𓆰𓆪 roll 𓆩𓆪

★ He’s the kind of lover who studies you. He seeks to decipher every single one of your spasms as if you were the most important riddle of his life.

★ He favors missionary or the "lotus" position (sitting face-to-face), as he craves eye contact. For him, looking into your eyes while he’s inside you is vital. He wants to watch your pupils dilate and see exactly how you lose control because of him.

★ He loves feeling your chest flush against his, focusing on syncing your heartbeats until they beat as one.

★ It’s a massive turn-on for him when you tell him you need him. He wants you to whisper his name like he’s your only anchor to reality.

★ Because he felt "useless" in the real world, your praise is his biggest fetish. If you tell him he’s doing a good job, or that he makes you feel incredible, he will go move heaven and earth to please you even more.

★ When it comes to oral, he has a very strong preference for giving. Arisu is meticulous. He takes his time when he’s "down there." He won’t stop until your fingers are tangled in his messy hair and your back arches off the sheets. He savors the taste and the power of being the sole architect of your pleasure.

★ Despite his lean, athletic build, he has surprising stamina. He can easily go for two or three rounds if the emotional connection is strong enough. Sessions tend to be long; he hates to rush unless the situation forces his hand.

★ He’s not one for aggressive dirty talk, but he is very vocal. He lets out low moans—almost like broken sighs—and whispers vulnerable, clinging phrases:

“Don’t go.”

“Stay with me.”

“You’re so perfect.”

★ When he’s truly worked up, his breathing turns into heavy gasps against your neck.

★ His length is above average but very aesthetic—veiny when fully erect and a healthy, flushed pink.

★ He almost always prefers to finish inside, provided there’s a foundation of trust and protection. If not, he’ll do it over your stomach just so he can watch it, before cleaning you up with a heartbreaking tenderness. He loves the visual mark of his surrender.

★ Arisu isn’t a "tough guy," but he is territorial out of insecurity. If he feels someone is looking at you with intent, or if he perceives that you could find someone "better," stronger, or more successful, he becomes quiet and somber.

★ He won’t make a scene in public, but he will pull you out of there immediately. His jealousy translates into a much more needy, possessive kind of sex, where he seeks to reaffirm that you are his and no one else’s.

The bar was far too crowded, the air heavy with the smell of cheap booze and the music vibrating through the very walls.

Arisu watched you from the bar, his fingers restlessly tracing the rim of his glass. He’d seen how that guy approached you, how he’d placed a hand on your shoulder while whispering in your ear. He saw you laugh—maybe just out of politeness—but to him, it felt like a physical blow to the stomach.

Arisu wasn't the type to pick a fight, but the feeling of inadequacy that had always haunted him bloomed with a dark, new force. He walked over to you, gripped your waist with a firmness that startled you, and without a single word, guided you toward the exit.

“Arisu, what’s wrong?” you asked once you reached the car.

He didn't answer until he’d closed the door and the silence of the parking lot swallowed them whole. Your eyes went wide when he gently pushed you back into the passenger seat, reclining it with one sharp tug. His eyes, usually so soft, were dark—loaded with an intensity that made you shiver.

“I didn't like the way he looked at you,” he whispered, his voice a raspy thread as he positioned himself between your legs. He was still fully clothed, but he pressed his erection hard against your thigh. “I don’t want anyone else touching you.”

His hands slipped under your clothes, seeking out skin with an urgency you’d never felt from him before. There was no slow foreplay this time. Arisu kissed you desperately, reclaiming your mouth while his fingers worked frantically to free you from your clothes.

In the dim light of the car, as heat fogged up the windows, Arisu took you with a raw mix of jealousy and devotion. He whispered through hitched moans that only he knew every inch of your body, marking you so deeply that by the time you got home, you wouldn't be able to think of anyone but him.

★ Aftercare with Arisu is the definition of pure devotion. Seriously, he won't let you go.

★ He’ll wrap his arms around you, hide his face in the crook of your neck, and stay that way for hours. He needs that skin-to-skin contact to soothe his anxiety.

The teacher motioned for him to come in.

“Find an empty seat,” she said, barely looking up.

Everyone already had their spot—cliques were formed, and the laughter was already reserved for the same familiar faces. The only empty desk was next to yours.

Niragi walked over slowly, eyes glued to the floor, and dropped his bag before sinking into the chair. Even without looking at him, you could feel his nerves. It was that kind of electric tension—the energy of someone who doesn't know what to do with their hands.

“Hey,” you whispered, barely turning your head toward him. It took him a second to respond.

“H-hi,” he stammered. You smiled for no particular reason.

For the rest of the period, he hardly moved, but you caught him stealing glances at you every now and then. They were quick, almost imperceptible flickers, but enough to send a slight shiver down your spine.

There was something about the way he looked at you. It wasn't bold or cocky; it was the look of someone who wasn't used to being seen, someone who didn't know how to react when they got caught looking back.

When the bell rang, you started packing up.

“You’re new here, right?” you asked, pretending to be busy with the papers on your desk. He nodded.

“Yeah. I just transferred.”

“Well, if you need help with the schoolwork, I can walk you through it,” you offered, your voice softening instinctively.

Niragi looked up for the first time. There was a mix of gratitude and surprise in his dark eyes.

“Thanks...” he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

It was in that moment, without even realizing it, that you started finding your way into his world. And though you didn't know it yet, that’s exactly how he would remember you: head tilted, that confident smile, and the sound of your voice cutting through the classroom noise.

(...)

You had spent weeks trying to convince Niragi to join your group for lunch. Every day you found a new excuse: he needed to socialize more, your friends didn’t bite, it was good to break the routine.

He finally gave in, though he did it with the quiet resignation of someone who knew he wouldn't know what to say.

The cafeteria was packed—laughter, overlapping conversations, and the metallic clatter of trays. You led the way, confident, while he followed behind with stiff shoulders and measured steps. When you reached the table, your friends were already there: Hitami in the center with his usual smug grin, and the others, who gave you a distracted wave.

“Guys, this is Niragi,” you announced, giving the new guy a gentle nudge forward.

A few nodded with a simple “hey,” while others just kept eating. But Hitami held his gaze just a second too long—the kind of look that felt heavy.

“So, you’re the new kid,” he said, his tone sounding friendly but not quite hitting the mark. Niragi looked down.

“Yeah,” he managed, sitting down beside you.

You tried to keep the conversation light—homework, teachers, anything to fill the silence. But every word Niragi spoke seemed to pass through an invisible filter. Hitami would interrupt, correct him, or simply smile with that air of superiority he used to size people up.

“So where are you from?” he finally asked.

“Another school,” Niragi replied.

“Oh? Why the transfer?” Hitami didn't bother hiding his inquisitive tone.

“Issues,” was all Niragi said.

Silence fell for a few beats. You tried to break it with a joke, but Niragi’s body language was clear: he wanted out. His foot moved restlessly under the table, his back as rigid as a board.

You leaned in toward him.

“Take it easy,” you murmured, low enough that only he could hear. “Hitami can be a jerk, but he doesn't mean anything by it.”

“Doesn’t feel that way,” Niragi whispered without looking at you. You placed a hand on his arm.

“Trust me. He won’t hurt you.”

That promise, which sounded so innocent coming from you, carried a different weight in his ears. Lunch ended quickly. Your friends said their goodbyes one by one, and Hitami waited for you by the door, as he always did.

“I’m coming,” you said, grabbing your bag without a second thought.

When you turned back, Niragi was still sitting there, watching you. There was a different shadow in his eyes now—a mix of disappointment and loneliness you hadn't seen before. You smiled at him, trying to soften the goodbye.

“See you tomorrow, okay?”

He gave a slight nod, but his gaze remained fixed on you as you walked out of the cafeteria with Hitami.

And for the first time, you felt something strange: the sense that your friendship with Niragi wasn't just sweet and innocent, but something that was starting to ache in the silence.

---

It started without you even noticing. At first, it was just that warm hum through your body when Niragi looked at you longer than usual. A curiosity that turned into a craving, a desire that began to burn inside you every time he spoke in a low voice or leaned over your shoulder to read your notes.

It was impossible not to notice how attractive he was, even if he didn't know it himself. There was something in his eyes—a cocktail of insecurity and repressed fire—that left you breathless. You found yourself imagining things you shouldn't: how he’d look with his shirt unbuttoned, what would happen if he ever dared to touch you on purpose. But you always ended up laughing at yourself, embarrassed by your own thoughts.

You knew exactly how fragile his world was. You were the closest thing to a constant light in his life, his only healthy connection in the midst of the school's noise and bullying. You didn't want to ruin that. You didn't want to be just another person who confused or hurt him. So, you chose to bury those fantasies under polite smiles and measured silences.

Even so, your playful nature with others didn't change. The suggestive jokes, the teasing comments... all the things you did without thinking, things you never, ever directed at him. Maybe because you were too afraid to cross that line.

But you were naive. You never noticed how much it affected him. Every laugh you shared with someone else, every knowing look or casual touch, stung him like an invisible thorn. You’d see him go quiet, his jaw tightening, his eyes darting away with a shadow that was hard to read. You thought it was just shyness. You thought he just needed time.

You didn't realize that your flirting wasn't just making Hitami uncomfortable... it was starting to wake up something dark inside Niragi. Something even he didn't quite understand yet.

(...)

The sun was already dipping below the horizon when you finally found him. The court was empty, bathed in the orange glow of late afternoon, and he was the only one in the bleachers: hunched over, knuckles white as he gripped the hem of his jacket, eyes stinging with tears he was desperately trying to hide.

“Niragi…” you murmured, stepping toward him carefully, as if you were afraid of breaking something fragile.

He barely turned, and when he saw it was you, he tried to wipe his face with his sleeve. But his voice cracked the moment he tried to speak.

“It’s nothing,” he whispered. “Just… you know how they are.”

You didn’t need to ask. You’d seen it happen. The snickering, the shoving, the comments about him still being a virgin as if it were some kind of character flaw. The way he—usually so quick to bite his tongue—had just lowered his head and walked away.

You sat down beside him, keeping your voice steady and calm.

“You shouldn’t let that stuff get to you. There’s no point in worrying about it.”

The second the words left your mouth, you saw him stiffen. He looked down again, and something in your chest tightened. You realized too late that what seemed like a trivial joke to you was an open wound for him. It wasn't just embarrassment. He felt lesser. He felt different.

You bit your lip and chose to drop it, not wanting to push. You just gave him a soft look and stood up.

“Come on, let’s go get some ice cream,” you said, reaching out a hand.

Niragi hesitated for a second before taking it. His skin was cold and trembling. You led him toward the locker rooms, looking for a bit of privacy—maybe wanting to distract him before you both left for the day.

“Let’s clean up those tears first,” you whispered, pulling a handkerchief from your pocket.

He tried to pull away, looking ashamed, but you insisted. You brushed his cheek gently, and in that instant, the air changed. You were too close. You could feel his shaky breath, the way he looked at you like he didn't know whether to say thank you or run.

It was just a second. A single heartbeat. But it was enough for you to kiss him.

You didn’t know who leaned in first, only that your lips met with a sweetness that was clumsy and desperate. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, until you felt his hand trembling against your waist.

Heat flared between you, wrapping you both in something you couldn't name. Your mind was screaming at you to stop, but your body moved on its own. You pushed him back gently until he was sitting on the bench and knelt before him, locking eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?” your voice came out as a raspy whisper, barely audible.

Niragi shook his head before you could even finish the question. His breathing was fast and shallow, and for the first time, he didn’t look scared. He looked hungry.

As you watched him, a dangerous thought crossed your mind, as soft as a heartbeat: If being a virgin hurts him this much… maybe I can help him.

Not because I want to, you told yourself. But because I’m his friend.

(...)

The sun was almost gone behind the large windows when Hitami’s group started whispering and laughing. They hadn't seen Niragi since recess, and one of them got the bright idea to hunt him down just to keep the "fun" going at his expense.

“Bet he’s hiding in the locker room,” one of them cackled.

Hitami didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened. He walked with the rest of them toward the boys' locker room, their voices echoing like an annoying choir. As they got closer, they heard a dull thud from the other side: footsteps, a soft moan, the rhythmic creak of a bench.

“What the hell…?” someone whispered.

Curiosity won out over respect. One of them pulled out a phone and peeked the camera through the gap in the door. He only recorded for a few seconds. What he caught was enough to strike the whole group silent: Niragi was in there, and he wasn’t alone.

His back was arched slightly forward, his hands trembling as they gripped the bench, and in front of him was a girl. Her face wasn't visible—just the slow movement of her head and arms, and the obvious tension of the moment.

“Is he… with someone?” one of them asked, unable to suppress an incredulous laugh.

“Can’t see who it is,” another replied, dropping his voice.

The video, which they’d already shared amongst themselves, was barely three seconds long, but it was more than enough fuel for the bullying to come. They backed away from the door, laughing and whispering, waiting in the hallway for "the freak" to come out.

Then came the screech of the door opening.

Niragi stepped out first, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and his breathing still uneven.

Then, behind him… you.

The silence was deafening.

Hitami took a step forward, unable to believe his eyes. For a moment, he thought it was a hallucination—some absurd mistake. But reality hit him like a physical blow when your eyes met his.

You froze. So did he.

The laughter in the background felt miles away, drowned out by the ringing in Hitami’s ears. He felt a hollow pit in his chest, a burning sensation he couldn't identify as either jealousy or pure rage. He moved without thinking, grabbing your wrist and dragging you away, never looking back, ignoring the comments and the malicious cackling that followed.

When you were finally alone, he stopped abruptly and faced you. His breath was ragged, his eyes bloodshot with frustration.

“What were you doing with him?” he asked, his tone sounding more like a plea than an accusation.

You frowned, still trying to catch your breath.

“You don't get to talk to me like that,” you said, trying to pull away, but his grip remained firm.

“He’s using you,” he insisted, his voice raw. “Can’t you see that?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped. Hitami rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

“Look at this.”

He turned the screen toward you. The video was short and blurry, but unmistakable. The movement, the moans, the breathing. Your lips parted in horror. The image stole the very air from your lungs.

“He got pissed at us and sent this,” he lied smoothly, without a hint of hesitation. “He probably asked someone to record it. He wanted to brag. I can’t believe it was you.”

The tears welled up before you could stop them. Seeing you shake, Hitami stepped in and pulled you into a hug. His hand slid slowly up your back in a gesture meant to comfort, but there was something possessive about it—something triumphant.

“It’s okay,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ll make sure that video disappears. I won’t let him humiliate you.”

And as you fell apart in his arms, suspecting nothing, he looked up.

There, at the far end of the hallway, stood Niragi. He was silent, his gaze fixed on the two of you, hands clenched into fists. His eyes weren't full of sadness anymore. It was fury. Pure, cold fury.

The next morning, the classroom felt different. Not because anything had actually changed, but because you weren't the same.

You avoided looking toward the back where Niragi always sat. Instead, you headed straight for the front, to the empty seat next to Hitami. He gave you a small smile, as if no words were needed. His presence felt comforting—almost safe.

You didn't want to think. You didn't want to remember the video or the way your body had trembled when you saw it. So you told yourself over and over that Hitami was right. That Niragi had crossed an unforgivable line. That the whole thing had been a setup—a way to show off, to mock you, to exploit your trust.

Believing the lie was easier than facing the possibility that you were wrong.

During the first hour, you felt his eyes burned into you. Niragi didn’t say a word, but you could feel his confusion and his fear. Every time he tried to get near you, you looked down or turned toward Hitami. You pretended not to hear him; you pretended he wasn't there.

“Leave it, (Y/N),” Hitami said quietly when Niragi made one last attempt to talk to you. “He’s not worth your time.”

You believed him. You even smiled at him, grateful. After all, he had "saved" you from something much worse.

The days crawled by. Niragi stopped trying. He became a ghost in the classroom—present, but distant. The teachers noticed his lack of focus, his absences, the way he seemed to vanish into the hallways. You ignored it. You convinced yourself this was how it had to be. That cutting him off completely was the only sane choice.

But on the third day, when his seat remained empty, a flicker of unease crossed your chest. You didn't say anything, and you didn't ask.

And when he finally returned a week later, looking lost with bloodshot eyes, you simply looked the other way.

You never found out what happened to him during those days. And even though a part of you wanted to reach out—to offer a word, an explanation, something—you didn't.

Because you had already decided to believe the story that suited you best: that Hitami was the loyal friend protecting you, and Niragi… was just the boy who dared to break your trust.

(...)

Years passed. High school became a memory, and with it, the old versions of both Niragi and yourself.

It was just another Friday, and you were getting ready to head out with your friends from university. You checked yourself in the mirror while adjusting your dress, obsessing over every detail: the hair, the makeup, the way your heels elongated your legs. You could feel your pulse quickening—not just from the excitement of the night, but from a gut feeling you couldn't quite put a name to.

Your phone buzzed on the table. Hitami. Another invite, and once again, you turned him down. You knew it would be awkward, though you couldn't help a fleeting smile at his persistence—it was so typical of him. You put your phone away and took a deep breath, ready to lose yourself in the music and the crowd.

When you stepped out of the apartment, the city greeted you with its usual roar—lights and a scent that mixed street food, booze, and hot asphalt. You walked toward the bar, every step in sync with the energy vibrating under your skin.

Your friends were already there when you arrived, laughing and drinking. You joined them, letting the music wash over you, the heavy bass setting the rhythm of your own heartbeat. As the night wore on, you found yourself alone on the dance floor, caught up in the motion of strangers and the heat of the club—feeling completely alive and safe from the world.

That’s when you felt it before you even saw him. A shadow moving with total confidence, an undeniable presence that seemed to cut through the air around you. When you looked up, your heart skipped a beat.

Niragi.

He wasn't the shy, withdrawn boy from school anymore. It was him, but transformed. Dressed in black from head to toe, long hair tied back in a half-pony, and piercings glinting on his face. He commanded both respect and desire; every feature seemed designed to be noticed, making it impossible to look away.

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, you reached up and rested your hands on his shoulders, feeling his heat through the fabric of his shirt. You swayed to the rhythm, but every slight brush of skin, every shiver, reminded you that this was more than just a dance.

"Recognize me, princess?" his voice was raspy and deep, so close it made your skin crawl with goosebumps as his hands gripped your waist firmly.

You gave a tiny nod, unable to tear your eyes away. He smirked, tilting his head with that touch of malice you had never forgotten.

"Your guard dog isn't with you tonight?"

You shook your head, confused, and rested your cheek against his chest. His heart was thumping hard, like a drum in your ear. Every beat felt like a warning of something inevitable that the music couldn't drown out.

You danced in silence for a few minutes—slow, synchronized movements, a language all your own. Finally, Niragi took your wrist and led you to a secluded corner where the heat of the crowd couldn't reach you. There, his lips found yours. This wasn't the clumsy, nervous boy from high school; this was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, claiming with a single kiss everything he’d been holding back for years.

The heat became unbearable, and your breathing quickened. A spark of boldness flared up. You needed to make this moment last, to explore it until it was yours.

"Do you want to come back to my place? It's not far..."

"Yes," he answered instantly, his voice thick with promises and pent-up desire.

He followed you to your friends' table to grab your things, moving carefully, as if any sudden motion might break the electricity huming between you. You walked to the exit with Niragi by your side, his hand brushing yours—every contact deliberate and silent.

You didn't talk much, but you didn't have to. Every look and every touch said what words couldn't: the unfinished business from years ago was finally resuming, and neither of you was going to stop it.

---

The moment you reached your apartment, the waiting ended. Niragi pushed you gently against the hallway wall, his hands tearing the dress from your body with a suppressed hunger, leaving your skin exposed to his devouring gaze.

The heat of his body collided with your ragged breathing; every slide of his fingers across your skin sent a chill up your spine. You didn't hold back either: your hands found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with purpose, baring his firm torso as his muscles tensed under your touch.

You stared at him intensely, lips parted and damp, and he responded with a low growl that vibrated deep in your chest. With every layer of clothing that vanished, the sexual tension surged like a wildfire.

Without a word, you led him to the bedroom. Every step was a dance of brushing bodies and exploring hands. When he dropped you onto the bed, he climbed over you, pinning you with his weight as his lips trailed down your neck, your shoulders, your chest... a path of both adoration and dominance that left you breathless.

Your fingers slid down to his length, the heat of his skin contrasting with your cool hand. His reaction was immediate: a deep groan that vibrated through your entire body. Niragi wasted no time reciprocating, his fingers finding your slick heat with slow, deliberate movements, studying every contraction and every shiver you gave him. Your name escaped your lips in gasps, and he seemed to drink in every sound.

"You like that, princess?" he whispered, his fingers working inside you while he locked his eyes onto yours. His voice was a thread of pure desire.

You pleasured each other, every movement in sync with the other's breath, every moan ratcheting up the voltage between you. The first climax hit like a shared whirlwind, leaving you both shaking and clinging to one another. But the tension didn't fade; it only sharpened into a more ravenous urgency.

You sat up with a glint in your eyes and stripped Niragi of his damp boxers. You sat in his lap, letting yourself rub against him, and he responded by planting his hands firmly on your hips, guiding you slowly down onto him. Every inch was a calculated slide that made you moan, arching your back and digging your nails into his shoulders.

"What would that idiot Hitami say if he saw his little girlfriend like this?" he whispered maliciously, staring you down.

"No..." you started, interrupted by a gasp as you felt yourself slide home, "we were never... together," you panted, while he smirked with a mix of venom and lust.

"He didn't say the same while he was giving me the beating of a lifetime," he countered, driving your hips into a more determined rhythm. "You little bitch... that day you only used me to get a rise out of him."

Your mind was clouded with pleasure, but even through the haze, his words cut through.

Hitami and you? A beating? You using him?

You could only shake your head, which seemed to infuriate him. With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto the bed and loomed over you, preparing to take you completely.

"Let’s give the idiot something to really be mad about," he hissed, positioning himself.

The pace was immediate. Your sensitive body opened up to him like never before. Every thrust was deep and measured, drawing moans that filled the room. Niragi held your legs, pinning you with precision, his gasps mingling with yours in a perfect, frantic rhythm.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails marking his skin as you tightened around him, seeking more, wanting to stretch out the feeling of possession and ecstasy.

"Niragi..." you whispered, breathless.

"What, princess?"

"I can't... I’m close," you gasped.

A second climax sent you both over the edge together, bodies convulsing in unison, sweat and breath mingling. Exhausted, but with desire still simmering under the surface, you collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled, your heartbeats echoing the intensity of what you’d just shared.

The room was heavy with the scent of sex and the sound of your fading gasps.

"What beating were you talking about?" you finally managed to ask, trying to steady your voice. You didn't want to relive the video drama, but you couldn't let what he said slide.

"Let's not go there," he said dryly, staring at the ceiling.

"You're the one who brought it up," you countered, rolling onto your side to look at him. He remained focused on an invisible point above.

"A few days after your 'boyfriend' caught us, he and his friends jumped me. I ended up in the hospital," he said with a sigh. Suddenly, you remembered the week he’d been absent from school. "That's when I realized girls like you just use people."

You froze. What version of the story was he living in?

"I told you, Hitami isn't my boyfriend. We’re just friends," you clarified, but he rolled his eyes. "And I never used you. If anything, you used me—you recorded us just to prove you weren't a virgin anymore."

"I never recorded a damn thing. I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Niragi... I saw the video you sent Hitami," you argued, a knot forming in your chest. "You were mad because they called you a virgin and you did it to..." You sighed, waiting for him to break, but he just kept staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. "I know I wasn't forced, we both wanted it, but you didn't have to have someone film us. If that video had gotten out... it would have ruined my life."

"I didn't film anything, and I didn't ask anyone else to... Who would I even ask? You were the only person I talked to," he said, and then his eyes snapped toward you as something clicked. "It was that piece of shit Hitami..."

"What?" Your heart hammered against your ribs.

"He filmed us," he said, rubbing his face in a fit of rage. "Then he told you I sent it, and he told me you only used me to make him jealous."

The air left the room. Everything snapped into place: the weeks Niragi vanished, your anger, the confusion. Could Hitami really have done that?

"Idiot..." Niragi whispered. "All that effort and you ended up in my bed anyway."

He let out a harsh, dark laugh, but you couldn't find the joke. Your eyes filled with tears as a crushing weight settled on your chest.

"Relax..." Niragi muttered, rolling his eyes. "Your 'boyfriend' doesn't have to find out about this."

"I told you, he's not my boyfriend!" you snapped, your face flushed with pain. "He’s my friend... I thought of him as a brother, but he lied to me." The last word broke into a sob. "I can't believe it... I thought he was protecting me. All this time, he was the one screwing us over."

Niragi clicked his tongue, tilting his head with annoyance, but also with that protective spark he’d always had.

"Stop crying over that loser, princess. He doesn't deserve a single one of your damn tears."

"He lied to me..." you whispered, turning your face into the pillow.

He leaned over, gripped your chin firmly, and forced you to look at him. His eyes were burning—a mix of rage and hunger—and your body responded before your mind could catch up.

"Then look at me. I'm the one here. I didn't leave."

The lump in your throat tightened, but his proximity was suffocating in a way that blurred the line between pain and desire.

"I don't want to feel used anymore, Niragi..." you whispered, voice trembling.

He gave a half-smirk, that trademark malice failing to hide his own desperation.

"Well, this time, I’m not giving you a single second to think about it."

Before you could say another word, he kissed you violently, silencing your sobs with the urgency of his mouth. His hands roamed your body with desperate intent, and when you felt him hard against your leg again, you knew the conversation was over. The pain was still there, yes, but your body had already made its choice: you wanted him, all over again.

(...)

The sun was high in the sky by the time you opened your eyes. The room smelled of sex and sweat, and your muscles were still humming from last night’s marathon. Niragi was beside you, hair a mess, one arm draped over your waist. He was dead to the world, but when you shifted, he groaned and cracked one eye open.

"Stay still, princess..." he muttered, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"Wake up," you answered with a tired smile, letting the sheet slip from your shoulders. "You fucked me so well last night you earned yourself a home-cooked lunch."

That woke him right up. He propped himself up on an elbow, arching a brow with that smirk—that defiant, cocky look that always drove you crazy.

"A reward? I didn't know you were so generous."

"Don't get used to it," you shot back, hopping out of bed and pulling an oversized tee from your closet.

In the kitchen, you moved back and forth gathering ingredients while Niragi made himself comfortable at the table, watching you shamelessly. Every move you made seemed to bait him: a cheeky comment, a huff, a laugh that escaped your lips.

You cooked something simple, but the aroma mingled with the warmth of his presence. When you finally served the food, sitting down together felt strangely natural—almost domestic—even though neither of you had ever shared anything like this before.

"Hey... you're not a bad cook for a crybaby princess," Niragi teased, taking a bite with that signature crooked grin.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but smile. "Shut up and eat."

Just as you were about to say something else, the doorbell rang. You stood up, confused, but before you could even ask who it was, the door swung open. Hitami walked in with a bag in his hand, wearing his usual effortless, carefree smile.

"Hey! I brought your favorite ramen so we could—" He stopped dead. His eyes landed on Niragi sitting across from you, using your chopsticks and eating off your plate.

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife. Minutes felt like hours as the air between the three of you charged with tension. Niragi smirked, tilting his head with that poisonous expression that was equal parts amusement and provocation.

"Well, well... look who showed up. The high school hero."

Hitami stood frozen for a second, his jaw tightening as he tried to mask his shock.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and vibrating with tension.

Niragi set his chopsticks down slowly, looking like he was savoring every single second of the moment.

"Having breakfast. Well... lunch. We finished the breakfast part a while ago."

The double entendre hit the room like a physical blow. Your heart raced; the kitchen felt like it was closing in. Hitami looked at you, the betrayal written all over his face as he searched for answers, but your eyes met Niragi's and you realized he had been waiting for this scene his entire life.

"And you?" Hitami spat, turning his fury on you. "You want to explain this?"

Niragi leaned toward you playfully, as if marking his territory.

"Explain what?" he replied with a smile that was half-threat, half-game. "I'm just enjoying lunch. You want a bite, hero?"

Hitami slammed the bag of ramen onto the counter, the wood rattling from the force. His friendly mask shattered instantly, replaced by pure rage, burning eyes, and a locked jaw.

"Get up, you bastard," he spat at his rival, every word dripping with venom.

Niragi leaned back in his chair, looking completely relaxed, almost basking in the heat of the moment. His eyes glinted with malice.

"What's the matter, Hitami?" he drawled, slow and calculating. "Don't like seeing your 'little sister' sharing a table with me?"

Hitami's fist slammed into the table.

"Don't you dare talk about her like that!" he growled. "After what you did to her, how the hell do you have the nerve to show your face in her life again?"

Niragi stood up slowly, looking Hitami up and down with a dark, incredulous laugh.

"What I did to her?" he laughed. "Man, you really do have a talent for fairy tales."

Hitami stepped forward, invading his space, and pointed a finger at you in a rage.

"Don't let him play you!" he spat. "Did you already forget this psycho recorded you just to brag that he wasn't a virgin? He used you and threw you away like trash!"

The air turned heavy. Niragi’s jaw set, holding himself back from exploding, while a tense silence hung over the kitchen. Before he could speak, you were the one who cut through the tension.

"Enough, Hitami," you said, standing up firmly.

They both snapped their heads toward you. Your voice trembled slightly, but your eyes were steel.

"I know the truth. You were the one who recorded us. You were the one who showed me that video and told me Niragi sent it. And you were the one who told him I was just using him to make you jealous."

Hitami went pale, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words.

"I... I was just trying to protect you," he finally stammered. "He was going to ruin you, you had to see what he really was..."

Niragi scoffed, taking a step forward to face him down.

"Protect her? You filmed her without her consent and then had your goons jump me. That's not protecting anyone—that's being a coward."

Hitami shoved him, but Niragi reacted instantly, landing a punch square in his face. The sound of the impact echoed through the kitchen, making you flinch as your heart hammered in your ears.

Your friend stumbled back but lunged at Niragi with pure desperation. The fight was chaos: plates smashing, the table sliding across the floor, their shouts cutting through the air. They were like two bulls unleashing years of built-up hate, every blow an echo of repressed resentment.

"Stop it! Enough!" you screamed, trying to get between them, but they weren't listening.

Niragi, mouth bleeding, grabbed Hitami by the collar and slammed him against the wall, eyes blazing with fury.

"Don't you ever touch her again, you hear me?" he hissed. "Not one goddamn time."

Hitami looked at you, panting and full of hate, but he didn't say a word. Your voice finally broke the spell.

"Get out, Hitami. Don't ever come near me again."

His jaw tightened in disbelief, but seeing the look on your face, he realized the door was closed for good. He grabbed the bag of ramen and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening. Niragi wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and looked at you. His eyes were still burning with rage, but now they were focused entirely on you.

"See?" he panted. "I told you that prick wasn't worth it."

Despite the tension still vibrating in the air, you couldn't stop your body from reacting to the intensity of his gaze—to the raw violence he'd used to protect you. Your heart ached, but at the same time, it was pounding. Fear and desire blurred together, a stark reminder that Niragi had always been both your torment and your sanctuary.

(...)

Silence had settled over your apartment once again, heavy and almost palpable. The only sound left was the sweep of a cloth over the wooden table, slowly erasing the traces of the previous night’s chaos.

Shards of broken dishes were piled in a trash bag, a faint smear of dried blood shimmered on the floor, and your body still ached in every place Niragi had touched you—a lingering reminder of every shiver, every movement, and every moan.

Every corner of the room held a trace of him: his gravelly voice, his simmering rage, the heat that seemed to have seeped into the very walls. Everything in the apartment screamed his presence, even now that he was gone.

As you finished cleaning, your phone vibrated on the counter. Your hands shook slightly as you picked it up. It was him.

Niragi: How are you?

You stared at the screen for a few seconds, your chest tightening with a strange mix of surprise and tenderness. Him, asking how you were, as if nothing had changed... as if the distance and the mistakes didn't even count. You let out a sigh and a small smile, leaning back against the counter as you typed:

You: A little tired, but okay. Just finished cleaning up the mess you left behind.

You waited. Your heart beat at its own frantic pace while the screen showed the "typing..." indicator.

Niragi: I’m coming over. I want to see you.

You bit your lip, trying to steady a tremor that wasn't just from exhaustion. A part of you wanted to say no—to take a breath and keep your distance. But another part, a stronger and more dangerous one that had been silent for years, wanted to see him again. You wanted him close, wanted that intensity to override every bit of logic you had left.

You: I’ll meet you at noon. Shibuya Crossing.

Time stretched out as if the world were holding its breath. Several minutes passed in silence until, finally, a last message arrived:

Niragi: I'll be there.

You set the phone aside, a cocktail of nerves and anticipation swirling inside you. You couldn't explain it, but something deep down was stirring. This wasn't just any meeting; there was something in the air that made you shudder, as if the world were bracing itself—as if it were about to break.

You looked out the window. The sky was clear and bright, far too serene for a day that felt this heavy. A cold, strange sense of emptiness filtered through your chest, mingling with a tingle of expectation.

The clock struck 11:45 when you grabbed your things and headed out. Every step toward the street felt heavy, yet inevitable.

You didn't know that in just a few minutes, the world as you knew it would split in two.