-:3-

Peachy keen: heyy, are you free later? At around 8?

[6.13pm]

 Johoe: yea. pick you up?

[6.15pm]

Peachy keen: yes pls. I’ll be at the bar near you. Onyx something. I’ll just ping my location lol

[6.21pm]

 Oh! Plus, don’t worry about condoms I’m on the pill again.

[6.22pm]

 Johoe: you just made my cock twitch.

[6.22pm]

 Peachy keen: dirtyyy haha :p okayy see you then xx

[6.22pm]

-:3-

 You only needed to text him.

 Not even a full sentence, an emoji would do. Matter of fact— he just needed to see the texting bubbles pop on his screen, and he would be calculating the shortest distance between you, filling him with anticipation he couldn’t quite name yet refused to ignore. The fact that he only frequented a total of three places helped in his haste.

 That’s how hard of a grip you had on him.

Regardless of his indifference to most things and seemingly callous attitude, Togame cared deeply about the type of girls he invited into his life. Even if it were for a few months, he couldn’t stand to be bored or feel the sobering clarity of a half-hearted orgasm for even a second.

 He liked girls with quirks, integrity, passions, who challenged him and had full soft lips that helped him pay attention. Not to mention authenticity and a sense of humour that could make even the dullest moments sparkle with laughter. He was drawn to creativity and originality, the kind of uniqueness that revealed a person’s true essence through their actions and interests.

 Just as importantly, he could never turn away from expressive eyes that told a story and wide hips he could sink his fingers into.

 And despite all that he liked, he still kept girls at a distance, never fully allowing them into the depths of his heart or even the familiarity of his daily routine.

 He built walls that were difficult to breach, an armour of emotional detachment that safeguarded his vulnerability. It was a protective measure, a way to maintain control and avoid the sting of betrayal or disappointment.

 Childish? Yes, but even at twenty-six years old he deemed it necessary when it came to relationships only founded on sexual desire.

 You had all the qualities he needed to keep him engaged, then something shifted.

 Your presence was like a gentle wave, ebbing away the barriers he had carefully constructed over the years. Your softness carried a quiet strength that eroded the icy exterior of his defences, revealing a core that craved connection and warmth.

Maybe it was the way you titled your head when you listened, genuinely interested in what he had to say. Or the way your brows scrunched as you peered through his mask, past the slanted smiles and nonchalant sighs, forcing him to confront the parts of himself he had buried beneath layers of careful detachment.

You made him feel seen and understood in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

 And so, despite himself, he let you in, bit by bit, until you occupied spaces in his life he hadn’t even realised were empty.

 Then, soon enough, Togame began to act in a way his friends deemed… odd.

It started out slow. Subtle. One or two changed behaviours that didn’t trigger flight or flare his pride.

 He first saved your number under a cute nickname. Well, you chose the name, and he never erased it. He thought it was sweet. Not alarming.

 Next, he began picking up your calls in front of his friends, an act that would have previously been unthinkable, but their jeering and immature hollers didn’t deter him from speaking calmly or smiling at your cute snorts over the phone.

 It wasn’t the kind of thing that made his pulse race, or his palms sweat, but it was significant, nonetheless. Even when your name slipped into their teasing banter, he found himself unfazed, responding with a quiet confidence that surprised him.

 The shift was slight, yet meaningful, a testament to how deeply you had begun to filter into his life and break down his defences.

 He gave his opinion when you asked for it, providing honest and thoughtful answers in his usual low hums, even remembering you preferred almond shaped nails and soft pink, and that you were promptly in bed at 10:30pm on work-nights— phone on do not disturb, scrolling online.

 Togame didn’t care for social media. He led his life privately and preferred it that way for a long time. Until his thumb hovered the ignore button over your name a little too long… and he added you.

 He found himself scrolling through your posts, silently admiring the candid snapshots of your life, the laughter-filled moments, and the quiet reflections. The way you unapologetically expressed your thoughts, and the way you captured the world around you started to intrigue him more than he had ever anticipated.

 It amazed him how different you seemed online compared to in person. While your presence during conversations was often shy and adorably reserved, your online persona was vibrant and expressive. Your posts conveyed a confidence and creativity that he hadn’t fully witnessed when you spoke. It was this contrast that drew him closer, making him eager to explore the depths of your personality that might have remained hidden in face-to-face interactions.

 It came as a surprise, but he began to look forward to 10:30pm on work nights. You became a presence in his digital world, a beacon of light amidst the vast sea of mundane updates. He started to understand your passions, your quirks, and the little things that made you unique. And in those moments of silent observation, he felt a connection that transcended the physical barriers between you two.

 There was something intimate about knowing what made you laugh late at night, what songs you hummed to yourself, and what books you cozied up with. It was a window into your heart, into your life, and he cherished every glimpse.

 It was not completely insignificant, even he could not claim that it was just on a whim. Still, he didn't want to admit how much these little pieces of you meant to him, or how they had slowly woven themselves into the fabric of his daily life.

 But they were there. Undeniably present, a testament to the subtle yet profound impact you had on him.

 You didn’t often ask for much, (if ever) but when you did, they carried a sincerity that made it impossible to brush aside.

 When you finally voiced your mild frustration about his car, it wasn’t with expectation or demand— just that adorable frown and the briefest complaint as you slid into the passenger seat and your thigh pressed hard against the handbrake. It was the kind of soft honesty that usually wouldn’t punctuate his routine. Afterall, Choji was the one who broke it, and he whined constantly. However, it was your wince that nudged him to see comfort through your eyes.

 That night, he lay awake, thinking about the little things that knit two lives together.

 The next morning, almost without thinking, he found himself reaching for his toolbox.

 Fixing the broken seat adjuster after weeks of ignoring it wasn’t an act of grand romance— just a quiet answer to a quiet request, a gesture that felt more natural with each passing day. He told himself it was simple mechanics, a trivial fix for a trivial problem, but deep down, he wondered when your smallest comments had started to matter so much.

 He could have left it there, chalked it up to convenience, but the memory of your wince— so fleeting, yet so genuine— lingered in his mind. And so, almost before he realised, your comfort became an unspoken priority, a new axis around which his day revolved.

 That was odd.

 But not enough to raise alarms and trigger flight because he had rationalised it by claiming fixing the adjuster meant more positions for the two of you to play in.

Moving the seat back allowed him to spread your legs wider, giving him enough room to slide in between those soft thighs he liked to squeeze. Adjusting the recline provided better angles for when he bent you over the dashboard. Back arched and ass bouncing on his lap.

 He convinced himself it was purely for the practical benefits it gave whenever you were too impatient to allow him to take you home.

Ultimately, making sure you were comfortable meant longer hours spent together too, more time to indulge in each other’s warmth and proximity and slow kisses.

 Simple.

 Although… the seatbelt was hard.

For a while, he wrestled with himself— because truth be told, he’d grown fond of leaning over your body to yank the belt with a rough hand you weren’t able to do yourself. He’d tug it across you, squishing your chest and letting his palm linger on your hip, deliberately taking a few extra seconds to find the buckle before snapping it in place. It had become a little ritual, one that would always earn your giggles and a grateful kiss on his cheek.

Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he was into you. Romantically. Emotionally. Or in any way that gave you any semblance of importance.

 His feelings for you were like a candle flickering by an open window— always there but never burning bright enough to be noticed.

 He did those things… just because.

 It had nothing to do with your playful attitude or your endearing hyper fixation on a random American Broadway musical about dead presidents that you’d play on his speakers— or your cute collection of plushies he began to fund whenever he upset you, or the sound of your bashful squeaks, the squint of your eyes when you smiled wide.

 The sincere care in your touch when his fists were bruised.

The flustered huff you would make when he gave you a compliment that wasn’t breathed on your tits making you look even sweeter than the plea you would make for his cock.

 No. No.

It was about your full thighs and wet cunt.

 It was about the tremor in your voice when he would coerce orgasm after orgasm with just his fingers. Dripping wet and aching for more.

 It was about the heat of his blood and lust you ignited. There was nothing else of significance about you.

 That’s what his pride hounded at him. That you were just a girl he was seeing. Fucking.

 Because the fact that you gave no indication of ever feeling attached to him served in maintaining his indifference towards you.

What gnawed at him the most was the unpredictability of it all. The way you remained ambiguous, vague about everything, a tantalising puzzle he could never quite fully piece together.

 In fact, you never confided in him about work, or your family, or even the friends he would pick you up from. It was aggravating.

 You answered his questions and didn’t hide your life by any means; your moments together were filled with raw intensity, yet the emotional chasm between you both remained vast and unbridgeable.

 He admired you for that, in a sick, distorted sort of way.

 It was a game of emotional chess, and you were a master, keeping him at an arm’s length while feeding his desire with just enough crumbs of intimacy to keep him hooked.

 Truthfully, your presence was intoxicating, a drug that clouded his judgement and stoked the fires of his obsession. He was addicted to the feel of your tight hugs from behind, the stutters that slipped when you got over excited and the words tumbled too fast, the way your body responded to his touch and all the different ways you said his name. His favourite was the huff you made when trying to stifle a laugh.

 But every time you left, every morning he pulled himself away from kissing your sleeping face, the void returned, a stark reminder of the emotional walls you had meticulously constructed.

 He tried to rationalise it, telling himself that it was better this way. That keeping things purely physical would protect his pride, shield his heart from the hurt that inevitably came with attachment. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was already in too deep, and the more Togame tried to convince himself otherwise, the more he yearned for something more.

 So he played along, matching your detached demeanour with his own facade of indifference. It was, pathetically, the only thing he could do to keep himself sane. Only clinging to the illusion of control even as months of longing threatened to unravel him from within.

 He would let a few seconds tick by to squash the stirrings of excitement whenever your call flashed his screen.

 He had to learn how to bite his tongue from asking about who the dark charcoal hoodie— not grey, he stared hard enough to know the difference— on your desk chair belonged to.

 It kept him from scowling whenever your phone chimed incessantly in his presence. Steeling himself against the pangs of limerence, burying the flickers of hope that threatened to break through his carefully crafted exterior.

 And most of all, it silenced him from insisting you stay after a full three-day weekend in his bed because less than seventy-two hours of domesticity had him dazedly imagining a life of you making your ice coffee concoctions in matching cups every morning.

Strategically keeping you at a distance.

  Only fucking.

Exclusively fucking.

And yet, there were moments, fleeting and rare, when your eyes would soften, and he would catch a glimpse of something deeper.

 Like the time you casually mentioned the years you worked as a trainee health practitioner in a hospital during a late-night conversation beneath his covers, your fingers idly tracing the scars on his shoulders, and Togame spent hours researching the career just to understand you better while the lines you touched flared heat long after your departure. Or the evenings when you effortlessly recounted details of your childhood— what you ordered at your favourite café or the sweet cat you loved at your late auntie’s home— and he memorised them, even though he would never bring it up again for fear of revealing how much he paid attention.

 When you borrowed his jacket one chilly night, cradled into a pile on the passenger seat of his car after a spontaneous road trip, he noticed how you always folded it neatly and returned it without mentioning it, but your scent lingered. Clinging to the fabric, a delicate ache of memory he pressed to his face. It was a secret he couldn’t even confess to himself, as if inhaling the traces of you could tether you to him for just a little longer.

 It was in those moments that he allowed himself to dream, to imagine a world where you would let him in, where he could be more than just a passing fling.

 Yours.

It was treacherous, how his heart whispered something he could never voice.

When he wanted to be the one you trusted with the pieces of yourself you kept hidden. The one who held your heart as tenderly as he held your body.

 In any case, just like every morning, the dream would always fade. Replaced by the cold reality of your arrangement as he quietly dressed and eyed that dark charcoal hoodie on his way out of your home.

 He would tell himself that it was enough, that he could be satisfied with the fragments of you that you chose to share.

 And yet Togame knew so much about you; it made him wonder if you paid the same amount of attention to him.

-:3-

 Peachy keen: hey, can you honk your horn really loud and act impatient when you get here please?

[7:40pm]

 Joehoe: sure.

[7:40pm]

 You good?

[7:41pm]

 Peachy keen: I just want to get out of here. There’s this weirdo who just won’t let me out of his sight.

 Sorry, I wouldn’t have asked like I would have just taken a cab, but we were already gonna see each other so….

[7:43pm]

 Just act rude and jealous. I won’t ask again, ik its kinda awkward. thanks in advance x

[7:43pm]

 Joehoe: I just left. be ready.

[7:43pm]

-:3-

 It takes seven minutes to get from his apartment to the bar you pinged— seven minutes for him to stew over the unease you ignited over your feeble attempt to seem fine.

 He would have been inclined to believe you if he didn’t know you so well, and if you weren’t the most expressive yet emotionally guarded girl he had ever met.

 You never asked him for help. Not to stay the night, not for a ride, and rarely even initiated a hug. He was always the one to offer, to insist and often bully you into accepting his gifts and affections when it didn’t come with a bruising kiss and a slap on your ass.

 At first, he thought it a little endearing.

 How you would turn away in embarrassment from a sultry smirk during dinner or huff when he made you too flustered in public. The most kissable pout on your lips.

 But soon enough, he realised how you truly struggled using your words, as if they were trapped in your throat, leaving you to communicate in sighs and dismissive murmurs. He heard never mind more than anything else.

 It made him wonder how you handled previous relationships— if you ever had them— when the words you needed seemed so hard to summon.

 Did you let your silence fill the spaces where confessions should live, or did you secretly hope someone would one day decipher the language of your shifts and sighs?

 It also made him wonder if anyone else had ever tried as hard as him to read your every look. To find meaning in the way your fingers twisted in your lap, or the way your lips parted as if to speak before closing again, secrets swallowed behind fear.

 Fear of rejection? Ridicule? Judgment? Each possibility seemingly pressed tighter around your chest, making every word feel dangerous, every confession a risk you weren’t brave enough to take.

 And for all the times you turned away, he found himself listening harder, watching closer, as if determined to catch the words you never spoke.

 Which is why when your message came through, apologetic and sad as it was, he didn’t hesitate. He snatched his keys, shrugged into his jacket, shoved his feet in sandals, and ran down his apartment to his car before he could even pause to hit send.

 You asked for help. His help.

He didn’t have to act like a dickhead if you were in trouble. There would be no faking the sound of a pained scream.

 There. Seven minutes.

He slammed his hand against the horn as soon as he pulled up, and two roaring, blaring notes pierced through the hum of the high street. Heads turned in unison, the hustle and laughter spilling from the bar silenced for a moment. But not you.

 He hit the horn again. Impatience thrummed through him like a live wire. His knuckles scrapped against the steering wheel.

And then you emerged. Hesitant. Skittish, clutching that small handbag of yours like a lifeline. But you weren’t alone.

Trailing alongside you was some stringy brunette in a greasy suit that matched his smarmy grin. His arm hung possessively over your shoulder, though you stood stiff beside him.

You glanced toward Togame’s car, offering a shaky laugh as you gestured in his direction. Your lips moved, pretty and plumb, but the glossy shine of your peach lip gloss, your favourite, the one you always wore for him, was dulled. The tint had been nibbled away, a nervous habit obvious even from a distance.

Still, you looked sweet all the same. You always did. Wearing your favourite baby blue dress. You called it a fairy dress because of the layered handkerchief hem detailing and off the shoulder long sleeves with spaghetti straps and whimsical ties. Jo liked it for an entirely different reason— how he could undo the chest closure with a simple tug on the bow, spilling your full tits for—

 He clenched his jaw, dragging his thoughts out of that spiral.

 At least you looked untouched. pristine, like a doll straight out of its box.

Ordinarily, you would have your heels in your hand at this point, giggling with your friends until he pulled up earning hoots and hollers from drunken women as you waved goodbye. Though now, your hair, dress, and heels were unblurred. But you weren’t drunk, not even tipsy. Instead, you radiated tension, every line of your body rigid enough to telegraph that something was off.

 And then there was him. The lamp post of a man who refused to let you go, no matter how politely you tried to dismiss him.

 From the car, he couldn’t hear the exchange, but that hardly mattered. Agitation sparked hot across his chest the moment the guy’s grip on you tightened, his fingers curling like claws.

He leaned on the horn again and the sound split the air like a whip. You jumped, startled, and that slimy suit finally turned his glare toward Togame, the challenge in his eyes clear.

 He chuckled. “Okay, I got time today.”

You couldn’t hide the relief watching Jo climb out of his car. The door hung open behind him, but he didn’t care— his sandals slapped heavy and purposeful against the pavement, each step a warning, echoing louder as he closed the distance in four long strides that brought him face-to-face with your shadow demon.

 “Who’s this?”

“Who are you?” Togame countered, leering without a smile.

He held his fists where the man could see them, knuckles standing out sharp and ready, no attempt at civility.

There was no feigned, easy calm, no taunts— just the contorted threat in every taut muscle of a fighter. A raw warning was written in the set of his jaw as you looked up at him, relief flickering in your sweet eyes.

The rat scoffed. His prominent nose scrunched in an unattractive scowl.

 “I asked first.”

 “You’ll be knocked out first too,” Togame grinned, teeth bared. “Bleeding first. Crying first. A lot of firsts for you tonight.”

 “Names Kai, asshole. Who the fu—”

 “This is Jo, my boyfriend like I’ve been trying to tell you.”

His stomach lurched at the sound of his name.

You never say it— not unless it’s coaxed from your lips in the dark, tangled in sheets and moans.

To hear it now, clear and public, caught him off guard, and for a second, he forgot the rest of the world even existed.

 “Boyfriend?” Kai scoffed, his grip tightening. “You were serious about that shit?”

 “Deadly serious if you don’t get your fucking hand off my girl.”

The second his hold loosened, you jerked your arm free— quick, decisive, the kind of motion that brooked no argument.

Kai’s scowl faltered, bravado leaking out as his stance slackened, uncertainty flickering across his face.

Finally free, you stepped back, putting space between you and him. Your heart hammered against your ribs; each beat loud and urgent. You swallowed hard, keeping your expression fixed in a glare, determined not to show any fear or uncertainty.

 “See, my girl wants nothing to do with you. Now off you go while I’m still smiling.”

 Kai’s jaw worked, a flush creeping up his cheek. He tried to recover, voice brittle with wounded pride. “Yeah? Well, she may not be so happy if she’s going on dates. Got all comfy with me at the bar, cute waitress even said we looked good together, yeah?”

 Togame’s shadow slipped forward, his jaw set hard, eyes falling flat and cold clashing against the smile that spread his mouth.

 “You take another step toward her,” he chuckled, throaty and venomous, “and I’ll show you how quickly you can forget ever having teeth.”

 The music from the bar drifted out behind you, some upbeat pop song at odds with the sharp edge of the moment. The cheerful melody and thumping bass seemed almost surreal, a soundtrack too wrong for the coiled tension wrapped around your feet.

 “Look, I really think there’s been a misunderstanding—” you cut in, voice pitching high and tight. “I came here to meet my friend. I just… I didn’t know what anyone had planned. This was all just a- a mistake.”

 Kai’s glare darted from Togame to you, and though fear flickered behind his eyes, he clung to anger as a shield. Jaw clenched. He spoke with a hiss.

 “If you had a boyfriend, why didn’t you just speak up?”

You squared your shoulders, sounding firmer now despite the tightness you kept on your bag. “I tried to be polite. I tried to say no, but you kept talking over me and wouldn’t let me get up. You grabbed me at the table when I tried to stand and kept- you kept pulling me back—”

 “You were getting all jumpy! Just tryin’a help you relax with a drink!”

 “But I told you I didn’t want a drink.”

 “Tch, I paid, didn’t I?”

As Kai shifted, foot hesitating then dropping into another half-step toward you— Togame’s patience snapped like a taut wire. “Get in the car. Now.”

 “Jo…”

You whispered, pulse catching as you risked a glance up at him. Nerves tangled tight in your chest— yet an overwhelming rush of gratitude welled beneath them all at once.

 “You don’t have t—”

 “You’re good, love. I think we just need to talk man to man. About consent.  Touching things that don’t belong to them. Respect.” His smile flashed menacingly to that fucking arm still trying to reach for you. “Consequences.”

The shaggy haired rat dropped his arm as if he’d been scorched. “M-Maria never mentioned you had a fucking boyfriend, alright?! She said you’d be up for a date!”

 “I’m trying to tell you I didn’t know what she had planned.”

You bit out as you settled yourself over to his corner, and Jo finally relaxed his shoulders. His eyes drooped, a lazy smirk tilted his lips once again. “Seems like she’s been tryin’ to tell you for some time.”

 The man seethed. “Look, I was told—”

 “Like I tried to explain at the bar, my friend got mixed up.” You grasped a hold of Togame’s arm, sinking into his side. “I’m sorry, Jo, she tried fixing me up on a date.”

He couldn’t help but notice how right it felt to have you there, pressed tightly against his side, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his jacket. Your fingers dug into his sleeve as if needing to anchor yourself too and he let himself indulge in the secure rhythm of your chest against his arm as it grounded him.

The closeness was comforting— your presence soft, settling something restless in him even as the tension in the air bristled around you both.

You sighed heavily, gathering enough courage to harden your stare.

As you pressed closer to him, his gaze flickered down to you— gentle for a moment, protective. A hint of tenderness glimmered in his eyes as it lingered on your face, drinking in the reassurance of your presence. The bass thumped loudly in his chest.

 “I tried to explain to you I had no idea this was happening. I thought I was meeting Maria, but you were too… insistent, pushing me to drink and stuff, I had to text Jo.”

 In an instant, Togame’s posture shifted. He was no longer just shielding, but detonative, every muscle coiled with an unmistakable predatory intent.

He locked onto the other man’s every move. shoulders squared and stance deliberate, radiating a silent warningas a glimpse of something feral clawed beneath his casual demeanour.

 “I had to prove I wasn’t lying about having a boyfriend.”

 You ended sharply. Sharper than he’s ever heard you speak, and for a breath, his chest swelled with pride— proud of your sudden surge of strength, your refusal to let yourself be diminished.

 The man scoffed, his fists clenched tight.

 “Ohh, so you think you’re so special, huh?” He gave a bitter laugh, loud and scattered in the open space, eyes darting between you and Togame as if searching for a weakness. “Girls like you always act like they’re above it, but in the end, they want attention just like all the others.”

 “Is that so?” His head tilted, a dark, languid amusement flickering in his jaded gaze as he stepped forward— his presence a quiet storm as he pushed you instinctively behind him.

 His words came, heavy and dangerous, the kind that cut with a velvet edge.

“You know, them classy shoes don’t make you stand taller. Can see your knees shaking every time she speaks. You just can’t stomach rejection, can you? It eats away at you to see a pretty girl see through your bullshit. No flashy watch can impress a quality girl, so you thought you could corner her, push until she broke— like y’ever stood a fuckin’ chance.”

The air felt brittle, tight as a drawn wire.

 “It takes a special kind of asshole to mistake kindness for weakness, and an even bigger dumbass to test how far I’ll go to protect what’s mine.”

 “N-no, I—” Kai breathed deep then sneered, his fists shaking. “She was acting all prissy! Saying she’d never agree to something like this—”

 Togame barked out a laugh. jarring and devoid of humour. “Damn right. Look at my girl, fuck,” he flashed you a cheeky grin over his shoulder, “—think she’d settle for a nose bleeder like you?”

 “She looked happy chatting to me in the bar! Let me walk her out and everything!”

 “mmm, so sad for man not to know the meaning behind a woman’s smile.” He teased.

 “And you let your girl walk around looking like that, practically begging for attention?!” He snapped, clinging to bravado despite the fear that choked his throat. “She wants it.”

Togame rolled his shoulders. Loud pops cracked.

Your stomach flipped.

“Look, my girl likes my knuckles bruised.” He said, laughter curling. Volatile. “But I’ll be nice and offer you this; you walk away now, and you go on never knowing what your mouth feels like filled with blood, or you learn how small you are, right here. On the street. And I’ll go on the rest of the night wonderin’ why the fuck her friend chose a rat faced shit hair like you, when my girl can obviously pull better.”

“Okay, look,” you cut between them, pressing a hand to his firm chest in an attempt to curb the tension, but it just made his heart pound instead.

“I guess— I guess should’ve been clearer to my friend about things. I’m sorry you were misled, but I don’t want to date anyone… a-anyone else, I mean. Let’s just go our separate ways, yeah?”

Jo’s expression stayed stone-cold, but a raw pressure twined inside him, barely contained— like a fuse burning quick to the end. He didn’t bother to analyse the feeling; all that mattered was getting you out of reach, away from this pest. But the guy made the fatal mistake of snarling at you one more time.

“Whatever,” he spat at you, “you’re nothing but a fat fuckin’ tease anyway.”

Togame slammed a fist into his head.

“FU—”

Again.

“s-SHI—”

And again.

And again.

Screams choked beneath cracking bones and the shouts of onlookers.

You stared, frozen in place, eyes wide as crimson spattered across his knuckles and stained the ground. Each blow forced more blood to fan out— a shocking, visceral spray that painted the concrete at your feet.

The sting of copper filled the air, thick and metallic, and for a moment you couldn’t look away from Togame’s silhouette, relentless and savage amid the chaos.

His broad back was a barrier, blocking the worst of it— shielding you from the violence as blows pounded out of view and blood pooled beyond his frame. Even as brutality erupted, you were left behind his unmoving shape, protected, if only physically, from the carnage just steps away.

There was no laughter. No teasing quips or humiliating taunts. A fierceness had taken over, the kind that darkened his eyes and muted the rest of the world in violent static.

He struck hard.

Fast.

And with unbridled force until the shouts seized, spewing vomit along with the dirty crimson that spilled.

 Then he stopped.

The man rolled inward, trembling in his blood-stained designer shirt. His eyes were swollen shut, and his breathing wheezed ragged— probably from fractured ribs.

He spat out broken curses, his words slurred and misplaced, directed at you in-place of the figure looming above him, whose expression betrayed only mild irritation as the blood crept closer to his sandals.

Togame watched him, unmoving. His air calm. Breathing stagnant.

“Did his spit touch you?”

“Just… just a lil’ on my toes.”

He slammed his heel down— splintering several toes in a single, brutal stomp.

 “AH!! ugh…bi-bitch… fu-uh! BITCH!”

He wailed, spitting half-formed curses and sobbing through clenched teeth spilling blood, his vision swimming with agony and the blurry outline of pink heels in his sight.

Togame sighed, then crouched down beside the cowering man.

 “Say that again.”

When he was answered with a pained groan and a weak spit of blood, he grabbed a fist full of shaggy hair and yanked the head up in display.

“Ya’know, I see right through men like you.” He snickered, a cruel smile stretching his lips. “You say you’re a nice guy, make a couple people laugh, flash some money, but girls feel uncomfortable around you don’t they? They sense something off, make excuses to slip out, cause you make their skin crawl.” He gave the man’s head a rough shake, laughter distorting into a deadly sneer. “But y’can’t stand being told no, huh? Yeah, I can see it in your eyes, you push and corner sweet girls and use your size to intimidate, but they know you’re nothin’ but a desperate, weak—”

 “S-shut u—”

“Spineless—”

 “St-stop!”

“Limp dick motherfu—”

He swung clumsily. And a sickening crack echoed when Togame crushed his face into the wet ground. Silenced.

 “Pathetic.”

He didn’t linger, only clapped his hands on his knees and shook his head.

Then, rising to his full height, he turned toward you— dazzling green eyes, no longer sharp with violence, softened as they found yours. His gaze swept across your face, watching every flicker of emotion with a tenderness that felt like sunlight breaking through the dark.

The corners of his smile melted, becoming playful, genuine, and reassuring as he nodded, a silent promise that you were safe. With him.

 “In the car, baby. I’ll take you home.”

You climbed in without another glance.

 “Wait,” he called, jogging over to your side. “Open the glove box for me?”

He knelt beside the open door, careful not to startle you, and searched through the compartment. When his fingers closed around the packet of wet wipes— the antibacterial kind for sensitive skin, of course— he looked up with a soft grin.

“Wait! I can—” you offered, but he was already reaching for you, cradling your ankle with hands that, moments ago, had been fists.

 “Hold still, yeah.”

His touch was feather-light, reverent as he brushed away any trace of dirt from your toes, each careful movement a silent apology for the misery behind him and the blood that marred his knuckles.

 “But I can—”

 “Shut up,” he murmured, low and soothing, as his thumb stroked gently over your ankle. “Can’t have your pretty toes ruined.”

 “Toga—”

 “Jo, darlin’. Don’t get shy on me now.”

 “Jo,” you corrected shyly, shivering beneath his fingers as you leaned forward, dropping to a whisper, “people are watching.”

He smiled deviously and pressed his lips to your now clean toes.

 “Let them.”

You shuddered, face burning, “Nope. No.” Furling your legs fully into the seat, you turned your back to him, flustered and desperate to escape his teasing stare.

Togame let out a low, warm chuckle— one that played in the air as he watched your embarrassment bloom. the kind that told you he delighted in every shade of your reaction.

The door gently closed behind you. He wiped his own hands with a new cloth before discarding both.

Moving with casual disregard for the commotion and the crowd circling the limp rat, Togame slipped into the driver’s seat, closing off the violence he left behind.

 He settled in and turned to you, teeth gleaming. “How you feelin’, mama?”

“Stop playing.”

 He chuckled. “Not my fault it turns you on.”

Togame reached over and yanked the seatbelt to begin the playful dance of fondling your hips, but one glance at your chewed up bottom lip had him clinking the buckle into place wordlessly.

 Any other night, he’d be driving on autopilot.

Picking you up usually meant chatter about the event, music, or the latest book you’d discovered— whatever happened to come to mind, filling the car with comfortable noise. But tonight, your silence pressed heavy between you, unsettling in its unfamiliar weight.

Togame found himself uncomfortably attuned to every shift of the gears, every flicker of streetlight on the dashboard. The mechanical whir of the car was the only thing that punctured the absence of your voice. With nothing to focus on but the monotonous rhythm of the drive, the quiet gnawed at him, a stark contrast to your usual warmth.

He stole glances you never saw as you sat with your knees towards the door and away from him. Hiding your face. Hiding from him— you fiddled with the tiny bows decorated on your bag while watching the streetlights blur past into glowing streaks through the window.

 Withdrawn. Tense.

He wanted to fill the silence. Make you laugh. Release the tension between your brows and have you smiling again— anything to brush away the shadow clinging to your features. But the ache in his chest grew with every quiet mile, a restless longing to mend what had come undone.

In the end, he pulled over two blocks away from your home, heart heavy with all the words he couldn’t find. He parked beside a large tree and an old storage garage, hoping the pause would give him a chance to reach you.

The car’s motorised rumbles came to a halt.

He turned to you, switching on the overhead light in case you tried to hide in the shadows too.

 “Oi—”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Togame scoffed, almost laughing. “For what?”

He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he was taken aback by the apology. And by the tears that glistened at the corners of your eyes. Tiny, fragile jewels trembling on the edge of falling.

 They softened something in him that he didn’t know how to name. It faltered his words, the bristle in his tone, but only slightly.

“I should have—” you twisted the strap of your bag as you spoke, frustrations pouring with every word you managed to wring out. “I should’ve been clearer. I’m… I’m sorry. I could’ve called for a cab, or-or called Maria immediately for an explanation. I just… you. I’m sorry! That was so uncomfortable.”

 “Why are you actin’ like any of this was your fault?”

Togame waited, rigid and silent, though he masked it by his knuckles drumming rhythmically against the steering wheel.

Feigning ease. Slanting his eyes.

He didn’t rush you— just watched, every muscle in his frame kinked as though bracing for the words you struggled to find yet not allowing you to see all the ways you set him off balance.

 Like the gravity had shifted that kept your ambiguous relationship afloat.

“I could have— like, been sterner. Or like, got up from the table when I realised Maria wasn’t coming. Or something! I was so stupid.” You gazed at him sullenly. “I put you in such a weird position, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his silence stretched, filling the car with the soft ticking of the engine. Even the drumming muted.

He stared at you— piercing and searching, as if he could puzzle out the truth just by watching the tremble in your hands or the quiver in your lip. His eyes flicked across your face, studying every trace of regret and worry, probing so long you almost shrank under the weight of his attention.

Only when the tension felt nearly unbearable did he finally speak, voice calm yet edged with something darker.

“You put my fist in his face?”

 You blinked owlishly. “N-no?”

He hummed low. Mocking.

 “Did’ya call him?”

 “Huh? I don’t,” you puffed out air. “I didn’t even know him.”

 “Tell him you were interested in rat faced men? Asked to suck his dick behind the bar?”

 “Ew!”

“You’re a pretty girl, but are you stupid too? Is this something I hav’to watch out for?” Togame seized your chin, squeezing your cute cheeks meanly in his large hand. He spoke slowly, articulating his every word. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you’re a good girl, alright? You did good calling me.”

You blinked at him with tears beading your waterline, shimmering your eyes. He couldn’t deny how sweet it looked when you pouted. Full lips begging to be kissed.

“Because it’s my fault!”

He released you.

 “How?”

You huffed, “Because— because I told her—” you groaned, unable to speak and slapped your bag on your lap as if the aggression helped you spit it out. “Because I called you! I got him hurt and—”

 “He got himself hurt!” He shouted fiercely.

The force of it startled you, a flash of unfamiliar wrath colouring his face.

 “That rat wouldn’t’ve let you take that cab! D’ya understand that? He’s an egotistical dick, men like that hurt girls that say no to them!”

He exhaled slow, then reached out, his large hand finding the back of your neck with unexpected tenderness, guiding your wide eyes to meet his.

 “He pressured you, then spat at you when you rejected him. I would’ve fuckin’ shattered his jaw if you weren’t watching, darlin’.”

Togame softened, but only slightly, your tears a nice balm to his temper.

You gave a cute, involuntary sniffle, the sound small and vulnerable in the weighted silence.

 “I know you know that, pretty. It’s why you asked me to come. You did the right thing, so what’s the real reason why you’re upset an’ getting’ all snotty?”

 “I don’t… I don’t know!”

“Yeah, you do.” He deadpanned, catching the tears with a calloused thumb. “You do know, you just won’t tell me.”

You hesitated, lips parted but muted. Nervous fingers traced the outline of your bag as the words tangled and unravelled in your mind.

Each second stretched, the pressure mounting, your heart a frantic drumbeat beneath your ribs as you tried— and failed— to form the confession he demanded. The silence thickened. Almost like it was pressing against the windows and the made car feel smaller, a degree from suffocating.

Outside, the world blurred in streaks of rain, but inside, every breath was heavy, every heartbeat loud enough to drown out the city.

 In the end, you grunted a short never mind and clutched your bag to your chest, pushing his hands and turning away from him. Choosing to console yourself against the leather seat rather than accept the warmth of his comfort.

 “Sweethea—”

 “Forget I said anything.”

 “C’mon, don’t be like that.”

You shook your head. “I’m not being like anything. Thank you for coming, but I want to go home now.”

 For a moment, Togame sat there, the words on his tongue dissolving into a quiet, uneasy silence. He stared at the steering wheel, jaw working restlessly searching for something, anything, to bridge the distance between you.

 Then, he glanced over, eyes sly with sudden mischief.

“y’know… the sooner you tell me, the sooner we can get to mind melting sex,” he grinned wolfishly, enticing you with a warm hand to your lower back.

 You huffed at him. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll let you fuck me after this.”

Togame leaned in, his presence weaving around you like smoke. Dangerous. Enticing. The glint in his eyes was sharper than his grin. His voice a hypnotic rumble as his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, deliberately drawing out the shiver he knew he’d find.

“You’ll be begging me, baby. Makin’ that sound ya’know makes my cock ache all while drippin’ an’ so fuckin’ tight fo’me, I’ll have to ask you to ease up so I don’t paint that pretty lil’ cunt too soon.”

 To your credit, you don’t reply.

Despite your best efforts to remain composed, the cinch in your legs betrayed you—the squeeze of your thighs always a subtle, restless shift rippling through you until you finally let out a quiet, uneven breath.

You kept your eyes fixed out the window, teeth clamped on your bottom lip, the single street light bleeding into the car’s hush. A hundred tiny lights flickered like your restraint.

 Togame’s grin faltered, replaced by a waiting, almost vulnerable softness. He reached for words that might unlock you, but all he found was the quiet thrum of want tangled with regret.

 “I’m not leaving till you let me in,” he murmured, thumb tracing slow circles at your hip. “Not just the way you think I want.”

 Your lips parted, a retort ready to stab, but it died in the space between you, lost to the tension that stitched you together— painful, tender, impossible to pull loose.

 Togame sighed deeply as he slumped back in his seat, but he wasn’t going to let this one go.

 “Talk to me.” he grunted, kinder now.

“There’s nothing to say, Togame.” you muttered dejectedly. “So please, can we just go?”

 “What happened to Jo?” He couldn’t help but poke your side teasingly. “I liked the way you said it earlier.”

“Nothing.” you sniffled. “Didn’t mean anything.”

 “Aww c’mon, mama. Don’t tell me that was all just pretend?” He chuckled, hoping for a reaction. A smack. Anything.

 “I’ll keep playin’ if you call me your lil’ boyfren’ again. It was kinda fun. My sweet girl in need of savin’, lookin’ up at me all grateful. It was cute, didn’t feel like pretend.”

 You sank deeper into the seat, hoping your silence would be enough. But Jo, emboldened by the tension, didn’t let up— husking to a velvet rasp.

 “Don’t disappear on me now,” he pressed, leaning in again until his breath stirred the hair at your temple and the warmth of his chest enveloped you. “If you’re gonna run, at least give me a reason. Or is it that you like when I chase?” His lips brushed over your skin. “I’ll wear the mask again if you really want to scream.”

 His fingers curled into your plush thigh, insistent in his grip, as if refusing to let you retreat into the safety of quiet with his enduring warmth.

 “You think I can’t tell what’s really goin’ on? There’s no use hiding, darlin’. Not with me.”

He waited, letting the words hang heavy and unyielding. The air crackled in the small space as he prodded— still hoping you’d break before you bolted.

“D’ya’think he’ll tell your friend all about your big scary boyfren’ Jo?” He hummed playfully, planting kisses along your shoulder. “Might make it hard for you to meet someone new, but I guess I don’t mind havin’ you all to myself for a lil’ while longer. Makes meeting up more fun.”

 “Stop… please.”

The plea squeezed his chest like a vice, but he continued to push. Even if it meant only a glance, a glare— he craved any spark of reaction, his bravado doing little to disguise how desperately he thrived on your attention. Because beneath the teasing, there flickered with a restless hunger, secretly pleading for you to look at him, to acknowledge him, to break the silence if only for a heartbeat.

 At least when you looked at him, no matter how fleeting he still felt the pulse of a connection he so stubbornly pretended not to need.

“Look, either tell me or sit there,” Togame rested back on his seat, his burly arms crossed beneath his bomber jacket. “I got nowhere to be. My only plan tonight was to fuck you into tears, but you got the tears down already, so..” he laughed a little too harshly, “and you can turn your head all you want, I still know you’re crying, darlin’.”

 You tried to wipe them, uncaring of your lashes or makeup as you furiously dabbed at your face, but they continued to spill faster than you could hide, and his chuckles only made you squirm.

 “Fuck, this is humiliating.”

He shifted the adjuster, reclining comfortably this time.

 “Only for one of us, baby.”

You whined desperately, whirling on him. “Stop it! Just stop!” Your breaths came faster now—uneven, shaky, betraying your mounting distress. “You’re being unfair!”

 “And you’re being annoyingly stubborn.”

 “I can’t— ugh, I can’t take this.” you unbuckled the seatbelt clumsily. “I-I’m leaving.”

 Togame shot up and snatched it out of your hand. “The fuck you are.” He snapped it back into place, trapping you.

 “Let me go! I can’t talk about— about this Togame!”

“So you can only say my name when squirting on my face, but you can’t tell me what’s upset you?”

 “Stop!” you screeched, fat tears now freely falling down your cheeks as your voice squeezed tight with your breaths. The seatbelt scratched your skin. “Please! I’m sorry for being such a pain, okay?! Please, let me go!”

“I like it better when you beg for my cock.” He sighed dramatically, ignoring your whines and sad attempts to claw his hand off your belt. “This isn’t as fun, but I could get into it.”

“You’re being a dick!”

“You’re being stupid, but I’m nice enough not to call you names, sweetheart.”

The need to escape pulsed so fiercely it drowned out every thought but the desperate urge to get away from him, from this, from the awful knot of shame and tears tightening inside you. Yet you were trapped, cornered by his invasive persistence, you couldn’t even break free from the seatbelt pinching your skin.

“I’m embarrassed, alright?! Is that what you want to hear?!” Your fist landed feebly against his chest, more desperate than defiant, and it only made you wince in frustration. “Just let me fucking go!”

 “You’re sorry cause you’re embarrassed?”

 “YES!”

 He glared at you. “Why?”

 “Because… because I—”

 He sucked his teeth. “Try for a few adjectives, baby. You’re a big girl now.”

 “Ugh! You’re so—”

 “mm? Handsome? Strong? Cool?”

 “Infuriating, Togame! I hate you!”

“Hey!” He thundered, sharp enough to make you flinch. “Say my fuckin’ name if you’re gonna insult me! Own it! Don’t hide behind half-words!”

You faltered, jaw tight. Your vision blurred, but you could still see his green eyes— jaded and striking, cutting through the haze like shards of broken glass that made you want to hide.

The words tumbled out forced. Heavy with hurt as tears slid down your chin.

 “I hate you, Jo.”

 “Better.” His mouth slanted into a grin. Wide, practiced, and so hollow it made your chest ache. “Next time, say it like you mean it, yeah?”

You made an incoherent sound. Something between a groan and a scream. “Why are you being like this?!”

 “Why are you embarrassed?” He countered hotly. “Did I embarrass you?”

  You shook your head.

 “Do you feel sorry for that rat?”

  “N-no!”

 “Then what?”

 “Fuck… I can’t-can’t breathe—”

“Talk to me!” His patience snapped. “Why are you always running from me? Are you so repulsed you can’t stand being with me? Lowly Jo? Menial Jo? Is that why your lil’ friend set you up? So you’d have a better fuckin’ match or somethin’?!”

 “NO! Jo, of-of course n—”

 “Then why won’t you look at me!”

 “I can’t, Jo! Plea—”

 “If I don’t embarrass you then how come your friends don’t even know my fuckin’ name, huh?”

Shock shattered your expression.

He tried to resist it… but his gaze kept drifting to your mouth, the way your tongue nervously traced your lip. Even now, with anger and confusion tangled through the air between you, his instincts betrayed him.

He was still, despite everything, hopelessly captivated— torn between clinging to his wounded pride and the overwhelming urge to bridge the gap.

 To kiss those soft lips.

It was as if, no matter how much he tried to protect himself, he couldn’t help but be pulled towards you. Simply helpless against the force that only you seemed able to exert over him.

A conflict warred. Your tears. The need to defend his dignity, and the deeper, more desperate longing to give in, to reach for you, and to once more surrender to the gravity only you seemed to command.

Even so, beneath the pride, the overwhelming want… he was just hurt. And old insecurities began to surface despite the punishing grip of his fists.

 “I’m just the mechanic, yea?”

Your face crumbled. Whatever air you pulled into your lungs left in a rush.

The tension was a living thing. It coiled, compressed and made every movement feel deliberate and dangerous in the closed space.

Togame let out a harsh, bitter laugh. It was more bark than amusement, scraping out from somewhere raw.

 “Think I didn’t hear that? When your girls came ‘round for a’lil’ movie night you forgot about. I heard you guys talkin’ at the door.” His fingers tightened on the buckle. Bruised knuckles burning.

 “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean—”

 “Then what did’ya’mean by it’s no one, just the mechanic.” Another laugh tore from his throat. “Sounds pretty fuckin’ clear, doesn’t it? And ya’know what really, just tickles me, babe?”

His jaw flexed, a brittle smile stretching across his handsome face— too sharp, too fragile to be anything but armour.

“What really gets me, is how hard you insisted there was nothin’ goin’ on. That there was no chance we could be together. Ain’t that a fuckin’ laugh?!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you shrieked over his brittle laughter. “I swear!”

“How else could you mean? You wouldn’t date a grease monkey like me, huh? You need a rich man in a suit, yeah? That’s what Maria wanted for you.”

“N-No! That’s not—”

 His breath hitched, eyes glinting with something wounded and serrated.

“y’know what else, love?” he spat, voice trembling. “It’s not the names, or how you hide me away. It’s knowing your best fuckin’ friend tried her hardest to set you up. Like you an’ me makes no sense, in any fuckin’ context other than sex. Doesn’t matter I offered you a key to my place or the weekend road trip we took to my uncle’s cabin, none of it means shit cause I get to bend you over at the end of the night, yeah?”

 “Jo, pl-please..”

 “Nah, say it. Say this is bullshit and I’m right, Maria did want you going out with some rat better suited for you.”

 “You’re right but—” you stammered, surprise rupturing with half sobs that wobbled each word over his laughter. The lodge in your throat constricted.

“I fuckin’ knew it!”

“You’re twisting this—”

His laugh cracked. Dark hair flayed as his shoulders shook.

 “I’m twisting shit now?!”

He wanted to run. The words flew out faster than his feet could move.

“So I’m just the pathetic loser you play with when it suits you, yeah? Or am I just too thick to get the message? Should I talk to Maria, then? She seems to know everything so how ‘bout I ask her for a new hookup?!”

You flinched, shoulders jerking back as if struck. “You dick—”

“Yeah? You like it though,” he sneered. “Come’ere, lemme fuck you over the dashboard again so you can tell Maria how good my dick is as a reference or whatever.”

“Fuck you!”

Broken sobs spilled as devastation hollowed his chest.

“No? Why not? I think I’m pretty enough to get my own date.” His grin fractured over your grimace. As if he’d raised his trembling fist.

“You’re being an ass!”

“Am I?!” your seatbelt rattled, another desperate attempt to escape him, and it only made him burn. A fierce and helpless pain. “I thought that’s what you wanted. Just a fun little fuck to laugh about with the girls!”

“No! I want you to let me out of this fucking car, Togame!”

“Not until you tell me the fuckin’ truth!”

“I can’t—”

“Can’t or won’t?! Just tell why she set you up on a fuckin’ date without even telling you! Why do you keep running away from me?!”

“Jo—”

“Talk to me—”

“I c-can’t ple—”

“WHY FUCKIN’ NOT?”

“JO!”

“Just say it! Why do you keep pushi—”

“BECAUSE I TOLD HER I LOVE YOU! HAPPY?! Fuck!”

Togame froze. Silenced as hot tears traced restless paths down your cheeks.

 Your frayed breaths punched the stillness in the cramped darkness. Fast, haggard.

 He didn’t release his grip on the belt— if anything, he held tighter, as though anchoring himself to the moment, desperate not to drift away. When all he wanted was to lean in, to taste the tremble of your lips against his, but he couldn’t disrupt this fragile honesty.

Not now, not when you were finally letting your heart spill out.

“I was just… just talking.”

You began, your voice barely above a whisper it would have been difficult for anyone but him.

“Just saying how I liked being with you and she kept— kept insisting it’s not going to last and-and I shouldn’t be attached cause you don’t see me as anything but a— but a ‘fuck buddy’ and she knows this guy and it’s better to have a roster and— fuck!”

 You gulped in ragged breaths, desperate to subdue the storm inside you but utterly failing. Without the barrier your emotions spilled out in tangled, unfiltered sentences, each more frantic than the last, in volume and intensity.

“Fuck! I hate that I’m crying in front of you, in front of a man! I hate it! God! Jo, you have no fucking idea how much you fuck me up! How much I try to decipher your every look, every touch— God! You’re infuriating! So addicting and-and—”

 Words crashed together, raw and unrestrained, pouring from you now that the dam had finally broken. No longer able to keep your feelings locked away.

“I love you! And it makes me furious because I can’t just switch it off! I tried so hard— so fucking hard— to keep my distance and not care and not get sucked in! Like I never asked for anything! Never kept your jacket or snuggled in the morning— though you always made me breakfast, you fuckin’ weirdo, I left right after! I never, ever overstayed! I always made sure to keep you and my friends separate, n-not ‘cause I was a-ashamed of you but cause I didn’t want them to see how much of a fuckin’ love-sick idiot I was around you! I was ashamed of myself, okay?! It’s so… so calm around you! I don’t- I don’t even have to think, you make me feel like-like at ease. Like my brain has switched off and there’s nothing for me to worry about cause I know you got me. But the second I snap out of it, I’m hit with the visceral shame of it all! You’re not mine! No matter how badly I want you, how much it hurts to have you close but-but not keep you close— ugh! I don’t even fuckin’ know what I’m saying, you dick!”

 There was something heartbreakingly beautiful in your wreckage— like the aftermath of a natural disaster, your vulnerability left a landscape of trembling confessions and messy truths. Each tear, each shuddering admission, lit you up with a fragile grace, a beauty born of devastation.

You were begging to be held, admired, even in your most vulnerable storm.

He wanted to witness every moment of it.

“And you-you kept worming your way into every part of my life, acting all casual, making me feel things I didn’t want to feel! And then Maria— oh, fuckin’ Maria— she’s in my ear telling me it’s not real, telling me to protect myself, to keep a damn backup plan cause a guy like you probably has three, like this is some kind of fucking game!”

You let out a furious, erratic breath, pressing your fists to your temples as if you could squeeze the chaos out as your shouts go frantic.

“But it’s not a game, not to me! I don’t want anyone else, Jo! I barely have time for myself! Let alone a fucking lineup of guys! And-and you act like we’re nothing, always so fucking casual, like-like none of it matters! Not your gifts or-or your attention— but I’m stuck here, obsessed, rearranging my whole fucking life around your schedule, just for a fuckin fraction of your time! YOUR TIME! NOT EVEN FOR SEX LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK! I just want to be around you! And then you go, you go and do shit like— like making me dinner or-or grabbing my waist in public or fucking calling me sweetheart in front of your friends, and-and it drives me insane, Jo! INSANE! I CAN’T STAND IT! What the fuck am I to you when you pull this shit, Jo?! When you’re sweet an-and considerate one second taking me on that trip, then cold an’ airing me the next? That fucks me up to hear my call go straight to voicemail and then almost four fuckin’ days later you show up offering up a key ‘in case you ever wanna climb in after I knockout, mama’ LIKE WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! Am I just a good fuck?! Something to play with when you’re bored or do I actually matter to you?! It’s exhausting trying to guess!”

 Your voice scattered in a staccato, but you forced it louder, firmer, refusing to let the tears muffle your beautiful rage.

“And your cologne— goddamn it, your cologne! It’s everywhere! My bed, my clothes, my goddamn soul, Jo! I had to buy a new hoodie cause all the others smell like you! And y’know what? I CAN’T FUCKING SLEEP WITHOUT YOU NOW! SO THAT HOODIE JUST SITS THERE CAUSE IT’S THE ONLY FUCKIN’ THING THAT DOESN’T SMELL LIKE YOU! And I hate you for it! I hate you for making me want you this much! For making me so fucking WEAK! The way you say my name! How you make me all flushed by just-just winking at me! Like how fuckin’ pathetic am I to keep your bracelet that fell off my bed?! I wear it in the shower!! So yeah, Maria says it’s not real, and maybe she’s right, maybe it’s all in my head, but I can’t help it! I love you! I love you and it makes me sick!”

You slammed your palm against his chest, voice hoarse and wild. He felt the impact of your palm— an electric jolt, as if your trembling anger and aching vulnerability had travelled straight into his heart, knocking him momentarily breathless.

“So fuck you, Togame Jo! Fuck you for making me feel like this! Fuck you for messing up my whole damn life with your stupid laugh and stupid smile! Fuck you for showing up tonight and reminding me why I fuckin’ love you! Fuck you most of all for your addictive shit cologne all over my fucking sheets and each mother-fucking night I spent alone pathetically wishing you were there! Now let me the fuck out before I fucKING THROW UP ALL OVER YOUR PRECIOUS FUCKING CAR!!”

 You heaved desperately. Gasping and wheezing as you clutched your chest, doubling over.

 Togame found the strength to unbuckle your belt, a simple push of the button took more thinking than necessary, but he managed to free you.

You wasted no time scrambling to open the door.

A faint click locked it from his side.

“JO!”

“You love me?”

“That’s all you heard?!” you cried out, almost in hysterics. “I swear to God, Togame! Imma throw up!”

Bright emeralds shined down at you. Warm and brimmed with amusement.

 “Tell me again,” he whispered. “Use my name.”

“I will throw up all over your fucking car, Togame Jo! My chest hurts! This is torture!”

 “Ah, that’s too bad,” he chuckled. lip tilted in an easy smirk. Dark bangs swept over his cheeks.

 “I’d hate to see the girl I love feel so tortured being in the car with me. Especially when I had the plan to fuck her nice an’ slow in that pretty dress.”

PART II

 “Ah, that’s too bad,” he chuckled. lip tilted in an easy smirk. Dark bangs swept over his cheeks.

 “I’d hate to see the girl I love feel so tortured being in the car with me. Especially when I had the plan to fuck her nice an’ slow in that pretty dress.”

 A strangled noise tore from your throat— half choked gasp, half startled yelp— as the shock of his words landed.

Fiery warmth skated up your spine that left you simultaneously rigid and tingling.

Shoulders stiff, hands clutching the edge of the seat. Muscles taut with the effort not to fold in on yourself. So you sat motionless. Simply torn between shrinking back or falling into him, body caught in a charged stillness that spoke louder than the words you managed to say.

 “What?”

The wheeze had barely escaped before your protests tumbled out with it, stumbling over his name as you tried to gather the shards of composure he shattered so effortlessly in heaving trembles.

Incoherent babbles of ‘you can’t be serious’ and ‘shut up, don’t joke like that’ flew faster than your mouth could manage to form. Because denial was easier to comprehend than face the affection brimming in his smile.

 At some point, rain pelted steadily against the windows. A distant rush you hadn’t noticed until the panicked buzzing in your ears had quietened, and the world seemed to close into a calmer one.

Jo’s laughter curled around you, low and wicked, the sound making your skin prickle in a familiar warmth you could never resist while you only stared at him, wide-eyed, sweaty palmed, not sure if you wanted to laugh or scream or simply melt into the seat. Or a pathetic combination of all three.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?” He goaded, thumb brushing your teary cheek with infuriating leisure. “Bet you’d look even prettier if you had just told me. Out loud.”

 He leaned in, the space shrinking, his presence overwhelming and inescapable.

 “Or do I need to say it again first? ‘Cause I will, as many times as you need. I love you. Loud enough for the whole damn street, if that’s what it takes.”

 He paused for a heartbeat, to let you catch up, then split a smile when your grip loosened on your bag.

“Fuck, if you could see yourself right now,” he rasped, soft with admiration, “makeup smudged and tears clumpin’ up your lashes. You’re a mess… you never looked more beautiful.”

You tried to turn your face away, desperate to hide beneath a curtain of shadow or behind a harsh shove to his shoulder, but his grip stayed— keeping you right there with him.

Even as you squirmed, embarrassed and overwhelmed in your own skin, his fingers denied you retreat, anchoring you in the moment. He refused to let your shyness put any more distance between you.

His thumb coaxed your bottom lip from your teeth. Bruised pink and tempting.

“You know why, don’t you?”

You shook your head. Chest squeezing tight. Half convinced this was an oxygen deprived hallucination and he wasn’t wiping away black streaks of mascara.

“’Cause no one else makes me feel… light, like you do. Like nothin’ can touch me and I’m the strongest I’ve ever been at the same time— all ‘cause you can’t help but smile every time you call me an idiot. ‘Cause you get so easily flustered when I call you pretty. I’ve never met a girl hit me for making her blush, you’re so weird. Fuck, I’m shit at this.”

His chuckle warmed your cheeks. He could feel it beneath his palms.

“That’s another thing, darlin’, you can’t hide from me, ‘kay? Not when I know every pitch of your voice, every lil’ pinch of your sweet lips, especially when you’re tryin’ to shut me out. So don’t even play that no’more. Like right now, I love how your nose scrunches when you disagree with something, like you can’t believe it and you’re just itching to correct me.”

He dipped his head forward and nudged the tip of his nose against yours.

It was impossible to resist, the warmth of his lips inches away. Lashes fluttering.

In an act of weakness you seized his jacket and used him to keep yourself grounded. Maybe a slight desperate attempt to sink into his body. His scent.

“And if you think I don’t wait around for you, then I’ve done too good a job pretendin’ like I’m not fuckin’ obsessed with your voice. I’ve watched every video you posted, y’know. Honest. I’ve seen every picture you’ve shared, an’ I practically had to block each man in your comments jus’ so I didn’t hav’ to see anyone sending hearts to you. That shit makes me itch, ya’hear me?”

You nodded shakily.

“I don’t know how to act.” He continued, keeping you close, because it was too intimate to be anything but the truth. “It’s why I embarrassed myself posting that gym video. Choji wouldn’t stop clownin’ me for it— which is fair ’cause I don’t post, ever— I jus’ wanted you to see me. I felt like you only ever looked at me whenever I flexed my arms, y’know? I waited for your notification. A like, a comment, something. It kept me up most of the night hoping you’d see it like some middle school loser. And that’s when I started giving you gifts. Those plushies, pillows, cutesy stuff that’s always digging into my back when I’m in your bed, it’s like my way of makin’ sure you remember me.”

“And you wanna hear pathetic?” He chuckled humourlessly. “I wait for your call; I hav’to keep my phone in a locker at work jus’ to stop myself from checkin’ it every hour. Hopin’ you think of me half as much as I think about you. How you’re feelin’, who you’re with, if anyone else was able to make you laugh so hard you hiccupped. You take up so much space in my head it’s like I’m stuck in some kinda dream with you— one that’s stubborn, won’t let me go, and keeps me wonderin’ if you’d ever want me the way I want you.”

Rain fell in a gentle patter against the windows, its rhythmic pour dousing the car. With each sentence he spoke, his shoulders began to sag, as if every confession let go of another ounce of tension he had been carrying for so long.

“An’ why I aired you? I lost my phone on that campin’ trip with the guys. I only found it four days later, underneath all the gear in the trunk of my car. It killed me inside thinkin’ you were mad when you didn’t call me back— which is why I turned up randomly an’ offered you that key. Your silence was drivin’ me insane. I couldn’t sleep, it was makin’ me sick, ma. I had to think of somethin’ but I knew a teddy wasn’t gonna cut it, I don’t even know how I settled on the key, I was in some kinda fog for days wonderin’ how you’d react. Like, I paced outside your door for three minutes before I even knocked. Then I tried to be casual ‘bout it, actin’ cool as if I wasn’t losin’ my mind ‘bout whether or not I should’ve got you a keychain the day before— but now I know that shit was stupid. I hid so much no wonder it freaked you out, but honestly, I just wanted you around more. To have your hibiscus shampoo on my pillow.”

He reached up, stroking a lock of your hair between his fingers.

“Had to look that up cause the scent drives me crazy, mama. It’s the only way I can relax now. I wait for you to notice me. Notice that I keep your brand of coconut milk in my fridge, that I throw house parties jus’ so you’d feel comfortable hangin’ with my friends without the pressure. That I conveniently keep making extra food, jus’ so you’d take some home. Cause then at least I know there’s always dinner in the fridge for you after work.”

You huffed lightly. The first laugh.

“I hate cooking.”

He winked knowingly. “I know, baby, but you gotta eat. And y’know what else?”

Your pulse spiked. It was impossible to look anywhere else but into those eyes that held you captive, up until that teasing smile broke free— hypnotic and crooked, drawing you in so effortlessly like every secret and hesitation melted away under its pull.

“I wait for you to say my fuckin’ name and it kills me when it’s only when I have you makin’ a mess on my dick.”

He squeezed your cheeks to force your gaze to lift back to his.

“You’re so sweet.. so kind. So addicting. So smart, an’ no one gets under my skin, keeps me focused, or makes me work hard like you do. Cause when you look at me— the way you did when I showed up tonight, like I’m the only guy that matters, like y’see right through all my bullshit an’ still want me— it makes the world feel a little less heavy, like you turn the greyest days golden, ma. It always feels a lil’ less dull with you in it. That’s why. That’s why I love you.”

A warm chuckle rumbled in his chest, voice low, gritty around the edges, but soft in all the ways only you could hear.

“I’m sorry for makin’ you cry. I’m sorry for makin’ you believe I never cared. Truth is, darlin’, I’ve loved you so loud in my chest I was scared you’d hear it before I ever worked up the nerve to say it. But now? Now I’d spend the rest of the night tryin’ to prove it, if you’ll let me. If you’ll stop running from me long enough to show you how much you mean to me.”

He wiped the last smudge, staining his hands with blotches of black mascara and pink blush, but your face glowed— radiant and alluring in his gentle touch, brighter for every mark he erased.

“You’ve wrecked me, yeah. Made a mess of my heart, and I’d let you do it again. Don’t even care. I’m yours,” he whispered into a chaste kiss.

 “Tell me you’re mine.”

Only the quiet, uneven rhythm of your breath came from your parted lips as you tried to remain conscious.

But how could you when every nerve felt exposed beneath the weight of his sincerity. His heartfelt confession both nerve-wracking and unfeigned, as though it stripped you bare and buoyed you all at once.

Was there any room left to run?

No, you didn’t want to.

Your grip on his jacket tightened instead, the teeth of the zipper dug into your skin as you clung to him. It kept you anchored. Present in the spotlight of his emerald gaze.

The air didn’t feel so oppressive anymore. Only warm. Safe. Now the rising tide of emotions that threatened to spill over weren’t drowning you, they washed over in calmer waves, leaving you delirious but lightweight. All sharp edges gentled by the way he held you— like you were precious.

 Your heartbeat no longer thundered with panic, now it fluttered. Soft. Joyful. His affections lulled you into a peace you hadn’t realised you were searching for.

Though your cheeks burned as you met his eyes. Full. Bright. To search for some sign that he might show mercy.

He didn’t, like always, he relished in your flustered torment.

“Come on,” he coaxed, feather-soft but unmovable. “I’ll wait all night if I hav’to. Let’s hear it, sweetheart.”

 His certainty was a resolute heat, as if his affection was beating from the air around you— and he’d never let you forget it, no matter how much he enjoyed watching you squirm.

 A laugh escaped you, tangled relief and outrage. A hoarse sound it didn’t quite move past your tender throat.

 “You’re an idiot. Let me breathe, please.”

 Still, you couldn’t quite meet him head-on just yet, nerves hammering wild and unrestrained the way your hands shook against his chest.

 He tilted his head and that infuriatingly gentle grin softened into something more tender.

 “Say it again,” he murmured, soothingly, barely more than a flutter in the charged air.

He stilled your shaking hands by threading his steady fingers through yours. The strength in them spread caringly as he squeezed.

“Say you love me.”

“Togame—”

“It’s Jo, darlin’. Don’t be mean now.”

 You pressed your forehead upon his, exhaling a shaky breath he greedily inhaled like a kiss.

Skin to skin and still too far.

“You love me?”

One more time. You needed it.

“Yeah, baby.” He bumped your nose again. “I love you.”

“Fuck..”

Togame waited. Letting the silence settle. Your heart to calm.

He let you fall back to rest your head against the cool window, seeking a little relief in the chilled glass as your breath fogged lightly. The world outside felt distant, but here, the cold steadied you, not to hide but to ease the whirling in your mind.

 You didn’t take your hands away though. Instead, you shyly squeezed back, fingers trembling but unwilling to let go. Not when they felt so safe, like his touch was the only anchor you had in a world that always felt a little too unsteady beneath your feet.

“I’m here.”

“I know.”

The admission slipped out. Quiet. A weight that felt like surrender.

“Then say it. Let me hear you too.”

The ache in your chest melted as you let yourself linger. Holding on just a bit tighter, afraid to let go of the moment… or of him— of his hands steadying yours.

 “If-if I do, will you unlock the door? Will you let me out so I can breathe? Or do you just wanna watch me cry some more?”

 His chuckle tickled your wrist. Kisses gentler now by your admission.

 “Maybe both,” he said, lips tracing idle circles on your inner wrist. “Maybe I jus’ like hearing you say it.”

 You groaned, the fight draining from your voice, replaced by a tremulous longing when your resistance finally faded.

 With another, timid squeeze… “I love you,” you rasped, the words so quiet they barely brushed the air between you.

 Jo’s mouth curved in a triumphant smirk.

If you turned, you would see the faint pink that coloured his cheeks. However, you stayed staring out the window, afraid that meeting his eyes might unravel the fragile courage you had just managed to muster.

 Nevertheless, it was there. His blush betrayed him, blooming quietly across his skin even as he tried to hide his own vulnerability behind that teasing smile.

 Your leg bounced rapidly.

“What was that, sweetheart?” He drawled, leaning in, glinting with mischief while trying to catch your downcast gaze as he stilled your bouncing nerves with another strong hand. “Didn’t quite catch it. Maybe you should say it again— loud enough like those sweet cries you make beggin’ me to let you cum.”

 You squeaked. “Jo!”

Cheeks burned, hands flew out in clumsy slaps as your voice pitched high. But he only laughed, the sound flowing around you like music.

“I mean it,” he pressed, gaze all molten challenge, every word a gentle shove. “Say it again. Say it like you mean it. Scream it— show me that wild energy from before.”

 You glared at him, pulse stuttering, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, quirking up despite yourself.

 He leaned in again, his smile so infuriatingly sure. “Go on. Don’t keep me waiting. y’know I love the sound of your voice— especially when you’re loud.”

Inside, almost a year of doubts clawed at the edges of your resolve, whispering insecurities and old fears.

But over their anxious chorus you forced a new chant— he loves you, he loves you, he loves you— allowing the words to surge through your mind with relentless force. Louder and bolder until months of cumulated uncertainties faded into the background. A lifeline. Drowning out every night you spent second-guessing and worrying, every text you reread until your eyes blurred and your throat squeezed, it tethered you into the undeniable truth of his affection.

 You clung to it, to his hands, daring and unafraid at last. Every fibre of you hummed with the simple, ferocious certainty; he loves you.

He loves you. He loves you.

With a huff, you squared your shoulders. “Fine!” you shouted, heat flooding your chest, stubborn and wild in a way only Togame Jo could ignite.

 “I love you!”

For a long moment, the only reply was the uneasy dance of your leg and the thrum of your frantic pulse— until his hand, firm and certain, caught yours once again, threading your fingers together like a promise. An admission.

 I love you too.

All at once, you felt light. As if gravity itself had let you go. Free in the warmth of his heart. Yet anchored in the certainty that love, his love— real and undeniable— held you fast, grounding you even as your heart soared.

 It was… bliss. Quiet. Exhilarating.

A giddy laugh bubbled out. It seemed to pop and multiply as he joined in.

Weightless laughter tangled in joy and relief flowed in a car you never quite let yourself relax in until old tensions dissolved from the simple caress of his hand in yours.

You laughed loud.

“Imagine how much easier this would’ve been—”

He laughed harder.

“If we stopped being pussies?”

You giggled, cheeks warm. “Yeah, couple of pussies.”

Another deep laugh burst.

“How can you make a curse sound so fuckin’ cute?”

You shoved him lightly, but he only grinned wider and stared at you with that same endearing look— deep, adoring, utterly unfazed by your protest.

His shoulders shook lightly in his laughter. Brawny and firm even in the bulky drape of his jacket. He must have been lounging at home when you texted, his black shirt was inside out and he was wearing his favourite sweats, the one with frayed strings that were tied loose enough for them to hang.

 You could gawk over the masculine cut of his jaw or blush at the rugged strength in his frame, all the muscles and scars coiled in his physique… but none of it could compare to his smile.

Not the sly smirk or teasing leer, but his real smile. The one that was so open and unguarded it stripped years away and left him looking every bit of the boy who once believed in happy endings. All innocence and light, as if laughter itself had made him new again.

Softening him in a way that made your heart lose rhythm.

With love as permission, you both openly admired one another— your gaze tracing him, his eyes drinking you in.

At first, it was tender, basking in the glow of newfound ease. Tracing the lines of each other’s hands.

Your fingertips brushed over the bruises mottled across his knuckles. Veins visible and tinted blue under his skin. His fingers were long and solid, wide at the joint and strong, but a dryness that made the course skin hard on his palm.

You pressed your palm against his, lining up each finger so they matched. His hand seemed to swallow yours completely, thick and marked by old scars that showed how much he used them. As you ran your fingers along his, you could feel the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

 It felt like an indulgence touching him this way.

You used to wait for him to fall asleep before letting your fingers trail over his skin, as if the act was forbidden, a secret too raw to risk being witnessed. Only when his long, dark lashes closed could you exhale the fear of your affections being perceived. Rejected.

 You shifted closer.

As the quiet stretched, something deeper stirred. A subtle heat began to bloom.

Softness sharpened. Hunger threaded through as a silent desire pulsed between you.

It made you acutely aware of the distance, because even without speaking, you could feel the ache for it— your curves pressed against his tall, bracing frame— desperate for the familiar rush that always came when you melted into him. When his scent wrapped around you.

Still, the teasing hush lingered, his gaze said more than words ever could.

 He squeezed your hand. His grip an easy assurance— but his words were anything but when that gleam in his eye darkened.

 “You know, sweetheart, all that talkin’— confessions an’ shit— it’s nice. But if you really wanna seal the deal,” his smirk widened. “Maybe you oughta be daring. Give me somethin’ I’ll remember every time I lock this door.”

Butterflies flittered.

“Don’t you think we’ve done that already?”

You released his hand. Shyness blooming.

“There are plenty of memories in that seat alone. I still owe you for scratching the bumper when you insisted to teach me how to parallel park.”

 “And you paid by makin’ me laugh so hard I fell on the curb, sweetheart. I’d call that an even trade.”

Headlights passed behind him, their beams shrouding his face in a halo of pale gold that amplified every feature. Shadows gathered beneath his cheekbones and jaw— like the night itself was framing his expression, drawing out the intensity in his eyes and the set of his mouth.

 “C’mere, darlin’.” He tipped his chin. “Right here.”

He slouched back; his thighs open in a casual invitation. The seat seemed barely able to contain him, burly shoulders pressed against the sides, knees spread wide, so the space felt smaller. Like it moulded to fit his build. He filled it with easy dominance, every inch of him at home and sprawling, as if the chair was made to accommodate only him.

 And you.

 You could fit. Right where his toned thighs invited you in.

And yet… you didn’t want to surrender that easily. So, you leaned back as well, carefully propped your foot up on the seat, and allowed your layered hem to slip down. Soft fabric skimmed your supple skin, exposing sensuous thighs he followed with an almost predatory focus before you folded it carefully, feigning modesty.

He tracked the movement, eyes lidded, canines stark in his grin.

“Fuck.” He huffed, hoarse. “How can you sit there when I want you so bad?”

“How can you let me be so far away?” you countered, confidence thrumming as if his presence had doused you— saturated your resolve so deep you could feel it heating blood too intimate to ignore. “It’s like you get off on making me uncomfortable.”

“I’m makin’ you uncomfortable, baby?”

You shrugged. “Not as much now.”

His grin spread. “Yeah?”

You nodded, a teasing smile tugged. “Yeah, you’re not so scary anymore, Togame Jo.”

He sat up. “I scared you?”

You shrugged. Sighed slow.

“Loving you scared me.”

Togame shifted slightly. “And now?”

Your cheeks were hot. The warmth crept all the way to your ears as you struggled to answer.

Then you did. So quiet only he could hear.

“Not afraid of it anymore. I love you.”

The words slipped like a pebble breaking the surface of a still pond— rippling out, steady.

 “Then come here.” He whispered, echoing the ripple. “Kiss me.”

Playfulness unfurled as you pretended to think about it, tilting your head just so, eyes darting mischievously around the car as though searching for some hidden answer while he nudged your knee impatiently. After a moment, you finally shook your head and said, “No.”

 “Then how will I know you meant it?” He sighed dramatically. “What’s a confession without a kiss, huh? They do it all the time in the movies.”

 “How sentimental of you.”

Togame batted his lashes, clutching his shirt where his heart rested. “You’ve stolen my heart and now, my dear princess, won’t do me the kindness of giving me one last kiss.” He made a sound of woeful despair. “So beautiful and yet so cruel. I will never love again.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting a smile.

 “Promise?”

“You want me to die a virgin?!”

You spluttered laughter, caught off guard. He whined even more dramatically as you playfully fought against his grip on your ankle.

“You’re not a virgin!”

“Am so!”

“Since when?”

 “Since you said you loved me.” He said plainly, releasing you with an exaggerated solemnity.

You scoffed quietly.

 “Honest. I’ve been born again, ma, practically a whole new man thanks to you.” He drawled, beaming at you in delight. “Come on, babe. Be bold! Where did that fire go? I loved seein’ you unleash it all on me.”

A cheshire-like grin flashed on his cheeks.

You cringed. “Shut up! Don’t be gross!”

“I didn’t even—”

“You were thinking it!”

“How—”

“You’re predictable, Togame. And stupidly immature.”

“Aww, what happened to Jo?” He pouted, lips jutting out in mock offence.

For a ridiculous moment you almost caved just from how adorable he looked.

 With him, it was so easy— like every burden had been lifted, and you could finally be weightless. There was no longer a need to hold back or feel shame for expressing your affection. You were free. Free to just exist and be wholly yourself.

 Even when he was being utterly ridiculous, laughter bubbled up again despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“Only good boys get rewarded, Togame.”

“Maybe I need to be punished then.” He hummed low. Leering close. “I have so many sinful thoughts. All of ‘em startin’ an’ ending’ with you.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed your palm to his cheek, brushing his jaw's thin stubble as he scrunched his nose in protest from pushing him away. You couldn’t hide your smile, fondness bloomed quietly.

He waggled his eyebrows shamelessly. “Don’t act like you don’t love it. Admit it, you’d miss my charm if I stopped.”

“You’re so corny.”

“Mm, you love that. And my smell, and you just can’t sleep without me,” he sang.

 You shot him a glare, exasperation prickling beneath your skin like a blush you can’t push back. But you couldn’t quite tamp down the warmth rushing through your core either. Between your thighs and the intimate places only he seemed to reach.

 “Maybe I’ll just leave you here, idiot.” Even as you said it, your voice betrayed you, irritation softened by the undeniable pull he always seemed to have.

 He grinned, wicked as sin, baiting you as always. “Or you could just spank me.”

“You’re such a child.” You shot back, arousal fluttering, words trembling in nerves and thrill laced with desire under his stare. “I’m just not sure you deserve anything after all that teasing.”

Jo shifted closer, his skin warm, the distance between you falling to a mere heartbeat.

“Then put me in my place. Or do I have to beg?” He purred, a velvet dare. “I know you’ve imagined me on my knees. Maybe a collar, I’ll be your pretty little pet, yea baby? All yours to play with.”

 You huffed, mouth twisting in defiance despite the fire that flooded your belly imagining the scene.

 You couldn’t help yourself; it began to permeate like a relentless hum— an ache, a hunger, a vivid fantasy that gnawed at your thoughts as you envisioned a fresh sheen of sweat coating his broad chest. His greedy hands tied behind his back and the pretty leash clasped tight around his neck, enhancing the vibrant bruises you had already decorated on his flesh with teeth and lips.

Mouth parted in rugged pants trickling drool from his hanging tongue. His thick cock leaking strings of pre-cum from a swollen red tip—

You cinched your thighs. “You never shut up, do you?”

“Not when you’re looking at me like that, no.”

“You mean irritated?”

“In love.” He sighed, breathless and dramatic. His lip curled. Eyes flickered. “Horny.”

“You’re so- ugh!” you shouted, chest unsteady.

 “Yeah? Well, I love the way your tits bounce when you huff and puff at me. All according to plan in my book.”

 Your cheeks burned as you attempted to cross your arms over them.

“Too late for that,” he hummed. “Could colour match your areola’s, darlin’.”

“Oh my Go— Stop!”

“Make me.”

You tried for another retort, but he was insufferable, relentless, and before you let another word fly, you surged forward— all nerves and adrenaline— capturing his lips in a kiss both fiery and uncertain. A surprise that silenced his teasing with the press of your soft lips.

Just a second, Jo stilled, and then his smile broke against your mouth. Laughter died into something softer, deeper as he cupped your cheek and coaxed your tongue to play with his. But you didn’t let him lead, not this time.

 You pulled him into a sensual dance of rolling tongues and slick warmth shifting against eager lips. A shuddering sensation of heightened desire and loving sighs that fogged the windows.

Amusement dissolved into a pleased huff. You tasted him and the salt of his skin; a hint of spice mixed with your own peach gloss. Each press left a soft sheen behind. The flavour caught on his mouth, lingering with the fruit’s subtle tang.

Fingers laced through silky black curls as you pulled him in, held him tight, pressed the flush of your breasts upon his hard chest and felt it constrict over the contact. You moaned softly, absorbing the heat that spread upon your touch as you moved to tug the jacket over his shoulders and claimed the muscles underneath with greedy squeezes.

He groaned throatily and fell into your body. Your lips and warmth and hands. Happily swept up in the heady rush of your embrace, the kiss burst into something frenzied and deep it released the needy craving always thrumming beneath his strong palms to grip your hips. Your waist— all to feel your softness spill over his fingers and fondle for more. There was always more. Your curves sang to him like the moans he swallowed with his tongue.

You shifted and he followed. The seatbelt buckle squeezed into your hip, so when you leaned back he climbed over just to keep your mouth on his. There was no room to sit comfortably, tangled as you were in the cramped space, limbs twisted and passion rolling in waves, the car stifled with desire and promise.

“God, fuck.” His kiss crashed hungrily against yours, unrestrained and deep. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy, y’know that?”

You moaned breathlessly, scratching at the nape of his hair. A single word passed.

“Mine.”

His tongue slid deeper as if to claim the word you gasped. You welcomed him, sucking on it then releasing it with a wet pop only to have white teeth sink into your plump bottom lip.

“Greedy, mama.” he chuckled gruffly. “you’re lucky I like spoilin’ you. Too cute— mmh—”

You clung to him, arms locked around his shoulders, legs hooked so he couldn’t pull away. Your bodies fit. Your lips parted with a needy whimper against his, the sound spilling into the kiss and betraying your craving for more. It was a raw, half-plea that vibrated against his lips, urging him closer, harder.

Togame sank into the moment, a smirk curved as he savoured every second of your breast filling his palm.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Expert fingers pinched and tweaked your pert nipple, reaching through fabric to tease mercilessly, sending sharp sparks of pleasure through your chest. But what made whimpers hitch were the murmured praises he slipped into the kiss.

 It fuelled you.

How could you have not realised before? That he had always spoken to you like this; his words laced with unfiltered adoration.

All those murmured compliments, those rough, honest confessions, had been there for you to hear, if only you’d listened. His stuttered curses losing bite whenever you greedily seized control. His sighs of content misted by affection. He loves you. In the raw, unguarded way only a man like him can— fierce, honest, and completely incapable of pretending otherwise.

Another breathy sigh of his name filled the kiss.

The boxy space pressed his jacket in messy folds around his thighs. Rough texture rubbed against your bare skin with each shift as his sweats scraped the cupholder and your leg, the friction stoked the heat as he crammed in densely. He could feel his cock stiffening rapidly, the base growing thick and pulsing with blood.

“Hold’on, ma.”

You whined louder gliding your tongues together.

He faltered, your kiss making him forget the discomfort of leaning over the armrest and handbrake. His body arched awkwardly in the tight space as he tried to reach you.

Whereas you couldn’t release him. Even as he attempted to slow— your grip tightened quicker, determined not to let him dictate the rhythm. There was no way you were surrendering control, not now, not when his erection tented, heavy and poking against your leg. So you lifted your hips and caught a rough friction that broke a dual groan.

 “Baby, fuck.”

Togame tried to pause to catch his breath, a heartbeat of restraint before you seized him again.

He groaned heavily in another attempt to pull away.

 “Stop before I fuck you up like your pussy owes me money or some shit.”

 “Then fuck me up.”

His chuckle croaked in his throat as you clung to him. Hands wondering, compelled, sliding up to cup his jaw. Your kiss smacked against his lips— “Since when do you, mmh, hold back, huh?”

“Me? Hold back?” He spoke into your mouth. “Shit, you forget who, ngh, makes this pussy cry, hah?”

You giggled lightly. High. Buzzing. Mouths locked.

“Uhh, yeah? And who m-makes this pretty cock all leaky, mm?”

Jo bit your lip, quick and sharp, then grazed your cheek with his teeth. “Call my dick pretty again, he liked it,” he teased, grinning, and then captured your mouth again.

Uncaring of the gearshift pinching your thigh— his hands spread over the plush flesh. Opening you up for his heavy frame to slot itself in the confined space. His knees bumped awkwardly while you shuffled, keeping the kiss to a sultry pace as he adjusted.

To the passenger seat you occupied, he wedged himself between your legs and the dashboard. The new angle had you tilting your head, exposing your neck that scarred fingers ghosted over on their way to your chest where they could feel just how hard your heart was beating.

 Tongues danced to a lustful pulse.

 Lips smacked. Moans fell.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re addictin’.” His fingers dug into your thigh, a desperate anchor— his grip tense, as if battling to hold onto what little sense he had left. “Told you, ma.” He grunted. “Told you I can’t, shit, control myself with you.”

The car narrowed to the charged hush between you. The electric touch of lips, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’d won this round. When you feverishly drank in his pleasure filled groans and felt it pool an addictive rush of heat through your veins. All the way to your cunt where it ached.

 Right then, Togame slotted himself at the perfect angle.

 You cried out softly. His name, a curse. A plea.

Hips moved fluidly, clothed but not any less addicting. Each shift drove you deeper into the seat, bunching up your dress, spiking desire as you grinded back up into his hardened length. Your hands, fervid and bold, slipped beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing the taut lines of his abdomen.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, all yours.”

 Thighs tightened, breath hot in your mouth. His sweatpants chafed against your skin, but it was a delicious burn you were too delirious to slow down when your panty covered vulva rubbed so perfectly into his erection. What little control you had begun to fade as you mindlessly grinded up and down, your sex hot and growing sticky against his.

 “Jo..”

 “I know, baby, I know. So greedy, fuck..”

Your kisses grew desperate, stroking his tongue like he wasn’t already lightheaded from it all.

The mingled scent of leather and lust hung thick as his hips rocked forward. Again, and again. And again. You moaned into his mouth. Tiny gasps for more friction upon your throbbing clit melded. He answered, as always, by gripping your inner thigh and thrusting his hips as beads of pre-cum and wet slick dampened fabric until it clung lewdly to your pussy lips, exposing the outline of your flesh so intimately he could feel your folds sliding on the veins underside of his length. His tip reddened obscenely, sensitive and rubbing on three layers of wet material, Jo rolled his hips to feel your clit pulsate on him. By now, his pants were stained dark in its erotic mixture, boxers sticking to his skin, his arousal was apparent and growing into a frantic pace.

 Togame’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.

 “Baby..”

He didn't know what he was asking for— maybe it was a thank you. For wanting him— showing him that his love was matched, reciprocated. Or maybe you just tasted so fucking good it was a rugged plea to slow down before the dribbles of pre-cum ruining his boxers didn't become an humiliating 3-minute mess.

Nails mapped the sharp line of cheekbone, then dipped to scratch at the base of his skull where the undercut was trimmed bold. He shivered, a ripple running down his nerves, and you felt his body arc closer, tighter, as if there was any more space left to erase.

 Suddenly, a stray flash of light from the street outside caught your attention, halting the charged rhythm.

Both of you stilled, chests tight, listening as a car engine rumbled past— reminding you, if only for a second, of the world beyond your bubble.

 You giggled. Then, finally drew back, dazed and lips wet.

Silvery strings dripped, connecting your lips like threads spun between dewdrops. Fragile. Shining, until you broke the spell with a slow lick of your lip. It severed the glistening bridge as Jo’s eyes shadowed with something new.

His fair cheeks flushed deep. His cock jumped watching how your chest bounced in desperate puffs of air. He was half convinced you could hear how his own heart roared in conjunction.

Full lips bruised with teeth and love, he traced them with his tongue— almost an apology, really, just adoration. Because how could he resist when you were stunning in the streetlight shadows, like a masterpiece painted in midnight gold. A strange possessiveness clawed at him. It will be a sight only for him to witness.

“Well,” he whispered, considerably hoarser, “now that’s how you kiss a guy.”

 You smirked, pride and relief flooding your face. He dabbled more kisses, eager to taste, unable to withdraw. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

“Promise?” he huffed, voice rough, and for the first time tonight, it was his turn to be flustered as your touch followed the natural curve from his neck to his shoulder and let it slip under his shirt. Your warmth bloomed on his skin it stirred the blood past his sweats where his cock strained heavily against the material.

There was no room for shame, or his knees, whenever your kisses ignited the blood in his core. It flowed hotly. Swelling his desires so ardently you could feel the weight of him on your thigh.

“Yeah, it’s the only way to shut you up.”

“Yea? Then— hah, hold on—”

You watched him struggle to find footing until eventually yanking on your adjuster and it collapsed, the seat jerking back with a startled thud that made you both burst into laughter.

“Ooff, you’re heavy!”

“That’s jus’ my dic— ow! Okay, okay!”

 You huffed a laugh, allowing him to shift and fumble as he tried to find a comfortable spot in the cramped seat.

 In the end his limbs spawled with yours and a sheepish grin tugged at his lips now that he lay half beneath you and half crumbled to the side at the door.

His warmth pressed reassuringly, squished but fitting together as if you have always belonged this way. The snugness of the seat didn’t feel restrictive; it wrapped around you both, amplifying the growing intimacy as every shared breath and caress of skin climbed steadily higher.

 As your laughter faded, he reached down, fingers threading with surprising gentleness at your throat.

With a careful, almost reverent touch, he unclasped your necklace where it had twisted awkwardly, deftly straightening the fine chain until it lay smooth and untangled against your skin. His thumb lingered at the hollow of your throat, tenderness unmistakable in his stare as if he were quietly committing your smile to memory and holding the intimacy of the night as closely as you were to his chest.

He was utterly in love. Jo pressed a kiss to your cheek, unable to resist how it chubbed so sweetly when you smiled, and he swore he’d never get enough of it.

“If you keep looking at me like that…” you began, playfulness chasing away any lingered doubts, “my necklace will get all tangled again.”

“Mm?” Jo’s smile altered into that familiar lazy slant as he drew you in with a conspiratorial tilt of his head— close enough that you could feel the simmering desire, the unspoken dare in his eyes.

 “And what if you put your pretty lil’ pussy on my face, what would that do?”

 Your face burned instantly, a wash of heat rising from your neck to your cheeks, but before you could recoil away, he seized your chin— bold and insistent.

His hold was a weighted command, tilting your gaze back up to his. Refusing you the refuge of shyness once again.

To meet his eyes and to accept the intimacy he offered without retreat.

“What did I say about hiding?”

His grip was strong— dominant in a way that made your nipples pebble under your dress, tight against his sturdy chest— yet never rough, just enough to remind you of the easy power layered beneath his calm.

“Can’t run from me, darlin’. You’re mine. Said so yourself, remember?”

You nodded tentatively. His kiss still tingling on your tongue.

 The humidity inside the car pressed close. It turned the cabin into your own secret haven, thick with tension and the scent of shared want. Already, beads of condensation gathered on the windows, blurring the city outside into hazy smudges.

Sealing the world away and cocooning you together in an intimate fog.

Above you, his wide shoulders blocked out the streetlight, the world shrinking to shadow and heat, to desire and adoration. The night seemed to bend around him like he was meant to stand between you and everything else.

 “Answer me, baby. Tell me how your pussy would feel on me.”

You squeezed your thighs, nerves and lust-filled excitement raking through your core, especially upon the realisation he lay perfectly flush pressed against your cunt.

One thigh rested over his hip, the other trapped between his knees you could feel the hardness bulging. You would have blushed if it didn’t make your throat ache. Almost like it was anticipating the stretch... the all-to familiar trail of veins on your tongue.

 “You already know.”

Togame inched closer, as if he can only hear you when your warm breath touched his lips.

 “Remind me. And you better use my name, no more Togame shit. It’s Jo, baby. I’m all yours.”

Your lips parted. “Jo…” you managed, the sound of his name trembling desire you no longer bothered to hide. Not when spread over his lap with his erection wedged hot you could feel him twitch excitedly. Particularly when your nipples pressed on him, he could feel the thin straps barely holding your heavy breasts beneath your dress.

 “Mm?”

 “If-If I sat on your face… you’d feel how wet I am.”

 “Yeah?”

You nodded shakily and found the words with his next kiss against your lips.

 “You’d know exactly what you do to me, how you drive me crazy.”

His kisses trailed along your skin, to your cheek and to the rapid beat beneath your ear.

 “I would- I would be hot and slippery. Y-you would have to lick it up.”

 “Have to?” he echoed.

Before you could answer, his hand, the one not stroking your bottom lip, slid tenderly slow up the back of your thigh. His touch was possessive; his long fingers squeezed pillowy flesh only familiar to him.

 “Ye-yeah, you’d have to taste me, Jo, until I can’t say your name without begging.”

His kiss found your pulse. Rapid, then wet from his tongue. His hot breath burst against your damp skin, leaving a trace of shivers as he whispered your name. his lips lingered over the place where your heart raced just for him.

“An’ how would you say my name?”

His wondering fingers reached your panties. He brushed a knuckle over your slit caged by cotton and sighed throatily at the wetness that greeted him. More trickled from the sound.

 You squirmed, “Jo..”

 “Nah, not like that.”

Stickiness marred the fabric in a lewd patch he explored languidly.

 “Say my name properly.”

He brushed the pad of his fingers up and down in slow strokes that made your thighs twitch. Open-mouth kisses followed the column of your neck while his fingers traced the cloth covering your clit, leaving a warm, tingling trail along both parts of your skin. Drawing out airy sighs with persistent caress.

He liked to play with you as if you were a toy he could pull apart and reconstruct, but you weren’t in the mood for games tonight; your patience was wearing thin, and his teasing only made you crave something you were still fighting to articulate.

 “Jo..” you whined.

 “Not like that either, darlin’. Don’t tell me you forgot how to say my name.”

You shivered, not from the cold air that could never penetrate the arousal that simmered in the cramped space of the car, but from the delicious ache he drummed as he hooked his fingers on the fabric caging your pussy lips and playfully tugged. Once. Twice.

 “Fuck, Jo… stop teasing.”

The hand that was steadying your head shifted, moving to your lips.

His thigh spread yours wider.

 “Didn’t finish tellin’ me about your pussy, darlin’.”

You huffed, closing your mouth on his thumb. The temptation to bite crossed, but he was quicker— his wet thumb brushed over your nipple instead. It took every muscle tensed not to shudder. “Thought you knew everything about that..”

 “I like it when you tell me.”

 “You mean you like it when I beg.”

His eyes slanted, striking but tinged with a mischievous shadow as he idly tugged on the strings holding your tits. Not to release them, just to play. “Just like to hear how much you want me. Is that so bad?”

He was still playing as your senses narrowed to nothing but the heat of his mouth upon yours and the hold he had on you— possessive, electrifying. His caress was slow, purposeful, savouring the way your pussy quivered over his index circling right above your clitoral hood. his lips curved with wicked delight at your choked gasp and moan. Fingers dipped inside. Tongues played.

Fuck, you were getting light-headed. Where was that dominating fire that rushed through you before? You should tackle him down, you should use your weight to pin his hips, free his thick cock just resting on your knee, you should—

 “Mm, Jo..”

 “Almost there.”

His kiss deepened, forcing you into submission. Pooling arousal in your belly yet moving from your cunt all together as he gripped your ass in greedy fistfuls, lush fat spilled over his fingers as he squeezed appreciatively.

 “You’re so beautiful..”

Your body bowed into his as you shifted your leg to straddle his thigh.

He groaned low, inhaled your mewls and held you tight despite the urgent tremble of anticipation in your needy cunt, as though he couldn’t bear to let you slip away from his mouth. Or hands. Not that you could, no amount of squirming broke you free from his hold. The flex of his muscles, size of his palms fondling your cushy ass and thighs were a reminder of his raw strength. It left you breathless and aching for more.

It left you at his mercy. His control. It was his turn as the drags of his tongue worked along the crevice of your mouth. His turn to have you panting— he hadn’t removed your panties just yet, instead he allowed the damp fabric to work its tantalising friction upon your cunt as he let you grind on his thigh, using it to stimulate your clit until it practically throbbed and your keening broke his kiss.

 “Fuck, I love you. Love this ass, thighs, ngh,” he panted, starved. “Love this pussy, mama. but your lips are my favourite. I could kiss you for hours.”

 Your head swam. He kissed you again. Silencing any response that wasn’t a smothered moan as he yanked on your panties gently. Playing.

Hips circled impatiently. You were a thin hiss away from pleading as his grip tightened the second your nails dug into his forearm and the pressure suddenly pinched— your panties strangled your clit, the squeeze was both torturous and sharp it startled a high-pitch moan before he released them.

 “Jo!”

“Couldn’t help myself.” He said, grinning wolfishly. “You just drive me insane.” He inhaled the crown of your hair despite how you wriggled against his grip. “You’re too cute not to play with, baby. Now, hold still and let me play.”

Finally, he peeled them to the side and exposed your pussy to the stifled air. Humid and immediate. You felt the moisture that seeped meet the open air and your entire body arched, desperate for relief he held inches away.

 “All hot for me, yeah?”

Your thighs clenched. He pried them open with his hip, forcing them to still for his fingers to prod and stroke.

“Don’t hide your pussy from me, not when she this wet, fuck.. jus’ dripping fo’me.. love me that much, yeah? So hot and sticky, shit, got the prettiest fuckin’ cunt all to myself.”

He traced the fat of your labia in controlled drags. His whispered tease made you feel like you might unravel completely as more and more wetness coated the skin. Your panties. His pants. Togame traced through the slick heat, parting the squishy folds deliberately slow to tap on your clit. Sensitised and engorged, one flick tore a strangled cry.

 “Shh, don’t let anyone else hear my favourite song.”

You couldn’t help the exasperated little sound that escaped at his corny line, rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself. The noise only made him chuckle a pleased rumble against your ear as he pawed around your soft cunt.

 “Jo..” you bucked your hips and whined incessantly when he ignored your silent plea by massaging his middle finger over your opening, only to slide back over your sopping folds once again. Seizing any momentum while his left hand steadied the back of your neck to his gaze.

 “Let me take you home.”

He made no immediate moves as your own hands wondered. Under his shirt, over his hefty bulge. Jo let you explore, unhurried in his own touches. You rubbed the trimmed trail of hair over his gorgeously toned stomach and relished when they tensed, the barest hint of a reaction while you felt high already, foggy from the arousal he ignited with a few controlled drags and hungry kisses, but it wasn’t enough.

 You wanted more. Always.

 “Fuck me in the backseat,” you said, nipping his bottom lip. “You’ve done it loads of times.”

He grunted softly. Chasing your lips for another heady kiss, then pulled back just enough to speak. “After all that, I need you in my bed. Or yours.” He whispered, holding you tight. Whereas his thumb worked your slit, barely pressing hot inside your soft inner labia. “I want to take my time with you. Show you what I’ve been holdin’ back.”

 Pleasure rippled along your spine. “God, what more could you be holding back, Togame?”

“There are a couple things I’ve been keepin’ locked away,” he chuckled, swirling his thumb upon your hole. The pressure consistent. Soaked. The muscle clenched and unclenched around nothing, trying to pull for what hasn’t been given yet.

Manicured nails raked down the slopes and planes of his abdomen harder this time. He hissed sharply as tortuously deep welts reddened, it flowed blood so hot Togame almost let his fingers slip inside. But he held still. His will was stronger than the ardent ache pulsating his cock. More than ever, Jo was determined to savour all the ways he could make your pussy leak now that his love was as open and raw as the need thrumming between your bodies.

There was nothing left to hide. To hold back, only the indulgence to the heat that spiked feverishly whenever you so much as peered up at him.

It burned now. You loved him.

“Let me take you home. I wanna taste you.”

 “Fuck me now.” You replied. Panting. “make it hurt, punish me for pushing you away for so long.”

 “Fuck, baby..” his erection swelled. “I—”

Impatience rolled your hips to catch his thumb on your clit. Another roll and a shudder, then he withdrew his hand, only to strike a playful slap that arched your neck and pierced a sharp cry.

 “How greedy of you.”

You whined his name.

 “Close, not quite.”

 “Jo!” you shrieked, frustrations pouring.

 “Opposite direction there, sweetheart.”

 “Fuck my throat.”

He stilled.

You clawed at his navel. His stomach clenched. Your hands skated down the hem of his pants, carefully gauging his reaction as you yanked at the strings.

He didn’t stop you, not yet. You pulled at it, enough to slip your hand down.

 “Let me touch you too.”

Dark tuffs of hair tickled your fingers. You sucked in a sharp breath, blinking up at him as you curled your hand around his hard cock. It was warm. Balmy in your palm by body heat and trickles of pre-cum that drooled from his slit and coated the veins that forked along the length.

 A tiny moan fell just from the weight of it, a girth that didn’t allow you to meet your fingers all the way.

 He was big. Not surprisingly— simply fact.

A lazy, familiar smirk stayed etched on his features.

“Don’t act surprised, baby. You know what you do to me.”

Jo drifted your focus to the slickness trailing down your slit with careful rubs. A shuddering reminder of how ready your body was for him as Togame’s finger— finally, god, finally— slipped in easily. You sighed deeply, lashes falling as your spongey walls lewdly and audibly sucked him in to the knuckle.

 “And I love how desperate this cunt gets fo’me.”

 “Not surprised.” You gasped, canting your hips. “Just need you. Need you inside me.”

 “I am inside you.”

He pumped his finger and savoured how your slippery walls spasmed on the single digit.

A lesser man would have jumped at that request. Rammed in and had your tits bouncing with your legs hooked over his shoulders. Moans breaking. Tears shining. The hot silky skin of his cock sheathed by your tight quivering pussy. Sinking in and out at a relentless pace skin would clap from the force, your thighs would quake.

Tempting. Incredibly tempting.

However, for making you cry, you deserved more. More than a reclined leather seat. More than haste. You deserved to be cherished.

END OF PART II

Kyle steps out of Hatchetfield High, ready to go home, have dinner with his grandma, play a board game — it’s family game night, he always looks forward to spending more time with his grandma, especially with his busy schedule — and go to bed. It’s dark already, practice went on a bit longer today.

As he’s walking to his car he spots Max alone, pacing back-and-forth and overall looking very un-Max-like.

Kyle stops walking, considering if he should go up to Max. They are friends… to an extent. But Kyle doesn’t want Max to get the wrong idea and beat his ass.

Fuck it, he thinks, and walks towards Max who immediately whips his head around when he hears the heavy footsteps coming towards him.

“Uh, Max! You alright?”

Kyle immediately regrets the words as they come out of his mouth. Max will definitely kick his ass for asking that, he doesn’t do feelings and shit.

But to his surprise, Max just responds with a gruff, “I’m fine”

The energy immediately goes awkward as neither boy speaks. Kyle averts his eyes and looks off to the parking lot. He notices that Max’s white pickup truck isn't anywhere to be seen.

“Do you need a ride?” He asks, looking back towards Max.

After a few seconds, Max nods and Kyle walks off to his – well technically his grandma’s – car. Max follows behind, weirdly subdued. It’s odd seeing the school’s ‘Monster’ acting like this but Kyle doesn't dare bring it up.

*beep beep*

Kyle unlocks the car as they step closer. He walks over to the driver’s side door as Max opens the passenger’s side door and gets in, buckling up his seatbelt. Kyle gets into his seat a second later and after buckling himself in, he sets off. He knows the way to Max’s house despite only having gone there once, he can be very observant sometimes, so he doesn’t have to ask Max for the address.

The drive is quiet but surprisingly comfortable as Kyle hums along to the song which is softly playing on the radio and Max stares out the window.

After a short drive – Hatchetfield is a very small town so it doesn't take long to get anywhere – they pull up to Max’s house. It’s not what one would expect, a fairly quaint, quiet looking house, on the outskirts of Hatchetfield. But anyone who heard the rumours about Max’s dad would know that it isn't as nice as it might seem. Just seeing the house gives Kyle a weird feeling of dread.

Max steps out of Kyle’s car without a word and walks off towards his house. Kyle doesn’t leave yet, he learned from his grandma to not drive off until the person is safely inside their house. At 18, the rule is probably not necessary anymore but he can’t help but continue the habit.

And he’s glad he did when Max walks up to the door and turns the knob to no avail. He tries a bit harder, roughly shoving the door, but it doesn’t open.

Kyle rolls the passenger side door’s window down and can hear Max cussing under his breath. The boy sucks in a breath, mentally preparing himself, before pressing the doorbell. He waits a few seconds but no noise comes from inside the house. Max tries again but still nothing happens.

Kyle decides it’s time to speak up. “You can stay over at my house if you want.”

Max turns around sharply. “What?” He asks, but it doesn’t sound as mad as Kyle had expected, instead he just sounds confused.

“Uh, I asked if you wanted to stay over at mine for the night? I’m sure my grandma would be fine with it.” Kyle gets more nervous as he repeats himself.

“I heard you the first time dumbass, it’s just… why the fuck would you ask?”

Kyle immediately starts sweating bullets. He didn’t know how what he said was wrong but around Max he can never be too careful, the wrong thing at the wrong time can set him off, and no one wants that.

But before Kyle can say anything Max continues, “I’ve been a total asshole to you, why the hell would you want me to stay at your house?”

Kyle blinks. That’s not what he expected.

“Well… fuck, I don’t know.”

“… you don’t know.”

Kyle laughs nervously. “I mean, I don’t want you to sleep outside or something. It would be shitty of me to just leave you.”

“I’d do it”

Kyle doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily he doesn’t have to as Max starts walking back towards his car.

He stops infront of the door. “You really want me to stay over?”

“Yeah”

Max nods and opens the door, sitting back down on the seat.

Kyle starts the engine up again and begins the drive to his house. It’s awkward for the first few minutes before Kyle decides to break the silence.

“Uh, me and my grandma are gonna have a family game night tonight, it’s kinda a tradition for us each Friday. I’m sure she’d love for you to join in.”

Max looks over at Kyle, and he continues.

“Do you do that? Uh, game night.” He mentally facepalms, of course Max doesn’t.

“No.”

Kyle nods awkwardly, eyes on the road.

“I used to, when my mom was around…”

That causes Kyle to look over at Max before quickly looking back at the road. Even from the split-second of him looking over, Kyle can tell Max regrets saying that with how he grips his knees and stares down at the dashboard.

“Well, uh.. you could always start doing it with us. If you want, obviously. Ya know, the more the merrier and all that stuff and it’s hard playing some games with just 2 people.”

Max nods just as they pass by the High school.

“Wait, why’re we going by the high school?”

“Oh, my grandma’s house is close to the school.”

“Then why’d you offer to take me home if it’s out of the way?”

“I… fuck man I already told you, I don’t know. I guess you just looked kinda sad? Well, I don’t mean that but like you looked just not yourself. And I noticed your car wasn’t there-“ Kyle rambles on, his words getting faster, before Max cuts him off.

“Alright man I get it, you don’t need to keep going, you’re just making yourself sound stupider.”

Kyle bits his lip and nods.

After a minute more he pulls up to the house, a fairly small one in the center of Hatchetfield. Just big enough for Kyle and his grandma to live comfortably, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves this house, he has had so many good memories here, and he’d like to eventually inherit the house and continue living here in the future.

But now’s not the time to think about that, now he’s bringing Max to his house for the first time and he’s extremely nervous. He doesn’t know why, it’s not like he’s bringing a date home — as much as he might secretly wish that — Max is his friend, but also it’s Max. It would be different if he were bringing, say, Jason back. Or even Stacy.

Kyle turns the car off and steps out, walking over to the curb where Max is already stood outside, looking over at the house. Max looks almost nervous, which is not something Kyle would ever think he’d say but Max has been acting weird the whole evening.

Kyle walks over to the door and takes a breath before unlocking it and pushing it open.

First impressions:

The summary definitely caught my attention! I don’t get to read em too often, but time skip plot lines are always pretty interesting. Especially one as long as this! 12 years is a big jump, and I’m interested in seeing how the characters react to that. Also, Mustang got murdered? What the heck happened there?? I’m definitely curious heading into this!

After reading:

Gonna try not to spoil anything (spoilers beneath the cut for specific thoughts!) but the fun thing about fics like this (tagged original characters, show I’m not super familiar with) is that I haven’t a single clue who is and who isn’t an original character. A pretty prominent example is the main group the fic starts focused on! I know Alphonse, Edward, and Winry, but May? Not a freakin clue. Overall though, none of the OCs stuck out to me like they didn’t belong in the universe, and it was all written pretty well!

As of reading this, it currently has 4 chapters and 16,603 words, and took me about half an hbomberguy video to finish. Besides for some minor things (whatever the heck Alkahestry is, some mentioned past events), I was able to pretty easily understand what was going on. It definitely helps that, since the pov characters so far have been pretty removed from where we are now, most things are explained to them. I’m pretty invested in the story so far, and I’ve subscribed so I’m looking forward to seeing how it all plays out :)