#requi.writes

This is normal, your therapist said, writing something down on her clipboard. They were your first relationship and the only one you've ever had. It'll be a while before you feel fully separate from them. It'll go away after a while.

And, to an extent, you resonated with her words. However, you mostly felt like you'd either die an old spinster or go back to Uraume within a few months, dealing with whatever spiteful behavior they'd send your way in the meantime.

It was your fault for bringing that up to Izumi, who had gasped like you just told her you had sex with her boyfriend. She slapped a hand on her chest so hard it echoed through the fairly-empty cafe you were in. "Absolutely not! You will not go back to that sad excuse of a person!" she halfway-shrieked, shaking her head violently. "I will personally ruin your life if you do!"

Izumi proceeded to tell the rest of your friends and, tonight, for the past two-and-a-half hours, they'd made you two different profiles on two different dating apps and had been swiping through them endlessly. Somewhere during that time, Asahi suggested that you screen mirror your phone to the TV, forcing you to partake in the process.

"This guy is suspicious," Shiori says, scrolling through a random guy's profile on Hinge. His name was Jiro, and he liked working out, going to new restaurants, and true crime documentaries.

"He's just boring," Izumi replies, tapping her chin. You shrink deeper into your spot on the couch as Asahi looked over at you.

"What's your opinion, [Name]?"

All you can muster is a non-committal shrug, pulling your blanket further up your body until it covered everything but your eyes. You just can't shake the guilt, the absolute terror of having to consider dating. When you started dating Uraume, you were barely 16. Dating wasn't even a thought in your mind. Now, you were 27 and hopeless.

Asahi frowns at your answer and looks back to the screen, chewing on her bottom lip. "Okay, okay, next. Clearly this guy isn't the one."

Shiori clicks the little 'X' next to Asahi's profile. Hinge takes a second to load the next profile, probably from the sheer amount of people you've swiped past at this point, and—

The room goes silent. You're so shocked by what's on your screen that you perk up from your blanket a bit, your mouth forming a small 'O' shape.

"Now, hold on a minute," Izumi chokes out, covering her mouth. "What in the world am I looking at?"

"God incarnate, perhaps," Shiori says, and you can't help but agree. On your screen is the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life, with shaggy white hair and a pair of frighteningly blue eyes. He's dressed in a black compression shirt and a pair of baggy, white sweatpants, holding up a peace-sign to the camera.

Your eyes flit up to the top of the screen, and your blood runs cold. The silence continues as you all take in what you're looking at.

Satoru and Suguru.

"They're looking…for a third," Asahi finally says, the words sounding like a death chant more than anything. "Just our luck. God and he's looking for a third."

"Well, let's just see who the girl is. Scroll, Shiori. Maybe she's really hot too and [Name] can just be hot with them."

"I'm afraid to scroll. I won't be able to bear it if she's hot too."

"Not that it'll matter," you finally speak, and everyone's head whips towards you at lightening speed. "It's not like I can go from intense, decade-long monogamy to relaxed polygamy."

Shiori scrolls slowly, like she can't handle seeing who's waiting for her below the cut-off. Slowly, but surely, the second person is revealed: long black hair, thin, catlike eyes, and the most elegant smile you've ever seen in your life. It's a shot of them at the beach, sitting on a blue towel underneath the shade of a generic beach umbrella.

And, also, they're clearly a man. Satoru and Suguru are two men.

"If you don't like them, [Name], you're dead to me," Shiori says, scrolling farther down the page. There's several pictures of them, clearly from multiple different years. One of them holding up a big, fluffy, white cat, one of Satoru looking at Suguru so lovingly it makes you sick. Somewhat disapointingly, you wonder if Uraume ever looked at you like that.

You wonder if these two would look at you like that, too.

The room waits in baited breath as Shiori scrolls to the bottom of the page and you assess all of the pictures. You feel a million different ways, none of the feelings very good or welcoming. The image of Uraume lingers in your mind from the very moment you broke up with them; tears forming in their eyes, anger filling their expression.

"Sure," you say, clearing your throat. "Why the hell not."

Shiori wastes no time sending a like on one of the pictures, making a comment on their cat. She sends it off, and you swear you might feel a little more detached from Uraume than you ever have before.

—

You stand outside of a fancy Italian restaurant downtown, hugging yourself for comfort while you try to hype yourself up enough to walk inside.

It had taken less than a week for you to end up on a date with Satoru and Suguru, thanks to the excessive meddling of your friends. When you matched with them, Izumi had screamed so loudly it worried your neighbors. She forced you to message them back, staring over your shoulder while you texted them.

It didn't take you long to figure out which one was which. Satoru was, to put it lightly, bad at typing, his messages filled with typos and an utter lack of capitalization or punctuation. Suguru was the complete opposite, ending most of his messages with a period (which was scary) and using far less emojis in his speak.

For the most part, you enjoyed texting with them. However, standing outside this restaurant, you couldn't imagine this date going well. You were so nervous you could barely breathe, fingers trembling against your phone. You had already half-drafted a text to Asahi, begging her to come pick you up.

You'd arrived at 7:59, right on time, but now it was 8:08 and you were eight minutes late to your date because you were too much of a wimp to go inside. You repeat Shiori's fighting words in your mind over and over again, desperate to force yourself to go inside.

Were you going to let Uraume and their reign of terror on your life win? Were you that weak so as to pass up on a date with Gorgeous #1 and Gorgeous #2?

Your feet are moving before your mind catches up with it. You can't let Uraume win, you can't go back to them. You can't go back to never hanging out with your friends and being tracked 24/7.

The restaurant is quiet and calm, which is surprising given the sheer size of it. You're immediately stopped by a hostess, who offers you a polite smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "What's the name on your reservation?"

"It should be under Gojo," you say, hoping she doesn't notice the shake in your voice. Her eyes widen and she perks up instantly, smiling much wider.

"Oh, of course! Right this way, ma'am," she says, taking you into the depths of the restaurant. The farther back you go, the more you feel like you're marching towards your death. You spot them in a booth in the corner, smiling and giggling with each other like a couple of lovesick schoolgirls, and you consider turning around.

Satoru spots you before he can. He raises an eyebrow and waves, causing Suguru to look over at you as well. You struggle to believe they're real people, seeing them in person. They're far too perfect to be truly alive.

The host bids you goodbye and you slide into the U-shaped booth, keeping a decent amount of room between you and Suguru. "Sorry I'm late," you say, looking down at your trembling hands. "Um, I just got into a little bit of traffic. Didn't think I'd be this late, so I didn't text."

"For a second there, I thought you were standing us up," Satoru jokes, and Suguru immediately digs an elbow into his side, causing the former to yelp in pain.

"You're not funny, Satoru," Suguru speaks, and his voice is like honey on your ears. "He didn't mean that. We didn't think you were going to stand us up."

"Well, I'm glad. That would've made things awkward," you say, finding hard to look either one of them in the eye. "Did you guys make it here okay?"

"Satoru's a terrible driver, so I wouldn't say we made it here okay."

"Well, if you get your driver's license, maybe you wouldn't have to deal with my terrible driving anymore."

You watch them go back and forth contently, somewhat enjoying listening to them bicker. It helps you get rid of the nerves that plague your entire body, and coming down from the adrenaline rush makes you feel a little more excited to be there. Satoru looks over at you, going as far to put his hand in Suguru's face to shut him up.

"So, how've you been? Anything new pop up in your life? Is your neighbor still being annoying?"

You chuckle, endeared at the fact that he remembers anything about you. You make up some half-baked answer, trying to make yourself seem as interesting as possible. Suguru is much better at asking you questions, avoiding anything about your personal life.

The two of them are clearly very nice, at least from what you're seeing. They make you feel comfortable and relaxed, a stark difference to how you were feeling before coming in. Satoru insists on ordering your food, because "it's what guys do on the first date," and Suguru tells him that it's not 1805 anymore. There's no underhanded insults or vague accusations that make you feel like throwing up, no scrutiny of your outfits or the way you talk.

The two of them are just…them. It's refreshing.

Of course, you should've expected it couldn't be fun and surface level all the time. As the waitress takes away your plates, Suguru clears his throat, leaning back into his seat. At some point throughout the night, you'd moved a little closer to him, so close you could see the little details of his face.

"Not to make this terribly serious," he starts, and a sinking feeling appears in your stomach. "But I just wanted to check in with you about what Satoru and I are looking for, which is something fairly serious."

You nod, glancing over at Satoru. For the first time tonight, he actually looks nervous, like he's expecting you to reject them, or something. If you were to reject them, you think your friends would eat you whole.

"Yeah, like, not a hook-up thing, you know. If that's not what you were looking for, well, then…"

Truthfully, it's not. You weren't really sure if you wanted anything serious ever again, not after the last decade of your life being miserable. At the same time, you enjoyed their presence and the way they made you feel, so you didn't want to reject them.

Perhaps you would just feel it out, see where it went, and go from there. Casual dating is normal, Shiori insisted while rummaging through your closet. One date doesn't equal committed relationship.

"If you'll have me, I'd love to keep hanging out with you guys. In a non-hook-up-y way." You smile, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

The anxiety on Satoru's face melts into pure joy, and, for a moment, you think you could get used to them.

—

Two months later, you hang out with Satoru and Suguru once or twice a week, and you spend the rest of your time looking forward to seeing them again. It's nice to have a little schoolgirl crush again, to not be so settled with your life and the people in it.

However, you just can't seem to get past the guilty feeling in your chest. It lingers all the time, growing when Suguru smiles at you or Satoru forces his way to the edge of the sidewalk when you're walking. It gets even worse when one of them touches you, even if it's something innocent like holding your hand or an arm around your shoulder.

Your therapist suggests being honest with them, about Uraume and the trauma you have, but every time you think you're close to letting it spill out, you can't do it. The thought of bringing them into your sweet, drama-less relationship makes you feel sick.

So, you deal with the guilt. You give them vague stories about your life and your earlier years, avoiding mention of your ex entirely. You dodge questions about your dating history and attempt to flip it back around on them, to no avail; they've only dated each other, too.

At some point, they stop asking, which you appreciate, but you can't help but think about what they say to each other when you're not there. It makes hanging out with them worse, and it makes you freak out about your life at random times.

Which is why you ended up at a 7/11 down the street from your apartment at midnight, staring at the ice cream with red eyes and a stuffy nose. Everything looks disgusting to you, but you know it'll make you feel better, so you force yourself to consider your options. Milk and cookies, chocolate chip cookie dough, cannoli—

"[Name]?"

You freeze. You haven't heard that voice in a long time; it's always reminded you of high school mean girls, tainted with a mocking lilt that you've always hated. You hated everyone in Uraume's life.

You slowly turn to the side, making eye contact with Yorozu. She's dressed far too fancy to be in a 7/11 at midnight, in a form-fitting, red dress as opposed to your bright-pink sweatpants and stained sweatshirt. "Yorozu," you huff, praying for this moment to end quickly.

"I haven't seen you in a while. You look worse for wear," she scoffs with a slight tilt of her head, looking you up and down. "Honestly, I thought you'd be back with Uraume by now. Seems your tantrum's running longer than they'd hoped."

Shivers roll down your spine at her words, chilling your entire body in a second. You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "What do you mean tantrum? I broke up with them for good. I don't want them in my life anymore."

"Sure, sure. We certainly missed having you tonight, though. You were always very personable with our guests," Yorozu smiles. You're about to ask her what she meant, but then Sukuna comes rounding the corner, and you wonder if this is a divine punishment sent to you from God himself.

He grunts when he sees you, his face contorting into an expression mixed with anger and disgust. You're sure you're number one on his hit list right now, as your break up with Uraume apparently had them calling out of work for weeks (as according to what Izumi had told you).

Yorozu's face lights up the moment she sees him, and she immediately grabs hold of his arm, leaning her head on his bicep. "Mr. Sukuna here had his book launch tonight. It was a long time coming…we were sad to not have you on the project."

Every word that comes out of Yorozu's mouth is a lie. It was more like you were sad to not be on the project anymore, given the fact that being the Sukuna's book editor was the biggest gig you'd ever gotten, but it was a small price to pay to be free from Uraume.

"Yes. The door is always open for you, [Name], assuming…"

You cringe. Were things on Uraume's end that bad? So much so that his mentor-turned-father-figure who hated your guts wanted you to come back? Maybe you weren't doing as badly as you thought.

You open your mouth to reply, but are quickly cut off by Satoru Gojo, who looks angrier than you've ever seen him before. Dressed in a suit and tie, he strolls over to you with conviction, his usual smile plastered on his face so tightly you wonder if it hurts.

"[Name]," Satoru calls, his voice dripping with venom. "Fancy seeing you here!"

He walks behind you, locking his arm around your waist. Suguru follows behind him, a scowl pressed onto his features. It's unlike him—the Suguru you know always has a light smile on his face, or an inquisitive expression. He rounds to your other side, standing uncomfortably close to you.

"Sukuna, Yorozu," Suguru greets, interlacing his fingers with yours. "Interesting to see you've left your own party early."

"I'm even more shocked to see you seem to know [Name]," Yorozu comments, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Are you three…a thing?"

"She's our girlfriend, yes," Satoru announces, and you do your best to not grimace at the words. That certainly wasn't true, and it would also likely lead to your demise.

Both Sukuna and Yorozu take pause at that, and you can see Sukuna's Adam's apple bob as he swallows, perhaps annoyed that he'll have to leave and go tell Uraume his ex-fiancée is in a relationship with two people he apparently already knows.

"Wow. I didn't take you the type to move on so quickly," Yorozu says, and you begin to prepare yourself for the end of the secret you've kept so carefully. Perhaps it was better for her to reveal it against your will, you cope, so at least they'd find out relatively early on.

"Move on?" Satoru questions, furrowing his brows. Yorozu's smile turns impish, and you close your eyes, waiting for the bomb to drop.

"Don't you know?" she asks. "[Name] and Uraume were in a relationship for 11 years and broke up, like, half-a-year ago. She even ghost-wrote half the book Sukuna released tonight."

Satoru's grip on your waist tightens while Suguru lets go of your hand, and there's a slight pause. You look over at Suguru's face, which goes through about a thousand emotions in a second. Finally, it lands on a calm, unbothered expression, with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, right. I forgot about that," Suguru hums. "She doesn't talk about them much. Guess she did move on."

The silence between you all is so thick that you feel like you're suffocating. While you sit there, you make some rudimentary connections in your mind; you suppose it wouldn't be wrong to assume that the Gojo in Satoru's name comes from the Gojo Conglomerate, which has lost more than a couple of court cases to the almighty defense lawyer Sukuna in the past. Maybe you were stupid to think you'd come across a beautiful, blue-eyed Gojo that wasn't a part of the Gojo family, but you thought the likelihood of that was slim to none either way.

"Right, well," Sukuna says after a moment, his voice grating on your ears. "We should leave. Good luck with her."

Sukuna practically drags Yorozu out of the building and, once they're gone, you immediately detach yourself from Satoru's grip. The silence continues between the three of you, though both of the boys have their eyes on you now. You stare at your shoes, wishing you could go back in time and refuse making a Hinge profile at all.

Suguru grabs your chin and raises it up, forcing you to look at him. His touch is soft and kind, which you weren't expecting given the exchange you'd just had. He doesn't look particularly angry, which you appreciate. Satoru, on the other hand, looks like he'd just withstood the betrayal of a lifetime, staring at you with those harrowing blue eyes.

You feel the tears from earlier returning, though you do your best to hold them in. Your life sucked so bad and you weren't even 30 yet.

Suguru sighs, dropping your chin and shaking his head. "I suppose we need to talk. Would you like to come eat some ice cream at our apartment?"

You don't really want to at all, but you nod, following the two outside to a fancy, black car parked on the curb. You sit in the back like a child, rapidly tapping your fingers on your knees and trying to keep your nausea at bay. The ride is fairly silent, save for Satoru and Suguru debriefing their time at Sukuna's book launch. You learn that your hunch was right: Sukuna had forced the Gojo family to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars in lawsuits, and had likely invited Satoru just to piss them off.

How had you managed to be so unlucky? Maybe you needed to visit a psychic to cleanse your bad energy, or something. Or maybe you'd been hexed. You didn't know.

After a short drive, the three of you pull into the parking garage below one of the fanciest apartment buildings in the city, which doesn't shock you one bit. "Welcome to Casa de Satoru," Suguru mumbles under his breath, a slightly-joking tone in his voice. They park in spot number 25, and, despite it all, Satoru opens the car door for you, grabbing your hand to help you out of the car.

You ride the elevator up to the 54th floor, which opens into a small hallway with two doors on opposite sides. Satoru and Suguru's apartment is, fittingly, 2254, and, when you walk in, you allow yourself a moment to ogle at the space. It's beautiful, filled with art and color and everything you would've hoped for in an apartment like this. Everything has a blue tint, which fits Satoru's overall vibe perfectly.

"Do you like it?" Suguru asks, patting your back as you look around. "It was way worse before I moved in. Took a while to make it this nice."

"It's beautiful in here. Fit for a couple like you two," you say, watching as Satoru drags his feet into the living room and collapses onto the couch. He loosens his tie and leans his head back on the top of the couch, letting out a loud sigh.

You quickly slip your shoes off and scuttle inside, taking a seat on the very edge. Suguru chooses to sit next to Satoru, and you swear you're having flashbacks to the many times Uraume sat you down and berated you for hours.

For a couple seconds it's quiet, and you decide they're probably expecting you to talk. "Listen, I was going to tell you at some point," you start, swallowing thickly. Every word that comes out of your mouth feels like glass ripping down your throat. "As you can probably imagine, despite the fact that it lasted so long, my relationship with Uraume wasn't the greatest, and it's still a tough subject for me."

Suguru nods slowly, and you assume he's going to speak. Instead, Satoru rapidly sits up, a look of deep hurt on his face. It makes you cringe.

"I don't know the half of it, clearly," he starts, voice strained and upset. "But it obviously sucks bad for me that I didn't know. I guess I didn't really bring up the whole family lineage thing, but, still, it sucks. It sucks really bad."

"I know, and I do feel sorry. But I can barely even talk about it with my friends, who knew me the entire time we were together," you defend, taking a long, shakey breath. "And I want to be able to talk about it more. I want to believe that it doesn't affect me anymore, but it does, you know? It just does."

Satoru is about to reply, but Suguru places a hand on his thigh, shutting him up like someone would shut up a dog. Satoru leans back instead, returning to staring at the ceiling.

"You don't need to tell us anything you don't want to," he insists, rubbing Satoru's thigh. "But it would be nice to have at least some context. Given our prior connections."

You bring your knees up to your chest, leaning your head on them. "They were my class president in high school. Asked me out first year, and we were together ever since. They controlled just about every facet of my life, from where I went to college to how often I hung out with my friends. I finally got the courage to break up with them in April. That's pretty much the gist of it."

You hear some rustling and then the feeling of the couch dipping next to you. Suguru's arms wrap around your curled-up figure, a welcome weight amongst your anxiety. There's a couple more seconds of nothing before you watch Satoru sit down next to you, leaning against your shoulder. The three of you sit there for a moment, unmoving.

"We're serious about you," Suguru says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "If you'll have us."

"You promise?"

"We could show you," Satoru says.

"If you'd like that, of course," Suguru adds.

You look up from your curled-up position, making eye contact with Satoru. He looks primal, almost, staring at you like you're his prey. In a momentary lapse of judgment, you bask in the feeling of being wanted. Realistically, you know it's probably not smart to have sex with them when you're emotional and generally gross, but part of you feels like it'll be good for you to stick it to the man.

You could move on, you knew you could. You weren't having a tantrum, you were getting on with your life.

"Yeah…I would like that. I guess."

Satoru's mouth hungrily crashes into yours, pushing you back into Suguru's chest. You kiss him back with a fervor you haven't had in a long time, soaking up the want oozing off of him. You haven't felt this way in years.

Suguru dips his head down, pressing light kisses up and down your neck, slipping his hands under your shirt and massaging your hips. Satoru puts his hands over Suguru's, pushing his palms harder into your body.

Suguru adjusts so that you are leaning up against his chest, tapping Satoru on the back of his head. Satoru pulls away from you, giving Suguru a look of confusion that quickly melts into recognition.

Satoru leans back for a moment, if only to let Suguru tug your sweatshirt off, revealing nothing but the three-year-old bra you put on that morning. Satoru leans back down and leaves light kisses down your stomach, only detaching his hands from Suguru's to wrap his fingers around the edge of your waistband.

In a moment of panic, you squeak out a short "wait," causing Satoru to pause and look up at you. His eyes, the color of sapphires, bore into yours like sunlight, and you struggle to keep eye contact.

"Hm?" Suguru hums in your ear, dragging his nails up and down your sides. Goosebumps spread over your skin, causing a shiver to run across your body.

"Um, I haven't shaved in a while," you choke out, anxiety running through your body. "And I didn't shower today."

Satoru snorts, rolling his eyes. "I'm a grown man," he says. "Do you think I care about a little hair? Suguru hasn't shaved in years."

You feel your cheeks grow warm as Satoru waits for you to give him the go ahead. "Well, if you're sure," you approve, shrinking into Suguru's chest. Satoru wastes no time getting back to work, lifting your hips and taking off your sweatpants and underwear in one fluid motion. His breath is cold on your dripping pussy as he stares at your core, eyes dark. You prepare yourself for contact, but nothing ever comes.

Instead, Satoru looks up past you, presumably at Suguru, like he's asking for permission.

"Well, go on, Satoru," Suguru says calmly, as he removes your boobs from your bra, massaging them tenderly. "She's waiting so patiently for you."

Without further hesitation, Satoru dives in, warm tongue running up and down your soaking folds. His skillful tongue finds your clit with ease, licking it just right. Pleasure builds in you like it never has before—Uraume was never this good, not even with 10 years of practice.

Of course Satoru was perfect at this, as he was perfect at everything. Soft mewls escape your lips, no matter how hard you try to hold them in, and you writhe against Suguru's chest. You throw your head back over his shoulder, giving him easy access to your neck.

While Satoru continues to attack your clit, Suguru kneads at your breasts, nipping at your neck and shoulders. Every so often, Satoru moans against your clit, sending shockwaves up your body. It's too much—both of them are too much. You're putty in their hands, completely at their disposal for however long they'd like.

"Look how much she likes this, Satoru." Suguru sings, resting his chin on your shoulder. You look back down at Satoru, who looks like he's in heaven. "Tell him how much you like it, hm?"

"It's so good," you whine. Pressure begins to build up in your core, and you push yourself back into Suguru's chest. "I think—I'm about to—"

In one fell swoop, Suguru runs his hand through Satoru's hair and pulls him away from your cunt, dangling his head in front of you. You let out a cry of displeasure, your hips chasing Satoru's mouth.

"I don't think you've earned it yet, baby," Suguru says, pushing Satoru's head fully away from you. He looks upset, too, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks flushed pink.

"I think she's earned it," he quips, but he doesn't move, as if he won't do anything against Suguru's word. You nod eagerly, turning to look at Suguru. His cheeks are flushed, too, from just watching the two of you.

You can feel his cock pressing against your back through his dress pants, and, in retaliation, you jerk backwards, causing a hiss to escape Suguru's lips. "Resourceful, now, are we?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "Satoru, switch with me."

Suguru gets up from behind you, and you can barely comprehend what's happening as Satoru quickly meets him in the middle, smashing his lips against Suguru. They quickly begin undressing each other while you watch, ripping buttons off shirts and throwing ties across the room. Sitting awkwardly, you decide to just take your bra off, unclipping it and throwing it on top of Satoru's discarded tie.

Moments later, Satoru slots himself behind you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. He puts his chin on top of your head before leaning down to place a kiss on your head. "Y'know, [Name], your ex being my mortal enemy aside, I'm a pretty big fan of 'ya."

"Oh, great to know," you reply, watching Suguru kneel on the cushion in front of you. His cock is huge, girthy, and, for a moment, you'll wonder if it'll even fit inside you.

He runs the head through your slick folds. You moan at the contact, overstimulated by the whole experience. Your clit aches with the memory of Satoru's mouth, and all you want is for Suguru to make you cum.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Suguru asks, eyes serious. Immediately, embarrassment blooms in your chest, and all you can do is nod, hoping that will be enough.

"No can do, babe," Satoru says, his voice reverberating through his chest. "Gotta use your words, 'kay? It's what Suguru likes."

You gulp, taking a deep breath and swallowing your pride. "I want you to fuck me, Suguru, please."

With a satisfied smile, Suguru slowly pushes inside your cunt, cushiony walls enveloping him until he's all the way in to the base. He's big, and you knew that, but the feeling of fullness is overwhelming and every slight movement sends electricity running through you.

Suguru begins at a steady pace, reaching down to rub your clit in the process. Your back arches and pushes against Satoru; you try to pull away from the pleasure, but Satoru holds you there, making you take everything Suguru has to give you.

Soon, even Suguru can't control himself, rolling his hips against yours. Every thrust draws an unwilling sob from your lips, and you do anything to relieve the pressure building in you. You lift your arms and place them on the back of Satoru's head, squeezing your eyes shut.

You'd never had sex like this before, not once. You don't know what to do with yourself, with this, and all you can do is try to hold on for dear life.

"Don't kill her, Sugu. She looks like she's going to pass out."

A slow moan escapes Suguru's lips. "Shut the fuck up, Satoru."

It's not long before that familiar coil begins to build in your lower half. You begin to whine, "Suguru, I..I.." you barely stutter out as white hot pleasure rips through your body. Suguru works you through it, now lightly drawing circles on your swollen clit. Despite reaching your climax, he doesn't stop, snapping his hips back and forth.

You're barely lucid by the time Suguru reaches his high, pulling out with just enough time to cum all over your stomach. He lets his cock rest against your cunt, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips and Satoru's.

"Come on, man," Satoru whines, pulling away from Suguru's kiss. "You got it on my arms. Where the hell did your aim go?"

"You're acting like you haven't swallowed it before," Suguru laughs, turning his attention back to you. "You okay, honey?"

As you pant from the come down, Satoru whines from behind you, reaching down to palm himself. "Aw, Suguru tired you out, huh? Are you too sleepy to let me have a turn too?"

"Surely she's not that mean," Suguru insists, cupping your cheek with his hands. For the first time, you notice the deep purple in his eyes, boring down at you. "Maybe we move her to the bedroom, first."

Suguru's quick to sweep you up into his arms, leaving Satoru behind in the living room. You have no idea what to say as you lay limp in Suguru's arms, struggling to process the past fifteen minutes.

Suguru lays you down in their bed, plush and soft under your body. "Seriously, are you okay to keep going, babe? We can let you sleep and finish up out there."

Satoru juts out his bottom lip into a pout, waiting for you to respond. You chew on the inside of your cheek—you weren't sure if you'd survive anything else. Nevertheless, you nod. "Yeah, I'll—I'll be okay."

Satoru pounces on you immediately, settling between your thighs and lining himself up with your hole. "What a good girl," Suguru muses, laying himself down next to you. "Just a little bit longer, yeah?"

Whatever that meant. The night goes on with you being passed back and forth between the two, who are eager to have their way with you. By the time they're done, leading you into the bathroom to have a bath, your body aches in ten different places and your mind is foggy with pleasure.

You end up sat on Satoru's lap in the bathtub, soaking up epsom salts and the smell of the vanilla scented candle Suguru lit. They do all the work for you, rubbing soap into your skin and drying you off and putting you in some of their clothes, as they do the same for each other.

For a moment, jealousy rips through you. They started dating around the same time as you and Uraume had, and they were so secure in their relationship they could let someone else in. Meanwhile, you couldn't even have friends while you were with Uraume.

You try to force them out of your mind, to free yourself from their shackles, but you can't. Even when you're laid down in between the two of them, wrapped up in their embraces as they whisper to each other about their days, you can't stop thinking about them.

"Girlfriend?" Suguru whispers in your ear, placing a soft kiss on your earlobe. Feigning your sleep, all you can do is let out an agreeing hum, which seems to be enough for them.

Satoru gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, and then on your nose, and then on your lips. "Pretty girl," he says, curling his arms around your hips. "Our pretty girl."

You squeeze your eyes shut and let sleep take you as quickly as it can.

—

Time passes, and you fall into their routine. At the same time, you pull back, unable to get your past out of your mind.

As far as you're aware, your boyfriends aren't necessarily aware of your regression, with them being so focused on each other all the time. They don't mind when you sleep on the edge of their bed, curled up into yourself rather than with them. They don't mind when you sit on the other side of the couch, away from their touch. They don't mind when you blow them off to go hang out with your friends.

At some point, you admit to yourself that what you're doing is wrong. You talk to your friends about it, who insist that this is all part of getting past Uraume and the trauma that came with them.

And then, you see Uraume at the grocery store.

They look worse for wear, as you've been told, their hair grown out almost to their shoulders and their face devoid of their usual makeup. They're staring at all the various types of freshly made jams, tapping their chin lightly as they think. They look as beautiful as always, and you begin to realize that the guilt you feel might actually just be you still being in love with them.

Stockholm syndrome, your friends had called it, an unhealthy attachment to someone who only ever hurt you. And yet, it takes everything in you to not walk up to them, to the point where you abandon your cart in the middle of the store and walk out.

Later that night, you're sitting on Satoru and Suguru's couch, flipping through a book that Suguru had recommended you. The two of them are deep into some anime Satoru loves, with Suguru's arm lazily dangled over Satoru's shoulder.

All night, Satoru has been staring at you instead of watching his show. Usually that's his sign that he wants to have sex, but he makes no moves on you, just watching.

In between episodes, he finally decides to speak.

"Will you come over here, [Name]?" he asks, catching both yours and Suguru's attention. "I feel so far away from you."

Both of them look expectantly at you, so you stand, ignoring the way your stomach churns at the thought. You miss the way Uraume would hold your hand while you watched Law & Order, running their fingers across your knuckles, not the way Satoru and Suguru held you like an object.

Nonetheless, you attempt to sit down next to Satoru, but he drags you into his lap before you can even reach the couch. His hands wrap around you and dig into your waist almost painfully, up until Suguru pinches his arm and he loosens up.

The next episode starts without another word, and you go back to reading your book.

—

The next day, you talk to Asahi, because she's the only one who would listen to you. You word vomit about how much you miss Uraume to the point where you start crying, sobbing about the way they loved you.

You tell her that Satoru and Suguru's love is too intense, that it feels more possessive than Uraume's ever did. That you feel like an object more than a partner.

Asahi listen and nods, holding your hands in hers as you speak. At some point, you let out a distraught wail and drop your head against the table, ending your tangent. Asahi thinks for a moment before speaking, trying to find the words to say.

"…This is what Uraume wants, probably," she finally says, and you look up at her, teary-eyed and miserable. "For you to miss them like this, to compare them to your next partners. But, to be honest, you look better now than you ever did with them."

Asahi does not tell you the words you want to hear, so you repeat the same process with your therapist. She gives you almost the same exact answer, so you go home and cry into your pillow.

You know they're right, objectively. You know that Uraume would bask in the glory of you crawling back to them, teary-eyed and apologetic, and they'd pretend like taking you back was some valiant act of love. They'd hold it over your head for months.

You ignore Suguru and Satoru's texts about having a movie night and you go to bed at 8:30, wanting to escape your feelings. You wake up the next morning to a frowny-face emoji from Satoru and a simple good night text from Suguru, so you force yourself to text them good morning and an apology for your early bedtime.

Shortly after that, while you're brushing your teeth, you get a call from Satoru.

"How's my beautiful girl doing?" he asks jubilantly, more excited than you'd ever heard him.

"Good," you say through your teeth brushing, your words barely comprehensible. "How are you?"

"Well rested and excited for the day. You work from home, right, babe?"

You spit your toothpaste out and time the mint taste from your mouth. "Yeah. Didn't you know that already? Why'd you ask?"

"I have an important all-day thing today and Suguru is taking his students on a field trip, so neither of us will be home until late," Satoru sing-songs. "Would ya mind comin' over and watching Maru?"

Maru, their cat, was the best part about dating them. She was a fat, old, fluffy white cat who loved to cuddle and watch TV, perfect to sit with all the time. The request was innocent enough to you, and you could spend more time pretending to be content with your relationship. You were hoping it would trick you into actually being content with it.

"Of course I'll come watch Miss Maru," you say in your baby voice, a smile blooming on your face. "I can be there in 30?"

"I'll come pick you up in 20."

Satoru, who is very famously late all the time, stays true to his word, picking you up 20 minutes later with a breakfast sandwich for you in hand. He yaps about how much he doesn't want to go to his meeting, how he'd rather stay at home with you and Maru, lazing about all day. You entertain his conversation as best you can, insisting he could do it another day, that you were never busy on weekends.

He raises an eyebrow at that, glancing over at you instead of paying attention to the road. You wait for him to speak, feeling a bit anxious when he laughs instead.

"You always have to hang out with your friends on the weekends," he utters, and you don't like the way he says 'friends.' "I feel like I never get to see you."

You frown. "We have a pretty normal schedule going on, no? I see you three or four times a week. We've only been dating for a few months."

Satoru lets out a long, breathy hum, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Suddenly, the car feels stuffy, and the lack of music makes you feel uncomfortable. He seems like he doesn't know what to say, eyes darting back and forth from you, the rearview mirror, and the road over and over again.

"I guess I'm just greedy," he says, and you know that spells the end of the conversation. Any prying you do will be shut down almost instantly, as if he's not at will to say what he wants. "Did you see the Emmys last night?"

Satoru drops you off outside of his apartment building and tells you to head up, handing you his keys with barely any hesitation. He demands a kiss on the cheek and then bids you adieu, leaving you to your own devices.

When you arrive at the apartment, Maru is sleeping on the couch spread-eagle. She looks as innocent as ever, and you rush over to sit with her. On the way, you notice something you've never seen before—a camera set up to watch the couch.

You try not to stare at it, preferring to stare at the kitty purring against your hands. You're sure it's just to watch Maru and nothing else, so you ignore it and the way it makes you feel sick.

—

Suguru gets home first, walking through the door at 4:30. He looks exhausted, running his hand through his hair as he drops his bookbag in the foyer and slips his shoes off.

"Welcome home," you say absentmindedly, keeping your focus on your computer screen. You've spent the whole day reading through submissions to the publishing house you work at, sifting through hundreds of terribly written romantasy novels and bad memoirs. "How's your day?"

Suguru sighs like the question is offensive to him. "High schoolers," he says, and that's about all you need to know. He comes over and stands behind you, snuggled up on the couch next to Maru. He leans over and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pressing kisses to your neck. "Maru didn't cause you any trouble?"

The feeling of his lips brushing against your neck makes you flinch. "She did nothing but lay there. She moved back and forth between right there and her tree," you say, opening your email and typing out yet another rejection letter. For a moment, Suguru lingers, watching you type out your classic better luck next time message, his breath hot on your neck.

"What do you want for dinner?" he finally asks, standing up. The question finally makes you break your focus on your laptop, and you turn to look at him.

"After I finish up my list for today I was planning on heading back to my place," you reply, and Suguru tilts his head as if to ask why. "Me and my friends watch the new Drag Race episode together every Thursday."

Suguru's lips dip into a frown. "Can't you just stay for dinner?" he asks, tilting his head. "Right after, you can leave."

You look back at your laptop, staring at the time. "Satoru will be back when?"

"Half an hour or so. He always leaves work a bit early."

Okay, so you'd easily be back by 7. "Sure, then. Sounds good to me. Make whatever you want."

Suguru disappears into a different area of the apartment and, a few minutes later, you hear the shower turn on. You finish looking through your last proposal at 5 on the dot, slamming your computer shut and pushing it off your lap. Maru is quick to climb into its spot, making herself at home in between your criss-crossed legs.

"Silly baby," you whisper, scratching behind her ears. The moment she gets comfortable, though, the front door swings open and scares her away. Satoru walks in holding a bag of takeout and donning a big smile, waving his other arm around excitedly.

"I'm home!" he sings, padding into the living room the moment he takes his shoes off. He's quick to discard the takeout bag onto the coffee table, turning and collapsing on top off you. You can't help but let out an oomph as Satoru lays his full weight on you, wrapping his arms around you excitedly.

You give him a couple of awkward pats on the back as he peppers your face with kisses, causing you to scrunch up your nose in discomfort. "Did'ya miss me, babe? You think about me all day?"

You draw in a sharp breath. "Of course. What else would I be doing?"

He pouts at your answer, shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar, y'know that?"

Satoru seems like he's going to say something else, but someone catches his eye behind you, and he's quick to get off of you and run towards him too. You turn around and watch Satoru slam into Suguru, giving him a big kiss on the lips. "Ahh, this is the best," he exclaims, turning back to you. "Both of my princesses waiting for me when I get home from work. Could things get any better than this?"

"If you showered and got the smell of office off of you," Suguru suggests, looking towards you. "Did you pick up dinner?"

"Obviously. All I want is to sit on the couch and eat food and watch a movie with you two, not watch you cut onions for an hour and a half," Satoru jests, slipping away from Suguru and skipping into his room.

Suguru comes over and picks your laptop up, slipping it into your bag before sitting down next to you and draping an arm around your shoulders. He's put on his usual baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants duo, so you decide to make yourself comfortable and lay on him. He's soft and comfortable, especially after a day of nonstop reading.

Suguru turns the TV on and begins flipping through streaming services, clicking through movie after movie. You watch quietly until Satoru comes back in, insisting he put on Titanic. Satoru sits on the other side of you, shoving himself into your side. Suguru puts on The Godfather instead, and you listen to the two of them bicker as usual.

Satoru passes out all the various food he got, and you settle for a box of plain noodles. At some point, Suguru gets you water, and you eat to your hearts content before snuggling back up to Suguru. "Are you playing favorites right now?" Satoru asks, and Suguru tells him to shut up in response. So, he settles for laying his head on your shoulder, mimicking the way you lay on Suguru.

It's a wonder you don't fall asleep faster. You're not even done eating for 20 minutes before you're passed out, and, when you wake up, Satoru and Suguru are watching Sex and the City, long done with the movie. You shoot up in a panic, feeling around for your phone.

"Good morning," Satoru chuckles, pulling you back into his chest. "Your friends said you can reschedule Drag Race. Seemed pretty thrilled to postpone, if you asked me."

You blink a couple of times, not loving the idea that they talked to your friends. Suguru is quick to hand you your phone—you'd slept until nine. You almost get angry, ask why Suguru didn't wake you up, but the slew of text messages prevents you from speaking. It's your friends, cheering for you and saying they hope you got laid.

You bite your tongue, relaxing into Satoru's chest as best you can. By ten, you're dismissing yourself into their room, rummaging through their drawers to find your things. You were suddenly glad they asked you to bring some stuff over after the first time you spent the night, though they "loved seeing you in their clothes." You're in bed by eleven—as you are every night—curled up on Satoru's side of the bed.

You don't know what time it is when they come in. They move about the room quietly, whispering to each other loud enough that they wake you up. You keep your eyes shut, hoping they'll quiet down once they realize that you're asleep asleep.

"The guy is absolutely unreasonable. I guess his daughter lives in the building, so he doesn't want to sell it," Satoru whispers, rolling his eyes. "I told Ichiji to dig something up on him, we'll see if he can even manage that. If not, I'll ask Megumi."

"Don't put too much of your energy into it," Suguru replies, and you can feel him sit on the other side of the bed. "There's other ways we can deal with it. We just need to be patient."

"I don't want to be patient," Satoru replies. You feel his hands curl under you as he moves you over a bit, like you're a ragdoll in his bed. "I like having a pretty girl in my bed."

—

You wake up the next morning, earlier than Suguru and Satoru as per usual, and Tokyo is covered in a thick blanket of snow. You spend at least five minutes staring out the kitchen window, distraught at the sight.

Your phone confirms your worst fears—insane train delays and cancellations, road closures, everything you don't to hear. At the same time, this event is sort of freeing, because it confirms to you that you probably need to break things off with Satoru and Suguru. You're terrified of being trapped here, forced to spend the whole day with their obnoxious doting.

The idea makes you laugh at yourself. You would spend hours sulking about Uraume's scarce attention, but, apparently, that was perfect for you. Or, maybe you'd grown too used to it. Whatever it may be, you probably just needed to spend the better part of the next two years single.

Suguru comes out shortly after your revelation, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. You prepare for him to come to you, rightfully so as he his arms around your middle and rests his head on your chin. "School's cancelled," he says, and the news has you hoping he'll still spend the day grading.

Satoru whines the whole morning about how he still has to go to work and how the corporate world is his worst nightmare. Suguru makes a comment about how that was his fault, and all he can do is march out the door while mumbling about how his life sucks.

The day is, surprisingly, pretty okay, despite the fact that the snow just won't stop coming down. Suguru teaches you how to play chess and watches you play Zelda on Satoru's Switch, content to just be in the same space as you. At some point during the day, Satoru talks to you through the camera on the mantle, whining about how jealous he was of the two of you.

You make peace with the fact that you'll probably spend another night there, and, when the snow stops around 4, you hope that the city can fix things up in time for you to go home early the next day. Then, you'll start planning your break-up speech, which will most likely be you blubbering about how you're just not ready for another relationship yet and how it's not fair to them that you still think about Uraume all the time.

Then, Satoru gets home and immediately starts undressing you, and you spend the evening in bed, being used between the two of them like a sex toy. It doesn't make you feel good mentally, though, physically, you might as well have been in heaven. Satoru babbles about how much he loves you, how good you make him feel, how perfect you fit into his and Suguru's relationship, while Suguru watches you with that foggy glint in his eyes, like his mind is elsewhere.

You go to bed and are gone before they wake up.

—

The next few days are excruciating. Satoru gets upset with you for leaving before saying goodbye, insisting it was dangerous for you to take the train when it was still so gross outside. You smooth it over as best you can, insisting that you just wanted to get home and use up the rest of your groceries before they went bad. You'd spent a lot of money on your breakfast bread (and Satoru tells you that he could buy ten more loaves for you next time).

You sit down with your friends, telling them your reasoning behind your choices and insisting you aren't going to go back to Uraume. You tell them you aren't really a person, just someone's other, and you don't like that. They have varying reactions—Izumi's upset, Shiori's indifferent, and Asahi is supportive—but, at the end of the night, they all understand.

After a few more hectic days at work, you go over to Satoru and Suguru's house for dinner. They clearly know something is up, as Suguru is dead silent while he makes chicken and Satoru is bent over his computer, agonizing about some work thing driving him crazy.

Dinner is delicious, and eating it makes you feel guilty. So, about halfway through, you clear your throat, looking up from your plate.

Satoru is already staring at you, and Suguru doesn't bother to pay attention to you, focusing on his food. "Listen, I—we need to talk," you start, tripping over your words.

"About what?" Satoru asks, and you don't like the desperate look in his eyes. "Did we do something wrong?"

"No, um, I just…don't think I'm ready for another relationship yet," you say, swallowing hard. "I mean, I was with Uraume for all of my young adult years, and I don't really feel like my own person yet. And I don't think it's fair to you guys to still be so hung up on my ex when you're giving me your all."

Suguru puts his silverware down neatly, finally looking up at you. Their attention is even more than usual right now, filling your lungs and sinking into your skin. Neither of them speak, so you're forced to keep rambling.

"You're both so sweet, and the best thing I could've asked for, but I'm clearly not ready enough. I just need more time. Maybe after I sort myself out, we can try again, or something. But, for now, I think it's best we break up."

There's barely a reaction to your words. Maybe you thought they liked you more than they actually do, from the way Satoru cracks a smile and Suguru just stares. You wait, mentally begging for one of them to say something.

And, of course, Suguru's the one to speak.

"I think that's sweet, dear."

You grimace. "What?"

"I think it's sweet that you think you have a choice," Suguru repeats, and the words almost make your jaw drop. Panic flares through your body, and all you can think is of course you dated a couple of psychos right after a sociopath. "But, if I recall, we told you we were in this for the long run, not a hook-up situation."

"Yes, obviously I remember," you say, curling your hands into fists on your lap. "But that wasn't a legally binding contract, or something. I'm a person, I have free will, and I'm breaking up with you right now."

"No, you're not," Satoru says, shaking his head. "We get a little possessive, you know? You can't just walk out on us like that without even trying to work on it."

Suguru nods in agreement, leaning his head on his hands. You can't find the words to say, failing to comprehend the situation you're in. "Okay, so you still think about Uraume. Whatever. After a while, once we've got you comfortable here, they'll barely be an after thought," Satoru continues, and his voice sounds….off. "You'll be too focused on loving us."

You stand abruptly from your chair, almost knocking it over in the process. "I think I need to go home," you state, stepping away from the table. Both of them just watch you, with Suguru's arrogant expression sending waves of anxiety through your body. "We can revisit this tomorrow, maybe, after you've both thought about it some more. We can sort it out."

You trip over yourself trying to get to the foyer, slipping on your tennis shoes instead of bending down to untie and retie them, like you usually do. You practically rip your bag off the usual hook, grabbing the doorknob and turning it as hard as you can.

You pause. You turn the doorknob some more, and you pause again. You look up at the door and come face to face with a lock you've never noticed before, the keyhole staring right back at you. You hear footsteps behind you, so you spin around, pressing your back against the door.

"Did you lock me in here?" you shriek, holding your bag to your chest. Suguru stands there with his arms crossed, looking like this is somehow inconveniencing him.

"We can revisit your privileges in a little bit. But, for now, it's best we spend some time sorting all this out," Suguru replies like he's your parent, holding his arm out to you sternly. "Give me the bag and take your shoes off, dear. We've set up a room for you that you can use to calm down and gather your bearings."

"What the fuck are you saying to me right now?" A million thoughts race through your head as you speak, and you begin rummaging through your bag for your phone. Sighing, like he expected you to do this, Suguru pulls it out of his pocket, holding it up. "Give that back, Suguru. You're don't own me, you can't do this. You need to let me leave."

"We don't need to let you do anything," comes Satoru's voice as he rounds the corner, leaning back on the couch behind him. "If you had just been good, you wouldn't be in this situation right now—this is your fault. Not ours."

"My fault? My fault?"

"Don't make this difficult, please," Suguru says, and, suddenly, they look scarier than they ever have before. Scarier than Uraume ever did before. You imagine their face right now, laughing at you as you fail worse than you ever have before. You can hear their voice saying you should've never left, and you wish they were here to drag you out of this situation like they always used to. "Go spend some time in your room, calm down a bit. I'll put your dinner in the fridge so you can finish it later."

You end at a standstill. The door is locked behind you, they stand like a wall in front of you. You can't think of anything, a solution for you to get yourself out of this. So, you just stand there, unmoving.

After a few moments, Suguru sighs, shaking his head. "Okay, okay. I guess we really can't be nice. We tried. Go ahead, Satoru."

Satoru, who is bigger and taller than the both of you, takes a step forward, and you open your mouth to scream. He's faster than you, though, and picks you up before you can, throwing you over his shoulder.

You punch and claw at his back, squirming to try and get him to drop you. Satoru's hold on you is far to strong for you to even make a dent on him, but you refuse to stop trying, to give up so easily. Suguru watches as he follows behind, looking almost disappointed in you.

Once upon a time, you might've been thrilled to see him with no prior warning. It would've made you feel important, needed, like you were a truly valued member of the Spider. You would've squealed excitedly and asked why he felt the need to stop by, hopefully just because he wanted to see your shining face.

Instead, you slowly put down your beach-bag next to the door, slipping off your sand-covered flip flops. You lock your door behind you and walk into the living room hesitantly, stopping just before Chrollo.

"Hi," you say, nodding. "Why the sudden visit?"

"It's been a while since I've heard from you," Chrollo says, smiling at you. It makes your stomach churn. "I wanted to check in, bring a housewarming gift. Congratulations, by the way. I know you've always wanted a cottage by the beach."

You nod slowly, crossing your arms over your mostly-bare chest. Chrollo's eyes sweep down your frame, taking in the sight of you in a bikini and a sheer, loose skirt. It makes your skin crawl, the way he looks at you like this.

If he'd come to visit you a year earlier, you probably would've melted at the sight. Your heart would've pounded in your chest. You would've wondered if he was starting to like you more than Pakunoda or Machi.

"Well, stay as long as you like. You're always welcome," you reply, pivoting on the ball of your foot. You only take a few steps before Chrollo's speaking again, his voice like honey on your ears.

"Would you like to get dinner tonight?" he asks. "My treat."

"I just got groceries, so I'll probably cook. If you prefer eating out, be my guest."

"I'll pick up dessert, then," he insists, and you can hear him shut his book with a soft thump. "Do you have a preference?"

You know he knows your preference—when you were children, you would do anything to get your hands on a slice of chocolate cake. You almost laugh at the question, instead choosing to shrug.

"Whatever you'd like."

With that, you disappear into your bedroom, locking your door behind you.

—

Chrollo sticks around for longer than you'd like. He invades every moment of your every day life because of course he does, and he taints everything you do with a sheen of red you can't shake. He sits on your porch with you, perched on the wooden floor while you curl up in your hammock chair. He makes dinner while you watch TV. He makes your bed in the morning while you shower or brush your teeth.

It's miserably domestic, and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. All you can think about is him nine months ago, gouging out eyes and torturing children in front of parents, taking all of his anger out on a bunch of innocents. You're thankful he didn't bring any other Troupe members along with him, else you'd spend your days throwing up from the sheer amount of thinking you were doing.

You remember it all like it was yesterday, the last time the Troupe fully assembled, in a small town outside of the Kurta Clan's forest. The plan Chrollo explained to you, the way you felt like you were going to pass out with every word that exited his mouth.

Sure, you'd done some awful things during your time with the Troupe, the anger from the image of Sarasa's body fueling every drop of blood you spilled. At the same time, you weren't that terrible, you knew you weren't.

"No," you remember saying, firm in your decision. The eyes of your fellow Spiders snapped towards you like you'd said something irreparable, something worse than a plan to kill an entire race of people. "I won't do that. I'm leaving."

Phinks, as he always did, rolled his eyes at your words, grabbing at your wrist as you stood up from your seat on a dilapidated wooden chair. "C'mon, are you really going to throw another fit right now? Sit down and keep listening to the Boss."

"I'm not going to listen to anything. I'm leaving," you replied, yanking your arm out of Phinks' grasp. "This is too much for me."

"Do you not remember what they did to us? To our home?" Phinks scoffed, standing up so he can tower over you. You don't back down despite the fact that Phinks is, decisively, way stronger than you. "They deserve it, [Name]."

"Phinks, it's their decision," Chrollo hummed. You looked over at him, only to see a sort of melancholy in his usually stoic face. "If you wish to leave, you may."

The Troupe had watched you walk out without another word. After that, you disappeared to the coast of the Republic of Padokea, nestling yourself in a hidden beach town with one restaurant and one hotel. You spent every day of your life on your couch or outside, paying no mind to rage or terror. It had been nice, freeing, and you'd begun to reevaluate your life.

The Troupe only found you, most likely, because you'd bought a laptop and started working on an online degree. Pakunoda had been the first to visit, and it hadn't gone particularly well; you dodged every question she asked and spent half her visit avoiding her.

You assumed she was the reason Chrollo had come to visit. He was much less confrontational than she was, simply attaching to your daily life like a parasite. It was annoying and upsetting; all you wanted was to make your decisions for yourself. Whether or not you left the Troupe was not being impacted by his presence.

His dinners were good, though. You shoveled his vodka pasta into your mouth like it was your first meal in days, reveling in its perfection. "Where'd you learn to cook?" you ask through a mouthful, furrowing your brows. "You never cooked when we were kids, and I can't recall you ever making something for me."

"I spend most of the year alone, and going out is a hassle sometimes. I just make this often," he replies softly, eating way more politely than you were. Chrollo had managed to shake off all his more Meteor City-esque habits so quickly after you all made it out; you struggled to shake off even one.

"Well, it's yummy. You should make it for all of us at some point," you say, taking another huge bite. Chrollo seems to perk up at your suggestion, taking a quick sip of the wine he bought.

"You think there'll be an opportunity to?"

"If you stop parking us in old, dingy buildings, probably. All you need is a stove and some pots, nothing crazy."

"I don't think everyone will want me to cook for them, personally. Uvogin prefers to pound down chicken and rice, which means Phinks and Nobunaga do too. Shalnark isn't much into tomatoes, either." Chrollo watches you eat intently, and you wonder if he's disgusted by the way you still scarf down food even after you left Meteor City.

"Then you can cook for the rest of us. I'm sure Machi and Paku will love it, too."

"I think I'd prefer to only cook for you."

You pause, looking up at him. "What? Why?"

"You enjoy everything you eat. You savor it, even if you don't like it. I'm not worried about you disliking my food."

"Are you worried about anyone disliking anything you do?"

"I'm still human, you know," Chrollo laughs, and its a sultry sound, like honey dripping down your ears. "Especially when it comes to cooking, I think I'd be hurt if I cooked for all of us and you were the only one to truly appreciate it."

"I'd be happy if even one person liked my cooking. Sometimes, if I'm feeling particularly lazy, I'll just season an onion, put it in the oven, and eat it." You take your final bite of your pasta and lean back, resting a hand on your stomach. "Or I'll just make a peanut butter and jelly. I have at least four or five a week, I think."

"Is it hard to cook all the time? I don't think I would enjoy it, living this far out. You said your grocery store only gets shipments once every two weeks, yes?"

"Whenever the Zoldycks need food, basically," you snort, twiddling with the stem of your wine glass. "That's when we get the best shipments, at least. It sucks, but it's worth it for the beach and the quiet. I don't have to worry about anything when I'm here, just about whether or not I put sunscreen on."

Chrollo pauses to take a bite of his pasta, lifting a single noodle into his mouth. You're just about to stand and do the dishes when he opens his mouth, looking directly into your eyes.

"Why didn't you tell anyone you were moving here?"

The question is heavy in your mind, and you're sure it's heavy in Chrollo's. Pakunoda had asked almost the same exact thing, if a little more ambiguously, and you'd dodged the question almost completely. How could you admit that you were having second thoughts about all of this? How could you say that you weren't angry about Sarasa anymore, that you just wanted to live with no regrets?

"I feel as though you know the answer to that question, Chrollo," you reply. Clearly it was not the right choice of words, because his face twists into one you can only describe as angry, though he barely looks different than he usually does.

"Do you not believe in me anymore? In the Troupe?" he questions somewhat harshly, leaning forward. "You used to stand by me through anything, and now you can barely look me in the eye. What happened? What changed?"

"I believe in you and the Troupe, obviously. I just…the Kurta thing was a lot for me. I didn't see the purpose in it, so I stepped away. I needed to re-evaluate myself and my intentions."

"So you started college?" he almost spits at you, catching you off guard. Pakunoda hadn't had the gall to bring that up, but, of course, Chrollo did. He always looked down on you, as someone weaker and less competent than he was.

"I was bored and needed something to do, simple as that. Everyone has something they do outside of all this—Shalnark is a Hunter, Machi spends her time embalming people, and I do absolutely nothing. I just needed some time to reshape myself. Besides, what's an Ancient Civilizations degree going to do for me realistically?" you lie straight through your teeth, because you were absolutely hoping it would help when you inevitably separated yourself from the Troupe.

Chrollo would be angry at you, sure, but he probably wouldn't kill you. Not after all you'd done for him and the Troupe, not after you'd taught half of them how to efficiently use their nen and after you'd been a driving force behind most of the full-Troupe missions.

Chrollo's eyes flutter shut as he leans back, dropping his head back even farther. "Do you promise you won't leave?"

"I have no plans to right now."

"That's not an answer, [Name]."

You've never seen Chrollo this emotional since he came back to Meteor City and announced the creation of the Spider. You struggle to not hesitate, to lie through your teeth to the man you've spent the better part of the last decade worshiping.

"I'm not going to leave the Troupe, Chrollo. You're all I have," you say, trying to make your words sound as truthful as possible. "I have no family, no friends, no nothing. Just you and this house."

Your announcement seems to put him at ease, given the way he visibly relaxes in front of you. Part of you wonders how he'd gotten so worked up about this; he was adamant on not caring about the makeup of the Spider, as long as it still existed. Whether or not you were apart of it shouldn't have been so stressful to him.

On the other hand, from the Troupe's point of view, you'd disappeared for at least seven months. There was no trace of you anywhere on the planet—your phone had been deactivated and you'd bought this house in cash under the identity of someone you'd killed. You were gone.

Perhaps somewhat selfishly, you didn't think it would impact them very much. During the Troupe's off-time, you rarely saw any of them, preferring to travel around the world like a maniac. They wouldn't know where you were most of the time.

"Right," Chrollo says, like he's reassuring himself of something.

—

Somewhat like a blessing, Chrollo bids you goodbye for a few days, saying he'll be back after a little while. You don't really know what he means by "a little while," but you savor it, returning to your day-to-day life living completely alone.

During that time, you finalize your decision: you're going to leave. Whatever the Troupe used to be is not what it is now, and you clearly weren't made to be a part of it. You weren't a killer, though you'd killed in the past; you were just you. And, now that you'd made it out of Meteor City, you'd met your goals.

You had done what you could for the Phantom Troupe, and now you would move on with your life. It was weirdly the easiest decision you'd ever made.

Of course, you made the mistake of assuming "a little while" would be months, and, when you walked into your house to find Chrollo on your couch only a week after he'd left in the first place, you found your heart dropping into your stomach.

This time, when you walk in, you're carrying five grocery bags, and you practically drop them on the ground when you walk in. Sometimes, you wished you had the freak strength all the Troupe members somehow had.

"Welcome back," you say, beginning to put away all the various things you'd bought. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

"I just had to do a little self-evaluating," Chrollo says somewhat mockingly, and it puts a damper on your mood. "Would you like to watch a movie tonight?"

Chrollo makes you dinner with your groceries while you shower and reset yourself from the day's activities. You put on your comfy clothes and decide to savor what you decide will probably be some of your last moments with only Chrollo. In your youth, you'd been madly in love with him—perhaps obsessed with him was a more correct way to put it—and you would've never considered leaving him, even if it meant betraying yourself to continue following him.

Now, you sort of wanted to never see him again.

Chrollo made you some sort of chickpea machination atop a bed of rice and plated it for you, insisting you both eat on your couch. So, you made yourself comfortable in your usual seat and waited for Chrollo to join you. Of course, he decides to sit directly next to you. And, true to his personality, he picks out some cheesy romance movie that doesn't really pique your interest.

You eat fairly quickly, and so does Chrollo, leaving both of you to sit silently for the rest of the movie. At some point, your companion switches the lights off, leaving you in mostly darkness. The movie is nothing special; the main character moves back to her hometown and rekindles a relationship with her high school sweetheart despite having just broken up with her ex.

Everything is predictable, from the way she refuses to let herself completely go and do what her feelings urge her to do. The main male lead chases after her like she's his lifeline, refusing to give up even when her ex-fiancé comes back into the picture. The apex of the movie is, of course, a sex scene, where they hook up in her childhood bedroom.

All things considered, it's nothing special. Despite that, Chrollo's hand comes to rest on your thigh as the two main leads kiss, sending a shock through your leg. Your breath gets caught in your throat, and the younger version of you threatens to burst to the surface.

You look over at Chrollo, prepared to tell him to stop touching you, but you're met with him staring at you like you're his next meal.

The moment is slow. You have about a thousand chances to stop him from advancing on you, to say no and abandon the movie entirely. But, you don't, you can't, and you let him kiss you.

Chrollo's lips are soft against yours, dizzying even, and you can barely register that this is happening. His hands come to rest against your hips, fingernails digging into your skin and dragging a pained yelp from your lips. You try to pull away, to take a breath and steady yourself, but Chrollo won't let you.

His tongue flicks across your bottom lip, and all you can think is how absurd this is. You tangle your hands into his hair, pulling him closer to you, closer than you can manage. Your entire life, you'd begged for Chrollo's attention, the attention he gave to Machi or Pakunoda. You followed him like a lost duckling, like you had no personal autonomy. In a way, Chrollo had been your god, and you a measly priestess forced to dedicate your life to him.

A rush of adrenaline flows through your body as Chrollo's hands slip underneath your shirt, drawing elegant patterns across your skin with the tips of his fingers. You unleash the past seven years of relentless pining into your kiss, as a farewell to a life that never even wanted you.

And, the moment Chrollo's hands brush against your bra, you drop your hands to his shoulders and shove him off of you. His hair is tousled from your grabbing and pulling, lips puffy and pink from the pressure you forced on him.

"How many times have you had sex with Pakunoda?" you ask, keeping your hands on his shoulders. His linger just below your chest, his fingers twitching against your skin. The question doesn't shock in the slightest.

"Just once," he replies, breathless. "I've hooked up with Machi more."

"You're a good-for-nothing whore who doesn't respect the women who work for him," you state like it's fact, using your hands to drag his off of you. "Good night, Chrollo. I hope I won't see you in the morning."

—

You don't see Chrollo in the morning. Instead, there's a note left on your dining table: I'm taking you out to dinner tonight, out of town. I'll pick you up at 4. Wear something nice.

A sigh leaves your lips as you read it, somewhat unwillingly. Part of you wishes you could go back in time to the night you marched out of the Phantom Troupe meeting and just stick through it, ignore the way your stomach threatened to empty itself at the thought of massacring the Kurta Clan.

Perhaps everything would still be normal and not nearly this difficult. Perhaps you'd still be chasing after Chrollo's affections like a needy cat. Perhaps you'd still resent Machi and Pakunoda, but at least you'd be free from emotional turmoil.

Hindsight was 20/20, and you were here now, following your heart or whatever. You spent the entire day watching random documentaries on National Geographic before readying yourself for whatever dinner Chrollo wanted to take you on.

Like clockwork, he pulls up to your house in a fancy, black car at 4 pm on the dot, and you hesitantly climb inside, pressing yourself up against the passenger door once you're inside. He speeds off without a second thought, clearing the twists and curves of the highway that penetrates through your town like he's trying to create his own personal rollercoaster ride.

Chrollo is dressed nicely, too, in a black suit and a black tie. It's an outfit you've seen him in countless times, particularly when the Troupe's target is an auction or something else fancy, but it still feels new given the circumstances.

"You look nice, dear," he muses, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

"How long is the drive?" you ask, ignoring his compliment. He pauses, glancing at the clock.

"About an hour. Feel free to rest, if you need it."

You nod, leaning your head against the window of the car and closing your eyes. The two of you sit there quietly, tensely, listening to the classical music radio station that Chrollo had decided to put on.

You fall asleep shortly into the drive and wake up when the car begins to slow. You're in the closest city to your town, which also sits on the beach. Chrollo gets out of the car and hands his keys off to a valet, so you do as well, doing your best to shake the sleep off.

He comes around to your side of the car and wraps a hand around your waist almost possessively, taking you by surprise. You barely get to ask him what he's doing before he's dragging you inside the restaurant, which you assume is the nicest one in town given the façade and the amount of people waiting outside. You blow by them and walk inside, where Chrollo stops you right in front of the hostess.

"Welcome back, sir," she smiles, grabbing two menus without even asking for his name. "Is this the wife you've told us so much about."

Chrollo smiles his fake-smile, nodding confidently. "How could you tell?"

"She's as beautiful as you say she is, sir."

You barely have enough time to steady yourself before you're being taken through the restaurant and into a quiet, back room, separated from the rest of the restaurant with a thick, red curtain. The table is set up for a date, clearly, with an ornate vase of roses and a candle sat at the center of the table.

"Thank you so much, Reyna," Chrollo says, pulling out one of the chairs next to the table. The hostess blushes and nods before rushing out of the booth, closing the curtain behind you. Chrollo then gestures for you to sit, but you refuse, crossing your arms over your chest.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I'm taking you out for a nice dinner. I thought you understood that already?"

"Since when was I your wife, Chrollo?"

"Since I started staying here two months ago, when Shalnark finally found you. I spent a lot of nights at this restaurant, at the bar, trying to fix the way I felt. The girls here are easy," Chrollo says, the smile on his face sending chills down your spine.

"What the hell is going on? What do you mean you've been here for two months?"

"Sit down, please, dear. I won't ask again."

The words ricochet in your ears, and fear settles in your mind. You don't remember the last time you felt afraid, and you've certainly never felt afraid of Chrollo, so it wracks your body like a bullet to the heart. The chair is cushiony and comfortable, and it probably cost the restaurant $300 per chair, if not more.

Chrollo sits across from you and pours you a glass of wine. "I'm glad we can have this night together. To sort things out."

"Sort what out? As far as I'm aware, everything is fine and you're making a problem out of nothing."

"Relationships are a two-way street," Chrollo declares, only stopping his pour when the wine reaches the very top of your glass. "I think it's time we talk about it."

"About what? The Kurta Clan?" you ask, shrinking into your chair. Chrollo is calm as he always is, but it creates dread into your chest like no other. "It's almost been a year, Chrollo."

"We did what we needed to do. For the betterment of the Troupe and the world."

"Genocide. You committed genocide." You state plainly, narrowing your eyes. "You killed and tortured 128 people, stole their eyes, and then sold them on the black market for millions. Sure, I'm no saint, but I've never genocided an entire race, Chrollo. And I never will, not even for you."

"We did what was best for Meteor City. They took from us, so we set an example, as we always have," Chrollo retorts, resting his elbows on the table and leaning his head on his hands. "That is what the Phantom Troupe does. We take with no second thoughts, and we uphold the values of Meteor City."

You open your mouth to respond, but Chrollo keeps talking, refusing to let you get a word in.

"Ever since I founded the Troupe and we started traveling, you lost sight of what was important to you. You forgot about Meteor City, about everything we faced growing up, and assimilated yourself with a world that rejected you."

"I grew up and got my own life."

"And the rest of us didn't?" Chrollo questions with a smooth tilt of his head, raising an eyebrow. "As you said, you were the only one without anything to do. Shalnark became a Hunter, Machi embalms people, and you try to pretend like you're not one of us."

"Don't talk to me like I haven't dedicated my entire life to your stupid ideals, Chrollo," you seethe, balling your hands into tight fists. "My entire life has been wasted on you and whatever you have wanted. I spent years of my youth teaching you and the rest of the Troupe how to read and write and live like a normal human being. I followed Pakunoda halfway around the world just because you told me to. I've killed people because you told me to."

"You're not who you used to be. It's clear to me and to Paku and to the rest of the Troupe. So, I left to do some self-evaluating myself, like I said," Chrollo says, and you force yourself to take a few quick breaths to try and calm your anger. "I thought about you and your position within the Troupe, how you fit in to the plans I've made for us. We're on the edge of something great, something I've spent years working towards."

"And? What did you find out, Chrollo?"

"That you don't fit in to the Spider anymore."

You freeze. All the air exists your lungs in a second, like your lungs have been crushed into tiny little balls. The words carve into your mind, sharp and painful and disrespectful towards everything you've ever lived for. And, sure, you were thinking of leaving on your own, but this—being kicked out—was, perhaps, the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

"Everything you've done for us has been invaluable, but you're not the same. You don't serve the same purpose as you used to," Chrollo continues, not caring that his words are tearing every inch of you apart. "So, you'll be replaced with someone that fits in more with my plans. My vision."

It goes silent, save for the chatter from the outer restaurant that's been muffled by your curtain. Your body feels like it's shutting down, tears threatening to fall from your eyes for the first time in years.

"So what?" you rasped, letting the tears fall from your eyes. "I'm chopped liver? You're going to kill me and leave my body to be mauled by some rats?"

Chrollo laughs at that, reaching over the table to wipe at your tears. You try to jerk away, but it doesn't work in the slightest—he follows you wherever you go. "No, no, of course not, dear. I'm keeping you with me. I refuse to let you slip away again."

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pinch in your neck. Your head swings to the side and you're face-to-face with Shalnark, who dons his usual absentminded grin.

"What? What the fuck is going on?" you practically shriek, turning panicked back towards Chrollo. "What are you doing?"

You didn't know what you were expecting out of your first meeting with the Troupe. Sure, you'd been with Chrollo long enough to know that they met in some fairly peculiar places, but an old, abandoned shipyard felt like it was too much. Like they were trying to play up their reputation by meeting in the dingiest place possible, even though no outsider but you would see.

Arguably, your opinion mattered the least.

You'd migrated to the corner about five minutes after your terribly awkward introduction, in which you received mostly wary glares and condescending comments. The only one of them who was even slightly nice to you was Shizuku, who didn't seem to care that much that you were some weirdo Chrollo picked up off the street.

For once in your life, Chrollo had let you leave his side, barely putting up a fight as you detached his hand from your own. He continued laying out some plan to raid some fancy auction, hardly paying any mind to your relocation efforts.

And, after a while, they just…stopped speaking. Chrollo pulled out a book from his pocket, and a few of them grouped up and began playing cards, barely speaking a word to each other. One of them, the short, accent-having one, sat on a windowsill and gazed longingly out the broken window, completely unmoving for at least 30 minutes.

For a group of esteemed killers, you thought they were all pretty loser-ish. The only one who was even semi-cool was Pakunoda, who had left pretty much the moment Chrollo was done talking. You wish she would've taken you with her.

People-watching was never your forte, so you got bored quickly, shoving your face into your arms and squeezing your eyes shut. You were never good at sleeping anywhere but your bed, but, if you tried hard enough, maybe you could nap the rest of this excursion away and wake up in Chrollo's sleek, black car, on the way back to your stupid penthouse hotel room.

God, even the thought of it pissed you off. You could imagine the dumb smile on his face as he asked you how you enjoyed spending the day with the Troupe, sitting on a concrete floor with nothing to do. You'd dodge the question endlessly, or you'd just straight up lie, whichever one you felt privy to in the moment.

Whatever, you couldn't think about this right now. You needed to think about calmer things—the sound of the ocean outside, crashing against the cement edges of the shipyard, or the wind hitting the walls of the building you sat inside.

You could imagine yourself somewhere else, if you really tried. In your childhood home, curled up against your mom while you watched Cinderella for the 30th time. You could pretend like the ocean was the rain that so often raged against your roof. It was late and she'd let you stay up to watch the movie, so you were dozing off on her arm, barely paying attention to what the Fairy Godmother had to say, and—

You're getting up before you even realize it. Instead of making yourself fall asleep, you'd just upset yourself instead. Okay, so you'd go to Plan B: take a walk. Chrollo's eyes shifted over to you almost instantly, watching curiously as you marched over to him somewhat angrily.

"I was beginning to think you died," he hummed, setting his book down next to him. "You didn't move for three hours."

"Is there a bathroom in here?" you ask, ignoring his comment. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, anxious knowing that more than just Chrollo's eyes are on you right now.

"Sure," Chrollo nods, standing up. You hate the way he towers over you, especially now that you're in front of all of his colleagues. "I'll walk you there."

In true Chrollo fashion, he links his arm with yours, practically dragging you along with him. You walk past the group of them playing cards, and they pay you absolutely no mind as you walk past. Chrollo simply leads you down the hall and to the right, leaving you in front of a door that looked like it was about to fall off its hinges.

"It's not the nicest, but it'll do, yes, dear?" he asks, tilting his head. You wished you could sock him in the face.

"Kill yourself," you reply shortly, walking in and carefully shutting the door behind you. If you felt comfortable slamming it, you would've.

The bathroom was entirely worse for wear, but it wasn't like you actually needed it. Instead of using it for its intended purpose, you paced back and forth endlessly, trying to get your energy out. It was your own fault for thinking of your mother, true, but it was Chrollo's fault that you hadn't seen or talked to her in a year and a half. Oh, how you'd kill to see her again, to feel her arms around your shoulders and to hear her nagging you to do the dishes after family dinners.

You pace until you're out of breath and ready to re-enter society, if the Phantom Troupe could even be considered that. You shove the image of Cinderella to the very back of your mind, flushing the toilet with your foot and rinsing your hands for as long as you can possibly muster.

You take a few deep breaths and carefully open the door, only to be met with…nothing.

Chrollo had returned to their meeting room. In fact, you could hear the sounds of their voices again, echoing down the hallway. You were entirely alone and out of sight, and your captor was engaged with his peers.

You feel sick to your stomach. Chrollo knows you won't try to run, especially not now, surrounded by some of the strongest people in the world. More than that, he knows you're useless in the face of danger, so he was calm enough to leave you alone.

You decide that it's probably best for you to avoid trying to stick it to the man, so you begin to walk back to the meeting room. About halfway into your journey, though, you stop dead in your tracks at the sound of someone saying your name.

"What worth do they even have?" a smooth, brusque voice says, and you cringe. This was the worst day of your life thus far, maybe, worse than when you were literally kidnapped. "I'm sorry, Boss, but it's starting to feel like your fling is getting in the way of our main goals."

"I think you're being hypocritical, Phinks," Machi, who has the only voice you can recognize, says. "Uvo has had a girl chained up in his house for months, and you've never said a word about that."

"She doesn't come with him everywhere."

"Yes, and she weighs, like, 90 lbs because Uvo doesn't actually give a shit about her."

"Not true!" a man you'd assume is Uvo says, his voice loud and booming down the hall. "She's allowed to roam around and make her own food now that's she's gotten over her bitchy attitude."

You wait for Chrollo's voice to cut in, but it never does. He doesn't try to defend you, not even when Phinks questions whether or not you'd ever done anything useful for him—the entire reason you were even here in the first place was because he'd gone after your nen ability. Chrollo doesn't say a word, and, while you want to say it doesn't affect you, it cuts deep.

You were just a mess. Slowly but surely, you were turning into exactly what Chrollo wanted you to be: completely complacent and reliant on him. Hanging off his every word, waiting for his approval during every moment.

Machi, after a while, stops defending your honor, tired of the back and forth between her and Phinks. Soon enough, it falls silent, and you wonder if this is your queue to return.

And then, Chrollo talks.

"Of course, I appreciate hearing your opinion, Phinks," he starts, and there's a sort of tightness in his voice akin to when you actually manage to get on his nerves. "But, a year and a half ago, [Name]'s nen ability saved your life. I don't believe you have much of a leg to stand on here."

You hate the way you relax when he says that. You hate the way you feel emboldened, suddenly ready to take on the world.

"I would prefer you refrain from speaking on my personal decisions after this, as I refrain from speaking on yours. Is that all?"

There's a sort of grumble that comes from Phinks, or so you assume, and then a shuffling of positions. You resume your walk inside, and everyone looks at you as you re-enter, pretending to be none-the-wiser. You head for your corner, ready to actually try to fall asleep this time, when Chrollo says your name to garner your attention.

You turn, and he gestures at you to come to him. You pause, embarrassment rushing through you as you change your course, shuffling over to the concrete block he's sitting on.