P H Y W O O D

Satoru left you here exactly fourteen minutes ago, lowering you on the bench with promises that he's going to get your snack, then come right back. You're waiting for him, never daring to skip over his careful instructions. You want to be good, you need to be agreeable and mature for him, if only to hear his buttery-soft good girl, kiss the shell of your ear in passing. It feels like that's all you have left to live for, especially as you look down, seeing Megumi's social media handle come up empty.

It makes you so upset to see that he blocked you… Right as you wove your white flag and let him back in.

Those two posts — his sweet, smiling profile photo of him and Yuji, they're all gone. All you can see is the greyed-out anonymity he's forced on you… And you don't even know why.

Megumi stormed out at lunch and didn't say anything else to you. He didn't offer you a passing glance, leaving you to pay for his meal. It stung like venom, and you were humiliated, still, you took it with a slack jaw and racing heart, so uncomfortable that it felt like you wanted to detach from yourself.

It hit you so hard that you couldn't even face Satoru that night, but now he's back after begging on his knees to see you again — to fix you with a real date that you could hold onto. You nearly jump out of your skin when he approaches you from behind, heavy footsteps familiar and so light that they get lost in the soft crunch of fresh, summer grass. Flower petals rush through the breeze, flying past his head as he clears his throat, lowering a parchment-cradled taiyaki into your line of sight.

You peek up, turning your screen off just before his piercing blue gaze lands on the blank profile open on your phone, flaunting your ex's name like a trophy. It takes strength to crack a smile for him, but you do, and it's fleeting.

"It's green?"

"It's matcha," Satoru replies, wedging his traditional anko-flavored treat from his teeth now that he has both hands free. You watch him, his silver rings glinting against the heat of the afternoon sun, flexing around the stark, bluey veins. "On the inside and outside." He stares down at you with one eye squinted — face pulled together like he's staring down at the sun.

Satoru's voice is steady and deep, knowing not to draw attention, to never give a reason for eyes to linger too long on the two of you. In the empty spot on the bench next to you, covered with tiny white flowers from the shade-tree above, he settles in and man-spreads, pushing his thigh into yours — nudging the side of your feet just hard enough for you to absentmindedly nudge back.

You don't bite, you stare. At him — the way he settles in, grunting and breathing out softly through his pink, glossed lips. The ghost of his taiyaki sits against the soft flesh, clinging to its skin like it also wanted to make a home in the warmth you've come to know so well.

You watch Satoru take a bite, then glance down at your own shivering treat, stomach turning as you try to talk yourself into committing. He doesn't catch on, not right away. Instead, he opens his mouth and says the first real thing he's said to you all day.

"I know you don't want me to bring it up," He starts, voice muffled around the ghost of the bite he has to swallow. A fearless hand crosses your space, falling against the meat of your thigh, where he grabs and holds as he owns it. And, in a way, he does. "But, I know what the kid was to you."

Face hot and eyes wide, you turn and stare at your fish-shaped snack, unblinking as the reality of the truth starts to rush over you once more. "You said, it's matcha? Like a matcha filling… inside?"

"—and we don't have to talk about anything, but we should." Satoru nods, leaning over to get a closer peek at the green-dusted scales of your cake. He's boyish and unapologetic, parting his lips as he inches closer, smiling when you raise the snack to his teeth, letting him take that first bite you were so scared of. Satoru sits back with a hum, sticky matcha cream painted green over his lips as he chews and hums, rolling his eyes in an endearing little stare before blinking up at you. "I know what he was to you."

"A childhood friend? Sure." You lower the taiyaki back to your chest like you're holding it hostage, shutting down any whisper of a conversation before it can truly become something you can't contain.

"What about the betrothal—

You cut him off with a look so sharp that he swears he's never seen anything like that out of you. The gaze is sharp and mean — cutting like knives. "What, Dad's idealized version of reality — the hypothetical bethrothal? What, are you jealous?"

"A little bit, I won't lie."

"You men are pathetic." You mumble, picking at the huge bite mark Satoru left in the snack that was once yours. "I can see it now." He just stares for a second, watching your stale face grow weary as time passes.

"Hey," He whispers after a moment, sitting up straight — back pressed to the damp park bench. "I just want what's best for you, hm? Everything you ask for, I give, no?"

"That's not what I want, though." You reply, stubborn to boot — digging your heels into the soil as if it'd make the entire situation just fade away. Satoru stares into the side of your face like he's expecting a solid answer, but all he gets is the cut of your eyes and the nervous picking of your snack. "I want you… to like me. Like, actually."

The mood suddenly dips into something serious — something you're not ready for. Not when he was just supposed to occasionally fuck you and keep you safe. "You don't think I like you?"

"I—

Satoru actually sits up, dropping his head when he leans down to try and catch your gaze. "You don't believe I think about you, all the time? When I wake up, all I can think about is you."

"The sex—

—is only a part of it." He reassures, reaching over to catch your chin when you look away, suddenly interested in the raggedy white dog skipping heartily and without care, in front of its twenty-something owner. "Being with you, like this, is enough."

You want to take a breath and convince yourself that what he's giving you is believable, but there's always a silent weight on your chest, screaming at you every time you go to open up. As you lift your taiyaki to your lips, finally able to take a bite, Satoru leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours so gently. You pause.

"I think about you all the time."

Your heart is racing — face so hot that you're sure steam has begun to blow from your ears. His words tickle like feathers rushing down your spine all at once. You shiver.

"Yes, I think you're sexy and love having sex with you," He starts again, fingers inching further up your thigh like he's trying to prove something. "But, I also love how smart and soft-spoken you are. I hate when you shy off and shrink down as you do, and I think your taste in music and movies could use some improvement…"

You roll your eyes — he continues. "You hate it when I tell you to shut up and are a bit more stern, but love it when I do it in the bedroom." You gasp, genuinely, sitting up with the speed of the external emotional damage he's thrown you in.

He chuckles, tossing his head back like a kid. "The point is — do you want me to go on? That's a lot more than a like." Satoru settles back down on the bench like everything is normal, bringing his food back to his lips, kicking out his feet. A pair passes by, moving to the side and glancing you over with a passing look. They don't pass any judgment; they just watch you exist. For some reason, your heart trembles. "But that's what we'll settle with for now — I like you, and I think you like me, too."

So, Satoru claims you from that moment on.

It's something unsaid — he walks next to you instead of in front of you, hand sneaking to your side so he can hold you unapologetically through the bustling city center. He stands over you as you sit on the train home, chatting aimlessly about a superior at work he has to host soon and kiss up to. You pretend that you're listening, eyeing his crotch every few seconds as the train sways and he grows closer with each new body that presses in. He mutters a one-off joke in passing about how tight it's getting in the car, and you respond in short, staccato bursts of energy.

Around all these mindless people, he reaches down and grabs your chin, muttering about how slick your mouth is, and you wonder if he's acting like this because he's genuinely feeling you, or if it's to break you past your Megumi-colored gloom.

Nothing works. Not his touch on your back, and surely not his muffled voice in your ear. It all feels so… temporary, like you know above all that you two are completely and utterly fucked the second your love faces the real world — if you ever have the guts to entertain it as such.

You can feel the glimpse in his eye — the way it shines for you around the corners, widening when you open your mouth to fire back. It's like, nothing you do can scare him away. Something about it is oddly comforting, like staring death right in the eyes. So, you let him hold you.

Standing at his kitchen island with a spoon in his hand, prodding at the omurice leftovers from last night, Satoru hardly regards you as he eats. "What did you eat before you came to see me this morning?"

You don't respond, sitting behind his polished marble island with your knees crossed. Bare legs, ankles jumping as you scroll through your phone with hunched shoulders, you don't answer him.

"Am I speaking to a brick wall?"

"No… you're speaking to me." You reply, still not offering eye contact, chin in a fisted hand as you stare down longingly into your phone.

He chuckles, oddly endeared. "I'll make you something then."

"I don't want your forty-year-old man meal prep, actually."

"You think you're so funny today." It's an accusation, not a question — one spoken around his mouthful of sticky egg. Satoru's cheeks are full of it, glossy lips pursed as he glances up at you.

That comment makes you disregard your phone, brows furrowed as you stare your older situationship head-on. Satoru blinks like he's innocent, then offers you a shrug.

"A little bit." You shrug right back, sighing and defiantly making a show of averting your attention back to your dimmed screen. "Not as funny as you, though. I don't go to the mirror and give myself affirmations about how smooth of a jokester I am, like you do, every morning."

"You got that right, baby's got a lot of learning, and a lot of affirmations to repeat."

The banter is light and never lost on you. He makes you smile, too caught up in his silver stare to even really care about what's happening on your phone. You sigh again, locking it and peering back up at him with a gaze so wide and expectant that he can't help but stand up straight.

"You're looking at me like you want something." He murmurs against his bite, sharp jaw working against stewed meat and wilted greens. "And I know it's not this food."

You raise your brows, so does he. Entire conversations based on mutual lust are shared with just a look. Satoru grins around his stupid, stuffed cheeks — eyes bright like he knows something you don't.

"We've never done it in the kitchen." Satoru's voice is low and measured, just like his footsteps as he walks backward into the kitchen with a finger in your waistband. You follow along, rolling your eyes as you stumble right where he wants you to be — lower back pressed into the counter, right next to his half-finished meal.

"Want to bend me over the hot stove? Kinky,"

"I like this…" He chuckles, voice so fucking deep that it sends a lustful wave of wetness between your thighs. "You're not thinking as much when you're with me, now." He whispers, pulling you chest-to-chest, lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. He smiles, and it's slow. Everything is so slow…

You nod, unsure of what to say, or what even should be said, right now. All you know is that your heart feels like it's going to beat straight through your chest. Of course, he had to point out the obvious — how you think you love him, now.

Still, you don't say it, because you can't. You're not supposed to love your Dad's best friend, but he makes it so easy to. He doesn't even have to ask you to lower onto your knees, but you do, right there, at his feet.

Back pressed to the counter, resting on your haunches, you gaze up at him expectantly, eyes wide and lashes fluttering as his hand crosses over your jaw, sneaking his thick thumb between your parted lips.

"Open your mouth." He demands, voice holding that invisible air of power that he always seems to naturally hold. It makes your tummy tingle, your heart doing flips in your chest as his tongue crosses over his bottom lip. He's quick with it — smiling when you drop your jaw, giving him a blank, fully trusting look.

In the back of his throat, Satoru wills all of his spit forward — bobbing his Adam's Apple and sucking his cheeks as the ghost of the meal he swallowed down makes its way back on his tongue. He gathers it all for you, letting it warm between his cheeks before pursing his lips and letting a thick wad of spit land on your awaiting tongue.

"Good, Geto." He smiles, willing your chin upward to close your mouth. "Now, come get it."

Satoru doesn't have to ask you twice. Your hands shiver as you reach up to the waistband of his slacks, rolling his spit between your teeth as you study the complex taste of him. You don't want to swallow him down, knowing yourself and your urge to beg for more once he goes away. You pull his waistband down, fingers locked in the tightness of his briefs, giving them a weak little tug until the promise of his penis— thick and statuesque- shows its face.

"Go ahead. Remember what I taught you."

So, you do. You listen and hold him close to your heart, lips parting as you tug his pants down. "A-all the way down?"

"Deep, deep, deep, in your throat." Satoru gathers your hair at your scalp, creaking your neck back so he slides more easily down your throat. "Just get it wet, baby. Wanna get off inside'a you. Gotta get you pregnant."

You choke on him as his last, wet sentence falls out of his mouth in a sick slur. "I am a spoiled man. Spoiled fucking rotten, wow." He croons, running a hand across your cheek, letting his fingers play around your ear. "D'you know, I was thinking about this… on the train home." He shakes his head like he's confessing a sin, pale skin growing ruby red as you suck him off the exact way he taught you — his way, no hands. "I like when you do your makeup like that… the eyeliner."

Your heart shakes — soul settling on the fact that you'll never change your makeup routine if this is the way he likes it.

"With glossy lips… I like." Satoru moans, unrestrained and boyish - pitchy at the top of his throat as he tosses his head back. "I'm gonna cum just thinking about it. Stand up."

Of course, you don't argue. You retract, licking over your drying lips as he helps hoist you up with a strong grip under your arms. "Get up, over the counter like this," Satoru demands, dick so hard that it's painful, leaking like a broken faucet all over the back of your thighs as he turns you around. "Good girl — yeah, you're perfect."

"So greedy," You push back, shivering as your front is pinned down on the cool countertop, your bare skin pressing where your shirt bunches up around your tummy.

"And proud." Satoru doubles down, yanking at your skirt like it owes him a ransom. "But I don't like these skirt-shorts." He starts again, breath all lost in his throat. "Lifted it expecting to see you, not the shorts."

"Oh, you hate it until a guy stares up my skirt while walking up the stairs—

"He would cease to fucking exist." His voice dips into something serious — deeper and less shallow. You can feel it in his touch that he's already overwhelmed, but it feels like you've hardly touched him. Rising to your tiptoes, you help him tug off your bottoms with a wiggle of the hips and earn a smack on your left cheek in retaliation. "So, whatever, fine. You win this one this time."

"I'm satisfied." You giggle, leaning back over crossed arms as he spreads you apart, fighting the urge to eat you alive at just the sight and passing scent.

"I don't think I have enough stamina for everything I want to do to you right now."

You stop, sitting up as you feel him move closer, hands trailing up your side. "Don't be funny."

"Will you train with me tomorrow and let me eat you out afterward?"

"Satoru, please." You groan, pressing your forehead into your forearms, pushing your hips back if it'd just make him focus on you and not the mindless chatter he's throwing your way. "Also, no, I have plans."

"Not anymore… Said we'd be training." He responds, rolling his lips behind his teeth as he runs the tip of his penis through you, where you're so wet — heated from the inside out at the mere thought of him. "Bring your little friend, baby, though she'll have to leave once things start getting sweaty."

"G-gonna…" You breathe, eyes slipping shut as he starts to bottom out inside of you, so slowly. "Gonna wait til—till we're done to cuss you out."

"You're going to be asleep after I'm done with you."

You open your mouth to speak — to turn around with your fake-furrowed brows and prove something, but just as you do, he gives you the rest of his length in one thrust, and it knocks the air right back out of your lungs.

"Oh? Did you want to say something?" Satoru cocks a knee like he's preparing to run a marathon, his big hand wrapped around the back of yours, pushing it further than you could ever deem comfortable. Then he laughs, breathless as well, shaking his head as he watches his cock disappear inside of you. "Because I'm about to fuck the shit out of you."

'Just facetime me.' Suguru mumbles on the other line, voice relaxed as it will always and only be when he's speaking to Satoru like this. 'Let's see those new window shutters — you said they close with a remote, right?'

"And it talks," Satoru replies, phone held up to his face as he watches you from the cracked bedroom door. Just like he promised, you're out like a light, damn-near snoring, tangled up in his sheets like you pay rent. He smiles at the sight — a fucked-out mess himself, not even showered, but on his way to do so when his friend decided to call. "Look, you called late, and I'm an exhausted mess. I named the homebot, Kira, though. That's cute, right?"

'I bet my kid loved that.'

"She thinks I'm going to Hell for owning such an advanced home system." Satoru reaches into the bedroom, flicking off the light and drawing the door shut so he can leave you to your rest. "Down with the AI's… and such… though, I don't think this is even AI,"

Suguru laughs, but it's loose. 'You're chatting, Satoru. How has everything been down there?'

Satoru walks into the kitchen, pulling on his discarded pants from before he dragged you into the bedroom, tossing his phone on the counter, and jolting his best friend on the other line. He hesitates, always unsure how to approach the idea of you now that you've become so intimate. Satoru has a world of things to say about you, but he settles on one thing: "That Megumi kid—

'—ah,'

"It's eating her up. I don't know — don't you think you may be pushing them a bit?"

'The kids understand how marriages work—

"No, I didn't ask that." Satoru picks up his phone, taking it off speakerphone and holding it to his ear, leaning, like he's mentally exhausted, on the counter he just made love to you on. "I mean— she's your child, yes, but I see how this has taken a toll."

'Maybe this is a bit… out of your league, friend.'

"No, I actually don't think it is." Satoru challenges, raising his brows in dominance, as if Suguru were around to see it. He's taken stock in how he seems to be the more submissive one — a little less careful, in this friendship, but now with your soul flowing through him, he feels the need to fight for you. "I talk to her almost every day, and she's terrified to talk to you. I can tell she misses you, but she won't call because she knows the conversation will be about Megumi."

'Satoru, I mean…'

"Look, the kid is a mess, but I feel like she's one of mine, now." He says that, then shakes his head, shoulders heavy with the irony he knows he has to voice to hold this position of bureaucracy. "She misses her papa. Seriously. She's been overcompensating and under-eating."

'I plan on giving her a call tomorrow once I'm free from work.'

"Mhm, good… Tell her that Jo misses her and wishes she'd cut the shit. Just because I've fought as a career doesn't mean I want to keep fighting bouncers who keep kicking her out… I'm too old."

'She's doing what? Oh my—

"It's just bullshit." Satoru laughs like it'd clear the air he polluted. "Just tell her how I miss her, hm? Haven't seen her in a few, she's been blowing me off."

Suguru sits back in his chair, the wood creaking under the stretch as moon and candlelight flicker over his phone. Over the dim screen, he focuses in on your location, squinting as the pin hovers right in the center of Satoru's address. "A few days, mm?"

'You raised a menace — a real stickler for her time.'

"Ah, no, I do remember. I texted her the other morning, and she said she had some plans with Maki."

'I believe they have some tonight, too.'

"Would you mind… sharing your location with me? Just so I know when you're swinging by to check on her? I told you I wanted you to see her every day—

'I should be charging you babysitting rates.'

"Please, friend. You know how anxious I get with my kids."

'Imagine how fucked we'd be if we had this back in the nineties,' Satoru mumbles from the other line, fumbling about in his space before settling for a second. 'Very riveting watch — me going from my place, to hers, then to work and back.'

"How fucked you would be, yeah. And, well, I don't have hers, so I'll need yours."

'Why don't you have hers?'

"I did, but the location timed out — something like that," Suguru mutters, running his hands through his hair, heart beating slowly and silently. "She had a four-day timer on it and will be scolded the second she picks up the phone."

'Don't… scold anyone, it's counterproductive.' Satoru pauses, then Suguru looks down when his dim phone lights up with a new notification.

Satoru Gojo started sharing location with you.

When Satoru slides into bed with you two hours later, it wakes you up from REM, riddled with dreams of thoughts you couldn't swallow down.

"Satoru?" You groan in a half-sleep daze, shifting around so he can slide his arm over your waist, cuddling up close to your neck. You can feel his breath collect — the little kiss he presses to the back of your neck and the way the tiny hair there gathers his condensation.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"I am." You reply, suddenly confident and wide-awake. You let him hold you, tucking your hands under the pillow and pushing back against him so he feels closer than he really is. "Just wanted to say… Good night."

"Good night, sweet girl."

"…I love you."

Satoru… chuckles.

Your stomach turns, and you've suddenly never wanted to punch him more. Staring at the wall, half asleep, as you scowl into thin air and go stiff.

"We'll talk about it in the morning."

When the morning comes, you're out of the door before Satoru can even twitch.

You couldn't sleep — couldn't toss and turn either, in fear of waking him. So, you lie, staring at the far window, contemplating it all.

You thought you had it good, right — needing to take a solid hour to work yourself up enough to tell him the truth, you love him. There's no doubt about how he's the love of your life, and you thought that maybe he'd feel the same. Then, you realize that you really don't know anything about him.

Satoru doesn't talk about his past — nor of any exes or flings that came his way. You know he went to school with your parents, then moved down to the city to leave them behind to get married. You know how he's the wildcard compared to his colleagues — too eccentric to work under anyone and too successful to feel it.

Then, everything else comes up blank. You don't know if he has siblings, what his mother's name is, or if he's even from Tokyo. You know that his best friend is your father, he's childless, and that he just turned forty-seven last December. Sometimes he falls asleep in the bathtub after work, despises drinking, and has a pretty little freckle on the inside of his thigh — the only one on his body.

It's still not enough. Your mind is a prison, poking at you with every inhale he pulled behind you.

You take your bike from the entryway after pulling on your boots, kicking up the stand, and tugging your hood over your head. You can't hear anything from the bedroom, and you didn't expect to, not with how last night went. You're sure Satoru would be asleep long after you're gone, not feeling the absence of your presence at all, especially not in the way you craved his. He'll wake up with the sun, feel around for you, then shrug, deciding that he'll reach out later. That's always how it goes with him, and you feel silly for thinking anything would change after the words he spoke into you yesterday at the park.

"Idiot." You curse to yourself, towards yourself, scowling as you pull the front door open, letting it swing into the wall, then slam shut when you leave. You want it to wake him up, maybe then he'd run to your heels and repeat how much he loves you over and over until he's sick with it.

But, it's all a fairytale. You get to the elevator, then to the lobby without even stirring his sleeping nature, storming past the friendly lobby-goers who recognize your face, now. You're Gojo's suspiciously young lady friend — they don't ask questions.

It seems like all you have are questions, and they sting more than anything Megumi has done to you. This time it hurts because you let him in, you let him touch you like no man ever has — he's made you crave him. You need him in ways you've never known or felt with anyone, either, and he knows that. It's why he's tugging on your heart like it's a toy, and you're starting to tear away.

You bike back to the apartment that your Dad pays for, and you never sleep in. The walls feel small and unfamiliar, but you duck in the front door like you're coming home for comfort, lost in the bustling streets of Shibuya. You don't even get two steps into the space before you're peeling layers down — hoodie first, then shoes. Your shirt follows soon after, and you're so mindless that you leave it at that — keeping your pants on as you make the descent to bed.

You can't remember the last time you slept here, but the bed is unmade, spelling out your name in sloping, swooping letters. Comfort is the closest feeling you can equate to your Satoru, and if you couldn't have him, you'd have the cottony aftertaste of your pillow as you bury your face in it and lull yourself to sleep. Only, sleep doesn't come easily now that you're used to sleeping with someone else. You leave the curtains open — the bedroom door wide into the entryway without care. Socks on and feet hanging off the side of the bed, once you collapse onto the mattress. The sun is just barely starting to peek out from the bunched-together city skyline, but you don't care to see it.

Twenty minutes pass — more like twenty seconds. Rest doesn't come. You roll over onto your back and sigh, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. You can't shake the thought of him, yearning hard for someone you know you can't latch onto. Satoru has made it abundantly clear that he likes you, but not like you like him, and you can't cope with it. The thought of him alone in bed makes you crazy — sad and uncomfortable, core trembling at the mental image of his broad, naked back. You can feel in your chest just how much you're missing him, and hate how much it pacifies you. You want to reach for the phone and be his alarm call, waking him up and willing him into your arms so he can kiss all your confusion away.

Instead, you reach for your phone and stare at the lock screen, unmoving. It fades in and out, waiting for you to touch the screen and wake it up, but you don't. You let it fall — tip of your device pressed into your browbone as you consider what you should and shouldn't do with such a powerful tool at your disposal, and nothing but time. You could call Megumi and try to make good, or you could…

You sit up in bed like lightning just struck, bleary-eyed and nervous as you unlock your phone and navigate to the home screen. Your finger hovers over the camera roll icon — just hovering, then retracting when you can't find the nerve.

It must take you all twenty minutes you first imagined to actually open the app, your heart racing as your eyes scan the first row of recent pictures. Knowing exactly what you're there for, you scroll over to your newest videos, swallowing down thickness when you see it — the grainy, night-drenched twenty-eight-second video with your tattoo and Satoru's hand as the thumbnail.

For good measure, you swallow again before pressing it, lips parted as you hit play.

"Shh, there you are… Oh, Geto."

"Mm, there's so much."

Your face burns as you watch the video, knees rocking together as you try to ignore the tingling excitement between your thighs. You lift your hips from the mattress, body wound so tightly that it's uncomfortable.

It feels wrong watching your body bent in this angle — seeing bits and pieces of yourself that you didn't know existed. Satoru is a shoddy cameraman, but he knows what he likes. He keeps the view on your lewdly wet, puffy cunt, breathing into the camera every time you flutter around his slow fucks.

"Shh… You feel me in your womb, baby? Gonna give you a bunchhhh'a little blue-eyed brats to wrangle."

You drop your phone, flinching as it lands and bruises your nose. You're so flustered, beads of sweat beading on your brow and shivering as you toss your phone next to you. "God, he's so fucking gross." You mumble to yourself, sitting up after a lackluster attempt to collect yourself. The thumbnail sits on your unlocked phone, and you don't reach to delete it — you reach to hide it in a locked folder, keeping it safe until you need it without mercy.

Then, your phone rings, and it feels like you just got busted watching something you weren't supposed to. Especially when you turn your phone around and see your father's name spread across your screen, along with his smiling, warm contact photo.

For a moment, you think you're going to ignore it. You toss the phone back on the bed, then sit up to swing your legs over, already overcome with emotion after dealing with Satoru, then Megumi, and finally your Dad, back-to-back — no mercy, no break. But the guilt of even thinking so outweighs your fear, and you reach blindly for your phone, smashing the answer button and letting the line linger on speakerphone.

'Hey, Stranger.' His voice is just how you know it — oddly smooth and comforting like it's been tailored just to calm you down.

"Stop, I already feel bad enough as is." You settle back in bed, a palm pressed on your forehead as you try to swallow back tears that are already starting to spring to your eyes.

He tries again in a way he knows you'll lean into, 'Hi, kid. Missed you.'

"Hi, Papa. I miss you, too." Your voice cracks there, then the tears come. You pull your face up, dropping your hand to your eyes to squeeze the emotion away.

On the other line, everything is oddly calm and quiet. Your father stays stoic in his spot, probably nodding to the sound of your tears before you can even open your mouth to let him hear them. 'I thought we made a deal — a call every day, right? Or even a text?'

"But you didn't call me."

'For a reason.' He cuts you off with that stern dip of his voice that makes you shiver back down. 'Because I asked you to make sure you called me.'

"That's stupid… but, I'm sorry." You choke out, angrily wiping at your tears with your bare forearm — just spreading wetness and angst like it's paint. "I meant to a few times, but just wound up forgetting, I'm sorry."

'Don't keep apologizing, you're on the phone now, aren't you? Though I'd like to see you.'

"Dad, it's early, and I'm exhausted."

'Oh, I'm sure…' He almost laughs on the other line, but holds it in long enough to ask. 'Won't you tell me what's wrong? Why you're crying?'

You curse to yourself, tossing the phone on your chest and pressing both hands over your eyes to cry harder. "Nothing's wrong." You lie, choking on your tears and letting your words go to him all jumbled and emotional. "Just… everything with Megumi, then being away from home. It's a lot, I'm sorry."

'Don't be sorry.' You can hear him rustle over the other line, sitting up in his chair so he can get serious. He speaks your name with so much conviction that it wills another flood of tears, 'I wasn't going to bring him up, if it's any consolation. I also want you to know that whether or not you and he work out, it won't change how I view you. Sure, it'd be nice to connect our families, but it's not more important than your life and happiness.'

"W-what did he tell you when he came home?"

'Nothing, and I haven't heard or seen him since. His father is the one who let me know he came home early.'

"Oh… okay."

'Can I… are you two…?'

"I don't know." You start again after a moment of pause, tears pouring from your eyes and down the side of your face. "I actually don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about anything."

'Do you want to come home?'

"And be closer to him?" You hiccup. "Sure, papa."

'Then, I'll come down there… to you.'

"No — no," You rush out, heart pounding as you think about him and Satoru talking — something slipping through. "I'll be okay."

'If I come down there, I won't bring the girls. They're out all the time anyway... We can just have dinner one night. I'll stay out of your hair.'

"No—

'Okay, you refuse, but Satoru is telling me that you've been avoiding him.'

Your heart stops when you hear his name, but the tears go stagnant. You sit up, trying to find your head as his words sink in. "Huh?"

'Partying every night, out with friends…'

"He's a liar… whatever."

'Probably…' Suguru continues, nodding because he understands his friend's ways. 'But I have a duty to hear him. He's the one I entrusted you with.'

"I see him… sometimes, yeah, whatever."

'So, you see how you two are leaving me no space. He's telling me one thing, you're telling me another…'

"You're going to believe him over me?"

'Yes… unfortunately. I love you, but you're a little liar sometimes. You didn't think I'd notice your location timing out?'

"What? I didn't do that!" You lie, but at least the banter is getting you through your tears. It feels like your father is sitting right across from you, silently arching his brow when you give your lackluster side of the story.

'So, I'll need you to send me a location tonight, and I'll let you know what weekend I plan to visit. I do plan to visit, by the way. With or without your blessing.'

"…whatever."

He laughs again, and it's so quiet that you hardly catch it. You go to open your mouth to try and talk him down, but your phone buzzes, stirring you from your ease. Looking down at the screen, Satoru's name lights up in an incoming call, and your heart drops.

"Papa, I'll talk to you later. Maki's calling me."

'O-okay. I'll keep in touch about that visit.'

"Sure. Okay."

'And share your location with me.'

You nod hurriedly, rising to your knees over the mattress like you're terrified of missing Satoru's call. "Yeah, whatever. Bye, I love you."

Still, you can't just hang up on him, so you let him whisper out a familiar: 'I love you, too.'

Your hand slips, never accepting a call so fast in your life. It's just — Satoru never calls. You can count on one hand the number of times he's called you since you've known him, and something inside of you is buried and… excited.

"Satoru—

'Where are you?'

Your heart sinks, again, brows furrowing as this new, unfamiliar tone of his washes over you. He sounds… annoyed, strict. "A-at my pl-ace."

'Yes. Why?'

"B-bec—cause… I couldn't s-sleep, so I went on a ride."

'Oh.' He stops, voice moist after he clears it. 'Keep lying to me. It doesn't make me angry at all.'

"What are you—

'What about 'we'll talk in the morning' don't you understand? You know I hate when you shy away like this, isn't that what I told you at the park?'

Suddenly, a wave of confidence rushes over you, so you tell him the truth."You did it on purpose. I told you I loved you, and you shrugged me off."

'I didn't shrug you off, I told you we'd talk later!'

Now that he's yelling, you find it in you to match his tone, breath hot in your lungs as you say, "How do you think that made me feel! I've never loved anyone before, and the first time I say it—

'Stop. I don't want to have this conversation over the phone.' Something over the line makes it sound like fabric is rustling, like you're resting on the sheets he just slept over. 'Stay right the hell where you are. I'm coming.'

And you don't argue with that, not when you'd do anything to see him, right now. Even if he's yelling, strict and angry over the line. You want him to yell at you.

So, you whisper into your phone, "Get here quick… please."

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