petite étoile

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.

Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.

And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.

This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.

The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that he’d not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.

Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies — mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

Largely monetary debts — collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.

But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money — it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.

Life debts.

In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.

Their executions had been quick and without fuss — or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.

But even though the spray of their brains hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.

He will never be able to wash them clean.

But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.

The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).

And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — against the organization that owns you.

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.

But then he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.

They were late.

The job was simple, and well within Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldn’t get elsewhere.

He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.

The stupid, greasy fuck.

By the time he’d finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.

And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.

Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But he’d received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.

Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.

Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.

Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty — disquietingly so.

Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.

Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.

He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.

One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits —

A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.

The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.

The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.

“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”

“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.

He’ll be dealt with later — and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.

Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corps’ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.

So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He can’t be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.

He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.

He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.

The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.

Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there —

A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.

No good.

“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.

Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t fully fucked himself.

Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street — one that borders the city’s western wing.

It’ll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.

He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.

But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.

He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.

Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.

It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.

His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You know him; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.

You know he’s from the Silo — a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.

But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.

It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

So you hadn’t been surprised when you’d heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before he’d even graduated high school.

You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.

If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.

But you owed him.

Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.

But one afternoon, when you’d had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, she’d ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.

Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.

But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parents’ home.

You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.

His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.

You’d been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.

Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerk’s counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.

There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.

A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isn’t stupid enough to try and shift.

One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”

You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”

The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.

Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counter’s edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.

But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.

“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.

There’s a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.

In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But it’s the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.

That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well — at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.

However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle he’d found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.

You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.

He has scars he’d not had in your youth — jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.

A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.

“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“

“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”

He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.

“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.

You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“

But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.

—-

By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.

As it turned out, Maeda hadn’t sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.

There’s a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.

He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash he’d received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.

He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book he’d swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.

Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.

Take your trouble somewhere else.

Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.

You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.

Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.

What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

The Corps isn’t the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.

The Kizuki.

In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.

Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadn’t been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.

Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.

There are whispers that they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.

Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.

But that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.

Either way, he doesn’t know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he can’t afford to make.

Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.

He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.

Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and don’t visit home often, if ever.

Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.

Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But it’s that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.

Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.

Or so he tells himself.

The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.

He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.

The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — remained fixed in his brain for years after.

And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.

He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.

Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.

With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.

He wonders what will kill him first — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.

Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t yet bonded with his skin.

But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where he’d placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.

And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.

—

Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.

Sanemi doesn’t really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguro’s regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.

The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. He’d kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.

That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.

So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.

His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.

He doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s looking for an escape just as much as he is.

Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.

Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.

At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.

And, after all, he’s the one desperate for relief.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.

He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girl’s clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”

—-

Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.

He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.

He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that day’s sins.

The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.

Step.

A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

The crush of bone under the iron pipe he’d found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.

Green; the color of the money he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.

Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstore’s front steps.

For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.

The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.

He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s pushing the door open.

His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.

That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.

“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”

It’s incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”

That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”

His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”

You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”

Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.

You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.

He doesn’t take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.

“Fine, here,” he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.

He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”

Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”

He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.

“This can’t be your dream life.”

You don’t have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.

Like he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.

Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”

“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”

His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.

You slide his book across the counter. “Have the day you deserve.”

His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”

You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you don’t see him toss another note on the counter.

He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“

“Nah, I didn’t,” he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.

Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.

—

His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

You frown. It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, as grating as it was.

Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.

You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.

Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).

Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.

Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.

Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.

But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.

You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate snake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

——-

Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what you’d imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).

Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.

And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.

Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.

Since that day, you’ve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.

That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.

That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.

You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.

Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And he’s said to be very well-endowed.

It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.

You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.

—

“You look like shit.”

You startle up from where you’d been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.

You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.

Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”

It’s a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.

Your stomach grumbles fiercely. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.

The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.

But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. “Is it poisoned?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”

Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.

Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”

You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”

“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”

The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”

The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”

“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”

It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t yet been able to pick apart.

You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when he’s been such a consistent pain in your ass.

Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you don’t see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.

You see only the boy on your stoop; the one who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.

And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”

Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.

And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.

—-

In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s probably fucked himself.

His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps — number Three, in particular.

But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.

It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.

Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.

He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though he’s steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.

It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.

You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s rare for him to encounter in his world.

Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.

He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.

And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t find it in him to tell you no.

The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.

For starters, the neighborhood you live in isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzui’s business — another Hashira.

And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.

He supposes he can see its appeal — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.

You’ve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.

A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re distracted.

Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.

It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.

But it’s still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.

Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock — the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though he’s not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.

The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.

The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.

Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.

It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.

With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.

He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.

He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and it’s a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.

In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life — namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, you’re always there to pull him back.

Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.

He can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.

Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit he’s guilty for.

It’s selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.

So, he makes a promise. He won’t show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they don’t.

With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.

And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.

“What dream?” You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.

He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”

You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno. Curious.”

“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”

Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”

“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”

“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”

And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.

His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.

“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”

Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.

Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“

“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”

You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.

Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”

—

Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.

By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.

You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. “Are you walking me home?”

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.

Better he’s there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.

Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.

He wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.

Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.

He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.

You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”

Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”

You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.

Your door gives way and you turn back to him. “‘Til next time?”

It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.

“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.

You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.

“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”

He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.

That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.

As long as it was more than this.

But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”

———

Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

More importantly, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”

Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.

Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.

It’s evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.

But perhaps the most significant detail you’ve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while you’re watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you won’t see him for the rest of the day.

It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.

Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.

Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t believe he will have one.

That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.

A cop-out, is what it is.

But his reading habits betray his darkest secret — betray the truth — and that’s exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.

The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. He’s read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.

He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.

But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.

You opened to the first page of of a tale — an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beast’s rose.

You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.

Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True love’s kiss, or something along those lines.

True love.

And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.

And that’s how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.

He wants out.

He wants a happily ever after. He doesn’t think he’ll get it.

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d first burst into your bookstore.

It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.

Sanemi’s name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.

You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.

You open the door and the flutter of excitement you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.

There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.

The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.

Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.

“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”

“You mean icy-hot?” You’re already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.

You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where they’re propped up on the back of your chair.

You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).

Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.

Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.

He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.

But, you’re only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.

And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.

Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.

“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”

You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.

You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.

Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.

“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Your medical expertise is astounding,” Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.

“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”

You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.

“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”

He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”

You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.

You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.

You wouldn’t have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but there’s a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.

A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.

Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”

Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.

But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.

A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.

Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”

There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.

Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.

“It’s barbaric,” you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you aren’t someone he can confide in.

But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.

He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.

You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.

But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.

Intimate.

Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone — the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.

But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps it’s because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.

You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.

Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.

Yet, you don’t stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.

You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.

Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”

You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”

A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.

“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.

And then he turns and leaves.

You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.

And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.

An old rumor, one you hadn’t considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.

The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.

Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.

You’re in love with Sanemi.

It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.

It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.

You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.

You won’t.

—

Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.

Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t get overly attached.

It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.

Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.

Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.

Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.

He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.

But now, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.

Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.

As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.

If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.

Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.

As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.

Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.

So he’d let you down — but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure he’d never fully known what home truly felt like.

And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.

He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.

The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.

One of Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.

They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.

Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.

Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.

Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadn’t yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.

He hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.

The hours passed by in a blur once Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when he’d begun walking in its direction.

He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldn’t bother you —

His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.

Despite the late hour, you’d greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.

Safe; you were safe.

Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.

You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.

And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.

His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.

But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.

Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.

A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.

Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.

More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.

But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.

He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.

He will rot you from the inside, out.

His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.

You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.

Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.

In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.

He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.

You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.

Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.

You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.

And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)

But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.

He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.

A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.

He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.

Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.

He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.

His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.

It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.

You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

He recoils from you like a kicked dog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.

But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.

This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.

The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.

Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.

You want more, and he needs you, too.

His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.

One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.

He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.

Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.

But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.

Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.

More. He needs more.

He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.

Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.

The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.

As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.

He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.

He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.

He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.

Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.

He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.

With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.

“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.

He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.

You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.

A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.

One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.

A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.

The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.

He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.

His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.

You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.

Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.

He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.

Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.

Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.

The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.

But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.

Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.

He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.

Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.

He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.

But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.

He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.

The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.

Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.

The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.

The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.

Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.

With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.

His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.

Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.

He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.

Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.

You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”

With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.

You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.

But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.

Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.

With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.

You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.

He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.

He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.

When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.

His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.

And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.

He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.

Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.

Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.

One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.

His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.

His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.

The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.

He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.

So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.

The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.

Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.

You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.

With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.

You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.

The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.

Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.

But he needs to see you, first.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.

Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.

But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.

He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.

He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.

One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”

It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.

Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.

Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.

He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.

It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.

He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.

He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.

His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.

Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.

He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.

His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.

But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.

Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.

He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.

But he can try.

He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

September 2007

Two weeks had passed since you discovered you were pregnant with Suguru’s baby. Now you were sitting in a dull waiting room, blinded by fluorescent lights as you waited for your name to be called. Shoko had taken the news well, not that you expected her to be shocked in any capacity. She had said something along the lines of “I knew it.” when you had told her the next day, Satoru, who was  by your side, was slightly disappointed she didn’t have a bigger reaction. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go back with you?” Shoko had leaned closer to you, whispering so other people in the waiting room wouldn't hear. “I’m sure, Shoko. I’ll be okay.” 

It had taken weeks to see a doctor, mostly because she had been booked out. Your morning sickness hadn’t gotten much better, so you assumed you were still lingering somewhere in your first trimester. September was slowly coming to an end, with October looming on the horizon the world had slowly begun its transition to reflect that. This transition brought you the weather you really needed, allowing you to wear comfortable baggy clothing. “The perfect time to hide a pregnancy.” you had mused, much to Satoru’s disdain. Your leg bounced at the memory, your hand coming to rest on your stomach. It was a habit that you had picked up shortly after the test came back positive. You felt the urge to protect them, even though they were as safe as they could be, snuggling in your womb. There was truly no place safer for them right now. 

Things hadn’t gotten all that easier either, within the past two weeks, you had to live through the one month anniversary of Suguru’s deflection. It had been harder to swallow than you thought it would be, the sinking reality that four weeks had passed since you had seen his face was unbearable. Going from seeing him nearly every second of everyday to nothing at all felt as cold as the air at night. You had to wonder what he was doing at that very moment, maybe he was up making those girls breakfast. The idea of him being a father already, caring for those two little girls, it made your heart flutter and sink at the very same time. You wanted to be there, you wanted to help him, you wanted to tell him you were pregnant, that he got what he wanted. 

“Y/N Y/L/N?” 

You blinked back into reality as Shoko hit your arm, a nurse dressed in light pink scrubs was looking around the waiting room after calling the next name on her list. You nearly jumped out of your chair, motioning for Shoko to stay where she was as you got up and made your way over. You ignored the small grumble from her, it seems she had still intended on following you back for the appointment despite your reassurance of being okay to go alone. “Good morning dear, follow me.” You mustered the best smile you could in response,uttering a soft “morning” as she grabbed the door handle to enter the portion of the office that held the exam rooms. You went through the routine process, having your weight and height checked before being brought into a private room. It was different from other doctors offices, there was an ultrasound set up and various posters about sexual health and pregnancy scattered about. It made you feel a bit dizzy. 

“So we had you take a urine sample and get your blood while you waited, I have the results of the urine test but not the blood yet. That should be ready for you once the doctor is ready to come in and perform the exam… in the meantime let’s go over the basics” She was typing on her laptop as she spoke, looking at you briefly as you nodded. Your hands were clasped together in front of you, feeling cold and clammy at the same time. You shifted due to your nerves, the paper below you crumpling as you fidgeted. The nurse went through the basics, making sure your insurance information and home address was correct. “You’re in college?” she questioned absentmindedly, as if trying to make small talk with you. “No, not yet. I graduate high school in the spring.” You felt your face grow warm as she let out a soft “oh.” 

Luckily for you, she didn’t press further and hid her judgment within seconds. You kept your eyes trained on the floor as she continued her interrogation, getting your basic health and allergies on file before shutting her laptop and gracing you with a fake smile. “Alright then, that’s it for my portion of the exam. The doctor will be in shortly to discuss your results.” You nodded, thanking her quietly as she left the room. Silence rang in your ears as you were left alone with nothing but your thoughts. hands still clasped tightly together as you dragged your eyes away from the floor and observed the examination room. There were shelves on the wall with various pamphlets, all of them geared towards women's reproductive health and pregnancy. 

You used to laugh at those things when you were younger, wondering if anyone would even bother taking them. Now, you were tempted to get up and go grab a few for yourself. But as you moved, the paper crinkled so loudly that it made you still again. It reminded you of just how silent the godforsaken room was, it reminded you of how alone you were. Now, as you sat there, you wished you had just let Shoko get up and follow you back here. You needed someone to talk you off the ledge, it was likely Shoko would have been allowed back here with you,  considering most women brought their partners with them. It would have brought you two a good laugh for the nurses to assume you were a lesbian couple. 

You could hear Shoko now, coming up with some asinine plot to what the nurses probably thought was going on with the two of you. Probably contemplating who your “real” partner was considering Shoko couldn’t get you pregnant. Though, your partner still wasn’t aware of his child growing within your body. Suguru should be here in this room with you, sitting in the empty chair across from the exam table you sat on. He should have been filling this empty space with jokes about how nervous you looked, making you laugh and forget why you were scared in the first place. But he wasn’t. You were doing this alone. That was the part that hurt the most, because this whole “doing it alone” thing was your choice. 

At some point during your storm of emotions, you had begun to blame yourself for Suguru not being with you. Your brain took the liberty of twisting the events in your mind so harshly that they had deteriorated all together, you couldn’t recall the truth anymore. Somewhere along the way, you had convinced yourself this was your choice, that Suguru wasn’t here because you were keeping him away. A quick couple of knocks on the door signaled the doctor’s arrival, effectively pulling you out of your forlorn daze. “Good morning, how are you?” A short, plump woman entered the room with a cheery smile, one you couldn’t help but return. “I’m alright.” Which was pure bullshit, but she didn't really need to know your whole life story. 

“Ah, that’s better than most answers.” she chuckled to herself, setting her clipboard down on the counter and reaching for soap so she could wash her hands. You found yourself flinching, suddenly feeling bad for lying to a woman who hadn’t known of your existence until walking through that door only seconds prior. “I have the results of your blood test…” she started, scrubbing her hands until they turned visibly soapy. “If it were bad news, I’d be telling you a lot more formally than this. However, your results were looking very good! You’re definitely pregnant.” You let out a shaky sigh of relief, hand resting over your stomach again as you smiled. “That’s wonderful news.” because, despite everything, it really was. You could now look at this as a shimmering ray of hope peaking out among your storm clouds. 

The doctor smiled, turning off the water and reaching for paper towels. “Your results indicate you are roughly around the eleven week mark. You’re nearly done with your first trimester.” That was a bit jarring to you, and by the look on the woman’s face, she could tell. “It’s not unusual for some women to go a while without realizing, some women don’t even know they are pregnant until they go into labor and assume it’s kidney stones. Have you missed your cycle?” She was pulling blue gloves over her hands as she spoke. So much information being thrown at you that you had to blink for a moment before uttering  “I’ve been going through some things in my personal life, I suppose my last cycle was sometime in June then… I assumed it was stress.” 

“That would line up with the HCG levels, you likely got pregnant early to mid-july. But don’t worry, I should be able to pinpoint it a little more accurately with an ultrasound.” Your heart skipped a beat, you hadn’t expected to see your baby this soon. You watched her move to turn on the machine, brows creasing as you began trying to shift through your hazy memories. You figured it was likely useless to try and pinpoint when Suguru could have gotten you pregnant, because the damage was already done at this point. You realized you hadn’t responded, clearing your throat a bit as she walked over to the machine and began turning it on. “So, I’ll be entering my second trimester soon? I-is it alright that I didn’t know for this long? I-is the baby okay?” You felt your lip tremble as you spoke, suddenly more anxious than before. 

“Oh honey…” the doctor stopped what she was doing and reached out a hand to place it over your own. “You are perfectly fine, baby should be doing good too. We’ll get to hear their heartbeat in just a few minutes and I’ll be able to give you a rough timeline for the rest of your pregnancy. I can assure you, it’s okay that you didn’t know until recently. We’ll get you on some prenatals and other vitamins to keep you and baby in tip-top shape.” Her presence was grandmotherly, it set your racing mind at ease. Mentally you would have to remember to thank Shoko for finding this woman for you. “Thank you.” you breathed out as she placed some of her supplies on the metal tray beside the exam bed. You had so much you could say at that moment but thanking her was the only thing that would come out. “No problem, honey.” 

A few beats of silence passed before she spoke again. “Alright, I’m going to have you lay back and lift your shirt for me, pull down your sweatpants a bit as well.” You took a shaky breath, nodding as she moved around the table to flick off the main lights. The exam room was left in a golden glow from the small lamp on the desk in the corner, paired with the fluorescent-ish glow from the ultrasound screen. You did as she instructed, lifting your shirt and pushing down the waistband of your sweats so your stomach was no longer obstructed. “The gel is going to be a little cold, but it warms up quick.” Your throat felt dry, so you nodded, hands clasping tightly together to rest on your chest as you watched her squirt some of the clear liquid on your abdomen. “I’m also going to have to press down a bit, which may cause some discomfort at first but I assure you that the baby is safe while I do this.” You nodded again, mouth feeling too dry to respond verbally at that moment. “Alright, let’s see your baby.” 

You gave a shaky smile, eyes immediately focusing on the black screen as she pressed the ultrasound’s wand to your stomach. You flinched a bit before getting used to the feeling of the wand pressing so deeply. “Sorry, honey. At this stage the baby is so small that we really need to get in there… if this doesn’t pick them up then I may have to do an internal ultrasound.” She was walking you through each step, which you were abundantly grateful for. After a little bit of searching, she let out a happy sigh as something small and vaguely baby shaped appeared on the screen. “There they are! At this stage they are just starting to kick and stretch, but they are too little for you to feel it yet.” You couldn’t breath, eyes zeroing in on the tiny little thing that was your child. The doctor was smiling, using her other hand to take pictures and measure. 

“Ah, what an over achiever, they are nearly two inches in length right now! They are measuring a little ahead.” You couldn’t help but smile, eyes turning a bit glossy. “Just like their daddy, he’d be so proud.” The words felt foreign but at the same time they felt just right, your head would surely implode if you dwelled on it for too long. The doctor only chuckled, clicking some buttons on the keyboard to snap more pictures as she moved the wand around your stomach. You were thankful she didn’t inquire further about the father, though you were sure it was probably against practice to ask such personal things outright. “Well, mama, would you like to hear their heartbeat?” You inhaled sharply, eyeing her suspiciously to make sure she wasn’t joking. “I-I would love to.” your tone was shaky, hands curling at your sides as she smiled. “Alright, one sec.” 

After a small stretch of silence, you heard it. Through the speakers, the strong and steady heartbeat of your baby met your ears. You let out a choked sob, the noise surprising you as your hand shot up to cover your mouth, it was probably the best thing you’ve heard over the course of the last month. You didn’t want it to end, you wanted to sit there on that table and look at your baby, hear their heartbeat, for as long as you possibly could. “They are doing wonderful, mama. It’s too soon to tell the gender, but the baby is doing great. You have nothing to worry about.” you nodded, heart aching a bit as she turned the sound off and pulled the wand away. 

“I’ll have those pictures printed so you can take them home.” She wiped the gel off of your stomach, tossing it in the trash before moving around the table to turn the lights on again. You sat up, wiping your eyes as you pulled your shirt down and readjusted your sweats. “That would be wonderful, thank you.” you chuckled a bit as she handed you some tissues for your face and nose. “Now that we’ve got all the fun stuff out of the way, I’m going to prescribe you some prenatals and other vitamins like we discussed earlier. If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll go get things in order so you’ll leave here feeling a little less overwhelmed.” You smiled, thanking her again as you resituated yourself on the table. She stepped out a moment later, still grinning. 

Once again you were “alone”, but this time it didn’t feel all that lonely.

—

“Did you really mean what you said last week?” You set your pen down, looking across your room to see Suguru sitting at your desk. You were both working on different assignments but still wanted to spend time together. “Hmm?” Suguru set his own pen down, turning his body to look at you where you sat on your own bed. “About… ya know… wanting to get me pregnant.” You watched a shy smile pass over Suguru’s face as he sighed. “Yeah… I meant it.” He started softly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. You had to chuckle at the fact that Suguru had stuffed an extra pen through his bun, just in case the other died while writing. “I guess you could say I have baby fever.” 

“Baby fever, huh?” you teased, putting your notebook to the side as you did. “Yeah, baby fever. I just… fuck I don’t know it’s been a thought on my mind for a while now. I keep seeing these happy families, their small children giggling and playing and… I started daydreaming about what it would be like to be a father. When I envisioned our baby, fuck my heart just melted.” he sighed, face turning a little red before he continued on. “I started thinking about how cute you’d look pregnant, how cute you’d be as a mom. How sweet it would be to hear their little voice calling you mama.” Your lips parted, completely entranced by the world he was painting you. 

“Suguru.” you stated rather bluntly, smiling as his head shot up to look at you. At some point in his rambling, he had begun staring into space, as if envisioning the things he talked about. “Y-yeah?” You laugh softly, crawling off your bed and crossing the small space until you stand before him. “Come here.”  You smile, hands gently cupping his cheeks and forcing his head to look up at you. “ I love you so much.” You started softly, thumb gingerly brushing along the plains of his cheekbone. Suguru swallowed, brown eyes observing every inch of your face. “I love you too.” He breathed, subconsciously leaning into your touch. “If you’re serious, if you truly want a baby…”

“I do.” 

Your lips parted before you smiled brightly, giggling a bit at his instant reassurance. “... then I am more than willing to try and conceive.”  You hadn’t intended for it to come out so seductive, but the way Suguru’s breathing hitched told you it had a dual effect. “Really?” You nodded, thumb still gently caressing his cheeks. “I know we’re young and all, but I think there is no time better than the present to chase your dreams.” You snorted at your own cheesiness, laughing as Suguru’s arms came around your waist to hug you tightly. “Thank you.” his voice was soft, just above a whisper. “You know, I have to ask, Suguru… especially since you seemed to put a ton of thought into this.” 

“Yeah? Anything. Ask away.” You reached up and tugged the pen out of his bun, fingers moving to delicately pull his hair out of the bun itself. You always enjoyed it when he had his hair down. “What was the moment that made you realize it was more than just a desire, that it was something you actually wanted. I know you said you saw families and all that but… you’re a man of purpose. Something in particular egged you on and I’m dying to know what.” From the way his cheeks turned red, you knew you had hit the nail on the head. He wasn’t lying about the baby fever, but you knew him too well to know that it wasn’t just an accumulation of events. 

One thing in particular had been his “breaking point” of sorts. 

“Alright you caught me.” he sighed deeply, eyes glancing away from you before looking up again. “Remember that weekend I went home to visit family?” You nodded, hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders. Suguru’s arms opened, allowing you to climb onto his lap as he spoke. “Well, my cousin had just had her baby a few weeks prior. Since she knew I was coming home to visit for the weekends, she came over with her new baby to introduce us.” You nodded again, humming thoughtfully as you twirled some of his hair around your fingers. “I don’t think I’ve ever held a baby before.” He added, cheeks a rosy pink instead of flaming red. 

“And when she put that little baby in my arms I… fuck I just melted.” 

He swallowed, finding it endearing that you were so invested in every word he spoke. “I just remember thinking that… there was nothing more special than that bond. The bond between mother and child… between father and child. I found myself imagining what it would be like to hold my own newborn… and I was serious when I said every time I envisioned it, they always looked like you.” He relaxed a bit when you leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before pulling away again. “That’s a beautiful reason, you know.” You hugged him after saying it, letting your chin rest on his shoulders as his arms encompassed your waist and squeezed. 

“I want to be a dad, I’ve known that from the very moment I held that baby. But I… if you aren’t ready… I don’t want to force you to do anything.” The vulnerability in his voice made your heart squeeze, it was very rare that Suguru was openly shy about something. “No time better than the present, ya know.” You whispered it again, feeling his breath stutter as you spoke. “Really?” he breathed out again, as if in disbelief that you were saying yes despite already agreeing once before. 

You nod, trying to contain your smile. “It’s not like it’ll happen right away, it takes time. Most couples have to try for a while before they strike gold.” 

“I guess that is true, there are a lot of factors that go into this… it’s a miracle that women are even able to conceive in the first place when you truly look at it.” you felt yourself giggling, finding it cute that Suguru had clearly put some research into this whole idea too. He wanted it, so bad, you couldn’t bear the thought of not trying to give it to him. “So… what do you say, shall we start now?” you pulled away from his hug, grinning deviously at him. “Right now?” Suguru looked shocked, eyes wide and lips slightly parted before he was able to collect his thoughts. “Yeah, right now.” studies could wait, of course they could. Suguru knew that just as well as you did. 

Suguru answered you with a kiss, lips melting against your own as his hands clung to your waist. 

—

“So this… is the baby?” Satoru’s glasses hung low on his nose, blue eyes observing the glossy paper intently. “Yep, that’s the baby.” You were laying on the couch, head resting on Shoko’s lap as she absentmindedly played with your hair. “Are you… sure?” Satoru was having a difficult time comprehending that the white, vaguely human-shaped blob on the glossy sheets of paper was a baby. “Positive, Satoru. They don’t start looking like a real human until around the twenty week mark.” Satoru shot you a glance over one of the photos, a smile tugging on his lips as he spoke “So what you’re saying is you’re carrying an alien for a while.” This time it was Shoko to interject, shooting Satoru a glare as she threw her lighter at him. “Be nice, Satoru.” 

You, on the other hand, had begun to laugh. “I’ll take away uncle privileges, Satoru.”

“Hey! Let’s not get too hasty there, Mothership.” Satoru looked mildly offended at the idea of you pulling his uncle privileges before he could even get them. You sat up now, eyes meeting Shoko’s before you burst out laughing. “Did you just call me mothership?” You would be offended if it was anyone other than Satoru using the nickname. “...Maybe.” Satoru had set the photos down on his lap, no longer holding them up to examine like he was looking for a hidden secret. “You’re so mean, Satoru.” Shoko sighed, sad that your warmth was no longer on her lap. “She’s laughing, Shoko!” Satoru tried to defend his honor, it was still a rare sight to see you laughing. 

“What is with all the commotion?” The three of you fell silent instantly, heads turning to see Yaga enter the common room. You had yet to inform the principal of your pregnancy, he had absolutely no idea that you were carrying Suguru’s baby. You had intended on telling him after you told Shoko the following morning, but you chickened out and had yet to find the courage. “Nothing major, just hanging out.” Careful as possible, Satoru was sliding the ultrasound pictures behind the arm of the couch so Yaga couldn’t see them. Luckily for the three of you, his eyes were mainly focused on you. “I hadn’t heard your laugh in a while, y/n. I thought you may have lost it.” 

“Ah, well, leave it to Satoru to find it for me again.” You smiled, an almost real smile that still felt foreign on your lips. You were certain you would never feel the joy of a real, genuine smile until Suguru was in your arms again. Though, that day may never come. You were still heavily weighing your options, knowing the choice you wanted to pick was the one that would cost you the things you had within your reach. Your love for Suguru would never blind you from the fact that you loved Shoko and Satoru just as dearly… at least you hoped it wouldn’t. “Ah, he’s good for something I suppose.” His tone was teasing, earning snickers from both you and Shoko. 

“You wound me, principal!” 

Yaga just shook his head, smiling a bit before moving to leave the room. “Remember, you three, I’m always a call away.” You all shared a knowing glance before nodding your heads. With that, Yaga left the common area, leaving the three of you to relax again. Satoru was careful as he pulled the ultrasound pics up again, looking them over one last time before folding them neatly and reaching across to give them to you. “That was close.” he offered with a grin as you took them and set them face down on the coffee table. “It was, but you managed to hide them well, Toru.” You grinned as you settled back again, lying comfortably with your head on Shoko’s lap. 

“See, Yaga isn’t wrong, he is good for something.” Shoko laughed as Satoru rolled his eyes, flipping her the finger before reaching for the lighter she had chucked at him. “You seem to forget I can keep this.” He taunted her with her favorite lighter, you weren’t even sure why she threw it in the first place considering Satoru’s infinity was able to block it. It had bounced off of his barrier and landed on the couch cushion beside him. Again, you three were lucky that Yaga hadn’t seen it, he was pretty convinced Shoko had given up on the smoking habit. “Give it back, Satoru, I’m too comfy to have her moving.” You whined as Shoko tried to get off the couch. 

“You heard the pregnant lady, give it.” Shoko taunted, knowing she had already won the battle thanks to you. “Fine, fine, here.” he tossed it over, uttering out “nice catch” as Shoko caught it with one hand. “So, back to business.” Shoko smiled as she twirled the lighter around her fingers. “How are we telling Yaga that little miss here is pregnant with the problem child’s baby?” You made a noise of annoyance at Shoko’s words, smiling a bit as she raised her eyebrow at you. “Well, I don’t think it will be easy telling anyone… Besides you, Shoko. You took the news like a champ.” Satoru was still reeling over how calm she had been about the whole thing. 

—

“Are you sure you want to tell her right now?” Satoru was buttoning his uniform top, you two would still have to continue on with your lives like it was any other day. “She needs to know, there is no way I could keep this from her.” She basically already knew, but you couldn’t say that to Satoru yet. Just in case Shoko had the opposite of the reaction you were anticipating. The whole concept still felt foreign to you, so did the fact that it felt natural for your hand to rest on your abdomen. You didn’t think you should be adapting to this so quickly, then again what were you supposed to do? 

“I know that, I’m not saying we never tell her. But you still seem to be pretty in shock over this.” 

“Which is exactly why I need to tell her.” If anything goes wrong in your life, Shoko has always been the person you ran to. It wasn’t until Suguru left that you had started running to Satoru instead. Part of you felt guilty about that, like you were leaving her in the dust. She knew you and Satoru’s pain just as well, it hurt you to know you had started seeking comfort in him rather than her. “If you insist, I’ll back you up all the way.” he grinned as you pouted, feet kicking idly. 

You had snuck off and gotten dressed before he even woke up. Now all that was left was to rip off the band-aid and reveal to Shoko that she had been right all along. “I’m glad you aren’t scared of Shoko’s wrath.” you laughed as you pushed off of his bed, shuffling to the door with a grin. “I’m not the one that got you pregnant, her wrath isn’t directed at me.” You felt your cheeks grow warm as you shook your head, pushing his door open and heading into the hall. “You’re too blunt sometimes, Satoru.” You felt mildly embarrassed about how he put it, that and an odd sense of possessiveness. 

“Well it’s the truth, Suguru is the one that knocked you up.” He shrugged as he followed you out into the hall, turning to shut the door just as you reached up and smacked his shoulder. “And you’re fucking vulgar! Be kind!” your tone was a mix of teasing and annoyance, one Satoru knew quite well. If he had to work you up to get glimpses of your old self, then so be it. “I am being kind, you’re just being sensitive.” risky thing to say to a woman, nevermind a pregnant woman. 

“You are a menace, Gojo Satoru.” You huffed, crossing your arms to glare at him as he replied with a sheepish grin. “Hey, sorry, I can’t help it sometimes. You’re just so easy to tease.” He made a kissy face at you, watching your nose scrunch in amusement before turning to head down the hall. “I’ll have to work on making things harder for you, Satoru.” You sighed as he whistled. “Don’t quite know how Suguru would feel about that.” He was laughing when you turned to swing on him, a smile pulling at your lips as he blocked you. “A menace and a perv… I’ll start sharing Shoko’s bed.” 

“Hey! No way! You’re so warm, I like having you in my bed.” Satoru pouted, as if you were a cat looking to find a new home. “Eh, don’t know how Suguru would feel about that.” You mimicked him, smiling widely now as he rolled his eyes. “I guess you’re right.” Ever since you realized, it has become a little easier to say Suguru’s name. You had to wonder why, your emotions were still a stormy mess but… speaking about him didn’t really hurt that bad right now. Maybe you were just riding on a high of emotions, but compared to the low from the night before… you had doubts. 

“Shoko!” you knocked on her door, glancing back at Satoru as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He was pretty sure he was masking his anxiety well, but you knew better than anyone that Satoru was mentally shitting his pants at the idea of informing Shoko about your predicament. “One minute!” Her voice rang from the other side of the door, mildly surprised in tone to hear you. She had expected Satoru, just as she had been expecting him every morning to go pull you out of your depression pit dorm room. For you to be at her door too… something was up. 

“What’s with the welcome party?” Shoko’s door swung open, eyes traveling over the two of you with a quirked brow. “Got some news for ya…” you started bold, not missing the way Satoru inhaled sharply. “News for me? About?” she had no idea where you could be going with this, but she assumed any direction you took would lead to Suguru somehow. “Well you see… that conversation we had yesterday…” and Shoko knew immediately. “Shoko, I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh, okay.”

“That… you’re fucking kidding me! That’s IT?” Satoru looked completely appalled at the woman’s casual response. You were a bit surprised yourself but that didn’t stop you from laughing at Satoru’s over reaction. “Yeah, that’s it. Am I supposed to scream or something?” Shoko was stepping into the hall, turning to shut her dorm room’s door before turning back to face you and Satoru. “So what do we do now?” Satoru couldn’t believe it, from the gut wrenching sobs you had made, he half expected the world to implode when it was time for you to tell another person. 

So…when it didn’t… he couldn’t quite get over it. “That’s a great question, honestly I have no idea.” You sighed, feeling a little antsy as you turned to walk down the hall. “Ya know, this isn’t fair.” Satoru pouted, arms crossing as he followed after you with no hesitation. “What isn't fair?” Shoko questioned as she fell into step beside you. “That you got the easy reveal and the easy reaction. She nearly gave me a fucking heart attack last night! I mean really I felt my balls shrivel.” 

You nearly tripped over your own two feet at that, laughter so genuine bubbling out of you that it made the previous night feel like a distant memory. “Ew TMI Satoru.” Shoko plugged her nose, sticking her tongue out as the three of you made your way down the stairs and out to the sunny day ahead. “It’s the damn truth.” Satoru mumbled under his breath as you pushed through the double doors, shoving his sunglasses further up his face in an attempt to block out the blinding sun. 

“I mean I’ll side with him this time, Shoko. I really did scare the life out of him. I thought he was going to faint.” You had collapsed into his arms, if anyone was about to faint, it would have been you. “That’s only half true.” Satoru mumbled in defeat, throwing himself down on a picnic table bench and watching as you and Shoko clambered into the other side. “It’s not important right now, what’s important is trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do now. I don’t want anyone knowing besides the two of you. Not Yaga, not Utahime, Meimei, Nanami…” 

“We get it.” Satoru stuck his tongue out, feeling far cheekier than usual this morning. Maybe it was because he was still partially convinced he had smacked his head and this was all a dream. “So rude this morning, Toru~” there was a hint of a smile on your face though, one that had the tips of his ears burning pink as you turned to look at Shoko. “The first thing we need to do is get you a doctor. If the tests came back positive, it still needs to be confirmed with blood work. Along with that they need to make sure the baby is actually growing.” Shoko pulled out a pack of cigarettes as she spoke.

“Okay, so, doctors is the next step… then what?” Satoru questioned, watching the flame ignite on the end of Shoko’s lighter. “Then I grow the baby till they are ready to be born.” You said in a bored tone. You knew what Satoru was implying but you weren’t ready to cross that bridge yet. Suguru needed to know, you were still hanging onto that fact. You couldn't do this without him. “Oh gee I would have never guessed.” Satoru deadpanned as he snatched Shoko’s pack, ignoring her glare as he also snatched her lighter. “I’m not in the mood to discuss that part yet, Satoru.” 

Your tone was final, so much so that Shoko merely nodded, eyes glaring holes into Satoru’s head so he wouldn't dare push the topic. He swallowed his words, putting the cigarette to his lips before mumbling out “fine, I’ll drop it… for now.” 

—

The day had come and gone, night had fallen once more and you found yourself lounging in Satoru’s bed. He was showering at the moment so you had it to yourself, the dim light of the little lamp on his desk was just enough for you to admire the ultrasound photos. You had been looking at them on and off all day, still struggling to comprehend that it was your baby. “It’s crazy that you’ll continue to grow into a living, breathing, talking person. You’ll have your own personality, your own thoughts, your own voice…” you hummed softly, hand resting on your abdomen as you spoke to your baby’s pictures. It all felt so damn surreal. 

“I wonder what your daddy would think…” You felt your voice crack as you whispered those words out loud. Your heart was still aching from his absence, but with your child growing, it was hard to feel totally alone. Part of him was growing within you, you just needed him to know it. You straightened the moment Satoru’s bathroom door opened, wiping your eyes in an attempt to make it look like you were yawning instead. “Not visiting Shoko tonight?” Satoru smiled, white shirt hanging on his lean frame, a towel resting on his shoulders and collecting the water droplets from his damp hair. “Nah, she said she needed to get some stuff done.” 

“She’s such a procrastinator, the deadlines for those med-school applications are like two days from now.” You nodded, you weren’t quite sure how your friend intended on getting the seven applications done in time. “I highly doubt she’ll be truthful to them anyways.” You laughed, she was determined to get in with no prior college experience or any experience in the medical field save for her curse technique. But, if there was anyone who could cheat their way into med-school, it would definitely be Shoko. “She’ll somehow be fine… she always is.” Satoru chuckled as he moved about his room, picking up his towel to dry his white locks. 

With his back turned to you, he nearly whispered what he said next. “You’re sad again.” You felt your brows twitch before forcing them into perfectly maintained neutrality. “When have I not been sad, Satoru?” you tried softly, folding the ultrasound pictures neatly together again from their extended accordion strip. “You know what I mean, y/n. You were crying before I came in.” You stopped folding, inhaling shakily before turning to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t crying yet. You actually interrupted me, Satoru.” you weren’t even sure why you had been trying to hide it in the first place. There was no sneaking anything by him. Those six eyes of his were always on alert, always observant, even more so nowadays. 

Satoru was still quiet, his towel resting on his shoulders again as he turned to observed you. “I miss him terribly, Satoru. Nothing is going to fix that.” You could tell he was stewing on something, but he was holding himself back. “Say it, whatever it is you're thinking, say it.” This time, he looked mildly surprised, not used to being the one so easily read. “You’re not going to see him.” He stated rather plainly, but you could see his jaw clenching after he uttered the words out loud. You felt your stomach twist in the same way it had with your morning sickness… morning sickness you had become quite acquainted with at this point. 

“I didn’t plan on it.” You shot back, lying through your teeth like he wouldn’t be able to pick you apart in an instant. “Yeah, bull shit y/n. I’m not stupid.” You felt anger bubbling over the nausea, not particularly enjoying the way he was talking down to you. “Watch your tone, Satoru.” Dangerously low, full of promise. It was enough to snap him back into reality for a second. “Sorry.” he started “I’ll be more mindful. However, that doesn’t change my previous statement.” You felt your head tilting, eyes narrowing as you sized the strongest sorcerer up. “You do not get to decide what I can and cannot do, Satoru.” 

There, you finally said it, maybe it was very indirect but Satoru knew exactly what you meant with those words. He looked stunned, but at the same time if he had any fight left in him, he wasn’t going to push upon the matter. Your gaze didn’t soften, rather it continued to size him up until his shoulders sagged. “Forget I said anything, you’re right. I don’t get a say in it.” Yet, you could tell he was saying it just to maintain peace. You weighed your options, was it really worth giving up your sanity for a fight you weren’t willing to have yet? In the end, you swallowed your emotions, wondering if it was possible that your hormones were already causing mood swings. “We can discuss this when we are both ready… not weighed down by our own baggage.” 

Finally, your gaze had returned to its normal, slightly sad state. Satoru found that it was easier for him to breathe again, so he pulled the towel off his shoulders and turned to enter his bathroom. “I agree.” He called as he hung the damp towel over the top of his curtain rods, letting it air dry till morning so he could put it in the hamper to be washed. “Let’s talk about something else, yeah?” He emerged with a smile, the tension in the room subsiding considerably as you relaxed back into his covers, comfortable under his blankets. “Gladly.” You teased him, turning onto your side as he flopped down beside you. “Do you have any name ideas yet?” 

You blinked, not thinking that was the route he was going to take. “Oh-uhm… well I’ve certainly thought about it over the last two weeks. I don’t know if I want to find out their gender… I’m tempted to wait until they are born. Makes it more fun that way but… I’m eager.” You confess with a dreamy smile, one that has Satoru’s lips parting in awe for a moment before he quickly recovers. “I don’t know how you’d do it, I’ve been itching to know since you told me.” He confessed softly, eyes lingering to where your hand had found its new home. He didn’t think a day had gone by in these last few weeks where he didn’t see your hand resting on your stomach. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it, Satoru. When the time comes, when she asks if I want to know the gender… I don’t think I’ll be able to say no.” You laughed softly, you were indifferent to what your baby’s gender would be. You didn’t care if they were a boy or a girl, you would be over the moon with either. But you were dying to know so you could buy them things, settle on a good name, look at baby furniture… “Are you going to share the name ideas or are you keeping them a secret?” He questioned when he saw you were starting to space out. He had been keen on trying to ground you in the present lately. 

“Oh well…” you started softly, suddenly shy to share the names you and Suguru had discussed what felt like centuries ago at this point. “For a boy, we discussed names like Ren, Ritsu, Isamu… oh and we really liked the name Hajime.” For some reason it felt very intimate to share this information. “But of course… it all depends on what he looks like. We can pick any name we want but really you can’t make the decisions till you meet them.” Satoru nodded, “I would go out on a limb to suggest Satoru… pretty solid name in my opinion.” You started to laugh, slapping his chest lightly “You’re relentless, Satoru.” 

“I may be relentless, but you love me.” He countered as you rolled your eyes. “I, unfortunately, have to agree with that.” You smiled at him, settling further into the bed before he spoke again. “How about girl names?” Satoru questioned, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes. “Oh well, we have way more of those than we do boy names. Suguru is particularly attached to Ayame and Sachi.” Satoru felt his cheeks redden, it seemed that it was just now hitting him how intimate this moment was. “I rather like Sachi and Ayame too but I really like the name Hanako.” There were a few others but you knew those three were the top contenders for a baby girl. 

“I mean Satoru can be a unisex name…” He added softly, trying to lighten the mood a bit because this was all starting to feel way too personal. Not that he really minded, it was more for his sake than yours. Laying in bed beside you, discussing baby names, it was playing with his head. “It is fully a male name, I would not name my little girl Satoru.” You laughed softly, trying to stifle your yawn as you pushed his shoulder. “Okay fine, I’ll drop the Satoru name agenda… for now.” You just smiled at him, shaking your head in an attempt to ignore the way your eyelids were steadily dropping. “You’re trying to fight your sleep?” this time, Satoru pushed your shoulder. 

“I guess I am…” you yawned, eyes watering “... I just like talking to you, Toru.” You felt warm and safe snuggled under his blankets and under the gaze of his watchful eyes. “I like talking to you too but…” his voice had cracked, heat flooding his cheeks as your eyes closed a little more. “But you need your rest, you’re literally growing another human inside of you. I’ll be here in the morning.” You nodded, eyes nearly closed completely at this point. “I guess you’re right…” he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Always guessing and never just admitting I’m right… good night.” He finished in a way you couldn’t argue with, leaving you to just sleepily hum in acknowledgment. 

—

He would stay awake longer than he wanted to, simply to watch your chest rise and fall as you slept soundly. He would remind himself with every small flutter of your eyelashes that you were dreaming, you were alive, you were breathing. Most importantly, he’d try and make himself believe that you weren't on your way out the door, leaving him behind just as Suguru had. 

But he knew better, god dammit he knew better and he hated himself for it. 

He could see it, with each passing day, each passing hour, your heart was choosing its path. The path that led straight out of his life and into the arms of the man you really loved. How he wished it was him, how desperately, selfishly Satoru wished it were him that you loved. The guilt would gnaw at his chest, making it feel like someone was ripping his heart open tendon by tendon, the blood leaking out an inky black. So weighed down by his guilt that it was tainted. 

He had tried, for years he had tried to suppress it. But nothing in this universe could block out the love he held for you so deep in his chest that it took the air from his lungs. He loved you, with every fiber of his being, even now he couldn’t understand how he had gotten so close to you without cracking and shattering to the floor like fine china. Satoru knew that even a month ago, the idea of holding you as you cried would have seemed like an impossible task. 

Not because he couldn’t restrain himself, god he couldn’t even think of you in that way without feeling immense guilt. But because he didn’t think he would ever be able to let you go. Initially he had been right, he had struggled, albeit for a fraction of a second, but he had let you go. Had you told him two months ago that he would be falling asleep with you beside him, he would have fainted on the spot, he was sure of it. 

Because even though he finally had you beside him, it wasn’t in the way he truly wanted. 

The way he truly wanted would forever be unattainable, for you were not his to keep. You had been right, you had been so god damn right when you said that he had no say in what you could and couldn’t do… and it killed him. Fuck did it kill him in every way but literally. If he could, he would keep you by his side forever, away from the man he still considered his one and only best friend, he would raise your baby with you so you didn’t need Suguru to feel whole. 

But that was not the route you were going to take, and he knew it. He knew it was only a matter of time until you ripped his chest wide open and left him only a fraction of the man he was. Suguru already had one half of his heart, if you were to leave, you would be taking the only half Satoru had left with you. Leaving him with nothing, completely and utterly alone. Why couldn’t you see he was more than enough for you? 

He was convinced he could give you a good, if not better life than what Suguru could offer you. He could provide for you and your child and you would never have to lift a finger for the rest of your life. You wouldn’t have to be a jujutsu sorcerer, you wouldn’t have to work to make money. He could give you and your baby everything you could ever desire. It was a selfish thought, the selfish desire to have someone he couldn’t. 

Somewhere along the way, amid his heartbreak over Suguru, he had foolishly believed he could win your heart. As if Suguru’s deflection would suddenly make it easier, make it okay for him to pursue you. What a childish thought, what a selfish, naive thought. He loved you too much to put you in that position, he loved Suguru too much to betray him like that… even though Suguru had arguably done much worse. 

He inhaled shakily, watching your lips wobble as you must have dreamt about something. It grounded him for a moment, making everything in his room feel a little too real yet not real at all. Like he hadn’t been aware this whole time that he was alive, that this wasn’t some nightmare. For a moment, he was certain he would black out from the crushing weight of the realization. 

So he forced his eyes to close, squeezing shut so tight that colors and odd shapes began to blossom behind his eyelids. It didn’t help the way his chest had begun to rise and fall in a pattern that was starting to look like a panic attack. He didn’t know who to go to, he didn’t know who he could go to for help. The two people he always ran to were the two people he couldn’t. 

How was it possible he felt so alone when you were sleeping right beside him? How was it possible that he still ached for you when he knew you would take his heart and stomp on it. You were a ticking time bomb, and it was only a matter of days until your timer went out. So why wasn’t he savoring this? Why wasn’t he soaking in every second he had with you before you left? 

How was he already mourning you when you were right beside him? 

—

Late November 2007 

“It…It…” you huffed, trying to force the buttons of your white top together. “It doesn’t fit?” Shoko questioned with an amused face, watching you lose your breath as you tried to make the buttons clasp. Your stomach had grown considerably over the last few weeks, it was now becoming increasingly difficult to hide the fact that you were twenty weeks pregnant. “It–” you huffed out again, whining as the button you closed popped back open. Defeated, you flopped onto Shoko’s mattress, uttering out a weak “It doesn’t fit.” as she began to laugh. 

“Linen like this isn’t forgiving. You’re going to have to hope your jacket fits at least, or else you’ll be telling Yaga whether you want to or not.” You whine again, hands coming down to rest on the swell of your stomach. It had been an experience to learn you were pregnant a few months back, but to see and feel the physical proof of your child was even more surreal. You had managed to sneak past Yaga for the most part, something Satoru couldn’t even grasp. “Shoko, I give up.” She quirked an eyebrow at you as you struggled to get up. “Already?” 

“Yeah, already. I’m not going to be able to fit into my uniform and I don’t think I have the energy to try it.” The second trimester had been more forgiving than the first, but you had found yourself quickly running out of breath and stamina. It was only a matter of time until you had to take a break walking up a single flight of stairs. “I’m telling Yaga today. Fuck this.” With your white button up still only covering your breasts, you pushed out of Shoko’s bedroom and marched down the hall towards Satoru’s. 

“Satoru! Give me some clothes!” you yelled before even making it to his door, banging on it only once before he was pulling it open, visibly confused. “What in the hell happened to you?” He tried not to snicker, looking over your half-assed appearance. Luckily your uniform skirt was covering your ass but even then, it really didn’t fit you. “Give me some clothes, none of mine fit me anymore, Toru.” You pout, chest rising and falling a little faster than it usually did. 

“Alright, alright, come on in.” He pushed his glasses up his face, trying not to show any sort of amusement at the way your bump was fully out in the open. Turning, he made his way to his dresser and pulled out a knit sweater and some sweatpants. “They may be too big for you, we’ll have to go shopping later for a new wardrobe that fits you.” You caught the knit as he tossed it, you could have easily gone down the hall to your own room and gotten some of Suguru’s clothing. But, for some reason, you had chosen Satoru. 

He hated to admit it but it gave him butterflies. 

“I’m going to have to tell Yaga.” you grumbled as you undid the few buttons you had managed to get shut, tossing the garment to the floor a moment later. “Oh? We’re already at that point, huh?” Satoru leaned against his dresser, watching as you pulled his knit sweater over your head, effectively masking the fact that you were twenty weeks pregnant. “We are, I’m not in the mood to keep sneaking around him.” You shimmied out of your too tight skirt, whining as you kicked it away. You have certainly gotten more whiny and irritable over the last few days. 

Maybe it was because you were antsy, with each passing day your child grew. Meaning that Suguru was going on with his day to day life, completely unaware. You had finally decided on your resolve not too long ago, while showering one night in your own room. He needed to know, you couldn’t live with yourself if you grew this baby and birthed them without Suguru ever knowing. “Are we going the second you’re done getting dressed?” Satoru shifted his weight from foot to foot as you stepped into the pair of sweatpants he had given you. 

“Yep.” you were curt, worn out already from an action as simple as putting on clothes. “Do we even have a game plan?” Shoko’s sudden appearance made you both jump, your head whipping around so fast it would have been comical to the two of them if they didn’t know any better. Pregnancy mood swings were no joke, Satoru learned the hard way only a few days prior when teasing you and nearly losing a finger to your curse technique. “No, but I don’t see why I need to dance around the obvious. I tell him I’m pregnant and we move on.” 

You shrug, struggling to tie the string of Satoru’s sweatpants due to your stomach. “Here , let me.” Satoru closed the distance and easily tied the string in a quick knot, laughing a bit as you huffed out a thanks. “So you’re just going to drop an atomic bomb on the poor man and move on?” Shoko questioned curiously as she flicked her lighter. “Yeah, I am. And then the two of you are coming with me to go get maternity clothes.” You sigh, hand smoothing over your now barely visible bump, smiling a bit at the fluttering kick baby gave you. “Baby agrees, so no declining.” 

Satoru saluted you “whatever you say, sergeant.” That made you laugh, tension from your clothes not fitting melting off of your shoulders as you turned to leave. “Oh wow, so we’re going right now.” Shoko fell into step beside you as you marched down the hall, leaving Satoru to scramble and get his dorm door shut before following after you. “No better time than the present, I want to get an early start with my day… you know I’ve been tiring easier nowadays.” One thing you hadn’t fully been prepared for was the amount of physical changes your body would go through. 

Sure you knew the basics like your stomach would grow, your breasts would get bigger, you would get bloated… but you hadn’t thought about how strenuous the whole thing would be. Though, it made sense when you sat down in Shoko’s bed one night with your laptop. “Oh, so baby pushes all of my organs out of the way…” To which Shoko had made a fake gagging noise. You used it as a way to antagonize Satoru the next morning, watching the man turn a shade of green as you proudly explained why you had been losing your breath. 

“I guess that’s true… it’s almost nine in the morning so I assume Yaga will be in his office.” Satoru sighed as he walked just a step behind you, pulling out his flip phone to file through a few news articles as you three walked. “Good, that means he’ll already be sitting when he gets the shock of his life.” Shoko sighed, pocketing her lighter and unlit cigarette as the three of you left the dorm buildings and began walking through the courtyard towards Yaga’s office. “I mean, I don’t really think it's that big of a deal.” You shrugged, waddling slightly as you moved. 

“You’re carrying the black sheep’s baby, of course it's a big deal.” 

You glared at Satoru as he finally had enough space to walk beside you. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just… a lot has happened. The man already beats himself up over the whole thing and now one of his students who he has been trying to watch so diligently… has hid the fact that she’s like five months pregnant. That's even more of a mindfuck.” That made you stop walking for a second, your nonchalant attitude towards it all seemed pretty selfish now that you had heard what Satoru said. “I…shit…I didn’t think about it like that.” 

“Hey, it’s not your fault, you’ve had like three whole months to cope with this and sort things out. It's normal for you  now, sometimes it’s hard to see it from new perspectives once you’ve gotten so used to it.” Shoko had listened intently, eyes shifting between you and Satoru. “You’re awfully philosophical this morning, Satoru.” The white haired man immediately pushed his glasses further up his nose, cheeks dusting pink as he shrugged. “I dunno, I’ve just had time to think.” She dropped it, focusing her attention back on you as you seemed to inhale deeply. 

“I… I’m still telling him. I’ll be gentle with my delivery but I have to rip off the bandaid.” And with that you were walking past them again, leaving the two to follow behind you as you carried yourself with a new purpose. “Do you want us to go in with you?” Shoko asked softly as the three of you crossed the courtyard and entered the building “No… It's best for it to now be some sort of show.” You knew they’d find a way to listen in on the conversation anyways. “Alright but if we hear screaming or the thud of a grown man passing out, we’re coming in.” Satoru sounded uninterested but you knew him better than to believe his facade. 

“Yeah, got it.” 

With that, you were heading up the steps to the second floor. Yaga’s office was the last door on the left, you couldn't even collect your thoughts enough to practice what you were going to say. At this point, it was better to just let it happen naturally. Your hands smoothed over your covered bump one last time before you stood in front of his doorway “Here goes nothing, little one.” It was still comforting to you to know your baby was always with you. “Principal? Are you in there?” you knocked softly, hoping your voice carried through the thick wood of the door. 

“Y/N? Yes, I’m in here, come in.” You let out a shaky breath, pulling at Satoru’s knit to make sure your bump wasn’t visible at all. You pushed the door open, relishing in the feeling of the cold wood under your fingertips before stepping into his office. “Good morning, principal.” you spoke softly, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. Yaga was sitting at his desk, papers scattered over his desk and a couple resting in one of his hands. “Good morning, Y/N… is something wrong?” You rarely came to his office to speak with him, you knew that much would have his suspicions up within the first seconds. 

“Nothing is wrong…per say.” Your hands clasped behind your back. “But you need to tell me something, don’t you?” he questioned softly, setting the papers in hands down as you began to rock on your feet. It felt as if a swarm of butterflies were fluttering around your lungs, making it almost hard to breathe as you nodded in confirmation.  “Please, come sit.” but your feet wouldn’t move, gluing you to the small space where you were rocking back and forth on your heels. “Please, sir, I’m very antsy so I think it’s best for me to say this while standing.” 

“A-alright, Y/N you’re making me a bit nervous. So please…” He swallowed, hands clasping together on his desk as he looked at you expectantly. “...If it is about Suguru…” and you nodded, eyes downcast on the two chairs before his desk. “Listen, this… I don’t even know how to spit this out so forgive me if it’s harsh.” You cleared your throat, not liking how hoarse it was already sounding. Yaga didn’t answer, instead he nodded his head even though he could tell your focus wasn’t on him. “Suguru and I… we had been dating since our first year here.” 

“Yes, I know that much…” Soft and unsure, he couldn't quite understand where you were taking this conversation. Though he could certainly guess a handful of routes, what alarmed him most was the fact that Satoru and Shoko weren’t by your side. “We… We were very serious about each other, Principal. He always spoke to me about getting married, starting a family…” you looked up at him then, teeth worrying into the side of your cheek as you tried to get the next part out. Yaga’s forehead had creased in worry “Okay… Y/N have you had contact with him since?” 

“I- no, I haven’t heard from him since the letter he left me before he left. No contact sir, that’s not what I’m trying to get at anyways…” You huffed, hands unclasping and reaching up to rub your face as you grew frustrated with yourself. “Principal I… I’ve been hiding something from you for months now and I am no longer able to hide it any longer.” That had him straightening in his chair, eyes narrowing as he waited for you to continue. You took a shaking breath, knowing there were no words that would make this any less jarring for your principal. 

“Principal Yaga I…” carefully you grabbed the hem of Satoru’s knit sweater, pulling it tight so it hugged the swell of your baby bump. “... I’m twenty weeks pregnant with Suguru’s baby.” 

You watched as the man’s narrow gaze turned considerably wide before softening. “Oh…wow.” He cleared his throat, pulling the sunglasses that had been hanging low on his face off all together. You let the knit go slowly, hiding the bump again as your principal reached up to rub his eyes. “Are you… principal are you crying?” you sounded mildly aghast at the sight. “No no I…” but he was. After a moment he set his hands down, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I’m sorry I'm sure that’s not the best reaction to receive after telling someone you’re…” 

“Yeah it’s… well it’s not as bad as I feared.” you cut him off, laughing a bit because among all the emotions you could sense, anger was not one of them. “I’m sorry you felt the need to hide this from me for… damn nearly five months…” he mulled over the fact that you had said you were twenty weeks into this, well into your second trimester. “I just didn’t know how to go about it sir… only Shoko and Satoru are aware of my… circumstances.” Yaga nodded, muttering a soft “I figured that much.” before sighing heavily. “Suguru has no idea.” he spoke softly, watching you nod with a sad look on your face. “I found out two weeks after he…left.” 

So not only had you been dealing with the defection of your boyfriend -  whom you loved with your entire being - you had also been reeling with the news of your own pregnancy. “I… you’re so young and you’ve already gone through so much.” Yaga spoke more to himself than you, that didn’t stop you from trying to lighten the mood. “A complicated life comes with the job of being a sorcerer. You know that Principal.” You laughed, hands finding their home on top of the swell of your stomach. Seeing you smile eased some of Yaga’s concerns. 

“I suppose… I’m glad you were able to tell me. I… take it you won’t be fitting into your uniform from here on out?” he looked you over, recognizing the clothes to likely be Satoru’s. “Oh yeah, it’s not happening from here on out.” You laughed a bit “If it’s alright with you, I’ll be heading into the city with Satoru and Shoko to get some clothes that fit me… I can look for some clothes reminiscent of our uniform.” you laugh a little more, watching a smile crack on his features. “Or I could see about getting you a uniform altered to fit you as you grow. Either way you’ll need some normal clothing that fits you…” he sighed as you nodded.

“You three be careful, I know you’re all more than capable but… still.” He sighed, voice raising a little bit “If either of them get hurt, I’m blaming you, Satoru.” Behind you, the wooden door flung open. “Hey!” But, realizing he and Shoko had been caught for eavesdropping, Satoru’s cheeks flushed pink. You whirled around, bursting out in laughter as Shoko’s hand covered her own mouth in attempts of hiding her own giggles. “I stand by what I said… Now go, have fun.” He sighed, arms unfolding as he sat forward in his chair to continue mulling over paperwork. 

“Alright, thank you, Principal. I appreciate you for being so understanding.” 

He gave you a warm smile and a soft nod, watching you exit with the other two. Once Yaga’s door was shut with a soft click, once he heard your voices and feet fading down the hall, his smile dropped. “That poor girl…” he wasn’t mad that you were pregnant, nor was he mad that you had hidden it from him. He was more so sad that you had felt the need to hide it, especially regarding your circumstances with Suguru and all. 

Which opened a whole new can of worms, he couldn't quite believe that you would keep such news from Suguru… maybe that’s why he’d noticed Shoko and Satoru always by your side. 

Maybe it wasn’t just to support a dear friend going through heartbreak. Perhaps they felt it too, felt that you were going to slip through their fingers just as Suguru had. 

—

“Are you sure clothes shopping is the task you really want to complete right now?” Shoko puffed out smoke as she talked to you, navigating the busy sidewalks with ease as Satoru led the way. “It needs to be done, I can’t wear Satoru’s clothing forever.” Shoko understood that ideology and all, but you had been ready to blow your brains out this morning over a linen dress shirt not buttoning. At this rate, she was certain just about any clothing not fitting you would get you worked up like the world was ending. “She can borrow my clothes any time.” 

Satoru laughed as he looked back at you, finding it hysterical that even with the sweats tied, you had to keep pulling them up. At this point, they were nearly at your chest, relying solely on your stomach to keep them from falling down. “All due respect, Toru. I look like a fucking clown in these pants… your tops may not be safe from me but I need pants that fit.” Satoru shook his head, an amused smile as he finally found the clothing store you loved. 

“You can help yourself to my shirts and sweaters any time, Y/N. You know that.” You scrunch your nose, shaking your head a bit as you stop in front of a store he had walked right past. “I’ll try this one first.” You could hear Shoko laugh as the automatic doors open for you, Satoru’s feet slapping the pavement as he stomped back to where you were. “Don’t get pissy cause you strolled right by, Toru.” But he only grumbled, falling to the side as Shoko shoved him teasingly. 

You spent the next fifteen minutes browsing the racks, finding things in various sizes that you’d unfortunately have to try on. All the while, Satoru had found his home on a bench in the middle of the bustling store, his legs crossed as he sorted through things on his phone. “I think this one will be cute, but you’ll have to try it on in this size and this size.” Shoko handed you a knit sweater similar to the one you were already wearing, a smile on her face as she spotted something else. “We’ll have to find a proper maternity store.” 

Shoko mumbled as she filled through the racks again for the article of clothing in your size range. “Satoru, go see if they have a baby store around here.” Shoko ordered the man who didn’t move a muscle. “Yeah, no way.” You snickered as you dropped a few more items on his lap. Dutifully, he held them there with one hand while looking at his small phone screen. “I’ll just go ask one of the employees here.” you wandered off after saying that, hearing Shoko scold Satoru for making the pregnant woman go look for help. 

You moved with ease through the busy aisles, walking past the floor to length mirrors as you did so. Just beyond the windows was the busy sidewalks of downtown Tokyo, mid-day sun making it look much later than it was due to the shortening days. You weren’t sure what possessed you to be so observant as you walked the length of the store, really you should have been looking for an associate. But there, across the street, visible between the people passing by, was a person you would recognize anywhere. You felt your heart stop at the sight. 

You questioned it for only a split second, feet frozen in place as you watched two young girls come bouncing out of a cafe with drinks in hand. He smiled at them, a smile you had only been able to see in your dreams, before turning to head down the sidewalk with them in tow. It took you all of two seconds to collect yourself enough to move. Without thinking much beyond the fact that Suguru was across the street from you, you moved as fast as your feet could carry you without breaking out into an all out sprint. 

You couldn’t hear anything beyond the ringing in your ears, had you been able to you would have heard the confused calls of your name from Shoko and Satoru as they watched you run out the door. You couldn't breath as you moved down the sidewalk, eyes laser focusing on the back of Suguru’s head as he moved among the many bobbing heads. Your inability to breathe in that moment stopped you from calling out to him, though you doubt he would have been able to hear you anyways. Still, you pushed through the people flooding the sidewalk, not acknowledging a single disgruntled look as your feet carried you towards him. 

Move. Move faster. Fucking move faster!

You screamed inside of your own mind, ignoring the way your body screamed in protest from the amount of physical movement. For the first time in months, Suguru was in your reach and yet you couldn’t seem to close the distance. It was like some nightmare, no matter how fast you moved, Suguru never seemed to get any closer to you. Yet, you still saw the back of his head, he was still there, you wouldn’t give up until you couldn’t see him anymore. It was creeping up on you with each and every step, the deep rooted heartbreak from his departure. 

For some reason, it felt like you were ripping open a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal yet. Yanking each carefully placed stitch with nothing more than dull fingernails. It came undone easily, blood leaking out in time with the pounding of your heart as Suguru’s head disappeared around the corner of an intersection. A feeble cry of “No!” left your lips, just as labored as your breathing as you reached the end of the sidewalk and looked right in the direction he had turned. But, there was no sight of him anymore, gone from your view once again. 

You felt the steady build in your chest, creeping up your throat as you felt the urge to sob violently where you stood. Yet the tears wouldn’t come, catching somewhere in your throat so you truly felt like there was no air in your lungs. “What the fuck was that?” Satoru’s voice pulled you from your daze, your head turning to see a concerned Shoko and Satoru panting as they caught up to where you now stood. Yet, you couldn’t hold Satoru’s bewildered gaze for long, eyes returning to the street once more. “I…” you started, barely hearing yourself as you spoke. 

“I saw… I saw him. It was him.” you managed to spit out, lips parted as you tried to force air in your lungs. “Him? As in Suguru?” Shoko spoke for Satoru, had you been able to turn your head and meet his gaze you would have seen that he had turned as pale as a sheet of paper. You could only muster a nod, shoulders shaking with the force of your breathing as you tried to ground yourself in reality once again. So many emotions were running rampant through your head that it was turning into a dull buzz where none of them could make their way up to the surface. 

“You’re… positive it was him?” Shoko closed what little distance there was, hand resting on your bicep as if she was afraid you’d take off running again. “P-positive. I’d know him anywhere… The little girls were with him too.” You felt your baby kick, your hand flying up to rest on the swell of your stomach as you were finally grounded by their movement. “Sorry honey… I didn’t mean to scare you.” you spoke downwards, soothing your hand over the knit sweater to comfort the child within your womb. You doubted it would really comfort them, more so it was to comfort you.

You pulled your gaze away from the busy street, head turning to look at Satoru but the man was already taking off in the direction you had claimed to see Suguru go. “S-satoru?” Shoko’s head turned with yours, watching him stalk down the busy sidewalk. “He…” You started, but your voice sounded hollow as Shoko began guiding you back in the direction you had come from. “But… he…” Your head followed Satoru until Shoko had guided you away from the intersection and down the sidewalk. “Leave him be.” Shoko spoke slowly, head trained forward.

“But he… Satoru…” Shoko cut you off with a tug a little harder than the others “Satoru is a big boy, you are pregnant. You are in no condition to be booking it out of a store and into the busy road, did you even bother looking before you crossed the street?” For the first time ever, you could hear anger in Shoko’s words. Your silence was more than enough of an answer for her, a scoff leaving her lips as she pulled you over to a small area cut off from the endless streams of people making their way through the city’s center. “You cannot fucking do that, Y/N.”

But she could tell by the look in your eyes that you were anywhere but this moment in time. 

“You are pregnant. Carrying a baby inside of your body, who is reliant on you and you alone to keep them safe. You almost got hit by a fucking car. Do you even know that? You ran out into that street in front of cars Y/N.” Shoko’s voice wavered, to add to the many firsts that were occurring in these moments, her voice had begun to waver. As if she were scared… in truth she was. She had nearly witnessed you and your unborn baby be killed and yet you were completely oblivious. You caught sight of Suguru and you had left everything behind. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, amidst all the buzzing in your head and ringing in your ears, you were processing the gravity of the situation. Your actions had so blatantly given away your inner thoughts, thoughts you hadn’t intended on letting out. You would, without fail, everytime, follow that man if given the chance. It made your heart ache, the same deep rooted ache that you were certain would never leave you until he was in your arms again. “Satoru…” Shoko spoke softly, your head whipping in the direction Shoko was looking. 

Satoru was making his way back up the sidewalk, face pale and eyes hollow. “I lost him.” he spoke softly, somehow still audible over the roaring of the city. “You saw him?” Shoko questioned, her grip on your bicep lowering to your wrist because she really couldn’t trust you to not run away from her. “Only for a moment, he was getting into a car. The thing was driving off by the time I reached the spot where it had been parked.” Then, finally, knowing he was long gone by now, you could breathe again. The urge to run was gone, leaving you drained. 

“I want to go home.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Satoru uttered softly, arm coming up to rub the back of his neck. He seemed just as disconnected as you felt, leaving Shoko to look between the two of you in concern. “I’ll call for the car.” She pulled out her phone, clicking a number she had on speed dial and waited. Your day had effectively been ruined, leaving you and Satoru in shambles all over again. “We can try this again another day… but you need clothes that fit sooner than later.” Shoko knew she was practically speaking to herself at this point, flipping her phone shut and shoving it in her pocket. 

The three of you stood quietly off to the side, waiting for the car to pull up to the curb and take you home. Your mind was still reeling of course, so many thoughts at once that it had essentially gone blank. But there, amidst the haze of your confusion, one question was burning brightly. “Why didn’t you use infinity?” Your tone was gravelly, eyes meeting Satoru’s dissociated gaze. “...what?” he questioned back as if there was no air in his lungs as he spoke. “Why didn’t you use infinity?” you say it again, a little stronger this time. 

You had no intentions for it to come out accusatory, nor did you mean it to be rude. You were just stupidly unaware at that moment, your brain so clouded that it had reduced you to nothing. “Why didn’t you use your curse technique?” he countered, knowing your own technique would not have been able to stop Suguru from getting out of your grasp. “Why didn’t you look before crossing the street? Why didn’t you run faster?” Satoru spat at you when you didn’t answer, regret dawning in the back of his mind when he saw your eyes brim with tears. 

“That is enough, Satoru.” Shoko interjected before you could even mumble out a feeble response, sniffling harshly as you rubbed your watering eyes. “You are both hurt. There is no god damn point in sitting here asking the other why they didn’t do something because it’s done and over with now.” Shoko’s head was focused on Satoru, glaring at the man harshly as he schooled his features into stoic disinterest. “Better yet, you two were so fucking shell shocked by his sudden appearance that you lost all sense of reason, so there. That’s why infinity wasn’t used.” 

But still, Shoko was staring at Satoru. It angered you a bit, sniffling a little harder as you couldn’t seem to control the watery whimpers that fell from wobbling lips. She should be mad at both of you, and instead she was primarily scolding Satoru and treating you as a frail object. But, given your hopeless and teary eyed gaze, Satoru didn’t blame Shoko for focusing her anger on him. He regretted it almost as soon as he spoke the words out loud, having read your intentions wrong. But he couldn’t swallow his pride and apologize for it just yet, still too overwhelmed. 

You were both saved from her wrath due to the car pulling up to the curb. “We’re going home, and you two are sitting in the back seat.” she tugged you along, reaching for Satoru’s wrist and tugging him too. “We’ll figure out your clothing situation another day.” She grumbled as she pulled the door open for you “for now, just wear Satoru’s clothes… or Suguru’s.” she added the last bit softly, glancing up to see Satoru shoot her a look as he rounded the car to get in on the other side. “Next time, it’ll just be the two of us going out.” 

You only nodded, sinking into the soft back seat of the school’s car and letting Shoko shut the door for you. Satoru settled in beside you, making a point to keep his distance and look out the window as the car began to drive off. You ignored it, not in the right headspace to even tackle what the man’s withdrawn behavior could really mean. You’d just assume he was upset with you until he was ready to talk, because right now all you wanted was your own bed, in your own room, and to sleep until you couldn’t remember why your heart was so heavy in the first place.

—

December 24th, 2007 [1:00pm]

twenty five weeks. 

You were twenty five weeks into your pregnancy which meant you had roughly fourteen weeks left until your baby was born. Still, Suguru had no idea. Over half way through your pregnancy and the father of your baby had no idea you were even pregnant. “It’s christmas eve, little one.” You spoke softly as you sat alone in your dorm room, one of your own sweaters sitting snugly on your body, your pregnant belly was too big to hide at this point. “I can’t believe you’re going to get bigger…” you cooed softly, rubbing your stomach as you sat at your desk. 

You haven't really been speaking to anyone, especially after your near encounter with Suguru back at the end of November. You and Satoru had made up to an extent, but you could still feel a strain on your relationship. That strain was leaking into your relationship with Shoko as well, isolating you from the feeling of comfort the two once brought you. You had ended up sleeping in your own room that night, not responding at first to either of them when they pressed you. “I just need space to think.” you had finally caved late that night when Shoko wouldn’t stop texting. 

You hadn’t returned to either of their beds since, finding comfort in your not so alone solitude. You had your baby with you - in you - you were never truly alone nowadays. For some reason, neither of them pushed you further about the sudden switch of wanting to be alone. In the following weeks of Suguru’s deflection, you couldn’t stand being in your once lively dorm room… despite not being able to drag yourself out of bed most mornings. Now, Satoru and Shoko saw you sparsely, so long as you were on campus, they supposed it was alright to leave you alone. 

It took a few days for the realization to settle in, but your reaction to seeing Suguru again had really done a number on them. “I’ll be out of their hair soon enough…” You murmured to your quiet room, pen scratching the notepad on your desk fervently as you expressed your sorrow.  A faint smile was present on your lips as you wrote down your goodbye note to Shoko, a weight slowly being lifted off of your tired shoulders with each sentence you neatly scribbled down. 

You would be leaving Jujutsu Tech tonight.

And if you could help it, you would never be coming back. 

That was your final decision roughly one week after the whole incident, the guilt of feeling like a burden had been weighing on you since. You would be going to see him tonight, for the first time in four months you would be seeing Suguru… but he would have no idea it was you. It was all planned out, like clockwork really, you had worked through every fine detail of your departure. Your bag was packed and shoved under your bed, a duffle filled with some sentimental clothing items, your personal belongings and things that meant a lot to you. 

Most of your dorm room would be staying behind, just as Suguru had. 

You were - intentionally and not at the very same time - following in his footsteps. Albeit you’d have it a little harder because you had a funny feeling Satoru, Shoko, and Yaga already suspected you were ready to jump ship… they just didn’t know when. You set your pen down for a moment, stretching each finger and flexing your hand to shake out the wariness. You would be leaving soon after the sun had set, while everyone who was still present on campus attended the annual christmas party. You would feign a migraine, something you had been doing quite frequently so it wouldn’t come off too strange when Shoko or Satoru came knocking.

Once you were certain the dorms were empty, you and your baby would be off. Only two pit stops on your way out the door, Shoko’s dorm and Satoru’s dorm, so you could leave them your letters before disappearing into the night.  The first stop after that would be the hotel room you had booked in Shinjuku, you’d place your bag there and get ready. You would be meeting with Suguru at 6pm, under an alias and disguise. You had called his assistant on a pay phone only a few days ago, begging for an appointment on christmas eve with the “mighty healer” taking pity on you, she ran it by Suguru and he agreed. 

The only reason you were doing this under a disguise was because you needed to get your emotions sorted. If you saw him for the first time again in months, face to face with nowhere to run, you were positive you would break down immediately. So, you’d ease into things as best you could. If things worked out, you would only have to live inside a hotel room for less than a week. But if things didn’t work out like you prayed they would, you and your baby would figure it out as you went. You just couldn’t bear the weight of your guilt any longer, you felt as if you were dragging everyone down. 

Carefully, your pen was picked up and you began scratching your thoughts. Satoru’s letter has been finished for three days now, sitting neatly in an envelope on your bottom drawer. You were finishing Shoko’s now, front and back of each paper so the letter itself was nearly four pages long. Satoru was shorter, a single page because if you let yourself get carried away, you were certain you would run out of paper before you could finish your thoughts. Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your lower lip, worrying it deeply as you tried to conclude her letter. 

Your pen froze on the paper as you stared at what you had written, for some reason it was hitting you now. Tears were welling in your eyes as you sniffled, trying to blink them away while trying to avoid them landing on the paper and soiling it. “C’mon now… it would be so unfair to her to litter this with my tears.” You pushed the paper away, getting up from your desk to make your way into the bathroom. Splashing cold water on your face seemed like the best solution, bending over the sink as best you could you let the water pool in your hands. 

A couple rounds later you were able to regain your composure, reaching for the towel you kept hanging on the wall and using it to dry your face. You stood in the all too bright lights of your bathroom, looking at your reflection just to find it felt foreign for a moment. Twenty five weeks into your pregnancy, your stomach had certainly popped at this point, making it hard for you to believe it would continue to get bigger. “The human body is fascinating.” you muttered softly, turning to the side so you could see how you looked with your sweater on. “You’ll be difficult to conceal, little one. Though, your daddy won’t know it’s me…” 

You were still going to put effort into trying to hide your pregnancy. That was a part of your plan you truly couldn’t explain, it just didn’t feel right waltzing in there with your pregnant belly on display while he had no idea it was you and his child. “Let’s finish Auntie Shoko’s letter, shall we?” You needed to get through it, you had no time to really delay things further. The sun would be setting in a few hours, the party would start at five, you had four hours total left for your time at Jujutsu Tech. Not a single second of it could be wasted. 

You sat down again, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth as you picked up the pen with shaky hands. You reread everything you had written thus far, all the way up to your half done sentence. You picked it up front here, finishing your thoughts and concluding the letter within twenty minutes. With a labored sigh of relief, you pulled another envelope out of your drawer and folded the letter neatly, slipping it inside and sealing it. Your hand trembled tenfold as you wrote Shoko’s name neatly on the back. “Done… it’s done.” 

December 24th, 2007 [3:30pm]

You had drawn your blinds, got a hot pack ready, set medicine and a glass of water on your nightstand. Now, you laid in near darkness, counting down the seconds until Shoko or Satoru appeared at your door. You had planted the first seed an hour prior, telling Shoko you felt a migraine coming on over text and that you’d have to lay down for a bit to see if it would pass. She had responded with an “okay” and let you know she or Satoru would be checking on you within the hour. If they stayed true to their word, it would be any time now. 

You passed the time by looking out your window, despite the blinds being drawn you could still see slivers of the darkening sky. “Winter is such a melancholic season, little one.” not even evening yet and the sky was changing from blue to orange and finally fading into indigo. “I’m glad you won’t be born in the dead of winter… rather somewhere in early spring.” It was odd to think that the year was nearly through, that Christmas was looming just hours away. This was arguably the least festive Christmas you had ever experienced. 

“Ya know, this isn’t how I thought my first pregnancy would go.” You whisper to your empty room, knowing it didn’t matter how quietly you talked, your baby would hear you. At least, that’s what you liked to think, that one thought always brought you comfort. “I swear mommy is going to fix this, my little love. You will be so cherished and so loved by me and your daddy.” You exhaled slowly, not expecting your own rambling to tug at your chest the way it did. “Soon, soon my little love, soon it will be okay.” You tried to swallow the lump in your throat as you struggled to roll onto your side, placing the hotpack on your head once more. 

It took all of five minutes for footsteps to approach your door, a gentle rasp of fingers hitting the wood and a soft call of your name. “Come in.” You didn’t have to try and sound weak, the frog in your throat aiding you. “Well, this is a depressing Christmas eve… how are you?” You struggled to roll over yet again, squinting as the hall light flooded your room, silhouetting Satoru’s lanky figure. “Not good, I don’t think I’ll be able to go, Satoru.” You could see him shifting from foot to foot. “Do you… want me to stay with you?” and for a moment you had to school your expression from the sheer panic that nearly pulled your features. 

“N-no, god that would be useless. Go enjoy your christmas eve, I have my pain meds and I’ve got some pregnancy safe sleeping meds. I’ll be out like a light within the next hour. Have fun, Satoru.” You urged him, praying he wouldn’t be stubborn. Reluctantly, you heard him sigh. “Are you positive?” You weren’t sure why him giving up so easily made your heart ache. For the sake of your plan, you couldn’t let him stay. But, for some reason, it made your chest heavy that he didn’t put up more of a fight. So different… Why are things so different? “Positive.” You gave him a weak smile, still squinting because of the hall light.

“Alright… well… merry christmas, Y/N. I’ll give everyone your well wishes.” 

“Thank you, Satoru… Merry christmas.” 

You watched him leave, a gentle click of your door shutting flowed by his feet padding down the hallway again. It wasn’t until silence was the only thing ringing in your ears that the choked sobs you had tried to hold off all day came forward. You couldn’t catch your breath with the force of them, clutching your chest as you curled in on your side. Deep, guttural sobs shook your frame until they turned completely silent. In the dark of your room, you gasped for air that would not enter your lungs. Your cries so wheezy and silent that you were certain you would pass out if you could not get a grip and catch your breath. 

It hurts… god it fucking hurts… What went wrong? Where did I go so horribly wrong? Your own thoughts seem to bounce off the cavern of your skull, echoing in your ears as hot tears ruined your pillowcase. You forced yourself into a sitting position despite your body screaming in protest, your baby’s fluttering kicks urging you to relax before you sent them into distress along with you. “I'm sorry…I’m sorry.” You could barely speak, stumbling out of your bed and towards your bathroom, blindly searching for the knob as your vision was clouded with tears. 

All you could think about was cold water, splashing cold water on your face would ground you for a moment. Though, cold water certainly could not cure a breaking heart. Your slowly swelling eyes remained shut as you flicked on the LED lights of your bathroom, blindly walking to your sink and turning the cold water on. It contrasted starkly with the hot tears that had been streaming down your cheeks, filling your nose and making it run. You hated it, every second of it, so utterly hopeless and confused. You never wanted to leave on a bad note, but it didn't seem like something that could be helped. Not now at least… 

You bent down, eyes opening a fraction to see the crystal clear water pool in your cupped hands before overflowing. After a moment, you splashed it up on your face, gasping as it seemed to shock your system out of its haze. You did it again, and again, and again, until the tears stopped and you could breathe without needing to think about it. “There we go… I’m so sorry, little one. Mommy didn’t mean to frighten you like that…” Slowly, your baby’s hyperactivity slowed, relaxing with your calming heart. “I’m still learning… I promise I’ll get the hang of it.” 

“You are pregnant. Carrying a baby inside of your body, who is reliant on you and you alone to keep them safe. You almost got hit by a fucking car.”

Shoko’s words still hung heavy on you from that day. Ever since, you have become all too aware of your baby. Especially since you had begun spending so much time alone, every waking thought was about them and their well being. Even at doctor’s appointments you were certain Shoko only accompanied you so you wouldn’t use it as a chance to run off. “I think it’s almost time for us to go, little one.” You had told your doctor that you didn’t want to know the gender, as much as it killed you to wait. You wanted Suguru present when it was revealed. 

With a heavy sigh you  grabbed a towel, drying your face and tossing it in the hamper to never be washed. Your mind was still filled with ten million and one thoughts, but you needed to try and stay level headed if you wanted to get off of campus without being spotted. You gave your bathroom one last glance over, three years this room had been your home. After tonight, you would likely never see it again. With a small amount of hesitation, you flicked off the lights and shut the door. Now you were faced with every step that needed to be taken to pull this all off. 

The first step was to lock your door, you couldn’t bring yourself to breathe until you did so. Crossing the short distance, you held the knob title and turned the lock until it clicked. That pulled a fraction of the stress off of your shoulders, allowing you to move a little more freely about your bedroom as you got yourself ready. You weren’t particularly in a rush, though the racing of your heart certainly made you feel like you should be. It took you about twenty minutes to sort through the contents of your bag before throwing a few more things inside of it. 

By now the sun had set, 4:00pm was staring at you in big red letters on your nightstand. 

I’ve got time. You spoke to yourself, shuffling over to your desk to pull the bottom drawer open. You had been strategic, burning and disposing of any information you had kept hidden in there. Not that there was truly anything worthwhile, you just felt a bit paranoid leaving it behind. Now, all that was left were the two letters you’d be placing in their dorm rooms. This was how you’d make sure they had actually left for the party. You had plenty of excuses made up in the event they were still inside their respective dorm rooms. “Alright little one, let’s go.” 

You carefully placed the letters inside of your coat, shielding them from unwanted eyes in the event things turned for the worse. You tried to move with no real direction, if you seemed intent on getting somewhere, it would easily give you away. At least that’s what you figured while unlocking your door and heading out into the quiet hallway. Squinting, playing the part of someone who had a raging migraine, you shuffled down the hall towards Shoko’s bedroom. Your sock covered feet seemed to echo with each soft tap, your body carrying you down the halls you had considered your one and only home for nearly three years. 

“Shoko?” you knocked on her door, speaking loud enough that if anyone was in there, they’d hear you. After a moment of no answer, you grabbed the knob and pushed it open. Shoko’s room was dark, all lights off save for the festive holiday lights she had strung up around the perimeter of her dorm room. It’s really been that long… I had no idea she even did this… the weight of that realization made it hard to breathe again, chest tight as you made your way forward while tugging the envelope with her name on it out of your coat. Her room once felt so safe to you, so homey and secure… Now it felt as if you were walking into a stranger’s dorm. 

It was astonishing how quickly relationships could change over one “small” event in time. 

Your heart was still pounding in your chest as you dropped the note on her desk. You didn’t want to waste another second, turning on your heels and shutting the door as if you had never been in there to begin with. Next was Satoru, his room just a little ways down the hall. Your feet seemed to move slower than before, one hand resting on the swell of your stomach as you waddled to the door you had opened and shut so many times over the years you’d never be able to keep count. You could feel it again, the frog forming in your throat as you held your hand up. 

But you stopped mid-way to the door, you never knocked before entering Satoru’s dorm room. That would immediately raise suspicions if he still happened to be inside. So, one last time, for old time sake, you pushed into his unlocked dorm room and heaved a heavy sigh as you were greeted with nothing in return. Satoru had left his desk lamp on, leaving the room in a golden glow despite nobody being inside. You couldn’t understand why you felt disappointed about the fact that he wasn’t there. Just as you couldn’t describe the heaviness in your chest when he didn’t put up a fight only a little while ago. Such stupid emotions… stupid stupid stupid. 

You shut his door behind you as you entered his dorm for what would be the very last time. It seemed to suck the air from your lungs as you stepped further into the room you had once been so familiar with. Only a few weeks had passed and yet you felt as if an eternity had expanded across the short period of time. It almost felt foreign as you stepped towards the bed you had spent so many nights in, eyes roaming over his disheveled covers from his hazardous bed making skills. You pulled the letter out of your coat, laughing a bit as you realized your stupid mistake, not that it mattered now. You’d be out the door in less than ten minutes. 

You left the envelope neatly on his pillow, holding back tears as you turned away and walked out of the room all together. There was no point in reminiscing, no point in wishing for things to return to how they once were, you needed to do what you deemed best for yourself and your child. That meant being with your baby’s father, that meant doing what you could to rebuild the things Suguru had destroyed. For some reason, that seemed easier than staying at Jujutsu Tech. You pulled Satoru’s door shut, adrenaline flooded your veins as you processed the fact that all you had left to do now was grab your few things and leave. 

You moved down the hall quickly, feet carrying you faster than they had in a long while. Every step you took, out in the open, felt like you were begging for someone to accidentally stumble upon you. You could heave a sigh of relief as your dorm door was in sight once again. You pushed into your dorm room again, throat feeling dry as you grabbed the duffle bag off of your bed and slung it over your shoulder. You looked around one last time, pregnancy hormones making you suddenly sentimental over everything you’d be leaving behind. They are nothing more than inanimate belongings, get a hold on reality. You scolded yourself as your eyes welled with tears, you’d have plenty of time in the future to gain new sentiment over such trivial things. 

Right now, you need to get out. He was waiting for you, unknowingly Suguru was waiting for you. You’d be damned if you gave up the opportunity now. With a heavy heart, you crossed the distance one last time and turned off the lights of your dorm before stepping into the hall. With a click that felt almost deafening, it was time for you to make your way out of the dorm building without gaining any unwanted attention. You placed everything on your fellow classmates being at that damned christmas party, you just prayed it was a safe bet to make. You moved equally as fast as you had moments prior, feet carrying you and your child down the wooden halls you could no longer call your home. Each step seemed to creak loudly as it bounced off empty walls. 

Your feet hit the landing of the first floor and you felt like they’d give out beneath you, Everything was too silent, though you supposed that should be a good thing for your sake. It made you feel uneasy regardless, every fiber of your being seemed to come alive with each step you took. The air in your lungs seemed to be frozen as your hands met the cool metal of the back door, one push and your fate would be sealed. For the first time that day, you didn’t second guess a single action you made, pushing it open to be greeted with a gush of cold air. 

Freedom.

Had you not been so heavily pregnant, you would have taken off in an all out sprint. You didn’t realize how badly you ached to do so until the ability was taken from you. Instead, you moved as fast as your feet would allow you to, hand resting on your stomach to try and minimize the amount of bouncing the action was causing you. You would be off campus within seconds, out into the real world and on the subway before you could process it. It seemed as if the universe put wind on your sail again, the only thing thundering in your ears was the sound of your own racing heart. It was within your reach, so close you could taste it, the happiness you so desperately longed to feel again, it was coming back. 

“Y/N?” 

You stopped short, the air leaving your lungs just as it had left your metaphorical sail. You turned slowly, bracing yourself for who you’d see calling your name. Much to your surprise, it was the last person you had expected to see. “...Nanami?” The blonde was looking you over with creased brows, nodding a bit as you stated the obvious. “Yeah, it’s me uh…wow.” he commented softly, taking a timid step towards you. “I came for the party though I didn’t really want to… I see you’ve got a lot going on.” He cleared his throat, it dawned on you in that moment that he had no idea you were pregnant until this very second. “I-yeah. You could put it like that.” 

“It’s Suguru’s, isn’t it?” he questioned softly, finally dragging his eyes from the swell of your stomach and up to your face. “It is, he just doesn’t know it yet.” Yet. Nanami wasn’t stupid, seeing the duffle bag slung over your shoulder he knew you were leaving. “I take it that’s where you’re heading now?” his voice was achingly quiet, though he had never been one to talk loudly. “It… yeah it is. I…umm… Nanami, they don’t know I’m leaving.” You started, your throat feeling dry as you tried to figure out how to proceed. “You’re not coming back.” he stated it more than questioned. Carefully, you nodded. “I’m not coming back.” you repeated with a sad smile. 

“I understand. Trust me, if anyone is to understand where you’re coming from with that logic, it’s me.” You felt the tension melting from your shoulders “Nanami, promise me you won’t say a word… I left them letters I just… I can’t have them stopping me now. Not when my mind is made up.” The blonde nodded slowly, eyes roaming over your body and back to your baby bump. “You have to do what you think is best for you and your baby. If leaving this all behind, if going to Suguru is what you deem best, then nobody has the right to disagree with you.” He stated it matter-of-factly to you, arms crossing as a gentle smile crossed his face. 

“Take care of yourself, and your baby, Y/N. Tell Suguru I said hello, and I promise your secret is safe with me.” As quickly as it started, it seemed to stop. Nanami had always been a man of purpose. “I will… thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, Nanami.” The blonde nodded, still smiling a bit as he turned away from you. “This never happened, I’m sure you’re on a tight schedule.” But his tone was lighter for once, making you smile a bit as you uttered out a soft “yeah… see you later, Nanami.” You took off again, feet carrying you down the dirt paths with ease. Unknowingly to you, Nanami was watching you go, not moving from his spot until you had disappeared from his sight. He sighed deeply before finally moving the other way. 

 “I hope you find your peace, Y/N.” 

December 24th, 2007 [4:45pm] 

You held onto the iron pole of the subway cart as it barreled down the tracks. Standing where you were now, surrounded by people heading home to spend the holidays with their families, fluorescent lights nearly blinding, you felt unreal. As if this was all a figment of your imagination and you’d wake up in your bed, in your dorm room, hopelessly alone again. It hadn’t been until you arrived at the station that you realized just how suffocated you had felt at Jujutsu Tech. Satoru and Shoko had been so strict in hopes of keeping you from flying the nest, instead it had the polar opposite effect. I guess I should thank them. 

You didn’t hold any malice towards the two, but it did sting when you thought of how quickly they changed. You could, arguably, understand where they were coming from. By no means were claiming innocence to anything that had gone down between the three of you. It was crazy to you how less than forty five minutes of freedom was already giving you a level head and better perspective. Though you doubted you’d be able to cling onto sanity for much longer, with each minute that ticked by you were closer to seeing Suguru. That alone made your heart swell. 

Based on the lights above your head, you’d be at Shinjuku Station in less than three minutes. From there it would be taking a taxi to the hotel you had booked a room at. Then, so long as check-in went smoothly, you’d be in your room and getting ready before 5:30. You knew Suguru’s religious group was a fifteen minute walk from your hotel, but a taxi would get you there in five. Either way, you’d get there by 6pm, you didn’t care how. Your heart was thumping erratically, you knew you’d need to disconnect your phone once you got off the train. 

You prayed with each passing second that you wouldn’t feel it buzz, that nobody would ring your line because truthfully you didn’t think you’d be able to handle knowing they knew. You’d rather be selfishly, blissfully unaware of when their worlds came crashing down for a second time. You would need to destroy your phone once you arrived at the station, you could worry about buying a new one after the holidays had passed. Truthfully, there was no reason for you to remain in contact with anyone anymore, what was done was done and that was simply it. It did make your heart ache though, but you were a big girl, you made the bed and you now had to sleep in it. 

The subway cart came to a halt, sending you forward a bit as your clammy hand gripped the pole a little harder. An automated voice came over the speaker to announce that you had arrived at Shinjuku station. With that, the doors were sliding open, crowds of people moving to exit the train just as people flooded to enter it. Luckily for you, people could see your state, knowing you were pregnant, many moved out of the way just a bit to accommodate you as you walked by. You had ended up standing the whole train ride despite many offering you their seats. You had assured them you were fine, antsy even and it would help your nerves to stand. 

Your feet felt as heavy as led as you carried yourself through the brightly lit station towards the escalators that would carry you back up to street level. With your phone clutched tightly in your hand, you activated your curse technique. You could feel it now, the metal and glass that made up your flip phone crushed until it resembled nothing more than a flattened soda can. Completely unusable, utterly destroyed. You dropped it in a passing trash can, body feeling significantly lighter now that there was no way for them to directly contact you. Your feet hit the moving platform a second later, carrying you upwards, a step closer to your goal. 

December 24th, 2007 [5:45pm] 

You were early, you couldn’t help it. You had taken as little time as possible once you arrived at your hotel room, throwing together an imperfect disguise. You had managed to successfully hide your pregnancy, a disposable face mask was hiding the lower half of your face. Suguru would recognize your eyes, you knew that, so even though the sun had long ago set, you slotted a pair of sunglasses over your face. Your hair was neatly tucked under a beanie, the hood on your sweatshirt being dragged overtop. You had to wonder if this appearance would raise any suspicions with him, but you had to assume he was used to people being ashamed of wanting to be “healed”. Either way, you prayed he wouldn’t question it. 

Your weight shifted from foot to foot, eyes peering up at the looming and honestly overwhelming building that made up the temple. You had a handful of steps you would need to climb to reach the entrance, which had been part of your desire to get here as soon as you could manage. Climbing up stairs had become your mortal enemy at this point, one flight in and you were wheezing for air. “Bear with me, little one.” You let your hand smooth over your stomach one last time before starting your torturous climb. Each step was shaky, your breath warm on your face as the mask shielded you from the cool air. Still, labored breathing was enough to have faint puffs of your breath turning visible in the air. 

The added layers weren’t helping your cause, either. But you would manage, all because Suguru was just beyond the walls of the temple that loomed before you. For months you had to live with the fact that he was alive and well within miles of you. Just out of your reach, leaving you to pick up the shattered pieces of the life you had so carefully tried to build. You had been angry, sad, depressed and disappointed. You had gone through every stage of grief and then some. But right now, as you ascended these steps, it suddenly didn’t seem to matter anymore. How foolish you could become when blinded by such devoted love. “Are you here to meet with Master Geto?”

You glanced up at the sound of a woman’s voice, recognizing it from when you spoke on the phone a dew days prior. “I-I am.” you huffed out, finally reaching the top of the platform in which the temple rested upon. “You’re quite early, Mast Geto will appreciate this.” She smiled warmly at you but you could tell by the ugly crinkle in her smile lines that it was forced. “I’m glad.” You managed to squeeze out, trying to calm your racing heart as your baby’s kicks fluttered around your stomach. Always so active. You mused to yourself as the woman turned away from you. “He’ll likely be waiting already, he just finished with a client. You’re the last for the year. Quite the honor if I say so myself. You’re very lucky.” Very lucky, huh?

You didn’t have to bother hiding your amused smirk, the face mask providing you all the security you needed as she guided you towards the temple’s entrance. “I hope you don’t mind my appearance.” You started, testing the waters to see how poorly she thought of you based on one glance. “It’s alright, Master Geto understands some of the people that come to him are doing so against their family’s wishes. Anonymity is welcomed in his eyes.” You felt your brow twitch, humming out a “oh good” as the temple doors seemed to open on their own. “Before you meet with him privately, I do have a small handful of rules.” Rules? She took your silence as a go-ahead, holding her clipboard tightly to her chest as her hips swayed with each step. 

“Master Geto asks you to wash your hands before meeting with him. He also requests that you do not touch him unless he reaches out to touch you. Granted the most the man will touch is your hands or shoulders. He will never venture any further.” You assumed that had to do with his newfound hatred for non-sorcerers, anything of the sort was likely considered filth to him. So how peculiar was it that he would go out of his way to heal them. If you could pick his brains apart, you would. You prayed wholeheartedly that you’d be given the chance. All those countless nights, sitting beside Satoru, trying to wrap your head around Suguru and his choices. 

He owed you the deepest, most thought out and intricate explanation he could manage. You still couldn’t fathom why this was the answer to his jumbled thoughts. “You may use this sink to cleanse yourself.” You blinked, head turning to the stainless steel sink fitted right to the wall outside the doors that would lead to Suguru’s quarters. It was brand new, clearly installed within the temple’s construction only a few months prior. You exhaled slowly as you pushed up your sleeves, this was by no means the Suguru you remembered. But you couldn’t let your doubt drag you down yet, you still hadn’t seen him, spoken with him. 

You set the water to cold, scrubbing your hands thoroughly with the soap provided. You swore you could still feel the clammy, dirty metal of the subway pole on your hands despite washing them when you got to the hotel. It only made you scrub harder, anxiety creeping into your neck as the crushing reality began to settle in. Within minutes… no within seconds really, you’d be seeing Suguru again for the first time in nearly five months. “You may use the towels to your right to dry your hands once you are done.” The woman chimed softly behind you, looking down at her clipboard so she could cross off your name – an alias you had given – the last on his list. 

You felt a moment of hesitation as you reached up to turn off the water. As if the anticipation for this moment would feel more overwhelming than seeing him in person again. You found yourself fearing the disappointment that may come with this meeting. It took you a moment, but you pushed forward, grabbing the knob and turning the cold water off. “Alright, Miss.” You grabbed a towel, drying your hands thoroughly before dropping it in the bin beside the sink. “Alright.” You repeated, turning to face her, sight dimmed from the darkened corridor and the shading of your glasses. “If you’ll allow me to check in, Master Geto should be ready for you.” 

Your heart had begun to hammer in your throat, over the roaring in your ears you uttered out a weak “Okay.” As she strolled past you and pushed through the large door, just enough to peak her head and upper half of her body in. A little muffled, but you heard her speak “Master Geto, your last client is here. Are you ready for her?”If he responded, you couldn’t hear it, your own heartbeat pulsing in your ears as she turned to smile at you. 

“Master Geto is ready to see you, please, head in.” 

Here went everything, everything you had thrown away had led to this very moment. You nodded, taking one step forward, then another, until somehow your legs managed to hold out on you and carry you into the large prayer room. The door shut behind you, nearly making your feet falter as you took in the expanse of the room. It was absurdly large, mats rolled up and leaning against the wall, you assumed it was for his worshipers. The room itself was lit primarily by candle light, yet it was still bright enough to make out everything before you. 

A small flight of stairs led to a raised podium, an arm rest screwed into the ground to support Suguru as he lounged. “Welcome.” Your eyes landed on him, his fist pressed into the side of his cheek as he smiled at you. Behind him was a large altar, barren likely due to the temple being closed until the new year after tonight. “Please, dear, come up and sit before me.” His voice, smooth and melodic, just as it had always been. But this time around it carried a level of authority and hospitality that was foreign to you. 

You swore stars were starting to spot your vision, so utterly overwhelmed by his presence that you had to force air into your lungs as you climbed more godforsaken steps. “Thank you for meeting with me, Master Geto.” You choked out, doing a horrible job of hiding your genuine emotions. “Of course, I couldn’t say no after hearing how urgent your needs were. Think of this as a Christmas gift from me to you.” He spoke softly, eyes roaming over your appearance. “So, please, do tell me of your problems. Something horrid seems to be ailing you.” 

You knelt before him, praying it didn’t look awkward as your stomach nearly made it impossible to get into such a position inconspicuously. “I just… I’m not even sure what is ailing me.” You started softly, hand reaching up to adjust your absurd disguise. “I’m desperate, I figured if anyone could help me, it would be you…” For a moment you nearly uttered Suguru, your throat felt dry as you quietly finished “...Master Geto.” You stared at him through the lenses of your sunglasses, wondering how Satoru dealt with wearing the cursed things all the damn time. 

As Suguru’s eyes roamed over you, studying you intently, you felt reality weighing on you once more. Suguru was right there, in front of you, less than two feet. It felt utterly surreal, maybe that's why you felt so disconnected from the moment. Two weeks of pure, agonizing grief over his departure only to be cut off by the realization that you were pregnant with his baby. Sure that didn’t fix your broken heart, at first it had even managed to make it worse. But it kept you busy, and has continued to keep you busy over the course of September, October, November, and now at the end of December. Yet it hadn’t been enough to bring you to your senses. 

“You seem troubled, and I’m so sorry you’ve been having such a difficult time.” he uttered softly, straightening from his lounging position as he let his arm rest to support him instead of having his fist pressed to his cheek. Everything thus far had brought you right to this moment, right back into his arms… almost. You blinked, swallowing nothing at all and nearly choking. For a split second it felt like Suguru was talking directly to you, your Suguru. Not the Geto Suguru who was the new head of the old star vessel religious group. Your mouth opened and closed a few times, hands folded neatly on your lap despite having to strain to reach it. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, Master Geto. Please, what are you going to do to aid me?” For a foolish moment, you wondered if maybe there was some invisible curse clinging to your back and weighing you down. “I will do the best I can to heal you, my dear.” You inhaled slowly, nodding as you spoke “Thank you, but may I ask how?” it had slipped past your lips before you could stop it, a genuine question you prayed wouldn't come across as offensive. After all, it’s how you lost Satoru’s trust. “Of course you may, it’s human nature to be curious, my dear.” He started softly, a grin on his face as he moved to sit up fully, no arm rest to keep him balanced. 

“I could preach to you about how there is good and there is evil, how the strong prey on the weak and use it to their advantage. But that is common and dismal knowledge at this point, that is not what you are looking for either.” You nodded, eyes still soaking in every inch that made up the man before you. As much as the sunglasses were annoying you, you appreciate them for allowing you to so shamelessly admire your lover. “You’re tired, aren’t you? You feel as though you are being weighed down.” He questioned you softly, watching you nod as he found a small starting point for your ailments. “Did something happen to you recently?” 

For a moment you swore you felt your heart stop beating in your chest. That question was far too loaded for you to answer, so you cleared your throat a bit, muttering a soft “yes” but not willing to go further. Suguru seemed to understand that, nodding softly. “You, by no means, need to explain yourself to me, my dear. I will do what I can to ease your burdens.” you watched his hands, noticing every little detail as they reached for you. “Are you alright with me taking your hands?” So soft you nearly missed it over the thundering of your heart.

 “Y-you may.” Shakily, you stuck your own hands out, feeling a bit awkward at the clamminess of them. For the first time in months, Suguru’s skin was on yours again. It brought a wave of relief you thought you would never feel again. The warmth of his hands in your own, worn and calloused but somehow perfectly soft and cared for. They encompassed yours, his grip strong but not strong enough to hurt, mindful of you. Tears welled in your eyes, throat constricting in a way that you knew meant tears were going to flow freely before you could stop them. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N.” 

—

“Master Geto, there is a potential client on the line and she is very adamant about meeting with you on the 24th of December.” Suguru stopped reading over his paperwork, eyes glancing up at the secretary he had hired only a few weeks back. “That so?” he mused softly, tapping his pen against the polished oak of his desk. “I really didn’t want to take many people that day, considering Mimiko and Nanako…” he started with a hum, pondering it for a moment longer. “Did she say her name, her intentions, anything of interest?” He was far too tempted to flat out say no. 

“She seemed very nervous, she’s said she's not been feeling very good recently and you’ve become her last resort. She can’t keep going on like this.” The secretary repeated your urgent, mildly-overdramatic words. “Sounds dire.” Suguru spoke softly, still mulling over his thoughts. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words "tell her no.” Instead, after a brief pause “Let her know I’ll be able to meet with her on the 24th of December, 6pm.” The secretary nodded, moving to leave once more but stopping short as Suguru called her name. “She will be the last client for this year, please let any new potential clients know that I will not be able to meet with them until after the new year.” 

She nodded quickly before departing, leaving Suguru alone again as he reached for the paperwork he set down. “What a kind heart you have, papa Geto.” Suguru hadn’t even been able to read the next sentence, laughing softly at Mimiko’s comment. The brunette girl was kicking her feet, coloring intently beside her sister on the plush rug Suguru had put in just for them. “It’s important to help people in need, you know. She seemed like she could really use it.” He smiled fondly at the two sisters, listening to Nanako hum softly as she scribbled onto the page. 

“I guess you’re right.” 

“You guess I’m right?” 

Mimiko nodded, stopping her coloring to look up at Suguru behind his desk. “Yeah, I mean you really don’t need to help anyone. But you choose to do so even when you don’t have to. You have a kind heart, papa Geto.” The small girl repeated her initial statement, smiling softly as Suguru’s expression morphed into one of genuine surprise. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, watching her small head turn back to the paper she was drawing on, starting to hum along with the tune Nanako had set. Suguru sat there, wondering how a child could think of such things. 

He saw himself as anything but kind-hearted at this point in his life. But still, he didn’t have the heart to say those things, especially not to a six year old. Suguru had barely reached for his paperwork again when your face crossed his mind, making him freeze once more. You had been a constant thought in his mind since the day he left. Not even an hour had gone by where you didn’t consume his thoughts, knocking the air from his lungs and paralyzing him for a moment. He missed you. Fuck he missed you terribly and it was enough to render him utterly immobile at points. 

Slowly, he forced air back in his lungs, your smile leaving a permanent mark engraved in his mind. He didn’t regret anything he did up until this point, well maybe except for one particular thing. He didn’t take you with him the day he left. He knew he loved you too much to force you into this kind of life, he needed it to be a choice you made out of your own free will. Something cheesy about loving someone meant setting them free when the time came had crossed his mind when leaving you that letter. Leaving it on the bed he once called his own, so long as you were in it, it was his. 

But still, the choice to leave it all up to your own free will did nothing to fill the void beside him each night. How desperately he wished you were laying beside him, curled perfectly into his embrace, face snuggled into the crook of his neck. Your natural musk mixing with your perfume, your hair tickling his hands as he held you tight, your chest rising and falling evenly as you slept. He ached to hold you again, finding it hard to fall asleep each night in your absence. But he had made this choice, he had to own it, even if that meant you weren’t a part of his life right now. 

“But he knew, deep down, that it was only temporary; you'd come back to him.”

—

He had been right, of course. He just hadn’t expected it to come so soon, as if whatever forces in the universe heard his consistent, unwavering, silent prayer. The moment those doors opened, he knew it was you. From the moment you stepped foot in the prayer room, he could feel you. His soul would never not recognize you, no matter how hard you tried to disguise yourself. He had felt it then, that shaky, stuttering breath as you walked so cautiously into the room. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to not get up and go to you. Based on your appearance, it was clear that you didn’t want to be recognized by him. 

“Welcome.” He started,  praying you wouldn’t hear the tremor in his voice as his heart pounded erratically in his chest. “Please, dear, come up and sit before me.” Carefully, he trained his emotions into neutral ease, watching you shakily make your way towards him. It was you, fuck it was really you. For a moment Suguru was certain he would pass out from the intensity of your presence. How often had he dreamt of you, how often had he silently wondered what you were doing. How often had Nanako and Mimiko listened to him blabber about you with such fondness? Probably too many times to count, bless them. 

Suguru watched you climb up the steps, your voice sending his heart into a death spiral. “Thank you for meeting with me, Master Geto.” There it was. The voice he had longed to hear for months now; your voice had always been so utterly hypnotic to him. “Of course, I couldn’t say no after hearing how urgent your needs were. Think of this as a Christmas gift from me to you.” He had to wonder if he was being transparent, it was impossible to hide the sparkle in his eyes as his whole world sat down before him. “So, please, do tell me of your problems. Something horrid seems to be ailing you.” His brow twitched as he looked you over, worry flooding his veins that you had been over exerting yourself in his absence. 

He noticed you had struggled for a moment, leaving him to ponder further. Were you hurt? Had you gone on a mission recently and injured yourself? “I just… I’m not even sure what is ailing me.” Suguru’s heart ached at the sadness in your tone, you sounded so detached as you continued. “I’m desperate, I figured if anyone could help me, it would be you…” he noticed you hesitate for a moment, as if nearly choking on the wrong words before uttering out “Master Geto.” His family name sounded foreign coming from your mouth, a mouth he couldn't even see under the disposable face mask you adorned. There you were, kneeling before him after months of waiting, and he couldn’t even see your beautiful face. 

Suguru looked you over, eyes soaking in every inch of you despite how covered you were. “You seem troubled, and I’m so sorry you’ve been having such a difficult time.” the words nearly got caught in his throat, coming out so soft that it nearly wasn’t audible. It was almost too genuine, for a brief moment he had forgotten, speaking to you as if nothing had changed at all. He had to wonder if you heard it. All thoughts died before they were even fully formed, the prolonged silence between you being shattered as you spoke “I appreciate the sentiment, Master Geto. Please, what are you going to do to aid me?” You sounded… defeated. 

“I will do the best I can to heal you, my dear.”

But, he could tell you didn’t seem overly satisfied with that answer. “Thank you, but may I ask how?” he couldn’t help the way his lips quirked at your question. “Of course you may, it’s human nature to be curious, my dear.” his smirk turned into something softer, a genuine smile. You hadn’t changed a bit, your blunt curiosity still shining through. “I could preach to you about how there is good and there is evil, how the strong prey on the weak and use it to their advantage. But that is common and dismal knowledge at this point, that is not what you are looking for either.” He watched you nod, aching to know what was going on inside of your head. 

“You’re tired, aren’t you? You feel as though you are being weighed down.” He watched you, brown eyes analyzing your every movement, his heart aching as you nodded. “Did something happen to you recently?” it slipped out, he didn’t want to seem like he was prying even though he was very well aware that the “something” that happened was none other than him. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the ache in his chest as you uttered out a soft, broken “yes.” The urge to soothe you had nearly caused him to lean forward; the need to pull you into a tight, crushing hug to try and soothe your sorrows was becoming too much. 

You deserve none of the emotional turmoil he put you through. 

“You, by no means, need to explain yourself to me, my dear. I will do what I can to ease your burdens.” he breathed out, not knowing how else to soothe you if he couldn't touch you in the ways he desired. So, he dared to ask “Are you alright with me taking your hands?” Suguru couldn’t breathe after asking it, the idea of touching you again after months of being apart was almost too much for him to handle.  “Y-you may.” There, for a brief moment, was the Y/N he fell in love with a few years back, so outgoing but so shy the moment he tried to initiate anything. It made his heart clench, the feeling of nostalgia washing over him in waves as he reached forward. 

Your hands were trembling as he took them in his own. For a moment, Suguru’s shoulders sagged. Your warm skin pressed to his was something he had missed so dearly. No words could describe the relief he felt, your hands wrapping so gingerly around him as his grip tightened. He was afraid you would pull away, being mindful to not squeeze you too tight. Suguru couldn’t quite believe it, every word he had practiced, every speech he had thought of for when this moment arrived. None of it mattered. Not a single word was able to claw its way out of the depths of his mind. Too overwhelmed by the fact that you were before him. 

Before he could stop himself, before the moment became awkward from the long stretch of silence. Suguru uttered the only words that came to mind. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N.” 

— 

You blinked, not that he could see it from behind the shades of your sunglasses. Still, you were stunned into silence. Your brain was struggling to catch up, processing the words Suguru had spoken two, three, four times before finally registering. “Wha–” was all you could manage, the syllables dragging out as Suguru chuckled softly. “I didn’t mean to unveil your secret before you were ready, Y/N. But no disguise you could wear would be able to conceal you from me. I’d know it was you every single time.” he swallowed, eyes shifting down to your clasped hands as if he was getting shy. “I’ve missed you so terribly… and I know I don’t have any right to say that because this is all my fault but... I’ve missed you.”

Still, you were speechless. 

“Y/N… my sweet girl… Please say something.” Suguru wasn’t going to move until you responded to him, too afraid of overstepping your boundaries. Your mouth opened and closed again, swallowing the lump in your throat as you uttered out a soft “hi.” You couldn’t think of anything else, every thought in your mind was too jumbled to truly form a proper sentence. “Hi.” he repeated back to you, the same level of adoration in his tone that you’ve always known him to have towards you. “Can I take these off?” He was already letting go of one of your hands to reach for your sunglasses as you nodded. Your heart was erratic as his fingers ghosted your temple. 

You felt it then, the tremor in his hands as he gently took the sun glasses off of you. For the first time in four months you were seeing Suguru without any barriers. “There you are.” He smiled, letting go of your other hand so he could gingerly pull the face mask off of you. You couldn’t contain it then, a smile making your lips twitch as your face was fully exposed again. “My beautiful girl.” Suguru breathed out, eyes memorizing every feature like they weren’t already burned into his memory. “My handsome boy.” your words nearly got caught in your throat, eyes watering as Suguru carefully took off your hood and revealed your hair. His smile matched yours, his lips quivering as he struggled to say anything in response. 

So much to say, but you were both in silent awe of each other. 

It dawned on you a second later that Suguru still had no idea you were carrying his baby. 

“Suguru I…” you choked a bit, reaching to hold his hand again just as he reached for yours. “I’ve missed you too, terribly.” He watched you, brows creasing a bit as his face grew solemn. “It was never my intention to hurt you like this, Y/N.” For some reason, you couldn’t muster any of the anger you figured you would feel when seeing Suguru again. “I know it wasn’t” So soft it was barely audible but Suguru clung on to every word. “But it still happened, I still hurt you. I…” he swallowed, holding your hand a little tighter. “My only regret is not taking you with me the night I left. But I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t force you to run away with me after what I did. I don’t regret a single action I’ve made besides that.” 

“I would have left with you, I hope you know that. Wherever you are is where I want to be.” And for a moment you swore you saw tears welling in Suguru’s eyes. “No amount of apologizing will make up for the hell I caused you.” he looked down at your clasped hands before meeting your eyes once more “But I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.” For a moment your heart ached so deeply it nearly scared you, your baby’s fluttering kicks reminded you of the hurtle you still needed to clear. “You don’t have to do that, Suguru. Keeping me by your side is all I could ever ask for… provide for me and…” You stopped, eyes closing for a moment as you breathed out a laugh. “Suguru.” He straightened at your tone change.

“Yes?” You could hear the concern lacing his words, as if you were suddenly going to say “forget it” and get up and go. Instead you steadied yourself “There is something very important you need to be aware of. It’s something I realized only two weeks after you left me and…” you didn’t like how bitter the words left me felt coming off your tongue. You had no reason to harbor any concern over the standing of your relationship, it was evident that neither of you considered yourself broken up from the other. “Go on, I’m listening.” He encouraged you, faced settling  into a look of concern because he wasn’t sure where you were taking this. “Suguru, I wish I could have told you sooner.” You let go of his hands, smiling he held them a little tighter. 

“I’m just standing up, Sugu.” You reassured him, heart fluttering as he gave you a sheepish smile. Suguru lets you go, watching you struggle to stand for only a second before leaping in to help you up. “Did you get hurt trying to come here?” he questioned, something so concerned and innocent that it almost made you laugh. He truly had no idea, you had to pat yourself on the back you supposed. Your disguise had worked out well enough in that sense. “No, no nothing like that, Sugu.” You smiled as you straightened, watching him take a tentative step backwards. “I really wish I could have told you sooner, but it’s better late than never.” Your fingers shook as you reached for the zipper of your oversized hoodie, dragging the cool metal down and shouldering the material off as your pregnant belly was revealed to Suguru’s eyes. 

You watched his face morph from concern to shock. “I’m almost twenty five weeks along, Sugu.” You let the hoodie fall to the floor, leaving you in a long sleeve shirt that was clinging to the swell of your stomach. “You may have left, but you didn’t really leave me alone.” You pulled your eyes away from his face to look down at your bump, hands lovingly caressing it. “I don’t know their gender, I didn’t want to find out unless you were with me.” You didn’t mind his silence, you knew it was likely a very overwhelming piece of information to learn. Suguru didn’t have the ability to speak anymore, instead he opted to close the distance between the two of you. With hesitant curiosity, Suguru’s large warm hands came down to cup your stomach. 

“You’re pregnant.” He uttered the obvious, as if trying to confirm he wasn’t dreaming. “You’re pregnant with my baby.” He said again, this time his tone was a little more possessive. You nodded, hands coming down to lay on top of where his hands sat. “Been carrying our baby this whole time, Sugu.” You heard him hum in acknowledgment, eyes full of wonder as your baby kicked. “They’re happy to finally hear their daddy’s voice.” You whispered, looking up at him through your lashes as he met your gaze. “I love you, with my whole being I love you.” you could hear it in his voice, nothing put pure love and adoration for you and your unborn child. “I’m so sorry you had to find out after I left…” He added softly, heart aching at the very thought. 

“I had Satoru and Shoko… they didn’t really make up for you not being present, Suguru. But they tried their damn hardest and I’ll forever be grateful for that.” He nodded, thumb gingerly brushing the skin below his hand. “Do they know you’re here?” He questioned you, eyes falling back to your stomach. It was almost too surreal to believe. Not only were you in front of him again, but you were very pregnant with his baby. “I left them letters. They have no idea I’m gone and they likely won’t know for a few more hours. I don’t have any intentions of going back.” You let the words hang in the air, you were certain Suguru wouldn't expect you to turn around and leave once this night was through. That didn’t stop the butterflies swirling in your chest out of anxiety anyways. “I have no intention of letting you go.” 

You couldn’t think in that moment, body pushing up on your tiptoes as if no time had passed at all. Your stomach hindered you a bit, pressing snuggly to Suguru’s front as your hands cupped his cheeks. Suguru caught on, of course, bending down and guiding you to him as your lips met in a soft kiss. You felt it then, the same tears burning your eyes as they shut tightly. Melting into Suguru’s lips felt like home, slowly piecing back the pieces he shattered to make you feel whole again. You could tell he wanted to deepen it, devour you whole in that moment so you’d never go. Instead, he pulled away with flushed cheeks that mirrored your own, pupils blown wide as he observed you. “I love you.” He repeated, looking at your lips as you replied back 

“I love you too.” 

Suguru kissed you again, cupping your face just  as you cupped his, holding you in place and bending down further so you didn’t have to strain so hard to meet him. The tears you had tried to whole back were flowing freely at this point, mixing with the kiss as it turned slightly sloppy. It took you only a minute to pull away again, eyes wet as you gasped for air. “S-sorry the pregnancy hormones they—“ but Suguru hushed you, using his thumb to wipe away the tears as they fell. “You have nothing to apologize for, my sweet girl.” He kissed your forehead, pulling back as he guided you away from the edge of the platform and closer to the barren altar behind him. “There are not enough words in the universe for me to convey how sorry I am for everything I’ve put you through. I’ve said it already, but so long as I am alive, so long as you are willing, I will do everything in my power to make it up to you.” 

“Keep me by your side, Suguru. That is all I ask of you.” You sniffled, tears flowing even faster as you restated your earlier request. Tenderly, Suguru brought your knuckles to his lips and kissed each one softly. “I will do more than that, my love. You will never have to work another day in your life, you will know nothing but love and comfort.” He promised as he flipped your hand over and placed a kiss on the center of your palm. “You, me, Nanako, Mimiko, our baby… our future babies.” He added with a small grin, causing  you to laugh softly through your tears. “The five of us, and whoever else may join us in the future. I will keep you safe, happy, loved.” He promised as he kissed your wrist, feeling your pulse race under his lips. 

You nodded, using your free hands to wipe your face as Suguru’s lips trailed further. You felt a shiver pass through your body as Suguru’s lips made their way up your arm. “I’ve missed you.” he repeated, tone huskier than before as he placed a kiss on your bicep. “So many nights alone…” he placed another kiss but this time it was on your shoulder. “I’ve been dreaming of you…” This time his head was dipping to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, inhaling the smell of you and groaning. “I missed you.” he murmured again, lips pressing to the pulse point in your neck as he let himself get wrapped in the scent of you. The scent he had missed so desperately. You felt it then, something you hadn’t felt in months. The bubbling heat pools in your gut, spreading throughout your body as Suguru’s tongue licks up your neck. Arousal. 

“S-Suguru please…” Your hand found its way into his hair, holding him in place as both of his hands wrapped around your waist. “Please what?” he murmured, teeth scraping your neck as he moved his head up towards your jaw. “Please… make me yours again.” He groaned, so low you could feel it vibrate against your jaw as he kissed it slowly. There was a tremor in his hands as he held you tighter, pulling you closer until the swell of your stomach was pressing tightly to his. “You’ve always been mine, my beautiful girl.” He promised you as he moved to kiss your lips again, the kiss was gentle but sloppy, your fingers twitching as you buried them in the fine silks of his robes. You gave in, body melting into his familiar touch as you let his tongue slip past your lips letting him dominate it, just as you always had. 

The feeling of his tongue sliding against your own drew whines from your lips, clinging on to Suguru just a little tighter as he began to guide you. The steps were awkward, drawing a breathy laugh from Suguru as he pulled away from you. “This will be a lot easier.” He assured you before bending down a bit to haul you up into his arms. You couldn’t help but squeal, surprised he was able to pick you up so easily even with the extra weight of your baby. “Suguru!” You cling to him, curious about his intentions as he moves to sit you on top of the bare altar. “Isn’t this a bit…” but he shook his head “don’t worry about it.” He placed you on top of the smooth wooden altar with a grin, making it so you were equal height now. 

“It’s a special Christmas offering.” 

He offered you as your brows were still creased in concern. “Suguru!” You squealed after, face feeling hot as his hands landed on your thighs, squeezing the flesh and making you shiver as his lips found yours yet again. “I’m taking my time with you.” He muttered between quick kisses, lips shiny with your saliva as your breath mingled. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” You encouraged him, heart doing backflips at the idea of Suguru having his way with you again. You knew you missed him, of course you knew that, but sex hadn’t even been on your mind lately. Now, in this moment, you realized how badly you ached to be touched again, loved again.

Suguru left out a breathy moan, head falling forward for a moment before looking up to hold your gaze. “Have I mentioned just how badly I’ve missed you?” he teased, watching your lips quirk up as you tried to wiggle closer to him from where you sat on the altar. “I think you may have mentioned it once or twice so far…” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer since you weren’t getting anywhere fast. “But that's enough with the talking, Sugu.” You moved so your lips were ghosting his ear, whispering seductively “Show me how badly you missed me.” He shivered, only fueling your desire as you got a little more bold. “Show me how badly you missed my body.” Suguru’s knees nearly buckled, you were too good to be true. 

Suguru took your request to heart, not wasting another moment by talking. His fingers easily found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head with your assistance. He couldn't help it, taking a small step back just so he could admire how you looked with your stomach swollen, carrying his baby so prettily. You felt your heart beating, chest rising and falling just a little faster than usual as the anticipation in your gut built. The warm amber of his eyes seemed to be swallowed whole by his dilated pupils, throat feeling dry as his eyes trailed up to your breasts. “These swelled up, didn’t they?” He asked in a teasing tone, mouth watering at the sight of your engorged breasts spilling over the top of your bra. “S-suguru.” 

“Well, they have, pretty girl. They’ll be full of milk soon enough, to nurture our little baby.” You couldn’t breathe, the overwhelming need for him to touch you nearly dizzying. “They’ve been so sore.” You offer quietly, looking at him through your lashes just to see his lips part. He seemed utterly entranced, warm hands sneaking around the back of you to find the clip of your bra. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Let me make them feel better, my love.” You nodded, feeling no shame or embarrassment as your bare breasts were exposed to his hungry gaze. Suguru had seen you naked so many times over the course of your relationship. Even with the rather extreme changes your body was going through, you still felt gorgeous when he looked at you the way he was now. “So pretty… they look so heavy… let me.” He breathed out carefully. 

You could feel the air getting caught in your lungs as Suguru’s hands gingerly cupped both of your breasts. The noise you made couldn’t be helped, lips wobbling as you whimpered at the sensation. “Oh? Are they more sensitive?” Suguru teased you, shamelessly fondling your breasts just to see you squirm. You nodded, one hand gripping the edge of the altar to balance you while your other hand shot up to grab his wrist. “Please, Sugu, they're really sensitive.” You whined, heat throbbing between your legs as he moved to pinch your nipple. “Even more sensitive than before?” He murmured, eyes focused only on your face as he rolled one of your perked buds slowly. “Y-Yes!” your back arched, forcing your bump to press into Suguru. “That’s good to know, pretty girl.” He squeezed just a little harder, smirking as you cried out. 

“So mean to me…” you wailed, as if nothing had changed at all. Suguru hushed you with a kiss, lips slotting against yours sloppily as he toyed with your breasts. You felt dizzy, completely intoxicated by the feeling of Suguru’s hands on you. You wanted him bad, needing to feel his skin rather than his robes. “Suguru…” you pulled away, trying to catch your breath as you uttered “Take your clothes off, please I don’t want to prolong this part.” He could take as much time with you as he wanted, but you were certain you would lose your mind if you didn’t see and feel his skin. “Whatever my lady wants, my lady gets.” He kissed you again before backing away. You sat on top of the altar, watching intently as Suguru undid the mildly-intricate layers to his robes. 

“C’mere” you murmured as Suguru was left in nothing but a pair of flowing navy colored pants. The material matched the robes, hugging his waist tightly and accentuating how broad he was. You hadn’t forgotten how he looked, but the last time you saw Suguru in person, he had thinned. Now, he was broad, covered in muscles, tanned even in the winter. It was the Suguru you had known before the world had changed his views. He walked towards you, a sense of pride in his steps as he displayed his new physique to you. “My handsome boy.” You murmured again, hands making contact with his soft skin and feeling him release a shuddering breath in response. 

Your touch never got old, every single time it felt like it was the first time you were laying your hands on him. You were mindful of where you put your hands, letting them dance across the plains of his chest before moving to his biceps. Suguru watched your hands move with baited breath, goosebumps erupting in their wake as your fingers moved lower. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that passed through him as your hands left his arms and moved to run along his sides. You were always so unpredictable with your actions, maybe that was why you were so elusive to just about everyone you met. Even when he thought he knew you like the back of his hand, you still managed to catch him by surprise. He could never get enough of it. 

Your hands rested on his waist for a moment, leaning forward to the best of your abilities to place a chaste kiss on his chest. One kiss led to two, then three. Before he could even utter a word, you were littering his chest and neck in soft, sweet kisses. There was no hiding his arousal, even in the loose fitting pants of his daily attire, Suguru’s cock was straining heavily against his briefs. “Y/N…” it sounded awfully similar to a plea, making his cheeks flush pink at the sound. You looked up at him, placing one last kiss on his sternum before moving back. Your hands left his waist, but not before trailing all the way up his sides and slowly sneaking around his neck. “Suguru.” you finally stated once you were pleased with your actions. 

“It’s my job to please you, you know. I don’t deserve any of this.” but you shook your head, hushing him softly. “Suguru, I love you with every fiber of my being. I have missed you for the nearly five months you have been away from me. I am going to shower you in the love I have been holding onto for all this time. Don’t you dare let your guilt taint the way you feel about me giving you my love.” You could tell he was struggling, after a moment of silence he nodded. It was a reluctant nod at that, but you knew it would take time for Suguru to overcome the weight of his guilt for leaving you in the first place. That was a battle for another day. 

What mattered was this moment. “Kiss me, please.” His request was so gentle, you couldn’t say no to him if you wanted to. Arms still wrapped around his neck, you pulled him to you and crashed your lips together once more in a heated kiss. Your body seemed to thrum with desire, every nerve ending sparking with electricity as the anticipation of what was to come built. You craved him like you craved air, so much so that if you were ever to go without him again you were certain you would not survive. Suguru’s hands lost their heistance once more, dull nails dragging up your back and causing you to arch into him. 

You couldn’t pull away, not when one of his hands found their home on the back of your neck. He kept you in place while his other hand snuck around from your back and found its way to your breasts once more. Your lips part easily, a cry ripping from your throat as Suguru’s fingers pinch one of your sensitive buds. He took the opportunity before him once more, tongue dancing around yours as he pulled and massaged the tender flesh of your swollen breasts. You squirmed on top of the altar, feeling your arousal clinging to your underwear as you moved. It only caused you to feel hotter, the deep rooted desire to feel him inside of you once more was becoming too much for you to bear in that moment. 

Your legs spread to accommodate him better, scooting yourself forward so your covered sex was pressing to Suguru’s abdomen. He could feel the heat radiating through your bottoms, making his head spin with the desire to feel your cunt once more. “Fuck I missed you.” He nearly hissed as he pulled away from you with spit covered lips, swollen from where your teeth had been pulling at them. “Show me how bad.” You slurred, eyes lidded as you tried pulling him back to you. Suguru doesn’t hesitate anymore, letting you bend him to your whim. His lips find their home on yours once again, teeth and tongue clashing together as your hands wander his body. 

Suguru’s teeth are sinking into your bottom lip, pulling at the pliant flesh and trying his hardest not to smirk as you whimper at the sting. His hands are mimicking your own, gliding over every ounce of bare skin he can reach, dull nails scraping until he feels you erupt in goosebumps. He pulls away again, leaving your head spinning from the constant changing contact. Before you can even open your mouth and complain, Suguru’s head is burying itself in your neck. He knew your weak points like the back of his hand, teeth scraping against the column of your neck before finding the perfect point to bite down. A shrill moan left your lips, no longer muffled by Suguru’s lips on your own. His canines were creating the perfect amount of pressure, sending your heart into a frenzy as if you were preparing for him to pierce your skin.

Suguru eased up a moment later, his hand slipping down between your bodies to press his fingers against your covered cunt. The sensation sends sparks of arousal through you, making your thighs twitch as he lapped greedily at the teeth indents he left behind. “Mine…” he gasped between licks “all mine.” Your mind blanked the moment his fingers found their way to your nipple again, twisting and pinching the sensitive bud until you felt tears burning your eyes. “Sugu, please!” You tried to jerk away, fingers threading in his silky locks as you tried to create some sort of relief for yourself. Everything was too sensitive, the ache forming so deeply within your body that you were certain you would lose your mind before he made you cum. 

“Please what?” He rasped, sucking at your skin until it bruised. “Fuck me.” You begged, tears pricking your pretty eyes and driving him absolutely wild. “Fuck you?” Suguru smirked, tugging your nipple until those pretty eyes shed the tears you were holding back. “Fuck me… oh fuck please, Suguru.” Your tone turned whiny, higher than usual as desperation won over your pride. You’d get off this altar and beg him on your hands and knees if you had to. Even if it would be a bit of a struggle with your rather round stomach.  “How am I supposed to say no to that?” he soothed you, hands abandoning  your breasts to cup your cheeks. He kissed you again, this time it was softer, with the intent to take his time even if it killed you. 

You felt drunk, chasing his lips even as he pulled away. Shakily, Suguru’s hands moved down your body, holding your hips as his head lowered to trail wet kisses down your neck. You caught on to his intentions as he moved lower, kissing your collarbone before moving to your chest. Suguru’s tongue ran along your sternum, pulling a whimper from you as he placed not one but two loving kisses on your sensitive breasts. “You’re so perfect.” He smiled up at you, lips hovering over the swell of your stomach. “Such a good mama already.” So gentle it nearly made you cry, that sadistic side of him fading quickly with the overwhelming desire to please you took over his original intentions. Months apart didn’t allow for him to tease you in the way he once did. Not now at least. 

“So beautiful.” He added one last time before kissing your stomach. He showered your pregnant tummy in kisses, nose nuzzling you softly as your baby’s fluttering kicks reached him. You felt your face burning up as Suguru moved lower, as if he hadn’t been all over you for the last few years of your life. “I missed this cunt…” he mewled softly as he lowered to his knees before you. “Dreamt of it every time I got lonely…” he huffed out a laugh “which was very often.” His fingers were hooking into the waistband of your pants, eyes meeting yours as if to confirm one last time that this is what you wanted. You nodded, lips parted as quiet gasps shook you. “Take me, Suguru. I’m all yours, always have been.” His eyes fluttered closed, inhaling deeply to try and ground himself before he lost all self restraint he had. “Whatever you want, you’ll get.” 

You lift yourself awkwardly, giving Suguru enough room to pull your pants and underwear off in one easy swoop. You grimaced slightly as your bare skin met the smooth wood of the altar, it still felt rather wrong, but now wasn’t really a time to be questioning your morals. Suguru was shameless as he admired what he had been missing so dearly, not even his wildest fantasies could compare to you. “Fuck.” So soft you barely heard it, but still enough to have your thighs twitching as you spread them further for him. Your hands met the smooth wood behind you, leaning back to get comfortable and push most of your weight on your hands and arms so Suguru could access you better. “May I?” His breath was hot on your inner thigh, nearly panting. “Of course you may, is that even a question, Suguru?” 

“I guess it’s not, but I just want to make sure.” He didn’t give you a moment to respond, lips pressing to the plush of your inner thigh and sucking softly. You felt your lips tremble, eyes nearly tunneling as you focused on the top of his head over your baby bump. Suguru sucked bruises into your skin, inhaling your natural musk as he did so. One hand rested on your thigh, thumb brushing the skin beneath him tenderly as his other hand sank lower. Suguru groaned, vibrating your skin as his own hand brushed over his covered cock. Your heart was beating erratically, waiting not-so patiently for Suguru to do what he really wanted. Which was to devour you whole, but still, ever the patient man, he was taking his time. “Suguru…” you breathed out, hips moving forward just a bit to silently encourage him to cut the teasing. 

He didn’t answer you, nose trailing along your inner thigh as he palmed himself through his pants. He was savoring every second of you being before him again, so much so that he couldn’t help but take his sweet time with this part. Though, his self control could only be stretched so far before he, too, couldn’t take it. Your hands nearly balled into fists as he retracted, a moment later his warm  breath was fanning over your glistening cunt. “Thank you for this blessing.” He offered slowly, dragging each syllable out until you felt its message vibrating the base of your skull. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of torture, Suguru placed an open mouth kiss on your slick folds. One kiss led to two,  three, four, then his tongue was slipping between and running along your slit. You moaned, loud and unashamed as Suguru collected your juices on his tongue. 

One hand was still groping himself, alleviating some of the ache but not nearly enough to satisfy him. His other hand was now squeezing your thigh rather than gingerly rubbing it. He had missed your taste, fuck had he missed your taste over these months apart. Your arousal was sticky, its flavor unique and utterly addicting. He could do this for hours if it meant tasting every drop of your cum. Your head was falling back, your thighs no longer twitching and tense. Rather,  they fell apart with no resistance, leaving your cunt completely at his mercy. Suguru’s tongue was still gliding up and down your slit, stopping at your clit every few passes to flick at it, feeling your muscles jump under his ministrations before moving down towards your entrance. This was just another game of him teasing you until you were making a mess atop the altar without even coming. 

“Suguru…” you choked out, the arousal in your body thrumming with the need to be satisfied not tortured. Maybe he could hear that desperation in your tone, his nose bumping your pulsing clit as he pushed his tongue past your entrance. “Oh fuck.” You mewled, eyes nearly rolling back from the pure sensitivity. You hadn’t realized how reactive pregnancy would make you. Even the slightest of touches had your toes curling. It had always felt good, Suguru’s tongue had always managed to work unspeakable wonders on you. But now? It felt as if everything had been amplified, your lips trembling as the faintest signs of your impending orgasm began creeping up on you. Suguru was mindful of his position, using his nose to his advantage as he began to tongue fuck your cunt. “P-please… oh fuck…” your arms were feeling weak, causing  you to adjust you your elbows in order to not fall flat. 

Suguru’s tongue buried as deep as he could manage, using his nose to nuzzle your clit until your pants had turned to rapid gasps. If he wasn’t so preoccupied, he’d tease you for how sensitive you had become. It seemed every little action he made was causing your hips to jerk, a shrill cry leaving your pretty lips as he toyed with your cunt. Feeling you twitching beneath him, Suguru pulled his tongue  away from your entrance to focus on your clit. His nose could only do so much, after all. You couldn’t take it, the dizzying  feeling of Suguru’s lips wrapping around your aching clit and sucking so harshly your back arched. Pleasure shot straight through you, making your thighs tense as you clenched around nothing. He was going to make you cum in record time at this rate. That realization had you burning up, eyes squeezing shut as you tried not to scream his name for the whole temple to hear. 

Though that didn’t really help you much, loud and unrestrainable cries left your lips amidst a jumble of pleas. Suguru’s name was intertwined into every profanity, begging him to let you cum. Suguru’s hand left your thigh, instead shooting up to dip two fingers between your drenched folds. You sucked him in greedily, your cries only turning shriller as he began roughly massaging your walls. Tears leaked down your cheeks in fat globs as you clenched around him, causing his fingers to stutter their pace in the process. Not that you noticed, your vision was already spotting with stars as your orgasm grew nearer. “S-Suguru fuck… I’m gonna cum… you’re gonna make me cum Sugu… please… fuck please let me.” You were drunk off of your own lust, eyes lidded as you pleaded with him in nearly incomprehensible babbles. 

He responded by curling his fingers, digging into your walls just right. His tongue was still flicking over your clit, the varying sensations were making your head spin. “Sugu please…” You cried again, walls clamping around his digits so tightly he struggled to thrust them at all. He moved even faster, how that was possible you didn’t know, but stars were sparkling across your vision as you came hard. That didn’t cause him to slow down, actually it was quite the opposite. Suguru continued to fuck his fingers into you at a rapid pace, moaning wantonly as your slick squelches only turned louder in volume. Your orgasm had reached its peak but it wasn’t slowing, your wails turning into silent gasps as Suguru began to overstimulate you. It wasn’t until he finally pulled his lips away from your cunt that your body relaxed. 

“Good girl… such a good girl.” Suguru murmured, eyes memorizing the sight of two of his fingers disappearing inside of your glistening cunt. You couldn’t form a coherent sentence if you wanted to at that moment, arms feeling shaky as you tried to keep yourself propped up. Suguru caught on after another few seconds, pushing up from his kneeling position to stand before you again. You watched him stick the two digits in his mouth, sucking them clean before speaking again. “Don’t tell me you’re already worn out, my love.” He smiled at you, chin and lips covered in your shiny cum. You shook your head slowly, despite clearly wanting to utter a weak “yes”. Suguru’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a sitting position so he could kiss you properly. You let him do as he pleased, just like you always did, letting his lips sloppily cover yours so you could taste your own release. After a minute, he pulled away with reddened cheeks. 

“Fucking you… it…” he stuttered a bit, suddenly turning shy as he tried to figure out how to word his question. “It won’t harm the baby… will it?” You felt your eyes widen, lips twitching into a smile as you shook your head. “Sex while pregnant is actually very safe, Sugu.” You assured him, not at all ashamed in the research you had done on the matter only a few weeks back. “Positive? It won’t harm you or the baby?” He asked for your reassurance despite having his fingers buried in your cunt moments prior. Not that his fingers were anything in comparison to his cock. “I’m positive, no harm can be brought to me or the baby during the act… You’ll just have to be easier on me, Sugu… I’ve gotten a lot more sensitive.” You felt your cheeks heating up, regardless of everything you’d just gone through. “Alright…” he kissed you again, softer, before pulling away.

You watched him with lidded eyes, a ghost of a smile on your swollen lips as Suguru began undoing the waistband of his pants. You were focused on the way his veins seemed to jump out as he undid the buttons, the sight making your jaw clench. Inch by inch, tanned and toned skin was revealed to your hungry gaze. Suguru was trying to hide his excitement as his cock was freed from the confines of his pants. You whined at the sight, even your fantasies did nothing to compare to the real thing. For a moment you nearly groaned about how much you had missed him. You managed to hold it in, not willing to subject yourself to his endless teasing, at least not right now. Right now, what you wanted was “Please… you’re taking way too long, Suguru. I want you so bad…” You were repositioning yourself the way you had been when he went down on you, this time forcing your legs up to rest your feet on the edge of the altar. 

A position that you typically didn’t have to think much about was now causing you some difficulty, but you could push that aside if it meant he’d move a little faster. Suguru stepped out of his bottoms and discarded them off to the side with the rest of your crumbled up clothes. “Old habits die hard, you know. I can’t help but draw things out, my pretty girl.” He closed the distance again, hands resting on your knees and unintentionally alleviating the pressure with his support. “I know, but I want you so bad… I want you inside of me, Sugu.” He was twitching, precum leaking steadily from his irritated looking tip. “Fuck… okay… okay…” one hand left your knee to wrap around the base of his neglected cock. Carefully, he gave himself a few harsh tugs, groaning as mild relief flooded his veins. You wanted to grumble about how you couldn’t see him over the swell of your stomach, especially since he knew how much you enjoyed watching him. 

“May I?” Suguru asked, eyes meeting yours but you tilted your head. “Words, Sugu… I can’t exactly see down there right now…” You held in a giggle as his lips parted before closing again, rosy cheeks deepening as he realized his fatal mistake. “Oh.” laughter was laced with those two words, causing you to smile back. “May I use your cum as lube?” Suguru spoke slowly, smirking at you as your small smile turned into a look of surprise. “I-Oh… fuck.” You choked, the back of your hand pressing to your mouth for a moment before you squeaked out a “yeah.” Suguru moved a second later, guiding the dull head of his cock between your folds and spreading them. You breathed out, low and stuttering as his head passed over your still sensitive clit. He repeated the motions a few times, watching you jump as he’d get caught on your entrance before moving up again. Suguru only stopped once he couldn’t tell what was covering him more, his own pre-cum or your arousal. 

His fist began dragging up his length, spreading it until he felt it was good enough for your comfort. “Lay back… if you can.” Suguru’s tone had turned soft, yet again giving you whiplash from the constantly revolving tones and emotions. You nodded, pushing yourself further up the wooden altar. You weren’t quite sure what Suguru had in mind at that moment, watching you get yourself situated so your whole body was on top of the platform. You leaned back, resting your body weight on your elbows but stopping when you felt your body begin to strain. “Kinda hurts…” you mumbled, cheeks feeling warm as you tried to find a comfortable position with your swollen belly. “I bet it’s too much pressure to be on your hands and knees, right?” His eyes had softened, admiring you with a small smile as he watched you nod. “Would it be easier if you had support under your back?” Your brows creased, contemplating for a moment before nodding. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to try.” Again, you didn’t quite know how Suguru was going to go about helping you with that. But he was walking away from you, over to his discarded silk robes, and you felt your face burning up with the realization as he began to fold them. “These are soft, if I place them under your back it should offer you some comfort.” he grinned as he walked back towards you on the altar, the fine robes folded in a neat pile. “Sugu… what if we get them…” but he shook his head, helping you sit up again so he could place them behind you. “If they get dirty, they can be cleaned. I have a few backups of these, you know.” You shook your head, fighting off your laugh as he motioned for you to try and lay back again. “How is that?” Suguru watched you carefully as you tried to get comfortable. “If it doesn’t help, I can figure something else out.” You had to avert your gaze for a moment, eyes lingering on his leaking cock before meeting his eyes.

“I doubt you’ll be able to think straight for much longer, Suguru.” 

His eyes widened, cheeks flushing red as he was rendered speechless by your comment. “This feels fine, Suguru. Just get up here with me.” You were leaning back on your elbows again, this time to watch him climb up on top of the altar with you, opposed for comfort purposes. “Show me how much you missed me, Sugu.” He couldn’t help himself any longer, moving to climb on top of you as you leaned back completely. It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable position or location you had been fucked in, but it would do. Especially when he was right there in front of you again. Nothing else mattered but him. “Fuck I love you.” he nearly choked as he pressed his lips to yours, hands bracing himself by flattening on either side of your head. Your legs fell open easily, allowing him to press up against you as you locked your ankles behind the small of his back. Your hands found their home on his biceps again, the warmth of your bodies pressing to one another was as dizzing as the kiss. “You good?” he rasped as he pulled back. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You assured him, knowing he was worried about putting any weight on you. “I’m a little sensitive but I’m not fragile, Sugu.” You would say anything at this point if it meant he’d get inside of you quicker. “Please just… tell me if something isn’t right.” You could feel his hips grinding up against you, cock sliding along your cunt but not going further. “I will… fuck I promise I will but Suguru please… I need you inside… so bad…” you whined, losing sense of your own rationality again as he teased you unknowingly. “Okay…okay…” desperation was lacing his own words, one hand moving down to wrap around his shaft and guide his cock to your entrance. “It’s been a while, I’ll try to go slow.” You grumble out some sort of response, too worked up to care as his head pushes between your folds. Suguru feels your breathing stutter as he slips in, your cunt stretching to accommodate him. It didn’t hurt, but you could feel the pressure ebbing its way down to your thighs, inhaling deeply as you tried to relax. 

Suguru was focused, leaning back a little bit so he could watch himself disappear inside of you. “Almost half way, sweet girl.” you whined out an “okay”,  eyes looking past him to the ceiling of the temple above you before moving back down to the top of his head. It felt like you needed to keep making sure this was real, that he was really in front of you, nevermind inside. Your walls were suctioning to him, clenching involuntarily as he finally bottomed out after what felt like an eternity. “There we go… oh fuck…” your face was contorted in pleasure, watching Suguru fall apart from simply entering you was more than you could handle. “Fuck I missed you… I almost forgot how good you feel… shit.” He couldn’t move yet, even though his hips were restless. Suguru was certain if he moved, he would cum then and there. He wasn’t even sure how he had managed to keep it together while entering you, cock twitching so harshly he was certain he would have blown his load half way in. “Suguru…” 

His name was one of the few words you could remember at that point, the most your brain was willing to offer as it melted into a puddle of mush. “I’m right here.” he cooed, leaning down again to press his lips to yours once, twice, three times before showering the rest of your face in chaste reassuring kisses. “You’re doing so good for me, sweet girl. Taking me so well after so many months… you’re so perfect… so fucking perfect.” he breathed, forehead pressing against yours as his body contorted around the swell of your stomach. “Just tell me when I can move, okay?” he had gotten himself together somehow, now all he wanted was to hear you tell him it was okay. You nodded, inhaling deeply before uttering out “okay… you can move… just start slow.” Suguru let out a shuddering breath, kissing you one last time before he drew his hips back halfway. 

Suguru had always relied on harsh, quick snaps of his hips for you, knowing you enjoyed things rather rough. The request to be easy, start slow, be gentle with you, it was a change of pace he hadn't been prepared for. You whined for him, finding pleasure even as he rolled his hips into you to try and find a pace that felt good for him. Your cunt hadn’t changed, still warm and tight, squeezing him to the point it was nearly hard to move. “A-are you okay?” breathless “You’re so tight… it’s not uncomfortable for you, right?” You nodded, face warming as you tried to find the right words. “I-i’m okay it feels really good… just… sensitive…” you moaned as he rolled a little deeper, brushing that one particular spot. You clenched, somehow growing even tighter and causing Suguru to groan loudly. “Y-you’re doing so good, Suguru…” His eyes opened, meeting your gaze to make sure you weren’t just saying it to appease him. 

“I mean it.” you added, lips falling open as another breathy whine left you. Suguru’s hips continued to roll into you at an agonizing pace, sending shivers straight down your spine as molten pleasure settled in your gut. “Y-you can speed up when you’re ready too…” It was your not so subtle way of showing your impatience, earning a low chuckle from Suguru as he rolled his hips at a faster pace. Your whines only grew in pitch, words of encouragement falling from your lips as Suguru worked towards a pace where he’d be able to thrust into you without overwhelming you. “I missed this cunt so bad…” he choked out, eyes lidded and mouth hanging open partially as he let himself get lost in the embrace of your body. “So fucking soft…” he coudln’t get over it, the way your velvety soft walls clung to his cock with each movement. 

It wasn’t until his hips began to snap into you, watching your breasts bounce with each connection of your hips that Suguru realized how close he was to coming. 

“Oh fuck…” he choked, face heating up as his hips stuttered in their pace. “Is something wrong?” you nearly cried out, eyes welling from pleasure as you looked at him. “I-Shit.” he gasped, hips unable to stop their movement. “Gonna… fuck I’m gonna cum.” he got it out finally, head falling foreward because of embarrassment. He hadn’t had this issue since the first time you two slept together, back then it was from pure inexperience. Now, it was because he’d gone too long without you. “O-oh…” you gasped out, back arching near painfully as he passed over that one particular spongy spot again. “...s’okay if you cum…Sugu… I don’t mind… ha…”  You were close again yourself, pregnancy causing you to become more sensitive than you thought possible. You couldn’t recall a time where you had cum without any other stimulation to pair with Suguru thrusting into you. “I-are you sure…” his head lifted, face completely red as he tried to concentrate on not making an absolute fool of himself. 

“J-just because you come it doesn’t mean you have to pull out.” you added weakly, accidentally clenching around him and causing you both to moan in unison. “G-give me your all, Suguru.” Your plea was enough to have him curling into you, head resting on your chest as his hips stuttered into your cunt. You couldn’t decipher what he was saying as he came, the words sounding like nothing more than mumbled nonsense. It was only when your own breathing settled that you realized what he was saying. “Thank you… thank you… thank you…” Over and over, quiet praises, thanking you again and again. Shakily your hand came up to run through his sweaty hair, your other hand resting on his bicep. “I’ve got you…” you added softly as you felt wet tears littering your chest. How odd it felt to see a grown man fall apart in every sense of the word. Suguru relaxed on top of the altar, slowly pulling himself back together as he looked at you. “I love you.” he uttered with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“I love you too.” You whispered back, hand slipping from his hair to his cheek, cupping it. “You’re so pretty, Sugu.” you smiled as his eyes closed again, nuzzling into your palm. “So are you… ya know.” he cleared his throat a bit, hips still buried deep. “I’m…” he laughed a bit. “I’m still hard.” You laughed with him, a bit worn out already “I know, I can feel it.” Your hips wiggled, Suguru watched as your face contorted in pleasure as you pushed him further into that one particular spot that had you seeing stars. “You still need to come, pretty girl.” he was regaining his composure with each passing second. “You’ve already made me come once.” But you knew he was having none of that, five months apart did not equate to one orgasm. “We both need to get off still.” he corrected, watching that pretty smile take over your features as your hands moved to wrap around his neck. “Alright, if you still have the energy…” You teased him softly, pulling him closer to ghost your lips across one another. “Make me yours, again and again.” 

“Always.” he kissed you, softer than any kiss you had shared that night. Slowly he found his rhythm for a second time, hips drawing back and forth into your spent cunt. Everything was hotter, wetter, thanks to Suguru’s release. Every moan was swallowed by his lips, tongues dancing around each other as Suguru’s hand slipped down between your bodies. Even with your pregnant stomach, even with the position you were in, he still managed to sneak his fingers down to your clit, rubbing it harshly until you were nearly yelling. Your body reacted to every touch, your orgasm building again, this time much faster than before. “Oh-oh fuck…” you were babbling again, fingers clawing at Suguru’s arms as your cunt clenched tightly around him. Saliva was smeared across your swollen lips, Suguru broke the kiss just to hear your noises properly. “Come for me… fuck I know you’re close… come for me…” Suguru pleaded with you, hips growing sloppy again from his own sensitivity. You let out another loud cry of his name before spilling all over him, cunt clenching tightly as a warm gush of your own arousal dripped down to the altar below you. That was enough for Suguru, a string of curses flooding his mouth. 

Still sensitive from his first orgasm, Suguru seemed to feed off the aftershocks by spilling into you a second time. You both laid there for a moment, panting heavily in the large, echoing chambers that surrounded you. “Merry Christmas.” You offered weakly, a hint of laughter coating your words as Suguru’s head fell to your chest with a breathless laugh. “Best christmas gifts I could have ever received, ya know.” He looked up at you, cheeks still a bit flushed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know it’s still a lot to process… but you’ve got a home with me if you’re willing to take it… I know I said I wouldn’t let you go but…” Still hesitant, you smiled softly at him, hand cupping his sweat cheek as you soothed his worries. “My home is with you, Suguru. From now on, where you go, I go.” Suguru’s shoulders visibly sagged in relief, leaning down to kiss your forehead for a second time with his eyes closed. 

“Let’s get cleaned up and go home then, my sweet girl.” 

Despite everything, you found yourself praying once more that this wasn’t just a dream. “Yeah, let’s go home.” You smiled as his eyes opened, watching him straighten and kneel before you. You felt him slip out, making you both groan before his hands were reaching to help you up. “What a mess…” you were quiet as you looked down at the ruined altar top. “It needed to be replaced eventually.” Suguru reassured you, getting down off of the polished wood and assisting you to the best of his abilities. “Do you think you can walk?” you felt your brows creasing at his question, wondering if your legs would be able to support you and your baby if you were to get off of this altar. “I… guess we’ll find out.” But Suguru’s arms were on you in a second, supporting you almost entirely as he helped you get down to the floor. You had to admit your legs did feel jello, shaky and weak as you tried to stand without support. “That won’t do.” Suguru chided, more so mad at himself for not taking it easy on his pregnant girlfriend. 

“It’s okay, just help me get dressed so we can get out of here… I need a shower.” Suguru’s release was starting to drip down your thighs, warming your face as older memories entered your mind. “Yes ma’am.” He grabbed your things one at a time, helping you get your bra on, then your shirt. Next he got his own robes on so he could leave the room to get you a washcloth for the mess he made between your thighs. He returned a minute later with a warm, wet cloth in one hand and a fresh dry one in the other. “My stuff is at a hotel, Suguru. We’ll need to get it before heading home.” While you could survive on Suguru’s clothes for a day or two, you desperately craved the silky maternity pajamas you had bought yourself a while back. “Alright, I’ll have the driver called to pick us up. He’ll bring us to that hotel and I’ll retrieve your things. Then we’ll head home. Nanako and Mimiko are going to be so ecstatic to meet you, sweet girl.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought, the two little girls Suguru had taken in would be waiting for their honorary father to return home. But what about you? “Are you sure? They know I exist?” you questioned as you spread your legs, letting Suguru gingerly clean up the remnants of his release and your own. “I’ve told them all about you, they refer to you as Mama Y/N.” Mama. You blinked, maybe it was the pregnancy hormones making you sensitive, but that brought tears to your eyes. Suguru had never once spoken badly of you in your time apart, going as far as to speak about you so lovingly to these two little girls that they referred to you as mama without even meeting you. There was still so much that needed to be sorted out, so many emotions to pick apart, but for now it was christmas eve. Those things could wait for a day or two, for now all you needed to focus on was you, Suguru, and your baby growing within you. 

December 24th, 2007 [Somewhere around 6:30pm]

“Cheer up, Satoru. It’s christmas eve and you’re moping around.” Shoko pressed his arm, watching his unfocused eyes snap back into reality just to see her. “What?” She sighed, shaking her head as she moved to lean against the wall Satoru had planted himself against. “I feel bad that she isn’t here, too, Satoru. But she said she wasn’t feeling good…” But Satoru shook his head, pushing himself off the wall for the first time that evening. “She’s withdrawing from us, she has been for the last few weeks… ever since…” But he couldn’t say it, for some reason he found himself choking up trying to utter Suguru's name. “Ever since she saw him, I know.” Saying his name wasn’t exactly smart given the people in the room with them. “She’s just… she’s alone on Christmas Eve, Shoko. That’s not fair… we should be with her or she should be with us.”  He began shifting from foot to foot, for the first time that night he felt antsy enough to get off the wall he glued himself to and move. “I agree, Satoru, but she doesn’t feel good…”

“I think she's full of shit, using it as an excuse.” he spat with more venom than necessary, not really directed at you but more so directed at himself. Shoko studied him for a moment, unsure of how to continue considering they were in a room full of close friends. Friends who all felt the absence of three particular people… Haibara, Suguru, and of course, you. It was a much quieter Christmas eve than previous years. So, reluctantly, Shoko pushed off the wall “Let’s get some air, Satoru. I think you could really use it.” Satoru met her gaze, lips parting before closing again and shoving his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Without a word, he unpeeled himself from the wall and trailed after Shoko. The two had barely stepped foot into the cold air before Satoru was seething again. “She’s distancing herself from us, Shoko, don’t you realize that?” Shoko was pulling a cigarette and lighter out of her pocket, bringing the cylinder to her lips as she mumbled out “Of course I recognize that, Satoru.” for a moment he bit his tongue, the urge to scream at her for her casual nature was making him feel weak to his own emotions. 

“Then what do we do? We’re going to lose her if we don’t figure this out…” if he hasn’t already. Satoru couldn’t shake the pit in his stomach, the feeling that he had already lost you was weighing him down. He had let Suguru slip through his fingers, and now it seemed he was letting it happen all over again with you. “I have no idea, Satoru. I won’t lie, I’m not as close with her as you are… I mean you guys just seem to have a much deeper bond than friendship…” Shoko corrected when Satoru’s head whipped in her direction. She loved you dearly, and she knew that you loved her right back. But she would be an idiot to deny the fact that you and Satoru seemed to have a bond much deeper than friendship. “I don’t know what you mean–” Satoru choked, lips pressing into a thin line as he nervously pushed his glasses up again. “Don’t lie, Satoru. You know exactly what I mean.” But Satoru was not going to openly admit to his feelings for you right then. “You love her in a different way than me, Satoru. You have since our first year here.” But it seemed Shoko was more than willing to take the opportunity for him. 

“Now isn’t the time…” but he could feel his voice trembling as he spoke, head turning away from her to glance across the courtyard. “Then when is it time, Satoru?” Again, something he didn’t have the answer for, something he probably would never have the answer for. “I…fuck I don’t know okay? But right now definitely isn’t the time.” He looked as if he wanted to jump out of his own skin, Shoko inhaled her smoke deeply before pulling the cig away and letting out in one breath. “Go to her, if you think that is what’s right. But don’t come back at me if she bites your head off for waking her.” Maybe Shoko had a little too much faith in your capabilities to remain strong. Satoru, on the other hand, felt like he was racing against a timer that may have already hit zero. “Alright.” Was all he could push out in that moment, feet moving before his mind could even process it. “But we do need to have this conversation at some point, Satoru!” Shoko called but he was already halfway across the courtyard. “Some Christmas Eve this is.” She huffed, watching the smoke slip past her lips again as she let her head fall back. 

If she could, she would run to you right now and hold you close. But things had grown so complicated, for some reason she couldn’t find the strength to sit down and pull the information out of you. Deep down, even though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew it was only a matter of time before you disappeared just as Suguru had. She couldn’t say she blamed you, had she been in your shoes she would likely do the same. She knew how dear he was to you, how much love you held in your heart for him even after his deflection. Now you were carrying his child. Shoko could come to terms with the fact that her support and her presence was small in comparison to the support and love Suguru would shower on you and your unborn child. Satoru, however, could not swallow that pill and keep it down. He loved you, much more than a friend. Shoko has known that since your first year at Jujutsu Tech, as much as Satoru had been pining, Suguru had beat him to you… and inevitably won your heart. She knew it ate him alive to this very day. 

—

Satoru couldn’t figure out why his hands were trembling as they gripped the railing. Every step he took, every step that carried him up towards your dorm floor had his legs threatening to crumble. He couldn’t shake the doom gripping at his heart, as if he somehow already knew that something was terribly wrong. Still, he pushed forward despite his heart threatening to break out of his ribcage and fling itself out the nearest window. It was quiet as he hit the landing, so quiet it felt empty, as if there was no human life inhabiting the floor. Satoru’s stomach was dropping with each step he took, forcing air into his lungs just to exhale slowly as he approached your dorm’s door. His hand raised, knuckles rapping against the door. “Y/N? You Awake?” 

No answer. 

Satoru’s hand wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob before twisting and pushing it open. “Y/N?” he took a step inside, surprised to see your desk lamp on. It took Satoru another second to process that you weren’t present in the room. He blinked slowly, eyes traveling over a room that now felt foreign to him. Inch by inch, he noticed that things were missing. Your room feels emptier than usual, and not just because of your absence. “Shit.” He chokes, walking further into your dorm room to assure himself that he wasn’t imagining it. Usually, he’d never invade your space in such a way but Satoru found himself ripping your closet door open and cursing louder when he realized a majority of the hangers were empty. 

He couldn’t see straight, not as he stumbled backwards and out of your room. Satoru’s legs carried him on autopilot, straight down the hall to Shoko’s empty dorm room. He pushed the door open, flicking on the lights and checking her bed to make sure you hadn’t snuck in to it. As expected, it was empty. The door slammed so hard it rattled the frame, but Satoru couldn’t even hear it, not over the roaring of blood in his ears as he stumbled down to his dorm room. He swung the door open so hard it hit the wall and ricocheted back at him, but he was already in the room and out of its path. His eyes were frantic, wide and unnerving as he looked at his empty bed… a note neatly sitting on his pillow, his name written in your scrawling font. 

Bile burned Satoru’s throat, without even picking up the envelope he knew it was a goodbye. 

The bile burning his throat wasn’t going back down, panic ebbed through his veins as he turned on his heels and stumbled into the bathroom. Satoru puked the little contents he had left in his stomach, tears blurring his vision as he tossed his glasses onto the tile floor. It wasn’t until he heaved a third time that his knees gave out on him, hitting the cold tile below him with a sickening thud. He couldn’t see through the tears, a mix of broken sobs and curses falling from his lips as saliva filled his mouth and his stomach squeezed painfully tight. For a minute he thought it would be impossible to pull air into his lungs, maybe the universe would grace him with blacking out. Maybe when he woke up he’d realize this was all a bad dream. 

But the universe wasn’t that kind to Satoru, it probably never would be.

There, on the bathroom floor, the strongest sorcerer was reduced to a crying mess. All because of you, all because of his mistakes, all because of things he had let slip through his fingers. How childish could he be? To mess up so badly the first time that he failed Suguru. The eyes that were supposed to see everything had let his best friend fall with no one to catch him. Now, it was you, right before his very eyes he watched you slowly decay into a shell of your former self. But, again, he ignored the warning signs and you had slipped right through his grasp. He couldn’t process anything else in that moment, fingers gripping the sides of the toilet as he heaved again. 

Satoru wasn’t sure how long he remained a crumpled heap on his bathroom floor, but eventually there was nothing else that could come out of him. In a daze, Satoru pulled himself off the ground, flushing the toilet’s contents, standing to grasp for the faucet’s knobs and pulling until cold water rushed from its opening. The cold water grounded him, forcing air into his too-tight lungs, one after another, until tears were flowing freely down his cheeks again. Was this a panic attack? Is that what it felt like? Like you were drowning on dry land? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he needed to read whatever you left behind in that envelope. 

He needed to have some idea on why you did this, even if he knew why you did this. He turned the water off, silence ringing in his ears as he dried his shaking hands and stumbled into his too cold bedroom. Satoru wiped his eyes, over and over and over until the tears stopped long enough for him to see clearly. Grabbing the envelope, he sat himself down at his desk, letting the lamp’s golden glow illuminate the words he was too scared to read. He stared at it, blinking slowly as he looked over your handwriting. How did he let this happen, not once but twice? That anger from earlier was bubbling in his stomach again, threatening to reduce him to a scared child as he hurled anything left in his stomach. This time he swallowed it down. 

The paper was cold in his hands as he ripped open your neatly put together work. Inside the envelope was one piece of paper. One piece of paper was all you needed to say goodbye. His heart clenched, lips forming into a scowl at the very thought. Maybe he had been a fool all this time, a fool to think he meant anything of significance to you. The urge to rip the single page nearly overtook him, not willing to let you explain yourself and just throw it away. You had thrown everything away, after all. What harm was him ripping up one, useless, pathetic letter? 

He set it down before doing something that irrational, his mind going through a mix of emotions that he could only describe as grief. Mourning someone who wasn’t dead all over again. 

Satoru stared at the letter, heart squeezing so tightly in his chest as he spotted water marks. Water stains where your tears had smudged the ink slightly. Every ounce of anger in his body seemed to vanish the moment he saw them, something so small that delivered such a big message. He inhaled deeply, trying to find some sort of sanity to cling to before picking up the page and reading everything you had written for him. It was you after all, no matter how upset he got, he’d never be able to do any of the things he had contemplated only seconds prior. Shakily, he picked it up, holding it at an angle where he could easily read its contents. 

Satoru, 

I don’t know where to start, so maybe it’s best if I don’t even try. If I were to sit here as I am now, writing down every single thing I ever wanted to say to you I’d run out of paper and time. So, although you deserve far better than this letter, I will try and keep it short and to the point. 

You have done everything for me over these last five months, and there is nothing I can do that will ever amount to something worthy of returning the favor. I will forever be thankful for everything you have done for me. I would not have survived these last few months if it weren’t for you, Toru. 

I don’t want you to blame yourself, because my choice is completely my own. There is nothing you could have done to change my mind. I think we both know that, whether you want to believe it or not. I can’t imagine the pain I’m causing you by doing this… I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness because truly I don’t deserve it and I don’t expect it. 

I cannot go about my pregnancy without Suguru knowing. This is something that is meant to be precious to me, cherishing every minute of my baby growing inside of me… but I haven’t been able to enjoy it. My child deserves a happy mother and their father to be in their life. The only thing you are unable to provide for me, Satoru, is bringing Suguru back to our side. 

I have no choice but to go, for the sake of myself and the sake of my baby, I need him to know. 

This isn’t how I wanted things to happen, you know. I don’t think that needs to be said because of course I didn’t intend on getting pregnant and Suguru losing his mind. I didn’t intend on leaving you or Shoko. I didn’t think I’d ever have to say goodbye to you, Satoru. Nevermind having to say it through a shitty letter. God this is fucking stupid. You deserve so much more than a fucking letter. 

Please, find your happiness, Satoru. I love you. 

Your Y/N

Tears were burning his tired eyes, distorting your words as he tried to read it for a second time. Time seemed to stretch on forever in that one moment, leaving him to feel like a hollow shell of the person he once was. His heart was no longer within his chest, he was sure of it. Half of it had been taken by Suguru when he deflected. Now, the other half was long gone, tucked away in whatever belongings you had taken with you when you left. Nothing but a hole was left in its place, the broken halves of his heart were somewhere far away with the two people who meant more than anything to him. Maybe they’d do him a favor and stitch the halves together again. 

~ END OF PART 2 ~

In that blurry haze, you remember being sat down in someone's car, someone saying that a truck’s coming to pick your car up, and if you wanted to be driven to the nearest phone booth. 

You end up being dropped off at a phone booth right outside Hawkin’s Post. The woman had been kind enough to give you a cold beer for your forehead, and some rag she found in her glovebox to wipe the blood off your face. You hear how quick she left when the ringing left your ears, the way her wheels screeched the same way yours did before you hit the tree; you’re stumbling your way inside the confined box and picking up the phone, only to stare at the numbers blankly.

You’ve got no one to call.

No one knows where you live other than Robin, who doesn’t have a license and you couldn’t take the risk; Dustin, who’s not of age yet and god knows how he’d drive; Max…absolutely not. Nancy? With Jonathan on a date. Mike? You’d actually prefer having your face smashed into a windscreen than him driving you home. Lucas? Can ride a bike but almost crashed your car one time.

Five of them don’t even have cars.

Which leaves you to one last person.

Your heart pounds at the thought of him. Minds visibly debating if you should be petty and walk yourself home, or if you should suck it up and call him and just let yourself dwell in his passenger seat in this pity blood puddle as he tries to talk to you.

There’s sweat coating the thin epidermis of your hand, the material of the phone buttons burning beneath your fingertip as you dial his numbers. Your head aches, still even after the cold bear that’s now warming on your other hand, and you feel like your nose has been dislocated. And with the bottom half of your face crossing the border of numbness, you could faintly feel something drip down your nose.

Eleven digits pressed ten seconds later, the phone rings. You rest your head on the switchhook with the receiver hot against your ear as you hear the loud ringing. You wait, maybe ten seconds. Until it turns twenty to almost thirty before you hear the sound of a phone being picked up.

“Harrington residenc… ah, screw it. Hello?”

You don't speak, nervously twirling the handset line in your index finger as you stare blankly at the number pads, wondering what he might look like right now. There’s a statical silence filling your ear, and you try your best to let out a hushed deep breath.

“Hello?” he repeats.

Finally, you blink. “Steve?”

It’s his turn to stay quiet, like he’s processing whose voice he heard. You hear his soft huffs through his nose, and you squeeze your eyes shut to get rid of the headache.

“(y/n)?”

You smile a little. “Yeah. It’s me.”

You hear shuffling before he speaks again. “Hey. Um- what’s up?”

“I…” you suck your cheeks in, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I crashed my car.”

“What?!”

“I’m fine!” you reassure him. “Just…can you pick me up? I’m- I’m outside Hawkins Post and I can't really walk to where I was supposed to go. It’s too far…”

There’s a second of silence. An entire second that he’s given himself to decide. And you don't expect him to immediately say, “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

He came in five minutes.

You wonder if he’s passed the speed limit, ran through red lights and ignored speed bumps just so he could get to you. And the thought of it makes your heart ache — in the worst way. ‘Cause now you’re thinking if he’s that eager to see you, or that eager to help you, or just to get this over with. And just the thought of him being excited to see you?

It sets a confusing flame in your chest.

Steve exits his car. Striped shirt and tight dark blue jeans in all his disheveled eminence. You push yourself away from the phone booth, the lack of shade straining your eyes, but Steve jogs up to you and blocks the sun with his height.

“Hey,” his eye squints, hair not large enough to block the sunlight. “Jesus, (y/n), you’re bleeding.”

His hand comes up to touch gently on your forehead, where you wince at the contact of his fingertips on something raw. Steve tuts, muttering an apology before he’s fully cupping your face, but his apology doesn’t matter.

Not when he’s touching your face like it’s a normal thing for him to do. Like he used to back in those forgotten summer mornings and winter nights, with the way he cradles your face like a vase full of wilting flowers. But Steve doesn’t look into your eyes. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he’s looking at the laceration on your forehead. And it feels familiar.

(Maybe when Billy Hargrove had almost beaten him to a pulp. And you remember Steve laying unconsciously between your legs at the back of Billy’s car, his face in your hands, slipping between the gates of consciousness.)

“What happened?” he asks, his hair falling over to cover the worry lines on his forehead.

“Saw a cat,” you murmur, cheeks flushing from his touch and you hope he doesn't feel it. “I swerved and I crashed into a tree. My car’s done for and- and my head hurts.”

“Course it does, ‘y crashed your car,” he mutters. And when Steve finally looks into your eyes, the worry shifts into a quick wave of realization that he’s still holding your face so casually. You see him swallow thickly, dropping his hands to his sides where he palms the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve got um, tissue. And water in the back of my car. We should get-get in. It’s getting hot.”

You follow him, watch as he opens the door for you and guides you in. Steve pushes his hair back as he crosses, walking over to his side until he’s sat beside you and slams the door closed. He doesn’t look at you yet, like he’s still preparing himself to look at you as he reaches behind to pull out two water bottles. Steve hastily gives them to you before he’s opening the glove box, pulling out a box of tissues and a bottle of alcohol, as well as a small box of bandaids.

Pointing at the tissue box, you furrow your eyebrows. “You still have that?”

The box of tissues he bought specially for Eleven. He’d complained to you before, how she always used her sleeve instead of buying a handkerchief to carry around so she’d wipe her blood off. And when you’d told him to do something about it himself, he bought everyone tissue packs — “Just in case one of you is with this kid and she starts bleeding again.”

You still have yours dug deep in a bag hidden in your cabinet. Dusted and unused.

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Kid’s back in Hawkins. God knows what might happen again. Even though the gates are closed now,”

“Dunno. Maybe the Russians are opening a gate again. We weren't so sure last time, right?”

“Only because some burnt middle aged man with powers decides to terrorize teens and open four huge gates,” Steve reaches over to swerve the AC to your direction, taking a bottle from your lap to open it. He shoves it in your hands, elbow on the steering wheel and he finally looks at you. “Drink up. You might get a heatstroke. Or you might pass out.”

You grimace at him.

Steve eyes you like something he’s lost his entire life. That wonder of unexpected reconciliation that makes his heart beat unwinding, because you’re talking to him. You called him for help; and even though Steve knows he’s not exactly your first choice for help, there’s a candle of hope offered to him. He watches you drink from the plastic bottle, trembling hand grasping it tight against you as you drink with heavy eyelids.

He takes it from you when you’ve finished the entire thing, tossing it behind him before he looks back at you with wary eyes. “More?”

You shake your head. “No,” you smile a bit.

Then he points to your forehead, side of his finger grazing the bridge of your nose. Steve’s other hand rubs his chin. “What about those? Need some help?”

“Do you even know how to?” you quip. Steve scoffs, reaching for the box of tissues in your hand and unscrews the alcohol.

“I think I’ve learned. From getting my ass handed to myself three times.” he pours alcohol on the folded tissue, eyebrows raising everytime he speaks. “I think we just got lucky last time. Minus the choking part.”

Steve’s hand raises on the side of your face, hesitant in taking your cheek into his palm once more. When he nods for permission, you allow him; ignoring the way his touch ignites something heavy in the pit of your stomach that causes the butterflies to leave their cocoons and storm your belly.

His touch is benign, delicate, conscious in the way that he knows he’s holding your face unlike earlier. He mutters instant apologies when you wince from the alcohol against your opening wound, the feeling of his thumb stroking the supple skin of your cheek was somehow an amelioration that he hopes would work.

The blood blends with the alcohol infused tissue, staining the soft paper. He wipes a bit harder on the dried morsel of blood surrounding your wound, until a small cut appears once all the blood’s gotten rid of. Steve takes the box of bandaids from his lap, you watching as he clumsily opens it and pulls a yellow bandaid with purple stars around the oval-like bandage.

Your eyebrows raise, bemused. “Cute,”

“Dustin wanted them,” he’s quick to defend. Steve removes the plastic from the bandage, spreading apart until he raises it to your wound and carefully places the pad on top of the cut, thumbs pressing it down until it sticks to your skin. “Or I think Erica did. Dunno. Kids love to take advantage of me.”

“Rich teenager who spends his time with a bunch of kids? Who wouldn't?” you snort. “I’m surprised they haven't asked you to buy them Nintendo.”

“Why? Do you want one?” his brow raises, fingers moving down to press on your nose, a slight throb as he does so.

“Pretty please?” you jut your bottom lip out. “With Ghosts N’ Goblins?”

Steve shakes his head, massaging the bridge of your nose. “Take advantage of me, why don't you?”

You laugh. “You know what this reminds me of?” you murmur. Steve looks at you, hands in a momentarily halt on your nose. “Billy. When we had to carry you to the back of his car and we had nothing but alcohol and bandaids. You know, Mike was actually thinking of stitching the cut,” you reach up to graze the ever faint scar on his jaw, and his face softens when you do so, “right here. But all we had was a fish hook and we couldn’t risk it.”

His chuckle’s short, faint and wilting off into the silence in his car as he looks at you, your hand muzzy on his jaw as your tracing stops, your eyes flitting to his. And Steve’s so close, with his breath fanning your face and the tip of his nose grazing yours; his eyes searching like a sailor on sea, an undulate curve of his thick hair covering his forehead when he dips his head down the slightest. You drop your hand back to your lap and turn your head away, making all his hope break and Steve sinks back to his seat, swallowing thickly. He screws the cap of the alcohol back on.

“So, where were you going?” he turns the key in the ignition, pushing his hair back before they settle on the steering wheel. You hm, an unsure ‘um’ that battles between telling him the truth or not.

“Home,” you lie. “Just, uh, take me home.”

The aether sky disappears behind the cluster of thick, dark clouds; like how paint water would topple over an artwork as it slowly washes over the dull sky of Hawkins, all that optimistic cyan glory replaced by a caliginous silver as its tears slowly fall down to the cracked ground. Your fist on your cheek, the radio quiet, and Steve’s contemplating whether you had told him the truth or not. He heard the slight hesitation in your voice, the avoidance of eye contact and the uncomfortable shift in your seat.

And so as he turns the corner, opposite to where your home was that you surprisingly didn’t notice with your dazed staring, Steve rubs his nose. “Hey, uh. Where’d you crash your car?” your head turns to him, cheek leaving your fist to straighten your back. “Just wanna see if the truck’s gotten it already,”

“I’m sure it’s still there,” You pull nervously at your seatbelt, staring ahead at the windscreen. “But just, um, past Warzone.”

“The one Eddie told us all the illegal shit were?”

“Yeah.”

“That- That’s where you were heading?”

You grimace. “I said past Warzone. Not before or at the Warzone.” your top lip curls in exiguous agitation. “And this is not the way to my fucking house, Steve.”

“Yeah, because we’re not going to your house,” his hand raises to point in front of him, driving past empty houses and rundown buildings that lead outside the town, the rain that forms little puddles beside sidewalks as the windscreen wiper starts moving.

“This is kidnapping!” you gawp silently, incredulous. “Take me home, Steve.”

“No, I wanna know where you’re going that you crashed your car past Warzone,” though loud, Steve’s voice is calm and patient, waiting for your reason. His sudden curiosity is unneeded, you think. Because why should he care where you’ve been? “Tell me so I can…drive you there.”

You sigh, back slumping on his leather seat as you look back at the window. “Illinois.”

The car slows with the way Steve’s foot weakens, eyes taking a double look on you. “Illinois? What- what are you gonna do in Illinois? See Murray?”

“No,” you say. “I was-...I was going to see my new apartment.” you look at him, seeing the way his hands tighten around the wheel. “It’s a couple miles farther from Murray’s, I think.”

It’s like his ribcage shrinks and squeezes his lungs, an ache that spreads throughout his chest as Steve’s mouth parts, head turning between the rode and you. He fixes his composure, the cat killed by his bothering curiosity as he says, “Apartment? You’re gonna move to Illinois?”

You shake your head. “Not forever. Just…indefinitely. Like, like a vacation. Or something.”

“Why?”

“Why?” you repeat. “We’ve nearly gotten killed, like, four times. Do you not think about, I don’t know, taking a vacation to rest? Leaving Hawkins after you got your ass handed to you for god knows how many times?”

Steve lets his shoulders rise into a shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I can’t just leave them, you know. The kids,” his hand motions behind him. “Especially now that Max’s in the hospital and Eddie’s healing. It’s not like Robin’s the most reliable babysitter- don’t tell her I said that,” he turns to look at you. “And, with Jonathan back, the kids are gonna need you, too.”

“They don’t need me,” you squirm a little in your seat. “They have you. And Robin, who can do well with babysitting. And they’re not kids anymore, Steve. They don’t need babysitters. There are no more monsters slipping out of gates, or people randomly dying. I can- take a vacation if I want to.”

“Yeah, indefinitely,” he scoffs. “You’re just gonna leave everything behind?”

“I’m not!” you almost yell. “And besides, I’m always gonna call. Everybody's got phone’s now. So what if I don’t come back? They’re gonna be fine without me, Steve,” you think it’s the truth, with the way you said those words. Because they had each other: Max had Lucas. Eddie had Dustin, Will had Mike, and Steve had Robin. You? You’re just this random crayon drawn onto a piece of paper that disparities its colors. You didn’t have your own contrast, your own someone. Not after what happened with Steve.

“Why,” you continue, licking your lips. “Why do you care, anyway?”

You look at him, see the way everything behind him moves in a fast blur; trees fragmented by the raindrops coating his window. His nose wrinkles into a quick sniff, his eyes trained across the wet road. “You’re leaving—”

“—indefinitely—”

“—yeah and still, I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” his voice softens into a whisper, his cheeks turning pink at his confession, maybe also because you’re staring at him. “I mean, you’re moving to Illinois for god knows how long. What if you decide that you’ll stay there forever? How will the kids reach you when they need your help? What about Robin, or- or Nancy?”

Nancy’s name makes you wince.

His reason veils what he truly wants to say, even though what he said was a genuine concern of his. Steve gives you occasional glances, sees the way your eyes get clouded as you lose yourself in a thought, hears the way the song switches to the new released song Never Tear Us Apart.

You can’t read his mind, but you’ve got his tones and body language memorized like the entire map of hawkins. But maybe you’re wrong, because his tone is new and confounding — misleading in his words. You know he’s using the kids to mask up what he wants to say. And you, with your overthinking mind that has been giving you suffocating trepidations and agonizing maybes and what-ifs, your mind bears on a fact you refuse to believe but makes you scoff out loud in disbelief, anyway.

And despite its dubiety, you say it out loud anyway. “Yeah, Harrington. Go act like you care, why don’t you?”

In that snarky tone that puts a rock on your heart, Steve glowers slightly. “I always care about you, (y/n).”

“Well, you sure did a lot to let me know,” you roll your eyes, sinking into your corner. “Sure. Go flirt with Nancy Wheeler in front of me. Maybe in front of Jonathan, too! That totally shows how much you care, Steve.”

“Jesus Christ,” he runs a hand down his face, the pattering of the rain getting louder the farther you go out of Hawkins. “What’s this got to do with Nancy?”

“Really? You’re gonna act like you didn’t just almost tell Nancy you were still in love with her two weeks after we broke up?” Steve furrows his eyebrows at you. “Do you know how anxious and hurt I was to see you act like that around her? Thinking about how what if Steve was in love with Nancy the entire time he was my boyfriend? What if he just used me to get over her so that’s why he didn’t care that I dumped him? Didn’t even fight or ask why, like- like we were nothing. And now you’re telling me that you care? Did it even occur to you that maybe you’re the reason why I’m moving to Illinois because seeing you just hurts?”

There’s nothing but the turbulent radio and the loud rain hitting the roof of his car that fills the thick silence. Your chest heaves, now unburdened with the weight of your premonition. And his mind registers your words slowly — Because no, it hadn’t occurred to him that he’s the reason you’re moving; it hadn’t occurred to him that you had a sense of doubt tribulating you even as you prepared to kill Vecna back then. ‘Cause he’d been too worried to think about how to make it up to you, all while he tries to rekindle his friendship with Nancy. To the point you’d mistaken it as flirting with his yearning stares and lingering gazes.

“You really…felt that?” his voice is small, like he’d been yelled at by his own mother for his stupidity. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to not look at him, afraid of breaking down when you do.

“Yeah,” you rub your nose with the side of your finger. “I mean, I guess it’s a sensible reason, right? Seeing as I didn’t exactly have the truth to confirm my thoughts; we got together a week after you and Nancy broke up. I don’t think a week’s enough to move on, yet we went on a date. And, I don’t know, I guess maybe I thought you’d only gotten with me because I was there, and we were both healing, and we both kinda needed some anchor. Except I really did like you and, it’s- It’s not like you told me you loved me, anyway.” you laugh sadly. “So what’s the point? Why would I stay here if I didn't have my own anchor anymore? I could just…float.”

It’s not like you told me you loved me, anyway.

There’s a rip on his heart when you wipe a tear away, pushing your hair behind your ears. Steve feels a lump on his throat, getting heavier and threatening as you continue.

“I cried a lot. When I broke up with you. Maybe because I saw the way you didn’t care. You didn’t even ask why. You just…said ‘okay.’ With your hands in your pockets, watching me leave your house. And- and then Vecna happened and I didn’t have time to grieve until- until you told Nancy about this dream of yours that I thought was really fucking stupid. And I said, well Steve Harrington totally is a douchebag because what are you doing telling your ex-girlfriend about your future like you want her to be there?”

A hand leaves the steering wheel as he scratches his head. Steve is an idiot. A man who’s shit at communication, a man who acted like he didn’t care when he broke your heart, a man who shamelessly gave Nancy stares that he used to give you when they were together. A man who’s nothing short of obliviousness to what you feel, who thinks that you were okay this entire time when really, you’d just been digging yourself a hole to hide yourself into. A hole that’s three hours away.

And despite his naivety, he’s appalled that he ever made you feel like he only liked you because you were there. Someone who’d been near and available to him. Steve wonders what else could you have felt that hurt you, that made you move to Illinois after what he did.

Steve slows down much to your dismay, just a few minutes after he passed the Hawkins sign. He parks beside the empty road, the ones passing by filled with boxes and eager families that don't seem to care about the both of you as he pulls on his gear and faces you with a hand to the back of your headrest.

And he sees you: the way you’re silently hurting while relishing in the relief of a confession. When you take a quiet inhale when you realize he’s leaned closer, your eyes widening the slightest because this was the third time he’d unabashedly leaned closer to you.

“Well, I am an idiot,” he finally spoke. “Because I never told you that I loved you,”

Your heart pounds, loud and hard, almost painful with it. contact against your chest. And you eye him suspiciously, staring deep into those umber eyes of his, searching for any kind of fathomless reason for him to use this opportunity for a sadistic joke just to hurt you. But alas, you knew Steve. He was never the type of man to hurt a woman’s feelings over an insensitive joke, let alone hurt a woman with cruel words other than ignorance (speaking from experience).

But still, you’re left befuddled. Why now, out of all the opportunities, has he decided to tell you he loves you? Is he using this to make up for all the pain he’s caused you? Or because he thinks you at least deserve to know that he does love you, just not in love, and now he’s got the opportunity to say it to you.

And why, out of all times, do you feel bile rise up to your throat?

“Steve…”

“Babe,” he reaches over. But you squirm away from his touch that makes his face fall, eyebrows raised into a small melancholy hill of pain when you flinch by the faintest touch of his hand. “(y/n), come on,”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,”

Steve pales. “Fuck,” he looks behind him, hand rummaging over the random shit on the floor before he looks back at you in panic. “I don’t have bags—”

“Fucking hell,” you unlatch the door, hurling it aside until your feet hit the wet asphalt and rain starts to pour on you. Steve stares at you in disbelief.

“Where are you going?” he yells, but he follows right after you slam the door shut, tracing your footsteps as you walk away from his car and hunch over the side. “It’s raining! Just, puke in the trunk or something!”

You shake your head, gasping as you place your hands on your knees, heaving. Steve walks over to you, raindrops falling on the tips of his eyelashes that make him blink rapidly. “Stay there, Harrington. Come any closer and I’m hurling at your shoes,”

His hands raise, scrutinizing you out of worry. You compose yourself, straightening your back and running your hand through your hair that’s been dampened by the heavy rainfall. And Steve — Steve looks so desperate, even more now that the rain has fallen upon him and makes him look like a sad puppy. With his eyes twinkling and his hair fallen into a thick mop that he slicks back, lips parted to breathe.

“You’re not sick, aren't you?” he says softly in the thunderous impact of rains on road.

You shake your head, finding the courage to walk over to him and pull on the shirt that sticks to your chest. The rain on your wound hurts, but it doesn't matter anymore.

“Let me rephrase my words then,” Steve readjusts himself, finally letting his whole body turn to face you. “I love you, and I’ve been in love with you since you told me that I deserved being called bullshit by Nancy. I love you because you’re the second person to give me that bump in the head right after she did and that made me realize that you were it for me. I love you because you put me right on track. You actually told me that I was an asshole and if you hadn't, maybe I’d still be that asshole till this day,

“The thing about my future? The six, stupid little nuggets that I told Nancy?” He takes your chin into his hand, rubbing the skin below your lips. “I always saw you in there. It was never her. I thought it was her until you hit me in my goddamn head. It’s always been you, (y/n),” Steve murmurs. “All it took was three bumps to the head for me to realize all that. And — and I’m sorry if I acted like I didn't care when you dumped me. But I’ve always cared.”

“Then why didn't you?” your bottom lip wobbles. “Why didn't you care when I broke up with you?”

“I was pretending,” Steve reaches over to push the hair sticking from your face, rubbing your eyelids with his wet thumbs so you’d see clearer. “I just- I was an idiot, okay? When you broke up with me, I thought it was for the best because both of us were just processing things. I had work and you had to go back to school and we’d drifted apart after Starcourt. I wasn't there for you. And you deserve someone who’s going to be by your side everyday. Not someone who… can barely finish a fight they started.”

Steve Harrington, a man whose language was dipshit and the surnames of his kids, astounds you with his lengthy confession. Steve Harrington, who thinks cheesy rom coms are full of unrealistic scenarios and shitty plot lines, tells you he’s in love with you with the rain pouring down on your trembling bodies, like a scene from a movie he hates. Steve Harrington, the man you swore to forget and to never look back to when you leave this town, has his face in your hands and his lips pulled to yours.

His mouth’s hot, familiar and welcoming like it always was. Like a missing puzzle piece found beneath the couch, his lips locking with yours in a kiss so tender and balmy it puts the cold rain to shame as it warms you. Steve puts his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him, drowning out the sounds of passing cars that honk at the both of you and the thunder that claps in the grey sky.

You pry your lips apart, wet with the rain and the slick of his pink mouth. And you push the thick strand of hair from his face, Steve slowly opening his eyes to stare deeply into yours.

“You don't have to say it back,” he mutters. “Not now. Only when you want to.”

“I can't believe I kissed you,”

He smiles a little. “Me neither.”

“That was kind of stupid,”

“... I liked it.” He takes your hands off his face, running his thumbs along the little scars scattered all over. “Let me make it up to you, please?”

He kisses you again. And again. And again; making up for all those sleepless nights he hadn't kissed you and curled to his side instead. Making up for all those times he made you feel like he didn't care; making up for all those times he wasn't there when you wanted him to. A kiss, although almost futile to rid of the pain he’s caused you, brings you to cloud nine and makes you putty in his large hands.

Steve walks backwards, taking you with him until he blindly hits the backdoor of his car, a hand leaving you to grasp its handle.

“Steve—”

“Let me—” his eyebrows furrow, words muffled with the touch of your puffy lips, “—make it up to you. Come on, babe.”

You nod against him, your own hand finding his to pull on the door handle. Steve dips his body and falls onto the leather seat, taking you with him that you land on top, your chest smushing against his, your clothings dripping to the carpet and onto the leather of his car.

“We’re gonna get your seats wet—”

“I don't care,” he sits up, making you straddle his lap as he reaches behind you to close the door. “Can just wipe it off after.”

“But what about our clothes?”

Despite this, you pull on his shirt. Steve discards it swiftly, a rip faintly heard before dropping it onto the floor with a wet thump. “You’re really concerned about that right now?”

Scars from the bites. Brazen and threatening, bumpy when your fingers traced its uneven and cruel mark left on his skin. At nights, Steve would stare at them. Think of how hideous they were, thought about how they'd ruin him forever. But with your admiring, soft touch, he feels as if its a reminder that he'd survived because of you. Because of your persistence despite the pain he's caused you; you look at it as if it's that perfect flaw in every painting, uncanny, grotesque, but beautiful.

You place your hand on his chest, feeling the hair damp against your palm as you break away from him. Steve grasps your waist, bunches the wet material of your shirt in his hand as he looks at you with the dusk of arousal blooming his pupils. Eyes wide in anticipation and lips puffy for more, he slides his hands beneath your shirt to warm the coldness of your flesh.

“You sure about this?” he finally whispers. You push his hair behind his ear, giving him a chaste peck.

“We’re here now, aren't we?” you tell him. Steve smiles, bright like the lightning that hits the road. He kisses you again, his hands grasping at your shirt from beneath until he rips it apart. The tear makes you gasp, agape as you watch him throw it aside. “I bought that from The Gap, you know? It was kind of expensive.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he starts kissing your neck, nipping and sucking the rain off your skin. And when he sucks harder, there’s a light prick that stings your neck, only to be soothed by his warm tongue that he lathers over, his teeth grazing your flesh but never biting.

Steve’s hand comes up to toy with the clasp of your bra, hands positioned to push but he never does. Not when you’re holding his face against your neck like he’s feeding off you, stuffing your nose in his hair and inhaling his rich cologne drowned out with the smell of rain.

“Jus’ take it off,” you kiss his temple.

“Alright,”

He does, untroubled as he easily unclasps its tiny hooks and lets it fall to your sides. Steve’s hand cups around your shoulders, hooking his fingers on the lace strap and pulls it down your arms as his lips stay planted on your neck, watching as they fall off flawlessly and onto your lap.

Leaving one last kiss to your neck, he moves down to wrap his lips around the skin of your bare breasts, throwing your bra to the passenger seat. You gasp, head throwing back with your hands grasping at his hair.

“Fuck, Steve,” you whimper, moving your hips on his thick crotch with the guidance of his hand, the other massaging a tit into his mouth as he suckles at your buds, looking up at you adoringly.

“Baby I want you to,” he kisses you again, slowly laying down but his hands keep you in place. Steve looks up at you with heavy eyelids, grasping at your tits as you grind down onto him. “Want you to sit on my face.”

Your grinding slows, hands palming at his chest. “Really?”

“Yeah— fuck, honey. Just want you to. Please,” Steve pulls on the waistband of your jeans, unbuttoning them. “C’mon baby.”

“Okay,” you raise your hips, a foot coming down to the carpet to remove your jeans, head bumping slightly onto the roof of his car. Your back hunches awkwardly, embarrassed that Steve’s seeing you struggling but he doesn't care, not when his tongue darts out between his lips in anticipation as you bring your panties with your jeans.

Steve pulls you immediately to him, until your knees are on either side of his head and his hands hard and heavy on your thighs to keep you levitating above him. He’s kissing stars on your thighs, knows with the way your hips jut impatiently that you want more other than sorry, coaxing kisses. With your hand on the backseat and one on his hair, he leans up to take a whiff of your leaking arousal, groaning when he smells the sweet honey.

“Christ, (y/n),” he kneads your ass. “Don't be shy. Just sit.”

And you do, carefully lowering yourself onto his mouth opens and his tongue darts out to lap at your dripping hole. You moan loudly, looking down to see him dig his nose on your clit and his hair all disheveled from your pulling. “Oh, Steve,”

He hums against you, dragging his tongue on your folds until his lips wrap around your clit. You grind on his face, small pants and whimpers leaving your mouth when he groans. “You taste amazing. Like fucking— fucking amazing. Sweet little pussy stayed the same.”

A finger prods on your wet entrance, tracing your small hole until it slips in, incessant until his pointer’s buried knuckle deep. And when he pulls out with a slick gush, he puts in two without warning, stretching your hole open with two of his thick limbs, scissoring them as he laps up at your swollen clit.

“That’s it,” he growls, sucking harder on your bud with a little head shake as his fingers begin scissoring at a pace so tantalizingly slow it drives you insane. “Ride my face, baby. Use me.”

He finds himself falling a bit more harder when he looks up to see your face scrunched in all your heavenly glory as you lose yourself in that rainstorm of rapture with your eyebrows joint and your jaw slacked to emit its euphonious moaning. Finds himself submitting more than he expected as he digs himself deeper into you, your own taste marking him more than he’d marked you when your slick coats half of his face.

Your hand finds itself using his stomach as leverage, leaning back to give Steve a better perspective. And the other remains on his hair, tugging deeper when he removes his fingers and continues using his tongue instead, taking your hand off his hair to lace it with yours.

“Shit,” you puff, hand tightening around his. Steve opens his eyes, the tip of his nose glistening as he flicks his tongue up and down between your folds. He uses his other hand to spread your petals with his fingers shaped into a v, prodding his tongue in your tight hole until it’s fully fucking you. “Ngh—ah, oh god, your tongue feels so good,”

A taste of forbidden fruit, has him drunk and fucking his tongue deeper to venture more of your sweet walls. You squeeze around his thick muscle, mewling louder that you worry you’re heard amongst the continuous roaring thunder. Steve groans against you, his own stomach clenching beneath your hand, tongue exploring everything that’s wet, flicking it against every spongy spot. He’d suck at your swollen nub, lap at your hole like some faucet, knead your ass to urge you harder on his tongue.

“I’m close,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “I wanna cum, Stevie.”

“Then cum,” he untucks his tongue from inside you, licking up from your hole to your clit. “Cum for me, baby. Come on.”

And when the thick substance of your sweet cum smears his tongue, he swallows and he swallows like it's the last water in this world. And he’s greedy for more, pushing his tongue in until he’s milked you and dried the cum off your walls, lapping up at the juices of your sticky cunt until you pull yourself away from him.

You hover on his lap as Steve slowly sits up, chasing your lips as if your pussy wasn't enough; but you let him kiss you, nonetheless. The taste of him and your cum evading your mouth as you sit on his lap, soft wet clicking made by your lips every time your mouths closed on one another. Your hands find the button of his tight jeans, toying with it.

“I want you,” he whispers. “Please, baby. You can have me now. Make up for all those times I haven't been there.”

Steve lifts himself to untuck his jeans, stopping only below his knees so you’d rest your cunt right on his thick, hard cock that slaps against his stomach. You run your palm through your wet heat, using it to jerk him off that makes his forehead fall against yours from its sensitivity.

“I have you now, right?” you position his tip at your entrance.

“You’ll have me always,” and when he looks at you devotedly, like the moment wasn’t so unsanctified, you find yourself kissing him again. Like you’d found a place with someone to escape like a flower in the dark, blooming in the twilight just by your palliating touch. That hesitant love you’d felt blossoming from the broken ground and grows in the uncut grass, just enough for him to pick up and cherish.

You sink down to him, hole gaping for him to slip inside your tight walls. Steve moans against your lips, hands tight above your ass as you go down on him.

“Slow down, hon,” you shake your head. You hate being told what to do, deciding to just drop down onto him until your ass slaps against his heavy balls full of cum. “Jesus Christ—”

“So big, Steve,” you slur, head falling to his shoulder. “Cock feels so good…”

“Yeah, baby?” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “This cock’s made just for you. Use it babe, come on.”

And you do, slowly grinding on to him, his thick cock stretching you more, his hands guiding you and urging you to a pace you wish to move on.

You don't know how long you’d been riding him. Alternating between teasing grinds and greedy bounces that has your walls squeezing around him. And god, Steve finds himself submitting more to you, despite the amount of marks he’d left on your neck and chest that muffles the loud moans threatening to leave his throat.

Steve wraps his mouth around your nipple, his cock disappearing from your cunt, the wet squelching turning him more to the edge whenever you’d slam down onto his balls. You moan in his ear, soft and small, almost innocent. But it’s not innocent at all — not with him balls deep, or his mouth on your tit, or the wet sounds created. Steve looks at the reflection from the window, a mischievous glint in his eyes when he urges you faster.

Everything felt familiar. Everything felt the same; everything felt like he never stopped loving you. Not with those gentle, lascivious touches. Not with the way he kisses you. You find yourself back in his arms just a year ago, being comforted in this heaven of his that keeps you from what hurts you, right before he'd pushed you off the clouds (and before he'd caught you himself).

“I missed this,” he huffs. “A lot. Touched myself to the thought of this. Then I’d feel so guilty. But now I don't have to,” you push on his shoulder, bumping your nose with his. “I missed you. And this tight little pussy. And your sweet, dirty sounds — ah. Fuck. Missed the way your cunt would just squeeze around me. Always using my cock hm?”

“Shut up,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouth parting. “I’m close again, Steve. God, you’re such an asshole,”

He chuckles. “What did I do?”

“You and your— your words. Fuck!” you squeal, clutching hard on his shoulders. “Are you close?”

“I’ve been close since you sat on my face. Think I even came in my pants while I was doing it,” he chuckles. “God, I’m gonna cum.”

You both do. Without warning but simultaneous. When both your seeds would mix when you kept on pushing his cum deep into you with every slow bounce you’d make. Steve exhales into your sweaty skin, both your hairs dried but slick with sweat.

When he looks at you again, like a star he’s found in the polluted sky of Hawkins, like a miracle fallen onto the palm of his hand, your heart flutters and builds itself again right in his touch. And it’s filthy, the way your cums would slip down to his thighs and onto the cushions of his car, but his touch’s clean and innocent in its intentions. A promise of never letting go; a promise of always being there to love you and being enough.

—

“I’m still going,”

The storm's gone. Left with nothing but the light rain that taps gently on his windows. The smell of Steve comforts you, despite the sticky smell of sex and sweat stings your nose from the leather you lay on.

He wraps the blanket he found beneath the seats around the both of you, your head on his chest and your hands linked together. Your squirming doesn't bother his concerns, but your sudden declaration does and Steve lifts his head to look at you.

Your eyebrows raise, legs tangled with his and your chin on the bush on his chest. “I’ve got a lovely apartment. A job that I found. I’m gonna work at the record store,” you trace the slope of his nose, sculpted by the hands of gods who’d given him all this sweet handsomeness. “And… It's got a lovely view, too. I need this, Steve.”

His hand runs through your hair, twirling your drying strands in his fingers. “I won't stop you. But I don't want to watch you leave again,”

“Then come with me,” you whisper. “It has a huge bedroom. And a kitchen, Steve. A pretty kitchen and a huge living room. A TV for when the kids would come and visit.” he chuckles at your pout. “Only when you want to.”

Unhesitating and prepared, he nods. “Alright. I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he kisses you. “I’d follow you anywhere. Robin has Vickie now, anyway. I can— I can work at a coffee shop. Wear a cute little apron and drink coffee.” he smiles softly, deep lines decorating his tan skin. "And I'll be there when you get home. Smother you with love."

“Wouldn't be opposed to that," you smile at him.

At this hour of the night, only the cityscape and the distant stars reflecting from the airglow served as the nighttime beacon that supplied his eyes with faint lighting. Each step brought him an eerie feeling of what he was about to witness while standing five steps away from the entrance to the master bedroom. The silence was dreadful and the absence of light limited his senses from immediately picking up the scene before him—a very ribald scene that made his knuckles turn white, bringing a wave of acid to well up in his stomach. The entire room was pitch black, and Gojou could only use his sense of hearing as he stood on the corner, allowing a few minutes for his vision sensitivity to adapt to the dimness of this room.

Voices. He couldn’t fully see, but he could hear the shameless voices coming from his wife and her extramarital lover doing an unforgivable sin on the same bed he slept on.

“Toji…”

Satoru’s mouth formed into an unpleasant twist and anger etched its way into every crease. He was sick to his stomach and even more repulsed as he stepped further inside the dimmed room, unnoticed by the adulterers who continued exchanging their titillating moans while succumbing to the sensuous pleasures of the night. Satoru wasn’t a heavy believer of God except for the expressions that came along with His name. He never believed that there was a supreme omnipotent being in heaven who was judging every living human based on their good and evil deeds. He wasn’t exactly an atheist, a nonbeliever, but he worshiped no one, not until tonight when his own wife was committing a sin that deserved the most cruel punishment known to mankind. He imagined what things would be like if he ‘did’ strongly believe in God, wondering if this blatant sexual affair would be enough to send you to hell. However, had it been the case, he knew that he would be joining you there, too.

So, in that sense, was this some sort of retribution?

“Aah, Toji. Fuck me m-more!” Your moans hinted that you were at the height of your sensual gratification as the skin slapping noises got louder and louder every second. You were basking on your euphoria, oblivious to your husband who stood like a statue on the side while staring at you in catatonic stupor.

Gojou could fucking see it all now. His eyes zoomed in on every detail to magnify the nauseating deed that you were doing with another man. But as he tried to step forward to stop the act, he realized that his limbs and his legs had gone static. The soles of his feet were well wedged on the carpet, leaving him with no choice but to be forced into watching his own wife be fucked into filth by another man. It wasn’t the humiliation that paralyzed him, it was the fact that there was no shadow of guilt behind your erotic expressions, your lustful moans, or your insatiable carnal desires, this… this wicked lechery… No!

“Y/N, stop this!” Satoru yelled, a thread of warning laced in his voice. He was sick to his stomach. His muscles stiffened at the sight and tears brimmed his eyes while he was subjected to be a spectator to this crudity. “Y/N! I said stop!”

His screams had gone on deaf ears as you allowed Toji to hold your buttocks closer to his crotch, stretching your folds and slamming his hardened cock inside your sopping cunt to no end. You were intoxicated from the pleasure of having the man go in and out of you as if he had been doing it many times before. How many times had you been doing this behind his back? “Ah, shit…” the man let out a guttural moan, increasing the pace of his jostling to chase his climax. “Like having my cock inside your pussy, yeah?”

“Y-Yes,” you giggled through your moans and arched your back into a C to meet Toji’s scarred lips with yours. You stuck your tongue out and rolled it around his in the most lascivious manner, making Gojou feel all the more disgusted. “I wanna keep doing this with you.”

Your extramarital lover sucked your wet muscle before pulling away to smirk. “Better than with Satoru?”

You let the man squeeze your tender mounds from behind—his index finger moving in circles to play with your nipples. “Mmm, y-yes. He’s not even interesting to look at,” your hurtful statement came out in a hushed voice and your legs were already shaking from the hard thrusts that the raven-haired man was doing to destroy your cunt. “You’re the only one I want, Toji. He doesn’t have me.”

Satoru was horrified, revolted, and painfully in disbelief to see this atrocity with his own eyes. And yet, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t reach an arm to push the man off. He couldn’t lift a foot to take another step closer. The more he watched, the more it tormented his mind and he was already at the zenith of losing his sanity knowing that you were willingly doing this in front of him. Why? Why were you doing this? Bile was rising from his throat as a surge of unanswerable questions flooded his disoriented mind. “Y/N, don’t fucking do this. Please… please. This is sickening. Stop it.” He closed his eyes, unable to watch more. He was better off deaf and blind than to be sandbagged on this marble floor with no other choice but to witness his wife becoming an impenitent cheater. “Don’t do this. Stop this! STOP!”

Stop. This had to stop. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t do what, Satoru?”

And only at the sound of his name did he open his eyes again, confused at how the scene completely changed. His breathing became ragged. A swirling motion turned his phantasm into a kaleidoscope of images. Was his vision playing with him? There was no Toji in sight. There were no discarded clothes on the floor. You weren’t naked nor was your body mapped with hickeys. But despite the changes in the scene, there was none in the sarcasm on your face. So, he asked you with tearful eyes, “What did you do?!”

His wife. How could his wife do this to him? How could you betray him like this?

“You saw it, didn’t you?” you taunted, standing before your lawfully wedded spouse with a face full of indifference. “You’re such a burden expecting me to look after you like I’m your fucking caregiver. You’re sick in the head like the rest of your family. You can all go to hell—”

The next thing you knew, he was already lunging towards you.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Satoru’s voice was wild with hysteria and his eyes carried a murderous blaze, but neither the spasm of anger in his face nor the fist that clenched your hair prevented you from looking up at him contemptuously. “Was it fun? Was it fucking fun for you, huh?! Did he fuck you so good you let him cum inside you?” He released your hair only to cup your jaw tighter—veins bulging from his unforgiving hand. “Do you enjoy being fucked like a whore? Tell me!”

His body was shaking with rage, and yet yours was vibrating with despicable laughter as if you became unhinged from his rapidly growing ire. “Yes, I loved every second of it.”

The rise and fall of his chest was a tidal wave that triggered his mind to do the most despicable things to you. You hardly managed to break away from his grip when he pushed you against the wall—his roughness almost giving you a concussion, but for Satoru who was reaching his crescendo of anger, inflicting pain on you was only satisfactory to him. “Take it back or I’ll fucking ruin you,” he uttered those words as a warning and used his hand to strangle your neck, blocking your airway and asphyxiating you with his fatal grip.

“You already did.” And yet, you spat out those words with venom in your voice. “You can’t ruin m-me anymore. I’d r-rather give Toji that p-privilege.”

Seething, he hissed at your face and violently slammed his fist against the wall. “Y/N!” And another slam. And another. “I’m gonna kill you both! You can’t do this to me! Why are you doing this to me?!”

“What?” You grinned in deep breath, snaking your hands on your husband’s chest. The movements of your fingers were followed by the act of lifting the hem of his shirt, but you stopped as soon as you saw how the fire in his eyes also sparked the rage in heart. Instead of being in fear, it excited you. “Does it hurt? Does it hurt to know that he’s been raw-dogging me every night while you were in that hospital? You’re pathetic.”

His brain was in such a befuddled state that he had to pull his hair to try and rip the protective skin covering his skull. He couldn’t understand why you changed so much. What the hell was happening with you? He was on the verge of submitting himself to lunacy as your words continued to drive him into madness. “You’re not my wife.” No, he refused the thought and shook his head desperately. “You’re not her. You’re a demon! You’re a—”

“Accept it, Satoru.” You cupped his cheek and leaned in to trail soft kisses on his clenched jaws, soon pulling your head back to release a wicked giggle. “You should have killed yourself when you had the chance.”

He wanted to wipe that sardonic smile on your face, and the only way he was able to do so was when he raised a hand and forcibly swung it across your cheek. Not just once nor twice, but more than what you could take until blood was bursting out of your lower lip. Until you were crying in pain. Until you were screaming for him to stop. Until your face was covered in bruises. Until you were—

“S-Satoru!”

“...Satoru.”

“...Satoru, wake up.”

Horror flashed before his cerulean eyes as his eyelids shot wide open. His whole body flinched when he regained his consciousness back, chilling his bones to that of splintering ice because it felt as though he was transported back into reality after having suffered a mentally destructive dream. It’s a dream! Gojou allowed it to sink into him before he looked back at your worried eyes, realizing that you were sitting at the edge of the bed and caressing his cheek out of concern.

“Are you okay?” you asked in a gentle voice, “It looked like you were having a nightmare again.”

Yes, a violent nightmare where he just slapped, choked, and beat the hell out of you. Satoru refused to meet your eyes and gripped his head as vivid images of that nightmare flooded his mind once more. The scene of you having sex with Toji was driving him crazy in the worst context. How you moaned his name, how you allowed him to touch you in your most sensitive areas, how you insulted your own husband to appease your lover’s ego—Gojou had to swallow the pain in his heart and remind himself that it was just a dream. It wasn’t real. It was a dream. It wasn’t real. Chanting those two might help ease his mind, but it didn’t. It only worsened now that he remembered the physical pain he punished you with.

No matter how vexed he was, he knew he wouldn’t dare lay a finger on you and he found it sickening that his subconscious even created those atrocious images.

“Hey, seriously. Is everything okay?” The trouble in your voice only grew more as you raked your fingers through his white hair. “Does your head hurt? I’ll get your medicine.”

“I’m fine, I...” He ended up swallowing his anxiety back in. “Can you leave me alone?”

Confusion bathed your clueless mien. “But you don’t look fine,” you insisted, brushing your palm on the side of his cheek, “Let me check if your stitches opened up.”

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, unreasonably at that. He knew he was being irrationally mad, but his mind was vulnerable and you being all up in his face was making it worse. And in addition to that, he suddenly recalled Toji’s real text to you last night. So, even if the disturbing events during his slumber were a nightmare, bits of it were still true. “You don’t need to take care of me if it burdens you. Go look after yourself. Leave.”

You couldn’t tell what thoughts were bubbling inside Gojou’s head, but he had been shunning you away for a reason you didn’t know of. He would tell you that things were okay and that he was just not in the best mood, yet you would catch his eyebrows furrowing whenever he was spacing out alone by himself. Clearly, that was a good sign that things were definitely not okay and you were determined to know the root of his erratic behavior. Satoru, as you had mentioned a gazillion times already, was susceptible to depression because the way his brain processed things were now far different than how he used to. For starters, him having a nightmare was something to be concerned about since the doctor told you that it was a symptom of his previously acquired PTSD and his cortisol levels had to be lowered with the help of many natural and medicinal remedies.

But how could you help him get better when he was pushing you away the same way he did back when he still hated you?

As much as you would love to sit down and talk, Gojou had to regulate his stress levels and so did you. Many things had already been stressing you out lately—most of which could have easily killed you if you had not undergone angioplasty. There was never any assurance that your angina wouldn’t come back since it never truly went away, hence, you had to be very careful or else all of your symptoms could easily return. The problem was, how in the world could you avoid the weight of your crises? You had to deal with three ticking time bombs at once and they could all explode without prior notice. By then, could you even survive? Who would be the casualties?

Time bomb # 1. The alleged pregnancy.

The key word was alleged because it was Toji who brought it up when you mentioned that you had been feeling really nauseous these past few days. Not even a Calonal could ease your headaches and morning sickness, which was why it was logical for your fiancé to assume that your safe-sex practice wasn’t as safe as you thought. With a condom and a birth control pill? The possibility was close to zero — a mere decimal percentages away; therefore, a sly sperm could have bypassed all your contraceptives and the next thing you knew, Sachiro might have a new half-sibling. That wasn’t the case, though. You loved Toji and you hoped to spend a fruitful life with him as your husband, but it had been an unspoken decision for the both of you to not create a child at this point in time. You didn’t need another baby while Gojou was still a baggage of yours and Toji certainly wasn’t ready to become a newborn’s father when he was still far too busy handling a business empire. It was a mutual decision decided by two mature individuals who knew how the real world worked.

How to diffuse the time bomb: take a pregnancy test.

And negative was the result. That day, you had to sneak into the bathroom to take a test, waiting for only one line to show up as you leaned against the marble vanity in worried silence. The sigh of relief that flew out of you was akin to the alleviation in your voice when you called Toji to tell the news. He accepted it so casually and concluded that the main reason for your nausea and migraine was simply stress, meaning that the time bomb was no more.

Time bomb # 2. Your busy schedule vs Satoru’s mother.

This one was very explosive, but in a different sense. This bomb was the type to be in-your-face rather than silently ticking on its own. You weren’t sure how many times you would have to explain to your ex-mother-in-law that you weren’t really neglecting your husband, but rather, simply prioritizing what you had to do at the moment. Unfortunately, she took your words differently and suggested that it was ridiculous how you were classifying your own priorities, claiming that your own image must be more important than your family. Frankly, you were just too tired. Exhausted. This conversation was getting repetitive as though she was merely using it as an excuse to be angry at you. Was it still reasonable? You considered that maybe you could ask her to limit her visit to the penthouse, but that could pose a deeper problem because she would only find another reason to direct her misguided bitterness at you. It was a dead end situation.

How to diffuse the time bomb: let her know that you were going out for Sachiro’s birthday.

There, since your baby boy was turning three years old, you would take a day off from your hectic schedule to celebrate the special day with your son and your pseudo husband. Disneyland was your venue and everything had been planned, thus, would leave Satoru’s mother on a checkmate with no options left for her next move. She couldn’t tell you that work was still your priority when you willingly scraped off even a thirty-minute meeting just so the full day would be spent with your family. At least, in the meantime, she wouldn’t have nothing more to say and than to simply leave the penthouse without further comments to support her Anti-Y/N agenda.

Time bomb # 3. Satoru Gojou.

The carrier of the most beautiful pair of diamond blue eyes and snow white hair that made him otherwise known as the Jack Frost of Japan. Maybe that western personification was even more fitting to say since he was acting really ‘cold’ around you. It felt like a winter breeze whenever you received his icy stares as you knew that those lingering gazes bore so many possible grudges behind them. Was he angry about something? Did he finally remember the reckless decision you made three years ago? You would rather that he say it straight to your face than let you play this guessing game because you barely had enough brain cells to even go through the day. If you ever said something hurtful to him or if it was because you brushed him off during the shower, then you would easily apologize, but how could you even know what you did wrong when he was choosing to keep his distance? And when he said that you didn’t need to take care of him because it ‘burdened’ you, where did that come from? Perhaps his mom planted the idea in his head. Perhaps Suguru did. You didn’t want to point fingers because a mirror would be pointed back at you.

How to diffuse the time bomb: communication.

And it failed. Your plan of talking to him didn’t work and now time has run out. You would soon be blown into smithereens, detonating like a nuclear explosion as you find yourself stuck on how to deal with an amnesiac husband who relied on antidepressants to calm his erratic mind.

You still tried, though. For Sachiro’s sake, and for your peace of mind. “Please don’t take your mask off, okay? We’re gonna try and avoid people from recognizing us.”

Gojou allowed you to fix the disposable white face mask by looping the elastic band around his right ear. “I could’ve had Miwa rent the whole place for us,” he mumbled under his breath, rocking Sachiro on his lap while the three of you sat at the back of a Range Rover en route to the happiest place on Earth.

“But it’d ruin the Disneyland experience,” you replied, now sealing your ex-husband’s messy white hair under a black cap before you looked down and pinched your son’s cheek, “Is my baby excited?”

Sachiro’s eyes turned into moon crescents, temporarily removing the baby bottle from his mouth. “Yes, mama.”

“How old are you, my baby?”

“Three!”

You beamed and gave him an Eskimo kiss. “You’re growing up so fast.”

That domestic moment was soon cut short. “What did we do for his first and second birthday?” Satoru’s question was merely out of curiosity, but his eyes looked distant as he pressed his chin above the toddler’s head. “I don’t remember a lot of things.”

The truth: because he wasn’t there. The lie: “Well, we celebrated the first one in the US. The second one, we threw a Sesame Street themed party.” That wasn’t technically a lie, but you did exclude the fact that he wouldn’t be able to remember them because Sachiro’s first two years were celebrated without him.

Fortunately, he didn’t ask further, but you did note that it was his personal choice not to send an avalanche of questions your way because of the very simple fact that he didn’t want to talk to you. Remember the same man who engulfed you in antagonistic silence on your first night as newlyweds? This was him. This was how he was presenting himself right now. But for the most part, your child became the ceasefire to your cold war. Gojou just continued to snuggle with his son on his lap, ostracizing your presence until a text notification on your phone suddenly forced his attention back to you. “Who’s texting you?” he asked straight away, also in a tone that sounded incredulous.

You offered him an honest answer. “It’s Shoko. She said she’s already in the park waiting for us. I invited her.”

“You did? But I invited Suguru, too.” Satoru sighed and threw his head back, knowing full well that Getou and Ieiri were currently not on good terms right now. “Whatever. They can resolve their issues today.”

So should we, you wanted to say, but held yourself back until you finally arrived at the destination. Sachiro was the main priority and you would never do anything to ruin this special day for your son because his happiness was the most important for you above all. What kind of parents would you be to fight on his birthday? It would have made sense if you even knew what the fight was going to be. Unfortunately, not another word was spoken when the three of you walked to the entrance, donning each of your own face masks so that you could blend in amongst the crowd. It didn’t take long until you saw Ieiri waving from a distance, rushing off to you the same way Getou was patting his best friend’s back after coming in from the opposite side. The moment the engaged couple saw each other, it turned out to be more awkward than you expected, but Shoko quickly put her feelings aside by squatting down at Sachiro’s level.

“Happy birthday, Sachi!” she lovingly greeted your toddler, putting Mickey Mouse ears on his head after giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Did you open Auntie’s gift this morning?”

Your little boy shyly nodded and you squeezed his hand to remind him of what to say when people gave him gifts. “Thank you, Auntie!”

“How about Uncle?” Suguru stepped closer, ruffling your son’s head and encouraging him to place a kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday, buddy.”

In that short moment between Shoko, Suguru, and Sachiro, neither three of them noticed how the parents of the birthday boy were exchanging the briefest of glances. There was hesitance in his eyes when he looked at you, possibly theorizing in what way he could act amicably while obviously feeling disturbed by many things that you unknowingly did. You had to swallow your pride and pull his hand, leading him closer to you by the time Sachiro looked back and jumped excitedly. “Okay, Sachi. We’ll go in.”

“Wait, you guys need to take a picture first,” suggested Ieiri, who brought her film camera along with her, “It’s gonna be your first family photo.”

She froze just as you did when she realized that she slipped, leading Satoru to look at her in curiosity. You were quick to save the day by clearing your throat, “First family photo for this year since daddy was in the hospital for a long time.”

Suguru’s moue was evidently because of his distaste with your lies, but the oblivious Gojou accepted the excuse and carried Sachiro in his arms. “Okay, let’s take a new one, then.”

You had to admit that even if you were just playing house with him, your heart was felicitous at the fact that you were spending time like an actual family. No divorce, no lies, no toxicity—just pure domestic bliss with Satoru as a husband and you as his wife. The result of the brief love you once shared was now in his arms, clinging on to his shoulder as the two of you stood at the perfect spot with the Disneyland castle serving as your backdrop. He held you by the waist and carried your son, letting you lean in closer until Ieiri finally snapped a photo to capture this moment forever. Her eyes looked glossy so to speak, and you knew that it was because seeing you and Gojou brought her memories of the last time she had seen you next to him like this. Her mind must have drifted back to that sunset in the yacht, three years ago when you started to wear your rings again. Although those same rings were now both in your fingers, the marital connection that you and Satoru had at the present was just a charade that might soon end into chaos one day.

For now, you let it be the ‘calm before the storm’.

And what better way to spend that peace than to be in a children’s paradise? It wasn’t your first time in Tokyo Disneyland and you roughly remembered going there twice as a kid and a teenager, but going back as a 28 year-old woman made you see many new attractions that weren’t there back in your youth. The first ride where Sachiro dragged you into was on the whimsical array of spinning cups and saucers called the Alice’s Tea Party. There were no height restrictions and a maximum of four people could ride one cup, so you ended up keeping the little boy between his mother and his aunt as the dizzying ride started rotating.

“Just sit still, Sachi,” you told your son, watching how he giggled at the fun ride.

Next to him was Ieiri who chuckled at how adorably excited your kid was. “He’s so cute. I wanna bite his cheeks.”

During that ride, you could see Satoru snapping photos on his phone outside like a proud dad while casually chatting with Suguru. The reason why you didn’t allow him to get on this spinning ride was because it wasn’t good for his brain, especially since all the swirling could give him intense headaches. “Dada!” Sachiro, however, waved at him in a jovial mood. “Dadaaa!”

Since you finally had this privacy with Ieiri, you took the chance to ask, “Are you and Suguru still…?”

“Together?” She glanced at him, unaware that he had already been looking at her all this time. “Yeah. It’s just, he still thinks it’s unfair that I kept things from both him and Satoru. He’s mad, but not too mad anymore.”

You nodded as the cup continued revolving like a pinwheel. “It’s all my fault. I hope you don’t cancel your wedding because of this.”

“Stop saying that.” Ieiri smiled at you in reassurance. “I put some thought into it and the reason I’m kinda hesitant is mostly because I know what you went through when you got married and I’m scared that I might end up hurt like you did.”

“In that sense, do you—,” you lowered your voice so your distracted son wouldn’t hear, “—think he’ll be unfaithful to you?”

She seemed to have considered the thought. “You know he’s been sleeping around before we got together.”

“Well, he never looked at any other girl when he started seeing you,” you tried to reason out, “I’m not saying this for the sake of getting you two back together, but I genuinely do believe that Suguru loves you. He wants to spend his whole life with you because he truly sees you as his other half. If he said something hurtful to you, it’s simply because he’s disappointed to know that you didn’t trust him enough, especially when the lie that you kept from him for my sake was what nearly placed his best friend on the brink of death.” As you reached for her hand, she squeezed it in return. “Your marriage will not be the same as ours, trust me. You’re writing your own romance book and it’s up to you two to make it work. Don’t let mine or Satoru’s experience be a reason for you to hold back. It’s not going to end that way as long as you know how to communicate with each other.”

Ieiri’s eyes moved towards Getou for a fleeting second, soon sighing when she pulled you for an embrace. “Surprisingly, I do miss him a lot lately.” She chuckled softly and kissed your temple. “And I’m grateful for you. I’m sorry that Suguru is such a dick to you and yet you’re here defending him. Your soul is so pure that… that it hurts me sometimes… because I know you’re letting people step on you out of your sense of guilt. It makes me wonder if it’s masochism at this point.”

“It’s not really just guilt.” A small, but sad smile formed on your lips—your chest grew so tight it became harder to breathe. “I just feel the need to understand other people’s perspectives. I grew up in a loving household where selflessness was always shown and I saw how my mom treated everyone with kindness until the day she died. I guess I carried some of her traits with me.”

While the ride finally ended, the both of you carried on with your conversation while she began to unhook the safety straps around her waist. “It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah, well…” You picked Sachiro up and stepped out of the cup. “Look where that one selfish choice led me to.”

Side-by-side, she placed her head on your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. “You had a reason. Don’t beat yourself up.”

The next attraction you went to was to Peter Pan’s Flight because Sachiro insisted that he wanted to go to Neverland. It was an enclosed ride in a dark setting, illuminated by neon lights and decorated with character figures in every corner that all moved as you rode the flying pirate ship. You thought that it would be just a fun little ride until you saw the boarding restrictions that stated 1) guests who cannot maintain a stable sitting position alone in a moving vehicle may not ride and 2) you may not hold your child on your lap. Good luck, because as soon as you were ushering Sachiro inside the pirate ship, he started screaming in fear when one of the character figures moved.

“Shh. Baby, don’t cry. It’s okay,” you tried your best to calm him down, but he was bursting into tears really badly, “It’s okay. Didn’t you say you wanted to see Peter Pan? Mommy will ride with you, don’t worry.”

His sobs only became louder. “M-Mama, S-Sachi’s scared—”

You felt a hand on your shoulder, realizing that Gojou ran up to you with eyes full of worry as he looked at his son. “What’s wrong? Why’s he crying?” And because he was a six-foot tall man with beautiful blue eyes, he stole the attention of all the people on queue while you were trying to soothe your blubbering toddler.

“I think he’s scared because it’s dark and the statues are moving,” you explained to your husband, now feeling uncomfortable from the sudden attention he had drawn.

It seemed that Gojou easily read the discomfort in your stance when he took the initiative to pacify your little boy. “Sachi, daddy’s here.” He easily lifted his son in his arms and kissed his cheek. “It’s alright, we’ll go somewhere else. Don’t be scared.” He then took your hand, pulling you out of the area just as he gave the ride facilitator an apologetic smile behind his mask. “Sorry about that.”

Your only hope was that none of them recognized you since the place was dark and you had your mask on. You did hear murmurs from some of them who made comments about how you two were “such a good looking couple” despite having masks to conceal your identities as the infamous CEO of the Gojou Group and heiress of the Creston Financial Group. In your dilemma, you simply avoided their eyes and walked towards the exit because this was the first time you and Satoru had been in public three years after you had separated and it would strike rumors if these people figured out who you were. Thankfully, they all seemed oblivious. And by the time the light greeted your eyes again, Satoru already released your hand as he reunited with Suguru and Shoko to explain why the birthday boy’s eyes were all red and puffy, telling them that Sachiro started throwing a tantrum, which was why he had to carry him out as he muttered that there must be other rides that were a lot more toddler-friendly.

“Aww, he’s scared of the moving statues?” Suguru teased your son and subsequently, your husband. “Wonder where he got that from.”

Gojou’s eyes were playful, but defensive. “Not me!”

“Not me, too,” you chimed in and wiped Sachiro’s eyes, “My poor baby.”

Shoko took out a lollipop from her bag and offered it to your son. “Here you go, Sachi. Don’t cry now.”

“How are you gonna protect mommy when you grow up and you’re easily scared?” Satoru rubbed the tip of his nose on his mini-me’s cheek, unaware of the aftereffects of his words to your fluttering heart. It might be such a fleeting moment, but the domesticity of it has put things into perspective for you. You had gotten used to being a single mother and for three years, you dealt with Sachiro’s outbursts on your own, and yet here you had a husband who helped you soothe that same child. You had a husband who eased the responsibility on your shoulders. You had a husband who, in spite of abandoning him, loved and cherished you.

At least, for now.

“Where do we go next?” You forced a smile and looked at him.

His gaze was reluctant. “I guess we'll try more rides and then watch the parade.”

The parade he was referring to was the one that takes its guests into the “world of dreams” as per the brochure. But before Sachiro could see Mickey Mouse and his Disney Friends, the day was still packed and loaded with many different activities to indulge in. It was surprising enough that the hyperactive toddler hasn’t lost his energy after riding the Western River Railroad, Pooh’s Hunny Hunt, Buzz Lightyear’s Astro Blazers, and now the Castle Carousel. As the sun was setting, Satoru insisted that he would be the one to accompany his little boy in that carousel because the ride was harmless and he wouldn’t really be putting his ‘sensitive brain’ at risk over a simple merry-go-round. It did take you some time to agree, considering that your husband was also a responsibility to you instead of your child’s guardian, but you eventually gave him a free pass to get on the ride with Sachiro so they could bond together.

Besides, Satoru was having fun seeing how his son was enjoying himself. The little boy was even flapping his arms as his father held him securely from the back while riding a horse in this merry-go-round. “Say hi to mommy,” Gojou encouraged, keeping his child safe between his tall figure and the pole, “Look over there.”

“Mama!” Sachiro giddily waved his hand as soon as he spotted his mother, and the excitement in his eyes made Satoru ponder about a sick, twisted thought roused by his recent nightmares. His back stiffened and his hand unknowingly balled into a fist while you remained clueless as you grinned from below the platform when they passed you. Each roundabout was enough for Gojou to get lost in his bottle of unhealthy emotions, anticipating the spillage of words to flow out of his mouth.

“Sachi?”

The little boy quickly responded at the mention of his name, looking up at his father with curious baby blue eyes. “Dada.”

Satoru displayed a sad smile and kissed his son’s forehead. “How do you feel about living without Mama? Just you and me?”

To ask a child such a question, Gojou must be sick in the head. Not just literally, but figuratively speaking, because he knew that it was wrong. He was completely agreeing to his subconscious brain who told him that it wasn’t right to take his son away from his mother, but that speck of curiosity won over the good moral values that were holding him back. He wanted to hear it from Sachiro himself if he could ever consider life without his mother, and as expected, the child declined. “B-But I wanna be with Mama.”

“What if mommy can’t be with Sachiro anymore?” he further asked, brushing the white strands away from the little boy’s eyes, “What if mommy has another family? Another baby? What if she doesn’t love us anymore?”

When Sachiro’s lips started to quiver, Satoru woke up from his senses and realized how much of a prick he was for saying those and he became even more profoundly guilty when the toddler was about to burst out crying. “M-Mama s-said she won’t leave S-Sachi!”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to do this. He didn’t mean to hurt his child, and now he was paying the repercussions of having to hurt the same. His child’s tears stung his heart so bad that he started to panic internally. “I’m sorry,” he said in urgency, “I’m sorry, Dada didn’t mean it. Your mommy loves you. She won’t leave.”

Of course, Gojou expected the questioning gaze that you would send his way after the carousel ride. While you didn’t really hear what he said to your son, you were immediately defensive when you carried the boy in your arms. “Why did he cry?” was your first question, “What’d you say to him?” was your follow-up, “Did you scold him?” was your conclusion.

Either to lie or tell the truth—Satoru ended up taking the wrong path in order not to blow things out of proportion. “No, it was just…” he trailed off, glancing at Sachiro who was now far too distracted from the parade’s introductory music that was booming from a distance. “We should go.”

He wasn’t really off the hook somehow because he could recognize the distrust in your eyes before you walked away, holding Sachiro closer as you tried to find the best spot to watch the parade. Satoru would have followed closely behind until he decided to halt from his footsteps, watching how you and Ieiri settled on the spot across from him. The parade had already begun and he couldn’t exactly run athwart the road, so he stayed in his place and simply kept an eye on you.

“Everything alright?” Suguru patted his back as he joined his best friend’s company. He soon gestured his chin forwards as if to point at you. “You two fighting or what?”

Ironically, Gojou’s heart melted at how you and Sachiro were smiling together, waving towards the caravan that carried all the famous princesses in the Disney world. Yes, he was angry at you because of that text message. Yes, he was angry at you for the obvious adultery that you were committing behind his back. Yes, he was so fucking angry at you for acting like you weren’t doing this as a revenge. But you see, whenever Satoru looked at your gentle smile and the softness that masked your beautiful face, he realized that he was still a husband who was deeply, irrevocably in love with you. That with every betrayal you could think of doing, he was still the husband who was paying the sins that he himself once made.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Suguru,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly because of the loud, euphonious sounds coming from the parade, “I love her. I love her so much and I’m a mess.”

Getou couldn’t understand what his best friend actually meant by it, but suggested another idea that Satoru could hopefully consider. “Many things happened before the accident, you know? And you can’t remember most of them.”

He swallowed and furrowed his brows, touching the conjunction where his neck met his shoulder. “Like what? Tell me everything.”

“I’m not in the position to say it to you,” said his long-haired pal, “Even if I do say it, you’d probably have a hard time believing because you’re so… you’re so into her right now.”

‘Right now’? Gojou picked up the terms that Suguru was using, but couldn’t understand the root of them. He just couldn’t formulate a reasonable conclusion out of this mess, so he chose to form his own by asking a candid question. “How long has it been going around?” he asked with gritted teeth, “She’s cheating on me, right? She’s sleeping with Toji Zen’in?”

On the contrary, Getou’s narrow eyes became wide. “I-Is that what she said?”

“No, I caught her.” Satoru shook his head insistently and grabbed his best friend’s shoulder. “Just tell me, Suguru. Did you know about it, too? She was sleeping around while I was in the hospital. Did you know that? Was that the reason I got into a car crash?”

Based on the other man’s countenance, he must have realized that the contortions on Satoru’s visage was an indication that he was reaching a dangerous level of stress. That became Suguru’s driving point to not disclose any more information that could potentially be damaging to his mind and instead, sugarcoated things by redirecting the topic. “You’ll understand once you remember, Satoru.”

Remember? When? Until when would he have to suffer from this stupid memory loss for people to acknowledge the turmoil in his brain? Gojou was already filled with heartbreak when he looked back at you—his visions blurring as images suddenly flashed before his eyes.

Of him waiting outside the ER. Of Gen yelling at him to go away. Of your father saying that he wasn’t needed anymore.

And just before reality pulled him back, he could feel a sharp stab of pain in his chest. He was looking at you from across the road with everything in slow motion, everything was blurred in the background, every noise was replaced with silence—all except for you and his son smiling so happily and so free. He couldn’t understand if that scene with Gen and your father was a phantasm or a memory, but one thing he was certain about was that there was an inexplicable ache deep within him. What was the reason behind Gen’s antagonism? Why did she push him away with such hostility? What happened to you that caused you to be hospitalized?

His own brain couldn’t even answer him.

Unfortunately, that night, Gojou headed off to dreamland again and it was completely unrelated to the flashback that briefly entered his mind back at the parade. Perhaps he was just really filled with anger because of your affair. Perhaps he was just suffering from the same pain that you went through back when he was the cheater in your marriage. Satoru should have known that he was yet again bound to have another round of disturbing images that would continue to mess with his fragile mind. He couldn’t consider this one a nightmare, but neither was it a dream. It was more so a sensual desire formed by his subconscious that didn’t really make any sense until he was submitting to the REM stage of his slumber.

“Ngh! S-Satoru,” your breathless moans only forced him to shove his cock deeper inside, holding your hips close as you lay above the dinner table, “I-I want you.”

Despite being so deliciously naked before him, he was harsh when he spread your legs open and rammed his aching member inside your cunt. He penetrated your tight walls until your pussy had become swollen and moistened by his precum, withdrawing his cock all the way from the tip and sliding all seven inches back in. “I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” he hissed, clenching his jaws before he forcefully jolted his hips forward. He was far too deep that his balls were slapping against your plump folds, emitting a loud cry from you when you entered into a euphoric state. “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you pass out. ‘S that how you like it?”

Your breasts were bouncing wildly with how he continued his hard thrusts—stimulated when your husband kneaded your mound and sucked the nipple in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around your bud and soon suckled your tit with fervor, leaving a circular bruise around your flesh to mark you as his and only his. “A-Aah! S-Satoru, y-yes!”

“Open your mouth,” he ordered in a raspy voice, rocking his hips back and forth while forcing two of his fingers down your throat, “You fucking slut.”

That was what you were. A slut. A whore. An adulterer who deserved none of his sympathy. He didn’t have any pity left to give you even when your eyes were brimming with tears, choking because of the intrusion on your tonsil. “G-Gojou, p-please.”

As he did take out his fingers, he replaced the action by spitting into your mouth. “You feel dirty, huh?”

Upon waking up, Satoru was disgusted.

Satoru was horrified.

Satoru Gojou was heartbroken.

Not to say that this was his first time feeling it, but having gone through the same type of pain over and over did not make the pain any less.

Instead of feeling aroused by a supposed wet dream, he was sick to his stomach, chest rising and falling when he opened his eyes to see you like an angel in a deep sleep and completely unaware of the haywire in your husband’s brain. He was beginning to find it difficult to differentiate what was a memory and what was a mere nightmare as either forms were still driving him insane. He didn’t know what to feel, didn’t know what to make out of this odd situation. Was he supposed to feel guilty? Angry? Regretful? Sexually frustrated? For fuck’s sake. One thing for sure, however, was that sleeping next to you was no longer as comforting as it felt three years ago.

And in saying that, the best way to calm his mind was to get out of bed at 4 AM, making his way outside to sleep on the couch like you were supposed to do on the very first night of your wedding.

Today was a special day and you had been anticipating it ever since you dreamed of becoming a fashion designer. It was never really part of your plan to be a designer considering that you were supposed to help Gen on running CFG, but because Toji actively supported and encouraged you to chase your dreams, you eventually learned to have the confidence to embrace the career path that you had always wanted to take.

Who knew that the girl who made simple fashion sketches in her spare time was now about to launch her own brand into the public? To say that you were proud was understatement. It just felt surreal to you that your blood, sweat, and tears would finally be rewarded by seeing Hearte fly on its own wings. That Utahime, your employees, and colleagues would finally be free from the imprisonment brought about by weeks of stress. Whether the launch would become huge or not, this was something to celebrate about.

You would surely save your tears of joy for later, but for now you had a packed schedule ahead. Gojou was still acting odd around you, although you didn’t really have the time to deal with your ex-husband on this specific day because your career required more attention than anything else. You were admittedly relieved that he chose not to address any issue that he was having while you had other things to worry about and it was the most considerate Satoru had been since the trip to Disneyland. The atmosphere between you two was definitely tense, probably even awkward at most, but at least you weren’t being treated with rancor as you had initially thought. Gojou didn’t bother to ask what schedule you had for the day and told you that he would look after Sachiro, reassuring that the maids would be there to help around.

Maybe, you and Satoru were really way past the toxic husband and wife stage.

“I’ll see you later?” you said, rushing to wear your favorite set of heels. “I might come home late, though.”

He stayed sitting on the stool, placing his coffee mug on the island. “What time does your meeting end?”

For a moment, you debated whether or not you should tell him that it wasn’t actually just a regular work day, but an official brand launch and an afterparty to celebrate. He wasn’t invited because his presence would be very controversial and it could become a very risky PR for your launch, especially since you were still hot on paparazzi pursuit. It could also put Satoru in a really dangerous situation since the influx of paparazzi could be emotionally and psychologically stressful for him to deal with. You hoped that he could understand. You hoped that he wouldn’t be hurt that you couldn’t offer an invitation, but until then, you decided not to tell him. “I don’t know really,” you eventually answered, “Stay at home and take some rest, okay? If anything happens, you can call my assistant. If there’s an emergency, I’ll be right with you as soon as I can.”

“...Okay. See you.”

To begin your day, the whole morning was spent doing last minute preparations. You met up with some of the runway models that would be walking for your show and also double-checked for any possible wardrobe malfunctions that could occur. It was an unparalleled experience to know that your vision was becoming true to life and Utahime was even teasing you about how obvious it was in your eyes that you were truly joyful. The both of you worked together throughout that afternoon and partnered with the marketing team to ensure a successful launch, wishing for nothing but good things to come. From New York to Tokyo, you could only hope that the fruits of your labor would be generously rewarded.

“I can’t believe it,” said Utahime as you two sat in front of a vanity mirror to get your hair and make-ups done professionally, “The moment we’ve been waiting for, it’s here.”

You reached for her hand and held it tightly. “I know! I feel like I’m gonna cry. I’m so nervous for some reason.”

She soothingly rubbed her thumb across the skin on your hand. “Don’t be. Everything will go as planned,” she assured, tilting her head slightly to add, “Does Satoru know about the launch?”

“He will, eventually. He doesn’t really go on social media anymore, but he might hear it somehow.”

“Well, he’s gonna be proud, I’m sure. He seems like a very supportive man.”

You sighed and stared at your airbrushed face in the mirror, feeling empowered from how your make-up artist beautifully crafted her art into your face. You imagined the scenario if you and Satoru never divorced; would you still be sitting in this chair preparing for the launch of your own clothing line? Or would you have been a housewife who only did sketches in her free time? It was a good perspective to look at considering that Gojou had once ordered the reconstruction of one of the rooms in the penthouse and turned it into your own working space. He would certainly be supportive had you chosen to pursue your career after giving birth, the only problem was that your postpartum depression could have been so much worse if you stayed with him.

You had to remind yourself that Satoru Gojou was just your past and there was no point in pondering about the what-ifs in your marriage. Your present was Toji Zen’in, who ironically showed up in the dressing room just in time when you got into your long-sleeved mini-dress with a draped bottom held by a carabiner, and further accentuated by an adjustable neck strap. To your surprise, he was donning a classic tailored Zegna suit which only achingly reminded you of your ex-husband even more. You could remember all the events you and Satoru had coordinated your outfits as a married couple, and thinking about his usual taste for Zegna suits made you think fondly of those memories. You two had always been a pair and it was quite sentimental for you that you were now about to attend a public event alone—a solid proof of your divorced, single mother status.

“Toji, you made it!” On the other hand, you greeted your new companion in life immediately, pulling him into an embrace after receiving the bouquet of pristine cream roses that he was holding. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

He leaned in to peck your lips and placed a hand on the curve of your hip. “You look gorgeous. Are you excited?”

You fixed his tie and cupped his cheek. “Excited and nervous.”

Truth be told, despite the amount of encouragement that left Toji’s lips, it was still nerve racking for you to make your debut as a local fashion designer. Utahime was with you throughout the whole process and she was a firsthand witness to how you were becoming more and more restless backstage as each model started walking on the runway. The theme of your debut collection was to show that Hearte was “crafting a signature aesthetic that comprises classic yet conceptual, ready-to-wear pieces that thrives on elegance, simplicity, and modern minimalism” as described on the website. At the time of the catwalk, the website had also been launched online and those who were anticipating to see your collection could finally place their orders. You still haven’t heard from your brand’s eCommerce manager nor from your social media team, so you had no idea about the reception that you were receiving on the web. However, being on the center stage was a different scene.

When the models finally lined up to do their last catwalk, that was when you made your first stride on the vertical platform as Y/N L/N, the Designer and Creative Director of Hearte. It was for the first time where you felt that you weren’t being seen as the heiress of Creston or the ex-wife of Satoru Gojou or the current fiancé of Toji Zen’in. No, you were finally making a name for yourself and you showed gratitude by blowing a kiss to the audience and making a bow to acknowledge the applause. There was your dad, Gen and Ian, Toji and the Zen’in kids, and even Mitsuko Watanabe who was the editor-in-chief of Vogue Japan and essentially one of the most influential people in the industry. You weren’t an established designer yet, but you also managed to invite a few celebrities and social media personalities who all expressed admiration for your craft. They described just how elegant the pieces were and how much they were looking forward to wearing the ones they particularly liked. It was a high class social event that required extensive energy and you somehow enjoyed the whole experience. Although Toji couldn’t exactly be pictured next to you in light of recent controversies, you were still grateful for the smile of encouragement that he was sending your way as you socialized with the key people in the fashion industry.

Apart from that, you received such amazing news from your eCommerce manager that five of your pieces had sold out within half an hour. She also told you that the website crashed because of the traffic coming from all the people who were dying to get their hands on your most popular designs.

But to balance out the good, there must always come the bad. Everything was going well until you encountered one of the reporters who was quick to point out the flaws in your collection which, apparently, was trending on the Twittersphere and not in a good way.

“What can you say about the backlash that you’re receiving?” the reporter asked, “You’re currently trending on Twitter because people are unhappy with the prices!”

You forced a professional smile even though you still had no knowledge of the full context of the public’s concern. “Well, there’s always room for improvement considering that it just recently launched. This brand is very flexible and we strive to make sure that the pieces are inclusive to everyone and that these designs are intended not just to follow the latest trends, but also to make people feel empowered. I’m also very much open to visual deconstruction if it helps my detail and craftsmanship as a novice in the industry.”

While you did carry yourself well out there, it still didn’t change the fact that your team was reading through the criticism that Hearte was receiving online, mostly because of you.

“What’s going on?” You headed straight to your social media manager after the event. “What’s the whole Twitter thing that the reporter is talking about? I thought the website was successful?”

She gave you a sympathetic smile and gestured towards Nobara who was handing your phone to you. “It is but, take a look for yourself.”

I genuinely loved the collection, but the fact that she’s put them up for such high prices is beyond me! So disappointing as I actually looked forward to it.

What in the Shein? You can literally get these pieces for half the price. Scam!

When nepotism can’t even save your brand LOL You’re trying too hard. Find another career!

Her clothing line seems to be marketed for the rich. Elitism at its finest. They’re not even good. So basic.

Aside from the endless criticism that you have read as you scrolled through, someone was also trying to get everyone to boycott your brand for misleading advertising. According to them, you had been setting up anticipation for the brand for the past month, claiming that it would be accessible to all when in fact, only those who were more financially stable could afford it.

“Don’t mind them, Miss Y/N.” Nobara tried to console you. “Hearte is still successful. You worked so hard for it and—”

“It’s f-fine.” Unfortunately, you couldn’t hide the weakness in your voice as much as you wanted. Even if you swallowed the lump in your throat, there was no chance you could mask the glossiness of your eyes. No matter what you did, no matter how much you worked hard for something, it seemed that you were always going to be seen as Public Enemy #1. To be called names, to be referred to as a scammer, a fraud, a wannabe, an elitist—it hurt you that people could not sit down and simply appreciate the hard work and the effort that you had placed into creating and conceptualizing these pieces. “I-I understand they’re pretty upset with the price, but there’s no way else we could lower the cost of production. I pay my employees fairly and my pieces aren’t made of cheap fabric. I-It’s just a bit unfair that th-they’re… judging right away.”

Both Nobara and your social media manager tried to rub your back, comforting you with words that were meant to uplift your mood. “We know,” said the older lady, “Y/N, you did such an amazing job and everyone in Hearte loves you. You’re talented and your creative visions are outstanding. Don’t let this ruin your night.”

You couldn’t explain that even if they were right, you still felt hurt at the fact that you must have disappointed your team. They spent sleepless nights to ensure that everything was going according to your plans and concepts, only to be met by the judgment of the general public whose prejudice must have rooted from other reasons. Would things have been better if you listened to Utahime and delayed the launch? Would things not hurt you as much if you weren’t too ambitious?

‘When you expect disappointment, you won’t be disappointed.’ It was one of the movie quotes that stuck with you for a while now and you realized just how fitting it was to your current situation, seeing as you could have shielded your heart from this ache and saved your face from humiliation if only you had set reasonable boundaries since the beginning.

Could this be your karma for the things you did to Satoru?

You were despaired and humiliated when you walked out of the event place to get some fresh air, at least to hide from the obvious concerned looks that you were receiving from your employees, co-workers, and even your families. Despite Gen’s attempt at calling your name, you didn’t look back when you headed towards the car park, leaning against your white Corvette as you looked up at the night sky. You already had a sensitive heart to begin with and to deal with disappointment, stress, and humiliation all at once was leading you up the summit of this never-ending suffering. It seemed like there was no escape to your woes and the world was simply against you.

“Y/N.” You knew that the deep, manly voice coming from behind you was from none other than the man who convinced you to chase your dream of becoming a designer. His next move was to place hand on your shoulder, pulling you in for a comforting hug to ease your anxiety from growing. “About what those people are saying, screw them. Don’t think about them. They have nothing else to do with their lives so they’re trying to ruin yours, okay? Just forget what they’re saying,” he said each word carefully before pulling away to cup your cheeks, “There are so many more people who are supportive of you, and I don’t mean just me or your family, but many others who genuinely do know and understand you as a person.”

You pressed your lips together and prevented yourself from succumbing into tears. “It’s easy to say that I should focus on the good and to forget the bad, but I’m a freaking person, too,” you replied, voice becoming murmurous, “Like I’m standing here, smiling at people, trying to do my best to fulfill my dreams. I’ve always been fair to everyone and I’d never do anything hateful to anyone. Ever. I-I don’t understand why—”

“Trust the process.” He brushed the hair out of your face. “You’re just starting and it’ll take some time for you to settle in the industry. It’s tough, I know. But didn’t you say you were prepared? Didn’t you say that you’d be willing to receive criticism so you could learn?”

You touched his wrist and wiped your eyes. “I-I just feel like such a disappointment. They’re just so mean with their words and…”

“You don’t deserve it,” he added, kissing your forehead, “So don’t let it discourage you. Look at the bright side and always find a silver lining to everything. Even though some people will continue to spout nonsense on social media, Hearte is still doing well in numbers. I’m proud of you and I’ll keep saying that if I have to.”

His thumb traced your cheek just as you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning forward to kiss his lips. “I love you, Toji.”

Little did you know, a few meters away from you and your fiancé was another heartbreaker in the form of a white-haired, blue-eyed ex-husband who was shaking with hysterical rage at the sight of you and his business rival. Discarded on the floor was the bouquet of blush peonies that he was previously holding.

“So, this is why my own wife didn’t invite me, huh.”

A FEW HOURS AGO

Gojou had a plan and it was to win your heart.

After spending the whole day contemplating how he should deal with his predicament, he came to a conclusion that he wanted to become a better man. And to become a better man, he had to be a better husband. And to be a better husband, he had to approach his dilemma with a mature mindset. Surely, he trusted that the Satoru Gojou before the accident must have learned his lesson after hurting his wife, so this reconstruction of a new and improved husband shouldn’t be surprising for you to see. He carefully thought this through and figured that the only way to get rid of his sick nightmares was to face one of his biggest fears—you.

In order to overcome his fear, he had to be the one to fix the marriage he ruined. He was the one who did it first, hence, being neglected and being cheated on were part of the aftermath. Perhaps he was even just overthinking it because it was not in your nature to be an adulterer. It wasn’t in your personality to be the kind of person Satoru once was, because you were better than that. You were modest, conservative, sophisticated, and no part of you lacked class. No part of you would have slept with another man behind your husband’s back for the sake of revenge.

Now, call him stupid if you want, but Satoru decided that he would turn a blind eye on all the possibilities that you were indeed having an affair. In his head, the text message was a mistake. Toji must have mistaken you for someone else and had sent an absurd message out of the slip of a finger. In his head, these were the only thoughts that he religiously believed in: you weren’t pregnant, you weren’t having an affair, you weren’t neglecting your husband, you weren’t indulging on intimacy because you simply lacked the energy, and most of all, you weren’t falling out of love him.

You loved him. Satoru was sure you did.

Until he wasn’t.

That evening while ordering the chefs to cook the best dishes they could possibly make, instructing the maids to prepare the dinner table into an intimate setup for your date night—Gojou thought that his little plan would work. He imagined the scenario where you would come home from your meeting, surprised by the candlelit dinner and the peony petals that would greet you as your husband stood in a corner in his favorite Givenchy suit. He imagined that you two would take this opportunity to improve your marital relationship and whisper sweet nothings to each other over your recherché selection of wines. He imagined that he would be laughing over how stupid he was for being suspicious about Toji’s text after you confirmed to him that the message really wasn’t meant for you. He imagined that he would carry you to bed at midnight and make sweet love to you under those silk sheets that were as smooth and fragrant as your skin.

On the other hand, the universe gave him a reality check. His mother called him that night and told him that it was useless to wait because you were busy with your clothing brand’s launch and that you would be getting wasted at an afterparty without him.

Satoru was impulsive and reckless—you, of all people, should know what he was capable of doing at the height of his anger. He couldn’t just sit there in his penthouse waiting pathetically for his wife to come home, no. He rushed out of your home and had his driver take him to the events place where you were having your launch so that he could finally confront the questions that were burdening his head. He wasn’t really going to make a scene. He just wanted to see it for himself why he wasn’t told that you were having such an important milestone in your career when he had been nothing but supportive of you. Did you leave him out because you were worried that being thrown into the social scene might stress him out? That could be it, right? That was more ‘you’, right? There wouldn’t have been any other reason because you loved him and you always wanted the best for him.

Thankfully, he wasn’t underdressed when he arrived at the event to see many people in high fashion pieces being photographed by the paparazzi outside the venue. It looked like the show just finished and now everyone was heading to the afterparty, strangely glancing at Satoru’s way with their scandalized gazes. Was it really that surprising to see him at his wife’s event?

There was a building sense of anxiety in his chest as he walked past the people who recognized his albino hair and tall figure, searching for no one else in that place but you. It took him a while until he even managed to get ahold of Ian whose eyes were just as wide as Gen’s when they saw him. “What are you doing here, Satoru?” He would have laughed at how in sync the couple was with their question, but there was no humor in his sister-in-law’s eyes.

“I’m looking for Y/N,” he said, eyes wandering, “Have you seen my wife?”

Gen’s visage turned dark—her face showing the same cloud of austerity that he had seen in his flashback. “Leave! You shouldn’t be here, you—”

“Gen.” It wasn’t Ian who uttered her name, it was your father who appeared behind Satoru with a standoffish countenance. Although he showed some reservation, he was at least kinder to his son-in-law when he looked up at him in concern. “Satoru, go home.”

“But Dad…” Like a child who had been deprived of a chance to play, Satoru’s confused state earned the sympathy of Ian and your father. “Why is everyone so angry at me? Did you all think I missed my wife’s event? She… She didn’t even tell me and now I’m confused. I wanted to support her.”

Ian was about to usher him out until a familiar woman with raven hair and choppy bangs came to save him from the awkward scene. She was quick to grab his wrist, smiling apologetically to Satoru’s in-laws before proceeding to lead him out of the exit sans the flock of paparazzi’s from the entrance door. “Why did you come?” Utahime only stopped from her tracks when no one else was around and it was obvious how her eyes were filled with panic. “You can’t be seen here!”

It was starting to get frustrating. So much that Satoru could feel himself losing his patience every second. “This is the second time you told me that I can’t be seen near my wife. What the heck is your deal?” he questioned, sharpening his eyes at her, “Just tell me where she is.”

“I can’t.” She clutched his forearm and shook her head urgently. “Satoru, I’m sorry you really have to go. Y/N’s doing fine and I’ll tell her you dropped by, okay?” she tried to convince, “Or better yet, I’ll take you home if you want, but—”

“Utahime,” he warned, mouth curving into a cold smile as he looked at her warm brown eyes. “I like you, so don’t change my opinion about you. Just tell me where my wife is.”

There was something in her gaze that looked like she was cornered, and yet she still refused to give in. What she did was to take his hand and pull him away. “Do you have a driver? I’ll drive you home.”

It was at this point where Gojou had finally lost the last string of patience in his reservoir and had Utahime flinching when he swatted her hand away. “Let me go. I’ll find her myself.”

All these damned people. Satoru couldn’t stop cursing in his head as he stomped across the hall and ignored Iori’s pleas, forcefully grabbing a waiter by the arm to ask where you were. He finally got his answer when the frightened waiter said that you were at the parking lot and Gojou found himself unceremoniously dashing out of the building to seek you. His heart was pounding in his chest, his body became tense, his mind was spinning from the whirlwind of emotion that he was about to have knowing full well that the anxiety he was feeling inside was because he knew that he was about to discover something that would break him in half.

There, under the moonlight and the blanket of stars, was his wife kissing another man with such passion that drained all the blood from Satoru’s face. His body grew unnaturally still as he clutched the bouquet in his hand and watched how his business rival became the recipient of those soft lips and fond gaze and… and…

“I love you, Toji.”

First, Satoru was about to faint. Then, his anger rose up. Then, he wanted to laugh like a deranged man.

“So, this is why my own wife didn’t invite me, huh.” Satoru’s voice was laced with spite as he dropped the stupid bunch of flowers to the ground and clenched his fists.

It was like you were thrown into a horror movie as you turned to your husband with wide, fearful eyes—gaping, unsure whether to breathe or speak. You chose the latter. “S-Satoru, what are you doing—”

“What am I doing here?!” He stepped closer and made you recoil in trepidation. “I’ve heard that question from everyone in this fucking building since I’ve arrived! You turned me into a fucking joke while you’re out here liplocking with this bastard?!”

His chest was moving at a scary rise and fall as he saw red, mouth contorting even more grotesquely when Toji had the audacity to step in and pull you back. “Don’t curse at her, Gojou! It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think…” Satoru scoffed before he slammed his fist squarely on Toji’s jaw. The violence elicited alarmed screams from you and Utahime who both tried to pull Gojou away from the other man as he continuously lunged after him for another attack. At the height of his adrenaline, it was impossible because even Toji himself wasn’t fighting back and Satoru found it insulting how all the man did was wipe the blood on the corner of his lips. “You kissed my wife and you tell me it’s not what I think?!”

Toji was about to retort until you stopped him.

“No, Satoru, please. I’m sorry. P-Please, don’t do this. L-Let’s talk and I’ll explain.” You choked on your own sobs and tried to get in between the two males, but what hurt him worse was the way you protected Toji instead of your own husband. That you chose your lover instead of your spouse. That, in a situation where you could choose between him and Toji, you went ahead and ran to someone else. That your primary concern was to ask if Toji was okay.

Did you even consider if your husband was okay?

“Fuck.” Satoru laughed maniacally and lost all rationality in his brain. He could feel Utahime’s comforting squeeze on his arm, but felt nothing as he stepped back with an agonizing stab in his heart after realizing that his wife had truly fallen in love with someone else. “You really did this to me. Haha! Are you happy now? Is that what you… what you fucking want? Do you wanna just kill me now instead of hurting me like this?” Tears escaped his eyes and he felt pathetic because of it. “Or do you wanna take it the next level and make me watch you fuck him like a whore, too?”

Toji gritted his teeth. “Satoru Gojou!”

“Toji, don’t. P-Please.”

After exchanging sickeningly worried gazes with your lover, you finally approached Satoru and pleaded with trembling lips for him to understand. “Gojou, w-we need to talk. Please c-calm down.”

No, why would he even listen to you at this point?

“Satoru!”

“Satoru, please!”

“Satoru!”

He was walking away without looking back, eyes fixed on the path leading to his car where he met with his driver who was just getting out of the driver’s seat. “Move,” he commanded in a scarily deep voice, pushing the man away so he could get inside the car.

“Chairman, you can’t drive!”

“Gojou, no!” Your screams echoed through the parking lot, but you were too late when you reached his vehicle and banged your fist against the window because he had all the doors locked and there was no chance he would be stepping out. “Don’t! No, get out of the car! Please, Gojou!”

Calling him by his last name—Satoru didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Were you not a Gojou, too? Did you replace him so quickly that you didn’t even acknowledge his last name as yours anymore?

Before you knew it, he was already revving up the engine and speeding off.

With a tight grip on the steering wheel, he saw by looking at the side mirror how you screamed and tried to chase after the car, eventually giving up as your knees failed you. He could understand why you were acting scared, though. It wasn’t because you cared about him, but because you were most likely afraid to carry the guilt if your husband got into a car crash the second time around. What would the news headlines be if he ended up in another accident that actually led to his death? Would you attend his funeral? Would you pretend to grieve and then celebrate with Toji after? Would you be happy that Satoru was finally gone from this world?

How he wished it was that easy to kill himself. There was no way he would even think of committing suicide when every time he closed his eyes, he could see Sachiro’s face. He could see the son he loved with all his heart and he was hurting at the thought of leaving him behind. He had to think straight for his child’s sake. He had to be a father who would not abandon his child like his mother did to him. He had to protect his son from you.

However, when he returned home, Satoru was already in a sick state of mind.

His head was filled with so much rage, chest filled with so much pain, heart filled with so many emotions that could fill up a thousand pages of a book. He needed an outlet to release the heavy weight that was suffocating him and he did it by smashing the first vase he had reached above the console table. And when he saw the dining arrangement that was supposedly prepared for you tonight, Satoru ended up grabbing the bottle of wine and taking a swig of the liquor before explosively kicking the table. The dinnerware, glasses, and dishes all crashed against the floor, scaring the maids who stood at the side while looking visibly afraid of the ‘crazy white-haired man’.

Although, surprisingly, he was a lot calmer than they expected when he leaned his back against the bar counter and ordered for them to leave. “Get out.”

And so they did. They scurried out of the place like a bunch of preys hiding from a dangerous lion who could devour anyone at his current state. Did they even know what it felt like to have Satoru Gojou’s brain right now? Ask him and he would tell you exactly that his head was in tremendous pain and that he was having a flashback of the nightmare where he was beating you to death like how his father did to his mother.

“No, I’m not like you.” He slid against the counter and sat on the floor, tearing up as he chugged the wine bottle. “I’m not like you, Dad! I’m not! Stop! Stop!” The more brutal images flashed in his mind, the more he was screaming and weeping in absolute denial. He was clutching his hair with one hand and banging the back of his head as if it could help remove his hallucinations until you suddenly came running towards him in heavy breaths and lachrymose eyes.

“Satoru! Y-You’re…!” Despite your relief, you were crying all the same as you attempted to approach him. “I got so worried, I-I thought something happened to you. I’m sorry, Satoru. I r-really am, but you need to hear me out.”

He kept his guard up and lifted a hand, eyes pooling with warm tears. “Stay back. Don’t take another step closer. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

It was a warning that you ignored when you still ended up reaching a hand out. “Satoru—”

“I don’t wanna hurt you!”

“But, Satoru—”

“I SAID STAY BACK!” He threw the wine bottle across the room and nearly had you stumbling in terror as he stood up and pulled his hair with shaking hands, the ridges of his neck becoming dangerously pronounced. “Answer me honestly! Since when are you having an affair?”

“I’m not!” you answered right away—your voice shaky and restrained. He didn’t know if he should be offended that you still denied it desperately, seemingly resolute with your response. “I’m not cheating!”

“You shameless wh… Stop fucking lying to my face!” With one step forward and you were taking two steps back. This slow but suspenseful cadence continued as he eventually had you cornered against the wall, hands pressed on either side of your face while your eyes drifted towards the veins in his neck that were standing out in livid ridges. You were drowning from silent tears while he was studying your face with unforgiving judgment. “Does it hurt your pride to say the truth? Just fucking say it. Say it. SAY IT!”

Your breathing became labored. “You don’t know anything! I’m not cheating on you, Satoru! It’s not like that!”

He smiled in frustration and threw his head back before slamming his fist against the wall, soon pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m giving you one last chance to admit the truth,” he carefully warned under his ragged breath, hiding the torturous squeeze in his heart, “Why can’t you just tell me that you did this to get back at me?! The more you lie, the more you’re fucking murdering me inside! You’re so, so shameless sleeping with another man while you have a child at home! It’s because you’re sick of me, right? RIGHT?”

But instead of ceasing the pain in his heart, you still insisted with your blatant skull-splitting lie. “I’m really n-not cheating on you, Satoru! We’re div—”

Gojou had experienced different kinds of heartbreaks. One from his father’s abuse, one from his mother’s abandonment, one from Nana’s death, one from the haunting guilt of hurting you in the past, and a new one which was of a stronger, more impactful, excruciating heartbreak from his three year-old son.

Sachiro was bursting with painful tears as he ran towards his mother, kicking Satoru and pushing him away in an attempt to protect you. “Dada, you’re b-bad!” he blubbered, leaving the father completely stunned, “Don’t hurt Mama!”

“Sachi, hey…” You wiped your eyes and carried the toddler in your arms, stopping him from swinging his small limbs at his dad. “Baby, no. Shhh. It’s okay. Daddy didn’t hurt me. Don’t cry.”

How ironic was it that the only person that managed to drain the intense emotions out of Satoru was his own child?

A child that not only looked like a mirrored copy of him, but also reflected his emotions back from when he had to witness his father being physically violent to his mom.

With this, Satoru took a step back in both realization and in horror. He didn’t want to be a monster. He didn’t want to become like his father. He couldn’t subject his son into the same environment that shaped him into becoming the man that he was now.

“I-I’m sorry,” was all that he could say before he walked out of the door in a daze, hoping to find solace away from you and your son after his heart and soul were shattered that night.

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