mika

You already knew the answer. This fear of penetration was always there, it followed you even in your shadow, spoiled the few sexual experiences you had and ruined your self-esteem. 

“Wait,” you breathed against the lips of the stranger you wanted to lose yourself with at the start of this school year. His weight crushed you against the mattress in the empty bedroom, the music outside the room still blaring. 

His hands under the fabric of your tee-shirt paused at your words. 

“What is it?”

“Can you be gentle with me?”

A flicker of disappointment crossed his gaze, and your heart sank. Men didn’t care about your trauma. They just wanted to fuck.

“Well, if you want,” he mumbled, with little enthusiasm.

The man whose name you'd already forgotten continued to kiss you. The familiar feeling of disconnection from your body washed over you. It left you a spectator of the action on the bed, your eyes stared at the ceiling as his mouth roamed on the rest of your body.

You weren’t really there when he ate you out, it wasn’t that good, but you still faked your moans to not make him feel bad. After all, it wasn’t his fault if you were broken. It wasn’t his fault if your legs shook every time he would make an abrupt move, or if you couldn’t really feel anything when his tongue lapped at your core.

Your mind was somewhere else, focused on your clinical psychology classes or on the blushing of your best friend Utahime when she talked about her crush on Shoko. 

When he positioned himself above you, his naked body resting his elbows beside your head for support, your stomach dropped, anxiety gripping you. He aligned his dick near your entrance, and you clenched your thighs around his waist, making penetration difficult.

“Hey, stop being so tense, it’s uncomfortable.”

Your voice trembled. “S-Sorry.”

He didn’t notice how hard your body was shaking, the tears welling in your eyes as his cock nudged your slit, your mind filled with painful memories. 

“Stop crying, damn it,” he huffed, irritation in his voice, louder than before.

Anger.

Ah, that gentle emotion, which allows humans to express their displeasure either through outbursts or blows. You knew the latter well, which is why your entire body began to tremble at his raised voice.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice quivered. 

With shaky hands, you pushed him away and dressed yourself in a hurry and ignored his confused attempts to stop you. You needed to get out, now. An angry man was always a criminal in one way or another, and you weren't in the mood for any insults or beatings tonight. 

“Where do you think you’re going? Come on, c’mere ! I want to fuck, damn it !” He tried to grab your arm, but you dodged his hand, leaving the room with quick steps. Enveloped by the sea of ​​people at the frat party, you were separated from your failed one-night stand as you searched for Utahime's dark purple hair in the crowd. Same Damn Time by Future blasted in the big speakers, the loud rap music making you put your index in your ears as you analyzed each head next to you.

You spotted your best friend in the kitchen. Sipping on her red cup and leaning against the fridge, she chatted with a group of girls. You apologized as you sneaked into the group to steal Utahime.

“Hime, we have to go,” you grabbed her arm, your voice a little breathless from your hurried steps.

“Already? Damn, your man came that fast?” Her chuckle followed you behind you. 

You shook your head, your voice bitter.

“Nobody came. And don’t call him ‘my’ man. He’s worst than the misogynistic lecturer in my child psychology course.”

“Worst than Naoya Zenin?!”

Her indignant voice made you laugh. You were struggling to get out of the frat party because of the partygoers around you, pressed against the sweaty bodies of the people who danced. You finally manage to get out, and the cool night air makes you shiver. The smell of damp earth enveloped you, indicating that there had been a downpour during the party.

“Let’s go, it’s gonna rain again,” Utahime said softly and took your hand in her, to walk to campus on the sidewalk.

But it was raining on your face because you burst into tears after a few minutes. Your sobbing interrupted Utahime in her account of her evening.

“Oh my god, what did that man do to you, sweetheart?” Utahime wrapped her arms around your shoulders as you walked together. 

You explained to her what happened, your words hesitant.

“He’s such a jerk!” Utahime spat, obviously disgusted by the behavior of your night-stand. “Why do you look like you’re ashamed? You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Because I should have know better,” you sniffled, “I don’t know why I always do this at the beginning of the school year.”

Utahime’s face had a pained expression, her dark eyebrows furrowed as she listened to you. She rubbed her hands on your back.

“You have every right to try to have intimate life, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. I always tell you this, but you’re not broken, just a bit damaged, okay? Please, stop crying and listen to me.”

You shook your head, not believing what she said. It had been three years since you left your abusive mother, and three years since you'd been trying to heal on your own, but you felt like you hadn't evolved. You still had the same triggers and fears, making you incapable of doing normal things for people your age, like having sex or being in a relationship. You were a psychology major, of course you knew that healing took time, but you hoped you'd at least be able to sleep with a boy without being scared at the slightest raised voice.

“You have to find someone who is very familiar with triggers and traumas, and someone you’re comfortable with. You can’t do that with the first guy you meet at a party, you know? He was a jerk to you, it’s normal you’re reacting that way. Just like disabled people go where the environment is safe for their needs, you have to find the person who’s right for you, without necessarily being in a relationship with them. A friend with benefits for healing, or something like that, I don’t know,” Utahime chuckled, and your lips curled into a smile.

“Absolutely no guy will want to do this “therapy” with me. You’re literally my only friend, I don’t talk to men.”

“Why not Takuma? You have the same major as him.”

“Not my type…”

The giggle of Utahime rose into the night as you walked back to campus.

───────────

SUGURU'S POV

With GTA by Future & Metro Boomin in his ears, the rap music blasting in his headphones, Suguru focused on his morning gym routine. His long black hair tied in a low bun, strands of hair would fall out when he did his push-ups, warming up for the real workout. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a black compression t-shirt that hugged his massive muscles and left his biceps tattoos visible, Suguru looked the same as his best friend, Satoru.

Doing his own gym routine alongside him, Satoru and Suguru worked as a team. Satoru helped him set up the weights on the machines, and Suguru fixed his postures when he lifted heavy weights. 

“Your posture is worse than ever,” Suguru fixed Satoru’s back as he bent down for a squat. He pushed the barbell back at his last rep, letting out a sharp breath.

“It’s because of this weekend’s training. No one should train on Saturdays, our coach is crazy,” Satoru cracked his knuckles.

“Yeah, I tried to talk to him about it but he doesn't want to hear anything.”

Suguru was the captain of the basketball team of Kaisen University. Him and Satoru were equal in performances and abilities but Suguru was known at the best since he was the captain. Satoru was more popular though, his nerdy personality and cheerful smile charmed all the girls, while Suguru was more intimidating with his reserved personality.

“You’re not helping matters with your morning workouts. We already have training this afternoon, I don’t know how you stay in shape, I can barely keep up…”

Suguru's eyes darkened and he avoided Satoru's gaze while putting away the weights. The truth was, he wasn't in shape. He was tired, but working out was the only thing that made him feel anything, so he was addicted to it.

They showered in the locker room, sharing a toning eucalyptus shower gel. As the water streamed down his muscular body, Suguru pushed his hair back while contemplating his classes for the day. He was a philosophy major and was in his third year.

He didn't even feel the water running over his skin. The water was too hot for his skin, red patches were appearing all over his body, but he was unaffected.

He dressed in dark baggy jeans and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved rock band T-shirt, tucked his silver chain inside his T-shirt, and put on his silver rings after putting on cologne. 

The cold morning air made Suguru shiver as he stepped outside. Since it was April, the cherry trees around the university were beginning to bloom, while the trees with the iconic orange leaves of autumn had shed their leaves. 

Since Satoru was pursuing a bachelor of science in economics, he wasn't in the same department as Suguru. They exchanged their usual handshakes as they parted. 

Suguru walked towards his department - the Arts Department, where philosophy, english, and liberal arts classes were held. 

Suguru slumped into his chair in the auditorium, tiredness starting to set in, though he tried to hide it from Satoru this morning. Having high-functioning depression wasn't just about having depression and being able to function like a normal person. It was a constant game of pretending to be okay while carrying a burden on your back. Suguru didn't know when he would be able to overcome it, his life seemingly on hold since he had it. 

As the lecturer entered the room to begin his lecture on Kant, Suguru's mind wandered to the window, watching the students walking to their departments.

───────────

READER'S POV

Utahime was a fem lesbian. Her nails were always done, with her index and middle fingers short, in case she managed to get her crush, Shoko. She always had a ribbon bow in her long purple hair and always dressed in skirts and dresses. Even when she was tired, she took care of her appearance, she remained impeccable at all times.

Sat on your bed, you watched her come back from the communal showers with her wet hair stuck to her face. She put her jewelry away in her sofa-shaped jewelry box.

“This is the worst jewelry box I have ever seen, you know that?” 

Her laughter filled the room. 

“Please, you collect tea bags.”

“That’s actually a very refined hobby,” you rolled your eyes and your gaze darted to the shoe box on top of your wardrobe. It had all your memories in it and all the tea bags you could find. “You should try.”

“No thanks,” Utahime tugged her tongue at you, your exasperated expression accentued. Utahime always had a childish side that she showed when she teased you or when she got mad at Satoru. 

Thinking about Satoru…

“Hey, you know when you said that I could use your friends for my master’s application?”

Utahime titled her head and nodded. “Yeah? You weren’t very cool with that.”

“About that,” you sighed. “It's not that I wasn't cool with it, it's just that I wanted to do my research project on a female athlete, but when I talked about Shoko…”

Utahime’s cheeks flushed and she fidgeted. “Right…”

“Right,” you chuckled. You didn’t mind her jealousy. Utahime was a very jealous girl, so using Shoko was impossible, even though she was perfect for you since she was a volleyball player.

“So, I was saying that I think I will see Suguru and Satoru, just to see if it could work between us. I don’t really have friends besides you, so without Shoko, I have to fall back on your other friends. I’m a little nervous, though. I’ve never seen Suguru.”

Utahime’s face softened. For your master’s application, you needed to do a research project on an athlete on the campus of Kaisen University. The problem was that you were a very reserved girl without many friends, and was scared of men.

“Satoru is a bit dumb, but Suguru is very gentle, it will be okay,” she approached you and took your hands in hers. “Either way, if they hurt you, just let me know, I’ll kill them for you.”

Your warm smile lifted the corners of your mouth.

"Why do I feel like you're not kidding?"

“Because I’m not!”

───────────

SUGURU'S POV

On the basketball court, Suguru was unbeatable. His ability to run with the ball even while being blocked by multiple opponents was spectacular. His passes were always perfectly executed, and he rarely missed his shots. This was exactly why it annoyed him when his teammates couldn't keep up with him.

“What the hell are you doing? Just block me,” he commanded at his teammates while running. His coach rolled his eyes. Despite being an incredible player, Suguru was a bit of a… Rough captain? He always demanded excellence and lacked tact when speaking to his teammates. For Suguru, it was simple. Sports were what kept him up in the morning, and he couldn’t stand people who didn’t take his passion seriously, so he was a bit of an asshole with his team.

Today, one of his teammates was particularly lacking in judgment and speed. It wasn't his usual style; Koji was a talented center. But this wasn't the first time he'd missed his performances, and it was starting to annoy Suguru, who walked toward him with a frown.

───────────

READER’s POV

Upon entering the university gymnasium, you were immediately overwhelmed by the sound of the ball bouncing on the court, the squeak of sneakers, and the music blaring through the speakers. 

When Utahime told you to go watch Satoru and Suguru at their training, you didn't expect this. The games on TV were a flimsy copy of the real intensity that came out of the game. You wanted to sit in the stands, but loud voices rose, and you turned your head.

A tall and muscular man wearing your university's iconic blue jersey was grabbing at the collar of one of his teammates' jersey. The angry man had long black hair with silvery white streaks underneath. His dark, purple gaze was fierce and menacing, and he was tattooed all over, right down to his neck. His facial traits were sharp and well-defined, and he had dark circles under his eyes. 

Satoru was trying to separate them, and even though you'd never seen Suguru before because he was more present during parties you didn't usually go to except when you wanted to ruin your mental health like this weekend, you knew it was him. He had the intimidating aura and poise that only someone with responsibilities possessed, indicating he was the captain.

Everybody knew Satoru, even you, even though you weren’t in the friend group of Utahime, but Suguru was more mysterious. His name was known for his position in the basketball team, but a lot of people didn’t actually saw him, if he wasn’t with Satoru. 

“I don’t give a damn about your sick mother, you think you’re the only one who have it rough? Everyone in this team has problems, but you’re the only one who makes others suffer with you,” Suguru spat, his deep voice filling the place as the coach stopped the music. 

You didn't know if it was something about his voice or the way he grabbed the collar of the jersey, but your hands shook at your sides. The sight before you took you back to an altercation with your mother a few years ago, the brutal memory leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You could smell her breath full of alcohol or hear her hoarse voice.

His thin, angular facial features and the way his long black hair framed his face could call him a incredibly handsome man, but in front of that outburst of anger, you only saw a ghost from your past—your mother. 

He felt someone stare at him and turned his head towards you. His face softened when he saw your expression, a mixture of apprehension and tension, but it was too late. As soon as he let go of his teammate's collar, pushed by his coach, you ran away, his dark purple eyes following your silhouette as you left the gym. He didn't know who you were, but he intended to apologize. His outbursts were reserved for his teammates lacking discipline, not women who minded their own business.

───────────

“I need you to make up. You’re my friends, and she’s my best friend, you have to get along! So do what you want, but make up,” Utahime decreed, sipping her latte. She had chosen a deserted Tokyo cafe, as if it were her secret hideout. The deafening noise of the coffee machines running behind you didn't help your grumpy mood.

“You barely get along with Satoru, and no one says anything,” you muttered. Your head was lowered, you only looked at your plate and avoided the gaze of the black haired man next to you.

“What the hell?” Satoru frowned. “Utahime and I are besties. She loves me so muuuuch.”

Satoru tried to wrap an arm around her, but she pushed him away as if he had a serious contagious disease. He burst out laughing and continued to tease her.

Beside you, Suguru stared at you with his calm eyes. He studied your profile, the shape of your nose, and the length of your eyelashes. You tried to eat your donut, but his gaze burned you. 

Utahime had the fabulous idea of ​​trying to reconcile you with the basketball duo by having a snack at a cafe. The problem was that you had nothing against Satoru, but you had reservations about his best friend. You didn’t know if you wanted to do your research project with a man who could be so violent. The sight of his furious eyes and his hand tugging at the collar of his teammate lingered on your mind. 

Suguru emanated a dominant energy that made your nervous system ring the alarm bell. 

He tilted his head, staring at you. “I’m really sorry.” He shifted in his seat, his knee brushing yours. “The teammate you saw was making things difficult for my team. I’m not like that with everyone.”

The low octaves of his voice made your stomach do this little twist when you were intimidated or strangely attracted to something. It was becoming imperative to back away or else you would melt under the softness of his voice.

“Aren't you a captain? You should have more tact; they're not your dogs. You have to respect the rules of conduct and not snap at just anyone because you think they're slowing down the team.”

You were proud of yourself for managing to keep your voice steady and stern, and he couldn't notice the state he was putting you in. 

“I get that a lot, I’m working on it.”

“Then you should change your tactics because it’s clearly not working.”

The corners of his mouth lifted to form a smile, amused by your attitude and the way your face stared at your plate. You acted as if he was the devil, and in a way, he was in your head. 

“You’re a psych major, right? Utahime told me that. So you should have a lot of tactics to teach me to help me behave.”

His naturally sensual voice made it sound like he had basically invited you to sleep with him. You suddenly looked up at him, your eyes narrowed. 

“No thanks. I’m serious about my major, so if you could avoid this kind of innuendo, thanks.” You glared at him.

His eyebrows furrowed. 

“Innuendo? I didn’t-”

“That’s exactly why I get more girls than you, Suguru, you can’t flirt. Listen to me, pretty. Never, absolutely never trust this man, okay? I’m the one for you.” Satoru leaned over the table to whisper in front of you, but Suguru could totally hear what he said.

“You’re not the one who get the most of girls, Satoru. Most of girls don’t even take your passion for anime seriously.”

“Most of people don’t have taste, what can I say? But let’s get to the point.” Satoru pointed his finger at you and his eyes lit up with a warm glow. “My intuition tells me we’re going to get along. Let’s do your study, research paper or whatever together. Forget the captain, you’re getting the real deal with me.”

“Satoru,” Suguru warned him, his voice serious. He really wanted to apologize for scaring you, and Satoru was ruining his efforts. If apologizing meant doing your research project, he will do it. Suguru was a gentleman, and absolutely territorial, so Satoru had to go away for his plan. 

“Okay, okay, can you let me think?” You let out a soft sign, and took out your phone.

You used to make a pros and cons table when you had choices to make. Suguru looked at you curiously as you wrote in your notes. Manwhore, talkative, unserious was in the cons section for Satoru, and violent, tactless, and triggering was in Suguru's section. In the pros section, you put funny and talented for Satoru, and dim the brightness on your phone to secretly write ‘sexy captain’ in Suguru's column.

Rereading your notes, you realized that both men had interesting profiles for your research project. Although Suguru intimidated you, researching a team captain could make a difference compared to other candidates for your master's degree. Satoru was a brilliant player who had made a name for himself in college basketball despite being born with a silver spoon thanks to his parents' business. His success was due to his hard work, not his wealth.

“Okay,” you put your phone away and cleared your throat. 

“You realized I was a much better choice than the other guy next to you and realized my full potential. You can say it, pretty girl.” Satoru’s smirk full of confidence made Suguru roll his eyes.

“First rule for our project together : I have a name and will not be one of your future conquests, so you will avoid calling me by cheesy nicknames.” You glared at Satoru. “Second, Suguru, you will avoid speaking to me with such a… disturbing voice.”

“Disturbing… voice?” Suguru has a puzzled expression on his face.

“You’re making her panties wet-”

Utahime slammed her hand on Satoru’s mouth, the sharp “slap” echoed in the cafe.

“What the fuck?! You’re basically dislocated my jaw!”

“If only you had the looks and the brains, but you're a little fool!” Utahime bickered with Satoru, and you sighed and shook your head in exasperation. You turned your head toward Suguru, your eyes met.

“You said ‘project together’,” he remarked.

You stared at him for a few seconds, silent. You studied his face and how his dark eyes framed his handsome face, how his delicate features held a certain sensuality. You had to remember that that angelic face was capable of being distorted by anger and you looked away, as if disappointed.

“I’m making the research project on both of you.”

“Why? Isn't that more work for you?”

Your eyes wandered between the white-haired man and the black-haired man several times without saying anything.

“I’ll choose whoever is more interesting in the end. Don’t worry about me, I love to study people.”

───────────

SUGURU’s POV

You had decided to see Suguru every Wednesday and Satoru every Friday. It was easier for your organization to see them separately. You hadn't yet told the two men the subject of your research, preferring to see what the meeting with them would lead to. You had all year to choose anyway.

Suguru headed towards Study Room 202, in the back of the university library. His gray and black Asics Gel NYC sneakers left small wet spots with every step from the downpour that had fallen on him, it soaked the bottom of his dark baggy jeans and his long hair. 

Opening the door to the room, he noticed your things on the table, but you were nowhere to be seen. He turned his head to inspect the library's surroundings. Sighing, he closed the door and went looking for you.

The university library had several floors, which made it a daunting task if you were on another floor. He strolled through the book shelves, running his hand through his wet hair as he detangled it. He used the scrunchie on his wrist to tie his hair back, it revealed his silvery white locks beneath the black ones.

In the philosophy section, he found you leaning against the bookshelf, engrossed in a book.

“Trying to embrace the absurdity of life?”

You jumped at his voice, looking alert, your heart racing every time you were surprised. Your post-traumatic stress disorder made you anxious at the slightest disruptions in your daily life. You hated how fragile it made you.

“No more of how many times Albert Camus will use the term ‘Arab’ to name people without giving them real names,” you said, frowning as you put your copy of ‘The Stranger’ back on the bookshelf.

“Ah, he’s always had a weird relationship with Algeria. A great writer, but didn’t fight for the liberation of his people,” Suguru nodded ad reached up to pick up a book from above you, but when he did so, you tensed and raised your hand to protect yourself. 

Suguru’s eyes narrowed.

“You thought-”

“You're late, don't be late next time,” you changed the subject, walking away from him to go to the study room.

The way you changed the subject didn't go unnoticed by Suguru, and he stared at the floor for several seconds before joining you. You had clearly been abused in the past, and Suguru wondered if it was by an ex-boyfriend or a family member. Given your reluctance and your reaction to his outburst, he understood better where you came from, and thought that you must have a fear of men. He had noticed how you were impervious to Satoru's charm. You didn’t fall for his jokes and kept a serious and emotionless tone when you interacted with them. He didn't take it personally; if you had been traumatized enough to be afraid of every sudden movement, it was because your trauma was serious. He wasn't going to blame an innocent girl for being afraid of being abused again.

He sat down on the chair and took out his things. His eyes roamed over your curvy figure. You had your arms crossed over your chest, as if to say “don’t try to enter my heart.” He shook his head. Yeah, your trauma was serious.

“Are you rich?” you asked, the blunt question made the corners of his lips quirk up.

“Kinda. Why?”

You grabbed a pen and pointed at his backpack and Stüssy t-shirt.

“Both items would cost me 4 days of work at 7eleven.”

Suguru leaned back, his legs manspreading. His knees brushed your knees just like before in the cafe.

“You work at the 7eleven of the campus?”

You nodded, opening your laptop. You didn't say anything more so Suguru was trying to make the conversation go longer. 

“My family made its fortune in agriculture. They own quite a few farms in the countryside.”

You nodded again, still silent, your eyes focused on your laptop. Suguru’s smile widened.

“You're supposed to tell me silly stories about your family.”

You lifted your eyes and met his purple piercing gaze.

“I’m doing a research project on you. You don’t need to know my family.”

“What if I want to make a research project on you?”

Again with his sensual voice of his. Your jaw tensed and your eyes fell back on your laptop.

“I told you to stop with the innuendo.”

“If you see innuendo in anything I say, it says more about you than it does about me.”

You rolled your eyes and Suguru chuckled, the deep sound making you feel weird in your stomach.

“Okay, now, real conversation,” you opened a Word document. “I’m going to ask you some general questions about your life, and then we’re going to focus on your relationship with sports. You’re allowed to lie to me, although I don’t see the point.”

Suguru nodded, his eyes focused on your nails as you typed on your keyboard. Your acrylics were sophisticated with 3D patterns and chrome.

“You did it yourself?”

“Hm?” you raised your head.

“Your nails. They are pretty.”

“Oh,” you glanced at your hands. “Thanks. Utahime did them.”

A flat, cold response, without a silly story. Suguru struggled to get you out of your comfort zone, but he was going to succeed, he was sure of it. He had to, he didn't want you to still be afraid of him after the incident.

“Let’s get started. First, what are your passions outside of sports? Your hobbies? And how much time do you devote to them compared to sports?”

Suguru’s expression faltered. He suspected your research questions would touch on some uncomfortable topics, but he didn't expect it to be so quickly. He scratched the back of his head and looked away.

“I used to have some, but not so much anymore.”

“Why?”

“Is this for your academic research or your personal research?”

“You don’t want to tell silly stories about your old hobbies?”

“I used to love art. I wanted to be tattoo artist before I discovered basketball in high school.”

You studied the tattoos that were visible on his neck and biceps.

“Did you design some of your tattoos?”

“All of them. I’m my own canva.”

Your eyes widened, impressed. 

“And why did you stop? You don't have any more space on your body?”

“I wish it was that,” Suguru stretched his arms, a sad expression on his face.

You felt like it was a personal topic and didn't force the conversation to continue, which he appreciated. Suguru only talked about his depression to Satoru; he was uncomfortable talking about his loss of interest in his old hobbies to a girl he had met three days ago.

“Utahime told me you're pursuing a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in Philosophy. Can I ask why? Everyone says that kind of degree leads nowhere.”

“There are opportunities, but overall, yeah, everyone thinks it’s a waste of time. I think one of the worst effects of capitalism is that we have to study to find a job and not just to learn. Even if my degree doesn’t do me much good, I’m happy to have critical thinking skills.”

“Sir I-wear-T-shirts-that-cost-a-week-of-groceries is talking to me about capitalism?”

“Hey, my parents were honest farmers, they exploited no one,” Suguru raised his arms to appear innocent.

You repressed a chuckle, not wanting to be friendly with him. You continued to ask him a few questions before moving on to the sports section.

“How many times a week do you work out?”

“Every day except Sunday.”

“Your coach makes you work out 6 days a week?” You frowned. It was almost dangerous to do that. 

“No, he gives us two days off, I’m the one who works out every day in addition to training.”

“You… You do workouts 6 days a week in addition to your training 5 days a week?” Your voice had a hint of anxiety, as if just talking about it put you in an impossible state. You couldn’t survive with a schedule like that. You understood now why he had such dark circles under his eyes.

“Yeah…” Suguru fidgeted in his seat, playing with his industrial ear piercing.

“Do you realize I'm studying to be a sports psychologist? So what you're telling me shocks me a little. Two workouts a day, even the biggest NBA stars don't do that.”

His gaze darted on the wall and avoided looking at you.

“I just need it,” he whispered.

Your fingers froze on the keyboard, and you held your breath, his whisper making the atmosphere suddenly more personal, more intimate. For a few seconds, you said nothing and stared at him. His expression and shifty eyes made your heart tighten. You cleared your throat.

“I won’t judge you. You have the right to handle whatever you’re going through with sports. Just… be careful, you can get exhausted and injure your muscles if you do it too much. I can show you articles about that if you’re sceptical.”

Your words were like a warm blanket around his aching heart, you tried to be kind even though you didn’t know what is going on. 

“It’s okay, I know. Continue your interrogation.”

You stood there looking at him, looking tense. He made a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“It’s okay.”

You continued to ask questions, trying to not to make him uncomfortable again. Suguru had an uncanny ability to put on a social mask, pretending to smile or laugh to hide the inner emptiness that was eating away at what little vitality he had left. He knew you weren't fooled. Your expression was always focused and your eyes squinted when he made a chuckle that felt too fake to lighten the mood after a too personal question. 

At the end of your session, Suguru yawned, tired even though it was early afternoon, which didn't help your worries.

“If you need anything, don't hesitate to talk to me. I don't know you, but in a year I will be able to help people like you,” you proposed as you walk towards the library exit with him. Your tone were serious, as if you were already talking to a patient. He chuckled softly, the sound seemed genuine. You were so cute and nerdy, he thought.

“Relax. I’m just an addict to sports. It’s not the end of the world. I’m addicted to something good for my health. It's better than cocaine, right?”

“You should always be moderate in life. It’s the excess that’s toxic, Suguru.”

His name seemed even more beautiful on your tongue and contemplated the idea of ​​hearing you say it again.

“Right, right. I’m gonna take a tap before my class. Happy?”

“I’m very happy, yeah.” 

He gave you a small wave before heading towards the dorm part of campus, his face losing its humor the closer he got to his dorm. He opened the door abruptly, tossing his backpack next to his desk and slumping onto his bed without taking off his shoes. He stared at the ceiling and sighed.

“I can’t even talk to my psychiatrist, do you think I’ll talk to you?” He let out a dry chuckle and rolled over to take his neuroleptic. He waited for the medication to take effect by staring at his music posters on the wall, then scrolled on his phone.

When the familiar lethargy washed over his body, he set an alarm for his next class and fell asleep, sinking into a world where he wasn't fucking hypocrite and actually liked living.

───────────

READER’s POV

Two weeks passed. During this time, you were busy with your classes, your part-time job at 7eleven, and meeting Satoru and Suguru twice a week for an hour. You were still in the personality discovery phase and hadn't given them any tests. You had more affinity with Suguru during your sessions, because Satoru was a talking machine, wasting your time with his anecdotes and loud jokes. Suguru wasn't your favorite human, but at least he was calm and serious about your research. You felt like you were losing brain cells with each session with Satoru.

Your school year was less hectic because it was the final year of your bachelor, but you studied extensively for your elective courses, not wanting to lower your 3.8 GPA from the beginning of the year. It was bound to drop, but it gave you extra motivation to study. Philosophy, in particular, was something you were passionate about but lacked the ability to articulate your ideas well, making your essays messy.

“Need help? You'll twist your face frowning like that.”

You jumped, alert, as usual but relaxed when you saw Suguru sitting next to you. He leaned over, removing his earphones from his ear to look at your copy; you could still hear the sound coming from the small object.

“What are you listening to?”

“Are you in a good mood? Since when do my musical tastes interest you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please.”

“Saint by Blood Orange.” Seeing that you were looking at him without reaction, not knowing the artist, he chimed in. “It’s alternative R&B.”

Your eyes lit up.

“Oh my god, I love R&B. It’s like Frank Ocean?”

A smile danced across his face. You liked Frank Ocean? Oh, he will like you.

“Not really, but if you like Frank Ocean, you’ll like Blood Orange. He has very polished instrumentals like Frank, he has the same kind of emotion in the lyrics and the same kind of soaring music. Especially his album from 2018. But it’s also very indie rock. I might give you car rides by showing you my playlist one day, we seem to like the same things.”

“Um, no thanks.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“I knew you would say that,” his eyes focused on your essay. “Your structure is incorrectly done, and you lack evidence of your claims. I can help you, I study Kant every year.”

“I really don’t give two shit about duty and moral.” You ran your hands over your face with a deep sigh.

“Like everyone else. Kant had a lot of time to waste.”

Suguru taught you how to structure a philosophical essay, his voice gentle and calm. He was very educational, and didn't talk to you as if you were stupid even if you made beginner's mistakes. His voice soothed your afternoon, but your eyes were lost on his face, studying all his piercings. He had them in his eyebrows, his lips, on both corners, and had a septum. When he chuckled, you could see the metal on his tongue. Today he wore baggy jorts, revealing muscular legs and was fully tattooed too. You couldn't believe how tattooed he was at only 20 years old; he must have started getting tattoos when he was underage.

“When did you get your first tattoo?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his story about Kantian ethics.

He paused, tilting his head.

“Fifteen.”

“What ?” You widened your eyes.

“My uncle is a tattoo artist,” he explained in a soft voice, tainted by affection. “I’ve wanted to get tattoos since I was little. I used to do body painting and draw on myself at an age where I don’t even knew what a tattoo was. For my 15th birthday, he offered to tattoo one of my drawings on me.”

“That’s the cutest and most illegal thing I’ve heard today.”

“It’s just 3 year before the legal authorization, that’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you pursue your dreams? You look like you were born to be a tattoo artist.”

He let out a soft sigh, stretching his arms, his muscles always tense.

“I fell in love with basketball.” He shrugged.

“I wish you success then.”

“Thank you.” His heart warmed up.

He continued to help you for a good hour, giving you advice on how to present the best arguments and how to use the knowledge from your classes. By the end of the hour, your essay was more precise and better structured, and you felt more confident about your upcoming essays.

“Thank you so much, you could be a teacher,” you complimented him as you put your things away.

“Hell no. I’m just manipulating you into telling me your silly stories one day.”

“Of course, I should have known better,” you said in mock disappointment, knowing he was referring to your first session. He was obsessed with the possibility of you telling him personal things. Your lips curled into a playful smile before you froze.

Suguru was a smooth talker. Awfully skilled with women, because how come in three weeks you managed to joke with him when you were afraid of him at first? He was even more talented than Satoru, and this man was a playboy. You cleared your throat, rebuilding your fortress around your heart, creating a special “Suguru” offensive to avoid these kinds of smiles from you.

“I'll come see you at your training this afternoon, don't make me bored.” You walked away from him in a hurry but could still hear him behind you.

“Yes ma’am.”

───────────

Suguru was a point guard, which meant he was the leader on the court. He was in charge of passing and initiating offenses. He was kind of like the second coach. Satoru was the shooting guard, and as his name suggests, he was in charge of scoring as much as possible and was capable of making long shots or shots in the 3-point area.

Focused on your phone, sitting in the stands of the university gym, you were lulled by the sound of the ball bouncing on the court. You analyzed Suguru and Satoru's stats. And by looking at them, you understood why they were so popular. Suguru was a phenomenal point guard. His steals stats indicated that as soon as he was on the court, his team was sure to be the one with the most of the ball. His assists stats were particularly high, showing that the game was dominated by him. Satoru had nothing to envy him with his free throw attempts stats almost equal to his successful free throws, indicating that he rarely missed his shots. His 3-point field goal stats were very high, and it was surprising that these two men were Japanese university athletes and not NBA players.

But like all statistics, it wasn't the only facet of reality. You raised your head and analyzed their games. 

Suguru had near-superhuman speed, blocking and stole the ball with near-piteful ease for the opposing team. However, he was too fast, which caused even simple offensive strategies like the pick and roll to fail. Satoru made all his shots and could make any layup, and was able to shoot far from the basket. But aside from his great skills, when his team was on defense, he committed stupid personal fouls that he could have easily avoided if he was careful not to touch his opponent.

At the end of their practice, you came down from the stands and walked towards them. They were wiping their foreheads with their jerseys, their chests rose and fell from their frantic breathing.

“Suguru, being an excellent point guard goes without saying with being able to control your speed. You're good at complex offenses, but you make simpler ones miss because of your lack of control. Satoru, there's no point in being a good shooter if you can get kicked out of the game because of your fouls,” you criticized them in a serious voice, pointing your finger at them every time you addressed them.

Satoru's handsome face morphed into a haughty expression, his eyebrows raised.

“And who are you to judge my performance? You’re not my coach, nor my captain. Remember, we’re just doing your research because you’re Utahime’s friend and-”

“Shut the fuck up, Satoru.” Suguru glared at him before turned his head toward you, his face softening. “Tell me more about my weakness.”

You took a deep breath, used to being underestimated just because you were a girl.

“I don't watch the NBA, but I'm interested in the WNBA, and pretty much most women's sports, so I know what I'm talking about.” You glanced at Satoru, your gaze piercing. “My mother made me watch basketball and baseball games since I was little.”

“Finally, a silly story,” Suguru’s mouth split into a soft grin. 

You ignored Suguru and the warm feeling pooling in your stomach. You detailed your analysis of their games, Satoru's expression growing more and more impressed as you talked about statistics and game tactics. Suguru listened to you intently, drinking from his bottle while staring at you intensely.

“I swear I didn’t say that because you were a girl, I said that because, I mean, like, who can criticize my perfect game? I’m the star of the university. I’m just a pathetic egocentric man, I didn’t mean to offend you, I swear.”

Satoru ran after you as you said goodbye to Suguru and walked towards the exit. You shook your head.

“It’s okay. You may be dumb but I knew it wasn’t coming from misogyny. I’m just used to that treatment so I was kind of defensive.”

“Right, men are so mean, I wish I was a girl sometimes.”

You looked at him puzzled, and Suguru let out a deep sigh behind you. 

“Have a good day, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

You waved your hand with a small laugh, and left the gym. 

───────────

With blasting from the speakers in the dorm, you and Utahime got ready while moving your heads to the music and humming the songs. It looked like your dorm had been hit by a hurricane because of all the clothes and heels strewn all over the floor. But that was because today was a special day : Utahime was going to make the first move to get her crush!

“It’s truly a sign of friendship that you’re coming with me, I’ll forever be grateful.” Utahime was applying your mascara, still in her panties.

“I already told you to put on your outfit before doing your makeup.” You sighed, putting on a shirt, “But yeah, be happy the homebody came out to support you.”

Utahime said she needed you to be in the same room as her to give her courage. You weren't sure if her words were true, but if it made her feel better, you agreed to get out of bed. The truth was, you never went to parties except at the beginning of the year when you wanted to test your healing. It was too dangerous a place for you; there were too many men, too many opportunities to be taken advantage of, and on top of that, you hated drinking because you were afraid of losing control. Less control meant more possibilities of being abused, so you were a bit of a control freak. But just for Utahime, you made an exception.

“Be glad Suguru helped me with my essay. Thanks to him, I've made good progress and don't have anything to study tonight.”

“Talking about Suguru…”

Utahime raised her head, her playful smile conveyed her mischief. 

“Why you don’t have sex with him? He’s your type.”

You froze.

“What the hell?!”

“What? All your crushes had long black hair and piercings.”

“Yeah, he’s my type, but that’s not the point!” You threw your makeup bag down on the bed. “Why would I sleep with a man I barely know?”

“Um… You did that exactly-”

“Okay, okay, forget that.” Your index and middle fingers rubbed your temples. “Why would I sleep with a man who can’t control his temper?”

“Pleaaaaaase,” she rolled her eyes. “He's only like this for sports because he is a captain. Suguru is an angel.”

“Absolutely no man is angelic, the devil hides behind them.”

Utahime’s laughter lit up the room.

“Maybe, but he’s a sexy devil.” She winked at you.

“You’re attracted to him?” You raised a eyebrow.

“I’m a lesbian, not blind. I can look even though I don’t eat this dish.”

“I also don’t want to eat this dish, especially this dish.”

“Why not though? You said yourself that you wanted to have a normal sex life one day. Suguru is gentle and good at bed. One of my friends have slept with him and told me he made her came five times and did multiple rounds.”

“I’m very happy about the sex life of your friend but you forget that I can’t even do a round, Hime. Suguru is good where he is, just my research partner.”

“Why do you like to sabotage yourself so much? You were giving your body to an asshole a few weeks ago and now you come across a kind guy who could make you feel safe and you refuse? I don’t even understand you sometimes?”

I don’t even understand me sometimes, you wanted to reply but you stayed silent, putting on your heels.

───────────

Leaning against the wall, you watched the people dance to Sexyy Red, the girls twerking on the guys, their asses shaking on their crotches. You wished you were as care-free as them, but the mere thought that a man would rub against you made you shudder. The frat party was filled with the ambient smell of marijuana and tobacco, and it was very hot inside, the windows steaming up from all the movement inside. You regretted wearing a sweater dress; although it was light, the wool fabric was still too heavy for a party. 

Further away, to your right, Shoko was kissing Utahime on her lap, your mission accomplished.

You moved forward into the sea of ​​people, wanting to find a corner to sit near the living room. You squeezed between the warm bodies and accidentally bumped into some. You apologized a few times, and when you reached the sofas, you held your breath.

Sitting on one of the couches, Suguru was leaning back against the backrest, a girl on his lap while kissing another girl who was standing next to him, bent over him. Even with the distance, you could see the movements of their tongues intertwining in their mouths. If it were a girl, you would have said “go girl,” but since it was a boy, you were overcome with disgust. It was misandrist, but it was more of a preventative measure. You found it hard to believe that a boy who had many sexual partners actually respected the women he slept with. To you, all playboys were a bit misogynistic deep down, so you were disgusted to see Suguru do this. And disappointed, as if you had started to get used to him and he had just ruined the small glimmer of appreciation you had for him. You swore to yourself that you would never be in his bed.

You turned around, trying to push the image out of your head.

SUGURU’s POV

“I’m in love with ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

Satoru's absurd sentence made him stop kissing the stranger on his lap and his hands under her skirt paused. He pulled his head back, his eyes narrowed.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He pushed the girl away with a quick, apologetic kiss on the temple, and she left, looking for another guy to have fun with tonight.

“I’m in love with her. I think about her all the time, I feel hot when I’m around her, my stomach does weird thinking when she talks to me-”

“That’s desire, not love. She barely talks about herself, how could you fall in love with her? You don’t know anything about her. You've known her for less than a month.”

“I know things about her!” Satoru raised his voice, leaned over on the couch. “I know she’s passionate about women’s sports and she… Likes psychology… And… Yeah…”

“Yeah.” Suguru’s gaze on Satoru hardened. “You need to stop doing that every time you’re interested about some girl.”

Satoru was a playboy, but a romantic playboy. He fell in love very quickly and left people just as quickly. Suguru had already taken a slap from one of his ex-girlfriends because Satoru had blocked him everywhere and refused to talk to her. She had begged Suguru to help her, but he had refused, not wanting to get involved in his best friend's love affairs. As a result, he had ended up with a hand mark all day.

“But I feel she’s different this time. She resists my charm. It turn me on so much when she doesn’t get my jokes.”

Suguru's whole body tensed. Knowing how afraid you were of men, you'd be disgusted to know that Satoru fantasized about you. It wasn't polite or respectful to have that kind of thought for a girl you'd just met and who trusted him with her research project.

“I need you to listen to me, ‘toru. You’re not in love, you’re just… weirdly turned on by a girl who reacts differently than others. You’ve only known her for three weeks, she could be a serial killer.”

“It’s kind of sexy…”

Suguru face-palmed himself and Satoru chortled.

“What? You don’t know that kink? It’s called autoassassinophilia. It’s when you turned on by the fact you could be killed. I’m into that.” Satoru danced his eyebrows with a mischievous facial expression, but Suguru looked at him sternly.

“No, I don’t have these kinks.”

“Liar. I found handcuffs in your dorm.”

Suguru let out a low chuckle.

“I mean…”

“You’re so naughty like me.” 

Satoru mock-punched Suguru, and Suguru dodged him with a smirk. He bickered with Satoru for a few minutes before spotting your braids in the crowd of people. You were the only girl with goddess braids with beads of all colors.

“I'll be back in a few moments.”

Suguru stood up, trying to find you among the many heads in front of him. He moved deeper into the group and found you, but this time not alone.

A drunk man was yelling at you, the people around you oblivious to the danger due to the loud music. Your eyes were wide, your hands shaking as you tried to back away but bumped into the wall. Having no time for this kind of nonsense, Suguru grabbed the man by the back of his neck.

“Get out of here,” he snapped, his voice cold as he pushed him away from you.

The drunk man, his head dizzy, staggered to collapse against a couch. Suguru turned to you and took in the sight of your anxious state. He took your trembling hands in his, his touch gentle.

“It’s okay, he’s not here anymore.”

His thumb traced circles on your palms as you regained control of your breathing, taking deep breaths. Your eyes watered, and his heart ached at your vulnerable silhouette. He continued to whisper, “It's okay, you're safe,” while you regained control of your breathing. He managed to calm your beginning panic attack with his voice and his gestures.

“You offered me help, but I feel like you're the one who needs it most. You're shaking like a leaf. Most people who are mentally healthy don't react this way.”

Suguru's caring voice and tender gestures soothed your fears. Despite the people dancing and laughing around you, it was as if you were alone in a little cocoon, the delicate walls enveloped you. For a few seconds, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort he brought you without turning your back on him. His gentleness made your eyes sting; it was nothing to him, but it was the kindest gesture a man had ever shown you. You didn't know if it was the hormones or if it was just that your period was approaching, but you were ready to burst into tears and let yourself be comforted by him in his arms. 

You could smell the cologne emanating from him, the expensive, masculine scent, which made you want to nuzzle his chest to inhale better. Even though he was maybe a playboy, even though he had outbursts with his teammates, all his red flags were invisible now, you only saw the way he held your hands in his soft hands and his compassionate gaze towards you. In this moment of fragility that surpassed all reason, you understood Utahime when she said Suguru was an angel.

Suguru's eyes darted at your sweater dress, the dress loose and not hugging any part of your body, like a garbage bag placed over you. It wasn't the clothes he was used to seeing on girls who were partying. However, he quickly made the connection with your fear of men and your outfit. Perhaps it was a way for you to appear unnoticed. Perhaps you had come to accompany Utahime, since he had never seen you at a frat party before.

“Do you want to get some fresh air?”

“I'll say this in the nicest way possible, but I'd like to be alone. Thanks for the man,” you sniffled and tried not to sound too harsh. Your moment of comfort was coming to an end, and your barrier was beginning to rebuild at high speed. Suguru wasn't offended; you were used to withdrawing easily, and you always respected his privacy during your sessions; he owed you that.

“No problem. If another man tries to bother you, just scream loudly; maybe I'll hear you and save you.”

A ghost of a smile crossed your face. You nodded before walking away and out the front door, drying your eyes with the sleeve of your dress. Suguru watched you through the window as you walked to a bench near the frat party. He couldn't help but wonder what wounds you were hiding behind that fortress and if you'd ever be comfortable enough to show them one day to someone like him.

───────────

READER’s POV

The incident at the party lingered in your mind for days afterward. Now in control of your emotions, you're a little ashamed of how vulnerable you let yourself be in front of him. But you couldn't have predicted that a drunk guy would yell at you and triggered you. Luckily, Suguru was there to ground you. You thanked him for handling the man, but he didn't know how much his gestures and voice had helped calm you down. 

You had an hour before joining Suguru for your weekly sessions. Walking through the city of Tokyo, you looked for a vinyl and CD seller. The temperature was average, the sky gray, but it was nice outside, you could walk around in a t-shirt. You found the store you were looking for and entered. You knelt under the vinyls to find the boxes of CDs, and looked for section B. You were lucky, you only had one copy of Blood Orange's album 'Negro Swan' left, Suguru would be happy. Paying less than 2,000 yen (= 13 dollars), you put your gift in your bag, feeling lighter. Taking advantage of the lack of rain, you walked around listening to the album on Spotify, until it was time to see Suguru at the university library.

When Suguru entered Study Room 202, you jumped on him. Not literally but your voice was full of excitement.

“The Blood Orange album you told me about is just amazing! The metaphor about being the black sheep as a black man in America is just brilliant. It’s such a beautiful album about celebrating being yourself, without performing for others. It can be interpreted in many ways, like autistic people who feel different from society and their struggle with masking. The feats, oh my god, the feats are perfect! You weren’t lying when you said it was a mix of indie rock and alternative R&B, it’s one of the best albums I’ve ever heard!”

You had spoken in one go, panting a bit at the end of the monologue, and Suguru burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. You stared at him in amazement, his usually calm face distorted by the burst of sunshine. 

“Sorry,” he held his sides, catching his breath. “I didn’t expect such a welcome.”

“Sorry,” you whispered and offered a sheepish smile.

“No, don't be sorry. It's cute, honestly.” This was the second time you'd done something that made him think to himself, ‘She's so cute.’

A wave of heat rose in your stomach, and you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. Suguru sat down in front of you.

“It's been a long time since I've laughed this hard, thanks.”

“You're welcome, I guess…”

“Don't be like that, I wasn't making fun of you. I'm just... surprised to see someone loving something as much as me. Most people, when they like something, are normal, whereas I'm unhinged about it.”

“Is that why you can't stand it when your teammates don't take basketball seriously?”

Suguru winced.

“I really need to work on that…”

You took your laptop out of your bag, dropping the CD on the table. Suguru's eyes lit up.

“Damn, you even bought the CD? What is next? The vinyl?”

“Um, it’s for you, Suguru.”

His small smile faded, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the CD.

“Why?”

“I… I sometimes have anxiety problems,” you tried to explain, without mentioning your C-PTSD. “I get triggered by sudden loud noises and yelling. When you held my hand this Friday… It felt good for me, it very helped me. I wanted to thank you, sincerely. It’s not a huge gift, it didn’t cost me much, it’s just to symbolize my gratitude. You must probably think it’s stupid, but it doesn’t matter. It makes sense to me.”

He hadn't even known you for a month, and you could make him burst out laughing like when he didn't have his depression. You made him want to break the barrier between you when he was the type to push away people who got too close to him, hating being vulnerable. And now you wanted to give him such a heartfelt gift? Even Satoru hadn't given him such a specific gift, and bought him expensive colored pencils for art. It was a good gift, but compared to yours, it was nothing. You had remembered a random piece of information he had given you, and wanted to give him a gift because he had held your hands? This was making him so vulnerable and weird in his stomach. He struggled to find the words. He cleared his throat and an almost shy smile flickered across his face as he took the CD in his hands.

“Thank you, I don’t know what to say. This is so cute.”

You were becoming incredibly flustered, feeling hot all over.

“It didn’t cost me much, it’s not very-”

“None of that,” he commanded, his voice dominant. “That’s the cutest thing someone did to me, and I want to remember it that way, so stop that bullshit.”

You flinched at his ‘captain voice,’ but it was necessary so you could relax and not feel embarrassed about your gift. A bit of tough love was crucial sometimes for stopping your toxic habits to feel bad about yourself.

For an hour, you would do your research project and have him complete specialized basketball tests. You had to find a topic for your research project, and you had an idea with Suguru. The problem was that Suguru wasn't comfortable talking to you about his personal problems. You had to create a sort of safe space during the sessions so he could open up. As long as you didn't have that safe space with Suguru, you kept Satoru as backup.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something,” Suguru asked softly, as you put your laptop back in your bag.

“Yeah?”

He pulled out some notebooks from his backpack. 

“I have electives in psychology. I think it’s from your freshman syllabus, but I’m having a bit of trouble with the topic of “biological basis of behavior.” It’s the basis of my course, and I’m lost right now because I haven’t even memorized all the frontal lobe nonsense and all that.”

Your face softened.

“So I was thinking if a certain girl majoring in psychology could help me…”

Your face lit up with a smile. “Of course.”

You stood up to sit next to him, your thighs touching as you leaned over his notes.

“Actually, it’s very simple. You just need to work on your memorization so you don’t get lost during your current classes.”

You explained to him the different parts of the frontal lobe, the role of neurotransmitters, and the different nervous systems in the brain. In fact, it was all a lie. Suguru had understood his entire lesson; he simply wanted to be able to admire your face up close and study your lips, which moved as you spoke. 

He was fascinated by the shape of your lips, his mouth half-open, as his eyes stared at your mouth like an archaeologist finding a relic. He wondered what they tasted and felt like, if you were the type to kiss by focusing on the twist of your tongue or more on nibbling. He licked his lips without realizing it, his gaze on you intense and dark. He didn't realize that his thoughts drifted towards forbidden zones because he was too absorbed by the movements of your lips. It was only when you cleared your throat, your face flustered, that he realized he had lost it.

“I’m so sorry, that’s so disrespectful. I swear I don’t see you that way, I was just-”

“I get that, I get that. I'm also fascinated by you when we study-”

You paused, realizing what you were saying.

“You what?”

His wide smile conveyed his confidence, while you were disintegrating in your chair.

“What do you find fascinating about me?”

“Since you don’t seem to need my explanations, I’m going to leave, my shift at 7eleven will start soon,” you hurriedly got up from your chair and literally ran out of the study room.

Suguru ran a hand over his face, his smile still apparent. He was starting to really like these sessions.

───────────

SUGURU’s POV

As Suguru waited for his neuroleptic to take effect, he stared at the ceiling. He felt miserable having to use medications designed for schizophrenics and psychotic people. Not that psychotic people deserved to be ashamed, but more that he was ashamed that no sleeping pills worked for him. It was as if his body wanted to make things worse for him. His antidepressants weren't even working, and being tired was already bad, but being unable to sleep was worse. When he did sleep, it was never a comfortable, restful sleep; it was as if he had just closed his eyes at night and opened them the next second, and it was day. He wasn't even dreaming. He had followed all the stupid advice about exercising, turning off his phone, and not using screens an hour before bed, but nothing had changed.

His phone rang and he let out a groan, stretching his arm to pick up the phone. He sighed when he saw it was his parents. He loved them, but since he was depressed, they were a bit intrusive. They were playing their roles, so he didn't hold it against them.

“Yeah, mom?” 

“I cleaned the whole house, I just finished, I meant to call you during the day but I forgot! How are you?”

The familiar high pitch of her voice made him smile.

“I’m okay. I'm helping a girl do her master’s application right now.”

“You have a girlfriend?!”

“Nah. We are just friends, I guess? She’s kinda cold, anyway. Couldn’t have her if I wanted too.”

“I’m happy you’re making new friends. Since the incident, I feel like you’ve withdrawn. You isolate yourself when you’re depressed, I hate that.”

Suguru's eyes darkened at the word 'incident,' and he didn't want to talk about the reason he was depressed.

“I'm fine. I'm continuing my training, forcing myself to eat, and taking medication to help me sleep. I don't smoke too much weed during the parties, what more do you want from me?” Suguru said, his voice tainted by defensiveness.

His mother's voice softened over the phone.

“I know you're doing your best. That wasn't a criticism, just an observation. You're my only child, I'm always worried about you.”

“As long as Satoru is still with me, everything will be fine, don’t worry.”

“It's true that charming boy is your anchor. You both suffered in high school, I'm glad the incident brought you closer together and did not separate you.”

Suguru’s heart tightened and his whole body tensed.

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I know, I know.”

His mother began talking about the drama in her job, and Suguru relaxed. His mother's voice soothed the remaining tension in his body, and his medicine began to take effect, making his body feel heavy and lethargic. His eyes began to close.

“Mom, I will go to sleep, I will call you tomorrow, okay?”

He said goodbye to his mother, and drifted off to sleep. 

───────────

READER’s POV

Naturally, by spending time with Suguru and Satoru, you were entering Utahime's circle of friends. When she hosted drinks at her dorm and invited them over, you joined in their conversations, learning more about the basketball duo. The barriers you'd put up to conduct your research project as professionally as possible were crumbling. You could see that you were more comfortable with Suguru since he'd helped you at the party. You hadn't forgotten his basketball bully tendencies and his manwhore side, but let's just say you were more open to seeing who he was behind those two elements.

“You told me you liked Frank Ocean, but I never asked you what your favorite songs were.” Suguru asked, his mouth curving into a kind smile.

Suguru came to help you with your philosophy classes once a week in the library, taking the opportunity to get to know you and ask you questions. You weren't yet comfortable enough to talk about personal matters, but you were able to talk about music and debate philosophy with him.

“Released on Spotify or unreleased?”

His smile widened. Oh, he liked you.

“Wow, wow. Not the average fan, aren’t you? All kind of songs.”

“My favorite song is Strawberry Swing. It’s on his EP, ‘Nostalgia, Ultra’. I really like the melancholic and nostalgic vibe of the sound; it really goes well with the EP title. It feels like a dream, especially with the alarm at the end.”

He played with his industrial piercing, a mannerism he always had when he was nervous.

“I’ve never listened to his unreleased tracks. I’ll make a note of that, I’ll listen to it this afternoon during my workout.”

You chuckled, and his stomach warmed up at the sound. He loved seeing you smile and laugh, you were so cold with him usually.

“Frank Ocean isn’t really music for working out.”

“I agree. I listen to more rap when I work out.”

“What are your favorite artists?”

“Jhené Aiko, Cigarettes After Sex, Deftones, Blood Orange and JID. I also really like Japanese R&B like DOUBLE.”

“Wow, I love the variety. I love Jhené Aiko too. Is JID a R&B artist?”

“Nah, a rapper. He did a Color Show which was super popular. His flow is so fluid, it’s impressive, he’s so talented.”

Suguru took out his phone and connected his wired earphones to his phone. He played a YouTube video, the Color Show he was talking about, 'Working out by JID', the background of the room purple. He handed you an earbud and you leaned over to watch the video, putting the object in your ear. The action was kind of intimate, the two of you close to each other, focused on the same screen on a table in the university library.

“His voice is so soothing and calm when he raps, it’s pleasant,” you said when the video ended.

“Fluid like water I told you. But he can be hard and aggressive like his song ‘Stick’. Wait, look at that,” he changed the video, and an aggressive and dynamic sound came out of the earpiece as the music video continued. Suguru made a few comments during the video, and you found it cute to see him so passionate about something. In a way, he was like Satoru at that moment. In your sessions, Satoru always tried to convince you to watch shoujo animes with him and excitedly talked about the manga he was reading. It made you roll your eyes every time, but deep down, your heart melted to see that the two basketball players shared the same fervor of passion. It made sense that they were best friends.

Suguru's little demonstration turned into a little game where you introduced to each other music you loved. He showed you Japanese R&B, while you showed him British soul artists like Cleo Sol. He pressed the ‘like’ button to the music videos you showed him to add them to his Spotify playlist later. You commented on the making of the videos, sometimes laughing and exchanging knowing smiles when you realized you knew the same artists like Daniel Caesar. It was a complicit, oddly intimate moment that broke the barrier you put between the two of you.

“I’m curious about your sex playlist since you have such good taste in R&B.”

“Sex playlist?” The playful smile he gave you made your tummy flutters. 

“Yeah? Isn’t that a thing for you?”

He didn't need a sex playlist, his partners were already loud with him, but he wasn't going to say that and come across as an arrogant playboy. He preferred teasing you.

“Am I to understand a hidden meaning in the fact that you want to know the contents of my sex playlist?”

Blood rushed through your ears, making the tips hot.

“No! I was just genuinely curious!”

He placed his hand on yours on the table. 

“I’m just teasing you, it’s okay.”

The touch of his hand on yours made an electric feeling spark across your skin, and you quickly pulled your hand away, your heart racing. You looked around for a topic to avoid continuing this awkward conversation, and your eyes fell again on his tattooed hands.

“What kind of style is this?” You stared at the thin, abstract lines on his fingers.

He glanced at his hands.

“Sigilism. Hand tattoos age faster than the rest of the body, so I chose a thin style; it will fade anyway. The rest of my heart is blackwork with thicker lines to make the tattoo last longer.”

You gave him a soft nod.

“It’s impressive how you know how to do different styles of drawings on yourself. You’re so talented.”

“It’s not talent, it’s hard work. I spent all my free time improving my drawing technique in high school. Now, I tattoo myself with ease.”

“Have you ever tattooed someone else?”

“Nah. You have to pass a health exam to do it on someone else. But I could, I'm clean and know the health protocol. I just don't have any tattoo fans around me. Satoru's parents don't even want him to pierce his earlobe.”

“Satoru is 20 years old, he should be free to do what he wants. It's not parenting, it's controlling to act like that,” you frowned, your 'psychology major' mode activated. Suguru grinned at your reaction.

“Appearance is very important in his family. You always have to be proper and elegant for the family's reputation. He had to fight to get them to allow him to play basketball. It's kind of the only thing he confronted his parents about, I'm proud of him.”

Your heart warmed at the affection in Suguru's voice when he spoke of his best friend.

“You’re so cute with Satoru. If I didn’t know you were best friends I would think you were a little couple.”

Suguru shook his head.

“I would hate to be his boyfriend. He would force me to make pfps matchs of his fav shoujos.”

“I really need to see one of his shoujos, he talks about it every time, he’s so passionate about it.”

You got up, packed up your things, and headed towards the university library exit.

“You should come to our 'slumber parties' that we have twice a month. We order pizza, put on pajamas, and watch shoujos. You have to have funny pajamas, or Satoru won't accept you. He made me buy a panda onesie. You can bring Utahime with you if you're not comfortable being alone with two men,” he added the last sentence considerately.

“I'll think about it. I have to find pajamas that fit the criterias of Satoru.”

───────────

In your part-time job at 7eleven, you were responsible for stocking shelves with items and ingredients, and working the cash register. You did visual merchandising, arranging the shelves in the most inviting way possible for customers, and handled customer checkouts.

“Good afternoon,” you said to the new customer, not looking him in the eye, focused on beeping his items. You stopped when you saw condoms and looked up curiously. Your gaze met Suguru’s sly smile.

“Oh… You’re gonna use your sex playlist?” You dared to make a little joke, you weren't embarrassed to pay for condoms, you saw them every day.

A quiet laugh rumbled in his throat.

“You could say that.”

You told him the total amount for his groceries and condoms, and he took the money out of his pocket. Before leaving, he leaned over the cash register.

“I wanted to ask you two things before I go.”

You tilted your head, looking at the people waiting behind him but letting him speak.

“Yeah?”

“Can I message you on Instagram? I found your account in Utahime’s followers. It’s for when I want to send you music that it reminds me of you and I think you might like it.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, touched by his politeness.

“Of course.”

“Great, and also, are you free on Saturday? Satoru and I are going to see an art exhibition at Ripponji Hills. I thought… I thought you might be interested since you don't get out much. Utahime also comes. If you don't want to, that's okay of course. You have the right to want to keep our relationship professional.”

Your lips quirked up, glad Suguru had thought of you with his best friend.

“I'll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Suguru nodded and gave you a sweet smile before leaving the supermarket, making butterflies take flight in your belly. 

───────────

Encouraged by Utahime, you end up accepting Suguru's proposal. Suguru and Satoru were waiting for you and Utahime at the bus stop next to campus. 

His cheeks bloomed into a rosy hue when you approached him, and you didn't understand why he often blushed when he saw you. He couldn't be in love with you; you barely talked about yourself during all your sessions because he monopolized the conversation, and you were less comfortable with him than with Suguru.

“You’re so pretty,” Satoru complimented your figure. You were wearing a floral dress that hugged your ample curves, wanting to enjoy the good weather.

“Thank you.”

Suguru cleared his throat.

“The bus is here.”

On the bus, Suguru gestured to you to sit next to him while he remained standing in the crowded bus. You thanked him for his gentlemanly manner, and sat and chatted with Utahime during the ride.

“How many times do you have to have sex before you tell your sex friend that you’re in love with her?”

You shook your head and sighed.

“Why are you in a sex friends situation with a girl you plotted on months before?”

“She told me she wasn't ready to be in a relationship again since her ex-boyfriend died. I couldn't see myself confessing my feelings to her. She was going to pull away.”

You sympathize with your friend, your face softened.

“She lost a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, in high school. I was reassured that she was bisexual and that I had a chance with her, but now that I know she had such a serious relationship with a man, I… I don't know. I feel like I'll never be as good as her ex. We tend to romanticize everything in a relationship once it's over; she must see him as the lost love of her life.”

“You don't know, you're not in her head. You're just making assumptions because you're afraid. You're a psychology major, but you keep overthinking things that could be clarified with a conversation with the person in question?”

“You’re right…”

Utahime let out a heavy breath.

“I don’t know, I really like her. I really don’t want to mess up.”

“You’re human, it’s normal. Try talking to her about it, tell her how you feel, and emphasize the fact that you’re willing to wait so she doesn’t get scared of your feelings and decide to walk away.”

Utahime nodded, and her face calmed.

“You’re the best, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

You bumped your fist with hers.

“Always here for you, you know that.”

The ride to the Roppongi district was quick, and your small group got off the bus. In south-central Tokyo, the Ripponji district was vibrant and full of young people on the streets as it was a cultural center. There were fewer areas of vegetation because it was an urban district, but it was a nice place. As you walked with them, you received a notification on your phone from your school app. You made a loud exasperated noise, and Suguru turned to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“It's my political science and sociology class that's been postponed until next week. The men in charge of teaching these classes are often sick. Their classes are already super confusing, and it doesn't help that they're always absent.”

“I didn't know you had electives in those subjects too. You're doing a science bachelor's degree, right? You chose your electives well to have a wide range of knowledge.”

“I didn’t have much choice. I think it was more relevant to see psychology from a purely scientific perspective rather than doing a bachelor’s degree in art and having humanities or english courses take priority over the rest.”

“What’s confusing you about these classes?”

“We’re seeing anarchic and anti-prison thinking. I have a little trouble seeing a society functioning without prisons to punish criminals.”

Suguru’s eyes lit up, his mind always ready for a philosophical conversation.

“That’s the problem in our society. Justice is more punitive than rehabilitative. The anti-prison logic is more about humanizing criminals in prison and improving their quality of life to better integrate them afterward. It’s a process. Anarchists know very well that we can’t abolish the state now. I don’t even think that with our societies, we’ll ever be able to end up in anarchy.”

“Why?”

“Because humans need religion. Nietzsche said he didn't think humans would ever be able to cope with the meaninglessness of life and detach themselves from God. Whether God exists or not is beside the point. As long as there is suffering in our societies, humans will always turn to religious structures and will not be able to accept an ideology that rejects all religious dogma.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“I believe we are all looking for a god who can fulfill our emotional needs and the needs of a civilization, that's why there are a multitude of mythologies, spiritualities, and religions. I forget his name, but I remember someone who gave a 10-hour course explaining how religions were formed according to different types of civilizations. I haven't yet found a god who will fulfill my needs, so I'll say I'm an atheist, although I really like the Japanese myths of Shintoism or Buddhist philosophy. It's part of my culture. And you?”

“I think if there were a god, it would be a woman because we are the ones who create life.”

“You’re right. And do you think life is meaningless?”

“I think it’s up to us to give meaning to our lives. Life is like the canvas of an artist.”

Suguru nodded, walking beside you. The more you spoke, the closer you got, your shoulders touching as Utahime and Satoru bickered in front of you.

“I like your analogy. That’s a great way of explaining existentialism.”

The conversation took a deeper turn. You talked about life, your opinion on death, whether you believed in reincarnation, whether we had free will. Each time, Suguru let you speak and give your opinion, without imposing his own. It was a pleasure to talk with Suguru. He was intelligent and knew a lot about philosophy because of his major, which meant he had information on every question in life. He had an incredible ability to make you think and push you to your limits. He taught you a lot of things, and you realized how much you loved his mind and wanted to have these kinds of conversations with him more often. Your feminist brain liked that he was able to talk about a lot of female philosophers and was not neglecting them.

Arriving at the Ripponji Hills urban complex, Suguru paused in the conversation.

“Do you know which floor this is, 'toru?”

“Leave it to me, I'll manage our hangout. I'm your guide!” Satoru raised his arms theatrically, making you laugh with Utahime.

You go up to the floor where the exhibition Suguru wanted to see was taking place. It was an exhibition about the spring season with several artists who had come together for the common project. There were photographers, painters, graffiti artists, ect.

As you walked through the exhibition that had gathered a lot of people on that Saturday in March, you noticed that Suguru had a tense expression as he looked at the paintings. You approached him, stared at the painting of flowers and tried to understand what he saw in the painting that could put him in this state.

“I came to feel something but it failed as usual,” he muttered, as if his whisper was for himself, but you heard it. Your face softened.

“What do you mean by ‘feel something’? You feel empty?”

Suguru flinched. He forgot that you were here. He ran his hand through his hair.

“Nothing, I’m just being edgy,” he left you, continuing the exhibition, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

You suspected Suguru was suffering from moments of feeling empty. Maybe that was why he was so addicted to sports; it allowed him to feel things through his body. It must have been so important to him, like a way to keep him alive, that was probably why he was so uncompromising with his teammates. It made you want to base your research on the link between mental health and sports even more, but Suguru had to be able to open up to you. You also had to make an effort, remove your barriers and open up to him, so that he would feel confident enough to talk with you. You chewed your thumb nervously, thinking of ways to deepen your relationship so that he could open up to you as you continued to visit the exhibition.

“Blooming flowers as a metaphor for love,” you read the title of a photography in front of you. 

Suguru turned to you and was struck by your beauty. In profile, you stared at the photo in front of you, your eyes narrowed and your expression focused. He admired the appearance of your nose in profile, and a growing desire within him wanted to draw you. Your face called out to his pencils and his creativity, making his whole body shivering with excitement about tonight, when he could draw you.

“Has anyone ever told you that you deserved to be in a museum?” He approached you, couldn’t help but tell you, that he found you magnificent, your profile made him want to make a sculpture of it and have it by his bedside every morning when he woke up.

Your heart raced as you turned to him.

“Um, no?”

“We are a failed civilization then,” he simply said, walking away into the exhibition, leaving you confused by his compliment. 

───────────

SUGURU’s POV

When he got back to his dorm room, he rushed to his desk, throwing all the notebooks onto his bed in his excitement. It was like a burst of creativity. He yanked out his drawers abruptly, his hands quickly searching for his sketchbook, which had gathered dust from disuse. He sat down, opened a page of his sketchbook, picked up a pencil, and before the pencil touched the paper, he held his breath. He had finally had the inspiration to draw three years after the incident because of a girl. He shook his head, not wanting to think about how worthy of a romantic comedy it was.

His hand ran over the paper, the sounds of paper and pencil filling the room. He took out his phone and put on his wired headphones. He played Strawberry Swing by Frank Ocean on repeat, your favorite song, to be lulled into your world and draw you as accurately as possible.

As he drew, he remembered the shape of your nose, the size of your eyes, the length of your eyelashes, whether your jaw was sharp or not. He had seen beautiful girls, he had seen them up close while sleeping with them, but you, you were from another universe. So drop-dead gorgeous that it was illegal. Exactly his type. He didn’t care if another boy didn’t find you pretty, you were beauty personified for him.

When he finished drawing, he was out of breath, as if he had run a marathon. He stared at your portrait with his heart pounding in his chest. Life had brighter colors with you, and he was frightened by the thought. But it felt so good, so good that he fell asleep listening to your favorite song, wanting to feel your presence with him in his sleep, like a divine angel.

───────────

READER’s POV

“This won’t do.”

You were standing in front of Satoru's dorm room, dressed in the most ridiculous pajamas you could find. Your pajamas consisted of a pink tank top and shorts with a watermelon pattern. Satoru shook his head at the sight of you and went back into his apartment, looking for better pajamas for the slumber party he and Suguru had invited you to.

You burst out laughing when you saw Satoru come back with a unicorn onesie, exactly like the one he was wearing.

“What? I always buy two sets of pajamas, imagine if they get stained?” Satoru looked at you with a seriousness that made you laugh even more.

“If the second one gets stained, will you buy a third? You're really rich.”

You walked into his dorm room. The walls of his room were decorated with anime and manga posters, mostly shoujo. He had a manga library filled with lookups figurines, nendoroids, artbooks, and shoujo magazines. He seemed like a collector. He had moved the bedside tables and put the two single beds side by side to make a large single bed. Suguru was munching on chips in his panda onesie, his eyes glued to his phone. 

Utahime was with Shoko and couldn't come, so you were alone with them, your heart racing at the thought. You understood that Suguru wasn't the violent man you thought he was, that his relationship with sports was deeper than just an outburst, but you were still stressed to find yourself alone with two men. Even though Satoru was practically harmless, he was just a nerdy playboy, but your PTSD was stronger than your will to trust men.

You put on the unicorn onesie, Satoru behind you, and put on the hood with the unicorn horn, looking at you with a smirk, proud of his childish habits.

“What are we watching?” Suguru asked, yawning.

“We have to show him the best of shoujo for her first time, so Kamisama Kiss.”

Suguru let out a groan, the sound making your insides twist.

“The thing with the girl and the fox? We've seen that thing a thousand times.”

“And it never gets old!”

Satoru took the pizzas from his desk and placed them on his bed. He turned to look at your shy, intimidated figure, being alone with two boys in a bed, and gestured with his hand for you to stand between him and Suguru. You sat on the bed. Satoru opened his laptop, searched for his favorite illegal streaming site, and blushed when a pornographic image appeared on his screen.

“That wasn’t very shojoboy of me.”

Your laughter filled the room.

The anime started and Suguru turned off the lights.

“Oh, I know the opening!” Your eyes lit up.

“Yeah, Kamisama Kiss is very famous. The best shoujo opening for me. Kaichou wa Maid-sama is the second.”

“Tomoe is so sexy,” you said when the fox was introduced.

“I look a bit like him, I have the same hair.” Satoru said.

“Dude.” Suguru rolled his eyes.

The first season being 13 episodes, you watch it straight through in one night, spending four hours eating with them, laughing with Suguru, and screaming with Satoru when the main characters got close. At the end of the anime, Satoru had fallen asleep and could be heard snoring in the room.

Being practically alone with Suguru, you took the opportunity to talk to him about what you had been wanting to tell him for the past few days.

“Suguru, can I tell you something?” 

He stretched his arms and legs and got out of bed to grab a pack of cigarettes. He jutted his chin toward the door to say, ‘Yes, but not here.’ You followed him out of the dorm, walking down the stairs together and out into the dormitory courtyard, sitting on a bench. You looked ridiculous in your unicorn onesie and his panda onesie, but it added to the intimacy of the moment.

“I'm trying to make an effort to get closer to you so you feel comfortable talking to me,” you told him honestly, not wanting to manipulate him.

He took out his lighter, lit his cigarette, and took a drag. Blowing the smoke out of his mouth, he remained silent for a few seconds before turning to you. With the night and the streetlights, his handsome face was more shadowy and intimidating under his hood. But he wasn't scary since he literally had panda ears.

“Why?”

“Because I'd like to do my research project on the role of exercise in mental health, especially for those with poor mental health like you. It's a fairly easy subject for me because it's the focus of my studies, so I'm not taking too many risks.”

Suguru's whole body tensed.

“I don't want to talk about this with you,” he turned his head to look at the trees swaying in the light breeze.

You moved closer to him on the bench.

“Why not? I'm a psychology major; I'm the best person to talk to when things are going badly. In addition to my studies, I'm learning a lot about psychology from books, and articles. In less than a year, I'll have the ability to work. I assure you, I have the skills to at least be an attentive listener.”

Suguru didn't doubt your abilities; he was mainly afraid of getting too attached and disappointing you later. Suguru wasn't cut out for serious relationships. He kept people away from his heart, yet he desperately wanted to be close to yours. It was as if he was running away from what he craved. He only stayed friends with Satoru because he was already his best friend before the incident, after the incident his new friend was Utahime, and even then, he wasn't very close to her intimately. His group consisted of Nanami, Shoko, Satoru, and Utahime. He had superficial relationships with everyone who wasn't Satoru.

“I trust you, it’s not that.”

“So why are you not letting me in?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, silent, his cigarette between his fingers.

“Suguru.”

“Listen…”

He sighed.

“I’m not a good friend, you shouldn’t get attached to me.”

“Why are you saying that? You've just shown me these last few weeks what kind of good man you are. This isn’t about being friends, this is about my research project.”

He winced at the compliment.

“Nah. You just don't know me intimately to say that. I'm a hypocrite. I put on a mask to function. I barely can… Live,” he said his last word in a whisper you didn't miss.

“If that's the case, you need help.”

“I have a psychiatrist. She gives me medication, but I can't talk to her.”

“That's because that's not her role. Psychiatrists don't have psychology studies, they have medical studies; they're doctors. They're not trained to interact with patients and provide therapy; they're there to address symptoms with medication. They follow the DSM and aren't educated on psychological structures. You should find a psychotherapist.”

“I… I don’t want anyone to confirm that I’m a bad person.”

“No psychotherapist would ever say that about a patient, and if it happens, let me know so I can go beat the shit out of them.”

He let out a quiet laugh.

“Ohhhh, I’m so scared for them.”

You gave him a kind smile.

“You should be.”

A silence fell between them as he could be heard smoking his cigarette and exhaling the smoke, accompanied by the noise of the few cars passing by the campus.

“Not feeling like a good person isn’t an innate thought. It’s either someone who told you this several times in childhood that it became a solid belief, or it’s a change of belief that came after an event where you think you’re guilty. These kinds of dysfunctional thoughts and low self-esteem are present in many disorders like depression,” you recited your lessons in a serious tone.

“You’re awfully spot on.”

“Toxic parents or a traumatic event?”

“The latter,” he whispered.

That was all he was willing to tell you, but it was already a lot. Suguru had experienced a traumatic event that had led him to experience potential anhedonia, preventing him from feeling anything for the art he had previously been passionate about and making him addicted to sports. You summarized the situation in your head.

“I’m also traumatized. But unlike you, I can’t afford therapy. I have to pay off my student loan and pay my mother’s bills with my part-time job. But I’m researching books and the internet to heal myself while I wait to have the money. You can try to heal yourself before being ready to see someone. To help with trauma, you can do mediation, journaling, yoga and cognitive reframing. For anhedonia, improve your diet because the gut produces neurotransmitters like serotonin. Learn about activities that increase serotonin and dopamine, avoid isolating yourself, practice mindfulness, you can do lots of things to at least ease your pain. Also try to see with your psychiatrist if she doesn’t give you medications that make what you feel worse like anti-depressants.”

Suguru listened to you intently, continuing to smoke. He wore a shy smile when you finished.

“You’re so cute when you’re nerdy like that, you know that?”

Warmth pooled in your stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re just so cute sometimes.”

“I’m not trying to be cute, I’m trying to help you…”

“I know, I know.” His smile faded, and he looked at you, testing the waters. “Why… Are you traumatized?”

Your jaw tensed.

“A secret for a secret?”

“A secret for a secret.” He nodded.

“My mother was abusive.”

He didn't expect that, because your fear of men was so obvious, he thought it was your father. But maybe you weren't telling him everything, so he remained silent, thoughtful. That explained why you were afraid he'd hit you in the library.

“Why are you still paying her bills if she was abusive?”

“She only have me and can’t work. I don’t know my father.”

He nodded, still thoughtful. Maybe it was another man in your life, an ex-boyfriend like he thought before.

“Why can’t she work?”

“We said a secret for a secret. My information is not free.”

“Fair enough.”

A second silence fell, this one more pleasant. Satoru burst out of campus in his unicorn onesie, making you laugh.

“I WOKE UP WITH A SPIDER ON MY THROAT! YOU HAVE TO FIND IT, SUGU’!” He shouted, running towards us as if the spider was chasing him.

Suguru chuckled and put out his cigarette against the asphalt.

“I have a case to handle, Miss psychologist.”

“No problem. Just know I’m here if you need to talk.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved your offer away as he walked towards Satoru with his hands in his panda onesie.

You take out your phone to take pictures of the basketball players in their onesies, the picture is funny with Satoru with a scared face and Suguru looking bored with a hood with panda ears.

───────────

The following days, you and Suguru talked regularly on Instagram. He always sent you songs that reminded him of you, or that he thought you'd like. It was mostly R&B songs about sex, so you weren't sure what to think, but you also responded with songs. You weren't sure if he was trying to send you a subliminal message; you had the impression that Suguru was a pretty honest person. If he wanted to sleep with you, he'd tell you.

You were listening to a song he'd just sent you while you were stocking the sanitary pads shelves. It was For However Long by Bryson Tiller.

“There's some bad bitches out there that I really wanna sex up 

[...] 

I don't wanna have to wait on you

These are things I gotta say to you

Make me feel irreplaceable, baby

'Cause I can't call it.

[...]

For as long as I'm here, baby that's okay with me, yeah

[...]

How does it sound? Sound? Fuck it girl

Come spend the night with me

Say whatever, just don't lie to me 

Stepping out, know I want you on the side of me 

Mama, you could come work, full-time with me.”

The lyrics made your stomach flip, blood rushing to your cheeks. You pulled out your phone and texted him.

‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

He responded almost instantly.

‘Only if you want it, baby.’

Your eyes widened, your hands almost dropping your phone. His ‘baby’ made a warmth spread through your whole body. You wanted to hear it in his deep voice.

‘Are you drunk or something?’

‘I might be high.’

You sighed with relief. Of course.

‘Don’t text any teacher you  have a crush on.’

‘Yes, ma’am. I only have a crush on you tho.’

Your heart pounded in your chest.

‘Suguru, I will pretend that conversation never happened.’

‘Okay, baby. Sorry.’

As your heart settled into a manageable pace in your chest, you started working again before your phone vibrated again.

‘We're going to see a movie with Utahime, Nanami, Shoko and Satoru. Do you want to come?’

‘Why not? What time? I'm finishing my shift late today.’

‘We'll wait for you outside, don't worry.’

You continued working until 9 PM, and spotted your group of friends outside waiting for you. You wanted to have a professional relationship with the two basketball players, but you ended up joining Utahime's group, and it wasn't so bad.

Suguru stood against one of the lampposts, his hands in the pockets of his baggy black jeans. He was taller than everyone else, 6’6 feet tall, you'd seen that in his stats, Satoru was 6’4. He wore a baggy white long-sleeved T-shirt under a dark, rock band T-shirt. His hair was tied back, revealing his silvery-white dye beneath his black hair, with two strands that cascade over the face. His piercings glowed in the streetlight, and the tattoos on his neck looked even darker at night. 

You didn't know how you managed to talk to him without stuttering, he was so sexy, but he was your friend, you didn't see him like that. Okay, maybe a bit like that. But could we blame you? Suguru looked like a snack.

“Has anyone seen ‘Will Hunting’?” Utahime asked as you walked toward the theater near campus. It was an old theater that showed older movies that had faded into regular theaters. Will Hunting was a movie from the 90s, exactly the type of movies this theater showed.

Everyone shook their heads. You arrived at the theater, and Satoru paid for everyone’s ticket, being the richest. He also bought you all a bag of popcorn. You sat in the theater, between Nanami and Suguru. You rarely saw Nanami, but whenever you did, he always had this serious and calm expression on his face. You understood why he was friends with Suguru, but less how he could get along with Satoru’s bubbly personality. However, opposites attracted, apparently, so you didn’t bother to think too much about it.

The film was about a young man who was acting out quite a bit and was threatened with jail if he didn't see a therapist. The film centers on a touching relationship between the therapist and the young man who had suffered abuse and was self-sabotaging because of it. You hadn't touched your popcorn the entire movie, completely absorbed. Tears flowed without you realizing it.

Suguru, alerted by your sniffles, turned to you, and his face softened at the sight of your state. Of course. You must relate to the main character. He placed his warm hand on yours in support. This time, unlike when he studied with you while teasing you, you didn't withdraw.

Leaving the theater, the whole group was excited to talk about the movie, but you walked at the back of the group, silent and thoughtful. The film had shaken you, revealing wounds that were still open within you. Suguru noticed you, and approached you, putting his arm around your shoulders.

“It was a bit triggering, right?”

“Really triggering. But the good kind.”

“What was your favorite part?”

“The 'it's not your fault' scene. I couldn't stop crying at that moment. It was such a necessary thing to say to the main character. I wish I had a psychologist who had told me that when I was little and didn't understand why the one who was supposed to love me was hitting me.”

Suguru rubbed his hands on the back of your neck, massaging it to soothe you.

“I may not be a psychologist, but I can tell you this. It wasn't your fault. You deserve to be treated with respect and love, not to be so abused that you cry when you see what you went through on a screen. No matter how she justified the violence, your mother had no right to do what she did to you all those years. She deserves to be condemned for it, but you have the right not to want harm to come to her. I read somewhere that abused children are still attached to their parents and protect them. It's not your fault if you feel this way either.”

You sniffed and wiped away a tear that was falling.

“You know a lot about someone who refuses therapy.”

Suguru's quiet laughter soothed your ache.

“I'm just chronically online.”

“So chronically online that you admit to me that you have a crush on me via message when you’re high?”

Suguru tensed.

“About that…”

“I forgot. What were we talking about?”

Suguru let a grateful smile play on his lips.

“Right, right.”

Satoru turned around and glared at Suguru who had his arm around your shoulders, and Suguru sighed and pulled away from you. You looked at him confused, but he gestured with his hand not to comment.

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READER’s POV

Ever since you were little, you'd been in the habit of journaling. Writing in your journal at night allowed you to make peace with the day and express emotions you wouldn't have known how to name at the time. Since you met Suguru, you'd written even more. The pages of your journal were filled with lines and sentences about him. The writing was clumsier and less polished because you wrote quickly; as if you didn't want to be caught writing about how sexy your friend was and how much you loved his voice.

In the days following your little 'a secret for a secret' conversation, you had become more aware of him. His voice made the hairs on your back stand up, his chuckle made your spine tingle, and his groans when he was upset sent pulses through between your thighs. You were hypersensitive to his every noise, word, and gesture.

The worst part was that you'd started having erotic dreams about him. It was as if ever since he'd texted you to admit he had a crush on you, he'd awakened your desire. You dreamed of him between your thighs, beneath you, his beautiful face on display for you. When you woke up, you were hot and a wet spot was hiding on your panties.

You'd decided to distance yourself from him a bit to get your mind back in order. You'd used the excuse of having more hours at work to cancel your sessions for a while, but you couldn't avoid him forever since you were now in the same group of friends.

That's why you pushed the shopping cart, avoiding lingering on the muscles in his arms. He wore a black compression gym shirt that hugged his muscular frame, and gray sweatpants that accentuated his slim waist and broad shoulders.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked, putting food in the cart as you browsed the aisles. His deep, soft voice made your heart beat a little faster.

Utahime was having a small party in her room tonight, and she'd asked you and Suguru to go grocery shopping. She'd winked at you, as if she'd purposely left you alone with him.

“Something without alcohol.”

“You don’t drink alcohol?”

You shook your head, not wanting to explain why further. He didn't need to know you were a control freak afraid of being taken advantage of. He took you a soda, showing it to you before you nodded and put it in the shopping cart.

Your grocery shopping trip went well, though you were hypersensitive to his every move, your eyes wandering to the back of his tattooed neck, his veiny hands, and the slight patch of skin between his tight t-shirt and baggy pants that revealed a defined V-line. You were feeling hot, but it was manageable.

But everything changed when your eyes fell on a ghost from your past. The sight gripped your heart with terror and your stomach sank.