Lia

all the bass was vibrating straight through the concrete of the patio, thumping a rhythmic heartbeat that you could feel in the soles of your feet. it was past midnight, the tokyo summer air was thick and humid, and the private pool party was in a full, chaotic swing.

at the center of it all was rindou.

he was completely in his element, headphones clamped over one ear, his fingers flying across the mixing board with a practiced ease. the neon pink and blue lights from the patio cast sharp angles across his face, catching the edge of his glasses and the smug, lopsided grin he wore whenever he successfully transitioned a track.

he wasn't just playing music, dj rin was orchestrating the entire vibe of the night.

"yo, rin! drop that new track or i'm throwing haru into the deep end!" izana shouted from a lounge chair, his silver hair catching the neon glow as he kicked his legs up, looking entirely amused by the chaos around him.

"try me, kurokawa," sanzu spat back, taking an aggressive swig straight from a bottle of gin, his scarred lips pulled into a manic grin. "i'll drown you before you even get close."

"both of you shut the fuck up and just drink," kakucho muttered from the outdoor bar, shaking his head but pouring another round anyway.

rindou didn't even look up at them, just flicked his wrist and gave a thumbs up, throwing a heavy trap remix into the queue that had everyone cheering. he was the golden boy of the night, effortlessly cool, completely untamed. classic rindou.

and then, there was you.

you were sitting a little apart from the main group, a plastic cup held loosely in your hands. you were trying to smile, trying to laugh at sanzu's unhinged commentary, but the forced cheerfulness was starting to crack.

the breakup was still too fresh. it sat like a weight in your stomach, that heavy and hollow realization that the person you spent months with was officially gone. you felt exposed, a little pathetic, and entirely too sober for how fast the night was moving.

from across the deck, rindou’s sharp eyes flicked away from his laptop. through the neon haze, his gaze locked directly onto you. he didn’t say anything. he couldn't over the music, but the slight furrow of his brow told you everything. he’d been tracking your mood all night. he knew exactly when you were faking it.

before he could do anything about it, the heavy glass sliding doors snapped open with a sharp clack.

the crowd instantly quieted down a fraction, the collective energy shifting from reckless fun to mild apprehension. standing in the doorway, framed by the warm indoor light, was ran.

he looked entirely too put together for someone who had allegedly been trying to sleep. he was wearing silk pajamas, his long hair braided loosely over one shoulder, and his expression was a mix of profound boredom and pure irritation.

"alright, wrap it up, you noisy brats," ran’s voice carried effortlessly, laced with a clear warning. "it’s past two in the morning. some of us actually have things to tend to tomorrow that doesn't involve nursing a fucking hangover."

"oh, come on, ran! just one more track!" sanzu whined, though he was already capping his bottle.

ran offered him a terrifyingly sweet, closed eye smile. "if i hear one more bass drop, i’m throwing the mixing board into the deep end. inside. now. sleepover rules apply. clean up your trash or sleep on the floor."

there was a collective groan as everyone realized ran wasn't bluffing.

slowly, the group started gathering their belongings, izana laughing as he pushed an annoyed kakucho through the sliding glass doors into the air conditioned living room, leaving the patio completely empty.

within ten minutes, the patio was dead silent. the only sound left was the gentle, rhythmic sloshing of the pool water against the skimmer and the distant hum of the tokyo skyline.

you hadn't moved. you were sitting right on the edge of the deep end, your two piece still damp against the concrete, your bare feet kicking and swaying lazily through the cool water. the ripples you made distorted the reflection of the lights on the surface.

a shadow fell over you.

you didn't need to look up to know who it was. the scent of expensive cologne, faint cigarette smoke, and the familiar, grounding presence told you instantly. rindou had wrapped his set, shut down his equipment, and stayed outside.

he slid down onto the concrete right next to you, his legs dangling over the edge, his ankles crossing as his feet broke the surface of the water. he completely ditched his clothes from earlier, now wearing just a pair of dark swim trunks.

"you look like a drowned cat," he murmured, his voice a rumble now that he didn't have to shout over the bass.

"thanks, rin. you always know just what to say," you muttered, kicking your feet a little harder, sending a small splash toward his ankles.

he let out a soft huff of laughter, leaning back on his hands, his head tilting toward the starless night sky.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. he knew you were hurting. he’d seen the arguments, the tears, the way your ex had slowly drained the life out of you over the past few months.

"you're still thinking about him," rindou stated. it wasn't a question.

you let out a long, shaky breath, your shoulders dropping. "it’s just... it's stupid. i know it's over, and i know it's for the best, but i just can't help being sad about it."

"yeah, those post breakup blues... can't be helped," he murmured, his voice softening. "the person became your constant at some point."

​"yeah," you whispered, staring down at your feet beneath the surface. "it's just weird adjusting now that everything's changed.”

rindou reached out, his warm fingers gently catching you by the chin, forcing you to look away from the water and look at him. his touch was deceptively tender. his eyes were stripped of their usual smugness, locked onto yours with absolute sincerity.

"look on the bright side," he said, his voice dropping into a softer and more intimate register. his thumb brushed lightly against the edge of your jawline, a tiny, electrifying spark of heat wherever his skin touched yours. "that relationship was like a chokehold anyway. you deserve better."

your breath caught in your throat. the intensity in his gaze was dizzying. he was looking at your lips, his thumb still resting against your skin, tracing a slow, deliberate line.

then, just as the tension threatened to snap, rindou’s classic, wicked grin broke across his face. he yanked his hand back, standing up in one fluid, athletic motion. as he took three steps back, his long fingers hooked around the frame of his glasses, sliding them off his face and tossing them casually onto a nearby sunlounger without even looking.

"rin?"

splaaaaaash!

he tucked his knees to his chest and executed a cannonball right into the center of the pool. a literal tidal wave of chlorinated water erupted, soaring over the edge and drenching you completely from head to toe. your hair was plastered to your face, you're once again completely soaked through, and the cold water made you gasp in shock.

"rinnnnnn!!" you shrieked, wiping the water from your eyes, your hands flying to your chest as you glared into the pool. "you absolute asshole! at least give a warning!"

through the splashing water, rindou surfaced. he shook his head like a dog, his wet hair flying back, exposing his forehead and the line of his brow. he was laughing, that bright, breathless sound he only made when he was genuinely amused.

"there," he choked out, wiping his eyes. "you're not thinking about your ex anymore, are you?"

"i'm going to fucking kill you," you threatened, though the corners of your mouth were twitching. the suffocating sadness that had been weighing on you all night had completely vanished, replaced by the familiar, comfortable irritation he always provoked.

"nah, you won't do that. you'll miss me." he teased.

you thought he'll probably swim ahead. instead, rindou cut through the water with effortless strokes, moving directly toward where you were sitting on the edge. the playfulness in his eyes slowly shifted into something entirely different as he got closer.

he stopped right in front of you. before you could even react, rindou reached up. he rested his wet forearms directly over your thighs, effectively pinning your legs beneath his weight and trapping you against the edge of the pool. he leaned forward, tilting his head back slightly so he could rest his chin directly over his folded arms, right on your lap.

the sudden proximity was suffocating.

you could feel the literal heat radiating off his wet skin, contrasting sharply with the cold pool water. from this close, you could see the dark fringe of his eyelashes, the subtle gold flecks in his irises, and the way his chest expanded and contracted as he breathed.

your hands, which had been resting on the concrete beside your hips, instinctively hovered, unsure of where to go. the tension from before didn't just return, it fucking doubled up.

"still mad?" he whispered. his voice was a low vibration that you could feel right through your thighs.

"you always know what to do." you breathed, your voice much softer than you intended. you looked down at him, your heart hammering against your ribs in a rhythm that had absolutely nothing to do with the music from earlier.

rindou didn't blink. his gaze crawled slowly up from your collarbone, tracking the way the wet fabric of your two piece swimsuit clung to your skin, before finally settling on your lips. a slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, his thumbs tracing circles against the bare skin of your thighs.

"i told you that you deserve better, didn't i? least i can do right now is to get your mind off of it." he murmured.

it was crazy how just his voice could make your stomach completely flip.

he tilted his head up just a fraction closer, his breath hot against your damp knees. the sheer gravity of him was dizzying. the 'best friend' safety net you’d relied on for so long was officially shredding to pieces right under his gaze.

"why don't we go inside?" you whispered, your voice a little breathless as you tried to introduce a playful note to break the suffocating heat. you reached out, your fingers sliding into his damp hair, playfully messing up the strands he’d just shaken back. "you're gonna get shivering cold out here, dj."

rindou didn't lean back. if anything, your touch only anchored him closer. an incredibly soft look passed over his features, his gaze dropping to the wet skin of your legs.

"you shouldn't worry about that. c'mon, lay all your worries on me," he said, his voice dropping. he leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your left knee. the warmth of his mouth sent a violent shiver straight up your spine.

"rin... hey," you squeaked out, your hands tightening slightly in his hair as a sudden spike of heat flared in your chest.

he didn't answer with words. instead, one of his hands slid from your thigh down to your right ankle. with effortless strength, he lifted your right leg out of the pool, placing your foot flat on the wet concrete ledge beside your hips, leaving only your left leg still swaying in the dark water. the movement opened your posture completely to him, breaking the final barrier between you.

"mmm?" he hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating straight through you.

his thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of your ankle before his mouth made contact again. he started kissing his way up from your right ankle, his lips hot as they trailed slow, torturous paths up your calf, heading straight for your inner thigh.

but then he stalled on the soft skin just below your knee, his chest heaving as he drank in the ragged sound of your breathing. the silence of the patio was entirely gone, replaced by the thrum of your racing pulse.

you leaned back slightly, one hand pressing flat against the damp concrete behind you to support your weight, your fingers digging into the stone. with your free hand, you let your fingers slide from his wet hair down to the line of his jaw, your palm cupping his face. your thumb moved instinctively, brushing slowly over his bottom lip, smoothing the wetness there.

"rin," you whispered, your voice trembling. "you're fucking crazy, y'know?"

rindou's eyes blew out, heavy with a hunger he’d kept chained up for months. he leaned into your palm, his lips darting out to kiss the very tip of your thumb before he spoke. "i've always been crazy for you. you're just finally noticing, doll."

"what about ran? the others inside? they might see us." you breathed, a desperate, last ditch effort.

"let them watch," he murmured, his jaw tightening as his hand slid further up your inner thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your swimwear. "let the whole fucking world know. i don't give a fuck."

before you could even process the weight of his words, rindou surged upward. your fingers immediately tangled deep into his damp hair, pulling him down into a bruising, breathless kiss. his tongue immediately claimed yours, deep and demanding, entirely consuming your mouth. the heat of him was intoxicating, completely erasing everything else.

you were pulling him closer, your weight leaning entirely too far over the edge, when his hands gripped your hips a little too hard. the physics of the slippery wet concrete gave way, and with a sudden, breathless yelp from you, the action made you fall straight down into the pool with him.

splaaaaash!

the cool water engulfed you both, the sudden immersion breaking the kiss as you both surfaced, gasping for air. rindou’s hair was completely flattened against his face, his eyes blinking through the water, looking entirely stunned before that bright, raspy laugh tore from his throat.

you couldn't help the helpless, giddy giggling that bubbled up in your chest, your hands splashing him weakly as you wiped the water from your eyes. "you idiot! look what you did!"

"man, this is totally your fault," he teased, his voice thick with amusement as he closed the distance between you again, his laughter dying out as his gaze dropped to your lips.

he didn't let the lighthearted moment last long. under the dark, heavy cover of the water, his hand traveled down, his palm tapping your ass with a firm, possessive slap that sent a sudden jolt of electricity straight to your core.

"up," he murmured. your hands instantly flew to wrap tightly around his neck, your fingers burying themselves in the wet nape of his hair to anchor yourself to him. instinctively, your knees hooked around his waist, your legs wrapping tightly around him underwater as his strong arms wrapped under your thighs to hold you up. he pressed your bodies flush together, the connection of your bare skin underwater making your breath hitch.

rindou didn't even have to wait before his mouth came down on yours again, twice as hungry as before. you were already making out desperately, your tongues tangling in a deep, wet collision that tasted like pool water and sudden, unadulterated heat. his lips were bruising, completely consuming yours while he walked backward through the deep end, carrying your weight effortlessly. the rhythmic movement of his strides underwater ground your hips firmly against his, making a soft, muffled whimper escape your throat straight into his mouth.

you were completely dazed, your hands gripping the damp skin of his neck for dear life, until you finally felt your back hitting flat against the cold concrete wall of the pool.

the solid impact didn't break the kiss. instead, rindou used the wall to pin you completely, his large hands sliding down to anchor your hips firmly against the stone. he pressed his entire chest flush against yours, trapping you in the dark water as his mouth grew even more ruthless, devouring you like he was trying to leave a permanent mark.

you moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled directly against his lips as the friction of his chest against yours sent a sharp spark of heat straight down your spine.

"don't do that," he murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to pull his lips back a fraction, his eyes blown out as they stared down into yours. his breath was coming in short, ragged gasps.

"do what?" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your head spinning from the sudden lack of his mouth.

instead of answering with words, rindou shifted his weight, his hips pressing back against yours slightly harder, grinding himself directly against your center. the sudden sensation made a sharp moan escape your throat again.

"that," he rasped, a lazy smirk finally cutting through the intensity on his face.

"what..." you countered, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way your heart was hammering against your ribs.

"you can't do that," he whispered. "i'm totally gonna lose it."

before you could even process the threat, one of his hands traveled down from your hip, slipping beneath the surface of the dark water to find your swimsuit bottom, while his other arm stayed hooked securely under your thigh to support your weight and position against the concrete.

his fingers flattened against the fabric, teasing your core through the clothed touch. he just rubbed his palm over the material in slow, torturous circles, the sensation of his touch sending a violent shiver through your entire body.

"every single noise you're making right now just proves he was a waste of your fucking time," he taunted. his fingers pressed a little firmer against the cloth, grinding into you with an agonizingly perfect rhythm. "i'll make you forget about him."

"holy s-shit rin… please-" you choked out, your hands tightening desperately around his neck as your hips instinctively rolled into his palm, chasing the friction through the fabric.

he let out a low, satisfied chuckle against your skin, entirely unbothered by your quiet begging. "please what, love? i'm just getting started."

he kept up the clothed torment for a few more agonizing seconds, driving you completely insane in the dark water, until he finally decided you’d had enough. with a sudden movement, his fingers hooked into the edge of your swimsuit bottom.

the raw heat of his hand against your bare skin felt entirely too loud in the quiet pool. you let out a broken, shattered gasp, your hands tightening frantically around his neck as his fingers made direct contact with your wet core.

rindou didn't hesitate. with a low, possessive rumble in his chest, he slid his first finger inside of you, the sudden fullness making your hips instinctively buck against his hand. the water did nothing to cool the absolute friction of his touch.

"r-rin... wait," you whimpered, your head tilting back against the concrete wall as a second finger pushed past your entrance, stretching you open. your breath was coming in short, panicked pants. "someone... they might see us still..."

rindou chuckled against your jaw, the vibration sending a thrill straight to your stomach. he didn't slow down. instead, his thumb found your clit underwater, pressing down firmly as his fingers inside you hooked upward, hitting a spot that made your whole body go entirely rigid.

a loud, breathless cry threatened to tear from your throat, but before it could echo across the patio, rindou pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. his gaze was completely dark, a smirk playing on his lips as he picked up the pace, his fingers working inside you with a rhythmic speed that had you drowning in pleasure.

"then you keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut," he whispered. "because if you don't, they really will."

your toes curled underwater, your hips helplessly rolling into his hand as you tried to stifle your whimpers against his shoulder. every stroke was more demanding, completely washing away the last of your thoughts. you were so close, your breath hitching as the tension in your lower stomach wound tighter and tighter-

"oiiiii! you two!"

the loud, echoing shout shattered the quiet night.

the voice came from directly above. you both froze instantly. rindou’s fingers stopped dead inside you, his entire body going rigid as his head snapped upward.

leaning halfway out of his second story bedroom window was ran. even in the dim light, you could see his long hair over his shoulder and the profound look of irritation on his face.

"i can hear the water splashing from up here," ran called down, his smooth voice dripping with exhausted sarcasm. "and if i hear one more suspicious whimper-like sound, i'm dumping a bucket of ice water down there. go to sleep before i come down there and drown the both of you."

with a loud, dramatic sigh, ran slammed his bedroom window shut, the lock clicking loudly in the quiet night air.

the silence that followed was heavy.

you slowly looked back at rindou, your heart hammering against your ribs from the sheer panic of almost getting caught. your face was burning a furious shade of red. rindou stared at the closed window for a second, a frustrated curse muttering under his breath. slowly and teasingly, his fingers slid out of your slick warmth, the empty sensation making you let out a tiny, involuntary whine.

without another word, the two of you silently scrambled out of the pool, parting ways in a blur of quiet, awkward tension. you grabbed your towel, giving him a hurried, breathless look before slipping back inside and heading straight for the privacy of the bathroom.

once you were standing in the shower, the hot water finally drizzling down from above, you let your head rest against the cool tile. your thoughts were a chaotic, buzzing mess. you couldn't believe what had just happened out there. you’d been so close, completely consumed by him, and the abrupt, humiliating interruption left a heavy, aching frustration throbbing deep in your lower stomach.

you wanted him.

you wanted what he was doing to you.

the sudden, sharp slide of the glass shower door cut your thoughts entirely short.

you gasped, turning around to find rindou stepping directly into the steam with you. he was completely bare, the water instantly slicking down his tattooed torso.

"i'm not yet done with you," he murmured, his voice low.

"what the fuck rindou!!" you breathed, your back pressing against the tiled wall as your heart leaped into your throat. "you can't just-"

"it's not like my fingers weren't up your pussy minutes ago, doll," he cut you off, his tone completely flat and dripping with pure, unapologetic confidence.

before you could even utter another word, he closed the distance. rindou's hand slid up to your throat in one fluid motion, holding you just firmly enough to tilt your head back as his mouth crashed down onto yours.

the makeout was instantly hot and consuming. the rush of the water drizzling from above fell over both of you as your tongues tangled, a messy clash of desperate lips. your hands flew up, your palms flat against his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heartbeat under your fingers. you melted completely, whimpering directly into his mouth as his other hand slid down from the wall, tracing a burning path down the valley of your chest, over your stomach, and straight down between your thighs.

he kept kissing you ruthlessly, his tongue deep and demanding, entirely keeping you dazed while his fingers gently parted your legs. he nudged his knee between yours to open you up, pinning your hips securely against the tiled wall. you couldn't break away even if you wanted to, the sheer heat of his lips and the wet friction of his body flush against yours had you completely trapped.

his hand guided his length to your wet entrance, still thoroughly devouring your mouth, before he finally drove all the way inside you with an agonizingly smooth thrust.

the sudden, overwhelming fullness made you tear your mouth away from his.

"rindou!!!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the wet tiles as your fingers dug desperately into his shoulders, your back arching off the wall.

you both had been wanting this for so fucking long. the tension that had built between you for months, hidden behind the ‘best friend’ titles, finally snapped.

"be a good girl for me," he rasped against your lips as his hips immediately ground against yours, immediately hitting the right spots.

"ugh, fuck, yeah... just like that," you moaned.

he didn't let you breathe. his hand found your throat again, his fingers wrapping firmly around the front of your neck to tilt your head up, while his other hand gripped your hip to anchor you flush against his chest. with his hand holding your throat, he pulled you impossibly closer, his mouth perfectly aligned to your ear.

"look what i'm doing to you," he rasped, driving into you with relentless force.

the sheer sensation of him moving inside you under the streaming hot water was overwhelming, sending waves of pure, blinding pleasure crashing over your head. you could barely keep your eyes open, your hands gripping his wet shoulders as you cried out his name, entirely undone by the brutal depth of his thrusts.

he let out a low chuckle at the sound of his name on your lips, his pace turning even more vicious. he ground his hips flush against yours, locking you in place so you had to take every single bit of him.

"see, doll?" rindou whispered against your ear, pulling you so close his lips brushed your lobe. "fucking you like this... and now all you remember is my name."

sanzu haruchiyo.

the dread that’s found its way into your stomach doesn’t leave, exactly; it merely transforms, reorganizing itself into something more familiar, the particular weariness you’ve been experiencing for the better part of a year now, ever since this man walked into your life and refused to walk back out of it.

through the fisheye warp of the peephole, you see him in pieces. pink first— that ridiculous mullet, unmistakable even distorted, even before your eyes have fully adjusted. then bright blue irises, which find the lens with unsettling accuracy, like he can see you through it. knowing him, he’s simply decided you’re there and committed to the bit. then there’s the signature grin, wide and wolfish. the scars pulling at the corners of it, the ones you’ve traced with your fingertips a hundred times and asked about only once.

he looks pleased with himself, but since that’s his default state, it tells you nothing.

you’re already sighing to yourself, already reaching for the deadbolt as a lecture readies itself on the tip of your tongue— phones exist, haruchiyo, we have literally talked about this, you can’t keep materializing at my door like a cryptid— and then your brain finishes processing the full image of him, and the words die in your throat.

because there’s a dark patch of something on his shirt, spreading from his ribs down past the hem. 

you wrench the door open so fast the chain you forgot to unlatch snaps taut, and it bounces back at you. you curse, fumbling with it, your hands suddenly stupid, and you get it free on the second try. when it’s completely flung open, sanzu stands in your doorway, loose-limbed and swaying slightly like he’s listening to music, and upon closer inspection, he is covered in blood. what you’d previously mistaken for shadows proves to be a fine spray of it across his cheek and part of his throat.

“hi there, dollface,” he practically purrs.

“oh my god.” you grab a fistful of his sleeve and haul him over the threshold. thankfully, he comes easily, letting himself be steered. your hands are moving before you’ve made a single conscious decision, because the terrible thing is… you’ve done this before.

only once, but you have a procedure.

eight months ago, sanzu had shown up at this same door at two in the morning, ghostly pale and holding his side, sliced open along the ribs from something he never quite explained. you’d spent that night on your bathroom floor learning things you never wanted to know— how to butterfly a wound that truly needed stitches, how much gauze one human being can go through, how his breathing changed when the pain spiked, and how he’d joked through all of it, voice paper thin, like if he stopped performing he’d have to be a person who was hurt. you’d fallen asleep sitting up against the tub with his head heavy in your lap. in the morning, he was gone and there was money on your kitchen counter, and neither of you have mentioned it since.

so your body knows the drill, even while your mind is white noise. door shut, lock turned, get him under the light, find the wound—

“where..” you barely manage to keep the panic from leeching into your voice, “where is it, where are you hurt— sit down, why are you just— haru, sit down—”

he doesn’t listen. instead, he stands in the middle of your kitchen while you pull at the wet fabric of his shirt. it’s worse up close. the smell of it, and the sheer volume of it, soaked through from his ribs to his hip. you peel his shirt away from his stomach with both hands, searching the skin underneath, and some distant part of your brain has become a grim little accountant: that’s too much. that’s too much blood. a person doesn’t stay standing after losing that much blood. 

your fingers keep expecting to find the tear, the pucker of flesh, the heat of an open wound, and they keep finding smooth skin. your panic intensifies every second you spend searching, because if you can’t find it, you can’t fix it, and if you can’t fix it, then tonight is the night. the one you’ve been bracing for since the first time this happened— the night your terrible arrangement with this terrible man finally costs more than you have.

“left side, right side, where—” you’re circling him now, checking his back with shaky hands. “you have to tell me where, i can’t— is it your leg? is it—”

“you’re so cute when you do this,” he says, dreamily.

“where are you hurt, haruchiyo?”

you grab his wrist to take his pulse, jamming two fingers against it, and it’s absolutely pounding. way, way too fast, and your grim little accountant supplies the answer immediately: shock. he’s going into shock, that’s why he won’t answer you, oh god, he’s going to go down right here on your kitchen floor—

“calm down, it’s not mine.”

relief hits first. it’s chemical, instant, your whole body unclenching before the words have even finished processing— he’s fine, he’s not hurt, he’s fine— a wave of it so strong your knees actually dip.

and then, arriving a half-second behind it like the second car in a pileup, the rest.

if not his…

then whose?

suddenly, the kitchen is quiet. the refrigerator hums. somewhere below, a neighbor’s television whispers through the floor. and you are standing there holding the wrist of a man soaked in someone else’s blood, and his pulse is still hammering beneath your fingertips— not from shock, you understand now, but with something much more dangerous.

sanzu watches you with his head tilted, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s seen all night. which, considering what he’s apparently been up to, is a bold assumption. “you gonna let go now? or are you that desperate to get your hands on me?”

you drop his wrist like it burned you, eyes narrowing up at him, but he just grins.

you take a step back, attempting to put some space between you, even though the kitchen suddenly feels too small. your heart is still racing from the panic, but now it’s mixing with something hotter and uglier— frustration, the kind that only sanzu can ever pull out of you.

“haruchiyo,” you say, and your voice is tight. “you cannot keep doing this. showing up at my door in the middle of the night covered in— in that— and expecting me to just… what? patch you up and pretend it’s fine? i thought you were dying. do you understand how fucked up that is?”

he tilts his head the other way. his pupils are huge, dilated so much that only a thin ring of pale blue encircles them. whatever he took tonight is still riding him hard.

“i like it when you fuss over me,” he shrugs. “checkin’ my pulse like a good little nurse. i think you just made my night, honestly.”

your jaw tightens. “i’m not fussing. i’m pissed— and scared. and you’re not even telling me what happened. again. look, if you want to sell drugs, i don’t care. but you can’t keep doing this. whatever bullshit you’re involved in, i don’t want a part in it.”

the words slip out sharper than you meant them to. you’ve never said it so plainly before— the suspicion that’s been sitting heavy in your chest for months. that he’s not just some guy with a bad habit. that whatever he does when he’s not here involves a lot more than recreational pills.

sanzu’s grin doesn’t falter. “aw, baby, you think i’m a drug dealer? that’s adorable. you’ve been sitting here makin’ up little stories about me in that pretty head of yours.”

you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware that you’re only in a thin camisole and pajama shorts. “i don’t know what you are because you won’t tell me. you just show up, bleed on my floor, fuck me, and leave money on the counter like— like i’m some kind of hooker!”

okay, you know you’re reaching, but the words are already out. sanzu’s head tilts again, slower this time. his grin softens at the edges, but it doesn’t disappear. if anything, it grows a little meaner. a little more knowing.

“oh yeah? that really what you think, princess? that i only come around ‘cause of that perfect cunt? that i’m ‘paying’ you for the privilege of using it?”

your face burns as you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

he takes a step closer, and you can see the fine spray of blood across his throat, the way it’s dried in the hollow of his collarbone. you should be disgusted. you are disgusted. but your body doesn’t seem to care. your pulse is fluttering for an entirely different reason now, and the space between your thighs is already warm in a way that makes you want to cross your legs.

sanzu watches the realization flicker across your face like it’s his favorite show.

“you know that’s bullshit,” he continues. “i’ve fucked you plenty of times without leavin’ a single yen on your counter. i’ve fucked you fast. slow. while i’ve been drunk, high. i’ve fucked you when i was half-asleep and just wanted to be inside you. i’ve let you ride me until you cried because you needed it. don’t act like this is some kind of transaction, doll. you know better.”

you hate how right he is. you hate that he can see straight through the flimsy defense you threw up between you. your arms are still crossed over your chest, but it feels defensive now instead of angry. the fear is still there, sharp and electric under your skin, but it’s twisting into something else. something hotter that makes your breath come shorter.

he’s too far gone tonight. you can see it in the way he sways, in the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, in the restless energy rolling off him in waves. this isn’t one of the nights where he lets you pull him back down to earth. this is one of the nights where he’s going to drag you to hell with him.

and the worst part is that some deep, shameful part of you wants to go.

sanzu reaches into his pocket like he’s pulling out a cigarette. a small pocketknife appears in his hand instead, the blade catching the overhead light in a mean flash. he doesn’t brandish it or point it at you. he just holds it loosely and watches your face.

your stomach drops. you’ve never been in a situation like this. you’ve seen knives in kitchens and utility drawers and the occasional self-defense video that popped up on your feed, but you’ve never stood in your own apartment while a man covered in someone else’s blood held one like an extension of his body. the fear that spikes through you this time is bright and immediate, and it makes your breath catch as your nipples tighten against the thin fabric of your shirt.

but it doesn’t make you step back, even when sanzu steps in again, close enough that you have to tilt your head to keep looking at him. the knife moves slowly, almost lazily, as the tip traces a light path down the center of your chest, right between the swell of your breasts, and the metal is cold enough to make you shiver.

“h-haru—” your voice comes out more uncertain than you want it to.

“shhh.” the tip of the blade catches the thin strap of your camisole, and he drags it down until the fabric pulls taut. with one quick flick, the strap snaps, and the garment slips lower on one side, baring the curve of your shoulder and the top of your breast. “you’re still actin’ like you’re mad at me. but you started clenching your thighs the second i pulled this out.”

you want to deny it, but the words won’t come. your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. the fear is real, but it’s tangled up with something else now. something that makes your thighs press together without your permission.

sanzu’s free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking once over your cheekbone. his touch is gentle. the knife is not. he drags the flat of it across your collarbone, and the metal leaves goosebumps in its wake, drawing his attention to the way your chest begins to rise and fall in shallow stutters.

“you’re scared,” he murmurs, his tone almost thoughtful. “but you’re not running. not tellin’ me to get the fuck out either. you’re standing here letting me tease you with this while your pussy’s probably beggin’ for some lovin’.”

“haru, i—”

the knife moves again. this time the tip catches the neckline of your camisole and slices downward in one smooth motion. the fabric parts like paper, falling open to bare your breasts to the cool kitchen air, and sanzu makes a low, appreciative sound when your nipples instantly harden.

“so pretty,” he comments absently, tracing the flat of the blade over one of them slowly, the metal making it pebble even harder. “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re like this. all soft and innocent and tryin’ so hard to stay mad at me.”

you’re not mad anymore. the anger has burned itself out, replaced by something more complicated. frustration, yes— at him, but also at yourself. at the way your body keeps betraying you. but it’s drowned out by the arousal curling low in your belly and the sharp edge of fear that heightens your senses.

he backs you up until your spine hits the counter, the knife never leaving your skin. it traces down between your breasts again, then lower, across your stomach, until the tip is resting just above the waistband of your pajama shorts. your hands grip the counter behind you. you don’t know if you’re bracing yourself or offering yourself.

sanzu leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth— soft, almost sweet— while the knife presses a little harder against your stomach.

“you still want me.” he says it against your skin. 

you swallow, but your voice still comes out small. “i do.”

the curve of his lips is slow and satisfied. “good girl.”

he hooks the knife under the waistband of your shorts and slices through the fabric with one clean motion. the ruined material falls away, leaving you nearly naked in your own kitchen with your shirt hanging open and your shorts in pieces on the floor. sanzu steps back just enough to look at you, and the hunger in his eyes makes your knees feel weak.

he doesn’t give you time to find your balance. his hands are on your waist before you can speak, lifting you onto the counter. the granite is cold against the backs of your thighs, your ruined camisole still hanging open, but he doesn’t bother with it. instead, he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and tugs them down your legs. they catch on one ankle before he pulls them free and drops them to the floor with the rest of your clothes.

you’re completely naked now. you can feel every inch of exposed skin as sanzu steps in close, the front of his bloodstained shirt brushing your bare stomach. one hand rests on your knee, pushing your legs wider, while the other momentarily holds the knife to the side.

“look at you,” he grins. “fuckin’ knew you’d be wet.”

you try to close your legs on instinct, but he’s standing between them, and his hand on your knee doesn’t budge. to your mortification, two lithe fingers drag through your folds, gathering the slick that’s already begun weeping out, and the wet sound it makes is obscene in the quiet kitchen, nearly causing you to flinch.

“positively dripping,” he announces, and then, as if to prove he’s telling the truth, he brings his fingers up so you can see the shine on them. “all that attitude earlier, callin’ yourself a hooker like i’m some john payin’ for time… and here you are, makin’ a mess on my fingers before i’ve even pulled my cock out.”

you open your mouth to snap back, but the words evaporate when he pushes two fingers inside you without warning. the stretch is sudden and perfect, and your head tips back against the cabinet behind you with a soft thud as sanzu watches your face, eyes flicking between your expression and the way your cunt clenches around the digits.

“still wanna pretend you don’t want this?” he asks, curling his fingers just right.

you shake your head because it’s the only answer you can manage. your hands are gripping the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles have gone white.

sanzu makes a pleased sound low in his throat and starts fucking you with his fingers in earnest— deep, rapid strokes that press against that spot inside you on every pull. his thumb brushes your clit, not quite giving you enough pressure, but enough to make your hips twitch forward, chasing the friction.

that’s when the tears start.

they prick hot at the corners of your eyes from everything at once— the leftover anger that’s morphed into frustration, the fear that still hasn’t left your bloodstream, the overwhelming arousal that makes your thighs tremble around his wrist. you’ve never been in a situation like this, never felt so completely at someone else’s mercy while still knowing, bone-deep, that they won’t actually hurt you.

but the possibility is still there— and that possibility is doing something to you that you don’t have words for.

a tear slips free and tracks down your cheek.

sanzu sees it immediately. his rhythm doesn’t falter, but his expression darkens as he leans in without breaking eye contact and licks it off your skin with one slow lap of his tongue. the heat of it makes you shudder.

“there they are,” he breathes against your cheek. his voice has gone softer, but there’s a hunger underneath it you know all too well. “always such a crybaby. been waitin’ on the waterworks since i walked through the door.”

another tear falls. he licks that one too, then presses his mouth to the corner of your eye like he’s trying to catch them before they can escape.

you’re crying properly now, the tears coming faster and blurring your vision as his fingers keep working inside you. the pressure is building fast, tight and insistent, your clit throbbing every time his thumb grazes it. you’re close. so close it almost hurts.

abruptly, sanzu pulls his fingers out. you gasp at the sudden emptiness, a whine crawling up your throat only to taper off when he presses the flat of the blade directly against your clit— the cold, unyielding metal right where you’re most sensitive. the contrast makes your whole body jerk, and a broken sound escapes your throat.

“i know, i know,” he soothes, even as he rubs the flat of the knife in slow circles over your swollen clit. “i got you. just feel it.”

your hips rock forward on their own, grinding against the cold metal. it should feel wrong. it should feel terrifying. instead, it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the fear and the pleasure twisting together until you can’t discern where one ends and the other begins.

he pushes his fingers back inside you at the same time he keeps the knife pressed to your clit, and the combination is almost too much. your orgasm is right there, hovering just out of reach, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breath coming in wet, broken pants.

that’s when he makes the cut. it’s small and deliberate, high on your inner thigh, just below where his fingers are buried inside you. the sting is bright and sharp and perfect, hitting at the exact moment your body is teetering on the edge, and the pain topples you over before you can even process what’s happened.

you cum with a loud sob, thighs clamping around his wrist and walls pulsing hard around his fingers as your orgasm crashes through you. your tears are streaming freely now— from the intensity, from the sting of the cut, from the devastating combination of everything all at once. 

sanzu groans like the sound of you falling apart is the best thing he’s ever heard. he works you through it, fingers slowing but not stopping until the pleasure tips into something almost painful.

only then does he pull back. he brings his hand— the one that’s been holding the knife— up to his mouth and licks the small smear of blood on his thumb from the cut on your thigh, his eyes never leaving your face. the sight makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.

“fuckin’ masochist,” he muses out loud. “didn’t even know it until tonight, did ya? the second i cut you, you squeezed down so hard i thought you were gonna break my fingers.”

you can’t answer. your chest is heaving and your face is wet and your thigh is stinging in the best possible way. sanzu leans in and kisses you, tasting like copper and salt and something darker.

when he finally pulls back, he helps you down from the counter onto shaky legs. your knees nearly buckle, but he catches you easily, turning you around so your front is pressed against the counter. he nudges your feet apart with his boot, and then you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance before he pushes in with one smooth thrust.

you’re still sensitive from your orgasm, still fluttering around him, and the stretch makes fresh tears well in your eyes. but sanzu doesn’t give you time to adjust, beginning to fuck you in steady strokes that push you forward against the counter with every piston of his hips. one hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, the other lifting the knife up to press it against the side of your throat.

the position is vulnerable in a way that makes your stomach twist— bent over your own kitchen counter, completely naked, while he’s still fully clothed and covered in someone else’s blood. the knife at your throat is a constant reminder. every time your pulse jumps, he can practically feel it through the metal.

“you like this, huh?” he pants against the back of your neck as his hips snap forward. “like it when i scare you a lil’. like it when i make you cry while i’m buried in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

you nod mindlessly, and sanzu’s laugh is low and breathless. “my sweet lil’ girl. maybe one day i should carve my name into this pretty thigh of yours, right next to that cut i just gave you. let everyone who sees it know exactly who you belong to.”

the words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you clench around him hard enough that he curses and fucks you harder, the knife pressing a little more firmly against your throat.

he doesn’t last much longer after that. the intoxicating cocktail of everything— the blood on his clothes, the way you’re crying and clenching around his cock, the leftover high still buzzing beneath his skin— pushes him over the edge. he pulls out at the last second, strokes himself twice, and cums across your ass and the small of your back in hot, messy stripes. you feel every pulse of it.

for a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and his low, shaky laughs as he comes down. then, the knife finally drops to the counter beside your head with a soft clatter.

sanzu stays pressed against you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades as one hand strokes soothing circles over your hip. when he finally pulls back, he grabs a dish towel and wets it under the tap, cleaning you up with surprising gentleness— wiping the cum from your skin and pressing the damp cloth to the fresh cut on your thigh until the bleeding slows. 

he doesn’t bandage it, but he does kiss the skin above it, soft and almost apologetic.

then he turns you around and pulls you into his arms. your legs are still shaky, and your head feels light, the cut on your thigh registering in a way that makes your stomach churn with leftover heat. sanzu lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you down the short hallway to your bedroom, laying you down on the sheets before crawling in beside you.

he pulls you against his chest and tucks your head under his chin. “you okay?” 

you nod against his chest, your voice hoarse from crying. “yeah, ‘m just sleepy.”

he hums and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “sleep, doll. like i said, i’ve got you.”

you don’t remember falling asleep. one minute you’re listening to his heartbeat, slow and steady under your ear, and the next you’re gone.

when you wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.

sunlight filters through the blinds in thin stripes across your sheets. your body aches in places that make you wince when you stretch— the cut on your thigh throbs, your throat feels raw, and there’s a pleasant soreness between your legs that makes heat crawl up your neck when you remember why.

you lie there for a while before you finally drag yourself out of bed. the kitchen is exactly how you left it. your ruined clothes are still on the floor, and the dish towel is draped over the edge of the sink, still damp.

and there, low and behold, in a neat stack beside the coffee maker, is a thick bundle of yen.

you stare at it for a long moment as the golden morning light catches on the edges of the bills.

but you don’t touch it.

At nineteen, you had learned very quickly that growing up and becoming responsible were two different things. You had been forced to become both at once.

Your parents had called it a mistake.

Your old friends slowly stopped answering messages. People in your hometown had opinions about a young woman raising a child alone, and eventually you learned that some people were much kinder when your life looked more like theirs. So you stopped waiting for people to accept you. You built something yourself. For years, it had just been you and your son - Reki.

You worked. You saved. You learned.

You became someone who could handle things because there was someone small depending on you. Your little boy never knew how lonely those years could be.

He only knew that his mother always came home. That there was always dinner. That there were always bedtime stories.

That no matter how tired you were, you always had time for one more dinosaur fact before bed. And that was enough. Until a big opportunity came.

The email had almost looked fake. An international consulting firm based in Roppongi was looking for an executive assistant. The salary was far beyond anything you had earned before. The position offered stability. Benefits. A relocation package. A real chance. You had stared at the screen for nearly ten minutes before finally applying. You expected nothing.

Then they called. A month later, you were standing in your new apartment, surrounded by cardboard boxes and unfamiliar sounds from outside.

Reki sat in the middle of the living room floor, holding his favorite stuffed dinosaur. "Mommy?"

You looked down. "Yes?" He looked around the apartment seriously.

"Is this our new home?" Your heart squeezed slightly. Because technically... it was. But you knew what he was really asking. Are we staying? Are we safe?

You smiled and sat down beside him. "Yes." You gently tapped his dinosaur's head. "This is our new home."

His eyes brightened. "Can Dino have a room?"

You laughed. "Dino can have whatever he wants."

He immediately stood up. "Dino chooses the sofa."

"Of course he does." You watched him run around the apartment, already making it his own. The apartment wasn't luxurious.

Not by Roppongi standards. The kitchen was small. The walls were thin.

The balcony looked directly toward the neighboring apartment. But it was clean. Safe. Close to your new workplace.

And most importantly, it was yours.

A fresh start.

-

The first week disappeared faster than you expected. Your new job was demanding.

Not impossible, but different. Everyone moved quickly in Tokyo.

Emails.Meetings.Schedules.

Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing while you were still figuring out which train exit was closest to your office.

Your son adjusted faster than you did.

Of course he did. Children were incredible like that. He made friends quickly. Learned the area. Found his favorite convenience store snack within three days.

You were the one who still sometimes stood in the middle of the train station wondering if you were going the right way.

Still... every night you picked him up from daycare and heard tiny footsteps running toward you, an exited "Mommy!" call out to you: it reminded you why you had done this.

You were building something stable for your small family.

All the new changes, the unpacking and getting used to your new life made you barely noticed any neighbors.

The apartment next door had been empty when you moved in. You had seen the nameplate. Haitani, nothing more.

You didn't know who lived there. You didn't know that the two brothers inside were names most people in Roppongi knew.

You didn't know that the younger Haitani brother had spent years building a reputation that made people step aside when he walked past.

To you, he was just a neighbor.

And he had no idea who you were either. Not yet.

-

Six in the evening was strangely peaceful.

Not peaceful in the normal sense. There was always noise around here.

Music and People mostly.

But from his balcony, high above the streets, it was almost tolerable. Rindou leaned against the railing with a canned coffee in his hand.

Ran wasn't home. Which meant the apartment was his own territory for a bit. A rare event. Probably some business or a hair appointment, equally important to his older brother. Rindou didn't care enough to ask about something like that. His eyes moved over the city below.

Then something caught his attention. The balcony next door. The empty apartment. Someone finally lived there. A woman stepped outside carrying a laundry basket.

He watched for a second. Not because he was interested. Just curious. New neighbors were unusual. Especially here. She looked younger than he expected. Not dressed like most people he saw around Roppongi.

No expensive clothes. No obvious attempt to impress anyone. Just comfortable, at home. She started hanging laundry.

Rindou couldn’t help but look at each item she pulled out of the basket.

Tiny clothes. Tiny socks. A small lightning mcqueen t-shirt.

"..."

A kid. Interesting. Before he could think more about it, she looked over. Their eyes met. And then she smiled. "Hi."

Rindou lifted his hand. "Yo."

Rindou wasn't used to conversations starting like that.

Usually, when people noticed him, there was a reaction. A double take and a nervous glance and most definitely a sudden change in attitude. People knew the Haitani name.

They knew enough to be careful. But she didn't. She just looked at him like he was some guy living next door.

"You live next door?" she asked. Rindou took another sip of his coffee. "Nah."

Her eyebrows lifted. "..Really?"

"No." There was a brief silence. Then she laughed. Actually laughed. Not awkwardly. Not because she was nervous. Because she genuinely found him ridiculous. "You could've just said yes."

"I could've."

"Then why didn't you?"

He shrugged. "Didn't feel like it."

She shook her head, still smiling.

"You're strange."

"I hear that a lot." That was the first thing he noticed. She wasn't trying too hard. Most people he met wanted something be it Attention or a favor. Something. But she was standing there with a laundry basket, talking to him because they happened to be neighbors. Nothing more. "You just moved in?" he asked.

"Yeah." She looked around briefly.

"About a week ago."

"Thought so."

"Was it obvious?"

"The apartment wasn't empty anymore." She looked at him for a second before nodding softly. "That's your way of welcoming someone?"

"Pretty much."

"I'll remember that." Another piece of laundry went onto the line. For some reason, Rindou didn't go back inside. He usually would have. A few words were enough.

Conversation over. But something about the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was easy. "You don't sound like you're from Tokyo," he said. You looked back at him. "I'm not."

"Thought so."

"Is my accent that obvious?"

"No."

"Then how did you know?"

He shrugged. "You just seem different."

The word made you pause for a moment. Different. You had heard that before. Sometimes people meant it kindly. Sometimes they didn't.

But the way he said it didn't sound like an insult. It was just an observation. "I grew up somewhere much smaller." you explained.

"Must be a big change." You looked out over the city. "It is." The skyline stretched endlessly in front of you. So many buildings.

So many lives happening all at once. "But it's a good change."

"You moved here for work?" You nodded. "Yeah."

"What do you do?"

"I'm an executive assistant at a consulting firm." Rindou raised his eyebrows slightly. "Sounds serious."

You laughed. "It feels serious."

"Like it?"

You thought about it. About the pressure and the expectations. The fact that you were finally doing something that made you feel like you had a future. Then you smiled.

"Yeah. I do." And for some reason, that answer stayed with him. Because you didn't say it like someone trying to convince themselves. You actually meant it.

The conversation probably would have continued. Maybe. Rindou wasn't sure.

He wasn't the type to stand around talking to strangers. But somehow, he wasn't in a hurry to leave. Then; "MOMMY!" The sound came from inside your apartment. Rindou watched as a little boy appeared at the balcony door, holding a plastic dinosaur.

Messy hair. Sleepy eyes. Pajamas.

A tiny person who clearly had very important business. You immediately smiled. "There you are Reki."

"I finally found him!" He said as he wiggled his blue spiked dinosaur in front of him. You looked at the dinosaur. "You found him?" The boy nodded seriously. "He was hiding."

"Was he?"

"Yeah."

A pause. "He wanted to surprise me." You laughed quietly. "Of course he did."

Only then did the boy notice Rindou. He stared. Then looked back at you.

"Who's that?" Your expression softened slightly.

"Oh." You glanced toward him. "Our neighbor."

Neighbor. Rindou looked at the boy. Then back at you. The tiny clothes suddenly made sense. The socks. The shirt. The little voice calling you Mommy. You had a child.

And for some reason, that realization made something in him stop. Not because it was bad. Not because he judged you. It just changed the situation. You weren't some girl he could casually invite out. You weren't someone with no responsibilities. You had a whole life. A little boy who depended on you.

A world completely separate from his. And suddenly, the distance between those two worlds felt much bigger than the space between your balconies.

"See ya." You blinked. "Huh?"

But he was already stepping backward. The balcony door slid shut.

And just like that: He was gone.

You stared at the closed door. For a few seconds, you didn't move. Was that it? You looked down at your son. Then back at the balcony. The conversation had been nice.

Actually nice. It had been the first time since moving that you had spoken to someone around your age outside of work. You weren't expecting anything. You weren't looking for anything. You were just happy to talk. And then the second he realized you had a child... he left.

“This Mister has Dino hair mommy.” Reki stated with a hand on his chin like it was a serious acknowledgment. Not knowing what to answer to him a small sigh just escaped you. Maybe you had gotten too comfortable. Maybe he was just being polite. You turned back toward the laundry. "..Shit." The word slipped out before you could stop it. "Mommy." Looking at you with a serious expression, as serious as your sweet boy can get.

You froze. Slowly, you looked down.

Your son stood there with his arms crossed.

"You just said a bad word." You closed your eyes. "I know."

"You have to put a coin in the swear Piggy."

You looked at him. Then at your neighbors balcony. Then back at him.

"...You're right." He nodded proudly. "The rules are the rules." You couldn't help laughing. "Yes, they are." And then..a sound. A quiet laugh, more like a snort. You stopped. Your head turned toward the balcony next door again. The curtain moved slightly. Just enough. Your eyes narrowed.

"...Seriously?" Nothing. Silence. You folded your arms. "What is this guy's deal?"

On the other side of the wall, Rindou leaned back against the balcony door. He hadn't meant to laugh. It just happened.

The swear piggy.? That kid enforcing the rules. The way you looked completely offended by the fact that he was secretly listening. It was funny. And worse it kinda was cute. Rindou hated that.

Because he knew himself. He was not someone who did slow. If he wanted something, he went after it. If something became complicated, he walked away.

Simple. Fast. Easy.

That was how he lived. But now there was a woman next door who somehow made him curious. A woman with a kid. A woman who had no idea who he was. A woman who looked at him without fear. And that was inconvenient. Very inconvenient. Because Rindou Haitani had spent years becoming someone dangerous. And somehow the thing that made him hesitate wasn't a fight.

It was a young mother hanging damn laundry on a balcony.

-

The next morning, Rindou told himself he wouldn't think about it. He had more important things to do. Tenjiku had business. Ran was annoying. Life was normal. A neighbor was just a neighbor.

That was all. Except... When he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there with your son waiting for the elevator; He stopped.

And Reki immediately pointed at him.

"Dinosaur guy." Rindou blinked. "What?" Your son held up his toy dinosaur. "Mommy's neighbor." You covered your face slightly, while offering him a small bow of your head. "I'm sorry." Rindou looked between the two of you. Then at your son.

"...Dinosaur guy?"

"He doesn't know your name yet.” you explained. A pause. Then, somehow, the corner of Rindou's mouth lifted. "The names Rindou, tell him that."

Your son looked down at the dinosaur seriously. Then back up. "He can't talk."

Rindou stared. "...Right."

And that was the first time he realized something dangerous. He liked this.

Not the attention. Not the flirting. Not the excitement. Just this. A normal morning. A kid talking about a dinosaur. A woman laughing beside him. Something simple. Something he had never really had. And he had no idea what to do with that.

The most strange thing was… After that morning, it didn't stop. It should have. Rindou knew that. Normally, things stayed simple for him. Someone interesting caught his attention for a moment, then life moved on.

He was busy way too busy. There was always something happening with Tenjiku. Meetings. Problems. People needing answers. People needing reminders of exactly who they were dealing with. His life was loud. Fast. Unpredictable.

There was no space for a quiet neighbor and her five-year-old son. Except somehow... he always found some. It started with small things. Things that shouldn't have mattered. Like seeing you struggle with grocery bags outside the building. Rindou had just gotten back from a meeting when he saw you standing near the entrance, balancing three bags in one hand while trying to stop Reki from running toward the street. "Mommy, look!"

"I see, sweetheart, but please stay close."

"But there's a dog!" Little eyes full of excitement.

"I know, i see him."

"The dog is sooo fluffy looking."

"He really is isn’t he."

Rindou watched for a moment. You looked exhausted. Not unhappy. Just tired. The kind of tired that came from carrying too much for too long.

Before he could stop himself, and he really wanted to, but he just could not, it slipped out: "You need help?" You turned. "Oh." Your face softened when you saw him. "Rindou, hello.” He noticed you remembered his name. For some reason, he liked that. "I can carry those."

"You don't have to."

"I know." He answered and you gave him a small look. "That's your favorite sentence, isn't it?"

"What?"

"You don't have to."

He paused. "...Maybe." You smiled. "Thank you."

He took two bags. Reki mmediately looked up at him. "Dinosaur guy is strong." Rindou looked down. "Still Dinosaur guy?"

"That's what I call you."

"Why?"

The little boy shrugged. "You like dinosaurs."

"I never said that."

"You said hi to Dino, and and and you have dinosaur hair!" Reki pointed out excitedly. Rindou had no response. Because technically... he had and..he..did?

So after that, it became normal. Not really planned by him, or you. And definitely not discussed. It just happened. Sometimes you talked over the balcony. Sometimes you ran into each other in the elevator. Sometimes Rindou came home late and saw your apartment light still on. Sometimes you left early for work and saw him already awake. You slowly learned little things about each other. You learned that he hated mornings.

You learned he drank coffee even though he complained about it. You learned he had a brother. "You and your brother live together?" You had asked one evening while watering your balcony plants. "Unfortunately." You laughed. "That's mean."

"It's accurate."

You smiled. "Are you close?" Rindou was quiet for a moment. Then, "Yeah." Simple. But the way he said it told you enough. Family mattered to him. You didn't know why that surprised you. Maybe because he looked like someone who had never needed anyone. But the more you knew him... the more you realized that wasn't true.

-

The first time Rindou came inside your apartment wasn't planned. Reki had dropped his dinosaur onto the balcony below. You had stared over the railing. "Oh no." Rindou, standing on his balcony in front of you, looked down. "That's not happening."

"I'm sorry?"

"You are not climbing down for a toy dinosaur." You opened your mouth. Closed it. "...I really wasn't going to."

"You were."

"I was just considering it."

"Exactly." Five minutes later, Rindou returned the dinosaur. Your son hugged it immediately. "Thank you Rin!" Rindou awkwardly stood there. "...Yeah."

Then your son looked up. "Do you want cookies?" Rindou blinked. "What?"

"Mommy made cookies." Reki said. You looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. He's very friendly." The boy nodded. "You're our neighbor." As if that explained everything. And somehow... it did. You hesitated. "Would you like one?"

Rindou should have said no. He really had places to be. People waiting. A life completely separate from this. But he looked inside your apartment.

The small dining table. The toys in the corner. The warm light. The normality of it. "...Sure." Just one cookie. That's what he told himself.

It was definitely not just one cookie.

-

Well the first person to notice something was wrong was Ran. Of course it was. Ran noticed everything. They were sitting together after a Tenjiku meeting when Ran looked at him.

"You've been weird." Rindou didn't look up. "No, I haven't."

"You have."

"I'm always weird."

"Not like this." Rindou sighed. "Like what?" Ran smiled. "Content." The silence that followed was immediate. Rindou looked at him. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I did not."

"You did." Ran leaned back. "You've been smiling at your phone."

"I’ve always smiled."

"It’s different now."

"It’s really not Aniki."

"You literally did five seconds ago." Rindou looked away. Annoyed because Ran was right. "The new neighbor." Ran raised an eyebrow. "A neighbor."

"Yes."

"That's your explanation?"

"She's normal."

Ran stared. "...Okay?" Rindou frowned. "Forget it."

"No, no." Ran looked amused now. "Tell me more about this mysterious normal woman."

"She's not mysterious."

"Then why do you sound defensive?"

"I'm not."

"You are." Rindou ignored him. But Ran already knew. Something had changed.

Izana eventually noticed too. And thats when Rindou realized that things mind be more serious than he thought. Izana didn’t notice because Rindou talked about you. He didn't. Rindou wasn't like that. But Izana had always been good at reading people. During a meeting, Rindou checked the time.

Once. Then again. Small. Almost unnoticeable. But Izana noticed. "You have somewhere to be?"

Rindou looked up. "No." A pause. Then: "Yes."

The room went quiet. Ran immediately looked away, already amused. Izana's eyes narrowed slightly. "Interesting." Rindou frowned. "What?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"You're distracted."

"I'm not."

Izana leaned back. "You've never been distracted." Rindou didn't answer. Because he knew exactly what Izana meant. And he hated that he was right. The truth was... he was getting used to you. Used to your voice through the balcony wall. Used to little Reki waving at him thru the window when he came home. Used to the smell of dinner drifting from your apartment.

Used to being someone who was welcomed somewhere. And that was the part that bothered him most. Not the fact that he liked you. That was manageable. The dangerous part was that he liked the life around you. A life that had no place for someone like him. Someone who belonged to Tenjiku. Someone whose hands were not always clean. Someone who disappeared because of things he could never explain.

You had built something peaceful. And Rindou knew exactly how good he was at destroying things. Which meant the closer he got...the more afraid he became of ruining it.

-

After living in Roppongi for a bit and being used to these new changes, you didn't think much of the bank appointment when you booked it.

That was the annoying part. It’s just stuff that nobody likes but needs to be done. It wasn't anything dramatic. No life-changing event, just paperwork. The kind of boring adult responsibility that somehow managed to take up an entire afternoon. The bank needed updated documents connected to your relocation, your salary account, and a few things from your new employer. Simple.

Necessary. Completely exhausting. By the time you stepped outside, the sky had already started turning darker. You looked at your phone. A small sigh escaped you.

Your babysitter had another twenty minutes. Twenty minutes was not a lot. Not enough to stop somewhere. Not enough to relax. Not enough to do anything except walk quickly home. You hated leaving your son with someone else longer than necessary.

It wasn't because you didn't trust the babysitter. You did. She was wonderful and Reki adored her. But a small part of you still struggled with it. You had spent five years being the person who was always there. The person who picked him up. The person who comforted him. The person he looked for first. So every extra minute away felt strange. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and walked faster. Almost home. Just a few more streets….

…

Rindou hated waiting. It was one of the reasons people either liked him or couldn't stand him. He wasn't patient. If something needed to happen, he wanted it done. If someone wasted his time, they stopped being worth his time. Simple. But today, he was sitting outside a convenience store, staring at his phone, with nothing urgent happening. A rare moment. Just enjoying Roppongi at night, his favorite place.

Tenjiku business was quiet. Ran was busy. Izana hadn't called. For once, he had time. Which meant his thoughts had too much room. And unfortunately, they kept going to the same place. The neighbor. You. He hated that. He didn't even know when it started. Maybe when your son started calling him Dinosaur Guy. Maybe when you started laughing at his stupid comments. Maybe when he realized he automatically looked toward your balcony when he came home.

Ridiculous. He wasn't some lovesick teenager. He was Rindou Haitani. Then his phone buzzed. He ignored it. A few seconds later, he looked up. And saw you. You didn't notice him at first. Your mind was somewhere else. Thinking about dinner. Thinking about tomorrow's schedule. Thinking about whether you had enough milk at home. Normal things. You were halfway through the next street when someone stepped into your path. You stopped. "Excuse me." The man didn't move. Your stomach tightened slightly. Something about the situation felt wrong.

"You got somewhere to be?" You forced yourself to stay calm. "Yes."

A second man appeared beside him.

"That's rude."

You looked around. People were walking by. The city was still alive. But somehow, you suddenly felt very alone. "I need to get home."

The first man smiled. "Relax."

You stepped back. "I said I need to go."

His expression changed. And before you could move, his hand grabbed your wrist.

Your heart dropped. "Let go."

"C'mon."

"I said let go." You hated how small your voice sounded. You hated that you were suddenly thinking about your son waiting at home. About how scared he would be if you didn't come back.

Then: the grip disappeared. Not because he let go. Because someone else made him.

The man stumbled backward. A figure stood between you.

Tall. Calm. Familiar. Your breath caught.

"Rindou?" He didn't look at you. His eyes stayed on the men in front of him. And immediately, you knew. This was not the same person who joked with you over the balcony. This was not the man who awkwardly accepted cookies from your son. This was someone else. Someone colder. "You didn't hear her?"

His voice was quiet. Almost bored. "She told you to let go."

One of the men scoffed. "And who are you?"

Rindou tilted his head slightly. "Nobody important." You almost believed that.

Until the man laughed. "Nobody important?" Then he looked closer. And his expression changed. Recognition. Fear. A whisper was heared from him. "...H-haitani."

The air shifted. Rindou didn't answer. He didn't need to. The name alone was enough. And suddenly, you understood. There was something about him you didn't know. Something much bigger than a sarcastic neighbor.

The man’s expression changed the moment he recognized him. The confidence disappeared. The arrogance. The careless attitude. Gone. Because some names carried weight. And apparently... Haitani was one of them.

Rindou looked almost bored. That was the part that unsettled you the most. Not anger. Not shouting. Just calm. "You've got two choices." His voice stayed low. "You walk away." A pause. "Or i’ll make you." The man swallowed. His friend looked between them.

Neither of them wanted to test him. And honestly? You didn't want to know what would happen if they did.

A few seconds later, they disappeared into the crowd. Just like that. The street continued moving. People continued walking. Cars continued passing. Like nothing had happened. But you were still standing there, trying to process everything. Rindou finally turned toward you. And the coldness disappeared.

Almost immediately. "You okay?" You stared at him. Not because you were scared of him. Because you were confused.

This was the same man who had joked with your son about dinosaurs. The same man who had stood awkwardly in your kitchen eating cookies.

But now... "You knew they would leave." It wasn't a question. Rindou looked away. "They made a smart choice." That wasn't an answer. You noticed.

"You scared them." A small shrug. "Maybe." You looked at him. "Rindou..."

He went quiet. For a second, you thought he might actually explain. But he just looked at you . "You were in a hurry." Your eyes widened. "Oh my gosh yeah." The babysitter. You checked the time. You had completely forgotten. "I'm late." You immediately started walking. "I need to go."

Rindou followed. "I'll walk you home." You stopped. "You don't have to."

"I know." You looked at him. There it was again. That sentence. A tiny laugh escaped you despite everything. "That's your favorite answer isn’t it."

"Probably." You shook your head. "You're strange."

"Yeah." And for some reason... his answer made you feel better. That walk home was quieter than usual. Not uncomfortable. Just different. You kept glancing at him. Trying to understand.

Trying to fit the two versions of Rindou together. The man who protected you.

The man who made your son laugh. The man who apparently had a reputation strong enough that strangers backed away just from hearing his name.

When you reached your apartment building, you turned toward him. "Thank you." He looked away. "It's nothing."

"No." You shook your head. "It isn't." For some reason, that made him pause.

People thanked him before. But usually because they were afraid. Or because they wanted something. You were different. You were just grateful. "Seriously." Your voice softened. "Thank you for helping me." A quiet moment passed. Then, "Come inside."

Rindou looked at you. "What?" You immediately realized how it sounded. "Uh i-i was mean-" You laughed nervously. "Reki is still awake. The babysitter is leaving soon. And..." You hesitated. "I will be making dinner."

He stared. "I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything."

"I don't."

"Then why?" You smiled slightly." Because you helped me." No hidden reason. No expectation. Just kindness. And somehow that was harder for him to deal with. "Alright."

Reki immediately appeared the second you opened the door. "Mommy!" Then he stopped. His eyes widened. "Dinosaur Guy!"

Rindou froze. "You still call me that?" Your son nodded proudly. "Because you like Dino. And you have dinosaur hair! "

"Do i?."

But Reki didn’t respond, he just took off to jump onto the couch and continue reading his little story book.

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh. Rindou looked betrayed. "This is your fault." You blinked. "My fault?"

"You laughed the first time."

"...I did."

"Exactly."

Your son appears inf front of Rindou again and grabbed his hand. "Come see." Rindou looked down. "See what?"

"My toys."

"You have a lot of those."

"Yes." A pause. Then Rindou looked at you. Almost like he was asking permission. You smiled. "Go go." And he did.

-

Dinner was simple. Nothing fancy.

Just homemade food, your son talking nonstop, and Rindou sitting at your table like it was the most normal thing in the world. Which was strange. Because for him... it wasn't.

After dinner, Reki suddenly stood up. "Movie." He said dragging out the word more than necessary. You looked at him. "Movie?"

"Toy Story." Rindou looked confused. "Toy Story?"

"Did you never watch it?" Your son looked horrified. Rindou frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Everyone has seen Toy Story."

"I haven't." A moment of silence. Your son slowly turned toward you. "Mommy." You immediately knew that tone. "Yes my love?"

"Rindou needs our movie night." You laughed. "Does he now."

So a few minutes later, the three of you were sitting on the couch. Your son in the middle. A blanket covering his legs.

Rindou sitting slightly stiffly, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Then the movie started. At first, he acted like he wasn't interested. He leaned back. Arms crossed. Pretending.

But slowly... He got into the movie. Because Toy Story wasn't really about toys. It was about being left behind. About growing up. About people changing. About wondering if you still mattered. And maybe that was why it hit him. Because Rindou knew what it felt like to be replaced.

To belong somewhere but still feel like you didn't. Your son laughed beside him. You smiled whenever he reacted. And somewhere during the movie, without realizing it... Rindou stopped feeling like a guest. He was just there. On your couch. Watching a movie. With you. With your son. A normal evening. Something he had never thought he wanted. When the credits rolled, your son was asleep against your side.

You looked over. Rindou was still watching the screen. "Did you like it?" He was quiet for a moment. Then, "...It was okay." You smiled. "Only okay?"

"Yeah."

"You almost cried."

"I did not."

"You did." Dragging out your words on purpose "I didn't." You laughed softly. And Rindou looked at you. Really looked. At your smile. At the little boy sleeping beside you. At this tiny apartment that somehow felt warmer than anywhere he'd been in years. And that was the moment he realized something.

He didn't just like visiting. He liked being here. And that was..something.. Because he knew exactly what kind of world he came from. And he knew exactly what kind of world you had built.

The question wasn't whether he wanted this. The question was whether someone like him was allowed to keep it.

—————————————————————————

A/n: Toy Story 3 made me so so emotional. I will write a Pt.2 where they are mentioned but not in focus because Pt.2 will be about Ran x Reader that’s a Friend of the single Mom Reader yk?

Thanks for reading i hope you enjoyed!!

the rain outside was relentless, a violent downpour that slammed against the windows of rindou's place, turning the tokyo skyline into a blurred, neon smudge.

inside, the only sound was the steady hum of the dryer running in the hallway. you had arrived nearly an hour early, completely soaked to the bone after your umbrella snapped in the wind.

just great, right?

you and rindou had been best friends for as long as you can remember, raiding his place and making yourself at home was second nature to you at this point.

you had immediately stripped out of your dripping clothes, tossed them into the wash, and gone digging through the closet for something to wear. you grabbed the first oversized button down you found in the fresh laundry basket and slipped it on.

now, you found yourself perched sideways on the edge of the kitchen island, the cold marble biting sharply through the thin silk of the shirt as your bare legs dangled over the side. the quiet hum of the apartment was almost hypnotic, punctuated only by the steady drum of rain against the glass. leaning back slightly, you pulled up your chat with rindou, your thumbs tapping out a quick update:

“status report please, where the fuck are you?”

you had just hit send, the screen illuminating your face in the dim kitchen, when the heavy thud of the front door’s lock echoed through the hallway.

"rin, you're late," you called out without looking up, a small smile tugging at your lips as you kept your eyes locked on your phone. "i was honestly about to start raiding your wine cellar without-"

the words died in your throat as your gaze finally drifted up from the glowing screen.

it wasn't rindou.

ran stepped into the entryway, and the entire energy of the room shifted in a single heartbeat. he looked utterly undone by the storm outside. his hair was damp, heavy strands clinging to his forehead and the sides of his face, with droplets of stray rainwater slowly tracing a path down his temples and jawline. he looked exhausted, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

without even acknowledging you yet, his fingers went straight to his neck. with a sharp motion, he yanked his tie loose and tossed it carelessly onto the nearest table. his formal suit jacket followed, discarded onto a nearby chair. he began unbuttoning the top of his button down shirt, peeling the damp fabric away, the action exposing the intricate tattoos on his torso.

and then, his heavy lidded violet eyes finally lifted, locking directly onto you.

ran froze. the tired expression on his face completely vanished, replaced by an intense stare that made your breath catch. his gaze slowly swept over your form sitting on his kitchen counter. he tracked the way the rich, dark purple fabric swallowed your frame, the hem barely riding low enough to cover the tops of your bare thighs, leaving your legs completely exposed under the dim kitchen lights.

the silence between you became suffocating, heavy with a sudden and thick tension.

"well, well," ran murmured, his voice sent a involuntary shiver straight down your spine. a slow, wicked smirk finally tugged at the corner of his lips. "look what the storm dragged in."

"ran, hey," you breathed, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. you instinctively pulled your knees a little closer together, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that you had absolutely nothing on underneath the shirt you stole. “i.. i um, rindou said he's near. i'm just waiting for him."

"he's caught in the traffic, sweetheart," ran said, his long, elegant strides closing the distance between the entryway and the kitchen. he didn't stop unbuttoning his shirt as he walked, his eyes never once leaving yours. the intoxicating scent of rain and his cologne completely invaded your space. "but it looks like you've already made yourself completely at home."

he stopped right between your parted knees, his massive, towering frame completely blocking out the rest of the room. he was so close you could feel the radiating heat of his skin, contrasting sharply against the cold marble beneath you.

ran reached out, his long fingers gently hooking underneath your chin. his thumb rested right against your lower lip, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look up into his eyes.

his gaze drifted slowly down from your face, dropping to the fabric of the button down shirt you're wearing. his free hand reached over, his fingers deliberately reaching down to the texture of silk right over the swell of your chest.

as his palm swept over the expensive fabric, his knuckles heavy and warm, they slow grazed the distinct, sensitive peak of your breast, already hard from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

your breath hitched, a sharp gasp catching in your throat, your hands instantly gripping the edge of the counter behind you.

an amused, incredibly dangerous glint flashed in his eyes as he felt you tremble under his touch, fully recognizing his own clothing and exactly what it was doing to you.

"is that my shirt?" ran asked, his voice thick with a sultry gravity. his free hand then came down against the cold marble right beside your hip.

“well, i found it at rin's laundry basket.”

"rindou doesn't wear silk, doll," ran whispered, leaning down until his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear, his warm breath fanning across your flushed skin. his hand slowly slid down from your chin, his thumb lingering at the very first button at your chest, "and he knows better than to let you wear something that makes me want to rip it right off your body.”

you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, forcing your gaze to stay locked onto his eyes. you weren't going to let him see just how much he was rattling you. leaning back just a fraction, you gave a small, defiant tilt to your chin, trying to match his suffocating gravity with your own sharp edge.

"then it's a good thing you don't always get what you want, ran," you challenged, your voice steady despite the frantic racing of your pulse. "rindou will be here any minute. i suggest you back up before he walks through that door."

ran didn't even flinch. instead, a slow chuckle vibrated deep in his chest, a sound so utterly smug and heavy it made your skin prickle.

"any minute? sweetheart, the highway is completely packed. we have nothing but time."

his fingers mobe with an agonizing slowness down to the first fastened button, the one holding the silk together right over the swell of your chest.

"and besides," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the fabric, he flicked the button loose.

click.

“you can't exactly display yourself out here wearing nothing but my clothes."

the silk parted over your chest, exposing the skin and the sensitive, aching peak he had just grazed moments before. the cool kitchen air hit your heated skin, making you shudder.

your fingers tightened around the marble counter behind you, your tough exterior starting to fray at the edges under the sheer weight of his proximity.

ran let out a satisfied hum at your silence, a dark glint flashing in his violet eyes as he watched your defenses completely crumble. he didn't unbutton the next loop. instead, he slipped his hand entirely past the parted silk of your shirt, his large palm flattening directly against your bare waist.

his grip was firm, his long fingers anchoring into your hip as he pulled you forward, sliding your thighs flush against his until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. he dipped his head, his lips hovering mere millimeters from yours, his breath fanning across your mouth.

​"you really have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, sweetheart," ran whispered, his thumb idly tracing the curve of your hip bone, sending a violent shiver straight down your spine. "so, let's find out how quiet you can keep that pretty little mouth of yours.”

his head dipped lower, his lips brushing yours, the heat between you completely boiling over-

beep. beep. beep.

the smart lock jingled, and the front door burst open with an aggressive bang.

"i’m gonna fucking sue the weather app," rindou’s voice boomed from the hallway, dripping with rage. the wet squelch of his shoes echoed as he stormed inside. "out of all the days i didn't have a fucking umbrella with me, it fucking decided to rain.”

boogsh.

he froze dead in his tracks.

his eyes darted from you, perched on the counter with your button down shirt, that's well um.. holding for its dear life. then directly to his older brother, whose hand was still very clearly anchored onto your hip.

the kitchen went dead silent. ran, knowing damn well that rindou had been nursing a massive, unspoken crush on you for years now, didn't even panic. instead, his older brother instincts kicked into overdrive and he immediately scrambled to make up the worst excuse in human history.

"rindou, bro! you're home early!" ran said, his voice suddenly jumping an octave into a completely fake, cheerful tone. with lightning speed, ran snatched the two sides of your open silk shirt, violently pulling them together and holding them shut over your chest with one hand, trying to make you look 'decent'. “we were just... uh... managing a severe medical emergency. she got caught in the rain and i was worried she’d catch a cold, so i was checking her temperature. i could be a doctor now. cool right, rindou?”

rindou's face twisted into an expression of profound and visceral disgust. he was not buying a single syllable of this shit from ran.

"checking her temperature," rindou repeated, his voice dangerously flat. "wow, i'm totally convinced."

"it's a medical technique," ran insisted smoothly, using his free hand to awkwardly pat your shoulder, completely playing with the bullshit. "she was shivering. i was providing thermal body regulation, as a good housemate you know."

​"get out of my sight, ran," rindou snapped, his voice a mix of sibling fury and pure, protective jealousy. he watched the hallway like a hawk until ran disappeared from his sight, then turned back to you, his chest heaving as he gripped the edge of the counter right beside you. "i shouldn't have left you here alone with him. are you okay?”

​"i mean," you murmured, a faint, teasing smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the heat still burning in your cheeks, "on the bright side... i'm not cold anymore.”

Okinawa was the closest thing the brothers had to a second home outside of Roppongi. Whenever they could disappear, they disappeared there. Ran had connections, knew someone with an obscene house that sat on a beach that was private enough that they could go days without seeing other life on the island.

The moment they got there it was like the world outside of the island ceased to exist. Vacation mode on, Ran lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves, her soaking up every ray of sunlight the world had to offer, Rin catching every wave he could, letting the salt water wash away his anxieties.

It was the most free Rin had felt in years.

He had gone into the water to clear his head and came out feeling refreshed, the sun already drying his shoulders by the time he reached the shore. He stood at the water's edge, shaking the excess water out of his hair, watching her stretched out on the beach exactly where he left her.

Five days in the Okinawa sun had deepened the color of her skin, leaving lighter strips where her bikini straps had been. He noticed them the day before and couldn’t stop thinking about them, something about the contrast on her skin had been driving him quietly insane.

He crouched beside her, trailing his fingers up the back of her thigh, going up over the curve of her ass, lightly dancing up her spine, before pressing a kiss into her shoulder. 

“Having a nice nap?” he murmured against her skin.

She turned her head, eyeing him suspiciously, “What are you up to now?”

“Nothing.” He kissed her neck. “You’ve gotten so tan.”

She dropped her face back into her arms. “I’m busy relaxing, go back in the water.”

He trailed his fingers along the strap across her back, hooking his finger under, pulling it taut and letting it snap back against her skin.

“Rin!” She twisted to look at him, half laughing half annoyed, “What was that for?”

“No reason.” he was already untying the bow on her back, undoing it slowly while she tried to swat him away.

He flipped her over once he managed to get it undone, got her legs around his hips, trapping her underneath him while she fought to stifle her laughter, blinking up at him in the sun. 

He was still wet, hair dripping onto her warm skin.

She wrinkled her nose. “Rin, you’re getting me wet–”

“God, I hope so.” he smirked.

She stared at him, then rolled her eyes, “What is wrong with you.”

He was already reaching up to push her bikini top aside. Uncovering the tan lines on her chest. The untouched skin meeting the warm afternoon light and something in him completely short circuited.

He groaned somewhat helplessly at the sight and heard her laugh under him.

“Rin–”

He ran his thumbs over her slowly, felt her nipples harden under his touch, the laughter dying in her throat as her breath caught and stuttered.

“God Rin, we’re outside–”

He bent down and licked across her nipple and she gasped hard.

“Oh my god, Rin–” she squirmed beneath his hold.

“Shhh.” He kissed across to the other side slowly. “Ran’s asleep.”

She tried to protest until he grazed his teeth over her forcing her to swallow the noise trying to escape her.

He kissed down her chest, her stomach, taking his time, the salt on her skin against his tongue, her stomach rising and falling faster under his mouth, breath getting shorter every second that passed. 

He reached the waistband of her bikini bottoms and dipped his fingers under, pulling the fabric down enough to reveal the little pale patch of skin just below her tanned stomach,and pressed his lips there.

“Your tan lines drive me insane,” he said in between kisses.

He let his hand drift lower, over the fabric, fingers dancing lightly over her through the thin material.

“Rin.” Her voice was unsteady now, “what if someone sees.”

He kept his gaze locked onto her as he slid his thumb under the side of the fabric, pressing a slow circle directly against her. Her breath completely left her.

“No one will.” He cooed, keeping the pressure there, watching her try to keep still and quiet. “It’s a private beach and besides…we can be quick.” He grinned down at her.

She let out a small breathy laugh, her hips shifting against his hand wanting more. He moved his hand to pull her bottoms to the side, feeling just how worked up he’d already gotten her. He pushed his shorts down enough to free himself, stroking himself slowly while looking at her - spread out in front of him, bronzed and trembling slightly.

He rubbed against her slowly, until neither of them could stand it anymore, finally pressing into her.

“God,” she breathed and tipped her head back on the towel.

“Shhh.” He was smiling, held himself there watching her face, completely unbothered by how badly she was already squirming. “You’re gonna get us caught if you keep doing that”

She squinted at him ready to make a snarky remark but choked on her words as he pushed all the way into her at the same moment. Her back arched immediately, a sound escaping her she couldn’t catch in time.

“You’re such a di– ahhh–”

He pulled almost all the way out and snapped his hips back into her, watching her face contort, her words dissolving into mewls. “Sorry what was that, sweetheart?” He smirked and huffed a laugh, entirely too pleased with himself.

He stilled for just a moment, taking in the sight, dropping his head to her ear. “You have no idea,” he said quietly, “how fucking sexy you look right now.” He pulled back and drove his hips hard into her again, feeling her gasping on his neck. 

She clenched around him and he had to stop speaking for a second, letting out a rough exhale. “Fuck, baby.” The sun on his back, the breeze cooling the water on his skin, her under him looking at him like that, it was almost too much.

He gripped her hip harder, pace quickening. She pulled him closer, one hand twisted in his damp hair, the other gripping his arm hard enough to leave marks, small helpless noises escaping her every time his hips moved against hers.

He could feel her getting close - her breathing was shallower, grip tightening in his hair. He trailed one hand down between their bodies, fingers finding her again and began pressing slow, steady patterns into her.

“Jesus, Rin–” her hips bucked under him.

She had nowhere to go. His weight holding her down while his hand never letting up. The desperate sounds she was making, the sight of her face, it all nearly undid him right there.

“Rin–” her voice cracked. “Rin rin rin please–”

He didn’t let up, “Come for me, baby”

Her back arched up hard, chest pressing into his, her whole body tightening as her orgasm tore through her, clenching around him so hard and suddenly that he lost the last thread of control he was holding onto.

He came with her, a groan tearing out of him as he buried his face into her neck, holding her tight through it - her body still trembling under his - until neither of them could move.

He slipped out of her slowly, glanced down between them and couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” she asked, chest still heaving.

He was grinning, breathless, looking at the state of her. “I made a mess of you, again.”

She groaned and put her arm over her face, blocking out him and the sun, he laughed again leaning down to pepper kisses on her while she tried to not smile.

He pulled his shorts back up, then before she could fully process what was happening, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.

“Rin– oh my god, Rin, no–”

“Cleanup time.”

“No Rin, it’s so cold–”

He carried her down to the water, laughing the whole way, her shrieking and kicking, failing to free herself before he jumped into the water.

She came up gasping, soaked, swatting at him. He caught both her wrists, still laughing and pulled her against him, kissing her.

“You’re so annoying,” she said, teasing.

“What can I say, you drive me wild.” He pushed her wet hair back from her face, thumb brushing her cheek, kissing her again. He pulled back, his voice losing all trace of teasing and held her face in both hands, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life.”

You roll onto your side and stare at the slice of sky beyond the glass. Two weeks ago, the window had felt like a wound. A taunt. Proof of everything you’d lost and could no longer reach. Now it simply feels like part of the room, part of the life you’ve stumbled into without ever deciding to live it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and exhale slowly through your nose.

You’re already my choice.

The words still sit heavy on your tongue, bittersweet even now, as you force yourself out from the comfort of your bed and down the stairs.

The house is quiet this morning, devoid of its usual clatter. The only sounds that reach your ears are the muted scrape of cutlery against a plate and the soft creak of the stairs under your feet. By the time you reach the bottom step, there’s a flutter low in your stomach— a fizzing, traitorous sensation that climbs up into your chest and trips up your pulse before you can tamp it back down.

You can’t remember the last time a man put this particular feeling in you. Not in months, maybe longer. And it’s ridiculous, to feel sixteen again over someone holding you hostage. But your body doesn’t seem to be concerned with logistics.

You smooth down your hair and step into the kitchen.

Rindou is already at the table.

It stops you for half a second, because it’s wrong— off-pattern. He’s not fiddling with the coffee machine, hair still damp from the shower, moving through the motions of making breakfast for both of you. He’s dressed, in a charcoal pinstripe suit with the jacket hung over the back of the chair beside him and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. His lavender hair is dry and pushed back from his face, the mullet tamed into something presentable. There’s a plate in front of him, mostly empty, and a phone in his hand that he’s scrolling through with his thumb.

He’s been up for a while. Long before you. Long enough to shower and dress and eat and settle into that chair like he’s been waiting out the clock. The realization lands strangely. He got up early. To avoid you, a small voice in the back of your head supplies, and you hate how quickly your chest tightens at the thought.

You wait for him to acknowledge you. For a glance, a grunt, the bare minimum ‘morning’ you’ve grown accustomed to during your time here.

It doesn’t come.

His eyes stay fixed on his phone, his jaw set and the air between you charged. It’s thick with everything left unsaid last night— with his hand on your face and the space between you closing and then, devastatingly, reopening. But he gives you nothing. Not even the courtesy of looking at you.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Forcing yourself to move, you cross the floor to the coffee maker. There’s a carafe still half full, and you pour yourself a cup. The ritual of it steadies you— cream from the fridge, two spoonfuls of sugar, the spoon clinking against ceramic as you stir. You’d hardly consider yourself spoiled, but the fact that he didn’t make it for you this morning stings, the absence of that gesture louder than anything he could have said to your face.

There’s a pan on the stove— eggs and bacon, gone lukewarm, and a serving spoon congealed in grease. He didn’t make you a plate either.

So, you serve yourself in silence, scraping the last of the eggs onto a plate with two strips of bacon, and carry it to the table. You could sit anywhere, and while the wise decision would probably be the island in the middle of the kitchen, you choose the seat directly across from him. You refuse to let him pretend you aren’t there.

He doesn’t look up.

You eat a few bites, chewing quietly. The eggs are good, even cold, fluffy and seasoned just right. When you take a sip of your coffee, you watch him over the rim of your mug, and the set of his shoulders is a wall you’re not stupid enough to think you can climb.

You break the silence anyway. You’ve never been good at leaving a wound alone.

“How’d you sleep?”

He doesn’t look up. “Fine.”

You wait for more, but more doesn’t come. “...Just fine?”

“Yeah.”

That’s it. That’s all he gives you— two words and an almost inaudible sigh. He sets his phone down, picks up his fork, and finishes the last bite of his breakfast, clearly having decided that the easiest way to handle whatever happened between you is to pretend it didn’t.

You open your mouth to push, but footsteps on the stairs cut you off. Ran appears a moment later, donning a similar suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the ink adorning his throat. His hair is swept back, but a few strands have escaped to frame his face, and he’s fastening a watch around his wrist as he walks, attention split between the clasp and the room.

“Good morning” he says to no one in particular. Then, to Rindou: “Is Sanzu still MIA?”

Rindou still doesn’t look up. “His bike’s still gone.”

Ran exhales through his teeth before dragging a hand down his face. “Mikey’s not going to be happy.”

“Mikey’s never happy,” Rindou responds flatly.

“You know what I mean.”

Rindou says nothing, which is its own kind of agreement.

You sit very still, the way you’ve learned to when the conversation turns to their work— quiet and unobtrusive, like a fly on the wall they tolerate but don’t quite trust.

Walking to the stove, Ran surveys the sad remains in the pan and makes a face. “You left me the dregs again. How charming.”

He pours what’s left onto a plate anyway and stands at the counter to eat, fork in one hand and his phone in the other. His eyes flick to you between bites, and his expression shifts.

“Don’t you look bright-eyed this morning,” he comments.

You don’t— you slept badly and you know it shows— but you don’t correct him.

“We’ll be out most of the day,” he continues around a mouthful of eggs. “Cleaning up after our wayward friend, among other things. Don’t expect us back until late.” His sets his fork down, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Which means you’ll have the place to yourself. Try not to throw any parties.”

“Who would I invite?” Your tone is dry.

His mouth curves. “Fair point. But remember, sweetheart— there are cameras. So be a good girl while we’re gone, hm? Don’t do anything you shouldn’t.”

Rindou scoffs.

It’s barely a sound— a derisive snort as he rises from the table and gathers his plate and utensils— but Ran catches it, and his head tilts with predatory interest, like a cat that’s heard a mouse in the wall.

“Have something to say, Rinnie?”

Rindou places his plate in the sink. “Just that you’re laying it on awfully thick this morning.”

Ran’s brow lifts. “Me?” He presses a ringed hand to his chest. “I’m being a gracious host. Forgive me for showing the lady a little warmth.” He pauses, and his smile sharpens. “Besides, I wasn’t the one who took her stargazing.”

Rindou goes still at the sink, and you feel your face go hot as a blush creeps up from your throat to your cheeks. You stare very intently at your coffee.

But Ran is enjoying himself far too much to stop. He saunters closer to you, nonchalantly picking a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Did he show you Cassiopeia? That’s his favor—”

“Ran.”

“What? I think it’s cute.”

Rindou’s glare isn’t even directed at you, and the hair on the back of your neck still rises. The muscle in his jaw pulses, and for a moment you think he might actually square up against his brother— but instead he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and shrugs it on, every movement tight.

“We’re going to be late,” he says coldly. “Move.”

Ran sighs, the picture of long-suffering patience, and fishes a set of keys from his pocket. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, but he heads for the door all the same. 

Rindou follows without sparing you a second glance, and you sit there at the table with your cold eggs and your hot face.

At the door, Ran pauses and looks back over his shoulder.

“Oh— and if Sanzu does show up, tell him to call me.”

Then they’re gone.

You hear the beep of the alarm being armed, the thunk of the deadbolt sliding home, and the muffled crunch of gravel as a car pulls out of the driveway. And then the house settles into silence around you, vast and empty and entirely yours.

Alone. For the rest of the day.

—

The silence of the house, once they’re gone, is a living thing. You stand in the kitchen for a while after the car disappears down the street, just listening to it— the tick of the clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the absence of voices and footsteps and that constant low-grade awareness of being watched. You’ve been alone in this house before, in stolen pockets of an afternoon. But never like this. Never with the whole day stretching empty ahead of you and no one due back for hours.

You decide to make the most of it.

You take a shower.

Not one of the quick, perfunctory rinses you’ve been allowing yourself, but a long, indulgent soak under water hot enough to turn your skin pink. The bathroom fills with steam until the mirror fogs over and the world narrows to heat and water and the slow loosening of the knot that lives permanently between your shoulder blades.

For the first time in two weeks, you let yourself relax.

The bathroom is stocked with toiletries Ran bought you— an impressive army of expensive products lined up along the edge of the tub, the kind you used to walk past in department stores and never let yourself splurge on. Shampoo that smells like lavender. A sugar scrub that smells like vanilla and leaves your skin impossibly soft. A razor that isn’t disposable, and a conditioner you’re pretty sure your hairdresser actually recommended once. 

You use all of it. 

You shave your legs carefully, the way you haven’t bothered to in weeks. You scrub yourself down until you’re silky and smooth and smell like a dessert.

It’s a small rebellion, this self-care. Or maybe it’s surrender. You can’t always tell the difference anymore. But standing under the spray with vanilla on your skin and lavender in your hair, you decide not to scrutinize it too closely. You’re allowed this. 

You’ve earned this much, haven’t you? A single morning of feeling human.

When you finally step out, wrapping yourself in a bright white towel that’s thick and plush, you almost feel like a functional person again.

You take your time in the bedroom, too. The clothes Ran bought you hang in the closet, and you pick through them with more attention than the act deserves before settling on a pleated skirt that falls just above your knees and a baby blue sweater. The cashmere is warm against your freshly-lotioned skin, and the fit is perfect.

There’s makeup as well, a tiny collection of essentials in a drawer you’ve barely touched. You sit on the counter in the bathroom and study your reflection. Twin bruises of bad sleep sit beneath your eyes, and you dab concealer over them, blending until they disappear. A little mascara. The lightest touch of something on your cheeks. And a chapstick that smells like cherries, slicked over your lips and leaving them faintly tinted and shining.

When you’re done, you stare at yourself for a long moment.

You look good. Rested, even, in a way you haven’t in weeks. The girl in the mirror could be anyone— someone with a normal life and a normal morning, getting ready for a normal day.

You wonder if Rindou would have looked at you longer this morning, if you’d been wearing this.

Shoving the thought away, you grab your book from your nightstand— the Camus novel you’ve slowly been working through— and descend the staircase, finding your way to the living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. You curl up beneath a blanket with your soft clothes and soft skin, and you try to lose yourself in it the way you used to lose yourself in books, back when reading was an escape rather than a way to kill time.

Be a good girl, Ran had said.

And for about twenty minutes, you are.

But the silence of an empty house is a different kind of silence than the one you’re used to. It’s one filled with opportunity, buzzing beneath your skin and impossible to ignore. With every page you turn, it grows louder, refusing to leave:

You’re alone. Truly alone. For the first time in two weeks, no one is watching you.

Or— are they?

You glance around at the corners of the room.

Curiosity killed the cat. You know this, but you also know something else, something that’s been crystallizing in your mind ever since the rooftop, ever since you held a gun in your hands and didn’t use it, ever since you started waking up thinking about pretty purple eyes instead of escape routes: You cannot afford to lie dormant. 

You cannot simply close your eyes and hope this will all work out— hope that these men will decide to be kind and that being cooperative and good will keep you alive. That’s not survival; that’s just a slower kind of death.

You need knowledge. It’s the only currency you have in this house, and you’ve been letting it slip through your fingers, too frightened to reach for it.

But not today.

You close the book.

First, the cameras. If Ran was telling the truth— if there really are eyes hidden throughout the house— then you need to find them before you do anything else. 

You walk through the living room slowly, methodically, scanning the walls, the bookshelves, the light fixtures. You run your fingers along the underside of shelves and behind picture frames, pull books partway out and peer into the gaps behind them. You grab a chair from the kitchen and examine the smoke detector on the ceiling, the air vents, even the little decorative trinkets that dot the surfaces.

Nothing.

You move to the kitchen, checking the cabinets and repeating the process. You feel slightly insane doing it, paranoid and twitchy, but you keep going.

Still nothing.

You search the hallways next, scouring every nook and cranny, every seam in the molding. You check the entryway, the staircase, the little alcove with the coat hooks.

When you reach the front door, you stop. Your hand drifts to the handle without quite meaning to— the old instinct resurfacing, the one that used to scream at you every waking hour of those first few days. 

You try it, knowing it’s pointless. Locked. Deadbolted. The little keypad by the frame glows a steady, watchful red, and the thing that unsettles you isn’t that you can’t leave. It’s how faint the wanting has become— how the voice that used to scream now only murmurs, easy to ignore. 

You take your hand off the handle and go back to looking for cameras. You look until your neck aches from craning and your eyes blur from squinting. And you find nothing. Not a single camera. Not a single lens, or wire, or even a measly blinking light.

You stand in the hallway, hands on your hips, and frown.

Maybe Ran lied. It’s not out of the question. It could’ve been a bluff, a leash made of nothing but the suggestion of surveillance. A way to keep you in line without spending a yen on the hardware. It’s exactly the kind of psychological warefare he’d find amusing.

But even as you think it, you know it doesn’t matter. If you haven’t found the cameras by now, you’re not going to find them in the time you have left. You can keep tearing the house apart looking for something that may or may not exist, or you can use the remaining hours you’ve been given.

Fuck it.

You climb the stairs.

You’ve always kept to your room and the shared common spaces, a model prisoner moving through the parts of the house you’re permitted and never reaching for the parts you’re not. But today you reach.

You start with Rindou’s room, wrapping your hand around the doorknob and twisting only to find it locked.

Of course it is. Truly, you would’ve been flabbergasted if it wasn’t. 

You circle around to try the bathroom, since it connects your bedrooms, but it doesn’t budge either. The bastard locked that one too. Thorough, even in this.

Sanzu’s room is next, across the hall. You don’t expect much— and you don’t want to find Sanzu himself, who could theoretically reappear at any moment— but you try the knob anyway.

Locked again.

Then, Ran’s office— the room with the heavy wooden door you’ve never been allowed past, the room where his voice drops to that cold, clipped register through the walls. You don’t even bother getting your hopes up as you try it.

It’s locked, naturally.

You let out a frustrated breath, starting to think the whole expedition is a bust. Every door that matters is probably sealed against you, and you’ll have nothing to show for your nerve but a racing heart and a guilty conscience.

But there’s one more. Ran’s bedroom.

It’s tucked at the end of the hall beside his office, and you almost skip it, certain it’ll be locked like the rest. But you try the handle anyway, just for peace of mind.

It turns, and the door swings open.

Blinking rapidly, you stand in the doorway, hardly believing your luck.

Ran’s bedroom is larger than yours, and nicer, but it shares the same fundamental quality as the rest of the house: it’s beautiful yet impersonal, the bones of a luxury hotel suite dressed up to look lived-in. A safehouse, after all, is still a safehouse. 

The bed is enormous, made up in slate-gray linens. There’s a sitting area near the window, a leather armchair, and a small square table. Thankfully, the heavy, blackout curtains have been pulled back to let light in, and you glance over a dresser, a nightstand, a wardrobe that takes up most of one wall.

But where the bones are anonymous, the contents are pure Ran.

Because Ran, you’ve learned, is a man who likes things. 

The top of the dresser is cluttered with them— colorful bottles of cologne, a tray of silver rings and chains, a glass box with a dozen watches nestled in velvet. There’s a throw tossed over the armchair. There’s a pair of loafers by the door, butter-soft and clearly costly.

You step inside, easing the door shut behind you, and your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.

You slide open his wardrobe first, and it’s exactly what you expected— a row of suits in dark, rich fabrics, organized by some system you can’t decipher. Saint Laurent. Tom Ford. Dolce & Gabbana. Names you recognize from the magazines you used to flip through on your lunch breaks. Silk shirts. A drawer of folded ties in jewel tones. Everything immaculate, everything worth a fortune.

You close it carefully and move to the dresser.

This feels more like trespassing, somehow. Opening the bottom drawer, there are socks and boxer briefs, neatly folded, and the second drawer is more of the same. The third one is filled with accessories— cufflinks, tie clips, and a small pouch of what look like very real diamonds. You don’t touch those.

The nightstand is next. You crouch beside it and slide the small drawer open. There’s a charging cable, a pair of reading glasses you’ve never seen him wear, and a bottle of lube. Nothing useful. You close it.

And then you notice the top of the nightstand.

There’s a stack of magazines there— glossy fashion ones, the kind with impossibly thin models and perfume samples tucked between the pages.

But it’s the thing sitting on top of the stack that catches your eye.

A folder. Plain and unlabeled. Manila, slightly worn at the corners, the kind of nondescript thing that could hold anything or nothing at all. It’s sitting there in the open, as if it were just another magazine— as if its owner never imagined anyone would be in this room to find it.

You stare at it as if it might lunge up and bite you.

This is it, you think. Everything up to now— the subtle snooping around, the trying of doors and windows— those are the sort of things they might expect, might even forgive with a roll of their eyes. 

But this is something else. This is the kind of curiosity that gets people killed.

You pick it up anyway.

The first page is a list. It takes you a moment to understand what you’re looking at. Names arranged in a column with job titles beside them and numbers beside those— large numbers, sums of money, with dates. As you read, the bottom drops out of your stomach.

Hideo Maruyama — City Council, Roppongi District. ¥10 million, 24/1/14. ¥15 million, 24/2/14. ¥10 million, 25/8/28.

Det. Supt. Kenji Aoki — Tokyo Metropolitan Police, Organized Crime Division. More figures. More dates. 

Yuna Ishikawa — Public Prosecutor's Office. 

Takeda — Customs, Tokyo Port.

Sato — Tax Bureau. 

On and on, a column that runs the length of the entire page and onto the next, name after name after name. Councilmen. Police officers. Prosecutors and customs officials. Bureaucrats whose titles you only vaguely recognize from news broadcasts. At least three dozen of them. A whole apparatus of supposedly respectable people, each one with numbers and dates beside their name.

A payroll.

You’re holding a payroll.

This is who they own. This is the machinery of Tokyo, bought and paid for and filed away in a manila folder on a nightstand. The customs official who waves their shipments through the port. The detective who loses the paperwork. The prosecutor who declines to press charges. The councilman who makes sure the right permits get approved and the wrong questions never get asked.

You understand, suddenly and completely, why no one has come for you. Why there’s been no rescue, no investigation. You understand why the men who took you move through the world with such confidence. It isn’t arrogance. It’s true: they are untouchable, in the most literal sense— they own the people whose job it is to touch them. The police you might have run to are on this list. The prosecutor who would charge them. There is no authority above them to appeal to, because they’ve already bought it out. 

The thought is so overwhelmingly suffocating that you have to set the page down for a second just to breathe.

Warily, you start to sift through the rest of the folder. Behind the payroll are files. One for each name, you realize— or for some of them, the important ones. And these are not payments. These are insurance.

The first is Detective Superintendent Aoki. There’s a photograph clipped to the inside, and you turn it over and immediately wish you hadn’t. It’s a crime scene— or the aftermath of one. A woman’s bloody body and a face you recognize from the photo on the page: Aoki himself, caught in the frame, a knife in his hands. You don’t understand the full story, and you don’t want to. 

The implication is enough: We have you. We can end you whenever we like. 

You turn it face down with shaking fingers.

The next file is for Maruyama, the councilman. He’s pictured in several photographs that were very clearly never meant to be seen, in compromising arrangements with people who are very clearly not his wife. You flip past them quickly, your face hot with rising nausea. 

Some of the files hold financial records, evidence of embezzlement, of accounts that don’t add up. Some hold photographs of things that turn your stomach— violence, captured and catalogued and saved for a rainy day. Leverage, all of it. A blackmail file for the officials on payroll, so that even if the money ever stopped flowing, the silence never would.

You read through all of it.

You don’t mean to— you mean to skim, to get the jist of things and put it away— but you can’t stop. It’s like watching a car accident. Page after page, file after file, the full and terrible intricacies of how this organization holds an entire city in its fist. By the time you reach the end, there’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

This is what they are. Not just three men in a house. 

Not just Ran’s charismatic charm and Rindou’s cold shoulder and Sanzu’s unpredictable mania. This is a criminal organization with the city’s officials in its pocket.

And you are inside it— not adjacent to it, not a bystander peering in— inside. 

You’ve been eating breakfast with these men. Pouring their coffee and setting their table, cooking them dinner. You nearly let one of them kiss you last night. The sheer scale of what they are makes your own situation feel suddenly, vertiginously small— a single miniscule cog caught in a machine this large. 

They could make you disappear as easily as they made a prosecutor look the other way, and no one with the power to care would even know to ask.

You sit there on the edge of the bed for a while, the open folder in your lap and your heart hammering against your ribcage.

And then you do the only sensible thing you can. You close it.

You put it back— carefully, exactly as you found it. You stand and survey the room, retrace your steps in your mind. The wardrobe, closed. The drawers, shut. The nightstand drawer, pushed flush. You smooth the spot on the bed where you sat, erasing the impression of your weight from the covers. Standing in the doorway, you look back and check it against the picture in your memory, making sure everything is precisely where it was when you walked in.

Then, you ease the door shut behind you and let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for an hour.

In the living room, you take stock of yourself.

Your hands are mostly steady, the nausea has faded to a dull unease, and beneath it all, a startling sense of accomplishment.

You took a risk today, and it paid off. You’ve learned something tangible— something they don’t want you to know, something that matters, even if you don’t yet know how. You’re not just surviving. You’re playing the game.

The information sits in your chest like a coal, burning warm and dangerous. You don’t know what you’ll do with it, or if you’ll ever be able to do anything with it at all. The knowledge that the whole city is bought is hardly a comfort— if anything, it should crush whatever hope you had left. But it doesn’t feel like crushing. It feels like clarity. Like for the first time, you can see the actual shape of the cage you’re trapped inside, instead of just its shadow.

There’s wine in the kitchen, a small cabinet stocked with bottles you wouldn’t know how to choose between. They’ve offered you alcohol before— Ran, mostly, holding out a glass with that disarming smile, you look like you could use one— and you’ve declined every time, always deciding it’d be better to keep your wits about you. 

But you’re alone now, and you finally feel like you’ve earned the right to let go of the rope you’ve been white-knuckling.

You pick a bottle at random— a red with a label you don’t bother to read, and you pour yourself a sizable glass. The first sip is rich and tannic, warming you from the inside out. Content with your choice, you carry both the glass and the bottle to the living room and curl up on the couch with your book. 

The sunlight streaming in through the windows goes from white to gold to gray as afternoon fades into evening.

You finish your first glass of wine and pour a second somewhere along the way, the warmth of it loosening the remaining tension in your body until you’re just as soft on the inside as you are on the outside. A pleasant haze settles over you, and you sink into the couch with your book open against your knees. 

You don’t read much of it, mostly sitting with your thoughts, turning the day over and over— the folder, the names, the photographs, the unexpected thrill of having done something forbidden and gotten away with it.

You don’t notice how late it’s gotten until headlights sweep across the wall.

Twin beams slice through the dark before they die, the low purr of an engine cutting out in the driveway. There’s the chirp of the alarm disarming, the heavy clunk of the deadbolt, and the front door swings open on its hinges.

You instinctively straighten, setting your glass down on the coffee table. 

Rindou comes in first, and he looks weary in a way this morning’s crisp suit no longer disguises— his tie gone, collar open, jacket slung over his shoulder by a hooked finger.

His eyes find you on the couch, and for the first time since the rooftop, he actually looks. They rake over you, taking in the skirt and the sweater, the makeup, the loose, clean fall of your hair. Something flits across his face, there and gone before you get a good look, but a crack in the blankness he’s been wearing nonetheless.

His jaw tightens, and he drags his gaze away before climbing the stairs without a word. A moment later, you hear his door click shut.

“Don’t take it personally.” Ran’s voice draws your attention back to the doorway. He’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of an armchair. “He’s been in a mood all day. Business always finds a way of souring it.” He loosens his tie next, dragging it free from his collar and flicking open the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Me? I find it invigorating.”

“Did Sanzu ever turn up?” you ask.

Ran shakes his head. “Still in the wind, but he’ll show up eventually. He always does.” He waves a hand dismissively, silver rings catching the lamplight. “Better not to dwell on it. He’s not nearly as interesting as my evening’s shaping up to be.”

His eyes drop to the empty glass of wine on the table. “Kenzo Estate, 2018. Good taste.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit.

“Beginner’s luck.” He holds up a finger, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with another glass. “Most people assume the one with the flashiest label is the best. You, however, went for one that actually tastes good.”

Picking up the bottle, he proceeds to fill both glasses before sinking onto the couch beside you. Then, he hands you your glass and taps the rim of his against it with a soft clink. “Good instincts, doll.”

You hum, taking a sip to cover the warmth crawling up your neck.

“You look lovely tonight, by the way.” His gaze drifts over you, slow and appreciative. “Almost relaxed. It’s a good look on you.”

You raise a brow. “The wine?”

“The ease. For two weeks, I’ve watched you tiptoe around this house like you’re waiting for the floor to give out, shoulders up to your ears.” Two lithe fingers trace along the curve of your shoulder, feather-light, and you feel it everywhere. “All but flinching whenever someone walked past you. And now look at you. Glass of wine in hand, curled up on the couch like you own it. It suits you far better than the fear did.”

“Well… thank you,” you say, the words coming out softer than you intended. “I figured I’d earned it.”

“Oh?” He drapes his arm along the back of the couch, and his fingertips find a strand of hair at your temple, twirling it around. “And what exactly did you do to earn it?”

“Not much, really.” The lie comes easily, smoothed over by the alcohol. You take another sip to sell it. “Took a nice, long shower and gave myself some much needed TLC. It was quiet. Peaceful.” 

You glance up at him through your lashes, emboldened by the heat in your chest and the way his gaze is still fixed on you. “You should leave me unsupervised more often.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And here I was certain you couldn’t stand it here.”

“I can’t stand present company. The plumbing, though? Five stars.”

“Was that a joke?” Ran lifts a brow. “I didn’t think you had any in you.”

You continue to trade barbs, falling into easy conversation. After a few minutes, your glass has gone low again, and he reaches for the bottle, refilling it until the crimson liquid laps near the rim.

“You know,” you say, mock-serious. “A girl might start to think you’re trying to get her drunk.”

His mouth curves. “Absolutely not. Though, I am a little wounded.”

You blink. “Wounded?”

“Two weeks of me offering you a drink, and you turned your nose up every time.” He clicks his tongue. “Then the moment I’m out of the house, you help yourself to my cellar.”

“I did not,” you insist, and the corners of your mouth tip up despite yourself. “I was perfectly sober… until I wasn’t. If you want to get technical, it was past five o’clock. That has to count for something.”

“If we’re getting technical? You’re telling me you earned a drink because you took a seven-hour shower?”

“Oh my god, no! I told you— TLC. Tender. Loving. Care.”

“Which entails…?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. Indulge me, doll.”

You roll your eyes. “For starters, I tried out all the skincare products you got me. Every single one. The scrub was heavenly. The shea butter too; it smells amazing.”

“It does,” he agrees readily, catching your wrist as you set your glass down on the table. He turns it gently to bring the inside of it to his nose and inhales deeply enough that you feel the brush of his breath against your skin. “Mmm. I’ve always loved vanilla.”

Your heart stutters. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm, cherry as well.” His eyes lower to your lips, and you have to consciously work not to bite at them. Can he smell your chapstick too?

“Your choice of products makes sense now.”

“It should.” Lilac hues lift back up to yours as he traces idle circles over your pulse point. “I merely chose the best. It’s what any excellent host would do.”

“You’re a kidnapper.”

“I’m an excellent host who happens to kidnap,” he corrects you. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

That earns him a laugh, as morbid as the joke is. “You’re trouble, that’s what you are.”

“I beg to differ. I’ve been on my best behavior, unlike someone else.”

“Now, that’s not true.” Your voice lacks conviction, too breathless to sound convincing. “I’ve been as good as gold. Practically a saint.”

His smile curves wider, and he leans in, closing the last of the distance only for your breath to catch in your throat, lashes dipping as every nerve in your body anticipates the press of his mouth against yours—

But he veers past your lips at the last second, his cheek grazing yours until his mouth comes to rest against the shell of your ear. When he speaks, his voice is as smooth as honey. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

It takes you a second to process what he’s said. The wine has dulled your edges, blurring the words together into jibberish— and then the meaning catches up to you all at once, cold and jarring, like ice water down your spine.

You go rigid.

“What?” The question comes out thin. You pull back enough to look at him properly, and his expression hasn’t changed— still that charming smile, his eyes warm and amused. 

It’s the warmth that frightens you. There’s no anger in them, no accusation. Just a knowing smile, like he’s letting you in on a secret the two of you already share.

“Come now, let’s not play dumb.” When you only stare at him, he sighs. “The cameras, darling. You spent such a long time looking for them, standing on chairs and running your hands along the walls. Truth be told, I found it incredibly endearing.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face, the wine curdling in your stomach.

“You didn’t find them because you weren’t meant to,” he continues, conversationally. “But I found you. Every room you tried. Every door you rattled. Every page you turned— and I’m not talking about that old Camus novel you’ve been pretending to read.”

The folder.

He knows. 

He watched. 

All of it. His bedroom, the drawers, the manila folder you’d been so careful to square back into place. The hours you’d spent congratulating yourself, pouring his wine, and basking in the satisfaction of a day well spent— and he’d been watching the entire time. Letting you believe you were clever. Letting you walk yourself, step by smug step, right into his lap.

“Ran—”

“Shh,” he presses a single finger to your lips, silencing you, and his smile doesn’t so much as flicker— sickly sweet and patient but utterly without mercy. The hand at your wrist slides up, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. “You had your fun today. Snooping around where you don’t belong. Touching what isn’t yours.”

His grip closes, and you gasp as your head is forced back, chin tilted up so you’re face-to-face. “So now, I’m going to touch what isn’t mine.”

“Wait—”

Again, he cuts you off, this time by pressing his thumb between your lips. His skin is salty when it hits your tongue, and saliva floods your mouth at the taste.

“You’re in no position to be giving orders, doll.”

Suddenly, the room feels too warm. The couch suddenly too soft beneath you. The wine in your system turns traitorous, leaving your thoughts slow and slippery as they struggle to catch up with the reality sitting in front of you.

“Me, on the other hand…” he hums, a low baritone that vibrates up from his chest as he watches panic flare in your eyes. “Spread your legs.”

You try to swallow, and he cants his head, regarding you with newfound interest— like he’s waiting to see which version of you will emerge first. The one that had spent the afternoon creeping around forbidden territory, emboldened by curiosity. Or the one sitting before him now, pulse fluttering wildly beneath delicate skin, finally understanding just how thoroughly she’s been outplayed.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Something hot and ugly unfurls beneath your ribs— a heady mix of humiliation and anger. The sharp sting of realizing he’d sat beside you for nearly half an hour with this tucked behind his teeth, waiting for the precise moment to pull the rug out from under your feet.

He’s expecting submission. That’s his mistake.

You let your lips part further around his thumb— and then, you bite down. Hard. Hard enough that the coppery tang of blood blooms across your tongue, hard enough that you feel the give of skin beneath your teeth.

His smile slips as he grunts out a curse, brow twitching and lavender eyes sharpening, startled and bright. For one suspended second, you’ve got him— caught off guard by his own pet. The taste of it is sweeter than the wine.

But it lasts exactly that long— one heartbeat, maybe two— before something shifts behind his eyes. The surprise morphs into delight, and his mouth curls again, his expression almost proud.

“There she is,” he breathes.

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You wrench back, twisting out from his hold and scrambling for the opposite end of the couch. You don’t get far.

An arm hooks around your waist, and the world spins, and then you’re down— chest pressed to the cushions, one cheek mashed against the armrest, the breath knocked clean out of your lungs. A large hand splays flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you with an infuriating ease, like your struggling is cute.

“Ran..!” His name comes out muffled, partly swallowed by the upholstery.

“Mm, keep wiggling. It’s not helping you the way you think it is.”

You feel his free hand drag a path down the curve of your spine, lower until his fingers catch the hem of your skirt and tug it up. The backs of your thighs and your ass are bared to the cool air of the room, and you go hot all over as the humiliation intensifies, burning alongside something darker— something you’d never admit to.

His thumb is still bleeding. You can feel it smear, warm where it presses into your hip.

“You quite literally bit the hand that feeds you.” His palm settles over the swell of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. “I should’ve expected nothing less. You never do learn the easy way, do you?”

“Don’t—”

The first strike lands before your plea can materialize, and the crack of it splits the quiet, loud and obscene. The sting registers a moment later— a blistering heat that rips a gasp straight from your throat. Your hands shoot out, fingers fisting the blanket.

Ran hums again, smoothing his palm over the place he just struck like he’s admiring his work.

“That’s one,” he says. “Go ahead. Count for me, darling.”

You don’t.

You press your lips together, and you stare at the seam of the couch cushion an inch from your nose, giving him nothing. It’s the only thing left that’s yours— the silence— and you clutch it like the blanket twisted in your fists.

“No? Stubborn thing.”

The second slap lands harder than the first. You jolt, a squeal tearing loose, but it’s not a number. A vicious sort of satisfaction spreads throughout your limbs.

You can take this.

Pain you understand. Pain has an edge, a place to brace against. So you brace.

The third comes, and then a fourth and a fifth. You breathe through your teeth as the sting stacks and burns, your knuckles white, your defiance the one thing you refuse to surrender.

“My, oh my. You really are determined to make this difficult.”

“Go to hell,” you manage.

A deep laugh sounds. “We’re already here, sweetheart.”

And then his tactic changes.

The next touch he doles out isn’t a strike. It’s a caress, the tips of the fingers grazing softly over the seat of your panties, and your whole body locks up— because this, you don’t have a brace for. This has no edge to push against. It slips past every defense you’d build against the pain, joining the wine and the heat simmering low in your belly.

“Sensitive there, are we?”

You don’t trust your voice, almost certain it will crack the moment you try to speak, so you start to struggle in earnest, thrashing around beneath the weight of him.

Some distant part of you knows it’s futile, but your body hasn’t gotten the message your pride already has, so you fight. You buck against him and dig your knees into the cushions for purchase that isn’t there.

And Ran lets you. That’s the worst part of it. He doesn’t tighten his grip or snap at you to hold still— he just lets you ride it out, patiently, with his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back while you wear yourself down against him.

“Atta girl,” he croons. “Get it all out of your system.”

And that’s exactly what happens.

You thrash until the fight drains out of you, until your limbs go heavy and your breath comes ragged. You feel the moment it leaves you— the defiance. It leaks out of you like air from a puncture, and your forehead drops to the armrest as you stop.

His hand strokes up your spine. “Was that so hard?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice is somewhere you can’t reach, lost beneath the hammering of your own heart.

“Good. Now, let’s see what we’re working with.”

A whimper escapes you as he pulls your panties to the side, the cool air causing you to jerk where it meets your heated folds. “Wait, please— I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have went through your things. It won’t happen again, I promise!”

“Oh, I know it won’t. Still, I don’t think you’re truly sorry. Not yet, at least.” He tuts at you. “In fact, I think you’re enjoying this.”

“No! Please, Ran!”

“Please, what? Please stop?” Condescension colors his tone. “You keep saying that, but this pretty little pussy is positively soaked.”

In the next instant, you feel him drag a finger between your folds, and when he holds it up to your face, you can’t help the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes. To your absolute horror, the digit is wet and shiny, covered in the silvery slick dripping from between your thighs.

“See? Look at that. You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t let you lie to me.”

Whatever retort you try to throw back dissolves into a moan as his finger drops back down, notching against your clit. He rubs over it, chuckling at the way it twitches under his attention. You try to clench your thighs together, but he plants a knee between your legs to keep them parted.

“There you go. Go ahead and give in to it. Let me hear all of those sweet, angelic sounds. I’m sure if you’re loud enough, Rin will too.”

Your head is scrambled, each swipe of his fingers over your clit sending delicious sparks of pleasure up your spine. It’s damning, the control he has over you in this moment. Your legs start to tremble around his knee, your hips twitching as your body chases the friction.

“O-Oh fuck,” you stammer out, burying your face completely in the cushion.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? You like it when I touch you here?” It’s a rhetorical question, not that you could answer if you wanted to. Instead, a choked cry bubbles up from your chest as he abandons your clit, leaving it throbbing. “Of course you do. But you know what? Something tells me you’ll like it even more if I touch you.. here.”

You aren’t prepared for the way his finger sinks into you— all the way to the knuckle. 

Your walls clamp down around the intrusion, lashes fluttering as he curls it. “I.. Shit, I can’t…”

“Use your words, pretty.”

But you’re panting now, writhing beneath him as a second finger joins the first. The stretch burns but only briefly, because he’s right— even with your long dry spell, you’re so wet that it slides in without much resistance. You don’t even have the energy to be mortified at how obscene the sounds are as he starts to fuck them into you, controlled and measured and so much better than you would have guessed. They scissor open, and your toes curl, another muffled mewl expelled from your lips into the couch. 

“I can’t hear you.” His hand cards into your hair only to yank your head back to the side, and he leans down so his lips are by your ear. “I said, do you like it when I touch you here?”

He’s working you, coaxing you, and it feels so good that your train of thought is reduced to a desperate, short-circuited refrain: More. Not enough. Too much.

“I— I—”

“You’re close, I can feel it.” There’s an amused lilt to his voice. “How long has it been since someone made you cum, sweet girl?”

You try to remember. It’s a question that should make you bristle with embarrassment, bristle with shame of being so easily unspooled, but the answer is a haze— a memory so faded and irrelevant compared to the pressure of his fingers crooking inside you.

It’s been months, you think. Maybe a year. The last guy you slept with was such a non-event you don’t remember his name, let alone how he made you feel.

But you will remember this. You’ll remember this for the rest of your life.

“Come on, sweetheart. Say it,” Ran coos, his thumb finding your clit and circling it. “Tell me how much you want it.”

He already knows. He must, with the way your walls pulse around his fingers, so tight it almost hurts. He’s making a mess of you— not just your body, but your mind, your dignity, your sanity. 

You don’t want to say it. You’d rather bite your tongue off than hand him another ounce of control. But the words claw their way up your throat anyway, prying your mouth open and spilling out in a pained confession. 

“I want it..!” You gasp, shuddering when he presses hard against that spot that makes your vision blur. “Fuck, Ran, I want you to— please, just—”

“Good girl.” 

You’re so close. It’s as if every atom in your body is gathering, bracing for that singular, shattering release—

He withdraws his fingers, and the emptiness is so abrupt that you sob, a raw, broken sound torn from the depths of your soul. It’s a betrayal so complete that for one dazed, breathless second, you simply don’t understand what’s happened.

“..W-what?” 

You can barely form words. The ache between your legs is hollow, the aftershocks of denied pleasure rolling through your body, like a tide dragged out too soon. You shift, reaching back for him mindlessly, but he’s already pulled away, his fingers slick and shining as he wipes them on the curve of your ass.

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” His voice is syrupy, sated. “You don’t get to misbehave and walk away with a prize. That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

You want to scream at him, curse him, beg him.

But every muscle in your body is spent and trembling. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel it between your legs, blood roaring through your veins as another wave of humiliation washes over you.

You think he might say something else— a taunt, a lecture, a threat. But instead, he just stands and retrieves his suit jacket from the chair. He doesn’t look back at you, striding toward the staircase. 

He takes the first step and pauses with his hand on the banister, glancing over his shoulder, violet eyes hooded and unreadable. “I wouldn’t stay there for too long, unless you want Rindou to see.”

For all the bickering, he loved Ran. He just wasn’t the type to say it out loud. Never had been. It showed in other ways instead. In the way they moved in sync during fights, like a single entity. The way they always made sure the other was okay before checking on themselves. Or in the small things. Like showing up late, tossing a Mont Blanc onto the table without a word when Ran was going through the motions.

Because the truth was, Rindou noticed everything.

He saw right through people, past the versions they carefully constructed and the image they tried so hard to maintain. He found enjoyment in picking people’s lies apart, noticing the little slips that would later be used as ammunition to humiliate them when the time seemed ripe. Behind his bored expression and uninterested demeanor, Rindou caught everything. And that is what made him dangerous.

Because Rindou Haitani was violent, too. There was no soft way to put that and no version of the truth that put him in a better light. The younger Haitani was an excellent fighter, and worse yet, could be frighteningly cruel when he wanted to be and sometimes when he didn’t need to be. For all the reputation that preceded Ran, in adulthood it was usually Rindou who people feared more. Even the lowest guys in Bonten knew better than to get on his bad side, because if Rindou got his hands on you, it wouldn’t be quick. The angles, the pressure, exactly how much force it took to make a bone give. He was an expert at making you suffer. And the worst part? He loved every single second of it.

Maybe that should have been enough to scare you off. But there was one thing people got consistently wrong about Rindou Haitani. And who could blame them, really, looking in from the outside? Rindou was many things, but never a bad partner.

Whatever Bonten had turned him into and whatever blood-stained horrors he left behind after a job well done, none of it ever followed him back to you. Of course, he couldn’t hide those parts of himself. Didn’t want to. But in the comfort of his own home, different sides of him were allowed to surface, too.

The carefree one, that still liked to be silly and play his DJ sets from his teenage years for you. Who would pick you up bridal style and carry you to the couch giggling.

The caring one, that liked seeing you happy. Maybe more than he’d ever admit out loud. The side that made sure a light wouldn’t stay broken long enough for you to complain about it or that important events never crept up on him. 

The concerned one that knew about the dangers of life with a bonten executive where safety or coming home alive wasn’t always a guarantee. That sometimes regretted putting you in this position, but never once regretted choosing you.

And finally, the vulnerable one. The one who didn’t ask for much. Didn’t really know how to. The one who’d never learned how to voice his own emotional needs and relied on you to read between the lines, to notice the pauses and subtle tells he never bothered hiding from you. And over time, you learned how to. 

So when he stepped into the dimly lit apartment that night, his shoulders hanging low, a smear of blood along his collar already drying, you knew exactly what kind of night it had been. The dark circles under his eyes a sign of exhaustion that went deeper than just lack of sleep. 

“Bad night?” you asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Mhm.” Rindou hummed, walking over to you and pulling you into a firm hug. His cheek pressed against the top of your head, his strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. You let your arms slip around his waist, face resting against his chest as a quiet content smile formed on your lips. You’d missed him.

“Wanna tell me about it?” you asked, softer still.

He shook his head just slightly. 

Of course you weren’t oblivious to his work. You knew exactly what he did and who he worked with, had actually gotten quite close to Koko and even Sanzu over the years - a fact he initially wasn’t too excited about. Still, when it came to the gritty, brutal details, Rindou rarely felt the need to share. You were his safe haven. Here, in your shared apartment, with you, he could just be Rindou and he didn’t need Bonten to take that away from him, too.

You helped him shrug out of his jacket, hanging it neatly on a hook by the door while he kicked off his shoes. He rubbed at his stiff neck as he made his way to the sofa and plopped down. You wandered into the kitchen, suddenly craving a drink. You grabbed two cans and handed one to him, settling back on the couch beside him.

The crack of the cans opening filled the room. You both took a long sip, and Rindou rested his head against the back of the sofa, eyes drifting over to you with content ease. You were sitting with your back against one of the armrests, head turned toward him, and the younger Haitani pulled your legs onto his lap to start massaging them. 

“How was your day?” Rindou asked.

“Boring meeting after boring meeting,” you sighed, thinking back to the uneventful day at the office. “Lunch was fun, but when I came home, one of the neighbors stopped to complain about the noise last weekend.” You laughed, not sure they would be quite as brave if they knew the real identity of the resident in the other apartment.

Rindou, unlike his brother, didn’t value anonymity. Your shared apartment was still luxurious, huge, and you were sure the bill could send you into a coma, but while Ran enjoyed his privacy, Rindou preferred a lively neighborhood in a better part of Tokyo.

“Hmm. They better get used to it,” he said, tracing circles on your legs and taking another sip of his beer.

Sometimes he felt bad about leaving you home alone for so long. Some weeks he was around a lot, but other times work required him to be gone for days at a time with practically no notice. Organized crime rarely followed a schedule, which led to many canceled dates and postponed trips. You always assured him it was fine, but he couldn’t help the guilty feeling.

Rindou leaned over you, fingers holding your face as he pulled you into a slow but passionate kiss. You melted into him, kissing back and grabbing a handful of his shirt. You had been with him so long, yet every kiss felt just as exhilarating as the first. You would never get tired of how perfectly he fit against you and were sure you would remember the taste of him forever.

Your lips moved against his, and his tongue asked for quiet entry, which you were more than happy to give. Rindou let his hands wander, from your neck down to your back and waist, until eventually they landed on your ass, pulling you a little closer. A pleased sounds left his lips at the lack of fabric. He loved when you wore his big shirts with nothing but some shorts or a pair of panties underneath. You sighed into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, egging him on as his hand wandered further, explored your body. They eventually settled between your thighs, ready to pull your panties aside.

Without a warning you leaned back, breaking the kiss. The younger Haitani looked at you, confused.

“I was thinking,” you started, placing a brief kiss on his neck as an apology, “I want to try something new tonight.”

Rindou looked at you quizzically, unsure what to make of the sudden request. “Something new?” He raised an eyebrow.

You nodded. “I want to… take care of you and…” You weren’t sure how to convince him.

“Can I tie you up?”

Rindou looked at you surprised, genuinely not knowing what to say

“I’m not sure I…” he started. You knew full well the younger Haitani wouldn’t agree immediately. He never outright said it, but pleasing you, seeing your blissed-out face, fueled his ego immensely. The knowledge that only he got to see this version of you, that only he could make you feel that good, always pushed him further.

“Baby, I should be taking care of you,” he said simply. Even after a bad day at work, he still wanted to spoil you. You leaned forward, straddling his lap now, your fingers brushing his hair back, hands cupping his face.

“You always do that anyway, Rin,” you replied, your voice soft and laced with quiet admiration. “Just push that ego of yours to the side and let me return the favor for once.”

“And tying me up is required because…?”

You laughed softly. “Because I know you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands to yourself otherwise.”

His eyes met yours, and you could see the hesitation. And buried even deeper, a need he rarely let surface. A want to be taken care of. To feel your touch and just exist in it for a while.

“Please,” you mouthed, placing a featherlight kiss on his lips.

Rin sighed dramatically, though he was clearly pretending, and pressed his forehead against yours. “Fine,” he finally said. “But you’re not taking this from me.”

Before you could react, he hooked his arms under your legs, the other steady at your back, and stood up in one smooth motion. Not a single sign of strain as he carried you toward the bedroom, bridal style.

“Riiin,” you laughed in his arms, “you’re hopeless.”

______________________

Rindou placed you down on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. He started unbuttoning his vest, tossing it somewhere into the corner of the room before doing the same with his shirt.

In the meantime, you crawled further up the bed, reaching for one of the pillows and pulling out a pair of police-grade handcuffs from underneath. The lavender-haired man followed your movement. “You little…” he muttered, voice clearly amused. “You had this planned all along, huh?”

You shot him a grin. “Knew you couldn’t say no to me.”

Rindou had gotten stripped off everything but his briefs, the dim light catching on his toned body and the few small scars scattered across his skin. He stepped closer to the bed, bending down, ready to hover over you, when you stopped him.

“Ah-ah,” you said, patting the space next to you. “Sit down here.”

He looked at you for a moment, considering arguing, but eventually decided he didn’t quite have the energy for it. So instead he sat, the soft mattress giving way, eyes fixed on you. You were still only dressed in one of his favorite t-shirts and a pair of lacy underwear, so straddling him was easy. You climbed onto his lap, settling there, a self-satisfied grin playing on your lips as you looked down at him.

“Hands, please,” you said.

And to your surprise, Rindou obliged with no hesitation, lifting his arms and resting them above his head against the headboard.

You leaned over him, the metallic clink of the handcuffs filling the quiet as you opened them and secured his wrists to the bars of the bed. You gave them a pull, making sure they were tight enough that he couldn’t slip out but not enough to hurt.

When you sat back, facing him again, something in Rindou’s expression had shifted.

“Cat got your tongue?” you teased.

The younger Haitani looked at you, a hint of defiance returning to his features. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m paying you back after this,” he said.

You chuckled and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before lifting his chin so he had to look at you.

“Well,” you murmured, “all I have to do is not let you go, then.”

You reached back for the pillow again and pulled out a piece of fabric - a blindfold.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Rindou said, but you hushed him, pressing a finger gently against his lips.

“Maybe you’re not the only one who doesn’t play fair,” you teased. “You can’t expect me to be around you and not pick up a few bad habits.”

You tied the fabric over his eyes, securing it at the back of his head, then waved your hand in front of his face to make sure he couldn’t see anything.

Satisfied, you settled back down, your clothed core resting against his.

“Rin…” There was a hint of surprise in your voice. He was already hard.

You pressed down against him, letting your weight add some friction as you rocked back and forth. Rindou’s lips pressed into a thin line. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin as you kept the movement going, the two layers of fabric keeping you from feeling him fully.

The air felt charged, heavy, and you let out a small gasp as his bulge brushed against your clit, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.

Deciding you wanted to take things slower, you moved away from him, settling between his legs instead. Your fingers hooked under his waistband as you motioned for him to lift his hips a bit. When he did, you pulled his briefs down in one smooth motion, discarding them on the floor with the rest of his clothes. The sudden exposure made Rindou shift slightly, the cool air hitting his skin.

You couldn’t help but stare. “So pretty for me.”

“Tch,” Rindou clicked his tongue, turning his head slightly, but the twitch of his cock gave him away. Who would’ve thought it took this little to reduce the bone-crushing Bonten executive to a mess.

You placed one of your hands on his thigh, fingers ghosting over his skin, moving up and down, always stopping just short of where he wanted you most. Your nails left faint scratches behind, and Rindou’s breathing grew heavier, his hands loosening slightly against the restraints.

You kept it up for a while longer, until eventually your boyfriend started bucking his hips up toward you.

“Stop the teasing,” he managed to get out, breath uneven. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

Your hand moved to his abdomen, pressing him further into the pillows, putting more tension on his arms. You leaned down in front of him, your face just inches from him. Your breath alone was enough to send a shiver down Rindou’s spine. Not knowing what you would do next was driving him insane.

You wrapped your hand around him, applying light pressure at the base before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside. Rindou let out a breathy moan, and you felt yourself react instantly, pussy clenching around nothing. God, he sounded perfect.

Encouraged, you repeated the motion, slow and deliberate, letting your saliva coat him. Eventually, you took him into your mouth and tested the rhythm, your movements careful at first. Rindou tried to hold back, his muscles tensing, clearly trying to not buck up into you. Wanting to hold onto whatever semblance of control he thought he still had.

You adjusted, taking him deeper, your tongue tracing along the vein as you moved.

 “Fuuuck” Rindou finally groaned, his hips lifting, hands pulling against the cuffs with a metallic clink. He wanted to touch you, to tangle his fingers in your hair, to guide you, but he couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. The darkness behind the blindfold only made everything more intense. All he could focus on was the pull at his wrists and the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him.

His skin felt like it was burning, and you showed no sign of slowing down.

Instead, you added your hand, moving it in time with your mouth, the added pressure drawing another strained sound from him. The noises he made were almost sinful, and you could feel just how much it affected you, too. Your own breathing grew uneven, quiet sounds slipping past your lips as you kept going, eyes half-lidded and saliva dribbling down your chin. The fitted sheets were already a mess, but you couldn’t care less.

Your boyfriend couldn’t help but buck up into you, desperately chasing his release now. He was moving without shame, helpless in his endeavor to make you go faster by gripping your hair, the restraints digging into his wrists. You could feel him throb inside your mouth, felt the erratic stutter of his hips. The nails of your left hand dug into his flesh while your right made quick work of cock, stroking up and down while you worked your mouth on him, taking him all the way in

“I—… I’m gonna,” Rindou stuttered, breath hitching. “Fucking hell.” But he didn’t need to tell you. You already knew he was close, could feel it in the way his body tensed beneath you. So you ignored the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and kept the relentless pace up, taking him all the way in and forcing yourself to stay still. Rindou released into you with a low groan, legs trembling and breathing labored, the tension finally snapping. You savored every sound he made and willed away your gag reflex, determined to swallow his release. When you finally let his cock slip from your lips, it left with a soft pop.

The Bonten executive was still trying to catch his breath as you slowly propped yourself up, just enough to hover over him. You leaned in, placing kisses all over his chest and belly, soft and lingering, each one filled with quiet affection. Finally, you caught his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, the taste of him still faintly on your tongue. Rindou’s breath hitched sharply when your hand found his slowly softening cock again, and he hissed, his sensitivity still at an all-time high.

“You didn’t think that was all, right?” you teased, your voice light, thumb tracing over his slit and smearing the remnants of his cum over it in slow, deliberate motions.

“At least take these off, so I-”

You kissed him again, cutting the protest off at its core.

“Not happening,” you breathed against his lips, pulling back just enough to spit into your hand and coat his cock with it.

Rindou hissed, his body twitching under the sensation. “S’too much… I’m still…”

“I’m sure my pretty boy can handle more.”

Rindou pulled at the handcuffs behind his head, clearly trying to break free now. You didn’t let it distract you. Instead, you traced slow, deliberate kisses along his jawline, working your way down to his neck. You lingered there before continuing to his shoulder, where you bit down gently, sucking at the skin until it flushed beneath your lips. You wanted to leave your mark on him - to make him feel even a fraction of what he usually made you feel.

“All mine,” you breathed, licking over the spot as you released the tender flesh.

Rindou let out a whine, one unlike anything you’d ever heard from him before. It shot straight through you, soiling your panties even more, if that was even possible. But tonight wasn’t about you. It was about him. And so you forced yourself to ignore the heat pooling low in your core, focusing instead on him, on every small reaction he gave you. Your hand moved along his shaft again, slower this time, gauging every subtle shift in his breathing, every twitch of his body, adjusting the pressure and pace just enough to draw out the most delicious sounds.

A faint sheen of sweat had started to form on Rindou’s body, catching the dim light as his muscles tensed and released beneath your touch. His lips were red, kissed raw, parted slightly as uneven breaths slipped past them. He looked absolutely sinful like this.

A strange sense of possessiveness washed over you as you shifted closer to him, finally pushing your panties down your legs and discarding them before settling back onto his lap. This time, nothing separated you. No fabric, no barrier, just skin against skin. Your slit pressed down against his shaft, the friction immediate and intoxicating, drawing a soft shudder from your body.

Rindou reacted just as strongly, his head falling back as his hips bucked up into you on instinct. You grabbed onto his shoulder for leverage, your other hand curling around his neck as you began to rock your hips slowly, deliberately. Your arousal coated him quickly, slick and warm, and every movement grew easier, wetter. Heat pooled deep in your core, your breath catching as you ground down against him, your nails digging into his skin.

Rindou’s groans and heavy breathing filled the room, low and uneven. He tilted his head upward, facing where he thought you were, trying and hopelessly failing to regain some semblance of control.

“Need more,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “I want to feel you.”

Your body reacted instantly, a sharp twitch of need at how wrecked he already sounded.

“But aren’t you already?” you teased, though your voice betrayed the fake composure. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up, but you wanted to hear it. Wanted him to beg.

Rindou bit down on his lip, stubbornness flickering across his expression despite everything. He stayed quiet for a moment, holding out, until you suddenly picked up your pace. Your hips rolled harder against him, your slick spreading, practically dripping over his cock as you leaned in, letting soft, breathy moans spill right against his ear.

“Fuck,” he broke, head falling back again, his composure slipping completely. His hands strained against the cuffs with a sharp metallic clink. “I don’t care… please. Just- please give me more. I need it. I need to feel you. Put it inside, fuck… I want to feel you squeezing me. Please…”

Whatever restraint you had left snapped instantly.

You lifted your hips, hand wrapping around his cock to guide him. Lining him up with your entrance, you didn’t hesitate. You sank down onto him in one smooth motion. The sudden stretch pulled a gasp from you, your head falling back as the feeling hit you all at once.

He filled you perfectly.

Rindou’s thighs trembled beneath you, his head falling to the side as a broken sound left him, somewhere between a groan and a breath. He melted into the sensation, completely overtaken, your tightness and warmth overwhelming him in the best possible way.

Your fingers found his jaw, angling it towards you and your lips found his in a heated kiss. Rindou leaned in as far as he could, his tongue running hot over your mouth. You parted your lips, granting him entry, and soon he was exploring you, his tongue meeting yours, moaning into you.

You met him with the same desperation, lips pressing into his, teeth catching lightly on his lower lip as you kept up the steady rhythm of your hips. He was buried impossibly deep inside you, and you could feel everything, the way you clenched around him, the way your body reacted to every movement.

When the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, a sharp, heated sensation shot through you. Your vision blurred, thoughts going hazy as you chased that high.Rindou rested his head against your shoulder now, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as he felt you tighten around him.

“I’m-” the words caught in his throat. “Keep going… fuck, I’m close,” he managed, his hips snapping up into you as much as the position allowed.

You didn’t slow down. If anything, you held on tighter, crescent-shaped marks forming on his skin where your fingers dug in. One of your hands moved between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing quick, desperate circles.

Your legs ached, but you ignored then. Your mind was full of nothing but him. The way he felt, his desperate sounds, the way he twitched inside you, drawing another involuntary squeeze from you in response. Your hips lifted and dropped again, almost pulling away completely before sinking back down, the motion enough to push both of you closer to the edge.

You came together with a deep, broken moan, bodies trembling as pleasure rushed through them. Your legs shook, barely holding you up, while Rindou sank back into the pillows, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Your legs felt wobbly, and you stayed there for a moment, just taking it all in. His warmth still inside you, the slowly softening cock and steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the comfortable silence that now filled the room. Even his hands, still secured in the cuffs. You wanted to remember this. Every second of it. 

Carefully, you reached forward and untied the blindfold. Rindou scrunched his face slightly as it came off, his eyes unfocused, blinking a few times as he adjusted. Even the dim light seemed too much at first, making him squint.

Slowly, you eased yourself off him, your hands gliding over the sheets until you found the key. With a small twist and a soft click, the restraints came undone, and Rindou’s arms fell limply to the bed, his muscles finally giving out after being held up for so long. 

You leaned back into him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

The younger Haitani opened his eyes fully this time and turned his head toward you, taking a slow breath as he grounded himself. His hand settled at the small of your back, warm and steady, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.

Rindou pulled you into a slow kiss.

“Much better…” he admitted honestly, his voice softer than usual.

His eyes searched your face, taking you in like he was afraid to miss a single detail. There was something unguarded in his expression now, something rare. His hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, assuring and familiar.

“I love you,” he said.

He reserved those words for quiet, meaningful moments like this. He showed them every day through his actions, in all the little things he did for you, but hearing them spoken aloud was rare. And because of that, you treasured them even more.

“I love you too, Rin,” you whispered before meeting his lips in a soft kiss, one filled with emotion, carrying everything said and unsaid between you.

No, Rindou Haitani wasn’t a good man in the conventional sense. But here, in this moment, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else. And for as long as you could, you would make sure he always had a place to come back to - a place outside of Bonten, far from the bloodshed and noise.

The door barely click shut behind you before his voice cut through the office

“-the fuck do I care? Fix it, you useless fuck. If i have to be there–”

He looked up.

Your eyes met his and whatever he had been about to say next ceased to exist. 

“I’ll call you back.” The line went dead before the other person could respond.

For a moment he just looked at you from across the room, something in his expression softening a bit. He crossed over to you and pressed a kiss into your temple, hands finding your waist briefly, grounding himself there.

“Hiya, angel.”

Then he stepped back, ran a hand through his pink tresses and sighed.

“Shit you not, my eyes, the very windows to my soul, have witnessed the single most catastrophic sequence of decisions in the history of decisions. And these people are supposed to be on my side–”

You let him go, trying to interrupt him mid spiral was like herding cats, futile, inadvisable, and ultimately not worth the energy. So you stood there and watched him carve the same path back and forth across his office, every grievance of his day spilling out in exhausting detail but you waited nonetheless.

“--And Rin, that little shit, just stood there breathing out of his mouth–”

He stopped. 

Mid sentence, mid step, like something stopped him dead in his tracks. The silence was abrupt enough that you almost said something to fill it. His eyes moved over you slowly, the crease between his brows deepening as his gaze traveled from your head to your feet and back again.

“...What’s different about you today.”

He crossed to you slowly, the rant completely forgotten. Eyes still moving over you like you were a problem he was close to solving.

“Is that–” His hands found your waist before he finished the thought, turning you slightly like he needed a better angle to confirm what he was seeing. The pink dress. His pink dress. The sound that left him was almost indignant, like you personally offended him by looking this good in something he had chosen for you.

“You. You wore this.” His hands smoothing slowly down over your hips, savoring the shape of you, reacquainting himself with something that belonged to him, “You actually wore this.”

“I like this dress. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Mm.” The look that painted his features was something he would never show anyone else - it was soft and completely at odds with everything else about him, his finger tracing the neckline slowly. Something adoring in the way his fingers absentmindedly touched you.

His phone buzzed behind him.

He glanced at the screen and just like that, something in him deflated. He pressed a distracted kiss to your forehead, stepped back and picked it up.

“Speak.” The word landed like a blade. Whatever came back made his eye twitch visibly. “No, go ahead, say that again, slowly this time.” He listened, “Mhm. Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” He cut off the man on the other end, “You’re going to hang up, sit with your moronic decision and then call me back with something that doesn’t make you sound completely fucking useless.” He listened for approximately three seconds. “You’ve got about, ohhh–” he glanced at the time, “--thirty minutes to fix whatever the fuck this is before i decide to get involved.” 

His voice dropped lower, “And you really don’t want that.” He hung up and tossed the phone back onto the desk.

What followed was him collapsing back into his chair - limbs everywhere, head thrown all the way back, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was pleading for divine intervention.

“I cannot live, laugh, love in these conditions.”

You watched him lie there communicating with the ceiling for a moment longer than was necessary.

You had been patient. Genuinely, impressively patient. But you had not put on this dress, this lingerie, only to stand here and watch your boyfriend ask the ceiling for mercy.

Your heels came off quietly. You crossed the office and leaned back against the edge of his desk, directly in front of him, arms loosely crossed and waited.

Nothing.

You lifted your foot and let it rest lightly against the side of his leg.

His ceiling monologue stopped instantly..

You trailed it upward. Slowly. Dragging up his calf, the inside of his thigh, taking your time with every inch, watching his face the entire way. He tracked the movement, eyes dropping to follow the path of your foot up his leg, his jaw tightening before he looked back up at you.

The hem of your dress had ridden up just enough. Just enough for the garter strap to peek out against your thigh - soft pink against your skin - and the corner of his mouth pulled.

“...ohhhhhhhh, hello.”

He reached down and wrapped his hand around your ankle, thumb stroking once across your bone, almost absentmindedly. Then his palm moved, up your ankle, your calf, the back of your knee, just feeling, just taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours. Like he was in absolutely no hurry to get anywhere and intended to enjoy every second of the journey.

Then without a word he drew your foot forward, deliberately until you could feel him - hard beneath the fabric of his pants, the outline of him unmistakable under your foot. He held you there, letting you feel exactly how hard you were making him, what you had done to him.

Ohh.

He watched you carefully, that small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, waiting to see exactly how far you intended to take this.

So you pressed down. Just slightly, your gaze never leaving his.

His grip tightened around your ankle - not enough to hurt, just enough to stop you – his breath hitched once before he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then his smile returned, entirely too pleased with himself.

“I had a feeling you were scheming the second you walked in.” His thumb stroked once across your foot. “Were you planning to stand there all night and wait for me to notice?”

You tilted your head. “I thought I’d at least give you a chance.”

You pressed again, firmer this time and his head tipped back slightly, a short laugh escaping him.

“You’ve made your point,” he said to the ceiling. Then his eyes found yours again, dark and thoroughly entertained. “Very clearly, darling.”

His thumb traced idle patterns against your leg, you felt the steadiness of his grip, the warmth radiating off of him, the very clear evidence beneath your foot that your plan was working exactly as intended - and you decided you had been generous for long enough.

You pulled your foot back.

His hand caught you before you could even move, fingers tightening around your ankle with ease, like he’s been expecting exactly that move.

He looked up slowly, his smile spreading slowly like he won something.

“Ah ah, where do you think you’re going, sweetheart.”

He rolled his chair forward until he was eye level with the lace at the top of your stocking where it met the garter, and looked up at you with completely innocent eyes.

“I need to examine this more closely.” His lips pressed to the side of your knee, “I can practically feel my sins being forgiven.”

Both hands slid up from your ankle, fingers finding the seam of your stocking and tracing it upward. When he finally reached the lace at the top he traced the edge of it carefully. Memorizing it before his digits found the garter strap.

He pulled it taut and let is snap against your skin.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, trying to not let any sound or smile escape and give you away.

He saw it anyway, of course he did. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He rose, slowly, lazily, unfolding himself to his full height, his hand trailing up the outside of your thigh as he went. You watched him straighten and felt the dynamic shift instantly. You had to look up to find his eyes now. He stepped closer until the desk met the back of your thighs. Not saying a word, just looking at you, taking his sweet time with you.

You felt him the moment he pulled you in - hard and thick against your stomach, the full length of him pressed flush against you. He kept you right there against it, his hands heavy on your waist, not letting you create any distance. Just holding you there to let you feel every bit. Let you understand exactly what walking through that door tonight did.

Your fingers curled into his shirt.

One finger came up beneath your chin, tilting your face to his.

“All of this–” his eyes dropped briefly, traveling over you, the dress, the lingerie, all of it, before finding yours again, “--for little ol’ me.” A small smile painted his features, “I’m flattered. Truly.”

He kissed you and it was not what you expected. Softer. His lips moved against yours with a gentleness that had no business existing in this same evening, one hand cupping your face carefully. You felt yourself lean into it before you had made the decision, chasing it slightly. His tongue traced your lips - slow and teasing, not quite giving you what you wanted - and the small frustrated sound that escaped you was humiliating.

He smiled against your mouth.

So you bit his lip.

His hips pressed into you hard and the sound that came out of him went straight through you, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, his grip tightening before he caught himself. He pulled back just far enough to look at your face and for a moment his expression was fraying - his composure unraveling slightly, his breathing becoming more uneven.

His thumb dragged slowly across your bottom lip.

“You,” he said quietly.

His mouth found your neck and your breath immediately became unsteady.

“I want it on record–” you started, fingers curling tighter into his shirt, trying to remember what it is you had actually come here today, “--that you have been in this office too long and have barely–”

“Mm.” he kissed lower. “Go on, i’m listening.”

“I’ve been very–” his lips found a spot that dissolved the rest of the sentence entirely. You tried again, “I’ve been patient–”

“Ohh incredibly patient,” he agreed against your collarbone. “The patience of a saint.”

“Don’t–don’t patronize me–”

“Awwwwwww, i would neverrrrrr.”

His hands found your ass and squeezed and he relished every sound that escaped you. 

“Ohhhhhh, I’m sorry darling.” Completely remorseless. His lips found your ear, his fingers tracing the garter strap through the fabric. “I bought that for you.” A kiss pressed just below your ear. “Walked into my office, in that dress–” another kiss lower, “--wearing everything I picked out for you.” His teeth grazed just beneath your ear and thinking was becoming genuinely difficult. “Like i wasn’t going to notice.”

He rocked his hips into you. Just barely, almost like he couldn’t help it.

You smiled against his shoulder, tipping your chin up toward his ear.

“That didn’t take much,” you murmured softly. “I expected more self control from you.”

He pulled back and just looked at you for a second, his smile still there but something darker stirring beneath it, disbelief and delight tangled together. A small laugh escaping him at the sheer audacity of your remark. 

The smile he wore now was something that should probably concern you.

“I’m going to need you,” he said quietly, “to take a second and remember exactly who you’re playing with.”

You blinked at him.

“You’re so right, darling.” You smoothed his collar carefully, tracing a line with your finger down his tie. “I don’t know what came over me.” You could feel the grin trying to crawl across your face. “I just thought I would pop in and check on you.” An innocent tilt of your head, the smallest pout and then you grabbed his tie pulling him toward you. “I should probably go and let you get back to work.”

You made the smallest move away from him.

His hand caught your waist before you could go anywhere. “Oh no you don’t.”

He picked you up and dropped you onto the edge of the desk in one motion. It took everything in you to suppress the delighted laugh bubbling up inside of you. You pressed your lips together hard, but could barely contain it.

He looked at you, shaking his head slowly. “You are the most fucking diabolical person I have ever met.” He said it like it's the highest compliment he could ever pay someone, “Let’s see how long that confidence of yours lasts, shall we.”

He pressed your knees apart gently and stepped between your thighs. Your dress began to rise, achingly slow, his fingers trailing up the outside of your thigh as the fabric bunched in his hands. He dropped down and pressed his lips just above your knee.

Whatever composure you had left was quietly making its exit.

He moved higher. His mouth dragging up the inside of your thigh in a path so slow it bordered on cruel, each kiss landing a little closer to where you were trying very hard to not think about. The hand you had braced behind you was barely keeping you upright, the other found his hair at some point.

By the time he reached the lace edge of your panties, you had all but abandoned trying to hold yourself together.

His lips pressed to the fabric. Just once. Teeth catching the lace at your hip, he looked up at you from under his lashes and the expression on his face was doing nothing to help your current situation.

“I would love nothing mor than to leave these on you.” His fingers curled into the waistband, “But i’m significantly more interested in what they’re hiding from me.” He flashed a devilish grin, “Forgive me.”

He drew them down slowly and when the light caught the evidence of exactly how this entire evening had gotten to you – he just stilled.

The silence stretched long enough to be completely intentional. His lower lip caught briefly between his teeth, eyes dropping once before cutting back up to your face.

“Mmm.” he said softly, “My sweet angel.” His thumb pressed once into the damp fabric slowly. “Came in here just to check on me, huh.” He tilted his head, mischief glimmering behind his eyes, satisfaction plastering his face. “This feels far from innocent.”

He set them aside carefully, his smile becoming considerably more dangerous. “Seems you’ve been holding out on me, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth to respond but his fingers slipped between your thighs before you got a word out. He traced you slowly, circling where you were most sensitive and you could feel yourself getting wetter. When he finally dragged his fingers through your slick, the look that crossed his face was the most dangerous thing you’d seen all evening.

His fingers slid into you slowly and your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard as the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, his fingers curling up inside you. The combination of everything sent your head tipping back before you caught yourself. Your jaw tightened, you were not about to give him the satisfaction he craved.

He watched every bit of the war happening across your face with what could only be described as delight.

“You know–” he said casually, fingers moving in a slow pace that was making concentration genuinely difficult, “-I’m looking at these documents.” He paused, “under you.” His fingers curled and your grip on his shoulders tightened. “The ones that are currently, and i can’t stress this enough, absolutely ruined.” The heel of his palm pressed against you harder and you tried to suppress the whine trying to claw its way out of yout. “Koko is going to be beside himself. How do I even begin to explain what happened to them.” He tilted his head, eyes bright with amusement. “That my girlfriend came in here and–”

“Don’t–” you started.

He withdrew his hand completely.

The sound that escaped you gave everything away. His fingers traced over your entrance without pushing back in, circling your clit with just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge of losing your mind yet not near enough to give you what you needed.

“Ohhh,” he said softly, leaning in close, whispering into your ear. “I’ve got you now, darling.” His fingers dancing around, teasing everywhere. “All that attitude.” He pressed a kiss on your neck, “Look at you now.”

You rolled your hips desperately trying to catch any friction.

His free hand came down on your hip firmly, stilling you. “Ah ah.” he cooed, “Don’t do that.”

You were done. Done with whatever game you were playing. You didn’t want to win anymore, you just wanted him and didn’t care if he knew anymore.

“Haru–”

He didn’t budge.

“Please.”

Something broke within him. The playful demeanor he held all evening just dissolved. When his eyes met yours again they were dark and completely done.

He reached for his belt.

Unhooking it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours - like losing sight of you for even a moment wasn’t something he was willing to do. The slide of his zipper cut through the stillness of the office and he finally freed himself, wrapping his hand around his length slowly, stroking once, twice, gaze moving over you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

He stepped back between your thighs and dragged himself through your slick. 

“Tell me what you want.” His voice came out lower than before. Less steady. 

You reached up and took his face into your hands. You kissed him - not teasing, not retaliating - just kissing him. “I want you,” you said against his mouth.

He pushed into you slowly.

The stretch of him pulled a moan out of you that he swallowed with a kiss, his hands gripping your hips as he bottomed out. Moving slowly.

Deep, unhurried strokes that you felt everywhere - felt how he stretched you, how deep he went, the way each thrust sent heat through your entire body. His hands kept you angled to feel every inch of him. Your hands moved restlessly - his shoulders, his hair, fisting the back of his shirt - pulling him closer even though there was no space left between you.

The pace increased. The sounds filling the office, his breath ragged against your skin, your voice catching with every thrust, the creak of the desk beneath you. You felt like the world around you had ceased to exist outside of this moment.

Until the door swung open.

Rindou walked in mid sentence, eyes on his phone already talking. “-Sanzu i need you to look at these before–”

He looked up and was mortified. “Jesus Christ,” he said, very quietly. He took one step back. Then another. His eyes found the ceiling, the wall, the door, anything but the desk, trying to retreat without a word.

Ran appeared over his shoulder taking in the full scene with no care to look away and whistled low.

You had buried your face against Sanzu’s neck, so grateful that your back was to the door, the heat crawling up your face competing with everything else currently happening to you. Why didn’t i lock the door?! You winced to yourself internally.

Sanzu didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t acknowledge the situation in any way except to grip your ass harder, pulling you harder against him. You desperately tried to muffle the sound that escaped you with the sudden movement. 

“Gentlemen.” His voice came out completely even. “My hands are a bit full at the moment, little busy.”

Ran laughed, absolutely delighted. “Oh by all means, don’t let us stop you. This is genuinely the most productivity i have ever witnessed in this office.”

“Ran.” Rindous voice called out, already in the hallway.

“Fine, fine.” Ran’s voice was retreating. He called back before closing the door, “Let me know if you ever want a third.”

The door finally clicked shut.

Your face was still buried against him, the heat crawling up your throat in a complicated tangle of mortification and anticipating how you were never going to be able to live this moment down.

His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face up. “Look at me.”

His eyes were dark and locked in, his chaos narrowed down to a single point. You. His hips kept moving, deeper now and you felt every stroke.

“You know–” he started, his voice lower than before, rough at the edges, his thumb found your clit, “-I’m going to sit at this desk every single day.” His hips snapped harder. “And I’m gonna think about you.” His thumb moved in slow circles, “Spread open for me.” Deeper. “Dripping all over everything.” His eyes moving over your face like he was committing every detail to memory. “Looking exactly like this.”

His hand continued to work you until you were about to see stars.

“So you’re going to come for me.” He said it with certainty. “Right here. On my desk.” His lips found your ear. “Give me something to think about every time i have to sit through another fucking meeting with people who are genuinely testing my penchant for violence.”

The laugh that tried to escape you dissolved immediately when he pressed his thumb harder and snapped his hips faster - winding you unbearably tight.

His praise continued, pushing you mercilessly to your limit.

That’s it.

Look at you, so perfect, so fucking perfect.

Come all over my desk like a good girl.

That’s it angel, right there.

Hearing him like that, completely undone, his voice raw and genuine and only for you…

You came apart.

Hard. Thighs locking around him, hands gripping his shirt, his name spilling from your lips. He groaned low into your neck as he felt you clench around him.

Then he chased his own release.

His grip tightening almost painfully, his pace turning desperate, deep, hard strokes with nothing composed about them anymore. Your face buried in his neck, fingers twisting in his hair, taking everything he gave you.

“Fuc–” He choked out the word.

His hips stuttered through the last of it, burying himself as deep as he could go, riding each wave in slow shuddering movements until there was nothing left.

He finally stilled, his breath wrecked against your neck, his heartbeat gradually slowing. This was the quietest he had been all day.