He placed a bag of chips in the shopping cart and turned his head to steal glances at you, as he usually did, admiring you. But when his gaze fell on you, you had a grim expression, filled with dread, staring at a man in front of you. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at the man, trying to understand what was going on. The man continued grocery shopping, oblivious to what his presence was causing, and left the aisle. When Suguru looked back at you, your hand was on your chest, moving up and down, having difficulty regulating your breathing. Your watery eyes and trembling lip, he recognized the signs of an anxiety attack instantly.

“Hey,” Suguru moved closer to put his arm around your shoulders, but it worsened your condition, making you tremble and hyperventilate. Suguru quickly understood that he needed to calm you down. He abandoned the shopping cart and held you by the shoulders. You struggled, crying, trembling, and it made his heart ache. He held you tightly so you wouldn't fall and took you out of the supermarket and looked for a quiet spot in the shade. He found a bench under a tree near the store.

“Follow my breathing, sweetheart. Take a deep breath. In and out,” Suguru commanded, his voice soft but firm, as he placed his hand on your chest to press when you inhaled, and released the pressure when you exhaled. The palpitations and tremors in your body were so violent that you were on alert, completely in your own world, reliving your assault. It was Suguru’s voice that brought you back to the real world; he remained patient, even though calming your anxiety attack took a good twenty minutes. You followed Suguru’s instructions, taking deep breaths, trying to focus on his voice to avoid flashbacks flooding your mind. When you were able to breathe calmly, you sobbed. Suguru took you in his arms, his warmth enveloping you and his cologne filling your nose as he rubbed his hand on your back, making circles to soothe you.

“It was my rapist.”

Your voice was so low, he could have almost missed your words but he heard them perfectly, his whole demeneor changing, his eyes darkening. He was sure that you must have been a victim of sexual or physical abuse from a man to be so afraid of men.

“You should have told me before, I would have beat the shit of him.”

His fists clenched into your back, and the desire to destroy this man's face ran through his entire body.

It must have cost you a lot to confess this vulnerable aspect of your life to him. He knew it was a gift of yourself you were giving him, and he was deeply grateful that you trusted him with that. He felt compelled to confess something to you too, so that you were equals, and so that you knew he respected and cherished the trust you placed in him.

“A secret for a secret?” He placed you on his lap, arms wrapped around you, pressing you against his chest. You nuzzled his chest, searching for his comforting scent, trying to ignore the alarm bells in your head telling you it was inappropriate for friends to cuddle like this. You were vulnerable and hurting, and Suguru was the perfect arm to sob into. He didn’t realize you were wetting his shirt.

“A secret for a secret.”

“One of my closest friends committed suicide when I was in high school. I can't get over it, even three years later. I still feel like I didn't do enough to help and save him.”

You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him.

“I knew you'd suffered through things like this. Is that why you think you're a bad person?”

“I guess so. I was his closest friend, and I didn't even see that he was suffering.”

“Tell me about him.”

Suguru had a pained expression, his eyes squeezed shut, but he nodded.

“Haibara was a very cheerful boy. He was a ray of sunshine. He was the most generous person I knew. He loved cooking for his friends. He made us bentos and brought us home to do cooking workshops. I knew he admired me and put me on a pedestal, but… I failed him.”

“It's common for loved ones to feel guilty and blame themselves after the suicide of their loved ones. It's part of your grief. I'm not going to throw out phrases like 'it's not your fault,' because I know that won't change your pain. I can simply tell you that it's part of the healing process. You need to rationalize your loss and find someone to blame. It's easier to think you didn't do enough than to accept that the person decided to leave and abandon those around them. It's not a selfish choice, but a choice that is utterly painful.”

“He didn't abandon us. He was in pain. I don't blame him for leaving. I'm just so… So fucking ashamed I didn't see anything.”

You lifted your head and cupped his face in your hands. His eyes fluttered open, his purple gaze stared at you intensely.

“Maybe he didn't want to be a burden to you, he didn't want to worry you, and it was an act of love to hide his pain. Maybe he was ashamed.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” His jaw tensed.

“I know, I don't know the story. You can take your time.”

“You'll see me differently if I explain the whole story to you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Don't be so sure.” He placed his hands on your waist. “I'm not morally exemplary.”

“You're human, you can't always be good. Especially after a trauma. It changes your beliefs.”

He stared at you, his face still tense. He remained silent. Lulled by the sound of the wind around you and the noise of children playing in the park next to the supermarket, you looked at each others.

“A secret for a secret?”

He nodded.

“I'm scared of penetration. I try to do relaxation exercises, but… It doesn't work. Most men aren't patient enough with me, so…”

Suguru's face softened, he pulled you closer to kiss your forehead. His gentle gesture made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Can having non-penetrative sex help change how you view sex? Like sex therapy? Slowly learning to enjoy yourself and see that sex can be gentle and not violent?”

Your mouth watered at his words, craving what he offered you.

"Maybe... But I've tried sometimes to have that kind of relationship with boys but it didn't work, so..." you sighed.

Suguru listened to you attentively and let you fall silent, seeing that you wanted to vent than receive an answer. He knew the rule, it was his turn to tell a secret.

“I don’t know if there is a name, but I also have problems with sexuality. It’s not like you, it’s not as traumatic, but I kind of struggle to feel something. It’s as if I’m not present. I only feel things at the end, during orgasm. But I don’t know why, I’m addicted. I feel like I’m addicted to all bodily activities that give sensations because I feel so empty.”

“It could be a mix of severe anhedonia and dissociation. I also dissociate during sex. If it's not traumatic in origin, it can be easily cured for you. You need to find tactics to help you be more grounded in the moment. You can use music, practice meditation, and especially practice mindfulness. Do you know what that is?”

“Nah. What is it?”

“It may sound like meditation, but it's more a practice of being present in the moment, paying attention to your thoughts and sensations without judgment. It's a practice that allows you to be more connected to your mind and body, which can help with dissociation. There are lots of different exercises I could send you on Instagram.”

His lips quirked up.

“You’re really a cute little thing, aren’t you?”

“A cute little thing? That’s so gross to say!”

“My bad.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Thank you for the advices. You will be a perfect psychologist.”

“I need to heal before to be a good psychologist, but you’re right. I know I’m good at helping others,” you said. Suguru hugged you, he liked your confidence.

“Um, about the grocery shopping…”

Your voice was hesitant, a little fearful.

“I’ll ask someone else in the group to do it, don’t worry.”

He understood that you were afraid of running into your rapist again if you went into the supermarket.

“Let’s go back to campus, okay? You can rest before we start the party.” Suguru stood up from the bench, and you missed his warmth as you followed him. He wanted to take your hand in his, but maybe it was too much physical contact for the day.

───────────

READER’s POV

You were all sitting on the floor on Utahime's carpet, snacks and beers in your midst. SZA's album ‘Ctrl’ was playing in the background while you passed around blunts. Except for you, of course, as usual, who was keen to keep yourself in check.

Seeing your rapist again had brought back memories of your assault, and you were trying to distract yourself with your friends.

“Okay, let's play my favorite game.” Utahime's eyes lit up. She went to get a deck of cards from her drawer, and you shook your head, amused. It was a game she always brought to parties, a game that replaced truth or dare, but it was mostly a game that allowed you to talk about sex and drink alcohol.

“The rules are simple. You stand in a circle. You draw a card, choose one question out of three, and ask it to the person in front of you. The person being questioned can either answer or down a shot of alcohol.”

“It’s a game for alcoholics,” Nanami grumbled.

“I want to start!”

Satoru rushed to the pile of cards. He drew one, and a smirk flickered across his face. He looked at the person in front of him, Suguru, who was smoking a blunt.

“What’s your favorite sex position?”

“I don’t know the name.” 

“Don’t try to dodge it.” Shoko nudged him.

Suguru gave a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded, before his gaze fell on you, who were sat next to Satoru. His red eyes and tired eyes sent a wave of heat through your body.

“When the man is above the girl with her legs on his shoulders.” Suguru’s eyes were fixed on you, and you began to imagine the position with him, imagining his grunts as he was pounding into you, his long black hair brushing your face as his face were above you. You cleared your throat and looked away. You tried to ignore the throbbing between your thighs.

“You're so sappy. Is it because you're a gentleman who likes to look at your partner? Don't make us think you're a romantic, Sugu,” Satoru rolled his eyes.

“It just feels better with the angle. You can hit the bottom better,” Suguru shrugged. “Not something your lame ass can understand.”

“I’m extremely good at bed.” Satoru raised his chin haughtily.

The game continued, with increasingly intimate questions, but you were both adults and sexually active, so there was no awkwardness, and you laughed easily at the answers. You were tense from your panic attack this afternoon, but Suguru's gentle gaze calmed you. He silently told you that everything was okay and that you were safe, and you were grateful that he was so attentive to your needs.

It was Shoko's turn to read a question for you.

“If you could sleep with anyone in this room, who would it be?”

You grimaced and leaned over to grab a snack, since you didn’t drink alcohol. Satoru grabbed your wrist.

“Hell no. Everyone answers, you must be telling us something interesting too.”

“I have the right not to answer,” you said defensively.

“She's right, Satoru.” Utahime came to your rescue.

Satoru pouted and let go of your wrist.

The game continued for an hour before Suguru left the room to smoke cigarettes in the dormitory courtyard. You followed him, wanting to escape Satoru, who was drunk and dangerously touchy with everyone.

Sitting on the bench next to him, you enjoyed the light breeze before Suguru broke the pleasant silence.

“I don’t know how sexual trauma works, but if you need help, I’m here. If you want to have sex with someone who understands your struggles and will be patient, I’m your man.”

You didn't know how a simple proposal for a sex-friend-to-be relationship could make you so emotional, but butterflies took flight in your belly.

“Thank you, but I don't see you that way. I don't want to sleep with you.”

It was an awful lie knowing you'd woken up soaking wet after an erotic dream about him, but he didn't need to know that.

He wasn't hurt by your refusal and nodded.

“Just know, me, I see you that way. Feel free to be distant if that make you uncomfortable.”

By hanging out with Suguru, you had noticed a lot of his qualities, and one was that he was respectful and considerate. You felt safe with a man like him.

“I’m not bothered by it. I will not be distant.” You gave him a shy smile and accepted his desire for you. He didn’t need to know that the feeling was mutual and that you regretted being so afraid, which prevented you from fully doing what you wanted with your body. You wished Suguru was the man you had wanted to lose yourself with at the beginning of the school year, and you mourned what your sexual experience could have been with a man as gentle as him.

───────────

SUGURU’s POV

The panic attack at the supermarket marked a turning point in your relationship for the following days. The crisis had broken down all the barriers around your hearts, forcing you to confide in each other about your deepest wounds. 

You were so kind to him, sending him photos of sections of books you were reading that discussed solutions to depression or motivational quotes about grief. You did everything you could to support his healing.

But the height of your kindness came when you gave him a bracelet. Sitting side by side, you had finished your study session, and you had slipped a pink bracelet onto his wrist.

“What is that?” He looked curiously at the bracelet you had given him, admiring the rose quartz beads that decorated his wrist.

“I’m into lithotherapy. My mother is bipolar, and when she’s in a manic episode, she’s passionate about all kinds of spirituality. I retained that from her episode.”

His eyes flickered up to you when you mentioned that your mother was bipolar, his face softening.

“Rose quartz promotes self-love and inner peace. It dissolves fears and resentments, helping to soothe the mind. It's supposed to help with your self-esteem issues and guilt. You don't have to believe in this, but it can also help in a placebo way. I made the bracelet for you myself.”

“You made it yourself?”

“Yeah, I have a kit for that.”

Suguru’s heart warmed, grateful. You made that for him? You were so kind and cute.

“Purify it from time to time under water. I use white sage, but if you don't have any, do the method with water. You have to recharge the stone as you wish, in the sun or the moon. Only fifteen minutes for the sun.”

Suguru didn't really believe in lithotherapy, but he found you so cute explaining the recharging methods to him that he made a mental note to do it when he got back to his dorm. It was going to be his lucky charm.

That was the second gift you gave him, he also had to find things to offer you and ways to help you in your healing. But when he offered to sleep with you to help you get used to sex, you refused, so he had to find another way to help you.

“Do you think the abuse your mother inflicted on you stems from her mood disorder?” Suguru asked as you began to pack your things. You paused at his question.

“No. She hit me even when she was normal and in between her episodes. You know, bipolar disorder isn't just manic-depressive, they have normal moments where you see their true personalities outside of their episodes.”

Suguru nodded, unaware of bipolar disorder. You stood up to leave the library.

“I know my mother loved me, but…”

“How can you be sure she loved you if she hit you so much?”

Suguru saw how the question made your body tense, and he cursed himself for being so tactless. 

“My rapist was one of her boyfriends. When she found out what happened, she hit him. She cried into my arms, apologizing for not protecting me. I think that's when I realized my mother loved me, but that love wasn't enough for our relationship to be healthy. She always apologized, but never made an effort to protect me. I always grew up in an unsafe environment because of her, I think that's why I'm so scared today. It's hard to be calm when you've always known chaos.”

Suguru's heart filled with empathy as he listened to you.

“Is there really nothing that can help you stop your fight or flight response?”

“Yes, there are plenty of methods. One of the symptoms of complex post-traumatic stress is a dysregulated nervous system. There are quite a few methods to regulate it and regain control over your anxiety. I do diaphragmatic breathing exercises every morning, and I do fitness to let off steam. My days are very full, with my classes, my workout sessions, and all the psychology books I read. I wonder how I manage to have time to do so much with our friends.”

“You’re such a fighter.” Suguru’s eyes shone with admiration. He walked beside you across campus.

“You have your battles to face too.”

“I’m not as resilient as you. I just had a trauma in high school, but I always had a happy life before that.”

“None of that bullshit with me. Your struggles are valid. You're depressed, you suffer from anhedonia, and you're addicted to workout. Even though I have my share of trauma, I'm grateful to still feel pleasure or positive emotions. We both have our problems, and I don't agree with the idea of ranking them.”

Suguru remained silent and observed you. He appreciated your kindness in not ranking your suffering, but he still thought you had suffered more than he had, so he didn't comment further. He noticed your necklace for the first time, which was usually tucked into your t-shirt.

“What is this stone?”

“It’s malachite. It’s a semi-precious stone of protection and health. It reduces stress, absorbs negative energy, and promotes healing. It’s my favorite stone; it’s perfect for my condition.” You took your malachite necklace out of your t-shirt and showed it to Suguru. He gave you a teasing smile.

“You really believe in your stuff, huh.”

“The human brain is very powerful. Even if it doesn’t quite work like I told you, the placebo effect can still make something work.”

“I promise to put my bracelet on my window tonight.”

A quiet laugh rumbled in your chest.

“As you should!”

───────────

As the water trickled over his skin in the shower, Suguru was thoughtful, thinking of a way to help you heal, just like you were doing for him.

He had to find something of his own, not psychological methods that you probably already knew because of your knowledge and studies. Putting on a pair of gray sweatpants, he walked back into his dorm shirtless, his towel over his shoulder. He grabbed his phone and lay down in bed, opening the notes app.

He listed many things to do to help you open up and trust him, from simple activities like going for a walk, listening to albums in his bedroom to more demanding things like drinking alcohol, smoking a blunt, or doing body painting. He thought about activities that could help you let go, and created his own type of therapy for you.

He took a screenshot of his list and send it to you on Instagram, saying, ‘I'm your new psychologist.’ You replied three minutes later.

‘Body painting?!’

‘It's a great activity for connecting with your body and its sensations. It's kind of like the mindfulness you told me to do. You can just paint if it's too difficult.’

‘It's basically art therapy; it already exists. You didn't invent anything.’

‘Okay, okay. Someone else had the same idea as me. Is it my fault?’

‘Why do you want me to drink alcohol?’

‘Because I want you to have fun.’

‘I can have fun without alcohol.’

‘Please. You're always tense.’

‘Suguru, I don't want anyone taking advantage of me.’

‘I'll protect you and watch over you.’

‘What if it's you I need to be protected from?’

Suguru's lips quirked up.

‘I swear on the life of my dead friend that I will never do anything to you without your consent. You will have the right to kill him if I do anything.’

‘He’s already dead, you dumbass.’

He talked with you for about twenty minutes before going to bed, a smile on his face.

───────────

READER’s POV

There was this phenomenon in psychology where when we focus on something, our environment brings experiences we would never have suspected if we hadn't focused our minds on it. Like when we see a dress in a store and that evening we see an advertisement for that same dress.

Ever since your mind was focused on Suguru, you'd heard rumors about him and eavesdropped on conversations from girls who'd slept with him talking about him. And although you wanted Suguru to be an asshole to prevent your crush from developing, you only heard praise for him. About how good he was in bed, how he adapted to each of his partners, how girls shared his number. Even Satoru didn't get that treatment, and we all knew what a playboy he was. You wished Suguru was an irresponsible guy so you could find fault with him, but you remember when he bought condoms. A god in bed, responsible and adaptable to each of his partners. It was starting to become very difficult to keep your decision to not accept his offer to do 'therapy' with him. You were becoming increasingly curious about his abilities in bed, desperately wanting to be the tester. 

“What are you thinking?” Utahime asked, walking beside you. You were experiencing your first ‘game walk’, which consisted of the sea of students walking from campus to the arena where the college basketball games were played, near the university.

“A sexy captain.”

A playful gleam appeared in her eyes. You kept Utahime updated on the status of your little crush on Suguru, and she always encouraged you to conquer your fears.

“We agree that you want to have a sex life?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like Suguru physically and do you feel comfortable with him?”

“Yeah…”

“So why are you denying yourself this? He’s probably the best guy to fuck! You don’t even need to be in a relationship with him; he offers you everything without commitment!”

“It’s more complicated than that.” You flinched.

“I know, sweatheart. I’m not judging you. I’m just saying you won’t get this chance twice. You never talk to men. It’s a rare opportunity that you’ve managed to create this relationship with him. I think it’s a shame that you’re denying yourself something that could be fun for you. Just because you were raped doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to have fun; you’re not destined to be condemned to a life without pleasure. You deserve that too.”

Your heart tightened at the word ‘raped’, but you nodded, knowing full well that your best friend was right.

“I mean, we all know that men who are good in bed are always those who are good at foreplay. So he'll be perfect for non-penetrative sex with you, while being mindful of your fear. I think it'll be a good idea to take advantage of his offer. Besides, you told me he was able to handle your anxiety attack; he seems perfect for that role.”

“You’re right,” you whispered, thoughtful.

You sat with her in the arena, the atmosphere intense with the loud music and the hubbub of people talking and sitting down. It was the first game of the university championship, it was a university from Yokohama playing against you. Since Satoru and Suguru were on the basketball team, the university had won the championship for two consecutive years, and everyone wanted the victory to continue to hover at Kaisen University.

The students screamed and stamped their feet as the teams came out of the locker rooms and the captains shook hands. Suguru looked so good with his jersey, and his hair pulled back, his shorts revealing muscular and powerful legs. Warmth flooded into your cheeks as you stared at him, he was so recognizable with his long black hair and his body tattooed all over. 

The tension was at its peak when the ball went up in the air for the tip-off, and Suguru caught it with ease, becoming the offensive team. Dribbling perfectly, he passed the ball without problem to Satoru who managed to shoot in the 3-point zone in less than 24 seconds after the tip-off, as in the rules of basketball. The Yokohama team had tense faces, Suguru and Satoru were known to be an intimidating duo for other players, they knew they were going to struggle throughout the game.

Yokohama's defense was weak compared to your university team's offensive tactics. Since you criticized Satoru and Suguru's play, they had improved drastically. Satoru was more careful not to come into contact with other players, and Suguru had learned to channel his speed to succeed with simple offensive tactics.

As the captain, Suguru encouraged his teammates by rubbing his hand on their backs and whispering instructions in their ears. The coach didn't even need to intervene, only when it was time to change players. Being the point guard in basketball made him like a second coach, and he was the one responsible for making the best passes.

Suguru's gaze was piercing, and he was always on the alert. He easily stole the ball and sent it to Satoru, who always shot without a problem. Their team worked perfectly and had real cohesion and personality. It was excellent on offense and formidable on defense.

You hadn't noticed, but your mouth was half-open as you looked at him. Fascinated by the way Suguru ran around the court, you watched how his alert mind always focused on the ball and his teammates. He was so in his element, excellent in his role.

Deep down, you wanted him. You craved his body on top of yours so much it made your pussy throb. And as the game ended in a victory for your university, you slowly accepted the idea of sleeping with him. Now all that remained was to find the courage to tell him.

───────────

Suguru walked into the art room with a cup of tea. You left the painting you were looking at to turn to him, your hands fidgeting and playing with each other. You had agreed to Suguru's "therapy" he had suggested a few days earlier, and he had wanted to start with painting. As promised, if you weren't comfortable with the bodypainting part, you could just paint with him.

“Vanilla tea, mint tea, or chamomile tea?”

“Chamomile. Do you know the university tea by heart?” he asked, placing his cup on one of the tables. He took out the room keys to lock the door.

“I've been collecting tea bags since I was little. Why do have the keys to the room?”

“When you're rich, you can have practically anything.”

A teasing gleam appeared in your eyes.

“You and Satoru were really born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”

“Don't compare me to Satoru, his parents cheated on taxes, my parents are just lucky.”

He studied your outfit: jeans and a simple, long loose-fitting T-shirt. As usual, you always hid your body under your clothes to avoid male attention. It made his heart ache to know the reason behind this habit.

“Let's start with the painting, and if you're comfortable, we'll do the body painting, okay?”

You nodded and cleared your throat. You also wanted to tell him that you'd thought about his offer to be sex friends and wanted to accept, but the words wouldn't come out. It was easy to say, but something about Suguru made you shy about discussing your sexual desires with him. It was as if you didn't allow yourself, or didn't think you deserved the right to have fun with a man. Utahime's words came back to you, telling you that just because you'd been raped didn't mean you didn't have the right to receive pleasure, and you tried to take a deep breath to give yourself courage. But the second your eyes met his purple gaze, your words evaporated on your tongue.

Suguru put down his bag and took out watercolor and oil paints. The paints looked of superior quality, a testament to his wealth. He handed you some brushes.

“Any ideas for something to paint?”

You looked at the brushes, deep in thoughts.

“A cup of tea?”

Suguru looked at his own cup of tea and moved the table to place it next to your canvas. “Okay, use my cup as a reference.”

He took out his phone and played R&B playlist. The room was filled with soft and sensual notes as you began to paint. Suguru was much more skilled than you; he painted with ease, while you made quite a few mistakes compared to him, but you still managed well thanks to his guidance. He showed you how to hold your brush and how to mix colors. The smell of paint was comforting, bringing you back to rare, happy childhood memories of kindergarten. 

As you painted your teacup, you noticed that Suguru was painting the face of a woman who looked familiar, but he hadn't finished painting the shadows yet so you could tell who it was. You continued painting, making a teacup in the middle, surrounded by abstract bags, using bright colors and a yellow background. Your mouth fell open when you realized who he was painting.

“It’s me?”

“Yeah. Like it?”

“Suguru, it’s beautiful.”

Suguru's painting style was somewhere between realism and abstraction, giving his painting a metaphorical feel, but the lines were still distinct enough to make your portrait recognizable. It was a crime that he was a philosophy major and not in art school.

“I've been drawing you for a while now. Your face obsesses me.”

“In a creepy way or a flattering way?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Both.” 

Your gazes collided, and heat rushed down your spine straight to your belly. In a twisted way, it pleased you that Suguru was obsessed with your face, the same way you were obsessed with his, talking about it in your diary.

“Sometimes I wonder what the rest of you is like. I wish you were my model to draw.” His eyes traveled down your body, an electric feeling sparking across your skin.

“What if I would let you?” Your heart pounded in your chest.

“You shouldn’t honor the wishes of a man like me. God only knows what I’ll ask of you next.”

He put down his brushes and looked at the watercolors for body painting before looking at you, silently asking for your consent. Blood rushed through your ears, the fear of putting you naked in front of him big, but not big enough compared to the desire overwhelming you. You wanted to see in his eyes that he found you pretty. You inclined your head, silently accepting.

You took off your shoes with trembling hands. Suguru avoided looking at you as he prepared the paints. He took off his shirt, and as your jeans slid down your legs, you observed the muscular lines of his torso, the tattoos covering his skin, his defined abs, and the V-line sloping down into his jeans. Heat pooled in your stomach when you imagined what lay beneath. You stripped down to your underwear, shaking as you waited for Suguru to turn around.

To your surprise, when Suguru dipped a brush into one of the paint pots and turned to you, his gaze wasn't sexual. There was no desire in his eyes, simply an almost divine admiration, as if you were a work of art. His eyes mirrored a rising tide of admiration and affection, and you felt truly naked in front of him, his gaze a warm hug around your body.

The feel of the brush on your skin was indescribable. The thin bristles traced across your skin, starting at your neck and moving down to your breasts. His breath on your nipples made you shiver, goosebumps spread across your skin. The brush strokes made them harden, and even with his head in your breasts, there was no desire or hunger in his eyes, just a soft gaze filled with reverence.

The way the brush traveled over your body, your stomach, flicked across your navel, and the way his gaze hovered over you was as if he were making love to you in the metaphorical sense of the word.

When his head moved down your body to paint on your hips, you hoped he didn't smell the arousal emanating from your panties. You also hoped he would ignore the self-harm scars on your thighs like most men who had seen you naked, but your breath caught in your throat when you felt his lips on your skin. He slowly kissed the scars.

It wasn't supposed to be something so intimate and was just meant to be an activity to practice mindfulness, but your eyes watered. You dug your hands into his long hair as he drew butterflies on your thighs, on your scars.

“Do you know what butterflies symbolize?” his deep voice was rapsy, as if his concentration on your body took a lot of energy.

“No?”

“It symbolizes self-transformation, personal growth, resilience. It’s for fighters like you.”

Your mouth split into a shy smile.

“Is there a tattoo that symbolizes SA survivors?”

“Yeah, the Medusa tattoo. But any symbol of transformation and resilience can be a tattoo for SA survivors. There are butterflies, but also the lotus. The lotus symbolizes spirituality but also rebirth, blooming no matter where you come from and being reborn after a dark place. Tattoos are personal; you choose the meaning you want to convey.”

“I would like to get a tattoo when I have overcame my sexual trauma.”

“I wish you the fastest healing. You'll look amazing with a tattoo.”

Suguru finished painting on your body before lying back on his elbows so you could paint on his torso. You dipped your brush into the paint pot and kneeled down to draw on his body. You colored the untattooed parts of his skin, the colored lines looking beautiful against the ink on his flesh. Suguru stared at you with an intense gaze while you focused on his chest. You seemed to be having fun and that pleased him. He noticed your hands paused as you watched his thin happy trail get lost in his jeans, your mouth half-open, and he gave you a slight smirk.

When you finished coloring his torso, your phone alarm blared in the room, signaling that you had one hour before you had to work at 7-Eleven. You got up from the floor.

“I have to shower and study a little before work. Are we okay with this washing out?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. These are water-based paints made specifically for this purpose.” Suguru got up and put his rock band t-shirt back on.

You cleaned up the paint cans with Suguru and quickly got dressed. Your heart was still pounding from how he’d kissed your mutilation scars, and was respectful enough not to comment. Your wounds were fully healed, showing they were old, so he didn’t need to worry. You’d learned better coping mechanisms since when you were in pain growing up.

You gave him a small wave goodbye before leaving. Throughout your shift, your mind wasn't on the food you were beeping at the register, but on the feeling of Suguru's lips on your thighs.

───────────

SUGURU’s POV

“I think I'll confess my feelings to ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

Suguru rolled his eyes. He was doing basketball practice drills, weaving between the small cones on the court while dribbling behind Satoru. It was two days after the bodypainting session.

“Do you know she collects tea bags? Her favorite song? What she looks like when she's flustered? You don't even know her.”

“And how would you know that more than me? We spend so much time with her!”

“Friendship isn't a matter of time, it's a matter of meeting people. She's shared a lot of things with me that I don't think you know about her. You're just friends, but I'm becoming a close friend.”

“I'm close to her; I talk to her about my constipation problems.”

“That's not being close, that's being indecent.”

Satoru's laughter echoed through the gymnasium. "Maybe. But she lets me tell her everything, so why would that be wrong?"

“Did you know that a relationship isn't one-sided? If you're always the one confessing things to her and she doesn't share anything with you, that means you don't have access to her heart. And if you don't have access to her heart, you can't confess your feelings to her because you'll get rejected.”

“Since when have you been so mature?” Satoru grumbled.

“Since always, ‘toru.”

“I rather get the impression that you're in love with her too and you're trying to get her before me.”

Suguru froze, pausing in his dribbling. He looked up at his best friend and met his suspicious and defiant gaze. He frowned.

“I'm not in love with her.”

“I looked through your phone in the locker room, and you're always talking on Instagram. You don't even say 'good morning' to your sex friends, but you send her music that reminds you of her?”

“Satoru!”

Suguru threw him a ball, and Satoru easily dodged it with a loud laugh.

“Admit it, you have a crush on her too! I don't understand why she's not popular, she's so pretty…”

The conversation was dangerous because, yes, Suguru had a crush on you, but he couldn't admit it to his best friend. He didn't want to damage his relationship with him, and he didn't want to be in competition. Things were going smoothly with you; he didn't want you to get upset because he was moving too fast with you to overtake Satoru.

“Yeah, she's pretty, but like any other girl at the university. She's not special,” he lied, taking another ball from the ball cage, his lie tasting ridiculous on his tongue since you were so special that he felt alive again by your side.

“I will try to deepen my relationship with her. I need to learn new flirting tactics because my natural charm isn't working on her.” Satoru's arrogance was at its peak today.

Suguru's heart gripped with jealousy at the thought of you getting closer to his best friend, but he ignored the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. You were free, you didn’t belong to him.

───────────

READER’s POV

You were trying to get some fresh air with your traditional Japanese fan, the heat was starting to increase during the month of June. You were waiting for Suguru for your research sessions. You just had Satoru before him, and you were tense. Satoru had been a little intrusive, trying to get to know you better, but it felt fake because Satoru and you were friends, but not friends like with Suguru. With Suguru you could talk about your rape, your abusive mother and your fear of sex while with Satoru, it was more you who listened to him talk about shojo, anime and music. He had finally taken an interest in you lately and you didn't like how he insisted on knowing personal information about you.

Suguru walked into Study Room 202 wearing his NBA Lakers jersey and navy blue baggy jeans. His hair was slightly wavy and still a little wet, indicating he had just come out of the shower.

“Sup,” he greeted you, sitting in front of you.

“Good afternoon, Sugu’.” It was the first time you’d used his nickname, and you nervously waited to see any displeasure on his face, but you found none. “Today, we’re going to try to dig deeper into your relationship with sports and your depression.”

He inclined his head in silent approval. You took out your laptop, opened the Word page you were using for Suguru, and went to the next line.

“So, can you explain to me what you feel when you exercise and why you're addicted to it?”

He stretched his arms before crossing them over his chest and pressing his back against his chair.

“It's more at the end of my workouts. I feel a sense of relaxation, and I no longer have the inner turmoil I have so much all the time that I forget it's not a normal state. It feels the same as when I went for walks before my depression.”

“Walks?”

“My parents live in the countryside, and there are quite a few temples near our house, as well as parks and forests. We can go for hour-long walks. I used to go on them with my dad, and then I'd go on my own when I was old enough. It helped clear my head. It's the same feeling I get when I finish a workout.”

“And why did you say it felt that way before the depression? It doesn't feel the same now?”

Suguru scratched the back of his head, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Let's just say that now, if I get too caught up in my thoughts, I spiral. That's why I have a little trouble with meditation. If I focus my thoughts too much, I feel overwhelmed by guilt about my deceased friend.”

“Meditation is a method, but not everyone is the same. It's not your fault if it doesn't work for you.”

“Let's just say I'd rather be able to meditate than be addicted to sex and exercise.”

“Actually, your condition isn't that different from that of people with ADHD. Their brains seek activities that release dopamine, and that can create quite a few problems. They are extremely bored, and not being stimulated can be painful for them. Since you no longer feel anything and are numb, you naturally gravitate toward activities that naturally release dopamine. But since you are incapable of feeling positive emotions, you quickly become addicted to these activities because they are the only ones that wake up your body.”

“Wow, you're smarter than my psychiatrist. She just asked me to list my symptoms and gave me antidepressants for my depression. I didn't know the mechanism behind it.”

“I'm not smarter than her.” You gave him a humble smile. “We just have different specialties. I'm studying to understand the human psyche and develop the best approaches to help those suffering through therapy, while she focuses on molecules that alleviate certain symptoms. If you saw a therapist, you'd see I'm not special.”

“Nah, you'll always be special to me.”

Wramth flooded into your cheeks at his heartfelt statement. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel guilty when you can't do workouts?”

“I've never missed a workout, it's my whole life. Nothing will ever be more important than exercise. I'll always do my workout.”

“Do you know the manga Blue Lock?”

Suguru laughed quietly.

“Yeah, Satoru often talks to me about it. They're really teenagers going through puberty who have nothing better to do with their lives than play soccer.”

“You're not that different from them, you know. You're just a legal adult.”

“Yeah, I know.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

“You have dark circles under your eyes. Are you tired because of your workouts, or are you having trouble sleeping? Do you want to do your workout even when you're tired?”

“When you're disciplined, there's nothing that can stop you from doing what you need to do. My muscles often hurt because of my aches and pains, but I always force myself to do my workouts. It's vital. I think it's a combination of both. I'm tired because of my workouts, but I also need neuroleptics to sleep.”

“Neuroleptics can be a heavy medication. You don't have any side effects?”

Suguru shook his head. You wrote down what he was telling you on your laptop.

“Did you know that overtraining can weaken the immune system and lead to chronic fatigue? You can develop heart complications from your excessive training.”

Suguru winced. “I know it's not healthy, but there's nothing that's helping me right now, and I don't want to go to therapy right now. I… I'm a little scared of what people will say about me if they hear the whole story about my deceased friend.”

“I'm not forcing you to do anything, Suguru, I'm just trying to inform you. You do what you can with what you have; I already think you're very brave by telling me what you’re feeling.”

His eyes shone with affection.

“You’re so cute.”

“You’re always saying that.”

“I’m just being honest.”

You continued the session, providing detailed research on Suguru's sports addiction. Your research will focus on the health consequences of sports, both good and bad when they lead to addiction. This will set you apart from others who are simply researching the link between sports and mental health. Before you left the room, Suguru grabbed your wrist before you opened the door. His gesture was gentle, but you jumped, alert. His face softened.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it's okay.” You were sad to still be scared of him when you were close now. 

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to come to a frat party on Friday. You can try drinking alcohol, and I promise to stay close to you and make sure no one takes advantage of you. I promise I just want you to have fun. Make yourself look nice, and stop wearing baggy clothes like that. Make yourself look good for me if you don't want to look good for other men.”

“Why would I make myself look good for you?” you said, your voice tainted with defensiveness.

“Because I’ve been a good boy lately, haven’t I?”

He pressed against you, your wrist still in his hand, and pushed your back against the wall. Your heartbeat quickened and your breathing became labored.

“Suguru, I…”

“Relax, you know I would never hurt you.”

His voice was soft, almost sultry, and he played with your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He was so close to you that his breath brushed your face, and you felt the weight of his heavy gaze on you. Your heart pounded in your ribcage, your eyes fixed on his full lips that you were dying to feel on you.

He tilted his head, and thinking he was going to kiss you, you closed your eyes, but the kiss never came. When you opened your eyes, you were met with a playful Suguru, a sly smile on his face.

“What do you think I was going to do, baby?”

You shoved him away violently, storming out of the room, blood rushing to your cheeks. You heard his deep laugh behind you, but you knew he wasn't making fun of you, he was just amused by the situation. You always played the withdrawn girl who didn't want him, but now you were waiting for him to kiss you. He knew exactly what he was doing. The worst part was, you still hadn't figured out how to tell him you wanted to sleep with him. With determined steps, you mentally prepared to tell him at the party on Friday, and hoped he'd act on it that day because you were starting to get tired of feeling wet every time you spent time with him.

───────────

‘Make yourself look pretty, I'll wait for you in the university parking lot.’

You'd rushed into the shower upon receiving Suguru's message. You chose your favorite vanilla and caramel body washes and showered with a special confidence-boosting playlist, because you'd need it. Playing a Summer Walker song, you exfoliated your skin with an exfoliating glove. Coming out of the shared showers, you ran to your room in a towel. Utahime was spending the night with Shoko; you were alone for this ordeal. You applied scented creams, skin butters, and oils, and sprayed yourself with scented mist.

You searched your closet for a dress, but you only had baggy, unfitting ones. You looked for your black top with the plunging neckline that you never wore, a sexy lingerie set, and a denim miniskirt that you'd bought a few years ago but never dared to wear. The outfit hugged your curves perfectly. You put on your black heels and painted your toenails. You decorated yourself with jewelry and earrings.

Once ready, you applied glittery perfume all over your body. You looked at yourself in the mirror, a little stunned as you saw yourself. You had never made such an effort for a party, and you knew it was just for Suguru. It was an important day for you because you were finally going to confess your desire to a man you liked and maybe start your sex-friend relationship tonight.

Your heart was pounding with excitement as you walked down the stairs and across campus to the parking lot.

A long whistle attracted your attention. Suguru leaned against his black car, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore black jeans and a navy blue short-sleeved t-shirt, his silver chain visible on his collarbones. His gaze roamed along your figure, his eyes dark with desire as he whistled at you.

“That's kind of misogynistic, stop that,” you said as you walked towards him, but your tone was joking.

“If you knew what I had in mind, you would try to start a feminist revolution against me,” he opened the passenger door for you, and you stepped into his car, enjoying the smell of the interior, filled with his cologne.

You didn't know when you were so comfortable joking about his attraction to you, but you liked the vibe between you.

“Utahime is not with you?”

“She’s with Shoko. I think things are going well with them.”

“I know Shoko well, and she’s serious about Utahime. She’s just a bit scared of love since the death of Haibara.”

You mentally made the connection.

“Wait, Haibara was Shoko’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Yeah. They dated in high school. They were pretty close. Their couple was kinda funny. He was so obsessed with her but she was so nonchalant. She always chose her partners like that.”

“She must be happy with Utahime. She is very affectionate.”

Suguru gave a slight nod, his eyes on the road. You didn't speak further, the air thick with desire with his furtive glances at your thighs and your eyes on his biceps as he drove. You couldn't wait to tell him you were okay with sleeping with him, just to see his reaction. Just imagining his gaze filled with adoration and reverence on your naked body made you shiver.

Near the frat party, the music could be heard even in the neighborhood, and there were a multitude of luxury cars parked near the frat. Kaisen University was a prestigious and expensive university that you managed to get into thanks to your excellence and diligence in school and your student loans. It was worth the debt; the quality of the courses at Kaisen University was unparalleled. You were excited to go to Jujutsu University for your master's degree, which was even higher quality.

“Satoru isn’t here?”

“He’s with a girl at his dorm.”

“Of course.”

Suguru opened the passenger door for you and intertwined his fingers with yours. He led you into the frat, you following close behind him. As he entered the party, he shook hands with several people who greeted him, and you felt shy next to all his friends. But you knew these must be superficial friendships since Suguru didn't make friends easily.

“So, what do you want to drink? This is your first time drinking alcohol, it must be memorable.”

He rummaged through the kitchen cupboards for a cocktail shaker. He pulled out more alcohol from the fridge and placed various bottles and fruit juices on the counter, while other people filled the red cups and placed them on the counter. You looked at the multitude of alcohol with apprehension.

“What are you having?”

“Nothing. I have to keep an eye on you.”

Your lips quirked up.

“I’d like something fruity.”

“I have what you need,” he began to make you a cocktail. He mixed tequila with orange-pineapple juice and coconut cream, and stirred it all together, his gestures dynamic.

“Tequila colada.” He poured you a glass. You took the glass, your hands trembling as you stared at the alcoholic juice in your hands. A gentle look passed over his face.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to. I don’t drink alcohol because I don’t want to, I don’t drink it because I’m afraid. I have to overcome this fear.” You squeezed the glass in your hands and brought it to your lips, the trembling in your hands making your grip on the object unsteady. Suguru came over and held your glass for you, bringing it to your lips. You maintained your gaze with him as you drank the cocktail, feeling the liquid pass down your esophagus and your taste buds awakening to the bitter taste of orange juice and alcohol.

“It’s delicious.”

A light danced in his eyes, his mouth offered a smile.

“My father wanted to be a bartender before becoming a farmer. He gave in to family pressure and continued the business, but he still enjoys making us cocktails at home.”

“Is that why he doesn’t force you to continue the family business?”

“Partly. It was the older generation who were strict, now they don’t care whether I take over the family business or not. I have plenty of cousins who don’t work in agriculture.”

You dipped your head in a gesture of understanding. Suguru leaned against the wooden counter, his hands behind his back, on the wood, next to you.

You continued to chat about this and that while Suguru mixed you various cocktails. Slowly, the alcohol relaxed you and made you talk more than usual. The gentle warmth of the drink flowed through you, warming your body. It was only when the men around you started to stare, wanting to take advantage of your tipsiness, that Suguru grabbed your hand and led you to an empty bedroom.

You sat on the bed. The alcohol inhibited you and let you speak your mind freely.

“You know, I thought about your offer.”

“My offer?” Suguru sat next to you.

“I wanna sleep with you.”

All the air in Suguru's lungs caught, his breath caught in his chest. The atmosphere instantly felt thick with tension.

“What?”

It was the first time you'd seen Suguru so shy, and it made you laugh. Your laughter was short-lived, a brief burst of mirth before your face fell into a serious expression.

“I wanna get laid. Have sex. Sleep with you.”

His brows furrowed, a deep crease formed between his eyes.

“No.”

“Why?” You looked at him in confusion, a similar frown on your face.

“Because I promised I wouldn't take advantage of you, and you've been drinking. You're not in your normal state, and I don't want to take advantage of you.”

Now your hesitation about telling him was back on you. You let out a heavy breath.

“I wanted to sleep with you before I got drunk,” you said, your voice soft.

“I have no evidence of that. What do I do if you wake up and regret it?”

You got up and sat on his lap. His body tensed but he let you. His arms wrapped around you. 

“You want me and I want you. Yes, alcohol makes me more confident than usual, but my desire was the same before I got drunk. I really want you to fuck me.”

His face hardened, your words creating a fire in his mind, his gaze intense. The ‘I really want you to fuck me’ rushed blood through his length, his jeans becoming tight.

“Do you want to?” You moved closer to him. Your breaths mingled.

His resolve weakened drastically as he felt your breasts press against his chest.

“Of course. I want you more than anything. But…”

“But ?”  you tilted your head, looking so good in front of him, he fought the urge to take you right here, on his lap.

“I’m a gentleman. I don’t have sex with drunk girls.”

“I’m not drunk just tipsy, what if I want you to be selfish and take advantage of me?”

A dangerous gleam appeared in his eyes.

“Don’t say stuff like that, I-”

You didn't care what he was going to say, you wanted something and you were going to get it. You captured his lips in a kiss, his words dying on his tongue. His squeezed his eyes shut, letting a soft sigh in contact with your lips.

“Fuck it,” he rasped and grabbed your throat, pressing you closer against him as he kissed you with force. He took the lead, his tongue traced your lower lip, slowly coaxing your lips apart. He ravished your mouth. The warm metal of his tongue piercing brushed yours, his way of kissing was feverish, his own breathing rapid as his tongue tangled with yours. When you detached your lips to take a breath, he yanked you against him. His grip on your throat was tight as he pressed his lips against yours again. He prevented you from breathing.

Suguru was a cold man emotionally, his anhedonia preventing him from fully connecting with people. Yet, when he kissed you, he felt a tingling sensation in his lower abdomen, like butterflies. You managed to move an impassive man just with your lips.

His way of kissing sent shivers down your spine. It was as if he was taking more than he was giving, as if you were something that had always belonged to him and he was finally the owner. His kisses were slow and languorous, his tongue sliding on yours with a slowness that made you feel warm all over.

“We’re doing this my way,” he whispered as his lips traced your jaw and moved down your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses that quickened your pulse. “Only you get pleasure, we’ll deal with me another day.”

You wanted to protest, wanting to please him too, but the way he was nibbling at your neck and his hands seeking the warmth of your body under your top kept you from complaining. If he wanted to treat you like a princess tonight, you weren't going to stop him.

Suguru lowered the collar of your t-shirt to take your breast in his mouth but he paused when he saw the lingerie.

“You wore that for me, baby?” He looked up to you, a fire in his eyes. 

You gave him a shy nod, and your eyes widened as he pulled down the cup of your bra and shoved your breast into his mouth. The feeling of his warm wet mouth sucking your nipple made you arch your back, your hands diving into his long hair as you closed your eyes. He guzzled your nipple, his other hand fondling your other breast, kneading it, his large tattooed hand covering it. He pinched and rolled your nipple between fingers, your body heating up.

It was surreal that the boy who scared you in April, three months later, had your tits stuffed in his mouth. He looked so pretty like that, you took a twisted pleasure in opening your eyes from time to time and looking at his hungry eyes as if he was devouring the most delicious food.

He pushed you away in a abrupt gesture, his breathing labored.

“Undress yourself or I’ll rip your clothes off.”

A playful chuckle slipped out of your mouth. “Okay.”

You quickly took off your top and skirt, giggling to yourself as you saw Suguru shaking on the bed, his fists clenched, looking at you as if you were the biggest temptation. Your bra followed the rest of your clothes on the floor and when you pulled down your thong, Suguru grabbed you and threw you on the bed. You laughed as his muscular frame hovered above you.

“Are you being so slow on purpose or what?” he uttered in a rough tone, yanking away your thong, throwing it somewhere in the room where he didn’t care.

“No,” you whispered, your smirk conveyed, that, yes, you did that on purpose.

“You’re being awfully playful for a fearful girl, huh?” his hand found your core, his index and middle fingers tracing circles on your clit, making your laughter stop. “Awww, look at that. Why aren’t you laughing? You’re teasing me and I can’t?” 

The gentle Suguru you knew was nowhere to be seen, and you had a meaner, rougher version. His purple eyes were dark, his breathing labored as he stared at you intensely. His fingers added more pressure, keeping his pace slow, making you squirm on the bed. You raised your hand to cover your mouth to moan, and he pushed your hand away.

“None of that. I’m gonna hear my name loud and clear.”

His words were harsh, his voice almost menacing. You didn't know why you weren't afraid of him; a man different from him would have made you shudder in fear, but you were arching onto the bed, moaning softly. His dominant side was painfully attractive, and you savored every second of it.

“How do you masturbate?”

His voice was distant in the ocean of pleasure his fingers transporting you. You weren't even able to dissociate like you usually did during sex; Suguru's touch made you hypersensitive.

“W-What?”

“How do you masturbate? What position would be most comfortable for you?”

Your lips pressed together in a smile. The gentle Suguru was still here.

“I masturbate in all ways, but we can do it on my stomach.”

He turned you around without waiting, his body pressing against you as he ground his hips against your ass. His weight against you triggered your defense mechanisms and you flinched. He instantly sensed your tension.

“What is it? I’m sorry, baby. Please tell me.”

“It’s just your weight… It brings back bad memories.”

He rested his elbow next to your head and lifted his body.

“Like that?” 

He buried his head in your neck, his fingers finding your entrance again, toying with your clit. He continued to grind against your ass, sucking the skin of your neck. You struggled to answer him, his ministrations causing a kind of frenzy to take hold of your body. He smiled against his skin when he heard your soft moans muffled in the sheets.

“Satoru is in love with you.” His words made you froze. “But he won’t have you, right baby? I’m the one who makes you this wet, and I’ll have you weeks later, am I right?” he murmured, speeding up his fingers on you, making you clench the sheets in your hands. “I will learn how this body works and ruin you for others men, okay?”

His voice was so gentle but his words so sinful. It was a good representation of what kind of man Suguru was. 

His hips rocked against your ass, his erection rubbing against you. He could have finished right there, he wanted you so bad, but he was too focused on you to completely let go. His teeth caught a piece of your skin, and his tongue ran over it as his mouth sucked, his fingers bringing you closer and closer to your peak. When your body was shot through with spams and waves of pleasure, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss, he got up from you and lay down next to you.

“Sit on me,” he breathed out, his hands gesturing to his face.

Those simple words made heat surge through your body and you sat up on the bed, looking at him shyly, intimidated by the fact that your chubby body might be too heavy for him.

“All of my weight?”

“All of your weight. Crush me and suffocate me if you want. This is the best way of dying.”

With a light chuckle, you moved closer to his face and lifted your pelvis to sit on his lower face, holding onto the headboard of the bed.

“You're not putting all your weight on,” he muttered, his hands coming to your love handles to grip them and yank you down on him, his nose rubbing into your clit as his tongue started to lap between your folds. A gasp escaped your mouth, the warmth of his mouth on you overwhelming. The feeling of his tongue piercing on your puffy walls made you shudder. 

Your thighs clenched, capturing his face and he didn’t mind. His mind was focused on your taste, his mouth eating you out voraciously. You lowered your head to look at him and his gaze filled with ardor and passion made your insides bubble up. You closed your eyes, moaning and grinding your hips on his face, and he kept his eyes half-lidded, staring at you. His lower face was drenched in your essence, and it was the best feeling in the world for him. Eating you out was making him feel things he didn’t even feel when he was thrusting into a girl. Your taste was the best drug he's ever put into his body.

His hands on you guided you to grind him better, his dick twitching every time your center rubbed against his nose, his senses filled by your scent. His tongue twisted around inside you, wiggling to find all the spots that made you gasp and clench inside. His tongue explored every inch of your folds, making your body twitching.

“Sugu’, stop, I’m gonna…”

You slowed down your grinding, trying to get away from his face, but he held you tightly against him.

“Make a mess, baby. Give it to me.”

He fucked you with his tongue, his mouth filled with your slick. He smiled against your core when you finally let go, your legs trembling around him as you were going limp. He didn’t stop there, even though his jaw was aching, continuing to stimulate your clit, wanting to make you come countless times. 

It was only when his greed had enough of you and your taste that he detached himself from your center, leaving you flopping onto the bed, chest rising and falling as you came down from your high. You turned your head to look at him, and blood rushed into your cheeks seeing how glistening his face was.

“You’re absolutely crazy,” you panted.

“I told you, you shouldn’t honor the wishes of a man like me.”

Your gaze was filled with affection as he laid down on the bed, giving you a hug. You sought the radiant heat from his body and nuzzled his chest. The powerful orgasms left your thighs aching from your repeated clenching, and fatigue coursed through your body. You drifted off to sleep, his lips against the top of your head.

───────────

When you woke up, two purple eyes stared at you, and when you burst out laughing, he shook his head, snapping out of his trance. He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. You sat up on the bed and rubbed your eyes.

“Why does it look like you didn't sleep?” you asked, your voice still sleepy.

“Because I didn't.”

“Don't tell me you spent all night staring at me.”

“Okay, I won't say anything then.”

You looked at him strangely, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you sleep?”

“I was too excited. I wanted you so bad.”

Your expression relaxed, a gentle look passing across your face.

“Sugu’...”

“You’re still… I mean…” 

His voice were soft, a bit hesitant. He ran his hand through his hair.

“Yeah?” 

“You still want me? It wasn’t a dream or anything? You don’t regret it?”

Warmth filled your eyes. “No, it wasn’t a dream. I still want to be friends with benefits with you.”

“I swear you won't regret giving me this chance.”

Suguru spoke as if you'd just made a political deal and you giggled at that. You wrapped your arms around him to give him a hug, your heart filled with contentment.

───────────

“What are you reading?”

It was Wednesday, a few days after the wild night with Suguru. It was the day of your session with Suguru, and your heart raced when you heard his voice. You weren't shy, but seeing him again after he'd spent long minutes between your thighs intimidated you a little. You weren't sure how to behave. Were you closer friends now, or just sex friends?

“A love story between a man at war and his wife. It's an epistolary love story; they exchange letters. It's my favorite type of fiction.” You closed your book and put it in your bag. Suguru sat down next to you.

“You're such a feminist, and you romanticize soldiers? Do you know what soldiers do to civilian women during a war or in the military?”

“I only read books where men are forced to go to the front and don't agree with their governments' policies. I don't want to read stories by rapists,” you said in a firm voice.

“I'm not surprised,” Suguru played with his industrial piercing, showing he was nervous. Maybe he too didn't know how to behave around you now that you were sex friends.

You did your weekly session, Suguru stealing glances at your lips and breasts, desperately wanting to feel them in his mouth again. When you were done, you closed your laptop.

“Is it true that Satoru is in love with me?”

Suguru flinched, remembering what he'd told you. He'd been more dominant than he should have been since he knew you were someone with sexual trauma; he was surprised you were so wet and not scared.

“Um, yeah…”

“How is that possible? We haven't shared anything very intimate together.”

“Satoru falls for anyone easily. Don't try to understand. He confuses lust with love.”

“If that's the case, I'm going to stop the sessions with him right now. I've been planning to do that for a few weeks now since I chose to do my research exclusively on you, but now that I know this, I'd rather stop now.”

Suguru's face lit up; deep down, a selfish pleasure was taking hold of him. He will have all your attention.

“I'm going to have to mend his broken heart.”

“Show him a new girl to obsess over, he'll forget me quickly. Besides, we're friends, I'll see him often, so it shouldn't hurt him too much.”

You stood up, shouldering your bag, and Suguru followed you out of the private study room.

“So…”

“Yeah?”

Suguru decided not to beat around the bush and say frankly what was on his mind.

“When can we meet for sex?”

You paused. Hands a little shaky, you turned to him. This was the first time you'd had an arrangement like this with a man.

“Maybe every Sunday?”

He gave a nod of acknowledgment, a small smile on his face.

“I swear you won’t regret this. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Suguru, this is sex, not a commercial deal.”

His smile widened, turning into a smirk.

“What do you mean? You’re the real deal.”

You suppressed an eye roll, but it showed anyway.

“Shall we do this in my dorm or yours?”

“In yours, Satoru can come to my dorm at any time.”

“Why are you hiding our relationship from him? Satoru and I aren't a couple, you don't owe him anything.”

“I'm breaking the bro code. It'll hurt his feelings.”

“If you really didn't want to hurt him, you wouldn't agree to this relationship with me.”

You walk out of the library, side by side.

“Please. He says he's ‘in love’, but he doesn't even know you. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I'm not going to deprive myself of you for some stupid crush that doesn't hold water.”

The ‘deprive myself of you’ made you feel hot. When he was eating you out, his eyes were filled with so much greed and hunger, that you thought he was really serious when he said he didn't want to be deprived of you.

You parted with a wave, and returned to your classes, your heart warming at the thought of what you were going to do on Sunday.

───────────

Sunday arrived quickly, and you rushed to the shower to get ready for your 'sexy time' with Suguru. Taking care of yourself put you in a good mood as you applied creams and oils to your body. You put on comfortable pajamas that consisted of a tank top and mini shorts that hid your lingerie underneath. You and Utahime would have to go shopping since you had only a few sexy underwear and flattering clothes. Having this relationship with Suguru made you want to be more beautiful and take care of yourself.

Utahime had gone to spend the day with Shoko, and you had the room to yourself. Suguru knocked on the door as you were taking your dried flowers out of the books. You gave him permission to open it, and he gave you a curious look as he watched what you were doing.

“Do you like flowers?”

“Yes, I love them,” you hung the bouquet down on the wall, placing it next to the others. Suguru had been to your dorm several times before, but he'd never noticed the number of flowers on the wall.

“You'd get along well with my mom; she's passionate about botany. She has a garden full of flowers and plants. Maybe one day I can show it to you,” he entered the room, placing snacks on your desk. Your heart warmed at his little gesture.

“What are your favorite flowers?”

“Roses, of course, and hydrangeas.”

“Hydrangeas? They're in season right now. I know some gardens and parks where they are there, I could show you.”

You get down from your chair and give him a smile.

“You want to show me lots of things.”

“You’re my friend, after all,” he emphasized the word ‘friend’, as if to imply that you were more than that, which was the case.

His eyes trailed down your face, lingering on your thighs. Your body temperature began to rise under his gaze, and you sat up in bed, your legs swinging, unsure of how to begin.

He sat down next to you and placed his hand on yours, as if to calm your nerves.

“Before we begin, I'd like you to explain a little about your triggers. I did some research on sexual trauma before coming, and you have triggers, right?” Suguru asked, scratching his head and avoiding looking at you. Your heart swelled.

“Yeah, I have some. No doggy style, that's how I was raped. No spanking either. No hair pulling. In fact, anything we do during doggy style, please avoid.”

Suguru listened attentively, nodding his head. His face had a gentle look as his affectionate gaze flickered across your face. 

“I didn’t want to do that position with you, I wanna see your face or do positions you’re comfortable with.”

Your stomach was all light and bubbly, his words like a warm hug around your fears. You tilted your head, your gaze meeting him, and you silently gave him the green light.

He leaned over, his hands cradling your face to kiss you. His familiar tongue piercing brushed against your lips to coax you to open your mouth. You made out, your tongues gliding against each other in a slow dance, as his hands began to roam your body under your tank top.

He was much gentler than the first time, not driven by hunger or greed but affection and respectful desire. You let him undress you from your top and shorts, lying on the bed while you caressed his abs under his t-shirt, tugging at the bottoms for him to remove them. He removed them with a swift movement, hands behind his back, and pulled off his jeans. His hard length in his boxers made your eyes widen, anticipating when you'd have him in your mouth because of his size.

Dry humping, something you were used to because it was one of the main things you could do with your trauma, was much sexier with Suguru than with any other man you'd ever done it with. The way he rubbed his length in his boxers over your clothed cunt, while kneading your breasts, made you wet and hot. His dark, lustful eyes were fixed on your breasts and your mouth, while his lips were parted from his rapid breathing.

When he ate you, it was like the first time, a powerful orgasm overwhelmed you thanks to his expert and precise tongue. You were afraid he'd be bored by the limited things you could do because of your fear, but his heated gaze on you told you everything you needed to know about his arousal.

He whispered praise as you tentatively took him in your mouth, his veiny cock intimidating because of its size and width, but you managed to close your lips around it, taking it deeper into your throat. Suguru gave you instructions on how to do it, helping you breathe. His soft voice as you sucked him soothed you, making you want to please him even more, thanking him for being so gentle with you.

When you were finished, Suguru gave you a kiss on the forehead and a hug, and you understood why he was so popular with the girls. He was gentle, respectful, and adapted to his partner's needs. Your pussy clenched as you imagined how he would be, fully dominant, when you were more comfortable with him. You ate snacks together while chatting, a light and cozy atmosphere between you.

“We should do our study sessions together on Sundays and then sleep together,” Suguru suggested, eating shrimp chips.

“That’s a good idea,” a smile flashed across your face as you looked at him, your heart filled with satisfaction. “Sugu’, how are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me that during sex you don't feel anything until you come.”

“For some reason, my depression doesn't apply to you. I feel like I'm on fire whenever you're around, you give me bursts of inspiration that I can't control, and I feel like I'm hypersensitive around you when I'm usually numb. I feel so much better since I met you, and since you gave me methods to help me with my depression. You're more effective than any antidepressant.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips.

“I should contact a support group for depression to help them then.”

“Nah, you're mine now,” he hugged you tighter. “Nobody will have the privilege of your healing powers except me.”

Suguru took out his phone to show you some new R&B artists he’d discovered and thought you’d like, and you snuggled up to him, peaceful.

───────────

READER’s POV

June and july ended quickly. Between your Sundays with Suguru, your shifts at 7eleven, and your classes, you didn't notice the time passing. When July arrived, marking the end of the first semester and the start of exams, you put your weekly research sessions with Suguru on hold to focus on studying for your exams.

Suguru was also studying for his classes, and you only saw each other on Sundays when you slept together. A little sex allowed you to avoid getting lost in the stress of exams. You were making progress in your sex life thanks to Suguru; you were practicing mindfulness, focusing on the sensations in your body to be truly present during sex. Suguru had also stopped dissociating, and your little sex friend arrangement was doing you both good.

On sunday, Suguru came into your dorm room, leaving his bag near your desk. You used to study together and have sex afterward.

Studying together, Suguru's gaze lingered on your face, his eyes still flickering on your lips. Your lips were truly as tempting as the forbidden fruit. Their shape, texture, and taste called to Suguru and had such power over him that you made the grown man weak in the knees.

While you had your head bent over your books, he couldn't help but grab your throat and kiss you, leaning over you. His kisses were always demanding like that, his grip on your throat tight to prevent you from escaping. Drawing your lips toward his, his tongue forced its entry into your mouth while you made a noise of protest, wanting to focus on your studies for your exams.

“I hope you’re not looking for a boyfriend too soon, I’m not ready to share these lips with another man,” he whispered against your mouth, his lips molding against yours as he kissed you languidly.

“I’m not looking for a man.” You let out a sigh between your kisses.

“Too bad for the male gender. They don't know what they're missing,” Suguru pressed himself against you, laying you down on the bed, his weight on you making the bed creak. A few minutes later, you were lost in an ocean of pleasure, his expert hands on you as if you were an instrument he knew by heart.

An hour and a half later, after you'd came down from your high, you wrapped the blanket around your naked body while Suguru put his boxers and jeans back on, remaining shirtless. You watched him walk into your room, admiring the dragon tattoo on his back, the thick lines and detailed style.

“What are you doing during the holidays?” his voice brought you out of your thoughts focused on his tattoos.

“Taking care of my mother, as usual.”

“What if you went on a date with a certain captain?”

Your eyes grew wide. A date?

“Don’t give me that look. This is for therapy. You have to do things outside your comfort zone. Have you ever been on a date with someone?”

“No…”

“All the more reason to do it. I’ll treat you like a princess, you’ll see.”

You didn’t know what to think of this date idea. On the one hand, you were happy that he wanted to spend time with you during the holidays, but on the other hand, you noticed your heart racing a little faster imagining Suguru in a romantic context, as if it was something you wanted to experience. You quickly silenced that thought, not having time to develop feelings for Suguru. Or maybe it was too late?

───────────

You walked back into your childhood home, rolling your suitcase. As usual, the decor had changed, and the furniture was in different positions, indicating that your mother was either in a manic phase and wanted to change the decor, or in a depressive phase and didn't have the strength to pursue her new ideas.

“Mom?” your voice echoed through the house as you moved forward. You glanced toward the kitchen, noticing it was clean, your heart tightening as you realized she was either normal right now or in a manic phase. The times you hated the most, you preferred when she spent her time sleeping during her depression; you had more time for yourself.

You left the suitcase downstairs and began to climb the stairs. Music drifted from upstairs, coming from the bathroom. You opened the door and found your mother applying her usual eyeliner, this time straight, not distorted by alcohol.

“Hey,” you turned off the music from the speakers to hear her, but your mother's face twisted into a frown.

“You're already here and you already want to ruin my day? Turn the music back on,” she ordered, her speech fast, the clean state of the kitchen, her sobriety giving you all the clues that she was in a manic phase and that you were going to have a difficult holiday. She always had the idea of giving up alcohol at times like these, but she was paranoid and extremely irritable. It was as if she was in a fast-paced, colorful world, and couldn't stand it when people didn't behave like her, frustrated to be the only one who saw the colors of life.

You let out a sigh and turned the music back on, leaving her humming in front of the mirror. You weren't hurt by the harsh tone in which she spoke to you, used to this kind of exchange between the two of you. You were gathering your suitcase to put your clothes back in your room for the holidays. Your phone vibrated in your pocket. It was a message from Suguru.

‘Did you get home okay? I'm still on the train. My parents live far from Tokyo. I hope things are going well with your mother.’

You smiled at the text and started to write a reply when someone snatched your phone from your hand.

“Why are you smiling? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you want to abandon me and live with him after studies?” your mother asked, her hands shaking with anger as she stared at you with the dark eyes she always had when she got angry. You flinched, knowing that tone and knowing she could explode at any moment.

“No, Mom, he's just a friend. You know I'll never abandon you,” you repeated the same sentence you had to say every holiday because she thought you were plotting to ditch her after your master. You didn't even know when you would ever be free with a mother like that.

She shook her head, searching your phone for proof that you were lying. She looked through your messages, but there was only Utahime because you didn't have Suguru's number, and you were talking to him via Instagram. Having no justification for hitting you, she gave you your phone back with a suspicious look.

“I will have an outing with a friend during the holidays,” you tried, playing with the em on your t-shirt.

“No.”

Your face tensed.

“Mom, I-”

“We don't know what could happen outside, I don't want you to get kidnapped. You'll stay home for the entire holidays. I don't care about the reason for the outing, that's a no.”

You waited until her back was turned to bite your fist, already fed up. You were never allowed to do anything because of her paranoia. She thought the danger was outside when she was the one abusing you.

In the evening, you ate your meal in silence with Yaga, your mother's boyfriend, who came over from time to time. He was usually serious and stern, but with your mother, she brought out an outgoing and jovial side in him. You watched them talk while they ate, wondering what kind of parents you and Suguru would be if you had children. Maybe you'd be a bit like your mother, afraid of men outside, while Suguru would be more the type to teach your children how to fight. You were sure he'd make them play sports. You smiled at the thought, but froze when you realized what you were thinking.

Children with Suguru? You didn't even want children at all; it terrified you to be tied down to a man your whole life, let alone with Suguru. You weren't in love with him. You repeated this to yourself over and over again during the meal, not wanting to give in and think stupid things again.

At night, you were talking to Suguru via Instagram.

‘My mom doesn't want me to go out.’

‘Aren't you 21 years old?’

‘Yeah, I know. But my mother is like that. No matter how old I am, she'll always want to control me.’

‘Doesn't she ever go out?’

‘I could ask Yaga to take her out one afternoon so I can go out. I'll have to wait two weeks for her to forget about me going out.’

‘No problem. I'll wait for you all vacation if I have to. Nobody's stopping me from tasting your lips in August.’

You chuckled against your pillow.

‘It's a date, not a 'sexy time' Sunday.’

‘Same thing, I'd be honored to see my favorite psychology major. I have to kiss you, otherwise it's like playing basketball without a jersey. Doesn't feel natural.’

You rolled your eyes, but still sent a meme, he liked the message. You were excited to see him during the holidays, you already missed him.

───────────

Two weeks later, you took advantage of your mother's date with her boyfriend to get ready. You chose a body-hugging sundress and your usual heels. You threw on a vintage bag that matched your dress on your shoulders and went quickly out of your house. Time was running out before your mother came home. You took the bus to downtown Tokyo; Suguru wanted to meet you in front of a park.

Butterfly took flight in your stomach when you spotted him across from the park, a bouquet of roses in his hand.

“You weren't kidding when you said you wanted to treat me like a princess, I see.” You took the bouquet of roses and smelled the flowers. The bouquet was large and the flowers were of good quality, indicating he'd probably paid for them at an expensive florist.

“Anything for my favorite girl,” he took your free hand and led you into the park.

When Suguru said things like that to you, blurring the line between friendship and love, your stomach flipped. You should have seriously asked him to stop doing that, but you couldn't find the words to tell him, the effect his words had on you was too good.

It was a park that had a garden area, with multitudes of flowers and different shrubs. Your heart swelled at the thought that since Suguru had learned that you liked flowers, he had found a park for you.

“Did your mother… hit you?”

“I know how to behave to avoid making her angry. Growing up with someone unstable, you end up developing tactics. I think I can be okay until the end of the holidays. It's just annoying because everything I do irritates her; I can't have normal conversations with her.”

Suguru's face softened.

“I understand. If she hurts you and you need a place to stay, know that you're welcome at my place.”

“That's sweet of you, Suguru. I've got it covered, don't worry.”

You walked down the aisles filled with flowerbeds, explaining to Suguru how to care for certain varieties, which ones needed extra water, and when they bloomed. Suguru watched you intently, his gaze falling over your moving lips. He'd been deprived of you for two weeks, and his body was beginning to feel the withdrawal, like an addict going through withdrawal.

“Hm, that's really interesting,” he gave you a slight nod, “but I need something right now.”

You tilted your head, playfulness flickering in your eyes.

“What do you need, Captain?”

“You,” he cupped your face in his hands and leaned down to kiss you in front of everyone in the garden, as if you were a couple. You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as your tongues glided against each other, the warmth of his mouth mingling with yours.

You continued walking through the park, Suguru stopping every now and then to kiss you or put his hand on the small of your back as you walked. It really felt like a romantic date rather than 'therapy' between sex friends, and you thoroughly enjoyed the experience, seeing a loving side of Suguru you hadn't seen before.

As you left the park, there was a photo booth in front of you, and Suguru guided you inside, pulling the curtain after you. He brought you onto his lap and activated the photo booth. The first photo was of you kissing, his hand on your throat as usual. The second was of you leaning back from his mouth for a second kiss, a frown on his face. The third was of you both laughing, a soft look on your faces.

You looked at the photos that came out, fondness in your gaze, already knowing that you were going to stick them in your diary. Suguru took your hands and led you to a cafe for cake.

You enjoyed that afternoon with him more than you wanted to admit. A thought formed in your mind, and you were afraid to let it grow. What if maybe… What if maybe… What if maybe… What if maybe Suguru was a worthy boyfriend? The thought scared you, making your stomach knot. It was scary to think about giving so much trust to a man, but you realized that you already had practically a relationship with him, so there were no surprises once you were with him.

But what if he changed? What if, in the heat of the moment, he became like your mother or your rapist? He's a man after all, and every man in your life has disappointed you. Will you be able to trust him and give him your heart? Would you be willing to dive into the abyss of love?

Your thoughts were interrupted by an alarm on your phone, the one you'd set to remind you that your mother could come home.

“That was a really great date, Sugu’, but I have to go home. My mother will freak out if she knew I came in without her permission.”

Suguru gave an understanding nod and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“Can I walk you home?”

“No, I'm too scared to run into her. It's better if we part here.”

“No problem. We'll have to do this again at university.”

Your mouth stretched into a grin. “Of course, whenever you want.”

He gave you one last kiss, this time on the forehead, and you watched him leave the cafe, your insides bubbling up. Maybe. Maybe you could trust him.

With your date's excited spirit, you took the bus home. You sighed with relief when the lights in the house were off, and went home with peace of mind. However, the second you entered the house, someone slammed your head against the wall. Your heart gripped with terror, recognizing the scent of your mother behind you.

“I told you no.”

Her words were harsh, like the slaps of the belt she placed on your ass, and you jumped with each blow, biting your lip to keep from crying out as your eyes watered.

“I'm making an effort to be closer to you, and you disobey me like this?” The belt continued to slap against your ass, the pain familiar and horribly piercing.

“Make an effort? You treat me like shit.” You clenched your fists against the wall, using the little energy you gained during your date to answer your mother.

“And you answer? I'll give you something to cry about.” Your mother yanked your hair and threw you to the ground. She continued to swing her belt at you, too blinded by her anger to notice she was hitting you in the face. You curled up in a ball as she kicked you in the stomach. She trampled on the flowers Suguru had given you.

The house was filled with your muffled cries as you lay crying on the floor. When she finished hitting you, she let out a little huff as if she were the one struggling to breathe, leaving you trembling in the hallway.

───────────

SUGURU’s POV

The holidays passed slowly for Suguru. He desperately wanted to see you. He wanted to hear you psychoanalyze him, hear you talk about lithotherapy or flowers; he was addicted to you. When the beginning of September arrived, and classes were back, he was relieved to know he'd see you again on Sunday and that he would finally taste you on his tongue.

But first, he had an important basketball game today.

Jujutsu University was Kaisen University's rival. Before Suguru and Satoru came to Kaisen University, Jujutsu University always won the college championship. The Jujutsu students were angry to lose their first place on the podium and were particularly violent after game nights.

The teams left the locker rooms, and the captains shook hands. Suguru smiled at the Jujutsu University captain, but the captain maintained a tense expression, which increased Suguru's pride, knowing they struggled against him and Satoru.

But Suguru's smile faded when he spotted ghosts from his past on the court. Hayami, with his brown hair at center, Osamu with his black hair at small forward, and Keiji with his blue hair at point guard. The three men responsible for Haibara's death.

Suguru turned to his teammates, making a circle with his fingers, indicating to go into the ‘ zone defense’ and that he would purposely leave the ball to them. Satoru and the other three teammates nodded. ‘Zone defense’ consisted of a simple defensive tactic where each player guarded a portion of the court and restricted any players entering their zones, preventing them from dribbling or shooting.

The tip-off began, and he deliberately let the opposing team have the ball, knowing they were usually very good on defense and lacking in offense, and he wanted to wear them down and score a quarter of points early on.

The Jujutsu University students screamed with excitement, unaware that this was all part of Suguru's tactics. They failed to score points in the 24 seconds after the tip-off, and Satoru had the ball and shot from the 3-point zone, jumping skillfully, and dunking the ball into the basket.

Suguru hardened when he faced one of those responsible for Haibara's death, an urge to stop playing and disfigure their faces seizing him when he saw their smirks.

“You'll smile less when my team crushes you,” Suguru muttered to Keiji, who was dribbling past him, but Suguru stopped him from going any further.

A gleam of mischief appeared in Keiji's eyes, his smirk widening.

“Suguru. It's been a long time, hasn't it? How's Haibara?”

Suguru gritted his teeth, his fists clenching. Without thinking, he elbowed him, pushing him away, the referee signaling a personal foul.

Keiji was the dumbest of the trio. While the other two maintained their reputations by not doing things that might tarnish their images, Keiji couldn't help but provoke people.

Suguru noticed that Satoru was struggling with Keiji as well, his face hardened and his eyes furious as he dribbled the ball, Keiji probably whispering things to him about Haibara.

At the end of the second quarter, Suguru was ejected from the court due to too many fouls against the three assholes, and was replaced by another point guard.

Suguru wasn't even listening to his coach who was yelling at him to stay seated on the bench and went straight to the locker room to run his head under cold water. He needed to calm down; his hands were shaking with the urge to strangle them.

After running his head under the cold water, calming the tremors in his body, but still feeling a restlessness within him, he picked up his phone and called you. You didn't answer the first call, but you did answer the second.

“Sorry, Sugu. I was in the shower. What's wrong?” your soft voice soothed his racing heart.

“I feel like killing someone. Help me before I ruin my future.”

“Okay, okay. Take a deep breath with me. We're going to do a relaxation exercise. Sit down somewhere.”

Suguru sat on the bench in the locker room, closing his eyes and following your instructions. He inhaled through his nose as you instructed, filling his lungs, making sure his chest and lower abdomen rose. He exhaled, relaxing the muscles in his jaw and shoulders. He gradually relaxed his body muscles at the sound of your voice. He focused on each muscle group before moving on to the next, tensing and relaxing them. After 15 minutes, he felt much calmer and his mind clearer.

“Thank you,” he let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

“No problem. What happened?”

Suguru thought for a few moments, then decided you were close enough that you knew the reason for Haibara's death.

“Haibara's bullies are at Kaisen University. We had a game against them.”

Your brain started working quickly to complete the puzzle.

“Haibara committed suicide because he was being bullied? And you feel guilty because you didn't do anything to help him, that's why you don't want to talk about it?”

“He hid everything from me and Satoru. All the bullying happened in secret because they had good reputations. Even if I had wanted to do something, I couldn't have. But I almost killed them on the court just before.”

“I'm proud of you for not doing anything wrong, then.”

“It's thanks to you. I don't know why, but your voice calms me instantly.”

You remained silent on the other end of the phone, probably flustered by what he had said, and he smiled as he imagined you biting your lip.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“You say things like that on purpose, admit it…”

“Maybe…”

He continued to tease you for a few minutes before his teammates returned to the locker room. Seeing their smiling faces, he knew they had won. This victory was for Haibara.

───────────

Sunday arrived, the day Suguru was most looking forward to. When he walked through the door, he crushed his lips to yours, his hands going under your knees to carry you and throw you onto the bed. He ignored your slight protests and undressed you like a child discovering a present the day after Christmas. But his heart sank when he saw all the bruises on your brown skin. 

“Did your mother do this to you?”

His voice was so soft, and his fingers traced the bulges of the belt slaps on your skin. Noticing that you were staring at the wall, your body tense, refusing to meet his eyes, he pressed soft kisses on your bruises, showing you that he didn't mind seeing them.

“Okay, no sex today. I'm taking care of you.”

He removed the rest of your clothes.

“Do you have any massage oil?”

You pointed to a drawer, and he stood up to get the oils. You laid him down on your stomach, your head on the pillow. He sat next to you and poured the warm oil on your back. His movements were delicate and gentle as he began to massage your tense muscles, starting with your shoulders. He kneaded carefully, making circles.

The tension in your muscles released with each press of his hands against your skin. You let out a sigh of relief, your body bruised and tense from the abuse your skin suffered during the rest of the holidays. The soft unfolding of your sore muscles made you relax under his thumbs as they rubbed against your flesh.

He massaged your entire body with care and gentleness before applying ointment to your bruises. You flinched when his fingers ran over your bruises but he had to apply something to make them heal faster.

“Do you want to go on a car ride? I'll put on R&B, you smoke some blunts, and we'll talk while I drive. I want to relax you as much as possible.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across your face.

“Yeah, I would like that.”

He helped you get dressed and took your hand as you got out of the dorm. You walked to the university parking lot and got into the car through the passenger door, which he opened for you. He sat behind the wheel and took some blunts out of the back of his car.

“Wow, are you a drug dealer or something?”

“Satoru's parents won't let him pay cash so he doesn't get high, so I'm always the one who has to refill his blunts during parties.”

You looked at the blunt you took in your hands cautiously, a little scared as usual when you did something that made you lose control.

“Don't worry, you don't need to take a lot to feel the effects.”

Suguru started his car and played an R&B playlist from his phone. As the car pulled out of campus, the sky rumbled and a downpour fell on you, making the atmosphere intimate and comfortable with the rain tapping against the windows. You rolled down the window, smelling the rain and the wet earth, and lit your blunt. You brought it to your lips and took a drag.

In a few minutes, an intense relaxation and a kind of lethargy took hold of you. Accompanied by the sound of the soft, sensual R&B music and the rain, you were in a kind of cocoon. You closed your eyes, enjoying the atmosphere. It made Suguru happy to see you like this. He wanted you to feel good after the horrors your mother had put you through. He appreciated the comfortable silence between you and him and didn't break it, letting you enjoy the experience.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to watch Suguru drive. He was wearing sweatpants and a white wife-beater tank top that showed off his powerful, muscular shoulders and large, massive biceps. His thin, angular features were focused on the road, and you didn't know if it was the blunt doing it to you, but your pussy dripped with the desire to have his mouth on you right now. You wanted to wrap your thighs around his head, feel his shoulders under your knees, and feel his tongue piercing on you.

“I wanna have sex,” you said bluntly, without any sugar-coating.

Suguru turned to you with a slight smirk on his face.

"Why is it that as soon as you're high or drunk, you always want to have sex?"

“Don't know. Maybe if you didn't look so sexy, I wouldn't be in this state.”

“I'm the one who should be telling you this, you're driving me crazy. Sundays are starting to becoming not enough for me.”

“I'm a busy woman, take it or leave it.”

“So bossy…”

He parked in a deserted parking lot and turned his head toward you.

“Lady first.”

He gestured you to get in the backseat first, and you took your blunt with you. You sat on the backseat, spreading your legs, looking nonchalant and ready to be eaten out. Suguru's lips twitched upwards at the sight of you so calm and ready.

He undressed you again, tossing your top and panties somewhere in the car where he didn't care. He pushed the front seats back so he could kneel in front of you and begin kissing and nibbling the skin of your thighs, before climbing back up and starting to eat you out.

Like a queen, you stood with your legs spread, a blunt between your fingers and manicured nails, as you smoked your blunt. The marijuana in your body made you hypersensitive to every flick of his tongue on you.

His tongue explored every inch of you, parting your lips to be able to lap better, making you grind against his face. You dug one of your hand into his black locks of hair. One of his rough hands went to your breasts to pinch and roll your nipples with his fingers, and the other hand approached your core, his thumb tracing circles on your clit. The combo made you moan, releasing the smoke from your blunt into the car. You rocked your hips against his mouth. His tongue lapped at your tight walls, his touch gentle and slow, he was making humming sounds as if it were the best meal he'd ever eaten. His humming sounds made your core vibrate and accentuated the heat appearing in your body.

Your thighs clenched his cheeks every time you reached your peak, murmuring pleas as you moaned like a pathetic thing against his expert mouth. The blunt made the experience even more intense, the sensations heightened, and your orgasms even more powerful as the spasms in your thighs ran through the rest of your legs.

After 30 minutes, he stopped literally eating you, his jaw sore. You were a moaning mess, your legs shaking. He pulled your calves to lay you down on the backseat, and took off his wife-beater shirt, pulled down his sweatpants and boxers to pull out his erection.

He took his length in hand, spat on it, and began to stroke while looking at you, spread out on the backseat, his gaze dark and hungry. He positioned himself between your thighs and seeing his position, your legs began to tremble.

“Suguru, I…”

“I know you’re scared, baby. But there’s no danger. You know me, you know I would never hurt you, right?” he whispered, his eyes softening. His hands caressed the outside of your thick thighs, his rough palms contrasting with the softness of your skin. “A secret for a secret?”

You inclined your head. “A secret for a secret.” 

“I'm falling in love with you.”

And when you gazed into his eyes, the lake purple of his intense irises, you felt as if the loving glow in them was a light bathing you in the car, as if his love was real, palpable. You swallowed hard, unsure what to say in the face of the intimacy of the moment.

“I want to do things right with you.” He wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped your thick waist. “I want you to feel good with me. I don’t want to see fear on your face when I touch you anymore. I want us to be a couple that works, not just two broken people trying to piece themselves back together. Don’t you want to feel whole with me?”

You looked away, your heart pounding. Part of you craved this so much, but another, more hidden part, was petrified.

“I thought you were the emotionally unavailable type…”

“I was.” He tilted his head. “But I no longer want to run away from what I want. Being just sex friends isn’t enough for me. I want to know that I belong to you in your heart too.”

The feeling that had overwhelmed you during your date resurfaced, the butterflies in your stomach returned, and your heart no longer beat with anxiety but with excitement, with the thrill of ‘maybe.’

“I’m very damaged, Suguru. We’re bound to argue over trivial things because of my trauma. I’m going to ruin everything.”

“Ruin ​​me, then,” he murmured, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “Give me your mess. Crush my heart if you want.”

Your thighs closed around his waist, clenching in fear of what you were about to do. Painful memories of your rape flooded back, paralyzing you to the spot. Your eyes stung, tears welling in the corners.

“Don’t go there.” He kissed the tears that were streaming down your cheeks. “He’s not here. It’s just you and a man very much in love in the car. You’re safe.”

You wrapped your trembling arms around his neck, holding onto something so you wouldn’t lose your mind.

“You promise you’ll stop if it hurts or if I don’t want to anymore?”

“I swear on my life, love.”

Your heart swelled at his pet name, feeling at ease with him. You lowered your head to look at the empty space between your two bodies. You took a deep breath.

“Make love to me then.”

His lips curved into a fond smile.

“You won’t have to tell me twice.”

Keith Sweat's "Right and a Wrong Way" is the music you hear and that will stay etched in your memory when his dick disappears in your tight heat. Knowing you were too tense, Suguru takes his time, letting your folds envelop his cockhead before moving forward to fully enter.

There are moments that defy explanation, moments where sensations simply speak for themselves. In a cloud of sensations, whispers, and touches, you let yourself be enveloped by Suguru's care.

Sometimes it's gentle. The back and forth is slow, slick, wet, and the sound of your lovemaking fills the car, and you tighten your arms around him a little more, shy that anyone might hear. The windows are fogged up, the heat you create with your intercourse radiates like the sun and its rays. Sometimes it's sad. You can't control your memories, and you sob in his arms, but it's okay, he's got you. He kisses every tear that falls, whispers every reassuring word you need to hear, caresses your cheeks. Sometimes it's intense. When your sobs stop, and he increases the pace of his thrusts. Your pants are music to his ears, and the hand that firmly holds your thighs is almost bruising.

But it is absolutely, ultimately, loving.

There is love in his thrusts, in his touch, in his gaze, and you bathe in it.

The fact that Satoru was in love with you, or that your mother was still abusive, didn't matter right now. You were going to find a solution together. So you held him tightly against you, keeping Suguru's heart close to yours, never wanting to let him go. 

────────

♡ it's normal if there are questions at the end, its a rewrite of a 80k words fic where i decided to delete a huge plot twist (satoru's death that led suguru to become addict to cocaine and treat reader horribly), even though there was a healing arc, i wanted a fluffy fanfic of our baby being gentle with us without any angst :)) maybe i will rewrite the angst part as an oneshot one day, let me cook :) ALSOOOOOO i hope you liked the smut at the end :((( i know the intercourse wasn't very detailed but i thought it was already well done for the struggle of reader, i don't think you want 838337 repetitions of her crying because she is scared, so i wrote it with modesty i would say!!!! hope you liked this 2 parts fic <333333 ♡

"Hey, birthday girl," Connie smiled at you as he slipped a "birthday princess" sash onto you.

"Oh my god, you did 3D flowers on your nails again, it's so pretty," Sasha exclaimed, taking your hands to examine your freshly manicured XL nails more closely. 

“You can put all the artificial things you want on your body, it won’t change your impending death. Technically, we’re not living beings, we’re dying beings.” 

Your eyes, which had been lowered to observe Sasha’s enthusiasm, lifted to meet the emerald gaze of the most annoying and sexy man on the planet.

“Hey, Eren,” you greeted him, sitting down next to him.

“That’s what Cioran said in On The Heights of Despair. It was his first book, in 1934. You should read it.”

“I’m not reading your negative bullshit, Eren.”

“He suffered from severe insomnia that made him walk the streets all night,” Eren ignored you, crossed his arms over his chest, and sank back into his seat. His eyes shone, as they always did when he talked about philosophy. “He realized, deeply and not superficially like you and we do, that we were truly going to die at any moment, and that our whole life was a way to distract ourselves from our doomed end. To be born into a meaningless world, to die meaninglessly, to be forgotten meaninglessly.”

“What a ray of sunshine,” you rolled your eyes, casually looking at your nails. You hoped he wouldn't notice how your thighs tightened when he heard his deep voice up close. “I hope you didn't get me this for my birthday.”

“Hell nah,” he let out a low chuckle, “you're too pretty to be depressed. I bought this. You reposted something like this on TikTok many times.” 

All the joy in the world could be found in your eyes when Eren gave you a Blythe doll that looked exactly like you in your natural state. Same brown skin, same eyes, same hair, same usual sexy style of dress. A Blythe doll cost over $200 to be customized to someone's wishes. It was so thoughtful, and exactly what you wanted as someone who collected dolls.

You pulled Eren close despite his grumbling and covered his cheeks with lip gloss-covered kisses.

“Now, you need to eat me out. I don’t give a fuck about dolls anymore.”

His lips curved into a teasing smile. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it’s my birthday,” you insisted, kissing his cheek again.

You and Eren had been flirting for months but had never taken things further. This was it.

───────

“When you really think about it…” Eren said gruffly, “What differentiates us from humans isn’t language, as Socrates would say, but our consciousness. Not consciousness in the metaphorical or biological sense, but in the existential sense. It’s our doomed capacity to question the meaning of our existence that differentiates us from animals. Albert Camus said that it’s in front of the world’s silence, when we question ourselves, that the absurd is born, which he theorized in his three major works. And…”

“E-Eren!” you whined. “Focus on this damn pussy:” 

A mocking sneer escaped his lips. “My fingers are deep in it, baby.”

 Sitting in the back seat of his car, your legs were spread wide, supported by your hands under the inside of your knees. You had kept your crop top on, which accentuated your chest; he had removed your skirt and thong. Soft moans slipped from you every time Eren’s fingers touched that spongy spot inside you.

“What do you plan to do about the weight of the meaninglessness of our existence?” He plunged them in and out, his lips parted, looking at you with dilated pupils.

“I think you should eat this and you’ll find meaning in your life,” you mumbled and grabbed his hair to push his head into your tight heat.

His mouth watered, ready to get messy.

“Hell yeah,” he groaned, his breath hot and warm over your center. He dragged a languid swipe of his tongue over you, collecting your arousal. Your legs trembled, you closed your arms around his cheeks. He raised his feverish green eyes to you, a loving glint in them, as if silently saying, “that’s all I want.” When his tongue lapped through your folds, his hands gripped your hips to grind your cunt into his mouth.

You tugged on his brown hair, running your fingers through his soft locks.

As he watched you intently as he ate you out, you wanted to put on a show for him.

You pulled off your crop top, your breasts bouncing with the movement. Eren moaned against you, gripping your hips tighter. He drove his tongue deeper, exploring every inch of you, eager to please you, eager to hear your moans louder. You kneaded your breasts and pinched your pierced nipples in front of him, the fire between your legs growing, your breath quickening.

He swiped his tongue up and up your slick folds until he reached your clit, brushed it before wrapping his lips around it, sucking greedily, causing you to gasp. 

“Stop, Eren, I’m so sensitive from your fingers…”

“I almost forgot I could do this. Camus is messing with my skills, damn it.” He released your hips and shoved two fingers up your cunt while caressing your throbbing bud in circles. They didn’t have time to make a few back-and-forth movements before your whole body was wracked with spasms and shivers, his name the only sound in the car.

“Nihilists who think nothing has value have never tasted this, I swear.” Eren stood up to kiss you, then pushed his fingers into your mouth. His eyes softened at the sight of your cute expression as you sucked on them. His birthday princess.

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.

───────────

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.

His hips behind you maintained their brutal pace, each thrust slamming against your ass, the rhythmic sound of flesh hitting flesh leaving no doubt as to what was happening. Eren's scent was everywhere, his sweat and his groans in your ears arousing you in an explosion of sensations. As if you were overwhelmed by the heat of the sun while sipping fruity cocktails, a deliciously intoxicating suffering.

Eren's pace hastened, obscene noises drawn out of him. He buried his head in your neck, his movements still intense. Each thrust made you gasp and clutch your pillow tighter. In the dim light, he couldn't admire the white ring of your arousal around his dick, but he could feel it in how easy it was to slide in. His girl loved his dick really bad, he knew that.

His hand slipped under your t-shirt to grasp your soft belly.

This specific action had the effect of an icy splash of water on your burning pussy.

“Eren, stop.”

“Enough of this bullshit,” he grunted. “It’s cute, it’s soft.”

He continued to dig into the pillowy flesh, tears welling up in your eyes as a consequence, his divine strokes forgotten.

“I already told you I don’t like this. Stop this.”

“I really don’t give a fuck right now.” 

You clenched your fists, tears streaming down your cheeks and onto the pillow. Eren sighed when he heard you cry and pulled away from you.

You pulled your long pajama top down to cover your bottom as he turned on the light.

“This kind of behavior can’t go on any longer,” he grumbled, putting on his clothes but remaining shirtless.

You watched discreetly as he pulled on his jeans, his muscles flexing with each movement, the yellow light illuminating the black ink that ran across his body, and his still-sweaty forehead where a few brown strands clung. A sexy man, and that was the problem in your relationship.

“You don’t get it,” you sniffled.

“No, sorry, I don’t. I think my girl is perfect and you’re seriously pissing me off.”

You looked away, not believing any of this. “Eren, if you were overweight like me you couldn’t have this confidence. Your vibe only works just because… You look like this.”

His lips curved into a smile. “I can become fat and show you being a bad boy is in the mindset.”

You stiffened at the word ‘fat’.

His eyes softened. “It’s just a word. A fact. There is nothing negative about it, baby.”

“You need to leave your house more to see how the world works, Rennie,” you mumbled.

“Rennie, huh? You’re saying this after your insecurities cockblocked me.” He looked in your room for a notebook and a pen before sitting down on the floor. “Get your ass here.”

You followed him, puzzled.

“What do you want?”

“We aren’t in a romcom where I give you confidence by loving you. That shit doesn’t work. If you want to love yourself, you need to do the work yourself. I can only help.”

“Well, I don’t want to love myself. I’m gonna sleep,” you tried to leave him but Eren grabbed your calf and made you fall on his lap. You glared at him, and he tugged his pierced tongue, mocking you.

You sat between his legs, enveloped by his muscular arms, and stared at the blank page of the notebook in front of you.

“Write positive affirmations to repeat to yourself.”

“This is ridiculous, Eren.”

“Write or my dick in your mouth will make you want to write forgiveness letters to God.”

You swallowed hard, and write an affirmation.

Eren burst out laughing.

“This is not funny,” you pouted.

“‘I’m not a big fat cow’? Really?”

You shifted, uncomfortable.

“It feels like that sometimes. Especially when I’m trying to get ready for frat parties. No matter how nice my clothes and makeup are… I still feel like a cow with lipstick.”

“Well, know that you’re the prettiest with your pink blush and highlighter.” 

Warmth took hold of your body as you wrote new positive affirmations.

Eren kissed your neck, his soft lips pressing against your skin with the occasional flick of his tongue. “You know, these things, you need to tell them yourself. I don’t mind reassuring you every day, but I want you to be confident even without me.”

“But it’s hard…”

“It’s not.” 

You nudged him with your elbow. “You fit the beauty standards, Eren.” 

“And I still want to kill myself everyday since my mother died, so what’s your point? Affirmations work. You need repetition to see results, and you have to act in a way that aligns with them to see real identity changes.”

“You use affirmations?”

“Yeah, in front of my mirror. I tell myself to fight everyday.”

You winced, looking at the “I love my body,” “My body deserves love,” “My body is a sanctuary and deserves to be respected,” written on the paper. “I barely look at myself.”

“I can tell. You’re dressed as if you choose your clothes in the dark.”

“Fuck you!” You slapped his thigh.

“You don’t have any swag, that’s the truth,” he chuckled. “On a serious note, if you really loved yourself, what style of dress would you want to have?”

“Um…” You shyly lowered your head.

Eren kissed your cheek. “Tell me.”

“I really like the coquettish style, but I don’t think women with my body are very… You know.”

He took out his phone, did a quick search on TikTok and showed you his screen. “Look, you could take her as inspo.”

You scrolled the Tiktoker account—a pretty black woman with a plus size body and a soft aesthetic—which often made coquette Hollister hauls, and presented XL and XXL sizes. (@/hey.its.tz such a cutie <3) 

“You already followed her before, there are likes on the TikToks.”

Eren’s cheeks turned pinkish, luckily you couldn’t see it.

“I just didn’t know when to tell you to do better.”

“I want to do better, I want to feel better, but I… I feel I’m lying to myself. A cow is still cow even if she tells herself she deserves the life of a butterfly.”

“Stop with the cows, for God’s sake. You wear loose and plain clothes everyday, how are you going to find your inner light? You need to cherish yourself.”

“Cherish myself…” You repeated, doubtful.

“Yeah. Now, do the homework. You read 10 positive affirmations like these every morning, and you make that Hollister order. I will pay it. It won't always be easy, of course, but I'll be there for the times when you need love.” He nuzzled your neck. “You're not allowed to talk negatively of yourself now. You give me $5 dollars every time you talk about stupid cows.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, my girl is too precious for this shit.”

Cared for, your body relaxed. Behind you, in your lower back, you felt his erection still not satisfied.

“Can we…”

“Hell yeah!”

“But don’t touch my belly, please… I… need some time.”

He let out a frustrated groan, but kissed your cheek again. 

You can take all the time you want, he'll always be there to remind you of your worth anyway and help you love yourself.

───YOUR HUSBAND is acting weird.

ever since he got hired as delivering milk, he‘s been acting strange, such as — looking at you for a longer time, going home later than usual, and in the morning you would always wake up with him just . . . staring at you.

you‘re not sure what it is about him (other than his behaviors), you‘re not sure if his eyes gets bigger and bigger with the more he stare at you, or when his eyes glows in the dark (you couldn‘t count with how many times you got heart attack when you woke up with him staring at you in the dark at your closet).

or maybe when you saw him glaring into another man who‘s looking at you for too long for his likings . . . but as soon as you looked back at him, his expression changes into his usual smile to you. whenever you bring it up, he always waves it off, “you‘re just imagining it, darling.” is what he would say to you.

and like a good wife, you trust him. of course you would trust him, why wouldn‘t you?

it was around 11:02 pm, you were currently waiting for your husband to arrive soon. usually he would be home at 10:30, but nowadays he arrived at 11:00. the dinner that you made for him was now cold, even though you covered it with the food cover.

after two minutes of ads on your television ended, a news came up on the screen;

“breaking news! a 22 year old harada kyou was found missing. her husband reported that she was gone since morning.” said the man in grey suit, pausing before passing the speech to the said woman’s husband. “i tried contacting her but she didn‘t respond to me. i called her family and friends to know if she’s with them, but unfortunately she’s not with them. she‘s been gone since this morning, when she promised to go home at 5:00 after going to supermarket.” the man continued his story, but you weren‘t paying any attention to that.

instead, you were trying to analyze the woman in the screen. she looks familiar, you thought. but after connecting the dots, you finally recognize her! she was your neighbor. you and her don‘t always talk, but whenever you guys would bump each other, you both would have a small talk before going to your destination.

your thoughts were interrupted when a bell on your door rang and you turned to see him. “hey darling!” he came up to you. you stood up and grabbed his face, planting a gentle and loving kiss on your husband‘s cheek. “welcome home, baby. how was your day?” satoru put his hand on your plushy waist, “it was okay, couldn‘t wait for the curry chicken!” he joked.

you chuckled, but it died down when you noticed the red spot on his shirt. you were slightly hoping it wasn‘t something you think it was. “‘toru . . . what’s this red stuff on your uniform?”

“don‘t worry sweetheart, this is a scarlet milk! anyways, i‘m goin’ shower.” he says, but not before kissing your nose and let go of your waist. you stood there, just thinking whether you should trust him or not, especially with the scarlet milk on his shirt. then, the television spoke again, catching your attention.

“if you see a doppelganger, please immediately contact D.D.D. thank you.” and with that, the news continues with another speech.

your husband is weird, he act like he‘s not worried about the death of your neighbor.

“the neighbor beside us went missing? well that‘s unfortunate.”

“miss tagawa went missing? that‘s sad.”

“the girl who goes to the café all the time was found dead? damn, anyways!”

it‘s like your husband didn‘t care about the people, only caring about you. he laughs it off when you inform him about the concern death of your neighbor, as if it wasn‘t something he needs to worry about.

but still, you love him no matter what. even when he watches you from the dark, growing taller and taller.

“i‘m so sorry! please don‘t kill me—” the woman chokes on the sobs, when the creature grabs her by the hair. the wide blue eyes tells her not to mess with him, let alone his wife. “heard you were talking about my wife, mind to repeat?”

the hand that was pulling her hair is now strangling the woman. “i‘m sorry . . ! i promise not to do it aga—” her throat was slit by the sharp nails. he rapidly stabs the woman until satisfied. her body is then separated and was thrown in a lake, hoping someone to see them.

he then morphed into your husband, with blood on his uniform. he got a text from you, which read;

wife ❤

hi toru ❤ i got a curry chicken tonight

was wondering if you would like some sardine?

sent at 7:28 pm

he chuckled at his wife’s text, before replying

me

of course darling

i‘ll eat any food you cook

sent at 7:28

wife ❤

awww ❤🥺 thats so sweet baby

hope u like the lunch btw <3

sent at 7:29

you reacted their message "❤"

his smile dropped when he heard a footstep, he quickly sprinted and hid behind a tree. it was a policeman, he is patrolling the area that satoru killed the woman previously. without hesitation, he opened his mouth, widely enough to eat the man.

he then walk on the road, looking for victims to kill, specifically, your neighbors. the one who gossiped about you the other day.

as satoru left the elevator, there was five women in a group, the were whispering. he usually ignores them, but then he heard your name in their conversation.

“i heard that gojo‘s wife has no job! how pathetic!” said the woman. “and not only that, but her husband has to work everyday! how sad, i could never.” the old lady said, snickering. “all she does is stay at home cooks for her husband a cold meal! i bet her husband didn‘t care about her.” the two other women nodded, agreeing at the so-called captain.

satoru‘s hand were tight, balled up into a fist. no such person should talk about you like that, never. he ignored the way his palm was bleeding. he ignored the urge to just slit off their throat and started to walk. he could hear them hushing each other when they saw him walking past the group, eyeing the man.

disgusting, he thinks. only y/n belongs to me, he thinks again, heart fluttering at the thought of you.

He tilted his head, and his heavy gaze swept over your entire silhouette, lingering in places where your skin was visible, like your thick thighs, your lower pudgy belly, and your cleavage. You scratched the back of your neck, unable to find the will to smile at him, your face motionless. Gaku had a magical power over you: it was to completely short-circuit your brain with just a look or a word.

“You good?” he asked, bringing his blunt back to his mouth to take a drag.

“Yes,” you cleared your throat. “Did you have a good day?”

“Same shit every day, you know.” He exhaled smoke from his mouth. “And you?”

Embarrassment washed over you. You had spent all day playing your otomes. You thought for a few seconds to come up with a lie.

“Y-Yeah, I had a busy day.”

“Why are you always stuttering when you talk to me? I don’t bite.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you want me to.”

Was your crush flirting with you? You had known him for years, but you had always been too shy to confess your feelings. The temperature in your body rose, and you suddenly felt too hot even in your tank top.

“You’re just kind of intimidating,” you dared to say.

He moved closer to you, so that your thighs were touching.

“Yet, I’m nice to you.”

“You’re mean to others?”

“I just don’t care about people,” he rested his head on your shoulder, and butterflies took flight in your stomach. “But I care about you,” he added. “Stop being so shy with me.”

His words were like a blanket over your heart.

“I’ve been playing my romance games all day,” you finally admitted. Blood rushed to your cheeks, your voice hesitant.

He glanced at your Switch.

“Don’t be embarrassed, I spend hours playing my games too,” he reassured you. “What’s your game this time?”

As if a switch had been turned on in your head, your passion for otome games overwhelmed you, and your voice became enthusiastic, losing its trembling.

“It's Hakuoki. It's a historical otome. It follows a group of samurai investigating our father's death. It's one of the best otome games out there; it has an anime and tons of different games. The characters are super endearing, the found family trope is super well-written, and the romantic endings are awesome. Even though you're only following one character's route, the characters are so well-developed that you become attached to all the others at once. It's a popular otome, so the voice actors are popular; one character is voiced by Nanami's seiyuu in Jujutsu Kaisen,” you said in one breath, your voice cheerful and your eyes sparkling as you talked about your passion. “Do you know Jujutsu Kaisen? I'm playing a visual novel fangame of that manga, it's awesome. I have to pay for the erotic endings, tho.”

Gaku had a gentle look over his face as he listened to you, finding you so cute to be so passionate.

“What’s your favorite character?”

“Okita,” you pointed to who he was on your Switch screen. “He has tuberculosis, and there’s a real focus on his relationship with his role as a samurai and his illness. Being a samurai is his whole life. He doesn’t feel capable of living if he can’t be useful to his friends. He’s extremely loyal and does anything for his loved ones. I love him so much.”

“You always love characters who are loyal and devoted to their loved ones. It was the same for Nicola in Piofiore.”

Your heart swelled.

“You remembered.”

He looked up at you. “Of course I did. You think I don’t listen to you?”

You shook your head, your face offered a shy smile.

“It’s just that everyone doesn’t care about my yapping about otomes.”

“Not me. I think about you when I have love and deepspace ads on tiktok.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. “You should download it.”

“Nah.” Gaku shifted on the couch, lifting his hips to sit up better. The gesture was sexy, warmth pooling low in your belly. He still had that natural sensuality; it was in his aura; he walked through the world with indifference and confidence, and it was so attractive to you.

You continued your otome route, Gaku's head still resting on your shoulder as he watched the choices you made. He let out low chuckles when he saw you get excited by a physical connection between the main character and the love interest.

Gaku smelled of weed and the masculine scent of expensive cologne. The scent enveloped you in a comforting and familiar hug. You wanted to snuggle up to him, but you were too shy. Actually, you didn't even know if your feelings were reciprocated; Gaku was so nonchalant, you never knew what he was thinking.

“Do you have a girlfriend right now?”

Your mouth had moved faster than your brain, and you wanted to facepalm yourself for being so tactless. Gaku kept a straight face, his eyes fixed on your fingers as they tapped the screen of your game console.

“Nah.”

Gaku had many relationships, but laidback as he was, he was easily bored with them once the routine set in. In fact, the only person he'd been interested in for so long was you. When he met Uzuki many years ago, when you were still young, he noticed you immediately. You walked around with ribbon bows in your braids and pink ballet flats, adorable and coquette, while most kids didn't care about fashion. Routine with you was comfortable. He could hear you talk about your passions without ever losing interest in the conversation.

Gaku's eyes lingered on your bare thighs a few moments before speaking.

“And you? I've never seen you in a relationship since I've known you.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks again.

“I don't even have friends, so no, I don't have boyfriends.”

“Ouch.” Gaku placed his hand on his heart, in mock-pain. “After all these years, you don't consider me your friend.”

You widened your eyes.

“Of course I do! I meant besides my brother's friends, I don't have anyone.”

“That's because you're focused on your inner world with your romance stories and don't pay attention to reality.” Gaku poked your temple. “If you opened up to the outside world, I'm sure everyone would adore you.”

Your eyes grew warmer.

“Thank you, Gaku.”

“No need to thank me, I'm just spittin’ facts.”

The rest of the evening passed with Gaku pressed against you, and you felt safe and interesting as he listened to all your monologues as you explained the lore of your games. When it was time for him to go home, he gave you a kiss on the temple before getting up from the couch and leaving the house. You already missed his scent.

──────── 

The next day, you were home alone when you heard a knock at the door. Surprise flashed across your face when you saw Gaku in front of you. His hood was down, his handsome face on full display. His height towered over you; he stood with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing his usual navy blue hoodie and black baggy jeans, with a silver chain around his neck. His gray hair was messy from the humidity, the strands slightly wavy.

His eyes roamed your body from head to toe, appreciation in his gaze. He lingered on your usual bows in your hair, the frilly hem of your pink dress that was the perfect shade for your brown skin, and your Mary Jane shoes. As usual, you looked like a princess.

“Uzuki isn’t here.”

“Didn’t come for him.”

“You came for me?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I've been thinking about our conversation. We only see each other when your brother is around, so you don't consider me a personal friend of yours. I thought we could go on a car ride together.” He raised his arm, revealing a grocery bag you hadn't noticed. “I bought some snacks.”

The butterflies from yesterday were returning to invade your stomach. You stepped back to grab your bag at the entrance and join Gaku outside. Your heart was beating a little faster; it was the first time you'd spent time alone with him, and you were excited. Gaku was an orphan and still a student, so his car wasn't the most expensive, but it was perfectly clean, and when you stepped inside, a pleasant scent of jasmine filled your nostrils.

“Want some?” Gaku took a blunt out of his pocket, and you shook your head.

“You’re always so proper and doing the right thing.”

You swore you heard a smile in his voice, but his face remained impassive. He started the car and put on a playlist. “More than ever” by Lucki was playing in the car, a soft rap song with a soaring instrumental. Gaku jerked his chin at you to get some food from the bag, and he drove with one hand on the wheel.

“What were you doing before I came?”

“Playing love and deepspace.” You nibbled on chips. “I’m trying to understand the lore of Rafayel and Sylus in their myths. I spent too much money on them again, my mother will scold me.”

“Rafayel, the fish?”

“Gaku! Don’t call him that. That’s my husband right here.”

He let out a low chuckle. “My bad. Right, I forgot you’re married. To like… 10 fictional men?”

“Marius from Tears of Themis, Yang from Piofiore, Chevalier from Ikemen Prince, Lance from Court of Darkness, Harada from Hakuoki, Yanagi from Collar x Malice-”

“You’re so greedy.”

You nudged him playfully. “You’re jealous because your life is boring without characters to obsess over.”

“Right, I’m so jealous.”

He stopped at the red light to let pedestrians cross and turned to you. His gaze was soft, his red eyes shining with a warm flame.

“Why do you like these games so much? What’s the psychological mechanism behind them? Escapism?”

Your mischievous smile faded, giving way to a serious expression.

“You really want to know? Do you promise not to make fun of me?”

“Do I look like I have enough emotion on my face to make fun of you?” He reassured you, focusing on the road again.

You took a deep breath, hands on your bare thighs.

“I don’t really think I’ll end up in a relationship one day.”

“Bullshit.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Gaku, you’re my friend, of course you’re going to believe in me. But I never managed to make friends in high school, and boys think I’m weird. When I play these games, I can immerse myself in a person who is loved for who they are. It’s very therapeutic for me; I always feel full after completing a route. These are games designed for women, so the love interests are written to meet our emotional needs.”

“You just haven’t found your person yet.”

“I’m afraid she doesn’t exist.”

“What if it’s me?”

Your hands, which were playing with the em of your dress, froze. “What?”

“What if I’m your person? I find you gorgeous, you’re not weird to me, and I love hearing you yapping about your game lore.”

His words made you dizzy. You opened your mouth, then closed it. Gaku didn’t have a smile on his face, just his usual calm face, which made you unsure if he was serious or if it was just a friendly way of showing his affection.

“Gaku, you can’t say words like that to a girl unless you’re in love with her.”

“You didn’t know?”

“What?”

He gave you a look, the intensity in it making you swallow hard. “I love you.”

It felt as if all the air in your lungs was trapped inside, unable to supply you with oxygen. Your hands trembled on your thighs.

“You can’t be serious,” you whispered.

“I’m not Nagumo, bullshit doesn’t come out of my mouth often. When I say that I love you, I mean it.”

Maybe Gaku was a man like that. A man who took what he wanted without asking himself several questions first. He was your opposite, you were socially awkward and was overthinking all of your interactions. Like yin and yang, you complemented each other, and maybe he was right when he said he was your person.

“I had a crush of you for years, I never thought it would be mutual,” you murmured, your voice shy, still wondering if it was a dream.

“We’re on the same page then.”

Gaku parked in a parking lot, took out his blunt and lighter, then lit it to wrap his lips around it. He leaned back on the backrest of the seat, smoke coming from his mouth. He turned to you.

“I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend. I don’t really care about a lot of romantic stuff, so just tell me what you want. I’ll remember and do whatever you want.”

It was a gentle side of Gaku that you didn’t know existed, but you deeply appreciated being able to witness it.

“I want it to be natural between us, so I’d like you to take the initiative. When you see me, aren’t there things you want to do with me since you like me?”

“Smoke weed and listen to you talk about your husbands.”

You chuckled. “Besides that.”

“You’re going to say I’m misogynistic and objectify you.”

Flustered, you looked away.

“You want to have sex with me?”

“Who wouldn’t? You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. But you’re more than your beauty. I swear I love you for more than that, I just don’t know how to be a good boyfriend. I didn’t have any love models when I was young; I always grew up in an orphanage. There is no love there. I just know how to have sex and… Smoke weed with you.”

His jaw tensed. You took his free hand in yours and intertwined your fingers.

“We'll be a team. I know a lot about romance. I can write a list of scenarios and activities I want to do as a couple with you, and you'll do them in any order you want. We'll establish rules for managing conflicts and arguments, and how to communicate when the other person is upset. We got this.”

You smiled at him, and his gaze grew warmer.

“Wanna go to the backseat? I have blankets, I wanna hug you,” he proposed. Smooth talker. 

Your eyes lit up and you nodded. 

With a few maneuvers, you found yourself in the backseat, sitting on his lap. Hands on your hips, he buried your head in your neck to press soft kisses, giving you goosebumps. His hands moved down to your ass to grip it firmly. The light kisses turned into open-mouthed kisses, his tongue caressing the skin and his mouth sucking the bits of flesh.

“I never did that,” you whispered.

He lifted his head from your neck, his red eyes dilated. A few grey strands fell in front of his gaze and his forehead, a different look from his usual slicked back hair.

“I'll take care of you. I'm good at this. It's the only thing I'm good at, actually.”

“Don't say that, Gaku.”

You dug your hands into his hair. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. He continued to kiss your neck and suck on the skin. A budding heat crackled low in your belly, and desire began to take hold of you. You wanted him.

Actually, you'd always wanted him. On Instagram, there was a photo of him at the beach with Uzuki and his friends. You couldn't even begin to count how many times you'd masturbated to the sight of his abs and biceps, how you wanted the hard planes of his body to rub against your softer ones, and how you wanted his nonchalant expression to turn into a blush of physical exertion. Every time you had a romantic scenario in your otomes, you imagined them at night with him.

“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?”

“Thinking about the fact that I've liked you for years.”

His mouth moved up to your face, tracing your jaw.

“I'm not as special as you for you to love me this much, you know.”

“I didn't know you had such an insecure side to you, Gaku.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours for an Eskimo kiss.

“I'm not insecure. I'm realistic. I don't do much with my life except go to the gym, play games, go to college, and smoke weed with my friends. I'm a dull work of art when you're a masterpiece filled with bright colors. I can't compete with your mind.”

His lips gently touched yours, and you closed your eyes while he kept them open, narrowing at the sight of your peaceful expression, pressed against him. You looked like an angel, a pretty princess, with your pink ribbon bows wrapped in your braids and the pastel colors of your eyeshadow. He could eat you alive if he could.

The soft presses of his lips became more demanding, his hands placed on your waist to pull you closer to him, and he lifted his hips to sit better against the back of the seat. With a small sigh, you opened your mouth, letting him enter, his tongue curling around yours in a slow, languid dance. His cock twitched in his pants as he sensed your inexperience in your kisses, understanding that he would be the first man to win your heart, and he resolved to be the last.

“Are you in love with me or do you just like the way I make you feel because I'm the only boy who listens to you?” he murmured against your lips.

“Don't say that,” you repeated, your heart aching that Gaku would think that of you. “I love everything about you. Whether it's the way you feel like you don't care about anything, or your ability to contain your emotions while mine overflow everywhere. You're like a quiet, reassuring force that I want to snuggle up to every time you're near me. I love your confidence, your diligence in the things you enjoy, and how you don't seem to be affected by the tragedies of our world; it speaks to a great strength of mind. You're still very caring with those close to you, and very attentive; you make sure your friends are comfortable around you. You're like a big teddy bear.”

For the first time in his life, Gaku's heart began to beat faster, and he couldn't explain why something twisted in his stomach as he listened to you. His hands tightened their grip around your waist, and his kisses became more aggressive. He nibbled your lower lip, sucked on your tongue, and rocked his hips against you so you could feel his erection against you. He noticed your flustered expression at his gesture, and the blood rushed even more to his bulge.

“Did the main character in your video games have their first time in a car?”

“Not really,” you chuckled against his lips. “It's romantic, and on a bed.”

“Are you implying I'm not romantic? I can be for you.”

He angled his hips to rub his clothed cock against your panties under your dress, and you arched your back, nibbling his lip as you closed your eyes. With each roll of his pelvis, you gyrated yours to meet his, in a dynamic rhythm that sparked a fire between you. The more his erection ground against your clothed cunt, the more desire engulfed you like a crashing wave, making you want more.

“Tell me how I can become like your otome love interests. Sylus, how does he take care of the main character?”

“You will never be him.”

Gaku suppressed an eye roll.

“Of course, I'm not a criminal.”

“Sylus is kind of submissive; he worships the main character. He wants her to feel safe with him. Even if she hurt him in the past, she's still the love of his life, transcending time and reincarnations.”

“Fuck him, honestly, how do I compete with that?”

Your quiet laugh filled the car. “But I can show you how you should make love to me. I've imagined this moment many times.”

You took his hand and placed it on your neckline.

“You can worship in your own way, no need to reincarnate.”

“I'm not used to being gentle in bed.”

“Maybe because you didn't like your previous partners. When you see me, don't you want to take care of me?”

His eyes softened. “Of course, I do. I want to treat you gently. You deserve the best of me.”

“So show me what the best of you is.”

Gaku cupped your clothed breast, kneading it through the light fabric of your dress, and licked his lips as he felt your nipple harden against his hand. He lowered the cups, and his lips closed over your right nipple to suck it while he pinched and rolled the other between his fingers. Your back arched more, and you let out a soft sigh, riding his erection.

He undressed you vertically, removing the thin straps of your dress and sliding it down so that your upper body was bare. He pulled his head back for a few moments to admire the view of your breasts, your nipples slightly moistened by his mouth. 

You looked like a buffet, a buffet of sweet desserts, which anyone would pounce on if they had the chance to see it. Having your breasts in his mouth wasn't enough; he really needed to be able to eat you, just to keep you with him forever. But he couldn't tell you that without sounding like an orphan disturbed in his head.

He pressed soft kisses between your breasts, his mouth moving down to kiss your pudgy belly, your arms, your hips, and suck on any part of your flesh that had an excess of fat. Your brown skin was dotted with dark marks from his hickeys, but he didn't care. Now that you were his, he would claim you every day. And he hoped you would do the same, claiming him as yours.

He gently laid you down on the backseat and took off your dress. He kissed your feet, making you tickle, and his heart swelled at the sound of your little chuckles. His mouth traveled down your entire leg, and not a single part of your body hadn't experienced his lips on you. He kissed your inner thighs, but you suddenly clenched them. He looked up and noticed you looking away, flustered.

“What is it?”

“I’m not shaved.”

He cocked his head to one side, frowning. He waited several seconds to see when the joke would come, but you remained silent and embarrassed.

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”

To show you he wasn’t intimidated by your pubic hair, he slid your panties down your legs, and his hands parted your hairs to find a path to your tight heat. He indulged in your arousal, the tip of his tongue wiggled through your wet folds. You bent your knees on the seat, pushing yourself up on your elbows to watch his head disappear between your thighs. His eyes were closed, as if savoring the taste of you in his mouth. A gentle pulse warmed your lower abdomen, and your breathing quickened as he drove his tongue deeper into you.

A slight tremor ran through your skin as he brushed your clit, the flicks expert and precise as he traced circles. You put your hand over your mouth to keep from moaning too loudly, but the pleasure overwhelmed you, your body burning.

“Keep makin’ pretty noises, f’me,” he hummed against you, a deep crease between his eyebrows as he saw you muffle your moans. Either way, he was going to pleasure you so much that you wouldn’t have a choice but to scream his name, he promised you.

He wrapped his lips around your clit to suck it greedily, you clenched your thighs around his face and ground your cunt into his mouth. He parted your folds before pushing a finger inside you, and he shuddered at the sensation of how tight you were. He plunged his digit in and out before inserting a second, while he abused your throbbing bud.

He curled them to hit that spongey spot inside you. The combination of G-spot and clit stimulation made you lose your mind. A hot coil wound tighter and tighter in your stomach before exploding like an inferno seizing your body to set you ablaze. You whimpered a loud 'gaku!' before throwing your head back, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

Gaku withdrew from your crotch, the bottom of his face glistening. He took off his clothes and threw them on the floor of his car. You caught your breath and glanced at him. You bit your lip at the sight of his massive muscles in front of you, his defined abs and V-line, after spending nights staring at that Instagram photo. But when your eyes fell on the erection, your eyes widened. His size was demonic.

“Um…”

“Mhm?”

He wrapped your legs around his waist, leaning over your body as his height towered over you, his hair falling in front of his eyes and hiding his gaze full of lust and desire. His girthy cock rubbed through the folds, still not inserting itself, lubricating itself with your arousal.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

“I will make it fit.”

He began to push his dick into you, your pussy wrapping around the head. You winced at the pain since it was your first time, but Gaku eased your pain with his hand, massaging your clit as he moved his hips backward, withdrawing from you to sink again, but gaining more inches into you this time.

His thrusts were gentle and slow, he remained attentive to your needs and expressions. He stilled inside you when you needed to adjust to his size. When he saw your face relax, he flushed his pelvic floor against yours, his happy trail rubbing against your hairs, and sank in completely. Your air froze in your lungs, but you endured the feeling of being full.

“Atta girl.”

He lay on top of you to press a kiss to your forehead. You wrapped your arms around him, pulled him close, and caressed the hard planes of his muscular back. He peppered your face with kisses, lingering on your jaw, cheeks, and nose. As he plunged in and out, and you panted, an electrifying tension coursing through your muscles, vibrating to the rhythm of your desire. It was a new, overwhelming, but definitely pleasant sensation that took hold of you like a wild fire igniting in your lower abdomen.

Holding onto his elbows, at each corner of your head, his silver chain tapped against your forehead with every movement of his body, a small, reassuring sound that immersed you in the sweetness of the moment. The wet slapslap of skin filled the car and the windows misted up. He pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, his breath caressing your face.

You felt close to his heart, connected to him intimately beyond the physical, and the feeling of security that invaded you made your eyes water.

“You know, you’re my favorite boy ever.”

He kept his eyes closed, but for the first time you'd met him, his lips curved into a smile that reached his eyes. Your heart pounded at the sight, wanting to immortalize this moment forever.

“I don’t know what to say to that. I’m not special, I-”

You crushed your lips on his, your arms wrapping around his neck. His lips parted in shock, and you took the opportunity to mingle your tongue with his. You ravished his mouth, putting all the love you could into the kiss, and making him stop putting himself down.

“Okay, I get it, I get it,” he whispered against your lips. “Sorry.”

“Make love to me. Make me yours. I wanna be your favorite girl too.”

“Stop saying dumb shit like that, you’re always my favorite human in the world.”

He picked up the pace, his hips slamming against yours. He swallowed all your moans, continuing to kiss you, his cock stretching your pussy out. Each of his thrusts was an affirmation of love, and each roll of your pelvis to meet him and follow his dance was a reassurance he mattered in this word. In your own way, you reassured your aching hearts, like a soft blanket over your ache. Like yin and yang, you complemented each other, and in this present moment, you were united forever.

──────── 

𝟑 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

“What’s this?”

Uzuki looked curiously at the box Gaku was carrying. They were heading to Uzuki’s house, to spend time with you.

“It’s for your sister.”

Walking through the front door, he looked for you, eager to give you your gift. You came out of the kitchen, and even though you still had your satin bonnet on, you were still the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

“What’s up?” you greeted him, snuggling up to him. He hugged you, craving your warmth and scent.

“Just open this.” He jutted his chin at the box on the table.

You began to open the box, your eyes lighting up when you saw the acrylic stands from Tears of Themis and Love and Deepspace. You jumped up and down, and a wide smile stretched your lips as you rushed to unwrap everything from the plastic bags, discovering the otome merch your boyfriend had bought.

In that moment when you beamed with happiness, Gaku really thought he wanted you to have that expression all your life, and he hoped you would. In any case, he'll do anything to be the case. You were his favorite girl, after all.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You know you’re not the only one having a bad day?”

His harsh voice grazed your skin like a knife. There was something condescending and grumpy in it that almost made you feel guilty for disturbing him, but because of the alcohol making you emotional, you were unable to stop crying.

Against all odds, the man dragged the chair to sit across from you. In his hands, he held an open notebook and a pen on which were written texts that distantly resembled song lyrics. A deep crease between his brows, he tried to concentrate, but your occasional whimpers and sniffles made his jaw tense.

“Your boyfriend left you? Do you know the planet is full of men? You’re a gorgeous woman, stop crying over some worthless asshole, it’s pathetic.”

“A gorgeous woman?”

You were sure you looked like a nightmare with your runny mascara and snot, but the stranger seemed sincere, his eyes serious and voice firm.

“I’m married,” you cleared your throat. “And that’s exactly the problem.”

He cocked his head to one side.

“Kill that man if he bothers you.”

You let out an incredulous chuckle at his blunt statement. “I wish I could. But it’s not his fault, it’s mine.”

You glanced at his large, tattooed hands that had rings that were silver as well as his chain around his neck. He drew his full, plump lips into a thin line, his face stern as he stared at his notebook while playing with his pen between his middle and index fingers. After a few seconds of silence, he let out a heavy breath.

“Man, where has my inspiration gone? If this keeps up, I'll never release my album on time.”

“Are you a musician?”

For the first time he'd spoken to you, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile.

“You don't know me?”

“You seem young, I only listen to gospel, I don't know anything about recent music.”

Surprise flashed across his face. “Only gospel?”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, not understanding what the problem was.

He shook his head, not believing his ears. “Are you an extreme Christian or something?”

“Christian yes, extreme no. My parents just raised me that way.”

“I'm a rapper. You're the first person I meet who tells me they only listen to gospel. Does that mean you only listen to music about God? Not love music, sad music, or ego-trip music to feel confident?”

“I feel pretty confident with gospel. Especially when it's gospel influenced by soul. But I listen to the music of my culture too, like Kizomba and Cabo Zouk.”

The man narrowed his eyes, doubtful. “So you don't have a sex playlist?”

“A what?!”

His smile widened into a full, playful grin. “A sex playlist, miss prude.”

Because of his nonsense, you had almost forgotten why your eyes were itching and why you were there. You sighed, massaging your temples with your fingers.

“My husband isn't into that.”

“I don’t give a damn about your husband who lets you get drunk at 10 p.m. alone.” His face hardened. “I was talking about you.”

“Sex is kind of boring, music would distract me.”

“Are you asexual?”

“No, it’s just… I don’t know… Long and boring…”

“Ma’am, your man sounds lame as hell.”

“Don’t say that…”

A couple walked past you, their children trotting behind them, and it reminded you of the conversation with your mother. You burst into tears again, and the stranger rolled his eyes.

“There.” He handed you a tissue he had taken out of his pocket.

You blew your nose loudly with it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because of you fucking crying, I can't concentrate and this is the only kind of bar where I won't be recognized, so we're both stuck.”

“Are you famous?”

“My last album was in the top ten spots on the Billboard charts for 15 consecutive weeks.”

Since your face showed no reaction, he deduced you knew nothing about the Billboard charts.

“Yeah, I’m famous. It’s a pain in the ass.”

“You should be grateful, God bless you with success. Not everyone has this chance.”

He looked displeased, his features sharpening.

“I haven’t worked since I was 14 for my success to be attributed to a bearded man in the sky.”

You frowned. This man didn’t mince his words.

“You’re right. Sorry to force my beliefs on you.”

His expression relaxed. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

You stared at your wet handkerchief, feeling the sadness from earlier wash over you like a surging wave drowning you. Unable to survive this deluge alone, you needed to share your pain. Besides, alcohol inhibited you, preventing you from withdrawing into your 'professional mode'.

“If you don't mind, can I talk to you about my life? I don't have any friends.”

“I'm not the most empathetic person in the world. If my friends have problems with their boyfriends, I tell them to beat them.”

You chuckled and sniffled. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“But go ahead, maybe your sob story will give me inspiration for a song.”

You took a deep breath. You didn’t know his name but you were going to tell him your deepest wounds.

“My mom wants me to have kids, but I don't want any.”

“What's the problem? You just don't have to get pregnant.”

You sighed.

“You're used to being able to do what you want, when you want, aren't you?”

“Nah, what makes you say that?” He cocked his head to one side with a smirk.

“You're kinda…”

You weren't sure if it was his neck tattoos, his long dark eyelashes covering his mesmerizing eyes, or his low-octave voice that could send shivers down your spine if he were near your ear, but he exuded an intimidating aura. Something dominant and powerful.

“I'm kinda what?”

“Nevermind.” You looked away, flustered.

“I don't think your husband will appreciate the look on your face, ma'am.”

“I have to have children; no one asks my permission. That's why I'm in this state.”

A shadow passes across the man's face.

“We all have free will. You're a Christian, you're supposed to know that, right?”

“I think God forgot to give me some,” you muttered. “I have no control over anything, I'm so stuck.”

“Okay, stop complaining and tell me the full story.”

“My parents are from Cape Verde, it's an archipelago in West Africa—”

“Ma’am, I didn’t ask for your biography.”

You chuckled, your face lighting up. He was so sassy. “It’s important to my story. Since they’re immigrants, they expect me to have a better life than if they had stayed in Cape Verde. So when I told them I wanted to be a cook, they laughed in my face.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t pursue your dreams because of your parents?”

You drew your lips into a thin line and he shook his head in disbelief.

“You don’t know what it’s like to live with African parents, do you?” You gave him a small smile.

“One of my best friends, Ony, is also Cape Verdean. But he always followed his dreams and became a beatmaker, even though his mother always told him it wasn't a real job.”

“He's just lucky.”

“Or maybe you lack strength and ambition.”

Your gaze challenged for a moment, but you lost the battle as his green irises shone brightly, burning your retina.

“So I became an attorney for them.”

“What else did you do for them?”

“Marry off the son of one of their friends…”

The man paused, wincing. “Are you serious?”

“It's not a big deal, arranged marriages are still a thing in some cultures,” you cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable.

“I don't want to judge a culture different from mine, but does that mean your current life, being a attorney and married, isn't even what you want? Don't you think it's crazy to live a life that doesn't reflect your own choices?”

You looked away, your shoulders slumping. His face softened.

“Sorry, you're already in a bad mood, I shouldn't say that.”

“It's just… I don't know… My parents left so much behind so I could have a better life, I feel ungrateful for not making them happy.”

“You're not ungrateful, you have the right to do what you want. You know that all the 'I did this for you' that parents do to us is a type of emotional abuse?”

“I get that, but… My parents really worked hard for me. My mother has infertility issues, and I'm her only daughter; I kind of represent their dreams…”

“It's your life, not theirs.”

“You can't understand.”

His eyebrows knitted.

“Don't ‘white people’ me.”

You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms over your chest. “But it's true, you can't understand.”

“So… Are you going to live the life you want when your parents die?”

“The day they die, I'll be stuck with kids to raise.”

“You know you're going to traumatize your children? A mother who doesn't want to be a parent can't raise her children well.”

Your gaze saddened. “You're right, but…”

“I'm always right,” he cut in, “you're going to be a horrible mother.”

“Okay…”

“Why are you crying anyway? You wanted to be a doormat and do what your parents wanted, so at least do it with a fake smile. You can't be mad at your parents when you're a grown ass woman who could have said no.”

“Are you victim-blaming me?” You let out a sad giggle.

His lips quirked up. “Be happy to be a pretty victim at least.”

A silence fell between you as the man lowered his head to look at his notebook. After a few seconds, he looked back up at you, a vulnerable glint in them.

“Today is the anniversary of the day my dad abandoned me. I wasn't kidding when I said you weren't the only one having a bad day.”

Your lips parted, empathy filling your heart.

“I'm so sorry.”

“Nah, don't give me that pity shit. You don't know me enough to be really sorry,” he huffed, “I just wanted to make the silence less awkward for you.”

“You're really… a strong person. Doing what you want, calling out people's bullshit, asserting yourself, and you're resilient too.”

His lips curved into a playful grin. “Stop flirting with me, baby.”

You stuttered, flustered. “I didn't want to!”

“Yeah, you're married and loyal, I know. You're really good at playing the good girl, but what's behind all that?” He leaned across the table, also crossing his muscular arms on the table. His gaze pierced you, making you feel small. “You can be real with me. I'm just a stranger, you don't even know my name.”

Your heart raced. “Why do you care?”

“Don't know.” His eyes lingered on your gold cross necklace. “I'm attracted to you.”

You didn't know what to say and lowered your head to stare at his notebook.

“I don't have much to say about myself,” you mumbled, “I'm a bit boring.”

“I noticed.”

His blunt self made you laugh. “Sorry, I'm not a rapper who can travel the world and do whatever he wants.”

“Ouch.” He placed his hand over his heart, a mock pain. “You think my life is all about my rap? I'm also a great big brother.”

“You have a sibling?”

“My little sister, Mikasa. She's my biggest fan.”

“I wish I had siblings; growing up alone was so lonely.”

“I swear you don't want her in your life. She's a pain in the ass.”

“It's good that your father's abandonment didn't separate you and made you closer.”

His face darkened. “I had no choice but to look after her; my mother started doing drugs after my father left.”

A gentle look passed across your face. “That's really sad. I hope you can see a psychologist to talk about it. These kinds of things are mentally heavy to bear.”

He shook his face, his features easing at your cute worry. “Nah, I don't need that. Music is enough for me.”

“Want me to listen to it?”

His cheeks turned pinkish. “It's not gospel, you know that, right?”

“I'm aware, but I don't mind. I'm curious.”

He took his phone out of his pocket with wired earphones. His hands were shaking a little as he scrolled through his folders, glancing at you nervously as he searched for his music. Seeing him anxious for you made you shy too. He passed you an earbud, which you slipped into your ear, and you leaned across the table to look at his phone screen, his warm breath caressing your face.

“My genre is more horrorcore, but I do anything with a dark atmosphere,” he warned you. “A fan sent me an incredible instrumental, and I had to rap over it. Some of my fans are also mad that I don't have a specific genre and that I'm hard to categorize and would like a full album of that style. But honestly, I will still do the shit I want.”

As soon as the video began, the heavy bass of the music sent shivers down your spine. Filmed in the middle of the night, he was in a forest, the hood of his black hoodie pulled over his head. The beat was dark, with an almost solemn atmosphere accompanied by a creepy voice in the background that echoed like in a church. Each of his lyrics ended with a clever rhyme that made you press your earbuds to better hear what he was saying because you didn't want to miss a word of his excellent flow. 

“That’s… Kinda sexy.” Your drunk mind was saying nonsense.

“What the hell? I’m rapping on a horrorcore beat.”

“I don’t know if it’s your voice, the confidence in your way of being, the roughness of your lyrics but… It’s sexy.”

His tongue began to rub the inside of his cheek and his eyes narrowed. “You really want me to fuck you tonight?”

Your cheeks burned. “No.”

“Because I can, you know.” He smirked.

“Let’s focus on your music…”

“Talk about your fav singers.”

“I thought I was lame because I didn’t have a sex playlist and listened to gospel?”

A low chuckle escaped his mouth. “Don’t do me like that.”

“I don't really follow artists because I avoid worshipping people who shit like us and reserve that treatment for God, so I just have favorite songs.”

“I actually like your mind.” He nodded. “I feel weird when my listeners see me as their favorite human without knowing me personally, but they pay my bills, so I avoid being ungrateful.” He gestured to his phone. “Show me some songs.”

“That’s not aggressive rap like yours, you know.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m a musician before I’m a rapper. I know how to appreciate good music even if it’s from a religion that’s not mine.”

You searched YouTube for “You Waited” by Travis Greene, and your heart beat a little faster, watching him watch the music video, a little nervous about whether he’d like it. 

Surrounded by people but with the lights pointed at him, the black singer began to sing, guitar in hand. The beginning of the song was soft and slow before the drums joined the music. In the second half of the song, everything accelerated, and the singers in the background joined the lead vocalist in a beautiful accumulation of vocals. The audience, some of them feeling emotional, began to cry and raised their arms to move to the beat.

“That’s really beautiful,” he said at the end of the video. “I love all the instruments used. I still don’t believe Jesus is waiting for me somewhere, but he’s very talented.”

“That’s okay, Jesus loves everyone even though you don’t like him.”

“What a great guy,” he teased.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Nah. I’m more into existentialism.”

“What is that?”

His eyes became serious. “It’s the fact of thinking that life has no meaning, and that it’s up to us to give it one. There’s also the absurdism of Albert Camus, which is to accept the absurdity of life and live it anyway, but his philosophy is quite weak to practice. Existentialism is also not believing in the idea that we have a soul, and that therefore human nature doesn’t exist, and that we all have free will. I never believed in God when I see homeless people dying in the streets of Skid Row, or families broken by drugs. I believe that we just live on a huge ball for no reason and that we have two choices: commit suicide because life is unfair, or make our life the best possible experience with the freedom of choice we have. When I wake up in the morning, discouraged by my album sales, although it rarely happens to me because I’m really the shit in the rap game, I tell myself that it’s up to me to make my life better and I shouldn't complain. So yeah, not a Christian, but free will and freedom are very important to me."

“That's really... Interesting,” you offered an impressed smile. “I've never really thought like that. I just… I think everything happens for a reason. In the Bible, there's this concept of predestination, that Jesus has already saved whoever he wanted to save. In fact, there are two Jesuses that exist, two types of Christians. There's the Jesus who punishes, and the one who loves everyone. You'll see the difference in the way some treat homosexuals, for example. Some Christians will see homosexuality as a test to overcome given by God, like in Islam, or a vice of the devil, while others will accept the person's homosexuality, because if that person is like that, it's because God chose them and they deserve to be loved in the way Jesus created them. I think we're born with a set of predestined tests to make us grow, and sometimes a little temptation from the devil to prevent us from being on the right path, but I don't think we really have to ‘change’ to be loved by God.”

“So you’re the good kind of Christians, not like the MAGA kind?”

Your eyes widened. “Please.”

“Just asking.” He grinned, raising his arms to show his innocence.

“If Jesus came back, he would be against them. Jesus was always there and protected the marginalized.”

“You’re really the first Christian who tells me Jesus would be a trans supporter…”

“I told you, Jesus loves everyone.”

Too immersed in your conversation, you hadn’t approached the bartender who had approached your table.

“Excuse me for disturbing you, but we’re closing.”

You looked at your luxury watch and noticed it was past midnight.

“I’m sorry, we’re going out.”

The man you shared the evening with followed you out of the bar, his eyes roaming over the curves of your ass molded into your denim pencil skirt, a glimmer of appreciation in them. Once outside, he took a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. He leaned his back against the wall of a building next to the bar, lit his cigarette, and his gaze fell on you, his mouth forming a small 'o' as he blew out the smoke.

“Do you know the song Slow Down by Bobby Valentino?”

“No?” You tilted your head.

“The singer sings about a beautiful girl he saw on Melrose Avenue and really wants to sex up.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Um, yeah?”

He raised his free hand to point at the 'Melrose' sign not far from them, then pointed at you.

“You really don’t get it?”

You looked away. “Mhm…”

“I saw you walking down on Melrose, you looked like an angel straight out of Heaven, girl. I was blown away by your sexiness, now all I have to do is catch up to you,” he sang, approaching you.

Your cheeks were so hot you could cook eggs on them. “This is so embarrassing, stop!”

The man just made a sly smile.

“Slow down, I just want to know you…”

You turned around, clutching your shoulder bag, ready to escape this horrible situation, but he grabbed your hand behind you.

“But don’t turn around, ‘cause that pretty round looks good to me.” He twirled his hand above your head, his devious grin meeting your shifty eyes. “Now turn around and bless me with your beauty.”

The world stopped as he lowered his head and captured your lips. You didn’t fight, didn’t scream, didn’t react, didn’t do anything! You stayed frozen, kissing a second man after having known only your husband your whole life. And the worst part of this is that you’re this close to fainting for him. Your heart skipped a beat, and you closed your eyes. He didn’t need to cradle your face; his lips already possessed your entire being. And you did something incomprehensible. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the argument with your mother that made you want to break the rules and stop being a good girl. But you kissed him back, gently pressing your mouth against him.

“The church girl wants my dick?” he whispered against you.

“Please don’t say anything and just kiss me.”

“It reminds me of another song my friend Connie loves. Los Infieles by Aventura. It’s about infidelity. At the beginning of the song, they say they commit a sin and are going to hell. I know the words by heart. His hispanic ass can’t stop listening to bachata every day since we were little.”

“You’re really a music nerd.”

“And you, a very sinful girl. Do you think God would still love you after this?”

He deepened his kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you parted your lips.

“In the song, they say ‘how can something so wrong can feel so good,’ don’t you think it applies to us?” He grabbed your throat to press your body against his, his cigarette still lit in his other hand. “You smell so good, what’s your perfume?”

“Her by Burberry,” you breathed. You struggled to think straight every time his tongue flicked against yours, your cunt pulsating, wanting more. “How many girls crying in a bar have you picked up?”

“You’re the first and the prettiest.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t need to.” He nibbled your lower lip. His way of kissing was teasing, playful, sassy, ​​just like him. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the firm muscles of his chest under your palms. Nothing to do with your older beer-bellied husband.

“I…”

“You look like you’re needing some good dick,” he moved away from you, and his dark gaze with dilated pupils made your body in a liquified mess. You stared at the ground, swallowing hard.

“I don’t want to cheat on my husband but I…” Your voice cracked, tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m just so tired of everything.”

“Where is your husband?”

“In a business trip for a week.”

“Ma’am, I can change your whole view of sex in a week. In just a night, actually.”

“You seem so young, I can’t do that…”

“I’m 24.”

You gulped. “I’m almost 10 years older than you.”

“Sexy.”

You looked up in exasperation. “Please.”

“What? I can’t find you sexy at your age?”

“You need to go home before I make a really big, sinful, and serious mistake.”

“I want you to make that really big, sinful and serious mistake.” He took a drag of his cigarette before exhaling. “Just let me walk you home at least. You’re a lady, I’m not leaving you alone in the street.”

The rest of the walk was silent as you could hear the sound of his exhalations as he smoked. You only spoke to point him in the direction as he walked ahead of you, his hand intertwined in yours. When you reached your apartment, he let out a whistle.

“You live in Pacific Palisades, girl? Am I talking to a simple attorney or Olivia Pope?”

“Why?” You made an awkward expression, taking your keys out of your bag.

“That's like the richest neighborhood in Los Angeles after Bel-Air.”

“You're famous, so you also have money, where do you live?”

“Near Skid Row.”

A deep crease formed between your eyes. Skid Row was known for its serious poverty, with a large community of homeless people living on the streets, accompanied by the overwhelming majority of drug addicts wandering the streets.

“...Why? It's the worst neighborhood in Los Angeles.”

“Your privilege is showing, ma'am.”

“Privilege where? I'm a fucking diaspora kid.”

“Ohhh, the church girl can cuss,” he teased behind you as you entered the building.

In the elevator, he played with the curly locks sticking out of your afro puff.

“You let me in the building, am I to understand that you really want my dick?”

“You still haven't explained to me why you live in the poorest part of town.”

“My mom lives there. I tried to get her into rehab, but she's always trying to kill herself. I finally realized I'd never see my sober mom again, and decided to look out for her when I pass by her street. She's often outside; if you lived there, you'd know her.”

Your features eased. “That's really sad, I don't know what to say.”

“Let's talk about how your professional look like coming straight from a porn video with your curves.”

“Do you watch porn?” You made a disgusted expression.

“Don't need to, if I want to fuck I just need to go to a club. You know that just my name makes panties wet?”

“You really have a filthy mouth.”

“And you want to know what more can this mouth do?” He placed his hands on your ass, gripping the ample flesh. “Does your husband spank you?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer it.” He lowered his head to press soft kisses along your neck. “You told me sex was boring with him, I'm trying to figure out how boring.”

“We're never in a position for spanking…” Your body temperature rose at the lips on your throat. You stared at the ceiling and bit your lip, wondering why you liked committing such a serious sin, as if that stranger was the devil in disguise.

“Don't tell me you're only doing missionary. I hope this is a joke.”

“Why would I want my man to hit me? He loves me.”

“Luckily I'm not your man so I can treat you as roughly as I want.” He caught a piece of skin between his teeth and sucked it.

You gently pushed him away to go open the door to your apartment when the elevator stopped. Hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he followed you. He was so much taller than you, so when he stood behind you as you opened the door, your palms became sweaty, intimidated.

Your apartment had floor-to-ceiling windows with a perfect view of Los Angeles at night. Skyscrapers, tall buildings, and streetlights illuminated the still-dark rooms of your home. When you turned on the light in the entrance hall, the man admired the minimalist decor, which reflected your wealthy lifestyle. There was nothing personal about it except for the obviously well-tended plants and the many black, white, and wooden objects.

“So…” You scratched the back of your head.

“Just show me your room.”

“You don’t want to eat something?”

“For what?” He raised an eyebrow. “My meal is right in front of me.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks. Your heels tapped against the expensive parquet flooring as you walked toward your bedroom. The man glanced at the living room and the kitchen—still minimalist, clean, and rich as fuck.

“Um, I…” You stared at the floor, fidgeting your hands.

He was pulling off his compression shirt without a care in the world, and your jaw dropped. He was built. Ripped. So muscular, as if he had an OnlyFans account and was flexing his abs for his followers. You bit the inside of your cheek. He was the kind of man you had a crush on as a teenager, but you knew your parents would never accept his tattoos.

“Is that you and your husband?” His deep voice made you look up at his face and stop watering at his V-line. He was looking at your wedding photo on the nightstand.

“Yes.”

“Can I say something disrespectful?”

“As if you didn’t have a foul mouth all night.”

“You could do better than him, he looks like he's 10 years older than you, like why he's balding and you're in your thirties?”

“Men are like that in their forties…”

“I will not be like that when I am 40, trust me. Booking a flight to Turkey as soon as I see a bald spot. Gotta keep looking fine for pretty ladies like you.”

You giggled at that and sat on your bed. You really didn't know how to begin this awful idea. You avoided his gaze as you played with your wedding ring on your ring finger. A sinful gesture.

The devil sat next to you, and took your hand.

“You know how to read hand lines?” He stroked the thin creases in your palms.

“No, what about you?”

“Me neither. Just tryin’ to make things less awkward.”

His sentence caused a small quiet laugh to come out of your mouth.

“I really like your laugh, it’s sexy,” he stared at you, his eyes serious.

He made your insides bubble up. “Thank you. I like your voice too.”

“Yeah?” He lowered his head to kiss the back of your hand. “What else do you like about me?”

“Um, you really have pretty eyes.”

His mouth pressed against your wrist in a soft gesture, his hydrated lips smooth against your skin. You struggled to focus because of his gentle way of treating you.

“And I really like your tattoos. You look more intimidating and confident, it’s attractive.”

He smiled against your forearms, and looked up to stare in yours as he caught a piece of flesh between his teeth, sucking. Your eyes wide, you shivered.

“What are you doing?”

“I said you were my meal.” He let his tongue run over your flesh before peppers kisses on your arm and moves up to your shoulder, leaving a wet trail behind him. “You seem to really like me. You would really like a thing between my legs in a few minutes.”

“You're always talking about your penis…”

“That's the best thing about me, ma'am.”

“Actually, I don't think I really like sex, so…”

“I don't know if you're just asexual or if your husband is the shittiest man out here,” he sighed. He placed his hand on your thick thigh, and placed a few kisses along your throat making you erupt goosepumps on your skin. “There are many things you can like during sex.”

“I like it when it’s quick like that, it ends quickly.”

He drew his lips into a thin line. “Yeah, no. That won’t do.”

He undid a few buttons of your shirt, revealing your lacy red set underneath.

“Not very church girl of, huh?”

“My husband offered me this.”

“That bastard has good taste. Too bad I'm the one enjoying it right now.”

He lowered the cup of your arm, and pinched and rolled your brown nipple between his fingers. You bit your lower lip, getting hot.

“I had sex with an autistic woman one day,” he kissed your jaw while toying with your nipple. “She had trouble voicing her needs and desires so we used a color system. Red for stop, orange for slow down, yellow for continue doing it and green for harder, faster or more of it. We can do that for you. I don't mind if you realize mid-sex you're not really enjoying it. I had a good night with you, it was fun.”

Your heart swelled at his caring attention. “So you’re actually a respectful guy?”

“Not you admitting you're seeing me as an asshole-”

“Green,” you cut in.

His lips curved into a grin and he captured your lips for a kiss again as his whole hand fitted your big breast which he squeezed. You didn't get the self-conscious thought about the sagginess of your chest that you had when your husband touched you because that man treated you as if you were the most beautiful woman he had seen in his entire life.

His tongue toyed with yours, sliding against it, and it was the first time a kiss made your cunt throb because your husband didn't do it with real passion. Nah, the man in front of you kissed you with languor, a nasty craving to suck on your tongue while he kneaded your tits.

“Strip,” he commanded against your mouth.

With trembling hands, you undid the belt of your skirt and lifted your ass off the bed, sliding it down your legs until it fell to the floor. Completely in your underwear in front of a stranger whose name you didn't even know, a flustered embarrassment washed over you, and you lowered your head, your thighs tightly closed.

“Don't get shy on me now,” he muttered, his voice dominant and harsh, making you shiver again. “I know you're a freaky-ass person. You like to keep things on the low, right? That's why you invited me over without your husband knowing, and let me flirt with you all night. You're an evil woman.”

Your cheeks heated up, still your head down. He wasn't wrong.

“You know the rapper BeatKing?”

“No?”

“In his song “Smile”, he starts his song directly by saying “let me see that pussy”. Do you really want me to get real corny and rap his verse?”

“N-No!”

“So open these fucking legs.”

He stood up to kneel in front of you. He gripped your knees and forced them apart, accessing your already drenched heat between your legs.

“I hope your lame ass husband eats your pussy at least.”

“He does but I don’t find it very pleasurable so we skip it.”

He let out a sigh. “What good has your husband done in his life?”

“A lot of things, he's a businessman and-”

He tossed your thong to the side, parted your lips and plunged his lower face deep into wet folds. The feeling of his warm mouth on your tight heat made your heart miss a beat, a wave of pleasure taking over you. Usually, your husband did unnecessary foreplay where he spent long minutes kissing your inner thighs, focusing more on the outside of your pussy than the inside, making you bored. So having a man who was going straight to the pussy was a change.

And he wasn't shy at all. Like a real munch, when your taste met his tongue, he hummed against you, the vibrations of his voice making you weak in the knees. His tongue wiggled through the folds, working its way up and up to your clit, so that he can wrap his lips around it and suck it with greed. You clenched your thighs around his head at the sensation, pants coming from your mouth and he wrapped your legs around him, putting them on his shoulders.

He removed his silver rings and shoved two fingers up to your cunt but you tensed.

“I don’t like fingering.”

He paused. “Girl, what do you like about sex?”

“When he does it it’s-”

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, and made a back and forth movement with his digits, dragging them out and in of you. Slicking them with your juices, the motion made a wet noise that made your cheeks burn. When he bottomed out, he curled them to hit that spongey spot in you that you didn't know you had and made your legs shaking.

In an unconscious gesture, you ground your hips around his face. He gripped your love handles to bring you closer to him and help you rock your lower body better. He alternated between eating you out and fingering you, sometimes removing his fingers just to lapping between folds, the dance of his tongue on you exquisite, plunging them back into you, the thrusts of his digits so pleasurable and good. It had nothing to do with your husband.

Brain so fucked out, you chased your high while bucking your hips, not familiar with the coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter.

“Is that…”

“Is that what?” He moved away from your clit, his lips glistening with your arousal.

“I never came with him.”

“You married him for your parents, of course you're not attracted to him. But that doesn't apply to me, does it?”

He placed kisses in the crease of your thighs and sucked the skin while the languid pace of fingers gliding against your velvet walls made soft moan coming out of your mouth. He did everything in reverse: coming straight to the pussy, riling you up quickly and while you were just waiting to cum on his face, he teased you, doing foreplay before the big orgasm.

As he kissed you, he came back from time to time near your clit, spreading the lips that hid your sweet spot to blow a soft breath on your throbbing bud. Your head buzzed with arousal as you arched your back, biting your lips at his playful way of pleasing you.

“Green, suck on it, please,” you asked, your voice desperate, hips canting up.

“Your orders are absolute.”

His lips wrapped again around your clit, sucking it with craving, a jolt of pleasure setting you ablaze. The tremor building in your core intensified to the max, your eyes rolling back in pure bliss as your toes curled. As your orgasm rippled through you, the man between your thighs fixed his gaze on the sight of you unraveling.

“Get on all fours.”

You hadn’t even had time to digest the fabulous high you had just experienced with him, the first time you came with a man, before he was already using an almost threatening voice.

“I never did that position…”

“I know that, Miss Church Girl. Now, on all fours.”

You got into position just as he asked, your body tensing as you heard the sound of his jeans falling to the floor behind you. You were scared because he didn’t seem gentle at all, nothing like the loving sex you were used to with your husband. You knew he was going to beat your shit with a straight face, like he's used to doing with other women.

Kneeling on the bed, his tattooed hand ran over the skin of your back, pressing down to make you arch, your face pressed against the sheets as your ass was high up in the air. Your heart pounded in your ribcage as you felt the long drag of his dick sank in your tight heat, his girthy inches disappearing inside you.

“So tight,” he hissed, his cock throbbing, “gonna ruin you.”

It sounded terrifying, but your pussy clenched around him, turned on. He gripped your wide, thick hips, pressing your ass against his pelvic bone, as he drove his dick deeper. Your breath caught when he bottomed out, never having been so full in your life.

“W-Wait,” you panicked, needing time to adjust to his size.

“Baby, I’m an asshole, I won’t wait for shit,” he let out a wicked laugh, making you shudder, realizing you were stuck with a psychopath.

“No, wait, I-”

“We have a color system, ma’am. You can say ‘no’ as much as you want, I won’t stop.”

Not really wanting to stop, you were just scared, you kept your lips close.

“That’s what I thought,” he moved his pelvic floor backward, a little relief washing over you as he was no longer deep inside you, but he slammed his hips back against your ass instantly, delivering a particularly harsh thrust.

Your hands clenched into fists as you panted against your pillow, tears already welling up in your eyes at the brutality of his movements. This wasn’t what you were used to, not at all. Your husband treated you like you were a fragile thing, a victim of a Madonna-Whore complex where he was unable to see his wife in a sexy way, because he categorized women into two categories: sensual women among whores and marriageable girls that he could not sexualize. While this man behind you saw you as you really were, a girl who had sexual needs.

You arched better your spine off the bed, wanting to please him and show off your curves, ignoring the voice in your brain that reminded you that you were committing a sin. He smirked seeing how you positioned your back, making your fat ass more round for him. With his head lowered, he had an erotic view of his tattoos on his defined abdomen and the curvature of your ass against him, with the white lines of your stretch marks making you ever more beautiful to him. He raised his hand in the air and delivered a hard spank on one of your asscheeks, making you flinch. He groaned seeing them bounce, the ample flesh moving like water.

“You know, you have the best body I’ve ever seen in my life,” he rasped, rocking his hips with force and aggression, making you cry against your pillow. You couldn't even be flustered by his compliment, your gut twisting in arousal at each of his strokes. His hard length slid easily inside you; you were so wet, your dripping cunt swallowing him with greed. “But I also wonder who you are inside.”

He grabbed your hair, removing the shoe lace that formed your afro puff, freeing it, and grabbed a handful to lift your head from the bed. One hand on the bed, he bent over a little, his rapsy voice close to your ear.

“You see that photo?” He directed your head towards your wedding photo on the bedside table. Your lips parted, trembling. “You’re a cheating whore. You do everything to show everyone that you’re a good girl, but I see through you.” Your pussy pulsed around his cock as he pounded into you, your mouth open as you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Focus. Look at your husband when I’m fucking you.”

Your vision blurred by tears, you could see the chubby face of your loving husband beaming with happiness while his arms were wrapped around you in your wedding dress. “I’m so sorry,” you sobbed.

“Nah, you’re not,” he chuckled darkly. “You love this dick. See how your pussy is squeezin’ me?”

He let go of your hair to grab your wrists and place them behind your back. The noises coming out of your mouth were almost pornographic with how loud you were. This is what heaven felt like for you. You started babbling nonsense in Kriolu, your native language, your breathing ragged as each brutal thrust made you see stars.

“Verdu,” you whimpered. Green.

“Don’t understand what you’re saying, baby. You want more?”

He picked up the pace, always having more to give you, his stamina frightening. Each roll of his hips fed into you became more aggressive, fucking you as if he hated your gut.

“Oh my god!” you shouted, feeling so much pleasure that the sensation of having to pee made you panic, and forgetting your own faith.

“Not God, just Eren Yeager, baby,” he kept a grip on your wrists with one hand and used his other to stimulate your clit.

“Eren?”

His dick twitched inside you at the sound of you pronouncing his name in your Cape Verdean accent.

“Yeah, it's me, keep saying my name.”

You did what he wanted, moaning his name as he drilled into your shit, your walls fluttering around his girth. His fingers continued to trace circles on your sweet spot. Eren's body was glistening with sweat from the effort and intensity of his movements. He loved seeing your ass bouncing on his dick, but he wanted to be facing you when he came. Your face was too beautiful to just be fucked in doggy-style.

He released your wrists and turned you onto your back, smirking at your dizzy expression. He brought your knees onto his shoulders and pushed his hips back into you, the angle deeper, still at the deadly pace he had when you were on all fours. In a moaning mess, you continued to mumble Kriolu nonsense, and Eren tried to understand what you were saying.

“Your language is pretty, just like you.” He leaned over to kiss you, the wet obscene sounds of your union filling the room.

Your kisses were sloppy and messy, sucking his tongue and letting out soft pants. Your nails dug into his back as you scratched him a little harder when his cock hit that spongey spot inside you.

“Más forti, pur favor.” You held him tightly against you, and he understood what you wanted without speaking your language. Harder, please (literally stronger, but said in a “more intense” way).

One hand on the bedframe, rising a little higher, he dragged his dick deeper, harder, pumping you full as the wet slap of your skin hitting his flesh was so loud.

“Who is fucking you?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Eren,” you breathed, your legs trembling harder.

“I said, who is fucking you?” His voice was threatening and harsh, as he pushed in and out in a frantic pace.

“Eren!”

Fucking you into oblivion, your release was closer and closer but you did everything to prevent it.

“I-It’s weird…”

“What is it, baby?”

“It's like I'm going to pee.”

A low chuckle escaped his mouth. “You husband never brought you to this state? That's a shame. It's okay, you can cum for me.”

"Mhm…"

“Open your mouth.”

You frowned but did what he asked. He spat between your lips, the trickle of saliva sweet in your mouth. Surprise flashed across your face but you swallowed and looked away, flustered.

“Now, cum,” he commanded.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations of your bodies moving together. His cock deeply buried in you, your juices milking him, his warm breath caressing your face… Tremors seized your limbs as you let go, your body racked with spasms of pleasure as you cried out his name, your nails racking his skin.

“Shiiit,” he hissed, his eyes glazed over with lust as your cunt pulsated around him. He joined you in your orgasm as he pulled out of you to cum on your belly.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke as you realized you'd made a puddle on the bed, his sticky warmth snaking over your skin, his rapid breathing above you. Then, you broke down. Tears streamed even more heavily down your cheeks as you sobbed, the infidelity you'd just committed mortifying you. He took a tissue from the bedside table to wipe the liquid from your flesh.

“It's a little late to cry, ma'am.”

“I've always done things right, so… Why do I have to ruin all my efforts now?” you sniffled.

“Maybe you're tired of being a good girl, you want your freedom.”

He threw the tissue in the trash can next to your bed.

“I had a bad day too,” he began, sitting down next to you. He didn't know how to console crying girls, so he wanted to share a little vulnerability with you so you wouldn't feel alone. “My sister always gets depressed when we're in the period after our father abandoned us. I spent all morning cleaning her apartment because she couldn't do it.”

“You take good care of her. She can count on you; it must be reassuring for her.”

“I try to.” He gave an awkward smile. “I don't think you're wrong for cheating on your husband,” he changed the subject, ultimately not liking to talk about his sister; it made him too vulnerable, and he didn't know you well enough. “He's lame. He doesn't even see that his wife is unhappy. He deserves what you just did.”

“Don't say that, he's a good guy…”

“A good guy?” His eyebrows knitted. “Because not being attentive to his wife, and not knowing that she's unhappy, is being a good guy?”

“He was never abusive, I was lucky.”

“That's like… The bar minimum?”

You shook your head. “I'm still grateful to have a good husband in a loveless marriage.”

He tsked. “Yeah, ‘a good husband,’ I have my own opinion on that…”

A not-so-uncomfortable silence fell between you. You looked down at your thighs twitching from your overwhelming orgasm, something you'd never felt before.

“How come you're younger than me and able to do this?” you murmured, still at a loss for words.

“Experience, baby. Experience.” His lips curled into a sly grin. “Not something your lame ass husband can have.”

“So you admit you’re kind of a whore?”

“Ohhh, so you really can cuss?” His eyes lit up with amusement. “What can I say? I’m hot and famous. I’m just doing what’s expected of me.”

You got out of bed, and Eren’s eyes roamed over your figure, lingering on your heavy breasts, and he regretted being too focused on fucking you than looking at all those curves.

“You can go take a shower, if you want,” you offered, pulling back the sheets from the bed to change them because of your squirting.

“I’m not going to use the clothes of the asshole who’s your husband,” he huffed.

“I have some of my dad’s clothes somewhere, don’t worry.”

You pulled a pair of sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt out of your closet and handed them to Eren. He eyed them suspiciously before taking them.

“Down the hall on the left.”

He nodded, leaving the bedroom, and your eyes lingered on his round ass, his muscular back covered in tattoos. It was the first time that just looking at a man made your pussy hot. You continued changing the sheets on your bed and put on a nightie. The sound of the water running in the shower filled the apartment as you went to your kitchen to heat up some food for him.

There was still food in your fridge. You poured two plates and heated them in the microwave. A few minutes later, while you were filling a bowl of rice with water to remove the dust, Eren came back into the kitchen, shirtless and his sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

“I don't know what the fabric of the thing in your shower is, but my skin is so soft,” he said, coming up next to you.

You turned your head over your shoulder, offering him a soft smile. “It’s an African net washcloth; it exfoliates the skin and removes dead skin. It’s called sapo.”

“That’s why your skin is so glowing. You have to give me one.” He hugged you from behind, pressing his warm body against yours. “You should stop crying and smile more like that.” He kissed your cheek.

The scene was oddly domestic and intimate, even though you’d only known that man for a few hours.

“It smells good, what is it?” He glanced at the plates on the counter.

“Feijoada. It’s a stew of beans, beef, and pork. It’s a recipe known to Brazilians, but all Portuguese-speaking African countries eat it, including Cape Verde.”

He hummed. “I like beans.” He pressed soft kisses on your neck. “It reminds me of a dish from my childhood, kuru fasulye.”

“What country is it from?” You finished washing the rice and placed the pan on the stovetop.

“It’s Turkish. My mom is Turkish.”

“And your dad?”

“Fuck his German ass.”

You giggled. “Sorry.”

You continued talking as the rice cooked, Eren taking his time peppering your neck with kisses. Even though he was basically a stranger, you felt like he was a friend you’d known for years. You felt safe with him. You enjoyed cooking for him; cooking for people was your love language; it was why you wanted to be a cook when you were little. Secretly, you wished you were his little wife. Things would have been so different.

Finally, sitting around the table—on Eren's lap, because he refused to let you leave—you ate in silence.

“It's really good,” he complimented you after a while.

“Thank you, if you come see me often, I can make you taste all the dishes of my culture.”

His arm tightened around you. “Do you really want to have a long-term affair with me?”

“Why not?”

“I feel like there's been a lot of character development since the bar, Miss Church Girl,” he teased.

“It's just…”

You didn't know how to describe what you felt. You felt guilty about cheating on your husband, but on the other hand, having sex with Eren had made you feel alive for the first time in your life. Now you were addicted to the feeling of freedom he gave you. Eren was the Devil, you were sure of it.

“I feel like I need to pray to gather my thoughts.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Yeah, let’s pray while another man’s cum touched the womb that will welcome your husband’s children.”

“Eren…”

“You religious people are truly the most hypocritical people I know,” he sighed. “But it’s okay, in my family there are Muslims who are more concerned about not eating pork while committing plenty of other sins. I guess, these are the ‘trials’ or ‘tests’ of God you often talk about.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I come from a Turkish Muslim family, ma’am. Just because I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about it.” He finished his plate of feijoada and buried his head in your neck. “A lot of people in my family don't like me because I do music, and it's forbidden in their religion. Many judge my mother because she does drugs. They are very judgmental of us, even though at the end of our lives, according to their beliefs, it's God who will judge us, not them.”

“I feel like you're really mature.”

“Mhm, someone wants to be fucked again…”

He tickled you as he kissed your flesh, making you giggle. You didn't have that closeness with your husband. He was loving, gentle, but that was it. There wasn't the passion and tension that existed between Eren and you. You looked at the clock, dreading the moment he was going to leave and you would be alone.

“Don't you want to sleep here? It's late.”

“Are you already in love with me?”

“Don’t say that… I just… I don’t know…” You lowered your head. “I don’t want to be alone…”

“It’s okay, I’m your man tonight, don’t worry. You can use me.” He kissed your cheek again.

That night, Eren and you slept in the same bed. Cuddled in his arms, you cried a little while he was already well asleep. You didn’t know if it was joy or sadness, happy to have found a safe place in your daily life where you always had to pretend to be okay, or sad because you had committed a serious sin. All you knew was that no matter what kind of cliff you fell from, you closed your eyes and let the wind carry you away, not thinking about the violent landing.

────────

𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

“Ren, you’re not focused, you’re pissing me off,” Ony huffed, adjusting his loosely tied navy durag on his head, contrasting with his deep brown skin.

“I’m talking to the baddest girl ever,” Eren said, his eyes glued to his phone. They were alone in the music studio, Armin left to buy food for everyone, and Connie was late, like always.

“I worked my ass off yesterday to finish the beats on time, so you better focus on me, asshole.”

Eren rolled his eyes.

'You're distracting me,' he sent to you. You replied instantly.

'You too. You're lucky I don't have many clients today; I'm mostly doing administrative work.'

'Are you a attorney or a secretary?'

'Do you think client files magically prepare themselves?'

'Sorry, ma'am, I don't know anything about your job. But I wish I were a criminal so you could defend me.'

Ony grabbed the phone from Eren's hands.

'Focus, dummy.'

“Give me back my fucking phone, I'm not playing with you.” Eren tried to get his phone back, but Ony put it back in his pocket. “I'm talking to a girl you only see in your dreams.”

“Your album is due out in a few months, and you still need to record five songs. You're not focused.”

“Five songs for a few months, it's easy, Ony.”

“Yeah, it would be easy if you weren't a little perfectionist shit who was always changing your mind. Recording a single song takes us weeks because of your moody ass. Aren't you tired of the majority of your fans listening to your unreleased tracks?”

“Playboi Carti is the same, and his album sales are still good.” Eren leaned back on the chair where he was sitting, next to Ony, who was working on the computer, using Reaper software. Everyone else was using FL Studio, but Ony had started beatmaking on a budget, and Reaper was an honest company that offered its lifetime services for $60.

All of Eren's fans were shocked at the types of beats Ony was capable of making on software that was less popular than the big names we knew in the music industry. Ony was one of Eren's best friends, but also a musical genius; it was a blessing to be able to work with him.

“Playboi Carti is a lame rapper. Without his beatmakers, he's nothing. You have me, but you're talented without beats. Your freestyles always go viral, don't compare yourself to him. He beat Iggy when she was pregnant.”

“Yeah, I know. I hope he dies.”

Eren and Ony talked for a long time, suggesting artists the young rapper could work with for his soon-to-be-released album. Eren was a very successful rapper who had never been involved in any beef with another artist, so he could feature whomever he wanted; the response would always be positive.

Connie walked into the studio humming along to the music he was listening to in his headphones, his gray beanie on his head, contrasting with his tanned, tattooed skin. Everyone had tattoos, except Armin, who was more reserved. They even shared a tattoo they'd gotten in Atlanta after a show, a testament to their deep connection.

“Man, we need you here at 2 p.m., not 4 p.m. You have no respect,” Ony reprimanded him.

“I was with Sasha,” Connie said, his voice nonchalant.

Eren quirked an eyebrow. “Sasha? The one who cheated on you with Niccolo?”

“Yeah, that one. What about it? I do what I want with my dick. Eren is fucking a married woman!”

“She's a victim,” Eren corrected. “It's a loveless marriage.”

“Right, right, everything is okay as long as you're the one doing it,” Connie grumbled and slumped into one of the chairs. “You constantly criticize me. I find it kind of racist.”

“Man, the fuck are you talking about?” Ony shook his head, focusing on the large computer.

A hard beat filled the room. Connie bobbed his head to the music with an appreciative expression.

“That's really good.”

“Nah,” Eren frowned. “I don't like the hook, changing the gain, or improving the build-up.”

“Always somethin’ to complain, I swear to God.” Ony tensed but made the changes his friend requested.

Eren's phone vibrated in the pocket of Ony's baggy jeans. His friend looked at the notification.

“Your girl is saying she's done today and you can come fuck her early.”

“She'd never say that, you idiot,” he took his phone from Ony and read your message. He wrote a quick reply.

‘Come to the studio.’

‘Isn't that a little risky?’

‘Your husband is at work right now. Come home at the same time as if you'd finished your day as usual.’

‘Okay. Is my work outfit okay?’

‘This is a music studio, not a gangster hangout, baby.’

He sent you the address of the studio, which was near the Top Dawg Entertainment building, Eren's independent label.

'I'll be there in 30 minutes, Carson's not far from L.A.,' you replied.

'No problems, baby.'

“No problems, baby,” Connie repeated in a honeyed voice, his head over Eren's shoulder to check what he was texting. Eren tsked and nudged him.

Armin came back with a plastic bag in each hand, adjusting his glasses as he closed the door.

“I hope you didn't make a mistake and get tostones instead of empanadas like last time. I'll kick your ass,” Connie rubbed his hands together.

“You look like Sasha.” Armin smiled. “Nope, I got the empanadas you wanted.” He gave Ony and Eren a handshake before sitting down and taking the contents out of the bags onto the desk.

“Karibbean Cuisine is the only Dominican food truck in Los Angeles. I'm so mad they're all in New York.”

“There are less Carribean Latinx on the West Coast, that's why,” Ony dropped the computer mouse and began to eat.

“I exist, so everyone should open restaurants for me.”

“Go to New York if you feel too lonely here,” Eren mumbled, his mouth full of food.

“Ew,” Armin winced.

Eren gave him the finger.

They ate while bickering, laughing most of the time. Armin was Eren's manager and Connie was one of his sound engineers, but mostly they were Eren's best friends. His second family.

After a while, there was a soft knock on the door, making everyone freeze. Connie smiled and licked his lips, excited to see Eren's girl, while the rapper gave him a mock-punch, getting up to open the door.

Outside, dressed in your leather trench coat that hid your professional dress, with high heels, your short curly wig that you only reserved for work because Eren messed up your afro yesterday and you couldn't be bothered to redo a neat afro puff, you held your designer bag against you. Nervous, your jaw tensed as you stared at Eren, who was standing in front of you.

With a blue and white NFL jersey, black baggy jeans, and his sneakers the same color, his silver chain glowed in the sun that lit up Carson today. His brown hair was messy, as he often ran his hand through it when he focused on Ony's beats. His emerald eyes lingered on the belt of your trench coat, which created an hourglass illusion on your voluptuous body.

“Yo,” he greeted you, his voice low. “You look good.”

He had spent the entire week your husband was on his business trip fucking you; he still had flashbacks from yesterday, and seeing you still had the same effect on him. He wanted to ravish you.

“You too.”

He took your hand and led you into the studio. The lighting was dim, and the walls were completely black. There was a hallway and two large rooms. One for mixing, and one for recording the rap verses. Eren led you into the mixing room, where all his friends were curious to see that it was the new girl he was obsessed with.

You gave them an awkward smile and took off your trench coat to place it on the back of one of the chairs. Connie's eyes roamed your body and glanced at Eren, giving him a discreet thumbs-up. Eren gestured with his hand in front of his throat that said, "I'm gonna kill you." Ony and Armin were more respectful and avoided staring too much at your ample curves, impossible not to notice in your dress.

“The man in front of the computer is my beatmaker, Ony. He's the Cape Verdean I told you about who isn't a victim to his family compared to you,” Eren smirked, amused by the way your lips drew in a thin line at his mean remark.

“Which island in the archipelago are you from?” you asked softly at Ony.

“Sal. You have the accent of the people from Saõ Vicente.”

Your eyes lit up, happy that he recognized where you were from just by your accent. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm from Mindelo. I've never visited Sal.”

Ony offered a polite smile. “The island gets a little annoying with all the tourists, but you're safe once you get away from Santa Maria. I always loved the beaches and—”

“Turkey is cool too,” Eren cut in, jealous that Ony was taking up all your attention.

“I didn't say otherwise,” Ony chuckled.

“You've never been to Turkey, you're American,” Connie teased.

“Do you know what 'diaspora' means, dickhead?” Eren bickered with Connie, their laughter filling the studio.

You sat on one of the chairs and watched the guys work. Ony had two ways of doing things: either he presented beats to Eren, and the rapper chose which of his lyrics best suited the production, or Eren presented his verses to Ony and asked him to create a beat based on the rapper's requests.

Eren was skilled in horrorcore, cloud rap and trap, so Ony had to be versatile in his productions to suit his tastes. The rapper wanted to make aggressive rap for his album, so Ony focused on heavy bass beats.

Having spent every night together last week, you and Eren were closer; he already knew your body by heart, but now, with his friends and in the studio, you saw a more comfortable, natural, and playful Eren. You sometimes exchanged glances, but his eyes quickly darkened, moving down to the neckline of your dress.

“Have you prepared any music videos?”

Eren turned to you, pleased that you were interested in his career. He tapped his lap, and understanding his gesture, you came to sit on him, and he moved closer to the desk.

“Yeah, we have 5 of the 15 tracks on the album.”

“Can I see?”

Eren basically pushed Ony out of the office area. He laughed and moved away so the rapper could show you his MP4 files.

“How long are your songs?” You leaned your back against his firm chest.

“Minimum 3 minutes, but I don't like long songs over 5 minutes.” Eren clicked on the “documents” folder and searched for where the clip shots for his videos were stored on Ony's hard drive.

An MP4 file appeared, showing Eren sitting on a couch surrounded by partying people while he rapped, ignoring the commotion around him. The camera followed him as he walked through the house filled with humans, but still nonchalantly. The lyrics spoke of the dangers of the music industry, like drugs, the industry metaphorically representing the party while Eren, the artist, navigated this world avoiding its vices.

“That's very clever,” you complimented him.

“Mhm, nah. It's kind of corny.”

“You're being hard on yourself. I like the metaphor.”

“You just want my dick like everyone else.”

You tensed. “Don't say things like that, there are your friends here,” you murmured.

He moved his head next to your ear, his voice husky. “Why? You're flustered when we're not alone?”

“It's just not polite.”

“Always so proper as if you weren't crying over my dick, yestereday, telling me to go harder in Creole—”

You pressed his foot with yours and he smiled.

“My bad. I have a foul mouth.” He turned toward his friends. “Can you go smoke outside? I want to be alone with her.”

“It's a studio, not a love hotel,” Ony warned Eren.

Eren's smile expanded. “I will be the first to transform it like that then.”

Ony looked up in exasperation and grabbed Connie's shoulder, who protested but let himself be dragged towards the exit with Armin. Once alone, Eren pressed out kisses on your neck, tightening his arms around you. Your heart racing at the thought of doing anything sexual here, you changed the subject.

“Why are there never women in your music videos?”

“What do you mean?” A deep crease formed between his eyes. “I have plenty of feats with women, I don't discriminate.”

“No, I mean like… A lot of rappers have naked girls in their music videos…”

“Ah.” He buried his head on your neck, nuzzling it. “That's just not my style. I find it cringe.”

“You never rap about women?”

“Of course I do.” His breath caressed your skin. “But I'm just talking about sex. I've never been in a relationship.”

Your eyes widened. “Never? But…”

“But what?”

“I mean, you're obviously a very attractive guy…”

“Yeah, I know.” He nibbled at your flesh. “Handsome, yeah, but pretty fucked up in the head.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think it's easy to trust someone after being abandoned by the one who was supposed to love you forever?”

“Oh.” Your voice softened with empathy. “I didn't think of that, sorry. You seem so confident.”

“Stop that, you're talking as if I said some emo bullshit. I'm just being honest.”

You closed your lips, unsure how to handle such a vulnerable conversation. Eren sensed your conflict and caressed your thighs over your dress to soothe your worry.

“I saw a psychologist a few months ago.”

It was something he'd only told his best friends. You made him feel safe. It was a gift, a gift of himself that he gave you.

“And what did you tell him? Were you able to talk to him about your trust issues?”

“I ghosted him.”

“Eren…”

His tongue ran back and forth across your neck. “What?”

“You're sabotaging yourself.”

“I'm a grown-ass man, I don't have the BPD  he wanted to diagnose me with. He should have never said that to me.”

“He was just doing his job.”

“Is this really the woman who's a pathological people pleaser talking to me?”

“I'm not a people pleaser.”

“Right,” he laughed quietly, “and I'm not a traumatized kid. We are just a duo of hot humans, right?”

He sucked on a sensitive spot, making you shiver.

“Is your husband back from his trip?”

“Yes, and I'm a little scared about tonight.”

“Scared of what?”

“I don't want to sleep with him. After what we did… I don't know… I feel weird in my body.”

“Ahhh, you're finally feeling the effect of having good dick? You don't want to touch an inexperienced man after this, do you?” He slid his hands under your dress to reach up to your panties, and rubbed his fingers on your clothed cunt.

“Not here, Rennie.”

The nickname escaped you before you could stop it, and you flinched, waiting for his reaction, but Eren's lips quirked up against your skin, and he continued fake-fingering you through your panties, causing a wet zone to form. His fingers slipped under the fabric to stroke your wet folds.

“Are you going to think of me when your husband fucks you?”

“Don't say things like that…”

“But it's true, am I right? No one knows how to take care of you better than me,” his fingers traced circles on your clit. “Does he make you cry and say ‘o nha mae’ all night like me?” Oh my gosh (literally “oh my mom” but it’s cape verdean slang).

You squirmed on his lap, soft pants escaping your lips. “Rennie, stop, your friends…”

“They know perfectly well what's going on, baby.”

“Even though, I feel uncomfortable.”

“I forgot you were a princess. You have to do it right in a clean bed.” His hand left your warmth and slipped into your mouth as your tongue swirled around his knuckles, tasting yourself. “I will not call you a good girl, you're a cheating whore.”

“I don't want to be your good girl.”

“Ah, it's only for your husband, I know that,” he huffed.

“That's not what I meant—”

His friends came back into the studio, the sound of the door opening making you fix your dress.

“I hope you're not naked!” Connie approached with his hands over his eyes.

“Idiot,” Eren muttered.

You looked at your watch, biting your lower lip because you wanted to stay with Eren, but you had to go home.

“I need to—”

“I know,” Eren kissed your temple. “Have a good evening and think about me a lot.”

You got up from him and leaned down to give him a big hug. You'd only known each other for a week, and you felt like you were already so attached to him. You already missed him when you left the studio to go home.

──────── 

Eren was a blunt, determined, and confident man, while your confidence was only displayed in the professional sphere. In everyday life, you were a shy, reserved woman who let people walk all over her and was afraid to say 'no'. Your parents had always taught you to obey, to be submissive, and polite.

The difference between you two was obvious when you texted each other. Eren used slang and abbreviations, while you were polite and sophisticated in your replies. You only had a small Facebook account, but Eren had encouraged you to create an Instagram account to follow his stories and posts.

On Twitter, some fans had noticed your mysterious account in his followings, and many simply assumed it was his spam account, without suspecting that it was a woman behind it.

Several weeks had passed since your husband's business trip. The sex between you and Eren was always passionate, aggressive, and oddly vulnerable. There was something intimate about being able to be yourself in front of someone, to drop the social mask, and let yourself be free. With Eren, you discovered sides of yourself you didn't even know existed.

“You like that?” your husband whispered as he thrust into you, your legs around his waist, his beer belly rubbing against your pudgy belly. It was nothing like the feeling of Eren's strong arms encircling you, his defined abs, a hard plane against your softness. You weren't fatphobic, you were plus-size yourself, but Eren was painfully your type as a man, compared to your husband, who was older than you and was losing his attractiveness as the years receded his hairline.

“Mhm,” you struggled to really get in the mood, the friction of his cock inside you too different from Eren's hard pounding, or his hands gently touching your breasts, too soft compared to Eren's hands wrapping around your throat while he was grunting, asking you 'who is fucking you?'.

You weren't very wet, so the action hurt a little, so you stared at the ceiling, waiting for it to end quickly. When your husband was finally asleep, you texted Eren.

'I hate sex.'

'Nah, you hate him. You love sex with me.'

'I feel like something is wrong with me. He's very gentle and loving, but it's not enough.'

'Gentle sex only works when you're in love, not in an arranged marriage.'

'Do you think if you were gentle it would work?'

'Of course, I do.'

'I'm not in love with you.'

'For now. It's only a matter of time before I break up your little union.'

'You're very arrogant.'

'I have to be to get where I am in the music industry.'

'I have something to ask you, but I'm afraid you'll say no.'

'Tell me, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.'

'I sing in a gospel choir, and we're performing at a church next week. I know you don't believe in God, and I know you don't want to get too close to me, but I'd like you to come see me. My husband doesn't care and never comes to see me. I'd be happy if you were here.'

'Your husband is truly the worst guy I know. Of course I'll come. Can I bring my friends? Ony is a Christian.'

'Yes!'

'Why didn't you tell me you sing? We have a lot in common.'

'It didn't cross my mind, I don't know. When I'm with you, my mind forgets the outside world a little.'

'Hahah, that's my charm.'

────────

Nuestra Señora Reina Church of Los Angeles, located in Downtown Los Angeles, was your favorite church because it was the only church in Los Angeles that had helped immigrants, and in 1980 it was a sanctuary for migrants facing deportation. It had values ​​you shared, and you were proud that it partnered with the organization where you sang your gospel choir.

Dressed in a white dress that didn't specifically hug your curves, only slightly revealing your wide hips and ample chest, which were impossible not to notice, you stood in front of the many religious people listening to you. Your hair was pulled back in an afro puff that exposed your face, framed by your large gold hoop earrings.

All your friends were also well-dressed and wore beautiful earrings, but Eren's eyes were fixed on you. Sitting in the aisles of the church pews, enveloped by the solemn atmosphere of the building, he could admire the gold-framed Christian paintings behind you, or gaze at the statue of the crucified Jesus on the wall to his left, but all his attention was focused on you. The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the wooden pews and tiled floors of the small, packed church.

He was frustrated, a deep crease formed between his eyes.

“Man, you can’t be angry in a church,” Connie leaned over to whisper in Eren’s ear.

“I just don’t care about the rest of her choir, I just want to hear her,” he mumbled.

The melody of the chanting echoed between the walls, the soft female voices, and he could feel the faith and emotions in them without necessarily sharing the same beliefs. Setting a soulful rhythm, your voice rose into the air with the others, the notes rolling out like a prayer.

“It’s beautiful,” Ony declared.

“It’ll be even better if my girl was a soloist,” Eren grumbled, and Connie pressed his foot against his to silence him.

As if God heard his complaints, you stepped forward, the choir stopping singing to let you lead the rest of the song. Eren shuddered at your first notes, your voice rising, with perfect breath control, your vocal cords giving a harmonious sound, like honey to the ears of the audience.

“Hey, it would make a good interlude for your album. Like Yebba’s Heartbreak for Drake,” Ony nudged Eren.

The idea crept into his mind and he nodded, a warmth rising in the pit of his stomach at the thought of collaborating with you.

The music finally ended, the church filled with applause and praise as you smiled at the spectators. Eren wanted to capture this moment, finally a moment where you were doing something you truly enjoyed, and your husband wasn't even there to see how beautiful you looked when you were happy.

With his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he approached you as you spoke to some Christians.

“Yo.”

“Hey,” you greeted him, your smile widening for him. “I'm really glad you could come.”

“I would never have missed this.” You sweared as his eyes softened with affection for a moment. “What are you doing after this?”

“I'm coming home, my husband is coming home from work, I have to cook for him.”

He frowned. “You work too, why should you be the one cooking for him?”

“That’s how I was raised…”

“And?” An angry expression flashed across his face. “You’re not his servant as far as I know. It’s 2025, not 1960.”

“Cooking is my love language. I’ve always wanted to be a cook, so it makes me happy to cook for the people I love.”

“But you don’t love your husband,” he insisted, “you’re always texting me when you have to sleep with him at night.”

“Can you avoid talking about this in church?” You looked around to see that no one was listening.

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, sarcasm in his voice. “Because inviting the guy you’re cheating on your husband with to church, isn’t that already a sin?”

You swallowed hard. “You have a point…”

“Your husband is going to cook for himself tonight, I’m taking you out to dinner tonight.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you behind him as you left the church with him, your eyes wide.

“Eren, I can’t-”

“Just tell him your friends wanted to celebrate the choir at church with a restaurant, and send him pictures of what you ate.”

“Are you used to sleeping with married women or something?” Your eyes narrowed with how quickly he had found an excuse.

“Maybe, we don’t know…” A mysterious smile formed on his mouth.

────────

Still in Downton L.A., in the Fashion District, was Connie's favorite restaurant: Dama, a Latin-inspired restaurant. When you walked inside, you were immediately amazed by how the brown color took over the cozy space with numerous plants illuminated by the soft light from the gold ceiling lamps. A square bar in the middle of the room, with dozens of chairs placed around it where you could see the bartenders working, attracted attention. Eren and you sat at a table a little far from the bar, near the windows where the leaves of the outdoor trees brushed against it.

"Connie is sponsored by this restaurant, he talks about it all the time," he teased.

"It's very pretty."

A waiter brought you the menu, and you let your eyes run over the paper. Eren was already a regular, so he already knew he was going to have the fried quesilladas. He stared at you, who had a focused expression.

“You always wear the same blush,” he remarked.

You looked up, your cheeks burning. “Um, yeah. It’s a NARS blush.”

“You say that like I’m going to use it.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “You’re right, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, I’m not your strict parents.”

You chose fried calamari with red onions and tomatoes, and your dish and Eren’s arrived quickly. Eren ordered cocktails for you to try. It was nice to share a friendly moment with him like this, face to face with each other. Eren told you about the progress of his album, while you told him what you could about your job while respecting professional confidentiality. While you were eating, one of the waiters asked Eren for his autograph, which he happily signed, and you realized even more how popular he was.

“What would you do if you could have your own life?” he asked, bringing his glass back to his lips to take a sip of his cocktail. You swallowed the bite you were chewing to answer him.

“I think I would have opened my restaurant in Cape Verde or Brazil.”

“Brazil?” He quirked one of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I really like Brazilian food. We have a lot in common in our culture with Brazilians, like carnivals. I would have loved to open a restaurant that serves food from all the Portuguese-speaking African countries besides Brazil. We share a similar history with colonization.”

“What is your best childhood memory in Cape Verde?”

Your lips curved into a fond smile. “The nights at the beach where we had barbecues. Seafood is very present in Cape Verde because we're surrounded by water, so I can still taste the shrimp we grilled.” You cocked your head to one side. “And you?”

He looked away, scratching the back of his head. “I think my best memories are when my dad was still here and my mom was still sober, but I don't like them because I feel like they're a big lie.” His voice was low, almost as if he didn't want you to hear the vulnerable tone.

“Tell me a little about your dad.”

His jaw tensed. “That asshole was a doctor. With my mom's job as an English teacher, we had a comfortable life, but everything was ruined around the time I was 13 when he decided to cheat on her for a younger woman.”

“Doesn't the fact that I cheat on my husband trigger you?”

“It wasn't really the infidelity that traumatized me. I think it was more that he completely cut us off from one day to the next. As if we were worthless. That's why I don't like to remember my childhood with him because I know he didn't care about us deep down.”

“I don't know how to answer that,” you choose your next words carefully. “I think telling you he loved you anyway when I don't know him is a bit tone-deaf, but reinforcing your idea that everything was fake doesn't sit right with me. Maybe the moments he shared with you were real, but when he falls in love, his world revolves around his partner and he forgets the rest.”

“Or he’s just a deadbeat dad…”

“Yeah, but… You know, my attorney friends who work for families have already seen fathers who want to have rights back over children they abandoned.”

He shook his head. “They don’t deserve anything. They weren’t there to raise the child, why come back when the mother has already done all the work?”

“You’re right…”

You continue talking, gulping down your desserts. When you get up after finishing eating, you take your wallet out of your bag, and Eren glared at you.

“You’re embarrassing me.” He took his black card out of his pocket and paid your meal bill.

“I’m not used to this. I do 50/50 with my husband.”

He huffed. “You’re going to hurt your body giving him babies, and you want to do 50/50? Men and women aren’t the same. You do so much more than him just to do 50/50.”

You didn’t like what he was saying because just imagining what it would be like to be his wife made your mouth water. He intertwined your hand with his, and the cold air outside made goosebumps rise on your arms as you stepped out. He opened the passenger door of his black luxury car for you, and you sat inside. A scent of vanilla enveloped the vehicle, which was soon overpowered by his expensive cologne when he plopped his ass on the driver’s seat.

“There's still a little time before you go home, it's early. Do you want to go for a car ride? I'll show you some songs you might like.” He started the car.

“Yeah, I would like to.” You grinned, happy to spend more time with him. There was so much you wanted to tell him, learn about him. He became like your best friend in just a few weeks.

Eren connected his Bluetooth to his car and “Too Deep” by dvsn filled the car, the notes soft and sensual.

“What kind of music is it? I like that.”

“It's R&B. There's Christian R&B that exists too, I'll make you a playlist.”

You leaned back against your seat, closing your eyes to listen to the music. PARTYNEXTDOOR, SZA, Jhené Aiko… All the R&B singers were echoing in the car. Eren lowered the cars as a small downpour fell on you, the sound of the misty rain accompanying the atmosphere.

“Have you never been in love?” you asked.

He kept his eyes on the road. “I already told you I don't do relationships.”

“But you must have fallen in love with someone without being able to control it…”

His lips twitched upward. “This isn't a romantic comedy.”

You chuckled. “I know, but it's sad to think you don't know what it's like to be in love.”

“You're literally in a loveless marriage and you're 33. Your situation is much sadder than mine.”

“Mhm, it's true.” You nodded. “I don't know what it's like to be in love and probably never will.”

“Let me show you then. Let's use each other. A real relationship between us is impossible in any case.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you turned your head to admire his handsome profile. “What do you mean by using each other?”

“If we're both incapable of living a love story, let's create one together. But without ever really going beyond the limits of what we truly are: an affair.”

You tilted your head. “And what would we do if we were in love?”

He glanced at you, a smirk on his face. “Exactly what I did tonight. We go to restaurants, we go on dates. We just don't meet up to only fuck.”

“But it's risky…” You flinched.

“Do you want to live your own life, yes or no? It starts like that, you have to take risks. You'll never discover freedom otherwise.”

The rest of the car ride passed in silence, Eren just playing his playlist for you while you noted down a few songs in your phone notes. Arriving near your building, Eren parked. You leaned towards him to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Think about me a lot.”

“I always think about you,” you replied as you left the vehicle. Eren's eyes followed you until you disappeared into your apartment building.

────────

Eren had never experienced what it was like to be in love, so he was unable to realize that he was sinking into the abyss of love with you. Everything changed one Friday when he called you while you were working from home, weeks after your dinner at the restaurant.

“Rennie, I’m busy, you-”

Your voice stopped when you heard sniffles on the other end of the phone. Your heart tightened.

“Why are you crying?”

“That’s so embarrassing, forget that,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse before hanging up.

You stared at your phone for a few seconds, confused, before calling him back. He only picked up on the third attempt.

“What?”

His voice was harsh; you weren’t used to dealing with an Eren like this. You chose your words carefully.

“It’s okay, you can talk to me.”

“I need more than just to talk to you.”

You glanced at the clock high on the living room wall.

“My husband will be home in two hours, so if you have time to come…”

“Your husband this, your husband that,” he grumbled. “I’m tired of this shit.”

He hung up like that, but you knew he was coming. Thirty minutes later, he knocked on your door. When you opened it, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his reddish-green, puffy eyes. They were still wet, as if he’d been crying throughout the car drive.

“Eren…” You wrapped your arms around him, trying to comfort him with your warmth. His body was stiff, his body suddenly harder than usual.

“I didn’t come for this.”

“Drop the tough boy act,” you chided him. “Hug me too.”

He let out a heavy breath and hugged you too, pressing you against his chest. People were leaving the apartments near yours, and a shiver of fear that someone would find out about your infidelity gripped you. You guided him inside your home, still cuddling him.

“My mom has become a prostitute,” he declared, his voice low, almost inaudible, as if he didn’t want you to hear what he was saying.

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“There’s a man on the streets of Skid Row. He’s homeless, but he knows everyone in town. I asked him to watch my mom when I’m not there. He just told me she’s started selling her body to get more drugs.”

“Oh,” you breathed, the weight of his confidence heavy in your heart. “I’m really sorry, Eren. You did so much for her, and-”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity. I’m genuinely sad for you.” You tightened your arms around him. “Stop dismissing the emotions I feel for you.”

His heart raced, your cheek pressed just against the skin of his torso, as if your words had a special effect on him.

“I don’t know why I called you, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me, Eren.”

“It’s just…” he began, his head lowering to place his mouth on the top of your head. “I felt like you would understand me better than my friends. Men aren’t the best at comforting other men.”

“You did the right thing.” You nuzzled his chest. “We’re friends, we should be able to be vulnerable like this with each other.”

A sarcastic chuckle escaped his mouth. “Right, we are ‘friends’...”

He sat on the sofa, carrying you with him so you could find your place on his lap. Your hands dived into his hair, stroking the soft dark locks, slicking them back to better gaze at his morose face. You tilted your head, your gaze locking.

“Why are you so…” You bit your lower lip, searching for the right word. “Grumpy when you cry?”

His lips twitched upward. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You basically called me a bitch on the phone.”

“That’s a reach.”

“Barely.” You wiped away the tears that continued to fall with your thumbs. “I don’t like seeing you like that. It hurts me when you cry.”

“You’re becoming too attached to me.” You didn’t need to know the feeling was mutual.

“Please.” You looked up in annoyance, and Eren smirked at your sass. “We have a deep bond together.”

“Do we?” He leaned over, his breath caressing your face.

“Don’t flirt with me when you’re crying.”

“I’m a versatile man.” He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your tongues tangled together for a few moments in languid pace before the salty taste of his tears mingled with your passion.

“I’m just tired of everything,” he murmured. “I don’t even know why I care so much about my mom. I’ve done everything for her these past few years, even though her whole life has been drugs. Mikasa and I haven’t existed in her world since my father left.”

“Why don't you pay someone to take care of her?”

“Take care of her how? She tries to kill herself whenever she doesn't have her drugs. Do you think I'm happy leaving her alone on the street?” His face hardened. “They're writing articles about me, saying I'm abandoning my mother and letting her prostitute herself. They know nothing about my life.”

“You need to sue them, they have no right to defame you like that,” you informed, your voice firm, in your attorney mode.

“You're cute when you're like that.”

He rubbed his nose against yours.

“What are you doing?”

“An Eskimo kiss, didn't you know that?”

“Yes, I know.” You smiled. “I just thought you were too depressed for that.”

“Never too depressed for an Eskimo kiss.” He kissed you again. “I have to go to the studio to see Ony.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Of course not. I feel like shit, but I have no choice. My album is coming out soon.” He pulled his face back to look at you better. “Thanks for listening.”

Your eyes softened with empathy. “No problems, Eren.”

Your heart squeezed painfully as you let him leave your apartment, hands in the pockets of his jeans. You hoped the short time you spent together had soothed the ache in his mind.

In a way, you had succeeded, and Eren was grateful to have you in his life.

────────

Sitting in the waiting room, illuminated by the artificial lights above him, enveloped by the "antiseptic" atmosphere of the abortion center with its blue and white walls, Eren's foot twitched on the floor every few seconds. He bit his lower lip in a nervous gesture, his hands interlaced on his lap, his legs manspreading.

It was two months after he learned his mother was a prostitute. He did what he could to protect her, but it wasn't easy to control someone who dedicated their life to drugs.

One morning, you called him after feeling excruciating pain in your lower abdomen. Your husband was at work, and he accompanied you to the emergency room. Verdict: you were pregnant.

You weren't shocked by the news because for several weeks now, your husband had refused to let you take the contraceptive pill, considering it was the right time to have a child. You hadn't been able to verbalize the fact that you didn't want children for fear of reprisals.

Eren had volunteered to accompany you during the abortion procedure, secretly from your husband. He didn't want you to be forced into motherhood when you didn't want to.

You left the operating room with your head bowed, your left hand holding your right wrist, accompanied by the doctor. Eren immediately stood up to hug you. He knew this was difficult for you because of your religious beliefs, and wanted to show you that he was there for you.

He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and intertwined his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the exit.

Outside, a group of pro-life people shouted insults at everyone leaving the building, holding fetus signs. You flinched and stared at the ground until you reached his car.

“Don't listen to them, they don't know anything about your life.” He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

You leaned back in the seat, your expression somber as you looked at the road.

“Eren, I think we should stop seeing each other.”

He paused, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced at you, his eyes searching for the humor in your gaze.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I've been committing nothing but sins since I've been with you. I don't recognize myself anymore.”

His heart ached at that. “Look, I understand what you mean. What we're doing goes against your beliefs. But that doesn't mean we should stop. It makes you feel good when I spend time with you, doesn't it? You wouldn't have agreed to the abortion if I wasn't there, right? I'm good for you. Tell me I'm good for you.”

His voice trembled towards the end, as if he was desperately clinging to something that might validate your unhealthy bond. His eyes implored you to confirm what he was saying. You looked away, your gaze lost through the window.

“I think I need some distance, Eren.”

The feeling of being abandoned once again by someone important pierced his heart, like a knife penetrating his organ. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, swallowing hard.

“Okay.”

────────

It had been a month since you and Eren had been in touch. Eren had a hard time getting used to the long days without speaking to you; he missed your sophisticated and polite messages. But he understood. Your life was complicated. He would wait for you to want to talk to him again when it was okay with you.

While he was chatting with his friends about the final preparations before his album release, which was next week, you called him. His heart leaped at the notification, and he rushed out of the studio to take the call. The moon lit up his face, framed by shoulder-length brown hair.

“Hey Rennie,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse from crying.

“What's wrong?” His voice softened.

“My husband is cheating on me. Funny, right? I'm doing the same, but I don't know why it hurts so much. I did everything for him, and this is how he thanks me?”

Eren sent a quick message to his boys, apologizing for leaving, and got into his car.

“Where is he?”

“At the house of the woman he's cheating on me with. He's been saying for weeks that he's going to the bar with friends, but I found some false eyelashes in his pocket. Probably a woman younger than me.”

“That's a good excuse to see me. I'll be right there.”

────────

Eren embraced you the second you opened the door. Kissing your forehead, his hands made soothing circles on your back as his heavy gaze looked over you.

“You need some dick to take your mind off things,” he murmured, his breath brushing your face as he caught sight of you crying, mascara running down your cheeks.

“Make me forget about this day, please.” You pressed yourself against him, your big doe eyes begging him to take you.

His eyes darkened, and he reached under your ass to lift you and carry you to your room.

He peppered your face with kisses during the short walk to where you were sleeping before gently setting you down on the bed. “What You Need” by The Weeknd played in the room, the playlist you'd put on to take your mind off things still playing. It was Eren's recommendation, and he was pleased that you listened to the songs he sent you.

“Don't you think the lyrics suit us well?” He removed your nightie and his own clothes, his hands caressing your flesh all over your body. The 'he's what you want, I'm what you need' filled the room with sensual notes.

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the frenzy of the sensation of his hands on your skin carry you away. You joined the singer in moaning when his fingers found your core to trace circles on your throbbing bud, his lips trailing feverish kisses down your inner thighs. When his fingers sank into you, curling inside to touch that spongey spot inside you, you arched your spine off the bed, your hands tugging at his hair.

After a month, you missed his dick. In a spoon position, Eren pressed his muscular chest against your back, his hands gripping your pudgy belly as he pushed his girthy inches through your wet folds. He buried his face in your neck, breathing softly as his hips brushed your ass with each of his deep thrusts.

“I missed this, ma’,” he whispered against you, his voice soft and husky.

“I missed you too.”

His hands moved up to knead your breasts while his mouth possessed every bit of skin exposed to it, inflicting torture on your neck. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he plunged in and out of you, his pace slow and gentle, like a secret intimate dance just for the two of you.

In the intimacy of the moment, Eren realized he couldn't let you go back to your husband. He squeezed your breasts forcefully, with greed. Only he could make you happy. Your husband didn't deserve you, and you didn't deserve to end your miserable life with a man who wasn't your soulmate like Eren was.

“You can't go back to him,” he mumbled. “Your place is with me. I'll be the most loyal man you've ever seen, and I'll support you in your dreams. No one will force you to have children; you'll be free and happy. You will be my christian older girl. I will take care of you.”

You flinched. “Eren, I already told you—”

“Told what?” he huffed. “That you're a doormat? I know, thanks. What I mean is, you don't need to stay like this with him. You could be fulfilled with me; I'll do whatever you want. I'll even pay you what it takes to open your restaurant in Cape Verde, just like you wanted.”

It's a good thing you weren't face to face because he couldn't see your eyes welling up.

“Eren, these are just dreams. I'll never achieve them. I'm stuck.”

“You're stuck because you choose to be. You're 33, aren't you tired of having your life dictated to you? Aren't you tired of not having a choice? Are you too scared to disobey your parents? Ask yourself how your inner child must feel about living a future she didn't even decide on.”

“You're mean, Eren.”

“I'm just telling the truth, baby.” He kissed the few tears that rolled down your cheeks. He rolled his hips just right, angled perfectly to brush your g-spot as his elbow was under your knee. Your sniffles mingled with your whimpers as pleasure shook you in intense waves. “Divorce your husband,” he murmured near your ear, his voice rapsy.

Your body shook. “Eren, I can't.”

“Why?” His lips wrapped around your earlobe, sucking it. You struggled to focus on the conversation.

“Divorcing my husband means denying me the life my parents want for me. I can’t do that to them, not after everything they’ve sacrificed for me.”

“So you’re going to accept painful pregnancies to please your parents when you don’t want children? Do you see yourself spending your days changing diapers and breastfeeding your babies? Being a housewife who does all the difficult chores around the house while your ungrateful husband comes home from work only to eat and sleep? Is that your future?”

Your heart gripped with dread as you visualized your everyday future. Losing yourself in motherhood was everything you feared.

“With me, you wouldn’t need to do that,” he continued, “I’ll only be happy if you are. You can be anything you want to be with me.”

“Eren,” you sniffled, “I told you I can’t.”

His jaw tensed. He lifted your leg higher and began to slam his hips against your ass with more harshness and aggression, making your cunt pulsate around him.

“Do you enjoy letting people walk all over you? Are you a masochist? Does it give you pleasure to suffer?”

“N-No…”

“So what? Why are you so attached to other people’s opinions?”

“I want my parents to be proud of me, they did so much for me.”

He looked up in annoyance.

“And I, I want you to be happy,” he rasped against your ear. “Even if it means disappointing your parents.”

You loved Eren so much. He was only interested in your happiness and didn’t care what others expected of you. If nobody had your back, you know Eren would. But your relationship was impossible, and he had to understand that. Even if the words hurt you, sounding false on your tongue, you had to say them.

“We're not a couple, we were only supposed to use each other. There's nothing deep between us.”

His heart squeezed painfully. A quiet, sad laugh escaped his lips.

“And to think I thought we were getting closer, you just see me as a booty call?”

“Eren, that’s not what I said—”

He pulled you out, getting up from the bed to get dressed. You sobbed as you watched him put on his jeans.

“Eren, please—”

He gave you a cold glare before leaving your room. “It’s your husband or me.”

────────

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

The room's dim red lights illuminated Eren's face, which was partially hidden by the hood of his black hoodie. Sitting on the brown sofa, manspreading, he listened to his interviewer ask him questions about his album.

“A lot of people are saying that you're one of the most influential rappers on the West Coast, but that your lack of a specific genre is your worst flaw.”

His lips quirked up. “They're kind of right.”

“You don't mind the critics from what I see.”

“You know, a woman that I really loved told me that God granted my wishes, and I should be grateful. So that's the mindset I'm building my career with. Haters can talk, but as Jay Rock said, ‘you ain't gotta like it 'cause the hood gone love it.’”

“Is this the same woman you talk about in your track ‘Poetic Justice’?”

Eren's jaw tightened a bit, but he nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much all my recent music is about her now.”

“What inspired you to write that track? It's very sad.”

“It's about us, so of course it's sad. We didn't have a happy ending.”

“I sense a lot of anger in you, am I wrong?” The interviewer offered a kind smile.

“A bit,” he let out a sigh. “I still resent her.”

“Do you want to talk about her?”

“I don't really know what more I can say about her. She was a woman I loved very much, but love isn't enough sometimes.”

“A lot of your fans were surprised that you talked about a girl. You're kind of seen as a nonchalant artist who's never had a girlfriend before.”

“I'm still surprised that I was attached to her. It wasn't planned.”

“I hate when rappers are mysterious like this, tell us more!”

His lips curved into a smile. “I have a reputation as a nonchalant guy to keep up.”

The interview ended thirty minutes later. With a quick car drive, he arrived at Connie's house. He gave handshakes to all his best friends before sitting down on the couch and lighting his blunt.

Marvins room by Drake played in the living room.

“Fuck that nigga that you love so bad

I know you still think about the times we had

I say fuck that nigga that you think you found

And since you picked up

I know he’s not around.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about you. It's been 3 years since he was in contact with you. He felt like you were a drug and he was going through withdrawal, his hands itching to check your Facebook account and see how you were doing and how capable you were of putting on a fake smile for those around you.

His eyes fluttered open, and he opened the Facebook app, having created an account solely to stalk you. Your twin daughters were now two years old. Everyone complimented your daughters, saying you were cute, just like their mother. Only he knew you must have cried every night.

Drake's son ended so that "Too Fast" by Sonder filled the room.

“Tell me what I got to prove

(While I was working)

I don't mean nothing to you

(I hope you're hurting)

You ain't got nothing to say

(While I was working)

You're too good at walking away

(I hope you're hurting).”

He didn't want you to suffer. He hoped you would always think of him the way he thought of you.

It was him or your husband.

And every day, he mourned the day you chose your husband.