and greets your parents respectfully.

Your dad now walks over, puts an arm around your mom, and chuckles. “Kazuha, please, drop the honorifics. At this point, we’re just glad you’re our son’s girlfriend. Welcome to the family!”

You fake a yawn. “O-kay, guys! It’s getting pretty late, we should probably—“ 

“No! I want to keep talking to them!” Zuha’s voice rises, her pearly whites widely on display as she teases you. Her nose scrunches momentarily. You mentally take note of it.

You hear defiant cries from your phone, too.

“Christ, fine, fine!” You hand your phone and walk over to the kitchen to prepare a side dish. Zuha stays behind, entertaining your folks with a couple of stories about you. After having their fill, their conversations shift from you to her: where she came from, her childhood, her hobbies, and then finally, ballet. 

Your ears (and your parents') perk up as soon as you hear Zuha talking about her old ballet school, how strict the recitals were, and how dedicated her classmates were. You feel the tinge of joy Zuha had for ballet, and you couldn’t help but gush at her passion. You hear your parents exclaim as they look up Zuha on their cellphones, surprised to see how much of a slight celebrity Zuha is. 

And it was true, shortly after your first morning together, you looked her up. And, real enough, Zuha had her own Wikipedia page and YouTube videos with thousands of views. She was an astonishing performer. Her lines were clean, graceful, and full of training. Interestingly, you’d also sometimes catch her watching her old recitals. She’d tuck them away whenever you got close, laughing shyly, so you never really got around to asking her about it.

So, conversation aside, you had to focus on dinner. You fix up a small salad for a few minutes and set it down on the table beside the sukiyaki Zuha cooked. You motion over to her, she nods, and says goodbye to your parents, handing you back your phone before sitting down at the table. You check back on the video call.

“Alright, guys, you’ve terrorized me enough.” You joke.

“She’s a keeper, honey.” Your mom whispers sweetly.

You look up from your phone and see Zuha preparing a plate for you first, oblivious to what your mom just said.

“I know, Mom. She is.” Your heart swells.

“Okay then, just text us every time you’ll stay over there, alright?”

“Mhm, I will. I promise.”

“And use protection!” Your dad calls out in the background.

“Go to bed, Dad!”

The video ends, and you awkwardly chuckle, tucking away your phone. Zuha inches her chair closer to the table, waiting for you.

“So.” You finally take a seat in front of Zuha.

“So.”

“Did you hear any of that?” You wince a bit.

“Hear what?”

You shake your head as you release a sigh, laughing at the whole situation. “I’m sorry, Zuha. They just get excited from time to time.”

“Oh no, don’t be. They’re cute. They really love you.”

“Yeah, I do too,” you say, satisfied. “Thanks for being kind to them.”

“Of course.” She lets go of her fork for a bit to take your hand, her thumb rubbing your outer palm.

After a few silent stares, both of you start eating, eager to just dig in and finally head to bed.

The older woman pipes up suddenly, mouth half full. “Gotta say sorry to your dad, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh. ‘Cause we won’t use protection tonight.”

-

Your relationship had its ups and downs, too, no doubt about that. You’d argue, but she had her ways, and you had your own ways of ensuring it never got too out of hand (Bread. It was bread.) or too long (Not going to bed mad, and all that). 

Fighting was normal. Fighting with Zuha, however, was not. Fighting with Zuha was hard. When she knew she was right (and that was most of the time), she was bulletproof. She was stubborn, argumentative, and smug. She’d have these three absolutely solid main points, a dozen supporting statements, and a recommendation or two on how you could change your behavior. It was incredible, really, peeling back a layer to envision how she was in her classes.

You’d try arguing back, but she was quicker. A stern “no” and you’d immediately fold. You couldn’t get a word in, even if you tried. 

Which made you really savor those moments you were right.

-

So, the crux of the problem was that Zuha thought you were, and you quote, “at times too taciturn, apprehensive, and slow to move”, end quote.

“I told you to see to it already. Did you listen? No. You never do.” She rolled her eyes but remained planted in front of you, arm crossed, eyebrows jagged and sharp as ever.

“Okay, Zuha, that’s a bit unfair. I swear, I gave them to you. I bought them, then gave them to you right after.”

“Absolutely not. If I had them, then we'd already be there in the damn cinema!”

Yes, this argument was about tickets. To an animated movie. About talking animals.

“No! I’m absolutely sure I gave them to you. I triple checked those tickets, Zuha. I know how much you looked forward to the movie, so I made sure not to mess up.”

“So where are the tickets, then?”

“Zuha, I don’t know. I gave them to you, and that’s the last time I saw them.”

“The absolute negligence.” She muttered to herself, shaking her head and walking toward the other side of the living room.

“Hey, c’mon. We can just stream it. I’m sure a couple of pirate sites already have it up. Let’s calm—“

You heard the metallic hum of her gaze being unsheathed. “Calm down? You wanna run that by me again?”

“Shutting up.” You mumbled.

With a few careful strides and a sidestep, you avoided the fuming area that is Zuha and got to the bedroom. Looking to lie down for a bit and just zone out, you hauled the large clothes pile that Zuha always kept cluttered. You grabbed a couple of shirts and blouses, set aside the heavy leather coats, and hung a couple of the jeans and trousers she had worn in the past few days.

Then, something fell out.

You hung the jeans by the belt loop and looked around. And there it was. On the carpeted floor.

Two obviously-folded movie tickets. From her pants. Your face melted into a smile as memories of the day you gave it to her flooded back.

“Zuha!”

“What?” A shout.

“Come here for a minute.”

You heard her steps bounding down the hall.

Her eyebrows were weaponized, her graze fresh off the grindstone.

“Look what I found.” You sat on the bed, leaned, and crossed your arms. Smug.

Her blade swung wide and almost caught your neck. But they landed on the tickets on the floor.

“Now, for my cross-exam, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, could you tell me what those are?”

Zuha was frozen speechless, her tongue poking the side of her cheek now. “You don’t cross-examine the jury, smart ass.”

You clicked your tongue a few times. “Zip it, Nakamura. I have the floor. Now what, pray tell, are those you see on the floor? Are they movie tickets?”

“You could have put those there to—“