older β nanami kento and higurama hiromi.
Hiromi studies you instead, eyes steady. βYou say that like youβve seen too much of it.β βI work nights, you know.β you reply. βYou see people differently when theyβre drinking after work. All that polish wears off.β βMaybe itβs better that way.β Kento murmurs, half to himself. His voice carries a kind of resignation that makes you look up. βPretending gets exhausting.β Hiromiβs gaze flickers toward him, then back to you. βI think thatβs why people come to places like this.β he finds himself saying. βSo they can stop pretending, even for an hour.β You meet his eyes briefly. βAnd you? Are you pretending tonight?β
GENRE: alternate universe - modern setting (non-curse);
WARNING/S: nsfw, r-18, smut, older men/younger woman, angst, romance, slow burn, age gap (reader is in her 20s, nanami and hiromi are in their 40s), codependency, loneliness, emotional tension, emotional baggage, emotional vulnerability, physical vulnerability, emotional and mental manipulation, gentle corruption, forbidden attraction, desperation, menage a trois, quiet longing, mutual pining, repressed desires, cigarettes, morally grey dynamics, sexual tension, implied/referenced sexual content, explicit sexual content, kissing, hand kink, praise kink, power dynamics, emotional sex, body worship (implied), alcohol-fueled confessions, heavy make-outs, rough sex, consensual sex, oral sex, manhandling, fingering, nipple play, clit stimulation, orgasms, voyeurism, p v sex, condoms, protected sex, unprotected sex, threesome, size difference, size kink, post-coital intimacy/aftercare, bartender! reader, lawyer! hiromi, salaryman! nanami;
WORD COUNT: 16k words.
NOTES: this is was not beta read because i forgot to send it to my beta reader so its gonna be a surprise for them too. there's probably gonna be mistakes on this here too. but i still hope you enjoy it. also please welcome higuruma!!! debut day in the kayu writing list!!! π₯³π₯³π₯³
anyway the next few fics are gonna be just as fun and one of them is coming out on the 18th, which is my birthday. so i hope you look forward to it. i love you all!!! thank you for all your love <3
TAGLIST: @imhisstargirl , @watermelonmuntchers, @nanamin-chan, @getosshampoo, @areyna, @midnight-138, @kunasthiast, @sukioyakio, @izzyluvsfanfic, @ivvieene;
kinktober 2025 β kayu's version.
the jujutsu kaisen masterlist
ko-fi
THEY PASSED EACH OTHER OFTEN AT THE MAIN OFFICE. Yet this was perhaps the first timeΒ that they have ever truly gotten to know each other after nearly fifteen years together in the same company. But thatβs just how it was going to be.Β
In such a big corporate world, not everyone has the luxury or time to go and have small talks or small pleasures. Time was money and money was far too golden, far too much to risk in things that didnβt serve them well in their constricted world.
Nanami Kento and Higuruma Hiromi donβt know each other personally. They had only known each other by the power of their names. In fact, they knew each other more as professionals whoβve crossed paths at legal seminars and business meetings.Β
They could have shaken hands once, maybe twice, exchanged the sort of polite, distant words that belong to men too old and too tired to make new friends. But neither party could ever remember, and so it would certainly be covered up with the niceties that was the common lip service in their world.
Nanami Kento was certain that from what he had heard, or at least remembers, Higuruma Hiromi was the top mind in corporate legal dogmas. He knew how to get the job done. And he was paid handsomely for it.Β Β
Yet it was not the excellence that struck him in his memory. If anything, it was the fact that he seemed more like a sharp, disillusioned lawyer with eyes like someone whoβs seen too much to care much for it.
In Higuruma Hiromiβs own case, he was far too familiar with Nanami Kentoβs infamy within the circles of the salarymen in the corporationβs payroll. He got any deal done, without any issue. Often, he was what the company called when there were far too important deals that they cannot risk going badly.
Yet in the truth of his memories, Hiromi thinks that he can recall Nanami Kento as the picture of restraint. He was as soulless as him, yet he was also the man who never lingers long enough in conversation to show what heβs really thinking. He was unpredictable. And that was good in the game of survival.
In some ways, they think that they both occupy the same world but on parallel lines. It was never touching, only aware of the otherβs shadow. And they had been satisfied with that, they had been aware that it could be all there was.Β
Until one night, those lines cross.
You're wiping down the bar, humming softly to yourself when you notice the two men sitting in the corner booth. they were certainly not regulars to you, to be sure. You would know if they were.
One is clearly a salaryman, his fine, pristine suit crisp and his sandy blond hair neatly styled appropriately. You find that he looks up as you approach, his eyes lingering on your curves appreciatively.
The other man is dressed just as formal. Though his demeanour was stridently casual for someone so well dressed like this, there's an air of authority about him that commands attention.
As you lean into the bar counter to take their order, you catch snippets of their conversations. It was something about a high-profile case and a substantial sum of money. Your curiosity is piqued, on both the case and the gentlemen.Β
But even when you weren't certain about it, you could feel that they definitely had their eyes on you too. After all, the curious eyes are always hard to stop. much less older gentlemen who were born to be curious.
The bar isnβt crowded just yet. You could hear the hum of jazz low, the lights warm and slow. Nanami Kento sits at the counter, shoulders set in quiet exhaustion, his tie loosened but still prim and proper, far too compliant to propriety. Kento orders his usual: whisky, neat.Β
Higuruma Hiromi then arrives a little later, still in his court suit, having finished the first appearance for a lawsuit for wrongful termination by an employee against the company. He had stayed far too long that the rain caught up with him.
He hadnβt even noticed that he had ended up sitting next to the sandy blond man in a fine tailored suit beside him. Hiromi removes his suit coat and puts it behind his stool, letting it dry enough. He adjusts his tie, loosens it enough to breathe as he orders his drink. Bourbon on the rocks.
You nodded at that as you greeted him with your usual warm, exhausted smile, eyes glinting under the amber light. And because youβve seen too many men like them, the serious ones who forget to breathe, you joke about their suits.
βMatching, huh? Did I miss the memo?β You point to their suits.
You say it without thinking, breaking the monotony of another slow night. The joke isnβt even that funny, you were sure with that. But in a place like this with all its dim lights, rain pressing against the windows, the low hum of a saxophone from the speaker, you think that even small talk feels heavier than it should.
Kento glances down at his charcoal suit, then at the man beside him. Itβs almost the same shade, now that he can see it in full. It was in fine cashmere. Itβs also muted gray, the color of smoke and long hours. He exhales, setting his glass down.Β
βJust coincidence, I think.β he says. His tone is flat, but not dismissive.
Hiromi looks over at the blond manβs suit, a faint line forming between his brows. βCoincidence or uniform?β he says, voice quieter, almost thoughtful. βSeems like everyone in our profession ends up dressing the same.β
βThatβs because everyoneβs tired. Thatβs probably why.β you say, polishing the same glass youβve been holding for the last two minutes. βNo one has the energy to stand out anymore.β
That earns the smallest shift from Nanami Kento. It wasnβt something you could conclude to be a smile, but you felt like it was something close. A twitch at the corner of his mouth, quickly gone.
Hiromi studies you instead, eyes steady. βYou say that like youβve seen too much of it.β
βI work nights, you know.β you reply. βYou see people differently when theyβre drinking after work. All that polish wears off.β
βMaybe itβs better that way.β Kento murmurs, half to himself. His voice carries a kind of resignation that makes you look up. βPretending gets exhausting.β
Hiromiβs gaze flickers toward him, then back to you. βI think thatβs why people come to places like this.β he finds himself saying. βSo they can stop pretending, even for an hour.β
You meet his eyes briefly. βAnd you? Are you pretending tonight?β
His lips part, maybe to deny it, but he doesnβt answer. He just drinks the bourbon you placed in front of him, letting the burning sensation of bourbon energize him again. Kento sighs, saving him the trouble.Β
βHeβs been pretending for years. Itβs obvious.β
Hiromiβs quiet laugh isnβt amused. βSo have you.β
You glance between them. Two men who look like opposites but carry the same exhaustion behind their eyes. Something about it feels too intimate for strangers. For a while, no one speaks. The sound of rain fills mellows to the jazz piano.Β Β
Then Hiromi leans forward slightly, elbows on the bar. βYouβre good at this, I think.β he says.
You arch a brow. βAt what?β
βReading people.β
You smile faintly. βItβs part of the job.β
Kento shakes his head. βNo, no.β he says quietly. βMost people just listen to respond. You listen to understand.β
That shouldnβt make your pulse quicken. But it does. You clear your throat, wiping down the counter again, needing something to do with your hands. βCareful, sir.β you say lightly. βYouβll make me think you actually enjoy being here.β
Kento glances up, and for the first time, his expression softens towards you. It was not a smile, not quite warmth, but something almost tender. And you were willing to take that rather than his anger after such a long shift.
βMaybe we do.β he says.
Itβs quiet after that. They finish their drinks, their movements unhurried, perhaps even languid and relaxed. You catch small things as you watch them. The way Nanami Kento straightens his tie before standing, the way Higuruma Hiromi waits until you meet his eyes before saying goodnight.
When they leave, the door swings shut behind them, and the room feels strangely still. You look at the two empty glasses side by side. Same drink. Same suits. Same weariness. You tell yourself it was just a coincidence. But part of you already knows, nothing about your days from then on will stay ordinary.
And you were most definitely right.
From then on, both men start returning.
You were told they only came during your shift.
You were certain your manager gave your schedule out.
At first, separately. Kento comes midweek, always around the same time, always sitting at the far end of the bar. He doesnβt talk much, but he doesnβt need to. But you find that heβs always observant with you.Β
He watches you polish glasses, move through the dim light with practiced ease, offering small smiles to strangers who never stay long. Thereβs a steadiness in the way you move, something unshakable that draws his tired gaze again and again.
Hiromi, on the other hand, comes on weekends. He says itβs convenient for him, since the bar is open until late. He said that your bar happens to be on his route home. He gets off work far too late than most after all.
But you notice the way he lingers, the way he leans in when you speak. He asks questions when heβs in the mood. Too many, too personal.
Sometimes about your studies, at times about your future, your reasons for working nights. You tease him for being nosy, and he smiles like he canβt help it. You remind him, for a moment, of something he thought heβd lost: sincerity.
Both men notice each otherβs habits too when they end up seeing each other in the bar. Nanami Kento thinks Higuruma Hiromi is being foolish, coming all the way here to indulge in idle conversation.
Higuruma Hiromi thinks Nanami Kento is worse because heβs sitting in silence over his chair as though he was some ghost, pretending not to care when he actually does.
But then, one night, they show up at the same time again. Thereβs a brief, awkward pause when their eyes meet as they sit down on their stools. There was a silent acknowledgment of something they both canβt quite name as they removed their suit jackets.Β
You break the tension, as always, sliding their drinks across the counter with that same faint smile. The conversation comes slower this time, more deliberate. Higuruma Hiromi says something sardonic, Nanami Kento finds the fire in him as he replies with quiet precision.Β
You laugh silently behind the counter. But you didnβt know that it was loud enough to be heard. And for the first time, they both look at you as you do. They look at you not as a bartender, but as the axis their nights now seem to orbit around.
And so it becomes routine.
Kento stays longer than he should. Hiromi comes even on weekdays now. Sometimes they sit in silence, sometimes they argue softly about trivial things over and over again. But you never get sick of it. It was always interesting.
They talk about what's the best whisky brands, the meaning of justice, whether people can really change. You stand between them, half amused, half oblivious to the way their gazes linger a little too long after you turn away.
Both men think the other is ridiculous. But neither can stop returning. Because somewhere between the clink of glasses and your easy laughter, between the exhaustion of long days and the soft glow of your bar, something starts to shift. It was a quiet obsession neither of them dares to name.
It happens on a Thursday. The rain hasnβt stopped since afternoon, and the bar feels smaller than usual. And you liked it that way. You liked the warm golden echo, where you can enjoy the world in the quiet. Youβre rinsing glasses when the door opens, letting in a gust of wind and the smell of wet asphalt.
Kento was the first to arrive, as always. He nods in greeting, shedding his coat, his sandy blond hair damp at the temples. βRough day?β you ask, drying a glass with the towel slung over your shoulder.
βTheyβre all rough, sweet girl.β he says, though thereβs the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. βThatβs just how it is.β
You felt a certain way with his nicknames for you. But you donβt say it out loud. Instead, you focus on pouring his drink without asking what heβd like. You already know what he likes. He takes it with a quiet βThank you.β
Then, half an hour later, the door opens again. βEvening.β Higuruma Hiromi says, shaking the rain from his umbrella. His voice carries easily through the low music, smooth and tired at once. βGuess Iβm late to the party.β
Β You grin. βJust in time. Your usual?β
βYou remember, hm, donβt you?β he says, sliding onto the stool a few seats away from Kento. βIβm honored to become your regular, darling.β
βHm, well you drink something easy to make.β You retort back at him, placing the bourbon on rocks in front of him. βThank you for making it easier on me.β
βOf course, darling.β He says, raising it and drinking it clear.Β
Kento glances at him, expression unreadable. βHiguruma.β
βNanami.β A polite nod, the kind that means I didnβt expect to see you here again. I thought I'd driven you away with annoyance already.Β
You set their refills once again. Another bout of whisky neat for Kento, then a new drink for Hiromi which is gin and tonic. As they drank the second bout of alcohol, you can feel the air settle between them, faintly electric.
βSo, uhβ¦.β you say, leaning against the counter. βWhatβs the verdict tonight? Who had the worst day?β
βMe.β Hiromi says without hesitation. βCross-examination with a witness who couldnβt tell the difference between a fact and a feeling.β
Kento huffs softly, something like amusement. βThen I suppose you havenβt met my boss. He threw a fit like a toddler and broke glass because daddy didnβt give him more venture capital.β
You laugh, a bright sound that cuts through the rain outside. βYou two really should form a club.β
Hiromi leans in slightly, chin resting on his hand. βWould you join if we did?β
βIβd have to see the benefits package first.β
Kentoβs eyes flick up to you then. It was brief, but sharp. βAnd what would that include?β
You tilt your head, feigning thought. βDecent pay, good health care, flexible hours, and no talking about work after 10 p.m.β
That earns a low chuckle from both. For a moment, it feels easy. It was almost domestic. But then the night stretches longer than it should. One customer leaves, then another, until itβs only the three of you left. The clock ticks past midnight. You glance at the time but donβt move to close up.
Hiromi's voice breaks the silence first. βHave you ever thought about quitting?β
You blink. βThe bar?β
He nods. βI feel like you could do better than this.β
βSometimes.β you admit. βBut then people like you come in and make it bearable.β
He smiles faintly. βThatβs a dangerous thing to say.β
βWhy?β
βBecause someone might believe it.β
Kento finishes his drink in silence, setting the glass down with precision. βItβs not a bad job,β he says, voice low. βYou make people feelβ¦less alone.β
You look at him, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. βThatβs a nice way to put it.β
He meets your eyes. βItβs the truth.β
The silence that follows isnβt uncomfortable. It hums of something youβve never understood or found for yourself before. It was full of something unspoken, the kind that lingers in the air between three people who shouldnβt keep meeting like this, but do.
You finally exhale, glancing toward the window. βI should start getting shit done and start doing the closing soon.β
Hiromi checks his watch, then leans back. βWeβre keeping you.β
βYou always do, you two.β you tease lightly. βBut the tips are nice, so keep it coming.β
Nanami Kento stands, pulling out his wallet, but Higuruma Hiromi stops him. βIβll get this round.β
The blond arches a brow. βThatβs unnecessary.β
βConsider itβ¦professional courtesy, between colleagues.β The lawyer says, with a faint smirk.
You shake your head, hiding your smile. βYou two are ridiculous.β
βAnd yet, darling, you like it.β Hiromi says, turning to you. βYou donβt seem to mind the entertainment.β
You look at him and then at Nanami Kento, whose gaze hasnβt left you since you spoke. βMaybe I donβt.β
Another beat. The rain outside softens to a whisper. Kento βs voice is quieter now. βDo you walk home this late?β
You shrug. βItβs not far.β
βYou shouldnβt.β he says, almost too quickly. βThe streets arenβt safe at this hour.β
βIβll be fine.β you say with a smile. βYou donβt have to worry about me, Nanami-san.β
He hesitates, then looks away, the muscle in his jaw tightening. βIβll walk her back, donβt worry.β Hiromi offers, already reaching for his coat.
βYou donβt have toββ
βMaybe I want to.β
Kentoβs caramel eyes flick toward him, sharp. βYouβve had three drinks.β
βStill more capable than you look right now, donβt you think?β Hiromi replies smoothly.
You sigh, sliding the last glass into the rack. βYou two can stop arguing. Iβll lock up and walk by myself.β
But neither moves. You can feel their eyes. One steady and restrained, the other warm and piercing. Two men who shouldnβt care, but somehow do. The two of them decided to wait for you, to at least make sure you got out safely.Β
When you finally turn off the last light, the sound of the rain is all that fills the silence as the three of you walk together, the two of them holding their own umbrellas over your head.
As you all pass the street, all you can think about is the quiet, impossible thought that they might both be waiting for the next excuse to come back. Or even walk you home.
YOU START TO NOTICE THINGS. At first, itβs easy to dismiss them. The small patterns, the quiet gestures that repeat over nights that all blur together. You may have been younger then, more naive, less aware of what it meant when someoneβs eyes lingered too long or their voice softened in your direction. But even then, it was getting obvious.
Nanami Kento always tips too much but tries to not linger far too much. He finishes his drinks, talks once in a while, thanks you with quiet sincerity, and leaves like heβs afraid to overstay and make you uncomfortable.Β
His restraint is almost old-fashioned, a kind of politeness that feels out of place in a world where most people demand to be seen. Yet, in the way he looks at you with those beautiful caramel eyes, with those measured, fleeting gazes, thereβs something in him that is restrained and heavy, like heβs holding back more than just conversation.
Higuruma Hiromi, on the other hand, always lingers but never flirts. He stays long after his glass is empty, elbows on the counter, tracing the rim of his drink with absent fingers. He talks, not about himself but about you.
He asks about the books you like, the classes youβre taking, the places you want to go. His questions are never inappropriate, but they come too often, too easily. He listens too closely.
You think theyβre both just lonely, though. They seem to be men far too comfortable with loneliness, men whoβve built a quiet life around it. The kind who donβt expect to be understood anymore, whoβve accepted that affection comes only in passing moments. It was like the brush of fingers over a bar counter or the sound of someone remembering their usual order.
Most men like that are too old for their own emotions. Too careful to fall, too afraid to want. Men who like the illusion of being cared for. Men who look for love in the worst of places. But they notice you too. You know they do. They just cannot help themselves.
They start arriving together more often now, it was almost as if theyβre timing it together. They were leaving work at the same hour, walking into your bar with the same tired posture. Itβs not a coincidence anymore. It's a habit.
Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they donβt. But they both watch you. The way your sleeves ride up when you reach for bottles on the top shelf. The faint scar along your wrist that catches the light. The way you look when you think no oneβs paying attention. Itβs quiet, thoughtful even. But sometimes, you think it's also a little sad.
Something begins to shift with more and more time you spend together. You can feel it, slow and inevitable. The pull of something neither of them meant to start, and neither of them knows how to stop. Then, one of them finds out.
It doesnβt matter how they found it all out. Could have been a stray comment, could have been a passing remark about a college exam or a part-time schedule. But suddenly, itβs out there: your age. How young you actually are.
Much younger than either of them expected. It unsettles them both, but in different ways. You were twenty-two years old, you were an adult. That was true. But twenty years of gaps are still gaps to be known and felt when you three were together.
Nanami Kento goes quiet first. He doesnβt say anything that night, but his hands tighten around his glass. When he leaves, he does it without looking back. For a while after, he doesnβt return for a few days. You think maybe thatβs for the best.Β
But when he does come back, itβs worse. His restraint has turned brittle, an iron that had tried so long to resist had rusted. His distance is sharper. He tries to pull away, to remind himself of boundaries and propriety, of the line between what is right and what is wanted.
But it only makes his desire even more consuming to him. Nanami Kento tells himself itβs not real. That itβs just exhaustion, fascination, that it was his mid-life crisis. That it was nothing more. But his eyes say otherwise. It always does.
Higuruma Hiromi, on the other hand, reacts differently. He merely laughs when he hears your age. He laughs with such a soft, disbelieving sound. And that had surprised you. You hadnβt expected that from him.
βYouβre still in school then, darling?β he asks, and when you nod, he looks away, something unreadable passing through his gaze.Β
But the next time he comes in, heβs the same as he was. He was still relaxed, and far more curious, maybe even warmer than before. He starts to rationalize it in his mind.Β Itβs not wrong, he tells himself, if youβre the one pulling them in. If you smile first. If you keep the conversations going. If youβre the one who always pours the next drink before they ask.
And thatβs how it starts for the two of them.Β Β
The quiet unraveling of the line between being seen and being wanted.
After that night, something in the air changes.
Nanami Kento once more doesnβt come back. It wasnβt just days now, it became weeks. Two weeks, maybe three. You almost think heβs decided to stop entirely for a while.
That maybe the realization of how young you are, how much life you still have ahead of you, pushed him to keep his distance. You tell yourself itβs for the best. Men like him donβt belong in the lives of people like you.
But then, one evening, you see him again, after a cold rainy night. The same seat, the same order. Whisky, neat. He looks the same too. Still in his crisp suit, quiet composure but thereβs something different in his expression. A tension, like every word he might say, has been weighed and measured before it leaves his mouth.
You greet him with your usual smile. βItβs been a while, Nanami-san.β
βIβve been busy.β he says, and it sounds like an apology.
For a while, you talk about nothing. Then youΒ start to speak. You speak on the weather. Work. A new menu item. Even your college. But his warm caramel eyes keep flicking toward you. Not with the familiar warmth, but with a careful distance, like heβs afraid of seeing too much.
When you step away to serve another table, he exhales, shoulders softening. Watching you laugh with someone your own age makes something inside him ache. There was a mix of fondness and guilt he canβt quite name. Youβre bright in a way the world no longer feels to him. And thatβs exactly what terrifies him.
βMore whiskey?β you ask.
He gives a quiet hum, lifting his empty glass. βOld habits.β
You lean on your elbows, chin tilted, teasing, βBad ones, Iβd say.β
His lips curve at that. Not quite a smile, more the ghost of one. βYou sound like someone who hasnβt lived long enough to develop any.β
βMaybe.β you say, shrugging. βOr maybe I just watch people make the same mistakes enough to learn from them.β
That earns you a real smile, small and tired. The kind that makes you wonder if it hurts him to mean it. For a moment, neither of you speak. The bar hums softly with low chatter and clinking glasses.
Then you say, βYou donβt come by as much anymore.β
He hesitates, eyes tracing the rim of his glass. βNo.β he says finally, voice low. βI didn't think it was a good idea.β
You tilt your head, curious. βWhy not?β
Nanami Kento looks at you then, really looks and in his gaze is all the restraint in the world, pressed thin against something fragile. βBecauseβ¦..β he says, after a beat too long, βI donβt want to start relying on things I shouldnβt.β
The words hang between you, heavier than either of you expected. You purse your lips. βIs that so?β
βIβm not going to be good for you, dear girl.β He whispers back to you, perhaps the alcohol finally making its way to his lips as truth. β
You blink, caught off guard by the quiet gravity in his tone. His words arenβt dramatic, at least not the way you were hearing them. Theyβre weary, resigned, like heβs spent too long convincing himself of their truth.
βIs that supposed to be your warning label?β you say softly, trying to keep the air light, but your voice trembles on the edges.
Nanami exhales through his nose, something almost like a laugh but not quite. βYou deserve things that arenβt... half-lived.βΒ
He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, eyes fixed on it as though it could tell him something heβs been avoiding. βSomeone your age shouldnβt waste time waiting for men like me to remember what it feels like to want anything.β
You cross your arms loosely, leaning against the bar. βYou say that like youβve already decided for both of us.β
βI have to.β His gaze lifts, and thereβs something raw in it now. Itβs not distance, but the ache of someone standing too close to the edge. βBecause I know what it looks like when people like me take comfort where they shouldnβt. It starts tender and ends in ruin.β
For a moment, all you can hear is the low murmur of other patrons, the faint hum of a jazz record playing somewhere behind the counter. His hand, steady all evening, finally falters around the glass.
You swallow. βAnd what if I donβt mind a little ruin?β
That earns a flicker of something in his eyes. It was full of things you didnβt want to acknowledge. But you knew you could see it. He wants to be wanted. He was full of fear but also, he wanted that recognition. He looks away entirely, jaw tightening.
βThen Iβd mind for you.β he says.
The words are quiet in that regard. Nothing more came with that finality. But underneath, you think to yourself that you can hear what he doesnβt say: Itβs already too late for that.
HIGURAMA HIROMI WAS A BOLD MAN. But not in the way people usually meant it or thought him to be. His boldness towards you wasnβt loud or reckless. If anything, you saw it to be something that you can deal with.
It was quiet, deliberate, the kind that lived in the pauses between words.Β He didnβt stop coming to see you, unlike Nanami Kento. In fact, he came more often. Far more than he should have. Yet each visit carried a different weight now.
If anything, he was far softer, eager to be steadier.Β It was like he was trying to convince himself that this was harmless. Like he was proving to you too, that he was someone safe to be around.
He was not someone that was going to hurt or take advantage of you. That was the truth. You suppose you can see that. His teasing had all but vanished. The sharp wit, the dry humor.
All of that was gone. He had gone and let it be replaced by something gentler, almost hesitant. When he spoke to you now, it wasnβt to provoke a laugh. If anything, it was to make sure you were still breathing, still eating, still safe.
βYouβre eating well?β heβd ask, tone so casual it almost masked the worry.
βGetting enough sleep?β
βYou shouldnβt walk home alone, you know. Not these days.β
He didnβt ask out of obligation. You could feel that in the way his dark gaze lingered a heartbeat too long after your answers, as if he was memorizing proof that you were alright. He always framed his concern as passing conversation, but you could tell it was anything but.
And then there was the way he lingered after closing time. Always a few steps behind as you locked up the bar, always walking a careful distance behind you down the dim street.
Never close enough to make you uncomfortable, but close enough that you could sense him there. The silent shadow in a lawyerβs coat, cigarette burning low between his fingers.
He never said he was following you to the bus stop, never made a show of it. But every night, when the bus finally arrived and you looked back, he was there.
He was pretending to check his watch, or his phone, or the street around him. And every night, he didnβt turn away until the bus doors closed and you were safely inside.
You told yourself it was just his nature. To be protective, overcautious, unable to let go of responsibility. But there was something in the way his eyes softened when you waved from the window that told you otherwise.
He wasnβt protecting you because he had to.
He was protecting you because he couldnβt help it.
He wanted to take care of you in his own way too.
The streetlight hums above you, washing everything in a tired gold. For a moment, neither of you speak. The sound of passing cars fills the space between words, and you realize how late itβs gotten.
The world around you is thinning out to nothing but shadows and the faint smell of rain. Hiromiβs gaze lingers on the road ahead, hands tucked in the pockets of his thickly lined coat.
The faint breeze tugs at his hair, the usually neat strands falling over his eyes. He looks younger like this. Or maybe just more human, stripped of courtroom poise and sharp edges.
βI know you can handle yourself.β he says eventually, voice quiet but steady. βThatβs never been the problem.β
You tilt your head, watching him carefully. βThen what is?β
He lets out a slow exhale, as if trying to find the right words. βItβs that people donβt always get what they deserve. You can do everything right and still end up hurt. Iβve seen too much of that.β
Thereβs no heat in his tone, only fatigue. It was the kind born of watching too many bad endings. You canβt tell if heβs talking about you, or himself. Maybe both. You look down at your shoes, scuffing the pavement.Β
βYou sound like someone who doesnβt believe in luck anymore.β
That earns the faintest chuckle from him. βI used to, I suppose.β he admits. βBut luck doesnβt hold up in court.β
You laugh softly, but it dies quickly. His darker eyes find yours then, and for a fleeting second, you see something unguarded flicker through them.
It was something he immediately hides again behind a careful smile. The bus finally arrives with a low hiss, the bright headlights cutting through the dim night.
You step closer to the curb, heart tugging somewhere strange and heavy. You couldnβt help but look at him for much longer than you should have. When you realized, you quickly looked away, flustered and red.
βGet home safe, okay?β he says. Itβs simple, habitual. But it lands differently this time. βCall me and let me know.β
You nod. βYou too, Hiromi-san. Please get home safe.β
When you climb onto the bus and look back through the window, heβs still there. Hands in his pockets, watching until the bus disappears down the street. He doesnβt wave. But he stays until youβre gone.
Hiromi waits until he gets home before he calls. The city outside his apartment window hums low and distant, a different kind of silence settling over him. He stares at his phone for a long moment before finally pressing the number.
Nanami Kento answers on the third ring. βHigurama.β
βItβs definitely not a bad time, no? Youβre home.β Hiromi says, voice steady, though his jaw is tight. βSo you can take time.β
β......Yes, I am. What do you want?β
βYou got a minute now?β
A pause. βOf course.β
Thereβs a soft exhale on Hiromiβs end, like heβs been holding something in too long. βGood, good. Because I think we need to talk about her. I need to sort you clean, you bastard.β
Kento doesnβt respond right away, but the quiet on the other end says enough. βOkay, no answer? Iβll monologue, so donβt speak.β
βYou know, Nanami Kento.β Hiromi continued to say. βIβve been watching you dance around this for months. Showing up, pulling away, pretending youβre doing the right thing by keeping your distance, when really youβre just stuck.β
βHiromiββ
βNo.β His tone sharpens, not angry, but firm. βYou need to hear this. Because I care about her, and I care about you, and thisββ he exhales, frustrated ββthis limbo youβve put her in isnβt fair to either of you.β
Kentoβs voice comes low, strained. βYou think I donβt know that?β
βI think you do know all about it.β Hiromi replies. βYou just donβt want to decide. But if you cared about her, if you loved her even half as much as I think you do then youβd settle your damn feelings. Either leave her alone or let it be something. Stop hovering like a ghost.β
Thereβs a long, weighted silence. Higurama Hiromi can almost hear Nanami Kento breathe, slow and uneven, through the receiver. He seemed so unable to say the thing that he wants to.
"Speak up, man. Come on."
βI donβt want to hurt her.β Kento says, after a while. βSheβsβ¦.sheβs precious to me.β
βThen stop doing it in pieces, you damn bastard.β Hiromi says, voice softer now. βShe deserves someone who chooses her. Not someone who hides behind guilt.β
He lets the words hang, heavy and unrelenting. For once, Nanami Kento doesnβt argue. When the call ends, Higurama Hiromi stands there for a while, staring at his phone.
The bright city hums outside, distant and alive, and he runs a tired hand through his hair. He doesnβt feel better, not really. But at least, for once, heβs said what needed to be said, blunly, honestly.
Because he wants this to work. He wants this to be good. And he can only hope that it ends up that way. Otherwise, he knows that he'd hurt you even more. Kento will hurt you even more. He does not want that.
"Just give us time." He whispers under his breath. "Please."
NANAMI KENTO SAW THE JOY IN YOUR EYES WHEN HE CAME AGAIN. It was small, to be sure. But it was beautiful to see. It was so soft, it was a startled kind of brightness but it struck him all the same.
He hadnβt realized how much heβd missed that look until he saw it again, until it hit him with the quiet weight of everything heβd been trying not to feel. After that, he and Hiromi start showing up together again. No explanations, no remarks.
Just two men returning to the same quiet corner of the bar as if routine could disguise the shift beneath it. Yet, the air feels heavier now. It was taut with something unspoken, fragile. All three of you feel it. None of you acknowledge it.
They still sit in their usual spots with Nanami Kento at the far end of the counter, Higurama Hiromi closer to where you work. You still move between them, pouring drinks, smiling, pretending not to notice how the rhythm has changed. But you do.
Nanami Kentoβs glances are more careful now, the kind that slides away the moment your eyes might meet. His restraint feels different. It was not indifference, but self-defense. Hiromi, on the other hand, has decided to stay silent.Β
His teasing has dulled into something more thoughtful, his questions gentler, his laughter rarer. Sometimes you catch him looking at Nanami Kento, his expression unreadable, not angry, but concerned, almost resigned.
You notice that neither of them laughs as easily anymore. The small talk feels forced, polite. When you serve them, they thank you in tones too carefully, like theyβre trying not to let anything slip. Itβs as if both men have built invisible walls. Not against each other, but around you.
During a lull between customers, you dry your hands on a towel and look between them. They sit in the same silence, nursing their drinks, and you finally say, βDid something happen between you two?β
Nanami Kento looks up, startled. He was caught off guard not by the question itself, but by your perceptiveness. βNo, noβ¦Not exactly.β he says after a moment. βWhy do you ask?β
You tilt your head slightly, studying both of them. βYou both look like youβre waiting for something to end.β
Hiromiβs jaw tenses, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes before he hides it behind his glass. Kento doesnβt answer. He only looks down, fingers tightening imperceptibly around the rim of his drink.
The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable. But it was gladly not hostile. It's certainly just weary. Like the truth has been circling too long, and no one wants to be the first to name it. No one wants to open Pandora's box.
You force a small smile, trying to shake off the tension. βYou knowβ¦.β you murmur back at them. βItβs strange seeing you two this quiet. I used to think you only came here to debate, maybe even argue. But nowβ¦.β
That earns a faint sound from Hiromi. It wasΒ not quite a laugh, but the closest thing to one tonight. βMaybe we ran out of things to fight about, darling.β he says, drinking his alcohol. βDonβt worry too much about it.β
βOr maybe, itβs something else.β the blond man adds quietly, caramel eyes still on his glass. βMaybe we finally found something not worth fighting over.β
The words linger between the three of you, low and steady, carrying far more weight than you can place. You stare at him, but he doesnβt look up. Hiromi does, though. And whatever passes between him and Kento in that brief glance feels like a conversation neither of them will ever say aloud.
When you turn away to tend to another table, both men exhale at once, the sound nearly identical. It was as if each had been holding his breath for far too long. But you didnβt want to butt in. So you let it go and handle the other customers.
Later, as the night winds down and the last of the crowd drifts out, the bar settles into that familiar, fragile quiet. It was only the hum of the refrigerator and the soft rhythm of your cleaning rag against the counter. Youβre half-distracted, humming to yourself, when you hear their voices carry softly from the corner booth.
βSheβs too young, Kento.β Hiromi says. His tone isnβt sharp. If anything, itβs quiet, almost pleading, like heβs said it before in different words. His cigarette was now long abandoned on the counter. βDonβt break her heart like this.β
βI know.β The salaryman whispered, smoking the nicotine out of his lips. βIβm notβ¦I am aware.β
A pause follows, long enough that you almost think thatβs the end of it. But Hiromi speaks again, lower now. βThen whyββ
Kento exhales, a sound too tired to be called a sigh. βBecause she reminds me of when things still mattered.β
The silence that follows feels alive. Then, almost as if heβs confessing it to himself, He then adds. βAnd because I know if I let myself have her, Iβd ruin her.β
Something in the way he says it makes you stop moving. The cloth stills in your hand. His voice isnβt filled with longing, or even regret. Itβs quiet and resolute, the sound of a man standing behind the bars of his own making.
Hiromi doesnβt respond right away. You hear the faint scrape of his chair, the soft clink of glass. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight. βYou think restraint makes it better?β
βItβs the only decent thing I have left.β The blond says in reply, smoking again. βItβs all I can ever do for her sake.β
That stays with you, the weary honesty in it, the ache threaded through every word. You shouldnβt have listened, you tell yourself. But you do. You canβt help it. When you turn around again, theyβre already leaving.Β
The soft echo of the door closing feels too final, too heavy. You stand there for a while, staring at their empty glasses, two faint rings of condensation side by side, fading into the wood. Later, when you lock up and start walking home, his words follow you down the quiet street.Β
She reminds me of when things still mattered. If I let myself have her, Iβd ruin her.
You tell yourself itβs not your concern, that whatever exists between them, between you, is theirs to untangle. But the truth is, something has changed. After they find out you overheard because somehow they always do, everything shifts. Not all at once, but slowly, like the air after a storm.
Nanami Kento becomes quieter, more withdrawn. When he looks at you, thereβs an ache there. It was not unkind, just burdened, like heβs seeing something he wants but has already decided to deny himself. His restraint is no longer courtesy; itβs penance.
Hiromi watches him with that lawyerβs gaze, far too calm, too precise, harsh and unblinking. He doesnβt mention the conversation, but you feel his understanding hanging in every silence. When Nanami Kento leaves early, Hiromi lingers a little longer, as if keeping watch over the space he canβt fill.
The rhythm you shared with them shifts into something fragile. You still laugh, still talk, still pour their drinks but the lightness is gone. What remains is quiet tension, warm and aching, as if all three of you know the boundary has already been crossed.
And yet, despite everything, despite guilt, restraint, and all the unspoken rules that shouldβve kept you apart, they keep coming back. Both of them. Always. It isnβt logical. It isnβt routine. It canβt be that.Β
Itβs something deeper, something neither of them would ever admit aloud but both are helpless to deny. You feel it too. You feel that slow, magnetic pull that brings them to you night after night, as if the three of you are caught in the same orbit. As if none of you can bear to let it collapse.
Hiromi tries to make sense of it.Β
Kento can only try to bury it down.
But you, you can only feel it.
Itβs there in the way Hiromiβs gaze softens when you laugh, in the way Kentoβs eyes flicker to you and away again like heβs afraid the light might burn him. Whatever binds the three of you isnβt something that can be reasoned away. Itβs not rational, or moral, or safe.Β
It just is. It hums beneath every breath, lingers in every pause. Itβs in the way they both watch over you. It wasΒ one with gentle caution, the other with quiet guilt. And maybe, deep down, they both know that what they feel isnβt just about you.
Itβs about what theyβve lost, what they still wish they could be. You remind them of warmth, of youth, of the parts of themselves the world has worn down to ash. You can feel all of that, even in the silence. Especially in the silence.
One night, itβs too much to hold in. The bar is nearly empty, lit only by the low amber glow of a single lamp. Outside, the rain taps gently against the windows. Soft, rhythmic, the kind of sound that makes confessions feel inevitable.
Nanami KentoΒ sits where he always does, his posture perfect, his tie slightly loosened, as though even now heβs trying to hold onto order. His glass is finally empty. You pour him another bout of it.Β
The soft, deliberate sound of whiskey spilling feels almost intimate. When you set the glass down before him, his eyes lift to meet yours. He looks tired. But it was not the kind of tired sleep that can fix and release him from all of it.
βYou donβt have to look so guilty, you know.β you say, your voice quiet but steady. βIβm not a kid.β
He freezes, his hand hovering mid-air. The motion is small, but it feels enormous. It was as though time itself pauses to see what heβll do. βI didnβt say you were, sweet girl.β he replies finally, his voice low and careful, but thereβs a tremor beneath it, a thread of tension that betrays him.
You smile faintly, soft and knowing. βYou didnβt have to. And you still do.β
The words settle between you like smoke. Fragile, dangerous, impossible to take back. His breath catches, barely audible, and for the first time, you see him falter. The composure he wears like armor cracks at the edges.
He looks at you, and the weight of everything unsaid fills the space between you. The bar feels smaller suddenly, too warm, too close. You can see the war in his expression. The part of him that wants to step closer, and the part thatβs terrified of what that would mean.
He swallows hard. βItβs not guiltβ¦at least not that I think of.β he says finally, his voice almost breaking on the words. βItβs fear.β
You tilt your head, your pulse quickening. βFear of what?β
The blond manβs gaze drops to his drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light. When he answers, itβs so soft you almost donβt hear him. βOf what I might become if I stop pretending I donβt feel it.β
Something in you stirs. It was an ache, a kind of sorrow you canβt name. His fingers brush against the glass, and for a moment they graze yours, fleeting but electric. The contact is nothing, and everything.Β
Itβs the smallest brush of skin, but it makes the air between you feel alive. You donβt pull away. Neither does he. Outside, thunder murmurs somewhere in the distance, rain streaking the windows like threads of silver. Inside, everything goes impossibly still.Β
His hand lingers near yours for a fraction too long, then retreats, slow and reluctant, like a man forcing himself to remember who heβs supposed to be. He finally takes a sip, eyes closing briefly. As though heβs trying to steady something breaking loose inside him. When he opens them again, his gaze finds yours, soft and pained.
βYou deserve something untouched.β he says quietly. βAnd Iβm not that.β
Your chest tightens. You want to tell him that you never asked for something untouched, that you donβt care about clean edges or whatβs already been broken. But you canβt find the words to say back to him.Β
You only smile again, faintly, and whisper, βYou didnβt have to tell me that, either.β
And maybe thatβs what undoes him. It was not your words, but the gentleness in them. The way you look at him without judgment, without expectation. The way you see the ruin in him and donβt flinch. He looks away first. Always.
When the last customer leaves and the lights dim to their softer hue, you begin your closing routine in silence. The clink of glass, the sweep of a rag over the counter, the hum of the refrigerator.
All of it feels heavier tonight. Nanami Kento lingers, as he always does, his thick wool coat draped over one arm, watching you with that same unreadable calm that hides too much underneath.
You can feel his caramel eyes on you, steady but distant, as if heβs trying to memorize the shape of your silhouette before forcing himself to forget it. Itβs unbearable, the quiet between you, the restraint that hums louder than any confession ever could.
When you finally turn to him, he straightens slightly, ready to say his usual goodbye. But something in you refuses to let the night end that easily. βNanami-san.β
He pauses, his name sounding almost intimate in your mouth. βYes?β
You take a slow breath, gripping the edge of the counter like you need the anchor. βI hopeβ¦.β you start softly. βI hope that one day youβll justβ¦let me decide things too.β
He frowns faintly, confusion flickering before realization sets in. His brows draw together, the faintest crease forming between them. βWhat do you mean?β
You exhale a quiet, shaky laugh. βYou talk like everythingβs already been decided. Itβs like Iβm something to protect, not someone who gets to choose.β You look down, then back up at him, and your eyes meet his squarely. βBut Iβm not fragile. I have logic. I have sense. I also have feelings, you know.β
The words land like a soft blow. He doesnβt move, but you see it. The flicker of emotion that crosses his face before he schools it back into calm. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, like heβs not sure which truth is safe to say.
βI know you do, sweet girl.β he says finally, his voice low. βThatβs what makes this harder.β
You shake your head, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. βYou think I donβt understand what Iβm doing? That I donβt see what this is?β
His silence answers him. You step closer. Not too close, but enough that the space between you feels thinner, charged. βYou act like the only person who could get hurt here is me. But maybe itβs not about being hurt, Nanami-san. Maybe itβs about choice. Maybe I want to choose what hurts me.β
For a moment, he just looks at you and the air feels too full, too real. His eyes, usually so careful, soften into something almost tender, almost breaking. He exhales, slow and heavy. βYou shouldnβt have to make choices like that.β
βMaybe not.β you whisper back at him. βBut it doesnβt mean you get to make them for me.β
Thereβs a long pause. The rain outside has slowed to a drizzle, the city humming softly beyond the glass. He sets his empty glass down, fingers brushing the counter once, like heβs memorizing the moment.
βYouβreβ¦braver than I am, you and Hiromi are brave.β he says, almost to himself. βOr maybe just less broken.β
βMaybe both.β you say gently.
Something fragile passes between you. You can tell that itβs not quite peace, not quite surrender. Just understanding. When he finally moves to leave, you watch him quietly, the sound of his footsteps slow and deliberate.Β
At the door, he finds himself hesitating. The light catches the side of his handsome face, and he looks back at you with something unguarded in his expression. It was something like longing, or regret, or both.
βIβll try.β he says simply.
You nod. βThatβs all I wanted.β
He leaves then, stepping out into the night, his silhouette fading against the dim streetlights. You stand there long after heβs gone, your heart unsteady, but not aching. Because this time, it wasnβt silence that lingered between you. It was something closer to truth.
IT HAPPENED ON A WEDNESDAY. Youβre closing early this time around or at least, you plan to. But then, the door slams open and Higuruma Hiromi stumbles in. His tie is half undone, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and liquor. Itβs rare to see him like this.Β
Heβs always composed, deliberate. But tonight, he looks undone, stripped bare of whatever calm he usually wears like armor. You can smell the alcohol before he even sits down. He must have drunk quite a lot before coming here to you.
βHiromi-sanββ you say softly, setting aside the glass you were drying. βPlease, calm down. Weβre closed.β
βSince when?β he mutters, half laughing. βYou never close this early.β
βThereβs a first time for everything.β you reply gently, moving to take the bottle from his reach.
He doesnβt stop you. Just slumps against the counter and presses his palms over his face. βMy client.β he says after a moment. βHeβhe killed himself. Before the verdict came out.β
You pause. βIβm sorry.β
He lets out a shaky laugh. βYou say that like it means something.β
You donβt know what to say to that, so you donβt. You just quietly start tidying up around him, locking the doors, flipping the sign to Closed. You donβt want anyone else to see him like this. The proud lawyer is now just a man drowning in the wreckage of someone elseβs tragedy.
βI thought I was helping him.β he whispers to you, holding his alcoholic drink. βBut maybe I just made him believe there was hope when there wasnβt any.β
There's silence after that. The kind that presses on your ribs. Then he lifts his head, his eyes red, unfocused. βYou make it look so easy.β he says suddenly. βCaring about people.β
You blink. βThatβs part of the job.β
He shakes his head. βNo. Itβs not. You mean it. Thatβs what makes it dangerous.β
Before you can answer, the door opens again. You turn, trying to tell them that the bar is closed already but you stop yourself. Instead your mouth opened, to see Nanami Kento standing in the doorway, rain still clinging to his coat.
βI saw the lights and Iβ¦.β he says, eyes flicking between you and Higuruma. βItβs late. I wasβ¦ worried.β
Higuruma laughs, not kindly. βOf course you were.β
Β Kentoβs expression hardens. βYouβre drunk.β
βBrilliant deduction.β
You step between them before the tension can crack any further. βBoth of you, sit down. Please.β
For a moment, no one moves. Then, grudgingly, they do. You pour water for Hiromi and tea for Kento. The air feels heavy, brittle at this moment, almost like static before a storm. Kento sits with that practiced calm of his, but his gaze keeps drifting toward you. It was protective, conflicted. Hiromi watches him with something close to bitterness.
And then, suddenly, he laughs again. Soft, humorless. βYou think we donβt notice?β
You frown. βNotice what?β
He looks at you then, eyes sharp despite the alcohol. βHow you look at us.β
The words hang in the air, shattering whatever fragile balance was left. You freeze. The sound of the rain against the windows fills the silence that follows. Nanami Kento could feel his jaw tighten. He doesnβt speak, doesnβt deny it. Just looks down at his hands, fingers curling slightly against the table.
For a long, unbearable moment, no one breathes. Then Kento exhales, low and heavy. βThatβs enough, Higuruma.β
βIs it?β Higuruma snaps, his voice raw. βBecause Iβm tired of pretending this isnβt happening. Tired of acting like we donβt all know exactly what this is.β
You can feel your pulse in your throat. βYouβre drunk and youβre upset.β you say quietly. βYou do not need to talk about this right now.β
βMaybe.β he says, leaning back. βBut Iβm not wrong.β
Kento stands abruptly, his restraint cracking just enough for frustration to bleed through. βThis isnβt the placeββ
βThen where is it, that place?β Higuruma cuts in. βWhere do men like us go to be honest?β
The silence that follows feels endless. You donβt move. Neither do they. Just three lonely people sitting in a dimly lit bar, surrounded by the ghosts of everything theyβve never said and the things they donβt know how to express honestly.
When Higuruma Hiromi finally slumps forward, head in his hands, the fight drains out of him. You kneel beside him, gentle, steady, coaxing him to drink water, to breathe. Kento helps wordless, carefully guiding him upright, making sure he doesnβt fall.
They donβt leave until nearly dawn. No one mentions what was said. No one apologizes. But something fundamental has shifted. From that night on, nothing feels the same. Their glances linger too long. Your jokes fall flatter. Even silence feels louder.
And though nothing happened. There was no touch, no line crossed by any of you. You know, in some quiet, irreversible way, that the three of you stepped past something you can never fully go back from.
The relationship grows dangerous in its intimacy. Not because of anything explicit, but because of how easily small gestures start meaning too much. At first, itβs practical things. Nanami Kento walking you to the station after work. Higuruma Hiromi waiting with coffee when your morning classes run late. Little courtesies that shouldnβt matter but they do. This does.
Then it becomes routine. You start meeting outside the bar. Sometimes itβs dinner after their long workdays. The quiet places where the lighting is soft and beautiful, and no one looks too long.Β
Sometimes itβs the morning after your shift, when the city hasnβt fully woken yet and everything feels half-dreamed. You sit together, saying almost nothing. It feels safe, but only on the surface. Sometimes youβre with Nanami Kento. Sometimes Higuruma Hiromi. And sometimes, both.
They donβt plan it. They donβt need to. With the time that had passed, there was now a rhythm forming between them, one they both pretended not to notice. It was a silent coordination built on shared secrecy.
Kento waits for you outside the bar on nights he doesnβt have to. Hiromi messages first, asking if youβve eaten, then deletes the texts later. They both stop pretending it's a coincidence. You start to see it clearly: theyβve begun to mirror each other. You began to see yourself in them too.
Kento found little by little that his restraint began to crack. The precision he lives by. All the rules, the professionalism. They had all started slipping in the quiet moments when he looks at you too long, when his voice softens without meaning to. He still doesnβt touch you, doesnβt say anything he shouldnβt, but the silence between words grows heavier, harder to ignore.
Hiromi, meanwhile, is fraying in a different way. The guilt that used to keep him cautious now twists into justification. He tells himself itβs harmless, that itβs just comfort, that heβs helping. That he can express the thing he cannot in this tenderness.Β
But even he knows thatβs a lie. He was not that person. He knew he was. His kindness starts to curdle into something darker. It ws a need to be understood, to be forgiven for wanting what he shouldnβt.
And youβ¦.somehow, you become the link between them. And the fracture. They start talking to each other more, even without you around. Theyβre drawn together by the same thing thatβs undoing them.Β
You see it in the glances they exchange, the subtle tension that hums when all three of you share the same space. Itβs not romantic, not really. Itβs something messier. Intimacy without clarity. Affection without safety.
βThis isnβt sustainable.β Kento finally says, placing his hands on his lap. βThis is not good.β
You donβt ask what he means. You already know. βItβs never going to end up good.β
βI keep thinking about how itβll look. How itβll end.β Hiromi whispers under his breath.
You want to say it doesnβt have to end badly. You want to believe it, that maybe this strange, delicate thing between the three of you could exist outside of consequence, untouched by reality. But even as the thought forms, it dies somewhere in your chest. Because deep down, you know better.
By now, you can feel it too. The inevitability. It moves quietly, threading itself through every shared glance, every small mercy, every time one of them lingers a little too long after closing. Itβs not a love story.
Not the kind that ends with promises or peace. Itβs a slow, careful collapse built on good intentions and loneliness, on three people who found comfort where they shouldnβt have looked for it. And none of you know how to stop.
You tell yourself that itβs harmless. That you just like their company, that itβs all innocent. But thatβs a lie you repeat because itβs easier than confronting the truth. You keep finding reasons to see them, to talk, to hear their voices.Β
You tell yourself you need guidance, that you need someone older, someone who understands the weight of the world youβre only just beginning to feel. But underneath that, thereβs something else in there.
There was a need you canβt quite name. A longing to be seen by these men who seem to understand everything youβve never been able to put into words. And they feed into it, too. They feed your delusions and reassure their fantasies in this reality.
Maybe itβs guilt. Maybe itβs that same ache inside them that mirrors yours. But it grows. Slowly. Inevitably. It gets worse before it gets better. Maybe because none of you are brave enough to admit that itβs already too late. That the lines blurred long ago, and none of you can remember where they were drawn in the first place.
When you step behind the counter, they both follow your movements, but in different ways.Β Nanami Kentoβs gaze is steady, precise. It was the look of a man who memorizes details to keep himself from falling apart.Β
He watches your hands as you pour, the slight tilt of your wrist, the way you bite your lip when youβre focused. Itβs a kind of study, quiet and restrained, as though knowing you in fragments is safer than wanting you whole.
Higuruma Hiromiβs eyes, on the other hand, are nothing like that. His are direct, unflinching, almost defiant. He doesnβt look through you. He looks at you. Like heβs already accepted that heβs past the point of pulling back.Β
And youβ¦youβve stopped pretending not to notice. Youβve stopped pretending not to feel the air shift when one of them leans too close, not to notice how their presence makes the space around you feel charged, unsteady.Β
You tell yourself you didnβt ask for any of this, that you didnβt mean to become the center of whatever this is but thatβs not the whole truth, is it? Because thereβs something about being seen so clearly, so completely, that you canβt turn away from.Β
Itβs intoxicating. Itβs terrifying. Itβs the kind of attention that fills every quiet moment, every breath. You start to crave it even as you hate yourself for doing so. But it was just how it was. You wanted it. And you didnβt know what to do.
One night, when the crowd thins out and the bar hums with that late-hour silence, just the buzz of neon against the windows and the faint scrape of glass,Β you decide youβve had enough of pretending itβs normal. You stand behind the counter, hands braced against the wood, and look at them both.
Theyβre seated in their usual spots. Nanami Kento at the edge, composed as ever, his tie loosened. Higuruma Hiromi himself was sitting closer, one elbow propped up, a half-smile playing at his lips that didn't reach his eyes.
βYou canβt keep doing this.β you say finally, your voice quieter than you intend, but sharp enough to cut through the haze. βBoth of you. Youβre exhausting yourselves over something that doesnβt even make sense.β
Kento looks up first. βIt makes sense to me.β he says, and though his tone is calm, thereβs something heavy beneath it.Β It was the sound of conviction heβs ashamed of.
Hiromiβs response comes quicker, harsher. βItβs the only thing that has happened in months.β
You let out a brittle laugh, shaking your head. βDo you even hear yourselves? You talk like youβreββ you search for the word, then find it, bitter on your tongue β βaddicted.β
Kento doesnβt flinch. He meets your eyes, steady but tired. βMaybe we are.β
You stare at him for a moment, stunned by the quiet honesty of it. Then Hiromi leans forward, elbows pressing into the counter, his expression open, almost pleading. Almost begging to hear it from your lips. As though that would be the call to action.
βAddicted to what, though?β he asks softly, eyes darting between you and Nanami. βTo you? To each other? To feel something that isnβt emptiness?β
The words hang in the air like a confession neither of them can take back. No one speaks after that. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. In a way, it was the kind of silence that feels alive, pulsing with everything none of you dare to name.
And after that night, something changes again. Nanami Kento becomes more deliberate in everything he does, like heβs forcing himself into a role that keeps him safe. He becomes the caretaker: he makes sure you eat, that you go home at decent hours, that Higuruma doesnβt drown himself in alcohol or impulse.Β
He pretends itβs just duty, just decency, but you see through it. You see the tightness in his jaw when Higuruma Hiromi gets too close, the way his eyes flicker toward you when he thinks youβre not looking.
Higuruma, thoughβ¦..he starts to unravel. Some nights, heβs warm and witty, laughing too loudly at your jokes, teasing just enough to make you smile. Other nights, heβs tense, raw, restless. A man trying to provoke something, anything, to make sense of the noise in his own head.
And you, caught between them, start to crave both. Kentoβs steadiness feels safe, but suffocating. It was like being wrapped in glass, protected, but unable to breathe. Hiromiβs volatility feels dangerous, but real, like standing too close to the edge of something that makes you feel alive.
It becomes a pattern you live with day to day.Β
A dangerous, cyclical kind of intimacy.
And you didnβt want to let it go.
They argue, quietly at first, then sharper. You mediate between them. Someone storms out, someone stays behind. You say itβs fine, you patch the silence with small talk or smiles, and then the next night, they both show up again. Acting as if nothing happened.
But something has happened. You can feel it in the way the air changes whenever theyβre near each other. It was the way their restraint is starting to fray, thread by thread. It isnβt just about you anymore. It never really was. Whatever is brewing between them runs deeper, older, heavier.
Some nights, when the tension builds too high, you catch the quiet flicker of emotion between them. It was a look held too long, a silence that felt like it could break the world if either of them spoke first.Β
Thereβs history in their stares, something tangled and wordless. You see how Nanami Kentoβs calm seems to crack only around Hiromi, how Higurma Hiromiβs defiance softens in Kentoβs presence.
And youβre caught between them, watching as the line between care and craving, between protection and possession, begins to blur everything and anything. There was nothing that made sense anymore. But perhaps that's what made it easier.
That's why it made it easier when it finally happens one night after another one of their arguments. It was one that starts with your name and ends with something neither of them can admit. The bar is closed. The rain outside hasnβt stopped for hours.Β
Youβre still behind the counter, half-heartedly wiping down glasses, trying to breathe through the exhaustion of it all. Theyβre both standing a few feet apart. Silent, breathing hard, tension radiating off them like heat.
You canβt tell if theyβre angry or heartbroken, and maybe they donβt know either. Nanami Kento looks like heβs holding himself together by sheer will, his hands still, his jaw set.
Higuruma Hiromi, on the other hand, looks undone. HisΒ dark charcoal hair mussed, tie hanging loose, his eyes sharp but tired. Thereβs too much between them: resentment, longing, regret.
The kind of emotion that canβt stay contained forever. When you glance up, theyβre already looking at each other. The feeling of something raw and unguarded flashing between them. Neither speaks. Neither moves away.
The air feels thick, charged, as if the smallest touch would tip everything into chaos. And then,Β Kento takes a step closer to Hiromi. Slow, deliberate, like a man walking into a truth heβs denied for too long. Their faces are inches apart now, the silence humming like a current between them.
You watch as Kentoβs hand rises. It was almost too hesitant at first, then a moment later, full of resolve, certain. And cups Hiromiβs cheek. His thumb brushes against the other manβs bottom lip, a gesture far too intimate to be a mistake.
Hiromi exhales, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment, like heβs surrendering to something inevitable. When he opens them again, thereβs no defiance left. It was only a quiet recognition in him at that moment.
The tension between them crackles, alive and dangerous, filling every inch of air around you. You can feel it in your chest, in your breath, in the way your pulse stumbles. For a moment, none of you speak. None of you need to.
Because whatever this is, whatever has been building, breaking, and bleeding between the three of you has finally taken shape. And itβs beautiful.Β And itβs ruinous. Everything about it was deprived. But you could not look away.
Slowly, deliberately, Kento closes the distance and presses his lips to Hiromi in a deep, passionate kiss. It's a kiss filled with years of longing, frustration, and finally, release. He kisses him back just as fiercely, his hands gripping Kentoβs waist possessively.
You stand there frozen, your heart racing as you watch the two men you love most in the world finally giving in to their desires. As they kiss, their hands roam each other's bodies, reacquainting themselves with familiar curves and planes.
Hiromiβs fingers dig into the muscles of Kentoβs back, pulling him closer. Kentoβs hands slip under Hiromi's shirt, caressing the warm skin beneath. Their tongues dance and duel, each trying to dominate the other.
You can't tear your eyes away from the sight of them, your own arousal growing with every passing second. Without thinking, you step forward and press yourself against Hiromiβs back, sandwiching him between you and Kento.Β
He startles at first but then leans back into you, his head falling onto your shoulder as he continues to kiss Kento deeply. Your hands snake around Hiromiβs waist, one sliding up to palm the blond manβs chest through his shirt while the other dips lower to cup a dark haired man through his pants.Β
Kento groans into the kiss as he feels your hand on his chest, arching into your touch. Hiromi bucks back against you, his hardness pressing into your palm through the fabric of his pants. You squeeze gently, eliciting a gasp from him that is muffled by Kentoβs lips.
Breaking the kiss, Kento turns his head to capture your mouth in a searing kiss as well. His tongue plunders your mouth, tasting the black haired man on your lips. Hiromi turns in your arms, switching places with you so that he can claim the caramel eyed man's mouth once more.
The three of you continue to kiss and touch, hands roaming freely over bare skin and clothed bodies. The room fills with the sounds of heavy breathing, soft moans, and the occasional snap of elastic as clothing is hastily removed.Β
Soon, the only things separating you are a tangle of limbs and a few scraps of fabric. Kentoβs strong hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him as Hiromiβs lips trail down his neck. You arch into their touches, your head falling back against his shoulder. He takes advantage, kissing and biting at the exposed column of your throat.
Kentoβs hardness presses against your stomach, hot and insistent. You reach between your bodies to wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly. He hisses through his teeth, his hips jerking forward into your touch. Hiromi's hand joins yours, their fingers intertwining as they pump Kento together.
Suddenly, Kento lifts you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the nearest flat surface. He sets you down on the sturdy bar table and holds you as you sit against the edge. He grips your thighs, spreading them wide as he steps between them.
Hiromi then moves to stand beside you, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek gently. He leans in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss as Kento positions himself at your entrance. You moan into Hiromiβs mouth, the sound muffled by his lips.Β
Without warning, Nanami Kento thrusts forward, burying himself deep inside you in one smooth motion. You cry out, your nails digging into Hiromiβs shoulders as Kento begins to move. He sets a steady pace, his hips snapping forward with each thrust.Β
Higuruma Hiromi kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans and gasps as he watches where Kento disappears inside you. He then leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking hard.Β
His teeth graze the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Hiromi's hand slides down your stomach to find your clit, rubbing slow circles around the swollen nub. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, and you feel your orgasm building quickly.
Your hips buck wildly against Kentoβs, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. The lawyerβs calloused fingers on your clit and the salary manβs teeth on your nipple push you over the edge, and you come with a scream of their names.
As you ride out the waves of pleasure, Nanami Kento continues to pound into you relentlessly. His thrusts become erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck. He buries himself deep one last time and stills, his release flooding your insides.
Hiromi captures your mouth in a searing kiss as he watches Kento come undone inside you. When Kento pulls out, Hiromi lifts you off the table and turns you around to face him. He peppers kisses deeply before spinning you back around and bending you over the table.
You hear the sound of a foil packet tearing, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you back as he sheaths himself inside you with one smooth thrust. You let out a harsh gasp at the sudden fullness, your inner walls still fluttering from your previous orgasm.
Higuruma Hiromi sets a brutal pace, his hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. He grips your hips tightly, his claws digging into your skin as he chases his own release. Nanami Kento then moves to stand in front of you, his semi-hard cock bobbing inches from your face.
He wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you forward, guiding you to take him into your mouth.You obey eagerly, sucking him back to full hardness as Hiromi continues to pound into you from behind.
The three of you move together in a dance of pleasure and need, each seeking their own satisfaction while giving it in return. Hiromiβs thrusts become more erratic as he nears his climax.
He leans over your back, his chest pressing against yours as he bites down on your shoulder. His teeth sink into your flesh, marking you as his. That small bite of pain sends you spiraling into another orgasm, your inner walls clamping down around him like a vice.
With a roar, Higuruma Hiromi buries himself deep inside you and comes, his hot seed filling the condom. He collapses against your back, panting heavily as he rides out the waves of pleasure. Meanwhile, Kentoβs grip on your hair tightens as he fucks your mouth mercilessly.
He holds you in place as he spills himself down your throat, his hips jerking forward with each pulse of release. After the intense threesome, you're left feeling emotionally and physically drained.Β
Hiromi notices your exhaustion and wraps a gentle arm around your waist, supporting your weight as he guides you to the bathroom. Kento follows closely behind, his expression softening as he takes in your weary state.
In the bathroom, Hiromi turns on the staff shower and helps you step inside. The warm water cascades over your skin, soothing muscles that ache from the vigorous lovemaking. Kento joins you both in the shower, taking a washcloth and gently cleaning your body with tender care.
Hiromi grabs a towel and wraps it around you once you're clean, holding you close as he dries you off. Nanami Kento grabs another towel and begins drying himself off quickly before wrapping it around his hips. He looks at you with concern etched on his face.
"Why don't I take a bath at my place?" he suggests softly to Hiromi and to you. "Itβs just nearby.β
Hiromi only nods in agreement, his arm tightening around your waist. "That sounds perfect, we can at least let this sweetheart rest." he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.Β
Nanami Kento smiles softly and begins gathering your clothes, folding them neatly and placing them in a bag. He then grabs your other belongings while he closes up the bar. Hiromi carries you as he hails a taxi.
Together, the three of you make your way to Nanami Kento apartment. Once inside, Kento starts the bath, adding soothing lavender oils to the warm water. Hiromi then helps you undress and carefully lowers you into the tub, sitting on the edge beside you.
Kento returns with a glass of water and some snacks, setting them on the counter nearby. He sits on the other side of the tub, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as Hiromi washes your hair with tender care.
As you soak in the bath, the three of you talk softly, laughing quietly and sharing gentle touches. You sink more into the warm bath, surrounded by the soothing scent of lavender, you look between your lovers with a mix of affection and resignation.
You know deep down that pursuing a relationship with both of them is a bad idea. In the long run, you know that it's messy, complicated, and bound to end in heartbreak. But despite knowing this, you've grown to care for them deeply. You wanted them close, just as you know they wanted you too.
"I want this, this thing between us." You say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be with both of you, even if it's not good for me. I know it's selfish and foolish, but I can't help how I feel."
You reach out, carefully taking each of their hands in yours and squeeze gently. "I don't expect either of you to understand or even agree with me. But I needed you to know the truth."
Kentoβs expression softens, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as he holds your hand. He looks at Hiromi for a moment, where soon a silent understanding passes between them. He smiles at you.
"We know it's complicated." Kento says softly, squeezing your hand back. "And we know the risks. But the truth is, we care about you too. Both of us."
Hiromi nods in agreement, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek tenderly. "We don't want to hurt you, sweetheart." He murmurs in agreement."But we also can't deny what we feel. If you're willing to take that risk, then so are we."
He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling back and looking at Kento almost too expectantly. Nanami Kento leans in as well, pressing a soft kiss to your other cheek. His lips linger for a moment before he pulls back, his eyes searching yours.
"We'll take it slow, okay?" He promises to you. "And we'll communicate openly about our feelings and any issues that arise. We don't want to rush into anything and end up hurting each other in the process."
Higuruma Hiromi nods in agreement, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip."But now that we're both committed to making this work, this love." he says firmly, a faint smile on his lips. "We have to do wellβ¦.for all of us."
Together, the three of you sit in the warm bath, hands entwined and never willing to let go. You lean against them both, with your heart open, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead in your unconventional romance. Always and forever, together.
THE MEETING HAD RAN FAR TOO LONG. Nanami Kento could tell from the shift in the air. The low hum of executives checking their watches, the faint irritation that comes when power is forced to wait.
He adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, gold tie pin catching the afternoon light, and checked his own watch. Five oβclock. Right on time. Across the glass wall of the conference room, Hiromi Higuruma was finishing his presentation.
The man was dangerously beautiful as ever as he calmly, precisely and deliberately hammered down what they would gain and lose if they pursue this merger through the legal procedures.
It was the same tone heβd used in court years ago, now applied to contracts worth millions. The same strident face, the same never ending confidence. Everyone liked that about him, but he was only happy if you and Kento liked it. And you do.
When Kento appeared in the doorway, conversation still continued. A few executives turned, murmuring quietly. The others looked from one man to the other, unsure whether to speak. Hiromi caught Kentoβs eye mid-sentence.Β
A flicker of recognition. Then, with the faintest curve of his mouth, he said. βGentlemen, thatβll be all for today. I believe weβre done here.β
βButββ one of the younger board members began, flipping through notes.
Hiromi closed his folder with a quiet snap. βI leave on time. Always have.β
There was an awkward chuckle, the sound of shuffling papers. Nanami Kento waited by the door until Hiromi joined him, both men walking down the hall like two parallel lines that refused to meet, until they did.
Outside, the driver was already waiting. Hiromi slid into the car first, still shrugging out of his jacket. Kento followed, loosening his tie. The driver looked onto them, through the mirror. βWhere to, sirs?β
βHome, if you will.β Hiromi said simply.
Kento smiles. βWe have our dearest girl waiting at home.β
The driver nodded. The tinted glass rose, sealing the two of them inside a private world. For a while, neither spoke. The city moved past little by little. It was worth passing through the indifferent silver gilding and tall dull marvels. It was a sign that each passing moment, each passing building is a moment closer back home.Β
Then Hiromiβs voice broke the silence. βYou still check the time every day.β
Kento gave a quiet hum. βHabit.β
βOr ritual.β Hiromi said. βYouβve always liked those.β
Kentoβs caramel eyes flicked toward him, faint amusement in his expression. βAnd youβve always liked testing them.β
Hiromi smiled, gaze turning to the window. βSome things never change.β
When the car turned into the private drive, the world outside seemed to fade. The chaos of work, the noise of Tokyo city, the endless meetings and deadlines. What waited beyond the gates was another life entirely.
The fine, beautiful house was quiet when they entered. All clean lines and warm light, more home than luxury. The scent of dinner drifted faintly from the kitchen. And there you were. Barefoot, reading at the kitchen counter, sunlight brushing your face.
You looked up as the door opened. βYouβre home early.β
Hiromiβs laugh was soft. βYou sound surprised.β
βIβm used to you both working late, dearest.β you said, closing your book. βDid something happen?β
Kento set his briefcase down, unbuttoning his jacket. βWe just decided not to waste another evening in that boardroom.β
You tilted your head, smiling. βThatβs new.β
βItβs necessary, sweet girl.β Hiromi said, loosening his collar. βYou always told us to take breaks.β
You laughed quietly. βI didnβt think youβd listen.β
The three of you stood there for a moment. It was perfect and every time, to just be around each other. Nothing was better. The air was beautifully calm, the sunshine was brighter than before. The flowers on the numerous vases smelt even sweeter.
This kind of silence, this peace had been hard earned. It was something that carries years of history inside it. The late nights, the blurred lines, the unspoken promises that had shaped your lives into something no one else could ever understand.
Youβd left bartending long ago. College was long over too. Your name was on papers and projects that had their funding quietly pushed through by the same men now standing in your kitchen. You knew it. They knew it.Β
And though none of you ever said the word love, at least not in the way most people would. You had your own language and your own ways. That was more important. It was written in the way your lives are still intertwined.
It was messy, hidden, and it takes time to read. But it was impossible to sever. That was more important. Hiromi leaned against the counter, watching you with an expression that was both fond and quietly possessive.
Kento, ever the observer, poured water into three glasses, his movements steady, deliberate. You took one from him, your fingers brushing his. The contact was nothing, and yet everything.
βDid you ever think about that time, back then?β you asked softly.
Kento's voice was low. βEvery day.β
Hiromi smiled faintly. βWe shouldnβt.β he said. βBut we do.β
You nodded, half-smiling. βSome secrets never really end, do they?β
Kento glanced toward Hiromi, then back to you. βNo, I donβt think so, sweet girl.β he said quietly. βThey just learn to live in daylight.β
The house fell quiet again, but you did not mind and neither did they. It was not empty, and it never will be. This piece of peace was well treasured by the three of you. You giggled as you continued to cook your dinner, the two distracting you with sweet nothings as they aided you.
Outside, the city lights flickered to life. Inside, three people sat together at the dining table, sitting beside each other comfortably. You were much older now. And life has become a steadier essence from the instability it had been.
But everything was still carrying the echo of what began in the glow of a bar that no longer existed. And for a moment, it almost felt like paradise. You sometimes wonder when the lines first disappeared.
Not the obvious ones. Not the age, or the titles, or the distance between who they were and who they became. The other lines. The invisible ones that divided right from necessary, choice from fate.
Because somewhere along the way, the three of you stopped living separate lives. You wake in the mornings to Kentoβs schedule, the sound of his alarm soft but exact. He never snoozes, never falters, never forgets to leave a cup of coffee for you before he goes.
Hiromiβs nights are louder. He still takes late calls from clients, pacing across the living room with that quiet fury heβs never learned to tame. But when he passes you, he always rests his hand on the back of your chair, grounding himself.
And you, youβve somehow learned to exist between them. You play around in the city, you spend without limit, you exist in extremes. But you still learn, you still grow, but you are also a wallflower to the cages of their love.Β
Somehow every part of your life still runs parallel to theirs. You tell yourself youβve earned this peace, though you know that peace is not what this is. Itβs something stranger. Something fragile.
You remember what it used to feel like, in that bar light flickering, the taste of exhaustion in the air, the way two men once stared at you like you were something they didnβt have the words for. Back then, you thought it was chaos.
Now, years later, you understand it was a kind of gravity. You still feel it when Kento walks through the door and the air steadies, when Hiromiβs voice drops into that playful yet careful, teasing calm.
No one talks about what you are to each other. You donβt need to. The scandal, the secrecy. It was all good. Every bit of it is buried beneath success and routine. But it lives, quiet and unshakable, under every glance and every shared silence.
Tonight, dinner is simple. Nanami Kento cuts vegetables with the same precision he once used to write contracts. Higuruma Hiromi reads headlines aloud, pretending not to care about the world while keeping track of every word you say.
You sit between them, pretending not to notice the way they mirror each other even now. Two men shaped by loneliness, now bound by something they can neither define nor undo. There was no more I, there was no more me. It is forevermore written in we.
When the plates are cleared, you lean against the counter, watching them argue softly about logistics, about whoβs driving tomorrow, whoβs picking up the delivery, who has the longer commute.
Itβs mundane. Domestic. Almost absurd. And yet, beneath it, you can still feel that same dangerous undercurrent, the same pull that began it all. The one that never truly stopped. That you were glad for.
You catch their eyes, one after the other. Kentoβs steady, patient gaze. Hiromiβs tired, wry half-smile. Both of them carried the same silent acknowledgment: We shouldnβt have, but we did. And I would do it all over again.
You exhale, a small laugh escaping before you can stop it. βWhat?β Hiromi asks.
βNothing, nothing.β you say in airy response. βJustβ¦itβs strange. I never thought this would last.β
Kentoβs expression softens, far too rare, far too genuine. βNeither did we.β
The moment holds. Itβs not romantic, not tender, it's volatile and it's cruel and it burns and it enrages. Yet it was all you truly had. It saved you from the hell of loneliness. But most of all, it was real.
Three lives tangled by mistake and choice and time, still standing, still willing, and devoted. Still happily, bitterly choosing each other. Hiromi sets his glass down, the sound quiet but deliberate.
βWe stopped trying to make sense of it a long time ago, no?.β
βAnd yet, this is still it.β Kento hums as he adds. βHere we still are.β
You nod, a small smile ghosting your lips. βHere we are.β
The words hang in the air like an agreement, like the final note of a song that never really ends. Outside, the city hums. It will never move you, with all its distance and its indifferentness. Inside, Β the house glows with that peculiar warmth of familiarity that only comes from shared secrecy.Β
Whatever the world might call it, you did not care. Scandal, mistake, miracle, weird, abnormal, you did not care and neither did they. What mattered was that it made you happy. Itβs yours. And for now, thatβs enough.
As the three of you sit at the dinner table, the atmosphere is charged with an undercurrent of tension and longing. The conversations flow easily, but there's a subtle shift in the way you all look at each other.Β
The lingering gazes, soft smiles, gentle touches that linger just a moment too long. Kento notices the way Hiromi's shirt stretches across his chest as he leans forward to refill your wine glass.
Hiromi catches Kento staring and raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. You bite your lip, watching the exchange with a growing heat in your belly. As the meal winds down, Hiromi stands and begins clearing the plates.
Kento reaches out to stop him, his hand brushing against Hiromi's wrist. "Leave it, weβll handle this later." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Come here."
Hiromi hesitates for a moment before setting the plates back down and turning to face Kento. The air between them crackles with unspoken desire. The blond stands, his chair scraping against the floor, and pulls Hiromi flush against him.Β
Their lips crash together in a fierce, passionate kiss that steals your breath away. You watch, transfixed, as their hands roam each other's bodies possessively. Hiromi's fingers tangle in Kentoβs hair, tugging sharply as he bites down on his lip.Β
Without breaking the kiss, Nanami Kento reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet and into their embrace. The three of you stumble towards the bedroom, a tangle of limbs and heated kisses.
Once inside, clothes are shed quickly and carelessly. Nanami Kento pushes Hiromi onto the bed and crawls over him, his eyes never leaving yours as you join them. You straddle Hiromi's hips, grinding down against his hardening length.Β
He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Kento moves behind you, pressing kisses along your spine as his fingers tease your entrance.You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your beautiful lips.
Suddenly, Kento pulls you back against his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist possessively. "I want to watch you ride him, sweet girl." he murmurs into your ear. "Want to see your face as he fills you up."
His other hand reaches around to circle your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Hiromi looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hands roaming over your body hungrily. "Come here, darling pretty." he says, his voice rough with desire.
He guides you onto his cock slowly, inch by inch, until you're seated fully in his lap. You start to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. Nanami Kento watches, his breath hot against your neck as he continues to tease your clit with his fingers.Β
The pleasure builds slowly, a coil tightening in your core with each thrust and circle. Hiromi's hands grip your hips, guiding you faster and harder. His dark eyes are locked on yours, filled with lust and something deeper, more profound.
"You're so beautiful, arenβt you?" he breathes, hot breath releasing each and every time."So perfect."
Kentoβs other hand snakes up to tweak your nipple, sending a shock of pleasure through you. Suddenly, Kento leans forward and captures Hiromi's lips in a searing kiss. You can feel the heat of their mouths against yours as they devour each other hungrily.Β
The sight of them kissing while you ride Hiromi pushes you closer to the edge. Kento breaks the kiss and turns your face towards him, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue tangles with yours as Hiromi's thrusts become more urgent, more demanding.
You can feel the tension coiling in your body, the pleasure building to a crescendo. Suddenly, Hiromi flips you both over so that he's hovering above you. Kento moves to the side, his hand never leaving your body as he watches intently.Β
Higuruma Hiromi starts to pound into you mercilessly, groaning loudly as his powerful hips snapping forward with each thrust. The massive bed creaks against the mahogany floors beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and gasps.
"Come for us, sweet girl." Kento murmurs, groaning as he throws his head back. "Want to see you fall apart so prettily.β
His fingers find your clit again, rubbing tight circles that push you over the edge. You scream their names as your orgasm crashes over you, as tears fall down your eyes. Your inner walls clamp down around Hiromi's cock.
Hiromi follows soon after, his hips jerking forward as he buries himself deep inside you with a guttural groan. You can feel his hot seed filling you, marking you as his. Kento leans in to capture your lips in a soft kiss, swallowing your moans as Hiromi continues to thrust shallowly, riding out his own release.
As the three of you come down from your high, you're left panting and sweaty, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets. Nanami Kento presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling Hiromi in for a slow, tender kiss.
Hiromi smiles against Nanami's lips before turning to capture yours in the same sweet gesture. The three of you lay there for a long moment, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of each other's presence.
There are no words spoken, no promises made. Instead, there was just a silent understanding that passed between you all. This is where you belong. As the night wears on, the three of you drift off to sleep, wrapped around each other like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.Β
You wake up sometime in the early morning hours to find yourself sandwiched between their warm, sleeping forms. Kentoβs massive arm is draped possessively over your waist, while Hiromi's face is buried in the crook of your neck.Β
You smile softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Hiromi's forehead before carefully extracting yourself from their embrace. You pad quietly out of the bedroom and make your way to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water and leaning against the counter.Β
The house is silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. You take a sip of your water and gaze out the window at the pre-dawn sky, lost in thought. Suddenly, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to see Nanami Kento standing in the doorway, his hair rumpled from sleep and his eyes heavy-lidded.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks softly, padding over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.
"Or maybe you just couldn't stay away from me." he murmurs teasingly, nipping gently at your earlobe. You couldnβt help but laugh softly and lean back into him, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around you. βHm, thatβs good to know.β
"Both.β you admit to him softly. "I missed you."
He smiles against your skin and turns you around to face him, his hands sliding up to cup your face. "Come back to bed, then." he whispers, pressing a kiss on your temple."Let me hold you again."
His caramel eyes are dark and full of desire, but there's also a tenderness there that makes your heart swell. You nod, letting Kento lead you back to the bedroom. As you climb into bed, you notice Hiromi stirring awake.
He blinks sleepily at you both before a slow smile spreads across his face. "Back so soon?" he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.Β
Nanami Kento chuckles and pulls you back against his chest, Higuruma Hiromi rolling over to press against your back. You're sandwiched between them once more, their warmth enveloping you completely.
Hiromi's massive hand finds yours beneath the covers, his long fingers intertwining with yours as Kento's arm wraps around your waist possessively, tightly. As though they wanted to merge with you.
"Stay here, sweet girl." Hiromi whispers against your neck. "Stay with us forever."
His words send a shiver down your spine, and you nod eagerly. Kento smiles as he leans closer to you, his head resting on your shoulder. Hiromi is content as he feels your lips against his jaw. This was perfect. This is everything.
Yes, you'll stay with them.Β
Forever, if they'll have you.
As long as theyβd have you.
This is just so beautiful. Itβs such a perfect description of a quiet but powerful relationship. This is one Iβm going to come back to all the time. I just know it. Just absolutely perfect β¨β¨β¨










