to be in love is to see the face of god

The woman at the front counter doesn't seem to mind Kugisaki skipping around in the store, singing to herself loudly. And lucky for you, you've chosen a good hour to come down. There are only three more customers present and if anything, they seem happy to see your daughter so chipper.

You linger by the fabric bolts. Your husband could use a new pair of trousers, you think. Fresh starts require a fresh foot, and all of that. And Kugisaki...perhaps she would like another day-dress or two. For school.

It has nothing at all to do with the cerulean blue brocade that has caught your eye.

You're being practical. You will not take your glove off in this store and you will not—well, you only want to make sure the quality is good. You don't want to be cheated with fabric that'll fray the moment you get a needle to it.

You have to shift about, in order to do it. Take off your glove, you mean. With a soft grunt, you pass the basket filled with miscellaneous items you forgotten to buy before moving to pull the glove off of one singular hand.

Your brows jump to the middle of your forehead. Your lips purse, pleased. There's a slight texture to the silk brocade. Like scales of a snake. Either way, it's beautiful. But you aren't going to buy it. No, because it's impractical. Improper too. Such a fabric would suit a lady far younger than you.

The bell chimes overhead the door, successfully bringing you out of your stupor. You snatch your hand away from the fabric as though you've somehow been burned hot, swiveling on your foot to find your daughter.

"Well, excuse me, little lady" A masculine voice says, white hat obscuring his face as he peers down at your daughter. "I don't think I've ever seen you around these parts"

Kugisaki holds her dolly underneath her arm and rocks back and forth on the heels of her brown boots. "We just moved here"

"We?—"

The man goes to say something else, but you don't care to hear it. You cross the store faster than you ever thought possible, gripping Kugisaki tightly around the wrist and pulling her behind you.

Heart rabbiting in your throat, you swallow around the panic lodged there. You lift your steel gaze to the stranger to...you don't know. Politely give him a piece of your mind, but your words get stuck in your windpipe.

Blue. His eyes, they're the prettiest shade of blue.

A slow smile pushes its way onto the mans face. Like he's trying not be amused and failing miserably at it. He's handsome, devastatingly so. You won't let your gaze drag down his body, but his shoulders are broad and oh god, there's an unmistakable star pinned over his heart.

"O-oh you must be the sheriff..." Your voice sounds breathy and awed, even to your own ears. That causes you to grimace. "I apologize...I thought you were..."

What were you thinking? That he was an outlaw, coming to kill your daughter? Ridiculous. By the looks of this man, he doesn't have a murderous bone in his body.

"No offense taken" The sheriff says, grinning so hard his eyes gleam with it. "You musta just moved in, near the apple orchard?"

"Yes, that's right" You answer simply, offering no other information. In truth, when you first moved in, there was a constant stream of visitors. Too many for you to keep up with. Contractors, farmhands, house staff, businessman. If the sheriff was among that long list, you have no idea.

You lessen your grip around Kugisaki's wrist once she begins to squirm—wanting freedom. You let go of her wrist; but you don't let her out of your sight, drawing her body in close to your side.

"It's a lovely house" He says, and holds out his hand for you to shake. "And it's lovely meetin you, too, Miss. My name's Satoru."

Miss? Oh, so he's a jester and a sheriff.

You fumble for a moment, though eventually pass him your gloved hand for him to shake–trading pleasantries. Only, for him to completely bypass it and taking your bare hand instead.

Satoru does not shake your hand. No, he lowers himself and presses a kiss right against your knuckles. One that lasts far too long to be proper. Holds it in his sure grip, even after he's lifted his head again.

"I'm married" You blurt, rushing to take your hand back with a flaming hot face. Cursing your absent mind, you slide your hand back into the glove, wiggling your fingers for good measure.

"Happily?" Satoru inquires, and holds his hat to his chest. At your panicked expression, the sheriff laughs. "Alright, Miss. Point taken. You just let me know when that changes, you hear?"

"It won't" You tell him, sternly, huffing. "Kugisaki. It's time to go"

"Mama, I want my candy"

You turn to fix with her a Look. Not now, God, please not now. "Kugisaki" You repeat, lips pursing. "You have plenty of treats at home. Ijichi is waiting with the carriage. Let's not keep him"

"I don't want those" She says, stamping her foot and crossing her arms over her chest. "They sell watermelon candies here! I want that"

"You don't want those" Satoru interjects, leaning down so that he and your daughter are eye level. He sticks out his tongue and blows a raspberry. "Trust me, darlin. I've had every candy in the world, I know what 'm talkin about."

"You have?" She asks; eyes shiny with awe. Kugisaki's always been enthused about the world. "Really? You have?"

Satoru nods with the same level of seriousness as an executioner on hanging day. He digs into his pocket and presses a candy into her hand. "Here, why don't you take this, it tastes like raspberries. You ever eat a raspberry?"

Kugisaki shook her head.

"Well; that's a darn shame" He says, really playing it up now. He stands back to his full height and smiles over her little head. At you. Satoru's smiling at you. You force your face into one of neutrality. "They're good. But this candy will taste even better when your ma is in a good mood. Woman as pretty as your ma makes everythin better"

Beside you, Kugisaki chitters. She doesn't seem to understand whats truly funny, but the sheriff is laughing, so she does too. Children are impressionable like that.

"It was nice meeting you, Sheriff" You press, redirecting the conversation into one of propriety. Shameless. This man is absolutely shameless. "But I think we best be leaving, now"

Everything you learn about the Sheriff is against your will.

He's a Gojo—big name around these parts (around the entire region of the southwest to hear people tell it). A little young for the position, 26 to your 35. But he's good for it.

Everyone loves him. From the grumpiest of old men to the more reluctant babies and toddlers, still tucked close to their mother's skirts. You've been living here for close to nine months now. And you've seen him roughing with the children, flirting playfully with sweet old women and swapping horse-care advice with seasoned farmers and the like.

Kugisaki is no different. She's utterly charmed by this man who claims to have seen the world, always demanding for stories of other places and the people he's met there. No matter how you try to pull her away, she won't budge.

Worst part is, Satoru never seems to mind. Always says, why, she ain't bothering me none, in that sleepy little drawl of his. How he has time for all of this and to be the sheriff, you have no idea.

You suppose it makes it easier to slack off when theres virtually no crime anyway.

"This used to be a real dangerous place" Says Mei-Mei, whom you don't really like, but who has attached herself to your side anyway. "Terrible outlaw problem. Couldn't even head down to the grocer without bein accosted and man-handled"

That causes you to pause, fingers stilling against the your needle and thread before resuming. "Is that so?"

It's some sort of picnic. Though, the food has long since been abandoned and packed up. Now, the children chase each other around, hooting and hollering. You can see your darling Kugisaki among them, leading two little boys by the wrists on some loudly proclaimed adventure. One of them, sandy hair that looks pink in the spring sunlight, looks incredibly happy to be there. The other...

Well. It's all fine and dandy that Kugisaki has been able to make friends so quickly.

Kugisaki is bold in ways you are not. Perhaps she gets it from her father. You're able to make do, and the other women and mothers don't seem to mind your bouts of awkwardness or the fact that your rather content to be alone. Your closest confidant is Ieiri, but as the towns sole doctor, she's constantly busy.

But Mei-Mei is a close second. Where others have given up on trying to learn your background or anything about your personal life, she has not. She's scarily persistent. But one good thing about keeping Mei-Mei close is that she acts as a buffer against some of the more...annoying personalities in town.

However, no matter how shes presses, you keep her at a (strict but) friendly distance. You won't confide in her but you'll accept her invitations to tea and other events such as this one.

It's nice to get away from the ranch every now and again. Your husband is constantly working, always on business trips. And he makes enough money to hire help so now you can't even use housework to pass the time.

"We still don't know how he did it" Mei-Mei continues, sipping at what you suspect might be wine. "I mean, he's only one man"

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who she could be talking about. Satoru Gojo is all anyone seems to talk about in these parts.

"Well, I'm glad he does such an excellent job in keeping the town safe and protected" You say, which you think is a nice middle ground. "Bandits seem like such awful news"

Mei-Mei studies you for a long moment. There's something almost...cruel, in the analytical way she engages with the world around her.

"Yes," She says, cryptically. "They are."

There's layers hidden in her words. There usually is. You don't know why it gives you such pause, hands stilling once more. You lift your eyes from the tiny doll in your hands to peer at Mei-Mei.

Her dark, enchanting eyes slide down to the doll. The corners of her mouth quirk up in a grin. Neither of your friends have children. They are also unmarried.

Mei-Mei, is so wealthy she doesn't have to. You come from old money, but Mei-Mei puts yours to shame. From what you've noticed; everyone seems to both respect and slightly fear her. Same with Ieiri (though not as wealthy). Why either of them seem drawn to you, a married woman with a child, puzzles you endlessly.

But before Mei-Mei can speak again, your daughter wanders over to you. There's a sheen of sweat covering her skin and she's red faced and glowing with happiness. It's hot enough to melt the skin off your back but Kugisaki seems to thrive in it.

"Hi Mama," She titters, sucking on a piece of candy. She seems to remember her manners and turns towards your friend. "Hi, Miss Mei-Mei"

"Hello darlin" Mei-Mei replies, voice smoother than velvet. "What a lovely flower you've got there. You breakin hearts already?"

Kugisaki's face screws into one of acute displeasure. You hadn't noticed it before, but you do now. There's a daisy tucked behind her left ear. "The Sheriff gave it to me"

This causes you to freeze. He's been doing that lately, giving Kugisaki little gifts. A doll, candy, coin. Even when you tell him she doesn't need it. Never in the presence of others though. And certainly not at a family picnic.

"He certainly seems to have taken a likin to you," Mei-Mei says breezily, and even with the smile in her tone, you feel mocked.

"He and my husband do business often" You tell her vaguely, which is semi-true. Whenever your husband is home, Satoru stops by for dinner at least once or twice a week. He helps around the ranch or retreats up your husband's study to discuss a manner of things that honestly don't interest you.

"I had no idea" Mei-Mei replies, which you suspect is a lie. "He and your husband must be good friends if he insists on dotin on you and your daughter so much"

There's a degree of knowing in her voice. Your head jerks up to look at her. "W-well, I wouldn't say he's doting on either of us—"

"No?" She interjects, head tilted to the side, shade from the large tree casting shadows across her beautiful face. "Then that isn't him headin towards us right now?"

It is.

Satoru strolls up to where you and Mei-Mei are sitting, easy as day. He's wearing a black hat today and there is nary a drop of sweat on him. He's been circling around the grounds for a while now, steadily creeping closer.

"Hello, Sheriff" You greet amicably, conscious of how everyone seems to have turned to watch the interaction. Very pointedly, you take care not to look at him.

There's a glimmer of challenge in the depths of his blue eyes. He takes a step closer and lowers himself down on the picnic blanket. "Miss, you'll hurt my feelins, you keep on. I told you already, call me Satoru"

Your lips press into a thin line. You've told him that you don't like being called 'Miss', either. 'Miss' implies that you are young or unmarried and you are obviously neither.

"Hot out, isn't it?" You say, a redirection so clear even Mei-Mei beside you ends up chuckling.

"You'll get used to it, 'm afraid" He replies, and smiles as though you've just said something particularly witty. He leans closer, peering at Kugisaki, who is dozing off. He whistles, and grins. "Saw her playin with my Megumi, and the Itadori's little Yuji. The three o' them get on better than peas in a pod"

'My Megumi'? "I had no idea you had a son" Your tongue tithers, without your consent. Inwardly, you curse yourself. The last thing you want to do is invite him for conversation. But by the way Satoru makes himself comfortable on the picnic blanket affirms the dread in your stomach. He's here to stay.

You've heard Kugisaki speak on this infamous Megumi before. Black spiky hair, sullen little frown, so glum you wouldn't have been able to guess that Satoru was father even if your life was on the line.

"A daughter too" The sheriff gives you another one of those ear splitting grins. He sombers rather quickly, and pats the space on the blanket between your bodies. "Though not by blood. Don't worry Miss, 'm an unmarried man"

Mei-Mei scoffs. "Your shamelessness surprises me, cousin"

Cousin?! Your eyes go as wide as saucers, looking between the two. They've both got that shocking head of white hair and the height to match, but thats where the similarities between them end.

"Early bird gets the worm, and allat" Satoru waves her off, eyes not leaving yours once. He catches you staring and offers a smile. He leans in to whisper conspiratorially. "Distant, very distant cousins. We Gojo's make her family look like street beggars"

You've seen Mei-Mei's family. So that only leaves one question : just how powerful is the Gojo family?

Mei-Mei, who has always been prideful and especially about her family, rises easily to the bait. "As powerful as you are...and yet you've become only the Sheriff of a small town" she says, voice soft but no less cutting. She stands, dusting away invisible dirt. "How unfortunate for you"

To make matters worse, Satoru only laughs—and doesn't look insulted one bit.

She turns her head and nods down primly at you. "Take care. I'll be sure to see you for next Sunday's charity brunch"

She isn't asking. Mei-Mei never does. But you have nothing else to do, and Sundays are more boring than you'd like to admit. So you agree, and Mei-Mei murmurs something that sounds like good luck.

Pleased, Satoru watches her stalk off. You're alone with him, you realize. Sure, there might be people present and Kugisaki nodding off against your stomach...but everyone is too busy pretending they don't see him rather than doing something about it.

"Ah! Right!" Satoru says suddenly, snapping his fingers to draw your attention. "Was wonderin if you'd like to come over tonight. Can bring the little Missus—she an' Megumi can play. Might even get along with Tsumiki"

He can't be serious.

"Sheriff," You say, slowly, because you can't understand why he isn't able to just get it. "While that sounds like a mighty fine offer, I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?" He asks, lightning quick. His eyes are wide, like he truly doesn't understand. Good Lord above, he's going to make you spell it out for him, isn't he?

"My husband wouldn't think it proper for me to be alone with an unmarried man at his place of residence"

Satoru chuckles at that. "Your husband ain't as obsessed with propriety as you are, Miss. And a damn shame that is"

Your spine straightens at the insult wedged between the ominous warning. But before you can think of something to say, the good sheriff cuts you off.

"Let's say...two people made a vow" Satoru begins, brim of his hat obscuring his features. "And if one person ain't holding to that vow, say he's gettin it from somewhere else—what does that mean for the person who still is? Shouldn't they get to mess aroun' a little? Only fair"

The meaning is unmistakable now. You've never had an inkling on whether or not your husband was faithful. You've always just...trusted him. But now that Satoru's put this nugget of doubt inside your head, you can't stop thinking about it.

Uncontrollably, your eyes slide down to Kugisaki, who is fully asleep now.

Most men wouldn't want a daughter. A girl can't carry on her daddy's name the same way a son can. You never questioned the fact that your husband loved Kugisaki. You won't do anything to change that.

"If there was a third party in that vow" You murmur, stroking her cheek softly, feeling the warmth of her skin. "Then, the unfaithfulness won't matter. Not when leaving means jeopardizing a child"

The sheriff looks disappointed with your answer. There's no other way to describe the knit between his brows and the frown of his lips.

"Ya'll are in more trouble than you realize" Satoru says ominously, and stands. He removes his hat from his head, holds it close to his chest. He shakes his head sadly—like he knows something you don't. "Damn shame. A good woman like you don't deserve it, not at all"

And then he's off, stalking back down the hill, turning heads with every step he takes.

You used to live in the city, before you married your husband. Your maiden family was a wealthy one from up north. They owned half of the crabbing ships on the coast. But the west...the west had gold. Gold your family desperately wanted.

So they married you off to your husband, who is only eight years older than you. He was newer money. No parents; no living family other than a handful of brothers that he didn't keep in contact with. And he brought you west.

Being married to him was not awful. There was no love there; but you were nearly forty. Love wasn't something you believed in anymore.

You convinced yourself, over the years, that this was for the better. Love was a fickle thing, bringing only temporary joy with a lifetimes worth of grief. You've heard about the things people do for love, and you want no part in it.

Besides. It's different for men than it is for women. A man can father an entire litter of bastards, and it won't damage his reputation one bit. Even if your husband was being unfaithful, there was nothing you could do about it.

You shake your head, pushing such thoughts away from your mind. Whatever deal your husband struck while away must have been a good one. He came back with an entire chest full of new clothes for Kugisaki. Dresses and pinafores and bloomers. Big bows, all in an assortment of pretty fabrics and colors. Lovely little shoes. A play- pretend tea set with real china.

Your gifts were simpler, but they held true to who you were. You never enjoyed large, lavish things. More books. Some bolts of fabric in colors you enjoyed. A little extra spending money. You weren't impressed by expensive jewelry, or useless trinkets. Not when your own father spoiled you plenty rotten yourself growing up.

But the high had lasted only for two days before he broke the news over dinner that he had another business trip to leave for.

You managed to hold your tongue. Kugisaki was loudly disappointed enough for both of you. And by then, it seemed too childish to nag your husband on top of your daughter's whining.

Instead, you'd be forced to pick up the shattered pieces of Kugisaki's heart. Again. Dealing with her foul temper and harsher words. Her tears and night terrors. And then her father will return just when you've gotten her into a sense of stability to wreck everything you've built with her.

A mother endures, you remind yourself, rolling out the dough for this week's bread.

Three sharp raps at the front door pull you from your mind. "I'll be there in a moment!" You call out, quickly wiping the flour from your hands onto your apron and tottering over to the door.

The wary smile drops from your face when you see the Sheriff standing on your doorstep. He removes his hat from his head, black, and presses it into his chest. Two men stand behind him, dressed the same.

"Sheriff...?" You prompt, feeling uneasy, eyes fearfully jumping between the men. Your hand flies out to steady yourself against the door. Something is wrong. You know it is. You just have no idea what. "Is everything alright?"

"'fraid not" Gojo says, at last, and inclines his head towards you. "Might we come in?"

Wordlessly, you step aside and let them in. Gojo, who has been to your house dozens of times, beelines towards the blue settee and makes himself at home. His fellow officers busy themselves with openly looking through your things.

"What's the meaning of this?" You ask, impatient, snatching a glass figurine out of one officers hands, fixing him with a glare.

"Your husband was found dead, Miss," Gojo says, voice somber and gentle. The glass shatters into a thousand pieces as it crashes to the floor.

One officer helps you down into a chair. The other, following the Sheriff's instruction, leaves and returns with a broom and pan.

"P-pardon..." You start to say, and then your mouth shuts. Then you open it again. For a while, nothing comes out. "Are you sure?"

Grimly, Gojo nods. "Verified the body myself" he says and begins to recall the grisly tale of how they happened upon his body.

Your husband was found, miles away from the train station, deep in the woods. He had been shot six times, though the town's doctor says that isn't the official cause of death.

The official cause of death was a severe blow to the head with a blunted weapon. So he had survived each and every one of those gunshot wounds. And he had laid there, likely for hours; unable to call out for help.

"Is it alright if I send them up there to your husband's office?" Gojo asks, all of a sudden, derailing from the tale.

"Huh?" You murmur, quite dumbly, shaking. "His office?"

Gojo's lips purse into a frown. "We don't get trouble around here, Miss. Not anymore. This was personal"

Personal. Not an accidental shooting. Not an unfortunate run-in with riff-raff or bandits near the train station. Bandits seem like such nasty business. No. This was personal.

Your husband was murdered.

Your finger shakes, but eventually you point to the stairs. "Hi-his office is the third down on the left. Take...take whatever you need"

There isn't an ounce of the flirty Gojo you remembered seeing at the family picnic. This must be the Sheriff. With steely blue eyes and a pen and paper out to take down your statement.

Do you know anyone who might have wanted your husband dead? No. Of course not. What about his work? What can you tell him about that? Not much. He doesn't tell you the happenstance's of what he does. When was the last time you saw him? Yesterday; when you sent him off to the train station with a kiss on the cheek and his breakfast to go.

"And how did he act, when he was leavin?" Gojo inquires, white strands obscuring his face from view in a way that frightens you. "Anythin that stood out to you?"

"I was busy" You whisper, choked and trying not to cry. "I had to get Kugisaki re-ready...uhm, ready for school. So I...I just told him I would see him when he got back" Only he never would be.

What if you had insisted on letting him take the carriage? What if you had just let Kugisaki be late, just this once? Would your husband still be alive today? Is this your fault?

What would happen to you and Kugisaki now?

Gojo stands just as the officers come back down with a box of items. His face is closed off, pensive. Whatever you've told him, it wasn't good enough. Clumsily, you stand to your feet as well. You try and take a peek at their faces, to see if their expressions betray anything. But they don't.

"We'll see ourselves out" He instructs, stopping you in the middle of the room when you try to walk them to the door.

"Gojo..." His name slips out of your mouth before you can think twice about it. He stops, and turns to look at you. You don't even know what it is you want to say.

Your face seems to say enough.

"Don't worry Miss, we'll find the bastards who did this" Gojo says, wild eyed and frantic. "In the meantime, if you ever need anythin, you know where to find me"

You spend the first four months of your deep mourning completely isolated from town.

You don't remember the funeral. Kugisaki was inconsolable, you think. Wouldn't let the preacher continue with the sermon. The Sheriff was kind enough to take her out for a few minutes. Four months, and thats all you can remember. A tiny snippet in time.

If it were up to you, you would retreat completely from life itself. Ironic how this ranch that once stifled you had become your sole refuge. You couldn't imagine yourself staying here for days on end, not to mention entire months; without conversation with another living person.

Nowadays, you hardly ever leave your chambers. If things get really bad, trapped too far inside your head, you sleep on the desk in your husband's office, where everything remains untouched. Well, besides the things that have been taken for the investigation, that is.

You spend every second of every day hoping for news from the Sheriff. He comes over occasionally, though he stays downstairs. Occasionally, you'll catch him, Kugisaki, and his children chasing each other around in the large backyard.

It's far from proper. It rubs you the wrong way because you don't know when the behavior started. When Gojo went from announcing his presence to just coming in, whisking your daughter through the house. The sound of Kugisaki's laughter drifting throughs the floors and walls.

All you know is that the Sheriff comes over. He scrapes away at the molding grief threatening to choke Kugisaki—and for a few hours, a few times a week, things seem like they could be normal again.

But he never comes upstairs, where you lurk. Which means he doesn't have any updates on the case. Which means every hour he spends with Kugisaki in your house, is another hour your husband's killer is on the loose.

A break in monotony comes in the form of Ieiri. You're shocked to see her, the first visitor that isn't the Sheriff or the servants. You wonder if her visit is unplanned, or if you accepted her invitation for lunch and simply forgotten about it.

You don't let her come upstairs. You can't let her see what you've become. But as you gaze at your reflection in the window, you realize that she'll be able to tell anyway. You're gaunt, for one. Skin pallid and clammy. You get plenty of sleep (not much to do otherwise), but there are deep; dark circles underneath your eyes anyway.

Ieiri is kind enough not to say anything about it.

The sun threatens to blind you. The grass is soft beneath your boots as you lead her out to the patio. She's donned in a simple white day dress. No frivolous lace or bows. Only a blue hairpin and a gold necklace adorn her throat.

What a pair you make. You, dressed in a plain black muslin dress, bonnet shielding your face from the sun. Ieiri, a maiden in white. Two opposing ends of the mourning period.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" She asks, already pulling out her tin and a match.

"Not at all" Your voice is slightly croaky for months of disuse. You wave away her look of concern, turning your head blankly towards the stables as the smell of tobacco rises in the air.

"I'm sorry about what's happened" Ieiri says, pulling you back into the present. You've received countless letters and compliments dictating the same. But she is the first person who says them and means it.

"Thank you," You demure, with an incline of your head. If you could cry, you would. But you haven't had the tears to summon in months. "Could you tell me...about what's been happening in town?"

Ieiri snorts. "I didn't take you for a gossip, you naughty thing" But she smiles as she says it, and it makes you feel like you can smile too. So you do, wavering and short. But a smile nonetheless. "Luckily for you dear, I happen to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, I'm not telling you anythin, till I see you eat a bite of this food. Come on now, just a lil..."

Another nervous smile. You break off a bite of your sandwich and push it into your mouth. True to her coaxing word, Ieiri begins the tale of an on-going riff between two young socialites in town. A friendship rift caused by a man of all things.

"And, to be frank" Ieiri says, putting out her cigarette and lighting another. She coughs, waving away the smoke, and then grins. "I don't even see him as much of a looker. Both girls can do much better. Men can come and go easily, but it's friendships that test time itself"

Truth is, Ieiri puts Mei-Mei to shame when it comes to gossip. She isn't malicious about it, the way Mei-Mei often is. It's just as she said : Ieiri just happens to be right there front and center every time.

You're interrupted by the sound of Kugisaki's excited yelling from the inside the house, and the bob of her shadow through the windows.

"She seems to be doing better" Ieiri drawls, non-judgmental, a soft smile on her face. "I lost my parents at a young age too. But I wasn't handlin it well at all"

"I'm sorry" You say, automatically. You've lost your husband, yes. But both of your parents are alive and well. They'll live for a long time yet. "How did...what happened?"

"Bandits." Ieiri says shortly, and puts out her cigarette just as Kugisaki comes into the back yard.

Kugisaki wanders up to you warily. She gives you a stiff hug and then melts into your body with a sigh.

You hug her back, twice as hard, unable to stop the gunshot wound of a noise that escapes you. "Your hair..."

Your daughter freezes. Out of guilt or admission, you cannot tell.

"I cut it" She says, sounding too mature for a nine year old. Kugisaki pulls back from your embrace and squares her shoulder. "Do you like it?"

"Your father loved your hair..." You whisper brokenly, carding your fingers through the now blunt ends. It's the wrong thing to say, but you can't help it, mourning the long brown strands that reminded you so dearly of your late husband. "When did you cut it?"

How hadn't I noticed?

"A month ago" Your daughter states, looking unsure of herself. "Satoru helped me. He said you might like it, if I did acted mature and helped out more. That you might come down. And it worked!"

Your brows nearly jump right off your head at the mention of Kugisaki's casual use of the Sheriff's first name. But you don't mention that. You also don't mention that you leaving your bedroom for the first time since the funeral has more to do with Ieiri than Gojo.

You don't like it. Not at all. Gojo whispering suggestions into Kugisaki's ear. Going behind your back. You appreciate him for what he's done for you...when you...weren't well. But already you can feel yourself feeling better. You're ready to be Kugisaki's mother again.

Because setting up playdates with your daughter is one thing. Acting like her father is another.

Ieiri's eyes meet yours over the rim of her teacup. If she thinks the boundaries between you, your daughter and the towns beloved Sheriff are inappropriate—she wisely keeps her mouth shut.

The next time the Sheriff waltzes over, you plan to do it then. The words are on the tip of your tongue. Send Kugisaki out of the room. Gently broach the subject. Tell him you are eternally grateful for his help and suggest that if he wants to continue to bring your children together, he should act more like a stranger and less like the man of the house.

Your house.

It never quite happens the way you plan. And the longer you put it off, the more out of control Gojo gets. The more unspoken boundaries he continues to cross.

One morning, you come down for breakfast and there are five plates set instead of two. Gojo's turned over all the mirrors, and he's sitting with Tsumiki and Kugisaki, giving them matching hairstyles. His son, Megumi, stands off to the side, steadily observing.

Gojo, sitting in your painting room. Gojo, reading the newspaper and sitting on your front porch. Gojo, coming back from the henhouse, or dragging bales of hay out to your horses. Or helping your servants water your garden, for God's sake.

Until you realize it's been a year and two months since your husband has died. Until you realize that Kugisaki has stopped mourning three months early. Until you realize that while Gojo seems to be over more times than he isn't, you still haven't heard a single update about what's happened to your husband. Until you realize that Kugisaki has that same starry-eyed awed expression and admiration for Gojo that she has for her father.

Had. Had for her father.

It's Gojo, surprisingly, who broaches the subject.

You've just come back from a day of errands. First the general grocer, then the doctors to pick up Kugisaki's hay fever tonic and then at the millers for flour and sugar.

When you come home, you aren't shocked to see an extra pair of shoes in the foyer. What you are surprised to see, is the lack of them. Panic laces through your body like a taught wire. You set your things down onto the island bar, tearing through the house for your daughter. She isn't there. Why is Gojo here, and Kugisaki isn't?

You find Gojo in your garden, sipping on a glass of sweet iced tea, humming to himself. He arches a brow when he sees you, and does little else.

"Where's Kugisaki?" You ask, chest heaving with exertion. Your eyes are wild with worry, you know, sweat beading along the back of your neck.

"With a younger cousin of mine. Yuta. Nice boy" He explains, casually. "Babysittin" he has the nerve to add, and then winks.

"You didn't think to ask her mother before you allow her to leave with someone else?" You snap, shaking. What if Kugisaki is kidnapped? What if she's hurt? You can't afford to lose her too. "Sheriff, you forget yourself"

"I'm really gettin peeved with you, darlin" Gojo says, brushing your concerns aside as though they mean nothing, though there's a sudden sharp glimmer in his eyes that makes you hesitate. "Satoru. My name is Satoru. Sa-to-ru"

"My daughter—" Glacier blue eyes snap to your face. He takes a step closer and stares you down. "Where is she?"

"I told you" The Sheriff replies, hand too low on your lower back as he urges you inside. "With a babysitter."

"Where's Moira?" You ask instead, as Gojo settles behind the counter and proceeds to pour you a glass of tea. He even goes as far as to rifle through the ice box for something for you to snack on.

"Had to let her go" He answers, back turned as your blood freezes.

"You fired my servant?" The words are caught in your throat, and come out all weird. Breathy, almost. The nerve of this man. This has gone on too far. Gojo simply rounds the table, places your food in front of you and then kisses the side of your head.

"She was stealin the silver" He murmurs, eyes flickering down to your lips. "She shouldn't be around the kids, or you"

The kids, he says. Like you're married.

"I can determine whats best for Kugisaki and I" You grit out. "You are not my husband. You do not determine what goes on in my house. I appreciate the help you've given me but I think you and I need to alienate ourselves from one another"

You breath raggedly. There. Now the words are out. You've said your piece. Things can finally go into a sense of normalcy now.

"Alienate ourselves" The Sheriff repeats, smiling into your hair before stepping away. He isn't listening. No. He isn't taking you seriously, you realize. He doesn't care. "You need me" He says.

"I—"

"When's the last time you've paid a bill for this place?" Gojo asks, and before you can pin down the thought that you haven't; he continues. "How much money has your husband left in the bank for you? How much land comes with this property? How much are you payin your stablehands? How many are hired? Who's the gardener? Do you know anythin about this house, Miss?"

The questions fly at you. Too fast for you to even think of a lie or a rebuttal against them. Each one strikes a vital chord in your defense. Each makes you realize just how little of a control you've had on things.

"The thing is, that piece of shit didn't save you a single penny" Gojo answers his own question, uncaring of the way your heart plummets to your stomach. "He's got a second account, sure. But all of that money went to his son"

Son.

"You see" The Sheriff says, drumming his fingers down on the table as your nerves threaten to make you fall apart. "Your husband has led a second life. He's got another wife and a set of little brats with another woman further south. His son's older than Kugisaki. Makes me think it's been happenin since before you entered the picture. Ever wonder what happened to half your savins that was meant for that nice house north of here? Two...three years ago?"

Ice floods your veins. "Stop" You croak, eyes wet with tears. "Gojo, stop"

How does he know about that? Any of it? How long has he known? Why hasn't he said anything about it before.

His hand latches onto yours, and then skims further up your wrist onto the cuff of your dress. "While you've been sittin here, faithful picture of a lady, that asshole has been funnelin your money to another family. But the ruse has to come up eventually. And the husband of your husband's affair is affiliated with some bad, bad men. The kind I don't like stayin around in my town"

Bandits. The picture comes together.

The night your husband said he had another business trip...there was no business. And how did he act, when he was leavin? The Sheriff's words swirl in your ears like a bad omen. Perhaps he knew, and wanted to run. Or perhaps that man had managed to catch your husband by surprise.

You choke down a sob. But the tears come anyway, and Gojo pulls you into his chest. His broad palm rubs down your back, hot even through the layers of your clothes. Searing. You want to push him away. You try to. He only clucks his tongue and holds you all the more tighter for it.

"Haven't I done right by you?" Gojo asks, peppering kisses against the side of your face. His hands don't wander, not how you'd expect them to. You wonder how you're supposed to shove him off if he decides to go further. "You never worry about anythin when I'm here, don't you want it to be like that all the time?"

"What do you want?" You finally grit out, putting some much needed space between the two of you.

"I need," Gojo corrects "A show of faith. I ain't a bad man. I don't wanna force myself on ya, wasn't how I was raised"

You say nothing, refusing to betray your faults. Inwardly, your mind spins. If what the Sheriff is saying is true, there's no money and there hasn't been for a long time. How can you raise Kugisaki and keep the property at the same time? Where will you go if you can't?

Gojo boops you on the nose with his finger, bringing you out of your perilous thoughts. "How long do you plan on mournin that bastard, anyway? It's already been a year. You can take another husband now. I waited, see?"

"I miss seein you in color" He continues, playing with the edge of your bodice. "All this black, doesn't suit ya."

A show of faith.

"You want me to marry you," You conclude, voice shaky and small.

"That would be nice, yes" Gojo hums, as though it was all your idea. Wolfishly, he grins at you. Darts forward, and steals a proper kiss. His lips are sweet from the tea. "Jus' think about it some, okay? Got some loose ends to tie up, so I'll be gone for some time. When I come back...."

He tugs at the hem of your bodice again. "This better be gone, you hear?"

Even before Gojo left, you knew what your answer will be.

You've never worked a day in your life. Your parents taught you wifely duties with the expectation that you'd never have to work a day in your life. Even things that lesser women had to learn, managing books, the household. Those were beyond you. Your mother had servants to do that for her and she expected the same for you.

The second day, Ijichi drives you out to the bank in the big city half a days journey out. Just as the Sheriff said, your accounts are pitifully low. Not enough to last on your own, if Gojo decides to take his good will away.

You want to ask around for work. You could be a seamstress, or maybe the assistant to one. But something in you won't. You step into town and you notice the stares. The way people seem to pause before speaking with you.

Someone genuinely saw you coming and crossed the street, eyes staring down at the cobblestone.

You know, that even before you ask, no one here will hire you. Not with the metaphorical blood on your hands. You'd climb the highest roof in town and shout out your innocence if you believed it would have an inkling of changing anything.

You remembered your first thoughts about this tiny little town. Quiet. Unassuming. So unlike what you were used to. The people here were tight-knit. Close lipped. And you had broken that fragile trust by bringing your husband and his demons together into their depths. Their cautious, derisive looks say enough.

No one here trusts you.

A week later, you hear news from Kugisaki that Gojo will be back soon.

"And you like the Sheriff?" You ask, suddenly. Something about your tone makes your daughter freeze, owlish brown eyes peering up at you.

"Satoru's great!" Kugisaki chirps over her dinner, head tilted curiously to the side. "Don't you like him too, Mama? Everyone says he's sweet on you"

Do they now? "Who have you heard that from?"

"Miwa from primary school says her mama says that he does" She replies; with utmost seriousness. "And she's a love fortune teller. She looks at the cards and tells you your fortune! It's very serious, Mama"

Miwa's mother should mind her own business, you think sourly.

"And if we were to live with the Sheriff...with Satoru—" Your grip on the fork tightens and you force a smile onto your face. "Would you like that? If Satoru and I married?"

Kugisaki's face splits into a grin. Your heart plummets to the bottom of your stomach and dread washes over you like freezing cold water.

She wants this you realize.

Aren't you afraid, you want to ask. He could replace your father. Don't you remember how you used to adore him so? The thought makes you reel back. Who are you; to seek comfort from your daughter? This shouldn't be about you. It's about Kugisaki. It's about making sure she's safe.

And by law, that's exactly what marriage to Satoru will do.

The day you go to meet Satoru, you don a blue dress. Maybe the color will soften him. Maybe you won't catch a glimpse of the man lurking underneath the veneer, if you can satisfy him in this small way.

It feels...unnatural, to be seen wearing color again. The stares you earned dressed in black seem to double, triple. Everyone seems to look at you and know exactly where you're going.

Mei-Mei would remark with a smile, about the sudden abrupt end to your mourning.

It's all in your imagination, you want to think. But Satoru's servants don't seem shocked at all to see you. Rather, its more like they were expecting you.

Like you were right on time.

"Satoru!" Kugisaki sings, loud, as she crosses the foyer. Seconds later, the man of the hour rounds the corner. Your daughter leaps at him, and he catches her easily; spinning her round and round until she's dizzy and begs for mercy.

You stand in the middle of the room like a voyuer, waiting for him to finally acknowledge you.

And he does. He breathes, a cross between a sigh of want and relief when he spots the blue and white day dress. The lack of the veil and bonnet. Your gloveless hands. And he smiles.

"Kugisaki, Megumi and Yuji are down at the stables" It's a clear dismissal if you've ever heard one. "Tsu-Tsu ain't here right now"

Playfully put-out, your daughter groans. "Yuji better not have taken Straw" she says, and wriggles out of his arms to race down to the stables.

Silence stretches on for a full minute. Then, two more.

Finally, Satoru speaks. "Glad to you're no longer mournin. Got tired of seein you in those dreadful things. Now you look more like yourself"

There a smug undertone to his words. You should say something. You know he's expecting you to, but you just can't.

"Why don't I show you aroun'?" He asks, grabbing you by the arm.

"That would be nice" You demure. If Satoru won't bring attention to the elephant in the room, you won't either.

As the Sheriff leads you through his opulent home, you begin to understand the sheer differences in status between you and him. You nearly get lost in the rooms, their sheer sizes, the way lavishness seems to drip in excess. Even your maiden-home, the richest you've ever been, wasn't nearly as wealthy as this.

"And this," Satoru purrs next to your ear, "Is our room"

His hand settles on your middle back, gently nudging you inside. Like the other rooms, this one oozes wealth. An ensuite bathroom. Two ensuite closets (for the Miss, Satoru says, and winks). A large bed. A set of beautiful glass windows that overlook the estate and its wonderful landscaping.

We Gojos make her family seem like street-beggars.

"You have a very lovely home" You tell him, and mean it, turning around. Only, Satoru's standing way too close, crowding you against the window. "Satoru...?"

Satoru groans, erotically, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. "Finally, been tryin to get you to say my name like that this whole time..."

He nuzzles into your throat. Like a puppy. You freeze up once more as his hands travel up and down your body. He's tactile, thats for sure. You can't help but pale in the face of his desire.

"S-Satoru..." You gasp, writhing as his hands begin to unlace the back of your bodice. You wrap your fingers around his wrist to still his advancements. "Stop. A moment; please. This isn't proper—"

Satoru cackles into your skin. "You can drop the shy act now, darlin. It's not like I don't know what I'm gettin into. Come on, don't tell me you only fucked that bastard while you were tryna make Kugisaki? You never did it for fun? Cause it felt good?"

Heat blooms across your face, worms its way down your neck and settles down in your lower stomach.

When you haven't said anything for a minute, Satoru stills. Pulls back from sucking a bruise into your skin like it physically ails him to be separated from you.

"You really haven't...?" He asks, eyes so dark they frighten you.

"Sex is done so that a woman ends up pregnant" You warble. A slow, almost mad, grin spreads onto his cherubic features.

"Well, I'll still make sure you end up pregnant, if that's wha you want" He drawls, and unzips your skirt, yanking it down to your hips. "Can't lie and say I ain't thought of it. A little you runnin around. Long as you don't mind Megumi bein my heir, I'll give you a litter of 'em"

He probably thought he was being subtle. You’d fled to the front porch shortly after arriving, but even that meager distance did little to help when you could see him out of the corner of your eye, stealing glances at you from the living room couch through the water-stained window as he played some terrible first-person shooter with a couple members of the fraternity. You were making a considerable effort to ignore him, but it was easier said than done. Try as you might, you couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything other than the weight of his gaze, the knot of anxiety forming in the pit of your stomach, the memories of his voice calling out to you in—

“Are you good?”

You blinked. Nobara was squinting at you, her head cocked to the side. Nodding hastily, you rushed to answer before fully processing her question. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little—” You paused, forcing yourself to laugh. “Just zoned out, I guess.”

She hummed, unconvinced. Next to her, the other girl you’d been talking to - Maki - smirked and slung an arm over Nobara’s shoulders. “Blame your friend. He’s got a bit of a staring problem.”

She glanced into the living room. “Yuuji? He’s harmless.” And then, to you, “You know him, right?”

The panic was a ice-cold stake to your chest. You shook your head, moved to tell her that no, really, it was alright, you were just having an off-night, you’d give her all the money in your wallet if she just didn’t do this, but it was already too late. Nobara turned to the window, raising a hand, and you watched in frozen horror as she waved to Yuuji, gesturing for him to join you.

He was off the couch and out the door before you could so much as think to make a run for it.

Maki was greeted with a nod, Nobara a hasty fist bump. You were pulled into a hug before you had the chance to object - his smothering physical affection saved for you and you alone. Even when he drew back, it was only far enough to position himself behind you and drape his arms around your waist. You could feel his breath on the dip of your shoulder, the scar at the corner of his lips ghosting over the base of your throat. It felt as if you were about to crawl out of your skin, but if your discomfort was visible, Maki and Nobara were both kind enough to ignore it. The former seemed disinterested while the latter only grinned.

“So you two do know each other.”

“Obviously.” Yuuji couldn’t have sounded happier. You felt yourself shrink underneath him. “We met last semester, in that class I failed.”

Nobara laughed. “So, like, any class you’ve literally ever taken.”

“Shut the fuck up.” The words were harsh, but his affection was light, cheery. Nobara brightened. Even Maki cracked a smile. Yuuji had that effect on people. He made them happy. He made them like him.

You weren’t sure why it didn’t work the same way, for you.

“We had this project together, and—” His hands dropped lower, falling a little too close to your hips. “Do you want to tell them what you said when I asked for your number, babe?”

“It wasn’t necessary for the assignment,” you recited, flatly.

“I got it anyway, though.” You cringed at the reminder. You’d changed it, since then, but that’d only stopped the flood of texts for a few days. All innocent things - questions about your day or pictures of cute dogs on campus. Nothing you could show to anyone else without seeming like you were crazy one for being bothered. “And we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

He was leaving things out. All the times he’d sat next to you in class, always more than happy to move along with you whenever you decided to switch seats. How often he’d coincidentally show up at the library while you were studying, despite never having reviewed for a test in his life. The hours of sleep you’d lost to dreading the next time you’d see him, the next time he’d stand too close or stare too long or talk about the two of you like you were good friends. You might’ve been able to cope, if you had someone to talk to. But—

Maki’s chuckled. She met your eyes, and her grin widened. “That would’ve been pretty scary, if it’d been anyone else. Bet you’re glad you’ve got the nicest guy on campus for a stalker, huh?”

You wanted to scream.

But everyone loved Yuuji.

You shrugged him off, starting for the front door. “I need to—”

“You’re right. We should dance.” Immediately, he was in front of you, grabbing your wrist. “C’mon, Toge’s getting the speakers hooked up out back.”

"I’m good. Maybe later.”

You tried to pull yourself out of his hold. His grip tightened.

“Do you want something to drink? I made sure we’re stocked up on everything you like, just—”

He glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, and you made the mistake of looking up - of looking at him. That was what had made you keep your distance, before the following and the touching and the harassment.

No matter how brightly he was smiling, his eyes were always so, so cold.

"Stop touching me.”

Heads turned in your direction. Nobara whispered something to Maki. Yuuji’s hand vanished from your wrist, as if it’d never been there at all.

Fuck.

You’d made a scene.

You shouldered past him, trudging into the house proper. Inside, disparate conversations melted into a constant pulse of voices and laughter and noise. You shouldered through bodies packed too tightly together, muttering apologies as drinks were spilled and balance was lost. Yuuji tried to follow, but the crowd was thick and you lost him quickly in the tangle. Hopefully, it’d stay that way until you’d done what you needed to.

It didn’t take long for you to find your roommate. Yuuta was in the basement, sprawled out on a well-beaten couch, passing a joint around with a few of his anemic friends. The current holder - a younger guy with spiky black hair and a perpetual frown - offered it to you as you approached, but you shook your head. Any other time, maybe. Right now, there was only one thing you wanted.

“C’mon, Okkotsu.” You reached over the back of the couch, taking him by the shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

His dark eyes were wide and unfocused. He had to blink a few times before his gaze shifted to you. When he spoke, his speech was on that same type of drawled delay. “Already?”

Agitation sparked, but you stamped it out. He was high. You’d been here for less than an hour. Some resistance was fair. “Yeah, it’s—” His name got caught in your throat. You did your best to choke it down before going on. “It’s Itadori.”

Of all the people you’d considered confessing your Yuuji-centered issues to, you’d gotten with Yuuta. You’d lived with him since freshman year. He was always so level-headed, so calm, so sympathetic. When someone spoke, he listened. You’d always liked that about him. You’d always trusted him to do the same for you.

Yuuta groaned, clenching his eyes shut and crossing his arms over his face. A knot formed in your chest. You repeated your mantra. Some resistance was fair. You had to believe that this was fair. “Again?”

“I know it’s early, but—”

“It’s too early. And Itadori’s not even that—” He broke off, whining into his sleeves. “Have you tried talking to him?”

The knot tightened.

“…it’s not really like that. We don’t—”

“He’s so nice.” With effort, Yuuta managed to sit up. “And sweet. And everybody knows he likes you. Couldn’t you just…?”

The insinuation was clear. You felt the knot grow tighter and tighter still before the cord snapped and something deep inside of you unraveled.

Your voice was flat, blank, confusion dulling anger into frigid apathy. “You want me to shut up and fuck him so you can… What? Smoke in his friend’s basement for another twenty minutes?”

Yuuta grimaced. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant, though, right?”

“He’s nice.” Sulkily, now. As if you’d done something wrong. “It just— It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Your expression hardened. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open as he scrambled to apologize, but it was too late. You were already climbing up the basement stairs. With or without him, you were getting out of here.

Someone had started playing music. You couldn’t see any amps, but deep bass blared through the house, loud enough to shake the foundations. People were beginning to dance. Not that any of that mattered to you. You kept to the walls, skirting around the edges, doing what you could to fade into the background. You didn’t want attention. You didn’t want to make a scene. You just wanted to—

Two arms, appearing out of nowhere, caging you in on either side. You froze, pressing your back against the drywall. Panic blurred your vision, but you would’ve had to be blind not to recognize the man in front of you.

Yuuji, obviously.

It was always fucking Yuuji.

He had a drink in his hand. The usual frat part mixer - reddish, brownish, smelling vaguely of Kool-Aid and gasoline. And he was smiling. Of course, he was smiling. You weren’t sure he was capable of doing anything else.

You did your best to be blunt, to keep your voice from shaking. “What do you want?”

He didn’t say anything. Slowly, with the type of care you hadn’t thought he was capable of, he held his drink in front of you. For an embarrassingly long second, you stared at it blankly, uncertain if you were supposed to take it or slap it out of his hand. Then, his smile widened, and in one unfaltering movement, he turned his cup over and dumped its contents down the front of your shirt.

The revulsion was hot and instantaneous. You cursed, grabbing at your shirt and pulling it away from your skin. You moved to dart away from Yuuji, but a muscular arm cut off your escape. It was all you could do to bare your teeth, glaring at him as you snarled, “What the fu—”

“Yo, Itadori.”

You snapped to your left and found Yuuta, the spiky haired kid from the basement trailing after him. He paid Yuuji a nod and a smile before his eyes fell to you, his expression dimming.

You opened your mouth, but Yuuji was faster. “Just a party foul,” he explained, nodding to your ruined shirt. “Mind if I borrow your room for the clean-up, Megumi?”

The spiky haired kid - Megumi - looked to you, his bleary eyes suddenly prying, evaluative. For a moment, he seemed to take you in, from the cheap booze dripping down your chest to the rigidity of your posture to the way you were pressed into the wall, clearly scared, clearly trying to keep your distance from a lurking threat. For a moment, you let yourself hope, even if you weren’t entirely sure for what. Help, maybe. More realistically, bare-bones acknowledgement, some kind of unspoken sign that he recognized what was happening. That something was wrong and it wasn’t your fault.

And then, the moment passed, and your amorphous hopes solidified into familiar disappointment as his gaze slid to Yuuji, softening in an instant. He nodded, and immediately, Yuuji’s fist was cuffed around your wrist, hauling you away. In your peripheral, you watched Yuuta raise a hand and start to say something, only to fall short. Megumi’s lips moved, the words lost underneath the music, gesturing in the direction of the drinks’ table. Yuuji’s grip tightened and you glanced toward him on instinct, finding only disheveled pink hair and the corners of his grin. By the time you looked back over your shoulder, they were gone.

Yuuji weaved seamlessly through the crowd. You were made to stumble up a too-thin staircase, then down a narrow hallway. The floor creaked under your weight as mold-infested carpeting tapered into ancient wooden boards, the music fading into a muted pulsing and the crowd thinning until you were alone save for the handful of lost, inebriated party-goers who’d wandered farther than they were supposed to. Never pausing to explain himself, Yuuji shouldered open an unmarked door, shutting it again as soon as he’d pulled you across the threshold.

Distantly, you heard a lock click into place, but couldn’t bring yourself to care. A little privacy didn’t sound all that bad, at the moment.

The room was dark. The walls were a deep, depressing shade of charcoal gray and the sole window was swallowed by a thick, black curtain. The sole source of light came from a lamp on a surprisingly neat desk, its harsh white light almost jarring after wading through the technicolor haze downstairs. You collapsed onto the foot of the bed, burying your head in your hands and groaning into your palms. Even that moment of catharsis was cut short as the mattress dipped beside you, Yuuji settling into place.

“We should get this off.” His hand curled around the hem of your shirt, tugging gently. “Can’t be comfortable, like that.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why are you doing this?”

An airy laugh. Another tug - more insistent, this time. “‘cause we’re friends, obviously.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Alright.”

It was terrible, how calm his voice was, how little warning were given before his hands were on your shoulders, your back on the bed, his knees planted on either side of your waist. His weight settled onto your stomach - heavier than you’d expected. Of course. Yuuji was an athlete. In the haze of all his other positive accolades, you must’ve forgotten.

And he was staring at you, his eyes as cold as ice.

“Do you remember the day we met? Not the phone number shit. I really couldn’t care less if some—” He gestured dismissively, then let his hands fall to your midriff. “—fucking loser doesn’t want to talk to me. Afterward. When the lecture let out. You’d forgotten something, so I called your name. Must’ve caught you off guard, because you turned around and looked at me like…”

He trailed off, laughing.

“Like I was gonna kill you.”

Again, he caught the hem of your shirt, tugging gently. The air hitched in your throat. “…are you going to?”

The corners of his mouth pulled back, baring fangs. He shook his head. Somehow, no relief accompanied the reassurance.

“I really do like you.” In one motion, he tore your shirt up and over your head. Resistance wasn’t an option. Fabric tore, and suddenly, you were exposed and unprotected beneath him. Calloused fingertips dragged over your bare skin. He pulled off his own, then let his head dip low, his mouth skirting over the curve of your chest. “Took me a while to realize that. You kept running away, but I never stopped wanting to chase you.” He paused, chuckled. “I’m sorry. That makes me sound like I’m just in it for— for this, I guess. I’m not. I like the way you react to things. Whether you’re pretending not to see me or doing that deer in headlights thing or—”

He broke off suddenly, his lips latching onto your nipple. You cried out involuntarily as his teeth dug into your areola hard enough to break the skin. His tongue lapped hastily over the puncture wounds before he pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. “Or that.”

Hot, humiliating tears were beginning to fog your vision. You could see the door over his shoulder - salvation in the form of a hazy black outline. His hand drifted lower, finding the button of your jeans. Half on purpose, half on reflex, you thrashed. Your nails caught his cheek, something tearing where you made contact. You managed to free one of your legs, to get enough distance between you and him to pitch your heel into his chest. Yuuji jerked back, letting you squirm free. You rolled onto your hands and knees, scrambling for the edge of the mattress. You just had to get your feet underneath you. You just had to get out of this room. You just had to—

You made it all of a few, pitiful inches before a strong arm curled around your waist, a heavy body draping itself over yours. Anchoring you.

Trapping you.

Yuuji laughed, burying his head in the crook of your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your throat. You didn’t realize that he’d been trying to be gentle until he shoved your jeans down to your knees and palmed at your cunt with all the delicacy of a hacksaw, already in motion. A thumb slid into the waistband of your underwear, the flimsy article torn off with the same haphazard efficiency. You tried to scream, but Yuuji’s mouth was already on yours, swallowing any noise you might’ve been able to get out. At the same time, he forced two fingers into your cunt, the heel of his palm rolling against your clit. A humiliatingly wet noise echoed off the walls of the bedroom - slick and mortifying. Yuuji let out a low whistle, spreading his fingers apart inside of you.

“And I thought you hated me.” His breath was hot and smothering against your skin. You shook your head violently, and he laughed. “It’s okay. I love you, too.”

You tried not to react, not to give him what he wanted. You couldn’t get away, and so denial was the next best option — letting your mind go blank and dissociating until he lost interest, playing dead until the predator got bored and wandered off in search of more interesting prey. But Yuuji had always made himself difficult to ignore. He held you tight against his chest, pumping his fingers into you with all the delicacy and all the curiosity of a mechanical piston, carrying out its only programmed function. Your cunt clenched and he forced in yet another digit, threatening to split you open. A pained groan slipped through your sealed lips. You were wet, but you didn’t want this. It was a fear reaction, not the pleasure he’d been so happy to mistake it for. It was going to take more than his invasive touch, his stifling closeness to make up for that.

…and yet, you couldn’t seem to swallow back the little, pitchy whines tangling together on your tongue, couldn’t seem to stop your legs from twitching underneath you. You bowed your head low, but Yuuji followed you, keeping his chest against your back and his hand lodged in-between your thighs, not allowing for any amount of distance. He was so, so close. You could feel his heart beating against your spine. You could hear him panting in your ear, too reminiscent of some giant, lumbering beast. You could see his face in your peripheral, his gaze locked on your expression. His eyes were cold enough to burn.

You came with a single, miserable moan. Yuuji’s pace slowed as you came down from your unwanted high, eventually stilling inside of you. You hoped beyond hope that he’d stay like that, that you’d get a chance to at least start to recover, but the world wasn’t that kind and Yuuji wasn’t that patient. Drawing back, his hands found your hips and turned you over — all but throwing you down to the mattress. You heard fabric shift, metal clink. It was all you could do not to look. You would’ve given anything to never have to put an image to that sound.

If only you had anything left to give.

“Sorry we couldn’t do this somewhere more— more special.” He fit his body between your legs. You felt something blunt and searing press against your entrance. “Next time. I promise, I’ll make it more romantic, next time.”

You opened your mouth, but it was too late. He was already thrusting into you. In a single motion, you were split open on his cock, left bare and exposed and at his mercy. Yuuji groaned, falling against you. His lips found yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, lapping into you. You were minded uncannily of the way wolves licked each others’ mouths, all instinct without the care.