#sub niragi

Her popularity only grew. His isolation too.

Still… she always found a way to be around.

In class, she’d sit behind him. Sometimes, she’d strike up a conversation during breaks, making sure no one noticed. She’d text him asking if he needed help with projects. Brought candies and secretly left them in his locker. Little things — that meant the world to Niragi.

And he… fell in love.

Of course, he did.

How could he not? She was the only one who treated him like a human being.

“You should stop hanging around that freak, Y/N.”

Haruka, the queen bee of the popular girls, sneered, arms crossed.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, Haruka.” Y/N shot back without even looking at her.

It was always like that. A silent tug of war. Y/N’s popularity shielded her from being a target, but it didn’t stop the snide remarks. And she didn’t care. The only problem was… Niragi noticed. And it made him shrink.

With every snide comment, every whispered joke when he walked by, every stifled laugh, he withdrew further. And even though Y/N tried, she knew she couldn’t stop it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One stuffy afternoon after history class, she waited for everyone to leave and approached his desk.

“Suguru…” she called softly.

He looked up, startled.

“Hey.”

She smiled — that same smile he remembered from when they were kids.

“Wanna come over later? I… found some old pictures of us. And I bought that sweet potato snack you like.”

He hesitated. He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. But he knew what people would say.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

Y/N sighed.

“Why not? You’re really gonna let those assholes control you?”

Niragi met her gaze. And for a moment, the world stopped. He remembered the little girl who used to stand up to bullies in kindergarten. Who shared candy with him at recess. Who he’d known — deep down — that he loved his entire life without the guts to say it.

But before he could answer, the classroom door slammed open.

And there stood Aiko.

Haruka’s best friend. Gorgeous, venomous, and faker than a politician’s smile. Her gaze landed on Niragi like he was some new toy she’d just decided to play with.

“Hey, Niragi.” Her voice was syrupy-sweet and fake as hell. “Need help with that physics assignment?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, instantly wary.

Niragi just blinked, confused.

“Uh… no, I…”

Aiko giggled.

“Come on, I’m good at it. I could teach you a thing or two… in the library. Just us.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. Aiko had never spoken a word to Niragi before. Never even looked at him. And now, out of nowhere, she was offering “private tutoring”?

“He doesn’t need your help.” Y/N cut in, firm.

Aiko feigned surprise.

“Wow, didn’t know he was taken.”

The air thickened.

Niragi, embarrassed, grabbed his stuff.

“I… I gotta go.”

And left.

Y/N stood there, chest tight. She watched Aiko flash a smug, knowing look before vanishing into the hallway.

Right then, Y/N knew.

Something was starting. And it wasn’t good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Niragi stared at his phone. A message from her blinked on the screen:

“If you wanna talk or come by, my window’s open.”

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But Aiko’s voice kept echoing in his head.

"You know… you could be so much more. If you wanted. Girls like Y/N only hang around you to feel better about themselves. I see who you really are."

And even though part of him knew it was a lie… another part of him wanted to believe, for once, that maybe someone besides Y/N actually cared.

And that was the beginning of the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⚠️Warnings: Rising tension, emotional manipulation, social exclusion, beginning of conflict. No explicit content yet, but the atmosphere is getting heavier –Part 2

---

First Cracks

The school hallway had never felt so long.

Niragi kept his eyes glued to the floor, hands buried deep in his pockets, trying to ignore the muffled giggles and side-eyes. He was used to it. He’d learned to survive in that place years ago.

But that afternoon had been different.

Ever since what happened in class with Aiko, something had changed.

The way people looked at him…

The way Aiko smiled…

And the way Y/N watched him from across the room, that worried look she always gave when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

He knew he should've climbed up to her window the night before.

She’d messaged him, left the damn window open — like they used to when they were kids. But Niragi didn’t go. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, hearing Aiko’s words echo in his head:

"You know she only keeps you around to feel better about herself, right? To look like a good person."

And he hated how much that poked at a part of him he didn’t want to acknowledge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What Niragi didn’t know was that Y/N hadn’t slept either.

She’d spent hours replaying that classroom scene in her head. Aiko never went near him. Never even acknowledged his existence. And suddenly, this sugary invitation, that fake interest?

No.

Something was off.

Y/N knew that kind of game better than anyone. She was part of that world — unwillingly, but she was. She knew how those girls worked, how they latched onto the weaker ones, only to laugh behind their backs later.

And Niragi…

He wasn’t like the others.

He’d fall for it.

And that terrified her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, it got worse.

Down the hallway, Niragi wasn’t carrying his books the usual way. His head wasn’t lowered. He walked taller — or at least pretended to. A half-smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

And walking next to him?

Aiko.

Her arm hooked around his like they were best friends.

Y/N felt her stomach turn.

The others snickered and whispered. Haruka sent her a smug look.

“Look at that, the nerd’s with Aiko now. Bet she’ll clean him up and toss him out like trash.”

Y/N didn’t reply.

But something inside her cracked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During lunch break, Y/N waited for him near the vending machines. When Niragi showed up, she stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

“Can we talk?”

He hesitated, eyes darting away.

“Aiko’s waiting for me.”

“Fuck Aiko.”

His eyes widened. Y/N almost never spoke like that. But right now, she didn’t care.

“What the hell’s going on, Suguru? Since when do you hang out with her?”

“Since someone finally decided to treat me like a person.”

The words hit like a slap. And they stung more than she’d admit.

She drew in a sharp breath.

“I always treated you like a person.”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“No, Y/N. You treated me like a charity case. So you could feel better about yourself in your perfect little group.”

The words were knives.

Y/N’s throat tightened.

“You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” He stared at her. “The only time you notice me is when someone else does.”

“I care about you, dammit!”

“Then where the hell were you when they locked me in the locker room? When they trashed my stuff? When they wrote shit all over my locker? You laughed with them, remember?”

Y/N froze.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Not completely — but not wrong either.

She never laughed. But she never spoke up either. Never stood beside him publicly.

And in that moment, that weighed more than any good memory they had.

Niragi saw the effect of his words and felt a pang of guilt.

But it was too late.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he mumbled, “Aiko’s waiting.”

And he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N stood there, swallowing the burn in her throat.

At that moment, she realized she was about to lose what little part of Niragi still belonged to her.

And that someone else was pulling the strings behind it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Aiko sent a message.

“Home alone. Come over?”

And Niragi, without a second thought, went.

And what started as a harmless flirt, a game of manipulation, was about to become the biggest mistake of his life.

But that…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⚠️ Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), uncomfortable and manipulated sex, inexperienced character, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, heavy drama, possessiveness and progressive angst.part-3

---

The Worst Kind of Loneliness

The night was stifling.

Streetlights flickered weakly as Niragi walked with sweaty hands buried in his pockets. He didn’t really know why he was going there. Well, he did — Aiko’s invitation hadn’t left room for interpretation. But somewhere deep down, something screamed that this wasn’t right.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Y/N had texted again.

“I need to talk to you. Please.”

He ignored it.

Fuck, she only showed up when things were already ruined. When he was locked in the supply closet? When they smeared shit on his notebook? When they tore up his drawings?

She just watched.

And now… now Aiko was here.

Smiling at him. Calling him.

Making him feel seen. Wanted. Even if it was a lie.

But a lie was better than nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her house was big, modern, and cold. The parents weren’t home. Low lighting, some soft music playing in the background. Niragi’s stomach churned, the cloying scent of her perfume thick in the air.

— Didn’t think you’d come, — Aiko smirked, closing the door behind him.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, uncomfortable.

— Was busy.

She stepped closer, a finger tracing his chest.

— Doesn’t look like you are now.

And before he could think, her mouth was on his.

It felt weird.

The kiss lacked the warmth of Y/N’s smiles, or the familiar scent of afternoons by the window. Aiko’s mouth was cold, aggressive, like she was claiming him. Niragi tried to follow along, but everything about him was hesitant.

Her hands tugged at his shirt.

— Take it off, — she murmured.

He obeyed, skin prickling at the contact.

They stumbled down the hallway, into her bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That’s when it got worse.

Aiko pushed him down onto the bed, stripping off her own shirt with practiced ease. Niragi had never seen someone naked up close before. His hands trembled.

— Nervous, virgin? — she mocked, climbing onto him.

The words stung.

He hated that. The label. The insecurity.

But he stayed quiet.

Aiko took the lead, guiding his hand to her breasts, forcing him to touch her.

It was strange.

Her skin was cold. The kisses were too fast. The sickly-sweet mix of cheap perfume and menthol cigarettes made him nauseous. Niragi wasn’t aroused. His body reacted purely out of instinct, afraid of seeming pathetic.

When she stripped off his pants, his face burned with shame.

— Wow… — she snorted. — Never done this, huh?

He didn’t answer.

Aiko grabbed a condom, rolling it on him carelessly, and straddled his lap. The sensation was uncomfortable, dry, lacking any connection. The penetration happened too quickly, no preparation. It hurt — for him.

Niragi’s body was rigid, unsure of where to place his hands.

Aiko moaned, but not from pleasure. It was fake. Performative. As if there was an audience.

He tried to move, to find a rhythm, but shame and discomfort only grew.

It wasn’t what he’d imagined.

It wasn’t like in movies.

It wasn’t even close to what he’d hoped.

He closed his eyes, trying to think of something else. Of Y/N. Her smile. The way she ruffled his hair when he was sad.

But Aiko was a suffocating presence.

Biting his neck too hard. Leaving marks. Her pleasure was in the humiliation.

— Who’d have thought… the nerd can handle it.

He hated this.

More than anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When it was over, Aiko lay beside him, lighting a cigarette.

— Now you’re mine, — she declared, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

Niragi didn’t respond.

He felt filthy. Empty. Pathetic.

He got dressed in silence, eager to leave.

But Aiko grabbed him.

— One more thing… — her finger slid down his chest. — I need a favor.

He looked at her.

— What?

She smirked.

— I’ve got some things about Y/N your bully friends would love to see.

He paled.

— Why?

— Because she acts like she’s better than everyone. And you know it. Always did. She just uses you. I’ve got screenshots, videos… But if you’re the one to spread them, I can guarantee no one will mess with you again.

It was cruel. Twisted.

And he knew it.

But he was weak. Starved for attention.

And he said:

— Send them to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, the messages spread.

Old pictures. A private video of Y/N with her ex — leaked without consent. Things only an enemy would have.

And by the time Y/N woke up, it was too late.

The whole school knew.

Niragi knew what he’d done.

And there was no turning back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, he could barely look at himself in the mirror.

But part of him felt like he deserved it.

Part of him felt like, for the first time, someone had noticed his existence — even in the worst possible way.

And emptiness was worse than guilt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⚠️ Warnings: Emotional confrontation, dramatic resolution, emotional breakdown, betrayal aftermath, character regrets.-part 4

---

Ruin and Rebirth

Second period started, but for Y/N, the world had already stopped.

Her phone kept buzzing non-stop. Messages and notifications flooding every social app. Whatsapp, Instagram, Snapchat, group chats. Everything revolving around her. Intimate pictures leaked, cruel comments, videos, screenshots.

And there, scrolling down, was his name: Suguru.

The same one she used to call by affectionate nicknames just yesterday.

Pain. A burning pit in her stomach. Fire and ice all at once. He was there — involved, complicit, responsible.

She glanced sideways and caught Lulu’s (her best friend) urgent look.

— Did you see this? — she whispered, handing her phone.

Y/N let the phone drop in her hand, fingers trembling. “No, no, please…” was all she managed to say.

Classes passed in a blur. The world turned into a storm she couldn’t hold back. Outside the classroom, whispers followed her every step.

And there, right in the hallway, she found Niragi.

He saw her. Froze. Didn’t know what to say. The confident, cocky persona Aiko had fed him completely vanished in the face of devastating truth. His hands trembled, uniform wrinkled, eyes heavy.

The two of them stood there, a few meters apart. Time froze.

— You… — Y/N started, her voice breaking — how could you?

He choked.

— Y/N… I…

She stepped back.

— Don’t say a word. Just so I get this straight: you fucking humiliated me. Betrayed me. Used my private video… for what? Revenge? Power? How could you sink this low?

Niragi lowered his gaze.

— I… it was Aiko. After that night… she made promises, twisted my head around. I got confused. I liked the feeling of being looked at for once. And then I felt powerful.

— Powerful? — she spat, disgust clear in her eyes. — At this cost?

He stayed silent. The timid, broken boy resurfacing beneath the guilt.

— You know what hurts most? — she exhaled sharply — that it wasn’t just about me. It was everything I built. Our history. The quiet ways you used to protect me. The tiny moments we shared. You traded all that for a show. And played it to the crowd.

He shrank, every word hitting like a punch.

Lulu hovered nearby, silently pulling Y/N.

— I… — he tried to speak, but she pushed his hand away — I’m leaving.

And she did.

The school bell rang. Break time exploded. They separated like two ghosts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside, Aiko lingered by the sidewalk. Fully aware of the destruction she caused. She saw Y/N pass by, clinging to Lulu, tears dry on her face. She saw Niragi’s hunched figure cross the courtyard. And she felt nothing — cold, calculated, unrepentant.

She stayed until the last light in the building died and the halls emptied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, Y/N walked home, arms crossed, dried tears on her cheeks, backpack swaying.

Turning the corner, she saw Niragi waiting by a lamppost, like a cheap cliché. Her heart leapt.

— Y/N. — it was all he could say.

She stopped. Took a deep breath.

— I want you to know… I regret it. All of it. It was cowardice. Weakness. I hated myself the second I did it. You were right: I felt important for a second. And then… empty. And disgustingly guilty.

He looked at her but didn’t touch.

— I… honestly, I don’t know if I can forgive myself. But I think… you deserve to know why. And to hear it straight from me, face to face, that I’m miserable. That I broke everything good between us. That I know how badly I hurt everything we were.

She bit her lip.

— Why her?

— Aiko knows how to deal with… people like me. She gave me attention, made me feel like I mattered. But it was never about me. It was about using me, twisting me. After the sex, she pressured me. I didn’t feel used — I felt like I sold myself. And brought out in those messages… the worst parts of myself. Because she promised me freedom.

Y/N swallowed hard.

— You traded me for a lie?

— Yes. And I’ve been fucking drowning in it.

She looked down at the pavement.

— And now?

— I… don’t expect anything. I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. And I genuinely hate myself for not being better.

She ran a hand through her hair.

— I… don’t know how to forgive. And maybe we don’t need to go back to what we were. But today I managed to listen. Even though it’ll take time to digest it all. I hope one day this’ll just be a sad story, not something that defines us.

He nodded, swallowing his tears.

— Thank you for listening.

— Thanks for having the guts to say it.

They stared at each other for a moment. No hug. No tears. Just raw honesty — the only refuge left after a broken day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Y/N walked into school. Her world reduced to an inner silence. No clicks around her. She felt empty, but strong. Some friends approached with kind looks. A few whispered words of support among the usual rumors. But she stood tall.

And Niragi? Did he stay at school? No. He vanished after their talk in the street. Nobody saw him in the hallways. Maybe he was sent home for his mental state, or maybe he disappeared straight home — no one knew. But somehow, the school felt his absence.

---

📌 Last Betrayal — Epilogue

Warnings: Angst, emotional tension, implied violence, reference to past betrayal, pre-apocalypse setting, canon divergence.

---

📖 Plot Recap:

Before the deadly games of Borderland, Niragi was just a bitter, bullied nerd hiding a dangerous crush on you — the popular girl who was never cruel, who always tried to protect him. But his resentment and longing led him to a cruel betrayal: sleeping with your enemy and exposing your most intimate secret to the school. Years later, fate brings you both back together on the fateful day Shibuya is wiped out by a blinding light.

---

Epilogue: A Thousand Years of Regret

The streets of Shibuya were just as suffocating as you remembered them. Neon signs flickered under the darkening sky, and the smell of street food lingered between the crowded sidewalks. People brushed past you like waves, unbothered, their eyes glued to their phones, unaware that the end was hanging just above their heads.

You hadn’t wanted to come back here.

Shibuya was a place of ghosts.

It had been years since you last stepped foot on these streets. Everything was different, and yet somehow, suffocatingly familiar. The memories clung to the corners of every alley, every crosswalk, every neon reflection in the puddles.

Your fingers instinctively pulled the collar of your jacket higher as you walked, hoping the city would swallow you whole before you could run into anyone you once knew.

But fate wasn’t that kind.

And as you crossed Center Gai Street, heading toward the famous Scramble Crossing, you felt it.

A presence.

Heavy.

Familiar.

Inevitable.

Your stomach knotted, and your steps slowed, your gaze scanning the crowd against your will — until you saw him.

And fuck, he was unrecognizable.

Niragi Suguru.

He wasn’t the awkward, scrawny nerd from high school anymore.

Gone were the thick glasses, the greasy fringe, the slouched posture.

In his place stood a man you barely recognized — all sharp angles and cruel eyes, his hair now an unholy mess of dark, unruly strands that clung to his skin like ink. Piercings glittered against his ears, and a jagged scar cut across the corner of his lips, twisting his mouth into something unreadable. His once-dull gaze was now alive with something volatile, something dangerous.

And yet.

It was still him.

You knew those eyes.

You knew the weight of them, the way they used to follow you from across the classroom.

You knew how they felt when they betrayed you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to turn, tried to disappear into the crowd — but it was already too late.

His eyes locked onto you.

His entire body tensed.

And then he was moving.

“Y/N…?”

You froze.

His voice was deeper now, rough and hoarse, like every word scraped up his throat against his will. But it was him.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t look back.

You kept walking, fast.

But Niragi was faster.

He cut through the crowd, shoving past people, ignoring their protests, until he was beside you. Grabbing your wrist.

“Wait—! It’s you. It’s really you.”

You yanked your arm away like his touch burned.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Niragi.”

Your voice came out sharper than intended, but you didn’t care.

His face twisted, somewhere between hurt and stubborn anger.

“I need to talk to you—”

“After what you did? After everything? Go fuck yourself.”

His eyes flickered, something breaking behind them for a split second before hardening again.

“I fucked up,” he muttered, almost to himself. **“I know I did. But… fuck, Y/N—”

“You didn’t just fuck up,” you snapped. “You destroyed me. And for what? So you could impress a bunch of assholes who spat on you every day? You think I’m gonna forget that?”

The streetlights flickered above you.

A strange hush swept over the crowd.

It was subtle — the way conversations died out, the way people began to look up at the sky.

You noticed it too, your anger cooling enough to sense the shift in the air.

“Look—” Niragi started, but you cut him off.

“I don’t care what you have to say.”

And you meant it.

Or maybe you didn’t.

Maybe you were still the stupid girl who couldn’t quite forget the boy who used to hide bruises behind long sleeves and steal glances when he thought no one was looking.

But you didn’t have time to figure it out.

Because in that moment — the sky split open.

A blinding light.

A deafening silence.

And then — nothing.

__

Borderlands

When you woke up, the world was wrong.

Shibuya was empty.

The neon signs still flickered, the buildings still stood — but not a single soul moved through the streets. The city was a graveyard.

You stumbled to your feet, disoriented, your head pounding.

And then you saw him.

Niragi.

Leaning against a wall, bleeding from a cut above his brow, his face pale and eyes wild.

“Y/N?”

He looked like a ghost.

And for a moment, you forgot to hate him.

“What the hell happened—?” you rasped, voice cracking.

“I don’t know… the light… and then—”

He gestured helplessly to the empty street.

You took a step back.

“Don’t follow me.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“I swear to God, Niragi—if you think I’m gonna stick around for whatever this is, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

But even as you said it, you both knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Because as you turned the corner, a screen lit up on one of the empty building facades — a message in bold, blood-red letters:

WELCOME TO BORDERLAND.

YOUR GAME WILL BEGIN SHORTLY.

And your stomach dropped.

Niragi stared at the message, then at you, his face draining of what little color remained.

“What the fuck is this…?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t have time.

Because somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled — low, ominous.

The game was about to begin.

And whether you liked it or not, you were stuck with him now.

Again.

To Be Continued?

The concrete groaned under every step, a brutal echo swallowed by the night air. Rain beat down like glass on flesh, sharp and cold. The game had gone on far too long — two hours of sprinting, dodging, climbing, slipping through shadows.

Dead Run. The instructions were simple: stay moving, stay hidden, stay alive. One misstep, one breath too loud, and the hunters and lasers fired without mercy.

You ducked behind a rusted van, panting, blood dripping from a torn gash in your thigh. You’d seen five players go down already — one shredded on the stairwell, another caught in a spotlight and got shot by a laser. Your breath hitched. Every muscle screamed, but you weren't going to die here.

Then you heard it — chaos breaking out three levels above. Gunfire. Screams.

Another player, maybe. Another poor bastard about to get fired up.

You pushed forward, crawling under collapsed rebar, eyes locked on the distant checkpoint glowing red in the distance — freedom was close. Ten meters, maybe. Then eight. Then—

“Don’t move.”

The voice froze your blood.

Sharp. Familiar.

Dangerous.

You slowly raised your head, thinking you’d been caught by a hunter. But what you saw instead made your breath stop entirely.

Leaning against the broken skeleton of a car, blood on his cheek, gun at his side, was him.

Niragi.

Older. Darker. Covered in blood like it was his second skin.

And looking at you like he'd just seen a ghost.

For a moment, the world seemed to still. Even the rain sounded quieter. His gaze flicked down your body — not with hunger, not yet — but with calculation. Recognition. Something in his chest visibly coiled, like a trap being triggered.

He spoke again, but it wasn’t to threaten you. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

A spotlight swept dangerously close. You tensed to move, but Niragi was faster.

He stepped forward, not looking back, boots crunching over broken glass as he reached for your hand and hauled you up by the arm. Not rough. Not gentle. Just urgent.

“Move.” His voice was low. Controlled. But there was something burning under it. “I’m not letting you die in some bullshit Spades game.”

You didn’t argue.

You couldn’t.

Not with the way he was looking at you — like something unholy had cracked open in his chest and was crawling out, raw and hungry.

You ran.

Together.

And he didn’t let go of your hand once.

Finally, you made it.

The moment the final checkpoint flared green and the doors sealed shut behind them, Niragi let go of your hand like it burned him. You stumbled forward a few steps, chest heaving, blood sticking your shirt to your side. Your legs trembled — not from fear, not really. Just adrenaline finally wearing off.

Niragi stood a few paces away, silent, back to you, shoulders tense beneath the soaked, torn shirt he wore. The gun hung at his side, useless now. Still, he gripped it like the game wasn’t over.

You wiped at the blood on your cheek, already turning to face him when he finally spoke.

“...I thought you were dead.”

His voice was low, different than during the game. Strained. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You didn’t respond. Just watched the way his jaw clenched as he turned to you fully. Up close, you saw it — the same sharp eyes, the same twitch of his fingers when he was overthinking. His face was older, marked by cruelty and chaos, but underneath it…

That boy still existed.

“You’re not,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then louder, more forcefully, like he was trying to shake off the weight of recognition. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Before you could answer, his gaze dropped to your leg — the blood. His whole posture shifted. Not soft, not exactly, but protective. Possessive.

“You’re injured.” He moved toward you again, more careful this time. “Sit down.”

It wasn’t a question.

And even though the old Niragi might’ve flinched away from giving orders, this version? He wore it like armor.

But even now, with the Borderlands between them and everything they'd survived, you still saw it in his eyes — hesitation. Memory. A crack in the facade.

And for a split second, you remembered…

He sat against the rooftop fence, knees pulled up, blood drying under his nose and on the collar of his uniform. His bottom lip was split. His bag was in the stairwell — probably torn up again, thrown over the railings like trash.

Niragi didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see.

But he shook.

You found him like that, back then — small and still trying to hide it. You didn’t ask if they hit him again. You already knew.

“Your eye’s swelling,” you said instead, pulling your bag off and kneeling in front of him. “Let me see.”

He flinched at first, then relaxed — barely — when you touched his chin, tilting it toward the light.

“You gotta stop freezing up when they get in your face,” you muttered, pulling a tissue from your sleeve and dabbing at his lip. “Stand straight. Shoulders back. Don't make it easy for them.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched you with this wide, hollow look in his eyes, like he couldn’t understand why you were even there. Why you cared.

“I’m not saying fake confidence. I’m saying act like they can’t touch you. You let them smell fear, they’ll eat you alive.”

You stopped, meeting his eyes fully.

“You hear me, Suguru?”

He nodded.

“Say it.”

“I hear you.”

“No,” you said sharply. “Say it like you mean it.”

He blinked. Then swallowed hard.

“I hear you.”

Better.

You blinked away the memory just as Niragi dropped beside you with a torn strip of cloth. He reached for your leg but paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Can I?” he asked, quiet.

The question startled you.

He seemed like could burn down a building and laugh about it, but right now he was — asking you permission like it mattered.

You gave a slight nod.

And as he started wrapping your leg with careful fingers and trembling tension in his shoulders, one thought kept circling in your mind:

He remembers too.

The safehouse was cold and dim, but Niragi was... still. His touch had been careful. His voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, even back in school. A part of him unraveled each time you looked at him like you still saw that boy underneath all the filth and fire he’d become.

He didn't talk much after binding your leg. Just sat next to you, close but not touching, glancing at you sometimes like he wanted to say something — but couldn’t afford to break whatever thin layer of control kept him from crumbling.

But that version of him stayed behind the moment you reached the gates of the Beach.

The transformation was instant.

One step through the entrance and Niragi became something else. The calm was gone, replaced by sharp edges and blood-slick arrogance. His posture straightened and his grin came back — but it was all teeth.

“You're with me,” he told you, voice louder now. Enough for the guards at the front to hear. “No questions.”

You caught the glint in his eye before it happened — the way he looked around, daring anyone to challenge him. Daring someone to ask who you were.

Someone did.

A man in a sleeveless shirt with too much confidence and not enough sense stepped a little too close, eyes raking over you.

“Who’s this?” he asked, not even to Niragi — to you.

Big mistake.

Niragi’s gun was out before you could blink. The barrel pressed to the guy’s temple, a wicked smile crawling across Niragi’s face like it thrilled him to do this in front of everyone.

“You ask them another question,” Niragi said softly, “and I’ll take your tongue and feed it to you.”

Silence dropped like a curtain. The man didn’t even breathe.

Niragi held the tension, let it rot, and then stepped back with a chuckle, holstering the gun like it was part of some twisted joke.

“Relax,” he added, sneering. “We’re friendly here.”

But the message was clear. Crystal.

You weren’t just some new player.

You were his.

He led you to the upper floors — the rooms where the higher-ups stayed, where the elite lounged in stolen luxury. Once you were inside a private room, the mask didn’t fall right away. He leaned against the door after closing it, head tilted, watching you.

Predatory.

But beneath that, the tension was real. Like he didn’t know what to do with you here, in his world.

“You changed,” you said, arms crossed.

“Did I?” He clicked his tongue. “Maybe I just stopped pretending I wasn’t a monster.”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped toward him, slow.

His eyes flickered, pupils shrinking like he was preparing for a hit. Or a command.

“You weren’t pretending before,” you murmured. “You were trying. Now you’re just playing another role.”

You reached up, fingertips brushing under his jaw — soft, but grounding. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t lean into it either.

“You think being cruel makes you untouchable?”

“I am untouchable,” he growled.

“Not to me.”

The words hit hard enough to crack something in his expression. His breath caught.

For a moment, it was just silence between them. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab you or kneel.

Then he whispered — not proud, not even defiant: “...I don’t want them near you.”

“I know.”

“They’re animals. I don’t trust anyone here.”

“You don’t have to.” Your tone dipped, firm. “I’m not theirs.”

His gaze sharpened. Like the way you said it did something to him — a kind of power he didn’t have, but that you offered, like a hand on a leash.

And for a moment, Niragi — the chaos, the cruelty, the gun-toting psychopath who burned people alive for breathing wrong — exhaled.

And leaned his forehead against yours.

The room was quiet now, the door closed. The Beach was buzzing below them — laughter, sex, music, the sick high of survival — but none of it touched this space.

It was just the two of you.

Niragi stood near the bed, still breathing a little too fast, like being alone with you was harder than the game you’d survived. His hands were twitchy, jaw tight, shoulders squared like he was bracing for something — but didn't know what.

You stepped back. Slow. Controlled.

“You were ready to kill a man just for looking at me,” you said softly.

His lip curled. “He shouldn't have.”

“You’re jealous?”

“I’m possessive.” His voice dipped into something low, dangerous. “You’re mine.”

“Say that again,” you told him, chin tilted up — not asking. Commanding.

His jaw clenched. There was a pause. Then, quieter: “You’re mine.”

You reached up and touched his chest — right over his heart, feeling the frantic thud of it.

“No,” you said calmly. “You’ve got it backwards.”

He flinched at that. A twitch in his eyes, like the truth of it scared him more than the gunfights and lasers ever had. You could see it — that part of him still stuck in a broken teenage body, screaming not to bend, not to submit, not to lose control again.

You leaned in.

“You remember how this works, don’t you?”

His breath hitched.

“You don’t give me orders.” Your hand slid up, fingers curling into his hair. “You obey me.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But his knees nearly buckled.

You pushed him back, guiding him toward the bed — not shoving, not forcing, just directing. He followed without question, like muscle memory. Like that old rhythm between you hadn’t faded at all, just buried under years of rage and blood.

He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes on you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

“I’m not impressed by the gun,” you whispered, straddling his lap. “Or the act. You think you scare me?”

“I want to,” he breathed, raw. “I need to.”

You shook your head. “No, Suguru. You need someone to stop you.”

He didn’t say a word.

Not when you pushed him down onto his back.

Not when you pinned his wrists above his head with one firm hand.

Not when you leaned down and kissed him hard, slow, with possession in every breath — not violence, not demand, but ownership.

And not when you pulled back, just barely, and said: “Don’t you dare come until I say.”

His whole body shivered.

The boy who once flinched under fists now writhed beneath you — not in fear.

In surrender.

You leaned in again, mouth brushing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his lips. Not a kiss. Just a reminder. Of who you were. Of who he used to be under your gaze.

“I said don’t come until I tell you,” you whispered.

And he nodded. He nodded.

Niragi Suguru — the sadist with a flamethrower, the self-appointed executioner of the Beach — lay beneath you, chest rising and falling too fast, hands flexing under your grip, eyes wide with anticipation and fear and need.

You slid your free hand down his chest, slow, teasing over old scars and new ones, nails dragging just hard enough to make him twitch. His teeth clenched. He wanted to buck, to flip you over, to claw his way back to control — you could feel it under you.

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Because this — you — was the only thing in this world stronger than his fear of weakness.

“You act like submission’s a cage,” you murmured, your lips at his throat now, biting down hard enough to make him groan. “But look at you.”

Your hand dipped lower. Over his waistband. Inside.

He choked on a moan, body tensing — then melting under your touch like it betrayed him before he could catch it.

“Look at you.”

He shuddered. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“I will if you don’t behave.”

“I am,” he gasped. “I am, I swear—fuck—”

You slowed your pace immediately, just to prove the point. Watching the panic spark in his eyes when the pleasure started to pull away.

His fingers curled into fists.

“No one else gets to see you like this,” you said, eyes locked on his. “No one else even gets to touch you.”

His voice was wrecked when he answered. “They won’t.”

“They try?”

“I’ll kill them.”

You squeezed him just a little harder, just a little meaner. “And what if I want to share you?”

He froze.

Then whispered, eyes wild: “No.”

You smiled.

“There he is.”

And then you gave him exactly what he wanted — not just pleasure, but ownership. Control twisted into surrender, right there in your hands. You worked him slow, deliberate, keeping his wrists pinned, making him beg with his eyes and his breath and his trembling thighs.

He was so close. You could feel it — every time his hips jerked, every sound he barely swallowed, every broken little curse he murmured like a prayer.

“Don’t,” you said again. “Not yet.”

“I c-can’t—” He tried to bite it back, tried to hold it, the pain of obedience turning him inside out. “Please.”

Your voice dropped like a dagger to his throat. “Ask.”

He whimpered. Niragi whimpered.

“Please let me come,” he whispered.

You paused. Looked him over like you were weighing it. Then leaned in again, lips brushing his ear.

“Good boy.”

That did it.

He shattered beneath you, hips snapping up, breath catching in his throat as he came with a groan so raw it bordered on a sob — not from pain, but from release. From permission.

From being yours.

The Beach was everything and nothing at the same time. It was chaos dressed up in order. People followed Niragi’s commands, out of fear or respect—or both. On the surface, he was the one who decided who lived and who died. Who mattered and who didn’t. The only order he ever followed came from Aguni, but he usually let him do as he liked.

In front of everyone else, Niragi was cold, calculating. A leader of men who liked to remind everyone how strong he was, how untouchable. He played the part effortlessly, speaking with biting authority, his gun a constant presence. His reputation alone kept the others in line. And he reveled in it.

But behind closed doors? When the lights were off, when the door clicked shut and the quiet settled in between you?

He was nothing but yours.

Niragi stood in the center of a gathered group of Beach members. The area was buzzing with the usual tension—some nervous, others eager for approval. They all watched him like he was a demon, the devil. And he knew it. He loved it.

A man, younger than the others, nervously stepped forward with a report.

“Sir, there’s a group outside the gates. They’re asking to join.”

Niragi didn’t even look at the man as he answered. His eyes were cold, calculating, scanning the rest of the room. The air itself seemed to freeze around him.

“Are they useful?” Niragi’s voice was sharp, like a blade.

The man hesitated, a sign of weakness. That was all it took.

“They’re... they’re armed. But—”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” Niragi’s words cut through the air, eyes narrowing. “Kill them. We don’t need dead weight around here.”

The young man flinched, nodding quickly before retreating, his footsteps quick and hurried.

Niragi’s gaze shifted over the others, daring anyone to challenge him. No one did. No one would. His reputation as a merciless leader was built on fear—and he wielded it like a weapon.

“Anyone else have a problem with my decision?” His voice lowered, turning almost sickly sweet, dangerous.

No one moved, not even a twitch. They all knew better.

“Good,” Niragi said, smirking, his eyes cutting across the room. “Now get back to work.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his stride long and confident, the respect and fear of the Beach following him.

That night, after the power play, after the bloodshed, Niragi returned to your room.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the walls of control he built up around him seemed to crumble. His shoulders relaxed, the hard lines of his jaw softened, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, taking in the stillness of the room. The silence was his release.

He wasn’t Niragi the devil here. He wasn’t the monster people feared. He was just a man—just yours.

You didn’t need to say anything. You didn’t have to. It was understood. The moment he entered the room, he belonged to you. There was no negotiation, no resistance. He had already submitted the second that door closed.

You didn’t speak at first, just looked at him, letting the tension stretch out between you. He was standing near the bed, just watching you, breathing heavy, like the act of being so vulnerable in this place where he should be strong was somehow too much for him.

But you knew him better than anyone. You knew what this moment meant. And you knew that no matter how much he tried to hold on to the illusion of control, he would always give in.

You walked toward him, your eyes never leaving his. Without saying a word, you placed your hand on his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart under your fingers. His breath hitched at the touch, like you’d ripped away the last of his defenses.

“You did well today,” you said, your voice low, intimate. “You looked so good. So strong, so powerful.”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking to yours, a flash of something dark and yearning in them. Please, it said, please see me.

But you weren’t done yet.

“And when we’re alone,” you whispered, “you’re mine. Understand?”

His throat tightened, the words like ash on his tongue. He nodded, but it was a struggle. The struggle to let go. To trust you with this part of him he fought so hard to keep buried.

“I know,” he rasped, the confession raw.

Your lips curled into a slow smile. “Good boy.”

And just like that, he was yours again.

The one that belonged to the smug little freak in the white hoodie.

His trigger finger bounced against the rifle strap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He was leaving. He was absolutely, one hundred percent leav-

The door opened before he could knock.

"You're late," Chishiya said.

Cool. Cool cool cool. Fucking fantastic.

There he was. Barefoot. Hood up. Platinum hair in his eyes, stupid little mole under the left one flashing when he tilted his head. Barely came up to Niragi's chin without those platform trainers and still, somehow, managed to look down at him. Niragi had spent weeks trying to figure out how the hell that even worked. It was ruining his life.

"Late," Niragi echoed. Tongue barbell clicked against his teeth, antsy. "For what? I didn't come here for you."

"Mmm." Chishiya just stepped back. Left the door open and wandered off into the room like the conversation was already over, like Niragi was a boss fight he'd cleared on the first try and was now bored of the death animation.

Niragi stood there in the corridor with his rifle and his leather trousers glued to his thighs with dried sweat, and he hated him. Hated him so bad it sat in his gut like hunger.

He went in.

Obviously he went in.

The room smelled like Chishiya. Clean, sharp, too sterile for this place, like he sweated hand sanitiser or some shit. Under that, the same damp pool-mildew funk that had seeped into every room since the world pissed off and left them here.

Curtains open. Tokyo was just a dead black wall outside the glass, not a single light anywhere, which Niragi tried not to look at because that way lay brain-rot. Twelve floors down the pool glowed radioactive blue and somebody was laughing, high and drunk and one millimetre off a scream. Everyone at the Beach laughed like that now. Like if they stopped they'd start sobbing.

Chishiya sat on the end of the bed, hands tucked into the hoodie pocket. Watching him. Of course. Always watching.

First week at the Beach, Niragi had clocked him up on the mezzanine, leaning on the railing, tracking the crowd like a cat watching a bird feeder. He'd thought, there, that one. That's the same kind of wrong. Same animal, different coat.

He'd wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. He'd also wanted those eyes back on him forever.

Both. At once. Which had probably been the first sign his brain was not... functioning correctly.

"Heard your game was a Four of Spades," Chishiya said. "You're not shot, then."

"Disappointed?"

"If you died, I'd have heard the militants crying about it." Tiny pause. "Or celebrating. Hard to say with you."

"They'd celebrate," Niragi said, and flashed him the grin. All teeth, tongue out, barbell catching the light. The one that parted the lobby like water.

Chishiya didn't event witch.

Everyone else either flinched or laughed at him, and those were basically the same thing with different subtitles. Chishiya just looked. Like he was reading him. Like Niragi was interesting.

"Sit down," Chishiya said. "You're looming."

"I like looming."

"You're shaking."

He was not shak-

He looked. Fuck. He was. Fine tremor running down his right hand, post-game adrenaline still trying to find something to do. Usually he'd go downstairs and make someone cry until the wire in his chest finally loosened. Instead his feet had marched him up here. Four separate times. To this tiny bastard who talked like a train delay announcement.

He sat. Whatever. The mattress dipped. Their knees didn't touch, and he could feel the exact three centimetres between them like a tripwire.

"Takeda's dead," Chishiya said.

The wire snapped taut again. "What?"

"Takeda. Big one. Militant. Laugh like a blocked drain. Five of Hearts last night, Shibuya. Never came back."

Chishiya picked at a loose thread on his sleeve like they were discussing the weather.

"I know who Takeda is." Was. Takeda with hands like fucking hams and pack instincts to match, who'd grabbed Niragi by the topknot in the lounge two days ago, right at the root, wrenching his head sideways for a joke. Oi, Niragi, do the tongue thing, show them the tongue- for the boys, for the vibes. And Niragi had laughed too, loudest in the room, that was the trick, you laughed loudest so it belonged to you, so nobody could use it on you.

Then he'd stood under the shower on cold until the thing in his chest stopped being fourteen.

Wait.

"Hearts games are random," Niragi said slowly.

"Mostly." Chishiya's mouth curved, lazy. The girls called him the cat and thought it was cute. "The visa rota isn't. Someone pushed him up the list."

The room went quiet. Pool laughter drifted in, distant and warped.

"You-" Niragi's brain blue-screened. "Why would you do that."

"He touched you."

Flat. Like reading off a score. Chishiya looked up through his fringe, eyes dark and calm, except it was the wrong kind of calm, the kind that had never actually been okay. Weeks of pacing around this feeling, trying to stick a label on it, and here was the answer, going off like a flashbang behind his ribs.

And here was the disgusting part. The part that probably had a diagnostic code.

Not fear.

Warmth.

"You're insane," he breathed.

"You keep showing up at my door with your hands shaking," Chishiya said, "and I keep opening it. Rank us. Go on."

"I could put a bullet in you right now."

"You could." Chishiya reached out, small, pale, steady hand, and just... lifted the rifle strap over Niragi's head. Like he was undressing a toddler.

And Niragi let him.

He just sat there, jaw set, letting it happen while Chishiya set the rifle down on the floor with more care than anyone had ever handled any of his. Including him.

"But you won't," Chishiya went on, "because then you'd have to go back to your room. And you hate your room."

"Shut up."

"You hate the militants. You hate the parties. You hate everybody in this whole resort except the one person who looked at you in week one and thought-" his thumb pressed lightly against Niragi's eyebrow piercing, cool and sure, "-mine."

The word went through him like a bullet through wet cardboard.

He should laugh. That was the whole brand, the whole bit, laugh it off, laugh at it, rip it to shreds. He had the tongue stud they'd made him shove through his own tongue, and a rifle, and a giraffe shirt and a reputation, a whole spiky, screaming fortress he'd built around himself, and this anaemic little cat bastard had just walked straight through it like it was made of beads.

"I'm not yours," Niragi said. Voice cracked right down the middle. Sexy. Very convincing.

"Okay," Chishiya said, easy, and kissed him.

It wasn't soft.

Nobody would ever believe that, the Beach girls with their dumb theories, the other executives who had him down as some quiet brainy mascot. Under the hoodie and the bored-employee voice, the bitch had grip.

He grabbed Niragi's jaw in one hand, fingers tight on the hinge, tipped his head exactly where he wanted him, and slid his tongue in past his teeth to find the barbell. Chased it. Played with it. Slow. Like he'd thought about this in detail and was now just ticking boxes off a list.

Niragi made a sound into his mouth that absolutely did not belong to him and never had, actually, and if anyone said different they were lying.

"There it is," Chishiya murmured, pleased, lips barely brushing his.

"Fuck you-"

"Shirt off."

And Niragi, Niragi who had swung guys across the lobby for breathing wrong, who had once held a beach chair over his head screaming until three militants backed up, took his shirt off.

Buttons fumbled like a teenager, giraffe print gaping open the whole way down. Shrugged it off and sat there, skinny and pale and goosebumped in the chill of Chishiya's room, while Chishiya leaned back and looked at him.

Really looked. Top to bottom. Slow drag of his gaze from throat to chest to stomach to those traitor hands.

"Lie back."

"You don't give me orders."

Chishiya just... waited. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Hands in his pocket, head tilted, patient like some unskippable cutscene you're forced to sit through.

Niragi lay back.

The ceiling had a water strain shaped like Hokkaido. He glared at it while Chishiya stripped him with rude efficiency, boots yanked off and dumped, one-two, leather trousers peeled off inside-out, underwear going with them, until Niragi was fully naked on the duvet and Chishiya was still dressed. Hood up. Hoodie on.

Hood still up.

His dick twitched at that. Obviously. Because his body hated him and wanted him dead.

"You're already leaking," Chishiya observed, like he was noting stats, and ran one finger up the underside of Niragi's cock, base to tip, right over the vein.

Niragi's hips jerked.

"Sensitive. Interesting."

"If you narrate this like a fucking surgery report-"

"You'll what?" Cool hand wrapped around him, thumb smearing the precome over the head, spreading it, making it worse. "Tell someone? Tell them what, exactly? That you've been sniffing around my door every night this week?" His grip tightened, one slow, filthy stroke that dragged all the way down, and Niragi's spine came up off the bed. "That the Beach's second-scariest man goes quiet the second someone holds his jaw? Go on. Tell them. I'll wait."

"Hate you," Niragi got out, except his voice had apparently switched languages somewhere and was only speaking want.

Chishiya let go.

Niragi's hips chased his hand before he could stop them, searching for contact like a fucking dog, which, okay, brilliant. Add that to the list of humiliations, why not. Chishiya clocked it, of course he did, filed it away in his Brain Folder Of Blackmail, and leaned over to the bedside table.

Hotel lotion. Already sitting there.

Already open.

"You planned this," Niragi accused.

"I plan everything." Two fingers slicked, cool and slow. Chishiya pushed Niragi's knee up and out like he was adjusting a limb on an operating table. "Breathe."

The first finger went in slow. Too slow. Chishiya's eyes stayed locked on his face the entire time, barely glancing down, and that was worse than anything, because Niragi could choke down his body's reactions if he had to but his face had always been a traitor.

Whatever was on it right now made the corner of Chishiya's mouth curl.

"Look at that," he said softly. "You do know how to be good."

His cock throbbed against his stomach, drooling a line of wet up his own skin, and Niragi turned his head into the pillow like that would fix anything. Chishiya's free hand came up and turned his face back, firm.

"No. I want to see."

Second finger. Stretch that burned, hot and sweet, fingers scissoring and then curling, searching around inside him. Quartering him like a game grid. Of course.

Then, there. Pressure right on that spot and everything in him jumped. The noise that broke out of him was too high, open and obscene and absolutely not in his approved repertoire. Chishiya prodded it again. Again. Wrote a thesis on it with his fingertips.

The lotion was loud and slick in the quiet room, wet noises obscene in the space between them. Niragi was panting through his teeth, hair coming out of his topknot and sticking to his temples, fingers digging uselessly at the duvet because he genuinely had no idea where he was allowed to put his hands. Nowhere felt safe.

Chishiya noticed. Of course he fucking did.

"You can touch me," he said.

Niragi's hands were in his hoodie before his brain cut in. Fisted the fabric, yanking him closer, hiding his face in the hollow of Chishiya's neck and breathing him in like something starving. Clinging. The word made him want to punch a wall, but it was accurate.

Chishiya didn't laugh.

That was the worst part. Any of the others would have laughed. Takeda would have told that story for months.

Takeda's dead, sang the ugly warm thing behind his ribs. Takeda touched you and now Takeda's dead.

"Third," Chishiya said, right by his ear, and pushed it in.

Niragi moaned straight into the white cotton of his hoodie, grinding down on his hand like he'd never heard of dignity in his life. Pride was somewhere back in the corridor, with what was left of the fortress.

"Chishiya-" The word came out shredded. "Just- come on-"

"Ask properly."

"I'll drown you in the pool-"

The fingers disappeared. All at once. Niragi clenched around nothing and heard a pathetic little whine rip out of him, fourteen years old forever, and wanted to die on the spot.

Chishiya knelt back between his legs, calm as you please, and rolled his sleeves up like he was settling in for a long shift. He had the patience of someone who had never once rushed to be loved. Meanwhile Niragi had been sprinting since birth.

"Please," Niragi spat.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me, you smug- fucking- cat-faced-"

"There," Chishiya said, and that was as warm as his voice ever got. Two degrees above ambient, maybe. "Was that so hard."

He undid his trousers and shoved them down just enough. Didn't bother fully undressing. Didn't take the hoodie off. The hood stayed up. Filed under Things That Should Not Be Hot. The folder was getting thick.

Niragi's brain clocked every detail. Thick enough to hurt. A curve that just screamed smug. Of course.

Lotion again, then the press of him at Niragi's hole, and then-

In.

Slow. Relentless. No mercy, no stop-start, just one steady push, stretching Niragi open inch by inch until his teeth were sunk in his own lip, jaw clenched so hard it ached. When Chishiya bottomed out and gave a tiny grind right over that spot he'd just spent the last few minutes mapping, Niragi's vision glitched at the edges.

"Oh, fuck-"

"There we go." Chishiya braced over him, forearms either side of his head, hood tipped forward so blond hair dropped down like a curtain around them. Little tent, just for them. Antiseptic, sweat, skin. "Hi."

"I hate- you-"

"You've said." He pulled back and thrust in again, and any follow-up words dropped dead.

He fucked like he played.

Controlled. Focused. Adjusting in real-time. He found the angle that made Niragi's thighs start to shake and then stuck to it with terrifying consistency, the same deep, even rhythm, not speeding up no matter how much Niragi squirmed or begged, and yeah, he was begging now, apparently that was a thing he did, and he never took his eyes off him.

Watching him come apart like he was drafting the patch notes. Every gasp pinned, every twitch filed away behind those flat dark eyes.

Niragi hooked his legs around his waist. Ankles crossing in the small of his back, dragging him in harder every time. His hands had wormed under the hoodie, nails digging hot red lines down Chishiya's back, and he could not, for the life of him, shut up. Moans, curses, half-words, noise spilling out with every thrust.

The headboard thumped the wall steadily. The party roared on twelve floors down. Up here, the Beach's rabid dog was getting fucked through the mattress by a boy in a white hoodie and crying about it.

At some point, the tears had just... joined in. Not sad. Just too much. Overflow. Years of too much with nowhere to go finally punching a hole.

Chishiya's mouth brushed his temple. A lazy little kiss to the tear track. No comment. Just... logged.

"You're mine," he said, like he was commenting on the weather. Hips still working in that same boringly perfect rhythm. "You've been mine since week one. I just waited for you to drag yourself here." A thrust that knocked the air out of him. "Four times. I counted."

"Fuck- you counted-"

"I count everything that's mine."

That word again. Mine. Straight through him, no resistance.

His cock was trapped between their stomachs, jerking and leaking against Chishiya's hoodie, dragged along on every stroke. Everything below his navel was drawing up tight as a trigger spring.

"Chishiya- I'm- gonna-"

"I know." Chishiya shifted, braced on one arm, and slid his other hand between them. Wrapped his fingers around Niragi's cock and started jerking him off in time, thumb grinding over the head, ruthless. "Go on. Show me."

Niragi came with a sound the whole twelfth floor probably heard. Back arched, clenching hard around Chishiya, hot streaks painting his own stomach and Chishiya's hoodie, everything whiting out for a second. No ceiling. No Beach. No Borderland. Just this.

Just him.

Chishiya milked him through it, squeezing just right, riding the shudders out. Only when Niragi was collapsing back down, loose-limbed and stupid with it, did his own control crack.

The rhythm stuttered, breath catching for the first time all night, one low, bitten-off sound dragged out of him that lodged in Niragi's brain for permanent replays. He drove in deep and stayed there, grinding through it, coming with Niragi's name stuck in his teeth, quiet and viciously contained like everything else.

Niragi felt it, hot and thick inside him, and the ugly warm thing in his chest just... rolled over. Full belly-up.

After was the part he'd been dreading.

The clinging.

He could already feel it building before Chishiya even pulled out. That bottomless, black-oil need. Stay. Don't look at me. Stay anyway.

This was always where shit went sideways. People loved the act, the danger, the studs, the tongue. They did not want the part of him that would rather gnaw off his own hand than say hold me.

Chishiya eased out. Niragi's body tried to follow. Cum leaked onto the duvet, and he gritted his teeth and started shoving everything back into place. The laugh. The sneer. Exit line locked and loaded.

Well. That happened. Don't fall in love, freak.

He got maybe halfway.

Chishiya lay down, slung an arm across his chest, and dragged him in.

No hesitation. Just yanked him up against his chest like he weighed nothing.

Niragi's face ended up crushed into blond hair, long body curved around a smaller one, one of Chishiya's legs shoved between his like it had paid rent for the spot. The half-built wall crumpled like paper and, fuck it, he held on. Both arms. Tight. Gripped him like a rifle in a live game.

"This doesn't mean anything," he muttered into his hair.

"Mmm." Chishiya's fingers traced idle shapes on his hip.

Not shapes. Strokes.

Niragi blinked through the post-orgasm fuzz, brain squinting at the pattern. Kanji. Two of them, the same careful strokes on repeat. 苣屋.

Chi-shi-ya.

He was writing his name. Labelling him, the way you'd label something you owned so the whole world knew to hand it back.

"You're actually insane," Niragi whispered. "The visa list. Takeda. You do get that's insane."

"You're shaking again," Chishiya said, which was apparently his version of an answer.

"It's cold in here."

"Sure." He dragged the duvet up over them one-handed, tucking it around Niragi's shoulders with the same weird carefulness he'd used on the rifle. Keeping his things in good condition. "Sleep. Nobody comes up to this floor without me knowing."

That should've made him want to chew the walls. Somewhere in him a fourteen-year-old knew exactly what a gilded cage looked like and should have been howling.

But the Beach hummed below like a beehive, the dead city loomed unlit outside, and the only warm thing in the whole fucked-up Borderland had an arm across his chest and its claim written on his skin.

He'd spent his whole life begging to be someone's mine and never getting there.

Nobody had mentioned it might be a cat that answered.

He shoved his face closer, pressed one quick, deniable kiss into the top of Chishiya's head, and let the smug little psycho keep him while he finally, finally passed out.