#because this makes sense in my head but im so bad at putting it into words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuswhore · 2 years ago

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Hits Different (...'cause it's you) (2)

«« I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' »»

PAIRING: kim mingyu x reader

SYNOPSIS: Kim Mingyu was the first friend your brother had brought home for dinner. Fast forward a couple years, his toothy smile and pierced ears would wedge their way into a permanent place in your heart. Nail to a coffin, never to escape.

or;

in which you get rejected by the only boy you've ever loved; a rejection you can't quite shake off.

GENRES: based off of 'Hits Different' by Taylor Swift, brother's best friend!au, brother!seokmin, fluff, angst, smut (in part 2) [MINORS DNI], friends(?) to lovers, university!au.

PLAYLIST: right here!

WORD COUNT (full fic): 40k (im actually embarrassed)

Part 1: 20.2k | Part 2: 20k

masterlist

WARNINGS : slowburn, angst, fluff, mingyus a bit of an airhead and an ass, reader has a hard time managing her feelings, lots of frustrated tears, one sided pining, user toruro x minghao make an appearance, swearing, there's another woman (gasp,,,,,but shes cool so), Nayeon is a darling, Seungcheol is kinda annoying here but we love him, smut, making out, breast play, fingering (f. receiving), p in v sex (protected + unprotected), oral (f. receiving) uhhhh i think that's it lmk tho

[A/N]: Part 2 !! shit goes down in this one so be prepared ig lmao. thank you for the love on part 1, i hope you enjoy the finale too hehe

For the third time this week, you wish you could squeeze your brother’s brains with your own two hands and watch it explode like a grape without legal repercussions. Or parental ones.

You slam your phone down on the counter after you end your conversation with him, frustrated as you watch the empty shelf where you left your dinner for today in the fridge last night, and the other green box that was actually your brothers. Refusing to eat the dry PB&J he usually packs for himself, you slam the fridge door shut, trudging out the door to leave for work, thoroughly annoyed at the prospect of needing to eat out.

It’s gone forgotten for most of the day, that is until the clock hits eight and you feel your stomach grumble, immediately putting you in a sour mood as you remember you couldn’t enjoy your pasta because your brother was enjoying your pasta. You only had another hour left, supposing you could wait till you get home to make dinner yourself, not feeling the burger joint across the street in the slightest. Eating a moonpie to satiate yourself for the time being, you go back to stocking the shelves for the new LP shipment, making a vague mental note to ask Mingyu if Jia liked the gift he picked out a couple weeks ago.

Your opportunity arises almost automatically as you walk over to greet whoever came in, abandoning the opened box of bubble wrapped LPs as you hear the bell chime softly at the front of the store.

Mingyu was here (again), hands occupied with a bag, looking relieved to find you emerging from the shelves.

“Oh, you’re here. I was afraid you left already,” he says, smiling slightly.

“Would’ve been closed if I did.” You nudge your head towards the clearly unlocked door, donning the neon open sign.

He looks a little dumb, turning to look at the door. “Oh. Right.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Caught me at a good time though, I was just about to start wrapping up here.”

He suddenly looks like he’s reminded of what he’s come here for, placing the bag on the desk next to him. “Seok told me to drop this off for you, he said it’s food.”

Snorting, you take a look at the inside to find takeout from your favourite pasta place, which also happens to be your most expensive favourite pasta place. Seokmin felt bad enough to spend extra dollars on your dinner tonight, you guessed you could forgive him.

You sigh as you speak. “And you strike as his errand boy yet again, sorry he’s been making you do all this.”

“Did he piss you off?” Mingyu asks.

“Hm? He’s been pissing me off all week, this is him trying to get on my good side before I spit in his coffee.”

He laughs at that, a toothy smile that has your stomach lurching. The flashback was brief but vivid all the same, his grin triggering a long forgotten memory. You could almost see the black studs in his ears again, his bangs falling in chunks on his forehead, his face turning into the boyish sixteen year old recollection on your kitchen counter, drinking cans of Monster and helping you lie to your mom.

“Explains why he was ready to drop that much on a bowl of pasta.”

“Hey, it’s good.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He grins, “I’m gonna leave your pasta in your loving embrace, I have to feed my car now. Been putting it off till payday.”

“Oh, right. Thanks for dropping this off though, appreciate it.” You offer him a tight lipped smile. One that he returns, canines almost glinting in the light (but that’s just you).

“No worries, I’ll see ya around.” You don’t remember what you were meant to ask him until he’s long jingled the glass door shut, walking to his parked car. You supposed it could wait, Jia would’ve liked anything he got her. You could ask him later, not wanting to have him turn around to answer the obvious question.

The opportunity does not arise as easily as it did this time, a couple weeks passing in relative uneventful indifference, slow days at the store and nights in seven days a week. You were starting to wish you’d taken summer classes while you were stuck here anyway, the mundane days pushing you to believe you’d rather be busy than inexplicably bored. It’s not until your brother has a near mental breakdown from only having a sister as his main recreational contact that there’s a change.

Mingyu sits on your couches in the dark, useless blanket thrown over his torso as both of his sock clad feet hang out in the air. To be fair, nobody’s looking at anybody as the eyes remain on yet another unnecessary explosion on the screen. You vaguely wonder how the ship hasn’t sunk yet.

“What the fuck do you mean he’s been alive this whole time?” Seokmin utters, voice thick with the entire stick of butter he stuck into his bowl of popcorn.

“Who funded this?” Mingyu mumbles from the other end, a deep frown etched on his face.

“The people who funded the other three monstrosities.” You roll your eyes, inching your way into a sitting position, the ache making its way into the crick of your neck.

“There’s more?!” The prospect had Mingyu hurtling into a sitting position, but not without his own set of winces as he feels the bones cracking and muscles aching. His hair is a mess, his hoodie nearly backwards, and you can’t help but laugh at the mildly confused and bewildered expression he has on.

“Yeah, you wanna watch those too?” you ask through giggles.

Glancing at the final pub scene that’s playing on the TV, he's quick to mumble, “Fuck, no.”

“I haven’t watched a real shitty movie in a while.” Seokmin groans as it’s his turn to stretch. “This was fun. Hollywood’s back.”

Both you and Mingyu pointedly ignore his statement, your own mind debating whether you wanted to watch another movie. It’s not until you look up to see Mingyu doing something on his phone that you remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Hey, Mingyu, did — Seokmin!” Your brother’s decided to begin his aerial stretches, touching his toes and cracking his back. You shift your head wildly to get a gap through his restless movements, eventually giving up finding Mingyu. He could hear you. “Did you – ugh – did you get to give Jia her present?”

You aren’t sure what it is, but the way the question has Seok landing on his heels mid tip toe stretch and how Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up, you don’t doubt you’ve touched on something sensitive. There’s a part of you that wonders if it’s too late to take it back when both boys make eye contact with each other, but your brother beats you to it.

“I, uh…forgot to tell her,” he lowtones.

You look to your brother and then to Mingyu.

“We broke up.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu smiles a little awkwardly, and Seok makes a strangled sound that may have been a laugh of his own. Or a cough, you aren’t too sure. “But…she did like the present, when I gave it to her anyway.”

“Oh, that’s…that’s good,” you manage, not knowing what to say. “Sorry that happened though…sucks.”

“She ended it–” that has your own brows shooting up in disbelief. Kim Mingyu got dumped? “–over the phone, she decided she wanted to stay home for a while to figure out what she wanted to do. Uni wasn’t cutting it for her here…”

“I mean, good for her, I guess. Hope you’re doing okay, though.”

He blows air out of his cheeks, scratching his neck. “I mean, we’re fine. Ended it on good terms.”

Seokmin’s still standing awkwardly staring at the still running ending credits for something to do. “Should we get food?”

“I don’t know, are you hungry?” Mingyu asks.

“How is the heartburn not getting to you yet? You basically emptied the country’s dairy reserves in a single popcorn serving,” you grumble.

“Don’t underestimate my ingestional abilities,” he retorts.

Mingyu stares for a moment. “Aren’t you lactose intoletrant or something?”

Seokmin turns to him, mouth open as he points his finger, “You know, I might be.”

“No you aren’t, if you were lactose intolerant then I’d be lactose intolerant,” you shoot.

“Explain the empty can of air freshener in the bathroom after queso and chips?”

“Have you considered during queso and chips that queso is a dip and not an optional beverage?”

Mingyu’s cutting between you two before you can go on with your bickering, afraid he’d have to physically peel you off of each other if it goes on, “Let’s just go to a drive thru, you can get your lactose or…non lactose options however you like.”

That’s how you’re shoved into the backseat of Mingyu’s car, Seokmin fiddling with the GPS to find the nearest McDonalds.

“How do you not know where the nearest McDonald’s is, you live here,” Mingyu hisses as he takes his fourth right turn in a row.

“We always just order in, who sits in a car and goes to McDonalds.”

“Us apparently,” you lowtone to Mingyu from the back, picking at a crusty flower that you found in between the seats. They ignore you.

“Okay, I think it’s this one. Dude, get a new GPS, this one responds after fifty years, of course it’s gonna take this long.”

Their own bickering is starting to zone out into a buzz in your ears as you stare at a patch of leather behind Mingyu’s seat. You vaguely considered that you’re falling asleep.

The streetlight has other plans, however, when you sense something glinting in the sudden light underneath the seat. Your interest is piqued, moving forward to see what it was. Mingyu senses you shifting and asks you what you’re doing.

You don’t answer him as you shuffle around to catch sight of it again. And then you see it, a tiny necklace on the slightly dirty mat, a circle charm with a single ‘J’ in the center. You aren’t sure why you froze at the sight, the gold glinting prettily even in the dark. Leaving it there, you emerge from under the seat, trying to seem nonchalant.

“Nothing. Thought I saw something.”

Mingyu’s common occurrence in the bookstore is starting to concern you, never catching him as the type to read something other than the occasional bad riddles on the back of a cereal box. You stand corrected however, as you find yourself trying to find a hardcover for him on the computer system, mumbling incoherently.

“Never knew you read.”

“Well, now you do. This one’s really good though, you should read it too.” He notes, motioning towards the paperback version he brought with him for the book he’s finding.

You snort at his suggestion. “Have you realised this is one of the most popular books in its genre right now? Hard to find someone who hasn’t read it.”

He frowns at the revelation, “Oh. None of my friends read it.”

Seokmin hasn’t opened a book for recreational purposes since he was twelve. As for his other friends…they didn’t exactly seem like the smart type either. You get up to move to the shelf the computer’s indicated, trying to walk off your annoyance at a particular memory before it begins to show. Mingyu follows you in your pursuit to find his book, skimming the shelves himself as he strolled behind you.

“Oh, right, how’s that exhibition thing going? Forgot to ask about it,” you ask as you spot the box of the hardcovers at the top of the shelf. You grab the ladder that rests near the wall as he answers.

“It’s going pretty good, nearly done. I just need to send the final pieces over – what’re you doing?”

You grunt as you begin to climb up the metal ladder, trying to get to the box. “Getting your book, genius.”

“Wait–” He moves to grab the ladder at the base as he watches you step higher. “Get down! I’ll go up instead.”

“You get cold feet at the bottom of an escalator, be serious, Mingyu,” you grunt as you pull the box towards yourself, the ladder shaking with the force it takes, and it has Mingyu gripping the metal tighter. You pull the familiar cover out before closing the box back up. “There.”

“Why would you keep supposed bestsellers there, isn’t this like, in demand?” He grumbles as he continues to hold the ladder as you climb back down.

“Ran out. Need to restock them at the front, but I’ll do that tomorrow.” You huff as you jump the last step, earning a loud yelp from Mingyu.

“Chill out,” you chuckle as he puts the ladder away. “Okay, do you want me to look at anything else for you?”

“What would you recommend for my next imaginary adventure?” he asks as he picks out a random book from the shelf, trying to find the blurb.

“Not that one.” You scrunch your nose at the sight.

“This one I know is popular. What’s wrong with it?” He chuckles as he puts it back.

“Don’t believe everything you see on the internet,” you call out as you walk back to the front.

“And believe you instead?”

Oh, you wish.

Picking up your current read from the front of the store, you wait for him to reach the end of the opening where you stand to hand it to him.

“You can decide that for yourself. Haven’t finished it yet, but it looks super promising. Try it out if you want.”

He barely looks over the glistening title before handing it back to you, and you nearly assume he didn’t want it.

“Ring both of them up,” he says, and then with a pause he continues, “And anything else you think is good too, I don’t really care.”

Deciding you’d test the waters with this first recommendation, you only cash him in for two. He doesn’t question it as you do your job behind the desk, making casual conversation as he waits for you to find the right barcode.

“How far are you with that one?”

“The one I gave you? Just touched chapter 20, I think.”

He only hums in response as he pays, grabbing the bag that you push towards him.

“Let me know how you like it,” you comment before he begins to turn to leave.

“‘Course.” He grins, and you can't help but grin right back. He leaves you in the store with a slight heat coming up to your cheeks, and a wad of gum in your mouth to keep your stomach in check.

By the time the next day rolls around, it’s been nearly 24 hours before you hear from him again, his contact seemingly only ever gracing you within the walls of the bookstore – except he isn’t physically here. Mingyu texts you, and you nearly fall out of your chair at the sight of his name on your phone.

It’s near embarrassing how quickly you pick up your phone, passcode going wrong once, twice, thrice…you decide it’s the top five worst times your phone’s refused face ID. You’re slamming your fingers onto the screen harder than you should, watching the warp in the pixels at the pressure. By the time it does open its secrets for you, the annoyance has settled. Not at him though.

[Mingyu]: hey [Mingyu]: i got to chap 20 [You]: what [You]: how [Mingyu]: started reading when i got home [Mingyu]: and then i got to 20 [Mingyu]: i think i pulled an all nighter [You]: you think? [You]: was it that good [Mingyu]: couldnt put it down [Mingyu]: i wanna talk about it but my eyes are closing [You]: you know where to find me when you wake up

The typing ellipses don’t pop up after that, and you assume for the better that he’s succumbed to his afternoon drowsiness. If he was serious about that all nighter (which you don’t doubt, no way he could’ve plowed through twenty chapters and gotten any sleep), you assume he’ll be knocked out for at least the rest of the afternoon.

Smiling to yourself at the thought of him wanting to text you about your matching achievements (and actively pushing your mind away from the blessed image of a napping Mingyu), you find yourself scrolling up the conversation, trying to remember the last time Mingyu had texted. That was easy to find out as the short scroll past the sparing details from your photography adventures landed you straight into late last year, a sparse conversation regarding your brother’s whereabouts when he wouldn’t answer his phone.

You remembered the conversation. As mundane and ordinary as it was, it was difficult to forget the way your hands were shaking as you typed your one word replies, how your breathing was coming out uneven at a mere text back. You could argue there was less of that this time round, proud of yourself for learning to control your emotions better.

There’s a train of thought that leads you to every recent interaction you’ve had with him. The conversations where you could look him in the eye, your relative indifference when he would show up unannounced, the disappearance of the wad of emotions in your stomach at the mere mention of his name.

The latter may be slightly untrue, but you can't help but note how the ounces of fear within the concoction is gone. You were never quite sure what it was that you were so afraid of, perhaps the fateful night at Seungcheol’s party had answered that question for you, but still.

“Seok’s not the type to beat me up if I dated his sister. And besides…” He sighs, halting his words.

“Besides what?” Somebody chimes in.

“I’m not interested in going after someone who’s chased my tail for the past fifteen years.”

Despite telling yourself it was the alcohol talking, maybe even a couple puffs of whatever — the mild disappointment remains. Thinking about the weeks following that, the moping and the hurt, you almost don’t blame Mika for acting the way that she did.

Your brother had always been oblivious to all the frolicking in your heart that would ignite as Mingyu would enter the room, and for over a decade at that. And yet, it was during those weeks that he had noticed you acting like you had been dumped, asking you what on earth was wrong with you.

“Did somebody say something to you?” he asks.

“Huh?” you frown, annoyed at the way he's planted himself directly in front of the cabinet that held your beloved moonpies.

“You’re acting like you’ve been rejected by the love of your life. Nayeon’s not telling me anything and you’re being avoidant, what is up with you?” He huffs, hands on his hips.

Oh, if only he knew how right he was. But you weren’t upset because the love of your life rejected you (anymore, at least), you were upset because he was a public asshole.

It takes more coaxing from him to get you to start talking. It’s easier when he brings out the big guns: “D’you want me to tell mom?”

You tell him a little, not naming any names, much to his dismay. “Some guy was an ass, something about me being too easy or whatever.”

“You’re upset because some drunk dude decided to run his mouth?” He scrunches his nose at the thought. “Ignore him, he’s stupid.”

“Thanks for the help, I’m cured,” you deadpan, pushing him aside to get to the gold inside the cabinets.

“I could get Mingyu to help me beat him up, I just need a name.”

Oh. You briefly wonder how he'd feel if he had to beat up his best friend.

More than his attempts to sound like a cool older brother, the image of Mingyu beating himself up brings you more amusement than anything else. You crack a smile at the thought.

That was months ago, yet you can’t seem to forget the hurt. Trying to shake off where your thoughts were taking you, you get up to take a walk around the store for something to do, fixing microscopic displacements on the shelves and wondering if you should restock something, only to realize you’d already done that when you came in, not wanting to whip out the ladder again to restock the ones you'd just landed from.

Landing inevitably back behind the counter, you instinctively reach for the book wedged beside the computer. Your outstretched hand stops midway, thinking about how Mingyu’s reached as far as you in the story quite literally overnight. Retracting your hand, you decide you’d wait.

The bell chimes signaling a customer, and you find yourself grateful for the distraction.

It’s nearing 8:30 when you decide you should close early. It was slower than usual today, the few walk-ins leaving without purchases too hefty, rendering you bored in your seat for most of the day. You’re locking the drawers of the main desk when Mingyu walks in with the familiar tune of the bell chiming, soft smile as he greets you quietly.

“How was your nap?” you ask, trying not to giggle at his still dazed expression.

“Pretty good, didn’t wanna wake up though.” His voice remains relatively coarse, and you don’t miss the light indent on his left cheek. It’s endearing, enough to have you wishing you could cup his face in a loving squish.

But you don’t.

“You don’t say,” you comment. Pointing at your own cheek as you continue, “You sure you don’t wanna take the night off too?”

“Fuck,” he whispers as he looks down to fumble for his phone to see for himself in his front camera. The puffiness hasn’t gone away entirely, evident when he’s frowning and looking downwards, and the urge to squeeze comes hurtling back.

“Did you drive like this?”

“Uh, no, I walked.”

“Walked?” You try to comprehend if that was even more dangerous. He only nods. “Why?”

“Wanted to see you.”

It takes effort to not clutch your chest at the way your heart leaps. Kim Mingyu, you bastard.

“Had to talk about the book.”

Your voice comes out a little more breathless than you’d like, but you hope his drowsiness skips over it. “You could’ve texted.”

He pauses as he mulls it over. “I mean, yeah…I don’t know. I just put my shoes on and came here.”

You decide you’d spare him the brain power and continue your remaining closing duties, talking to him as you move around the store.

“We can take my car to my place, better than getting distracted here.”

He only nods in response. “Do you want any help?”

“Nope, just need to turn off the lights and lock the doors. Let me grab my bag.”

By the time you’re home, an XL pizza and drinks in your arms to satiate Mingyu’s post nap ravenous tendencies, you drop down on the couch with a huff. Seokmin hears the ruckus and appears from his room, not wasting time to break on the pizza with Mingyu as you leave to freshen up. By the time you settle with your own slice it seems as though Mingyu has roused himself significantly more than before.

“Okay,” you huff as you land on the soft cushioning, “What did you think about the book?”

“Hard to believe this is her first book, it’s really good.”

“Her world building is amazing, some of the best I’ve read.”

Your back and forth discussion grows increasingly passionate, forgetting the fact that your brother was also right there excluded from the conversation. His head shifts back and forth as the both of you converse, utterly lost. It would’ve been funny, except neither if you were actually looking at him.

He manages to get a word in as one of you pauses for breath. “Since when do you read?”

Mingyu gapes at the question, seemingly trying to find an answer. “Recently.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I just wanted to start reading,” he scoffs in a manner that could be described as exaggerated. If he’s trying to throw Seokmin off his scent, he’s succeeded, as he watches Seokmin get up and announce that he has work to do. That leaves the both of you alone.

The conversation takes you into the late hours of the night, Mingyu’s prior nap releasing him from the chains of reasonable sleeping hours as he remains wide awake despite the 3 AM time on the dial. You manage to keep up with him, even when he follows you to the kitchen to brew a coffee.

“Do you usually work this hard just to make coffee?” he asks as he watches you discard the used espresso puck.

“We have a bottle of the instant stuff here somewhere for when I’m lazy,” you explain as you pour the fresh shots into the prepped ice and milk. “Doesn’t taste the same though.”

“Coffee is coffee,” he says as he stirs the drink you push towards him.

“Quite the contrary. Besides, the instant stuff fucks with my stomach, I’d rather not.” You take a sip of your coffee, glancing at the sink. “Will say, hate everything I have to wash afterwards.”

“I’ll do ‘em later, gotta pay you back for all the manual labour that went into this thing,” he refers to the latte he’s sipping on currently.

“The appreciation is enough. We can make Seok do them in the morning for being a loser and going to bed early,” you snort. Mingyu laughs at that, the image of Seokmin doing dishes while the both of you sleep in.

“You sure you don’t wanna call it a night?” he asks you as you place yourself on the kitchen counter.

“I’m having fun, Mingyu, seriously. I’m off tomorrow too, I don’t have to wake up,” you reassure for the nth time.

He doesn’t reply, only stares up at you from his leaned position. He’s chewing on his lip, and you find yourself unconsciously chewing at your own, the already raw skin stinging at the abrasion. Mingyu’s hands come up to your face slowly, like he knew it was hurting as he pulls your bottom lip to release it with his thumb.

“You’re gonna bleed,” he whispers. His hand that grasps your chin doesn’t move, rough thumb continuing to graze at your lip lightly.

“You never stopped picking at your lips, did you?” he wonders out loud, eyes trained on your mouth.

Your own hand comes to lightly grip at his forearm. He remembers your habit, picking at the skin of your lips since near middle school, getting yelled at when you had to excuse yourself from the dinner table when they would bleed.

“Old habits die hard.” Your voice is thick despite the gulp you had to take before opening your mouth.

It was true, probably too much as you continue to look at his near perfect face. The oldest habit, the hardest to die.

Mingyu drops his hand, landing it in your lap, your own hand still gripping his forearm. You aren’t sure what’s going through you as you trail your hand up further, to his wrists, to the dip of his palm, landing on his fingers. You grip his hand, tight this time.

“I’m gonna jump,” you whisper, and you feel his grip tighten around yours as he braces to support you off the counter.

You face him in silence, contemplating, “It’s hot in here, let’s go back out.”

He watches as you pick your cup off the counter and leave, not waiting for him to follow you. He finds himself trying to take deeper breaths, stalling, but not for long as he joins you back on the couch.

It probably came as a shock to both of you the first time Mingyu announced his leave much earlier in the night, when you stopped him, asking him to stay. It was silent for a few sparing moments as you both absorbed what had come out of your mouth, trying to make sense of it. You found yourself needing to coax him a little more to convince him he wasn’t overstaying his visit, that you were having fun. He sits back down, warning you that this was going to be a long night.

You don’t think you could ever forget the absolute somersault your stomach performed, the after effects leaving you still as a plank.

It was a long night indeed. And yet, when you found your eyes closing after a fight, much later on the couch with a large blanket shared between the both of you, Mingyu watches you doze off while leaning on the couch facing him, wishing the night was longer.

If you were awake, you probably would’ve found yourself agreeing.

There’s a lot Mingyu has to learn about himself. He’s reminded of the fact nearly everyday. Especially right now as Seokmin runs his mouth sitting with him at a secluded booth in some bar.

They had company, a couple guys joining them for dinner before leaving not too long after. That left him and a slightly tipsy Seokmin alone, who’s currently munching on a platter of crackers in front of him. He was bright enough, the energy from the others keeping him going as they played their drinking games and ate their obnoxious amounts of food. It was alot more somber with only the both of them left, his mood deflating as their friends slowly dwindled in number. That wasn’t about to stop him from ordering another beer though.

“Summer’s so boring,” he grumbles in dejection, flicking a stray crumb off the table.

“You chose to stay here,” Mingyu replies.

Seokmin doesn’t answer him, but continues to look like a kicked puppy, a slight pout forming on his face.

Mingyu fights the urge to scoff, “You can’t possibly be this upset about summer being depressing.”

“It’s not about that.”

Mingyu takes a swig of his own drink before sighing loudly, “What’s this about then?”

Seokmin says your name, and Mingyu is suddenly very interested. “She just seems to be doing a lot better since she started working at the bookstore.”

“Better?”

“She told me about this guy a couple months ago.”

Mingyu’s trying really hard to not look visibly deflated, not that Seokmin would notice considering his state, but he attempts to sound nonchalant regardless. “Do we know him?”

“I – no, that’s not,” he huffs in exasperation, “She said she overheard him, basically calling her easy.”

“Easy?”

“I don’t know, something about her chasing his tail or whatever, she won’t tell me who it is. She hadn’t been doing too great recently and I’m pretty sure it was because of him.”

It is dawning on Mingyu, embarrassingly slowly, that the guy Seokmin is talking about — may be him.

His voice is hoarse, a little frantic. “And she’s doing better, you said?”

“Oh yeah, the bookstore’s been amazing for her. Not sure how though, ‘cause she just sits there doing nothing for hours.”

He can’t bring himself to meet Seokmin’s eyes, remnants of his memories flurrying around in his brain in an attempt to figure out what other bullshit he had spewed that day. He was sure you weren’t there, you couldn’t be.

“Maybe doing nothing was what she needed.” Mingyu’s reply is whatever came to him off the top of his head, mind still racing.

“Hm, I guess. I was trying to get her to tell me, we could’ve chopped his dick off together,” Seokmin grumbles.

Mingyu winces slightly, eyes tight shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s a protective hand that subconsciously reaches his crotch area. “Yeah, yeah totally.”

“Fucker got let off easy, he should be happy she’s doing good.” Seokmin continues to ramble, voice getting increasingly louder.

“Yeah…”

“She’s not easy. My sister isn’t easy at all! Running after his tail, my ass! She doesn’t need some motherfucker with bad hair to be running his mouth, drunk as a bitch.” He stabs a single chopstick into the spare piece of meat on his plate, and the force has Mingyu flinching slightly.

“How do you know he has bad hair?” Mingyu continues to stare at the impaled piece of beef that Seokmin brings to his mouth.

“I don’t need to know a motherfucker to know he uses shitty hair gel.”

Mingyu may try to run his hair gel past Seokmin at some point. But right now, he’s only trying to make it out of the bar with his sex organs intact.

“Hey, we’re past this, remember? She’s doing great right now and that’s all that matters.” Mingyu sounds overly flustered, but he can’t bring himself to care as he attempts to reign in an angry Seokmin. They were garnering looks, and the last thing he wanted was to get kicked out before they had paid.

Seokmin is still huffing and puffing, but significantly less so as he finds reason in Mingyu’s words. “I’m gonna find out who he is.”

“You hate living in peace.”

“My sister’s hasn’t had any peace because of this dickwad, I’m—”

“OKAY! Okay, got it. We’ll figure that out when you’re sober.” Mingyu rises from his own seat as he finds Seokmin lifting his own butt off his chair in a near war cry.

He manages to fend him off, waving for the bill before he has to pull him back from aimlessly marching to whoever’s house he had in mind. He calms down as they wait for the check, finishing the remaining scraps on the table in silence.

Seokmin seems nearly back to his regular self after a few minutes, forehead creases smoothing over during his cool down time. He speaks, except this time it’s in a more socially acceptable manner.

“Hey, I’ve been noticing, you and her have been getting pretty close lately. I don’t know, it’s just, I woke up and saw both on the couch and —”

“Here’s your bill!” The waiter cuts him mid sentence, placing the check on the table.

Mingyu knew what Seokmin was getting to, and he was thanking every star in the galaxy for bringing the waiter into their lives at that exact moment. He’s quick to fuss over the glossy piece of paper, humming and making comments at their purchases to fill in any silent opportunities to let Seokmin continue. Mingyu’s slips his card in the wallet.

“It’s on me,” he announces as he flashes a quick smile to the waiter. “You can cut a ten for yourself.”

“Wait, what — let’s split, what’s wrong with you?” Seokmin jolts up as registers what’s happening a little too late.

“It’s fine, you can pay for the next one.” He says as he shifts around the table to look for his phone. “You should probably go to bed too, it’s getting pretty late. Sleep off the beer and whatnot.”

Seokmin is left speechless as Mingyu gets up, grabbing his stuff.

“Wait, your card—” Seokmin starts.

“Is here,” Mingyu spews a quick ‘thanks’ to the waiter, waving his card in front of Seokmin so he’d finally stand the fuck up.

“Do I need to drag you out of that chair, let’s go!” he says, grabbing Seok by the arm to lift him off his seat. It was nearly funny how he couldn’t get him to stay within the vicinity mere minutes ago and now is begging for him to get up.

By the time Mingyu’s jamming Seok’s key into your apartment, he’s tired of his endless rambling. He can only appreciate his drunk brain for not bringing up the last question he tried asking him. He’s opening the door, urging Seokmin to walk inside, slapping him awake from his nap against the wall.

Mingyu deems it best to physically put him in bed for the furnitures’ sake, pushing him in front to lead him to his room. Mingyu’s spent by the time he’s done and Seokmin is snoring, his back cracking from the hunched position he’s kept from tucking him in and taking his shoes and jacket off.

He tiptoes out (despite knowing it’d take a marching band to wake him up at that point), closing the door as quietly as possible.

“What’re you doing here?”

Mingyu nearly jumps out of his skin, landing a mile as he hears your voice in the dark hallway, hand coming up to his heart. “Jeez— announce yourself, would you?”

“In my own house?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Just—” he waves you off as he comes round, standing straight. “I was putting Seok to bed.”

You inhale sharply. “Did you drink?”

“Me? No, but he’s knocked out right now, he’s probably gonna need a pill in the morning,” he replies.

“Hm, I’ll see to it in the morning, or whenever it is that he wakes up.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu is standing awkwardly in front of you in the dark hall, not having anything else to say. “I’ll get going now.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Get some sleep,” you say as you let him move past you.

“You too, don’t know why you’re awake,” he chuckles quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep, I’ll go to bed now though.”

The awkwardness is painful, Mingyu can feel it in his chest. But what he’s feeling more is the way you look in your night shirt now that you’re in the light of the living room, legs shown farther up than you’d usually let them go. He wonders if you're wearing shorts underneath, but slaps himself out of it when he realises he’s been silent for too long.

“Uh yeah, I’ll go now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

Mingyu replays the last five minutes in his head the entire car ride home, when he’s changing out of his clothes, when he’s brushing his teeth, when he crawls under the warm covers to finally call it a night. Mingyu thinks about what he said all those months ago at a dumb party, how he’s hurt you more than he thought he had. There’s an ache that plunges into him, the thought of you going through that because of him while he stayed blissfully unaware.

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do to make it up to you, but right now, he’s happy. Happier than he’s been in a while, falling asleep to the thought of you.

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

You, on the other hand, are far from happy as you find yourself in yet another car related predicament.

Having to run to work in the middle of July is never a preferred option, yet you find yourself needing to do it anyway when you walk out to your engine refusing to start.

You really needed a new car.

Abandoning the hunk of what was turning out to be just expensive scrap metal, you rile other options out in your head.

Seokmin was long gone with his car. The bus was gonna take too long. No way in hell were you about to overpay a taxi to take you somewhere that was essentially just a 15 minute walk (read as run).

So you find yourself slinging your bag as a crossbody, thanking the heavens that you at least didn’t need to change your shoes. You pray for your white sneakers as you run across town, blurting apologies to passerbys that would gape at your hurried form. As apologetic as you were, it didn’t compare to how sorry you felt for yourself, the heat pricking your skin in an agitated rise anytime you’d slow down.

The AC is near heavenly as you gasp walking into the bookstore, red faced and hair sticking to your forehead.

“Sorry,” you gulp frantically. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Oh god,” you hear your boss comment as she sees you walk in. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just need a minute. Car broke down.”

She ushers you in front of the AC, waiting for you to collect yourself before taking her leave.

“I think I’m okay now, sorry about that.” Your chuckle comes out a little choked. So much for being convincing.

“You really should get a new car. I have a friend who’s daughter is selling hers, do you want me to ask them for you?” She’s patting your shoulder as she talks to you, and you recognize her courage to look past the sweat that’s accumulated there.

“That’d be great actually, thank you.”

Your second blow of the day comes right after you’ve finally gotten rid of the buckets of sweat on your body, seating yourself behind your desk to do some digging of your own.

You immediately wish you hadn’t as soon as you open the first second hand market site, the price tags landing you somewhere between never happening and impossible. Groaning, you place your head in your hands as you try to think of what to do. You pray your boss would come back with a quote that isn’t as outrageous as everything else you’ve cursed your eyes upon, seeing as that seemed the only viable option for you.

Closing the windows off your computer, you decide this was a headache for another time. You reach for your bag to rummage through it, only to find yourself in your third predicament of the day.

You had forgotten your book.

It shouldn’t have been a worry, considering you were in a bookstore and had access to about 56 more of the same edition that you could borrow for the day. Except it was a worry, because your copy had been religiously tabbed and annotated as you would read, not a single thought left to be forgotten in your head as they would spring up. You can almost see the pink cover sitting on your desk and you nearly begin to cry.

You wonder if you could break your ‘one book at a time’ streak for the sake of it, picking up another one off the shelf to start. The thought nearly makes you gag, the anxiety of losing interest in your current one leading you to sit aimlessly at your desk for the rest of the day.

What’s even more anxiety inducing to you, however, was the promise you’d made with Mingyu the week prior, to be finished with the book by the end of today so you could finally decide whether the end was worth it or not. The thought has you nearly picking up a copy off the shelf anyway, annotations be damned. Force of habit, however, forbids you as you are shunned by yourself to play solitaire for the rest of the day.

Things seem to look up for you though, as you find yourself reading a text from Mingyu nearly halfway through your day.

You hadn’t spoken to Mingyu at all for the entire week, caving when you found an excuse to finally talk to him to ask where he’d left off on the book. It was even longer before that, reaching the near three week mark where you were virtually zero contact.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t bother you, his sudden absence raising a mild panic within you as your mind raced with the possibilities.

Was he uncomfortable with you?

Was he avoiding you?

Were you less low key than you thought? Was he catching on to how you still weren’t over him?

The wilder thoughts seemed to be laid to rest when you couldn’t take it anymore, texting under the guise of your mutual book topic. Your brain still couldn’t handle it, picking up minuscule details in his texting behavior. Perhaps his replies were choppy, perhaps they were shorter than usual, but it was enough to give your mind the rest it needed regardless of whatever the facts were.

Needless to say, you were more than happy to receive a text from him first after weeks, immediately replying.

[Mingyu]: hey [Mingyu]: are you at work today? [You]: yeah [You]: i get off at 10 tho [Mingyu]: can i see you today?

You try to contain the growing flurry of excitement as you type. It was easier to stay casual over text, you find yourself appreciating.

[You]: course [You]: are you coming to the store? [Mingyu]: i’ll meet you at your place when you get off [You]: okay!!! [You]: see you then

There’s a ghost of a smile on your face as you switch to playing computer chess in celebration. Your day was going horribly, but perhaps it was to balance out the happiness you were feeling at the thought of seeing Mingyu in person after nearly a month.

Were you being dramatic? Possibly. But you figured you’d been left waiting long enough. You let yourself have a spring in your step for the rest of the day, closing up nearly an hour early as you practically skipped back home, enjoying the significantly better nightly weather. Maybe you were abusing your employee privileges, but you couldn’t take the anticipation anymore.

Humming to yourself, you're hopping into the shower as soon as you get home, wanting to freshen up as quickly as possible before he gets here. It was near heaven’s plan the way the day is unfolding for you. Perhaps the universe knew you needed the time to unwind today, bringing Mingyu to you despite the near four week gap.

Grabbing your pens and your book, you settle on the kitchen counter to do something you’d been looking forward to all day, nearly giddy that Mingyu would be joining you to wind down with you soon enough. You’re invested by the time the doorbell rings, a simultaneous text from Mingyu, confirming that he was at the door.

Opening the front door is probably the easiest thing you’ve done all day, grin at the ready as you greet him.

“Hey,” you breathe out at the sight of him.

“Hi,” he replies, slipping inside as you give him space to take off his shoes.

Leading him into the kitchen, you comment lightheartedly, “Nice to see you’re still alive.”

He chuckles slightly at that, “Yeah…sorry about that. I’ve been pretty caught up with…stuff.”

“The exhibition? Weren’t you nearly done with that?” you question as you pass him a glass of water.

He takes a sip before setting it down again, both hands holding the cup on the counter. “It wasn’t that, I’ve been done for a while. Just waiting.”

“It’s next week, isn’t it?”

He hums in response, taking another minuscule sip of water.

“What was it that was keeping you this occupied for so long then?” you continue with a slight snort, trying not to over analyze his slightly…off putting behavior.

“Uh,” he starts, “Is Seokmin home?”

“Seokmin?” you frown, confused. Was he here to see your brother? “He’s out. I thought you knew.”

“Yeah, I know. Just confirming.”

“Oh.” You sit down on your own chair at the counter, trying to make sense of his mood.

“Mingyu, are you okay—”

“I need to talk to you.”

“O-okay.”

It’s silent. Painfully so.

“I don’t know how else to bring this up so I’m just gonna cut to the chase.”

There’s no reply from your end as you simply stare at him in anticipation, wondering what on earth had him looking this serious as he faces you in his seat.

“I know I’ve done a lot to hurt you. Never enough to match what you’ve felt, but I know you’ve been through the muck because of me, and it makes me feel horrible that I was the cause of something like that.”

“Mingyu—“

“I want to apologize, before I say anything else. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. And I know an apology isn’t gonna take away what I did to you, but I just need you to know that I’m really, really sorry.”

His breathing is heavy as he talks, while yours is near nonexistent as you need to remind yourself to breathe manually.

“I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past year. And I hate myself for making you a subject of that transition when you were the last person that deserved it. I’m happy to say that won’t happen again, because I’ve learned my lesson. For good.”

He pauses.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, because… because I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve it for what I’m about to say. I may be acting selfish right now but, I think you deserve to know after everything.”

“I love you. I love you so, so much it hurts. I…I’m sorry, I love you. I don’t know how else to say it but, I love you. And I might be hurting you even more with this but I swear I’m not lying. I love you.”

There’s tears now, heavy ones that drip down his face as he refuses to look back up at you, eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to halt the pure emotion that’s trailing down.

You have your own wet cheeks, glossy, shaking eyes that don’t tear away from his hunched form. You’re listening. You’re listening to everything and it’s too much.

“Mingyu,” you whisper. You give up on trying to talk as you let out a breath that sounds almost like a sob.

It’s silent for a few more moments as you absorb everything that’s happening, mind running a hundred miles an hour yet, still as a rock. It’s too much.

“Mingyu, I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.” Your voice is quivering, but you manage the words. “After everything. You’re standing in this very kitchen and saying this to me.”

The deja vu was overwhelming, and you’re projected back to last year when the both of you stood on these very tiles, as you poured your heart out to the man in front of you, only to be told you were an idiot to think he could ever love you like that. The words may not have been said, but the message was clear: you were not made for Kim Mingyu.

And yet, you find yourself in front of an apologetic man, expressing his remorse. And oozing love for you, of all people. Why now? You want to scream. Where was this when you were ready to take him so willingly in your arms.

You’re lying if you say you still don’t want to plant yourself in his hold to sob out your own wretched “I love you”’s. You wanted to go to him. To take what you’ve wanted for so, so long.

But you can’t. You can’t do it.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m not asking you to do something about any of this. I’m not asking anything of you at all. I just need you to know.”

You bite back a remark, trying so hard to calm yourself down.

“I think you should go.” Your voice breaks. “Please.”

Mingyu is gone. But his scent lingers. His cup remains on the counter, the same one he put his lips to. As he prepared to speak, and speak, and speak.

You can’t stand to stay in the kitchen anymore.

You were fourteen the first time Mingyu broke your heart.

It was an accident, perhaps, considering you were willing to do absolutely anything to be around Mingyu when your brother would have him over. What you didn’t know this time, was that the both of them had company.

Tiptoeing down the hall was easy the second you heard your brother's voice coming from the kitchen, announcing that he was getting drinks for them. The plan was simple; walk in under the guise of being annoyed at Seokmin for something and then relish when Mingyu would defend you from his inevitable rage — except this time you’d have a few extra minutes alone with him before your brother trudged back.

Putting on the best annoyed face you could, you stalk past Seokmin’s room, immediately wishing you hadn’t. Mingyu was in your brother's room as expected, sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers with numbers and letters too complex. But he wasn’t alone. There was a girl that sat between his legs, turned over in his arms as they whisper to each other. They weren’t studying at all; the giggles and smiles were a dead giveaway.

You halt in your tracks at the edge of the doorway in mild disbelief, brain computing the situation in front of you. They hadn’t noticed you yet, it was apparent with the way she leans into him to place her lips on his in a peck.

There’s a yell of your name behind you as Seokmin sees you loitering around his room. You jump in surprise, not expecting him back so quickly. Your brother, too, isn’t alone, a girl of his own accompanying him with her arms full of cans, peeking over his shoulder to catch sight of your distressed form.

“What’re you doing?”

Running was the worst thing you could do, and yet you found yourself doing just that in your cornered state. Catapulting face first into your pillows, the sobs coming before you could muffle them. It was humiliating, even more so when you feel your mother’s hand coming up to your shoulder in a stretch of comfort.

“I yelled at him, he won’t do it again!” she attempted to reason with you, trying endlessly to get you to emerge from your cavern of comforters.

“It’s not that!” you groan.

“What is it then? Darling, I won’t know if you won’t tell me.”

Your mother gave up a little bit after that, and your brother had apologized for yelling at you; apologized for all the wrong reasons. You brushed him over.

There were worse things circling your mind in that moment, like the image of Mingyu in a liplock with another girl, the image of him holding her with all his limbs.

You couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.

“What the fuck, is wrong with the both of you?” Your brother swoops in like a pesky seagull and snatches the book right out of your hands, eyes blown in exasperation.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Give it back!” you yell, reaching for the book that he’s placed over his head. Climbing the couch does little when he simply moves away from you.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on between you and Mingyu.”

“Nothing is — ugh,” you drop back onto the couch in frustration. You take a deep breath. “Nothing is going on. Now can I have my fucking book back?”

“No, you're avoiding each other.”

“He’s your friend, why would I hang out with him?”

“Stop dodging the question!” he spits.

“Stop dodging.” You exclaim as you jump for the book another time.

“Why don’t you want to go to the exhibition?” He throws the book to the corner of the room. It takes every fiber in your body to stop yourself from plucking every strand of hair off his head.

“Seokmin!” you scream.

“Your book’s fine. Is this about the guy you told me about?” He asks, hands grabbing you by the upper arms, forcing you to look at him.

“No, it’s not,” you grit.

“Why don’t you want to go to the exhibition?” he repeats, making direct eye contact.

“Because,” you start, exhaling deeply, “I’m tired.”

“It’s an exhibition for fucks sake, an exhibition with your face plastered all over it. You go in for five minutes and you’re out. Put something on and let’s go!”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. You’ve been doing nothing but go to work and stay home, you need air.”

“I need you out of my air,” you swat his hands away, thoroughly disgruntled.

“I’m giving you twenty minutes.”

He was serious, you realize as he begins to pound on your door with two minutes left to spare. You decided you weren’t about to be embarrassing and show up in your sweatpants, encasing the final shreds of dignity you had left. You couldn’t imagine being asked “who?” when the face on the walls doesn’t match with the one you brought to the place, not doubting the number of fancy scouters that’d be gracing the crowd tonight.

Opting for a plain black dress and a coverup felt enough for you, your usual makeup and matching accessories helping you feel better about the bags under your eyes your concealer couldn’t quite erase.

Seokmin says nothing for probable fear of having you landing back on the couch, choosing to ask you a simple, “Ready?” instead.

The drive is short and silent, the remnants of you and your brother's prior argument still hanging in the air. You weren’t about to apologize to each other, but you would let the hours cool you off before you’re back to your normal selves. For now, you’re glad to step out of the stuffy car, the anticipation having you needing to breathe in an elevated sense.

The place is more crowded than you thought it would be, men and women in fancier than necessary clothes loitering the entrance carpeting. You suddenly feel underdressed.

Catching Mingyu’s name is easy, the display at the front doing the most to highlight the star of the night, catching sight of him is proving a little more difficult. Not that you’re trying, but Seokmin’s embarrassing neck stretches are having you restraining yourself from pulling him down by the collar.

Walking into the display is a strange experience, for you at least. The pictures are larger than you’d thought they would be, spanning the giant walls of the gallery. Your face is huge.

There’s a few other one’s that scatter between the portraits, beautiful all the same. You find yourself wandering as you note the plaques next to the pieces, descriptions and words from the artist; Mingyu’s words. It’s easy to begin looking at the pictures through his eyes, the meticulous scanning you’re doing proving easier for you to zone out despite the crowd.

You’ve gone through nearly every picture, approaching the last one, the one that looked a little more important than the rest as you take in its size. The steps you take towards the plaque are halted as you hear someone calling for you. You recognize his voice, how could you not?

Mingyu is weaving through the crowd to get to you, eyes locked as he tries to make way for himself. Your mouth is open by the time he’s here, mind frantic as you try to figure out what you should say.

Congratulations.

You’ve worked hard on this.

This looks great.

How’ve you been?

“You’re here,” he says, simple as that.

“I’m here,” you breathe out, a nervous smile on your face as you look down at your shoes.

“Seok told me you were here too.”

Your head snaps up, “You were looking for me?”

“I mean, it’s a bit difficult with the crowd—”

“Oh,” you cut him off before you could forget. “Congratulations, by the way. The turnout looks great.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s great.” His eyes skim around the large hall.

You hate how his craning is drawing your eyes to everything else. So to say the plain black button up and slacks he’s sporting, the thin chain he wears around the unbuttoned collar. You hate how he’s put in no effort, and you hate how it makes him look even better somehow.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks after he rounds back to you.

Your reply is drowned in your throat as somebody calls for him across the hall, pointing at a mic in their hands.

“I have to go address everyone, you’ll be here, right?” he asks, but he once again has no chance to listen to your answer when somebody physically drags him by the elbow and yanks him away from you. You lose sight of him in the crowd of people, his face disappearing.

It gives you enough opportunity to slowly turn around to go back to your plaque reading, exhaling loudly as you walk up to the final, biggest piece on the wall. It’s labeled as the focal point of the collection. It’s a picture of you, and for some reason, you can’t remember taking it, or posing for it at all.

You recognize the mountain top, more so the grueling trek up the place for your last shoot with him. It’s a side profile, your arms folding over the railing, face tucked into your padded arms. A single ray of light illuminates your eyes, the background soft.

The picture was an accident. A moment that may have gone forgotten, yet one that appeared right when it was meant to. A mistake made on purpose, one that manages to carry the weight of years. A slow accession of golden rays, dawn illuminating the subject in hues indescribable, except those that describe a feeling. A feeling in turn, indescribable.

Soft. Legible. New.

You take a step back.

And another

Then another.

You look at the picture, the picture of you. Taken the one time you weren’t actively posing for the camera, the one time he wasn’t meant to take a picture of you. It landed here, at the seemingly deserved position of a final piece. The piece that was meant to emulate all that the artist wanted to come out of his work.

You crane your neck up higher, the name of the collection in bold block letters right above the picture that supposedly says it all.

THE BEGINNING

There’s a ball forming in your throat, one that's cementing itself where it stays.

There’s noise happening in your peripherals, somebody speaking into a mic on stage. You’re not paying attention until you hear his name.

“I’m pleased to present to you the man of the hour, mister Kim Mingyu…”

You watch with glossy eyes as he takes the stand, clearing his throat before he begins to speak.

You needed to leave.

Finding Seokmin is easy, and you thank every plane of heaven that it is, considering you’d rather be caught dead than be seen red nosed and teary eyed.

“Let’s go home.”

“Huh? Right now? He just started talking.” Seokmin argues, tearing his eyes away from the stage to gape at you, only to note the expression on your face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Seokmin, you said five minutes.” You grip his sleeve tight. “Please, either give me the keys, or I’ll get a cab.”

He pauses for a moment, and you immediately hate yourself for making him choose between staying for his best friend or leaving for his sister. He slowly comes down to grip your hand, pulling you away.

“Let me drop you off home.”

You’ve calmed down a significant amount during the car ride home, managing to convince (fight) Seokmin into going back to the exhibition hall before Mingyu noticed that he was gone. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you made him miss something as important as this just because you couldn’t control your emotions.

He hugs you at the door, tight, and you hug back just as strong, holding back the river of tears that suddenly threaten to let loose. He presses his lips to your temple, muttering a little ‘I love you’ before he leaves. He knew nothing, yet was ready to comfort you like he did.

You let yourself sob after that, as wracking and strong as they’d come. It’s freeing, to fall to your knees and simply cry like a child. You aren’t sure what it is that you’re crying about, yet you know all the same. The thought of both those things make your head begin to spin, causing another fresh wave of tears to come rushing down.

Remnants of the day Mingyu spoke his truth to you in your own kitchen come tumbling back; the shock, the anger, the hurt, and despite everything, the love.

You loved Mingyu, you weren’t going to sit here and deny it when you were a mess of jewels on the floor with only his face at the forefront of your mind. You’re a liar if you say you don’t love him. You’re a liar if you say you’ll ever stop.

Years and years of pining and wishing and praying, to hope that one day, Mingyu would open his eyes with the realization that he loves you the same.

The day came. Your prayers were granted, your wishes came true; you no longer had to sit on the sidelines as an ignored constant. And yet, you found yourself wanting to be anywhere but in his presence as the prayer unfolded.

Were you too weak to handle reciprocation? Have you gotten comfortable pining by yourself? Or was it something completely else. Were you still hurt by his words? Were you aghast at his audacity to have the courage to speak his heart to you, when you went years without doing so?

Were you protecting yourself? Or were you actively throwing the golden chance you’d received right out the window?

You’re tired, it’s evident with the effort it takes you to simply reach your bedroom, heels thrown somewhere in the doorway as you made the trek barefooted. Hoping your muscles would release the pent up tension at the learnt feeling of the mattress, you find yourself closing your eyes awaiting the relief.

Still clad in your dress and makeup, you attempt to find the solace of sleep, knowing you’d feel nothing if there was nothing to perceive. The universe doesn’t seem to want to give you that luxury, your eyes wide awake despite closed lids. The thoughts aren’t showing signs of slowing down either, every part of your mind alive as you remain still as a rock on your bed.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been in bed, but as you hear the distinct jingle of keys in a lock, you know Seokmin is home. The door of your room is opened very quietly, and closed just as quick when he sees your form in bed seemingly asleep.

You open your eyes for the first time in hours, the darkness remaining as you slowly sit up against the cushions. Your movements are sluggish as you stare into the abyss, brain quiet for once as you swing your bare legs over the mattress, slowly trudging down the hall to your brother's bedroom.

Knocking slowly, you hear a slight shuffle before the door is opened, the light from inside the room illuminating the dark hall and forcing you to squint.

“Did I wake you?” Seokmin asks, sporting formal trousers with his dinosaur pajama shirt.

“Uh, no, I was awake.”

“Why haven’t you changed yet?”

You ignore him, cutting straight to the chase, “Can I borrow your car?”

There’s silence for nearly three seconds before Seokmin speaks, “What on earth do you need my car for this late at night?”

“Nayeon’s”

“Bullshit.”

You let out a loud, loud sigh, “Will you believe it for now?”

Your brother looks at you with an expression you can’t really pinpoint, eyes like he’s scanning into your soul. “The keys are at the door.”

You walk back to your room to grab your phone and your cover up, not bothering to change as you grab Seokmin’s keys and leave. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave the house so late at night, but your brain seems to have activated tunnel vision as you nearly stalk towards the car. You’re pulling up to where you need to be within minutes, the empty roads leading you on near autopilot.

By the time you’re standing in front of the door, your desire to settle this once and for all turns pungent in your head. You needed to end this one way or another, you were tired of running in circles.

Ringing the doorbell is easy, it’s just the realization that settles during those few moments of waiting that grab you by the throat. You were really doing this.

Mingyu opens the door quicker than you’d anticipated, after briefly wondering if he’d already gone to sleep after the long day he’s probably had. His brows furrow as he registers you at his door, your name tumbling out of his lips in mild confusion. He’s still in the clothes you saw him last, and you doubt it’s been long since he got home too.

“Promise me you mean it,” you say.

“What?”

“Promise me you mean it.”

“Mean what?” The crease between his brows deepens as he tries to make sense of what you’re saying.

“Whatever you said. Promise me you mean it. Promise me. On all the years we spent together, on every truth you've ever said to me. Promise on me that you mean it.”

The silence is deafening, yet you wait. You wait for him to respond. You wait for him to understand what you’re saying.

Mingyu gulps before opening his door wider, expression neutralizing slightly as he invites you inside. “Why're you standing on the door? Come inside.”

“I’m not taking another step in your direction, Kim Mingyu, not until you answer me,” you snap.

Letting his hand leave the grip on the door, he brings them both up to rub at his face, taking a simultaneous breath, deep and shaky. When he emerges his eyes are showing a hint of red as he licks his lips.

Your grip on your own fingers tighten as Mingyu talks.

“I want to rip my heart out for what it wants from you. I want to rip it out for what it did to yours. Believe me when I say I’ve forgotten how it felt to be this sincere. I love you. I don't deserve to say it, but I love you.”

There’s a beat that passes, one that you barely feel as you throw your bag on the floor of his entryway, grabbing him by the collar with both hands as you yank his face down to hover right in front of yours, nose touching, lips not quite.

“If you’re lying to me,” you whisper, shaky voiced, “I’m gonna chop your balls off.”

Mingyu answers for you as he finally, finally closes the cursed gap between you, lips capturing yours in a long awaited kiss. You let him pull you inside as you move your lips against each other, the distinct click of the door signaling you were finally inside.

His hands grip your hips and waist in a manner that’s near painful, yet you can’t find yourself complaining even as he pushes you against the now closed door, hard. His mouth leaves yours for what is barely a second, before your desperate hands move his face back in to continue what you’ve been wanting to do for years.

His mouth is warm, the vaguest hint of champagne on his tongue. You wonder how many toasts he’s clinked and downed, how many times he thought of you as he celebrated.

“I love you,” you mumble against his lips.

Mingyu’s hands are pushing your body against his own, so flush and tight you can barely breathe. Like he’d rather die than bring space between the two of you in that moment.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled back between kisses. “I love you so much.”

Both of your hands are beginning to roam, less innocent than the fingers tangled in his hair and digging into his shoulders, less innocent than the grips on your hips and neck. It isn’t until his hands are groping your ass that you begin to subconsciously tug at his shirt, wanting the wretched thing out of the way to finally feel him in full.

There’s a warm hand that grips yours as he stops you, lips pulling away slightly as he rests his forehead against yours. There’s a wild moment of sobriety as you wonder if you’ve read the situation wrong, if you pushed too far.

“You’re asking me for something I’m ready to give you.” He sounds breathless. “But I need to know if you really want it.”

He looks absolutely gorgeous with his swollen lips, your lipstick staining his own mouth, his messy hair from all the desperate fingers running through them. It takes one look into his bedroom eyes to have your yeses tumbling out your mouth.

“I want it. I want it if you’ll give it to me. Mingyu, please.”

He leans in to give you a soft peck before pulling away slowly. “You can stop me whenever, just say the word.”

He’s facing you as he speaks, hands pulling you further into the house in slow and steady steps. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.”

By the time you reach the four walls of his bedroom, you’re itching to have his hands on you again, something he senses as he presses his hot mouth to your awaiting lips. His touches become decreasingly respectful as his hands run up your sides, thumbs brushing against the sides of your clothed breasts as he moves his mouth further down.

Kisses line your jaw, reaching the joint as he nips at your earlobe teasingly. Pushing the coverup off of your shoulders is easy, fingers tracing the exposed skin as his mouth moves down to your neck, nipping and sucking teasingly. Your breathing is embarrassingly heavy.

“You’re gorgeous,” you hear him breathe out.

His fingers fit under the zipper of your dress not too long after, pulling it down to reveal your back tantalizingly slow. His hands smooth over your waist once he reaches the bottom, bringing them up to your upper body as you feel his palms grab your breasts in a soft squeeze. The moan you let out is small, but enough to encourage him to bring his hands to the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulders one after the other.

“Do you realize how good you looked in this today,” he says. “Was so happy you came, so, so happy to see you after so long.”

Mingyu kisses you again in a slow, passionate manner, hands pushing down the tight fabric of the bodice to let it fall off your body to a pile on the floor. It leaves you bare save for your bra and panties.

Mingyu lets out a groan at the sight in the dimly lit room, the sound checking in as one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard, the vibrations leading straight to your core like they belonged there. The focus goes back to his hands that continue to roam your body, mouth traveling further south to leave hot, open mouthed kisses on your cleavage.

Your own fingers come up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, managing to pull a couple loose as you whine, “Mingyu.”

“Patience, my love.” He moves you backwards slowly as his mouth leaves your chest, pushing you into the plush of his mattress as you feel the back of your knees bump into the edge. “Let me take my time with you.”

He brings a knee up to the bed as he keeps his gaze on you, beginning to unbutton the rest of his shirt as you prop yourself up on your elbows. For once, you’re allowed to stare at the sculpt of his chest and abdomen, letting your gaze take you to the dipped V before the cut off. The mere sight of his fingers working against his belt have you needing to close your thighs for the sake of your now throbbing core.

Only clad in his dark boxers, you let him climb over you in a way you can only describe as a prowl, inserting himself between your legs as he pushes your head up to the headboard. The hand that splays out on your thigh is having the muscle twitch, the anticipation for what he might do next gripping you.

“Let me get this off of you,” he says with his hands toying with the elastic of your bra, prompting you to arch your back so he could reach under to unclasp it in a way you can only call professional.

There’s barely any time for you to feel a semblance of embarrassment when he flings the padding away, mouth coming in direct contact with your breast in a harsh suck. The feeling has you moaning his name into the dark room, only encouraging his wet tongue to circle around the bud before going back to suckling. He doesn’t forget your other breast as he brings his hand up to squeeze the mound and play with your nipples the same.

The sensations are overwhelming already, your hands gripping his hair in desperation as you throw your head back at his ministrations. The ache in your underwear is becoming increasingly difficult to resist, the foreign feeling of his mound against your inner thigh only coursing more want into your awaiting heat.

Your chest is a mess of redness and saliva but the time Mingyu’s had his fill, pulling away to admire the work he’s left.

“Fuck, Mingyu, please,” his name is the only thing that comes out in your pleas, hoping he’d give you wanted before you lost your mind for good.

“I love this lighting on you,” he says simply, moving to sit on his knees as he takes his eyes up and down your practically naked frame.

Both hands come in to push your thighs further apart, giving him better access to the gold that sits right in between. “You’re beautiful.”

You feel the pad of his thumb come in contact with your clit in the lightest pressure, slowly brushing over the muscle as he continues. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

He presses his thumb in further, pushing down to meet your hole, the source of the large wet patch on the fabric of panties. The whimpers the new feeling is having you let out are near embarrassing. Hooking his fingers around your panties, he asks, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes!” you gasp out immediately, hip rising to let them slide the pesky fabric off and away.

He wastes no time in bringing his fingers to your folds, gathering your arousal in his fingers as he spreads them across your throbbing clit. He’s rubbing the area in circular motions, the feeling having you wracking out sounds you never thought you could make. The sheets are bunched up in your grip as you throw your head back at the feeling that encases you, eyes screwed shut.

“Oh, Mingyu,”

That only encourages him as his other hand joins the party, a lone finger circling your entrance in preparation to plunge into you, slowly, all the way to the hilt of his finger. Zoning in on the feeling, the pump of his fingers into your core, the constant ministrations of his other thumb on your clit. Your hands leave his wrinkled sheets as they come in to grip his wrists and forearm, needing to feel his skin to anchor yourself into the present. Not being able to bring yourself to open your eyes, he takes it upon himself to insert another finger, encouraging your lids to fly open at the stretch and the loud moan that comes with it.

“God, you’re so fucking wet, I’m barely pushing.” It may have embarrassed you a little if you weren’t so withdrawn from pleasure, the prospect only having you whimper his name even more.

It isn’t when he curls his fingers inside you that you feel the need to stifle the sounds that come out of your throat, hand to mouth as the volume has you needing to shut yourself up. He brings his hand off your clit to grab you by the wrist, freeing your mouth of restraint.

“Don’t,” his voice gravelly as he gets off his knees to hover over you, his other hand continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you in perfect motions. “I wanna hear your voice. I wanna hear all the pretty sounds you’re making.”

He leans in to place a chaste kiss on your mouth, fingers quickening their pace as your sounds grow louder, “Mingyu, I think I’m…I think I’m close.”

“It’s okay, let go whenever, darling, it’s okay.” His other hand goes back to its rightful position on your clit, thumb circling the bud in quick motions as he encourages you to climax.

And you do. The blissful release comes crashing into you hard, the feeling leaving nothing but white hot space in the expanse of your brain, letting the feeling take over as you melt into the sheets. “F-fuck…”

He doesn’t stop either hand till you physically have to push his fingers off of you, the overstimulation coming in hot.

You don’t come around for a little bit, but feel every searing kiss he leaves on your skin in the aftermath. Pressed into your chest, your collarbones, you neck and your jaw. He makes his way up to your face slowly, pressing his lips onto your closed lids as you wait for your breathing to even out. His face is the first thing you see when you open your eyes, leaning forward to press your own lips against his.

“How was that?” he asks slowly, and you don’t miss the hint of a smirk on his face. You can’t help but break into a smile of your own.

“Great.”

“Great?”

“Amazing.” You lean in to kiss him again, palms coming in contact with the expanse of his back as you move your mouths together. It’s not long before your fingers reach the waistband of his boxers, hands coming up front to feel him through the fabric, palming him in the process.

You feel him shudder in your hold, lips pulling away as he stares into your eyes.

“What?” you ask in a whisper when he makes no other moves.

“I’m trying to think if I have condoms or not,” he whispers back, and you can’t help but let out a laugh at his delivery. He begins to giggle with you, backing up as he reaches over to rummage through his nightstand.

“Fuck yeah,” you hear him say as he comes round with the shiny pack. He’s giggling as he undoes the wrapper, the lighthearted nature of it all bringing a laugh to your own lips.

Pulling his underwear down and off, you watch as he preps himself with the rubber, your own hand coming up in a trance to stroke his gorgeous length lightly, his palms ghosting over your hand at the feeling. Once he decides he can’t take it anymore he’s grabbing both your wrists to pin them beside your head in one swift motion, earning a gasp from you at the abruptness.

“I’m gonna put the tip in first, let you adjust before I go in further,” he explains as he uses his knee to push your thighs apart to grant him more access. “I’m gonna listen to you throughout, okay? Just say so if you want me to stop, I’ll hear you.”

When you don’t reply he continues, “I need to know you heard me, baby.”

“I heard you,” you answer, and he finally lets go of one of your hands to guide his length to your entrance, gathering your remaining arousal. He’s sliding his tip across your folds, grinding onto your clit within his length and it has you nearly careening off the edge.

“Mingyu, in, please!” you beg, and you hear him chuckle before he’s finally pressing the tip into your prepped hole.

You almost breathe a sigh of relief as you feel him begin to push into your hot core, keeping his promise of only getting to the tip, before bringing himself out and going back in. He’s slow as he stretches you out, his hands coming up to the sides of your head as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. Lifting one of your legs, you wrap them around his waist as you grant him further access into you, one of his hands coming up to keep your raised leg steady.

He halts when he finally bottoms out, pausing for breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” you manage, arms wrapped around his shoulders tight. “Give me a second.”

When you give him the green light and he begins to move out slowly, only to thrust back in, you find yourself settling into the sheets more consciously, ready to take what he was about to finally give you. You’re both a mess of whimpers and sounds, the feeling overtaking any shreds of restraint you had left. His hands are groping you everywhere, his fingers finding your breasts again as he begins to toy with your nipples, all while thrusting into you at a steady yet equally maddening pace.

He feels amazing, beyond just his dick. The feeling of his body pressed against yours is heavenly, the tears beginning to slowly prick at your eyes as you let yourself melt into his hold, a metaphorical layer away from morphing into his skin entirely. The sounds he’s making are pure melodies, the groans, grunts and heavy moans floating around in your otherwise empty head like they’d never ever leave. They do more when they encourage the building feeling in your abdomen, your moans growing increasingly erratic.

If the bed is creaking from his incessant thrusting, you don’t hear it. The only thing ringing in your head being the near closure you’re about to receive from him. “Gyu, I’m…”

“Shit, me too.” he grunts, and you believe him as his movements begin to grow sloppier, his hips slamming into yours with more force than before.

And then it’s bliss, the feeling dropping in on your body as you feel yourself begin to spasm in his hold, the loudest moan ripping from your throat at the sensation. You’re contracting around him so, so good, and it’s enough to have him moaning into your own ear as he feels his climax come over him as well.

He’s shooting his load into the rubber, and for a wild moment you wish he’d rip it off and finish inside you instead, your blabbering brain wanting to take all of him in. The fever passes in a few heavy minutes, Mingyu’s body is dropped on top of you, his length remaining inside your warmth as you both relished in the post sex haze.

He’s first to pick his sweltering body off of yours, the cool air hitting your skin as he pulls out of you slowly. You’re still trying to come to earth, even when you hear the water beginning to run in the attached bathroom, even when he walks out in a fresh pair of boxers, walking over to your form on the bed.

His fingers run through your hair as he places soft kisses on your temple, coaxing you to open your eyes. “Come on babe. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

When you make no moves to get up despite opening your eyes, he’s physically pulling you up to grace your head on his chest in an effort to take a step back into the world. His fingers continue to thread through your hair, massaging your head lightly as you breathe in his scent. You do end up getting up and letting him lead you to the bathroom, but only after he threatens to carry you there over his shoulder. The bath is already drawn when you dip your feet into the warm water, planting yourself inside as you lean against the walls of the tub.

“Gyu, why is it warm?” you whine, wanting a cooler temperature to hit your sticky body.

He chuckles as he sits by the tub, hands coming in to wet your hair for you, “I’m scared your body’s gonna go into shock if I chucked you into a cold bath. You’ll feel better in a minute, love.”

You don’t argue as he does most of the work for you, shampooing, scrubbing and conditioning. He lets you sit in the tub for a little bit as he leaves to get you a towel and a shirt, coming back to continue coaxing you to leave the tub this time. You grab his outstretched hand, pulling him down to sit next to you again.

“Sit with me for a little bit, right here,” you say as you lean over the edge of the tub.

“I can sit with you in bed once you’re dried up,” he tries to reason. “Under the covers. Where it’s more comfortable than hard acrylic, remember?”

Pouting a little, you let him wrap you in a towel as you admit defeat, too tired to argue much more than that. He continues to shrug one of shirts over your shoulders, going as far as drying your hair before finally letting you crawl back under the covers. He joins you soon after, wrapping his limbs around you in a tight embrace, breathing in the mix of his own shampoo and your scent.

“Are you okay? Did I do too much?” he asks quietly.

“Mhm,” you hum into his chest. “I’m okay.”

There’s a deep vibration in his chest as he finds your lack of response amusing, looking at your face that looks about three seconds away from slipping into dreamland. Nearly, he realizes, as your eyes are suddenly pushed wide open, a gasp leaving your throat.

“What? What?” Mingyu asks as you sit up all of a sudden scrambling to find your phone.

“My phone, where is it?” you ask as you ruffle through the covers.

“Did you bring it with you?”

You suddenly remember your bag that you threw in his entryway a couple hours ago, your phone nestled inside. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you attempt to stand up to retrieve it, only to find out the universe wasn’t about to let you do that. You don’t miss Mingyu’s chortle as he watches you nearly fall over after wobbling around like a fawn, your arms trembling as you pull yourself up back on the bed.

“What the fuck?” you breathe out.

“Get back on, I’ll get your bag for you.” He’s still smiling when returns, throwing your purse on the bed.

You immediately unlock your phone to find Nayeon’s contact, choosing to leave her a text considering the late hour.

“What is it?” Mingyu asks again as he watches you type, arms coming up from behind to engulf you in his hold again.

“I told Seokmin I was at Nayeon’s. He didn’t believe me but I’m telling her to cover for me anyway.”

“Oh.”

The thought comes to you later than it should have, realizing you’d have to involve Seokmin in…whatever this was, sooner or later.

“Don’t,” you hear Mingyu say behind you.

“What?”

“Don’t. I know what you’re thinking about. We can deal with Seokmin when we need to, don’t think about it right now, that’s my job.”

“I-”

“He needs to deal with me being serious about you,” he continues, giggling, “Even if I have to make you run away with me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He brings your wrist up to his mouth, placing a kiss there, “It won’t. I promise.”

The sitting up thing doesn’t last for too long, both of you wanting nothing more than to lay down for the lack of energy. Limbs are a tangled mess as you both lay in silence, tired but not wanting to go to sleep just yet. It stays that way for a while, head on his chest as you take in the aftermath of everything that’s happened.

You just had sex with Kim Mingyu. He loves you back. And you know he means it. This isn’t a hyperrealistic childhood fantasy, this is real life. You’re touching him, he’s holding you, you can hear his heart beat, you can feel his skin under the palm of your hand.

You’re distracted from your thoughts as you sense Mingyu reaching over the edge of the bed to his nightstand as he looks for something, bringing his hand over to show you a very familiar pink cover in his hands.

“Oh,” you let out as you recognize the title, snorting as you remember where the verdict for that ended, “We were supposed to talk about the ending.”

“We could do that right now.”

“Uh, about that,” you say. “I never actually got to finish it.”

“You were supposed to be done like two weeks ago,” he frowns.

“I didn’t get to finish it the day…the day you came over. Couldn’t bring it in myself to touch it after that.” you say as you note the little tabs sticking out the sides, wanting to address them.

“You can use this one to finish it then, it’s yours.”

You glance up at him as he talks, opening the book to skim through the pages. And then you see it, tiny scribbles on margins, sticky notes at chapter ends with his thoughts, colorful tabs sticking out of every highlighted line, everything complete with a color coded key in the front.

“I saw you do it with your other books, found out it’s not actually a crime to write in books and…I guess it became fun.” he explains as he watches you flick through the pages. “I was gonna give this to you at some point. Sounded like a thoughtful idea in my head.”

You don’t answer him, simply facing him in silence before continuing, “I would’ve been sucking your dick right now if I wasn’t so tired.”

He throws his head back in a loud laugh, the high pitched noise sounding across the room as he nearly curls up from the hilarity. You don’t think it was that funny, but maybe it’s because you were telling the truth. You’re pretty sure you’ve joked about wanting to do that to someone who’d do something like this for you, perhaps you could find the transcripts hidden in some text messages with Nayeon later to show Mingyu.

His laughter is contagious regardless, giggles of your own coming out as you watch him practically lose it.

“I think you need to go to sleep,” you comment through bouts of laughter.

He sighs a vocal sigh as he calms down slowly, agreeing with your suggestion that the near morning delirium was getting to both of your heads. You rest your newly acquired, yet equally prized possession to the side, finally turning in for the night as he reaches to turn his night lamp off.

Mingyu moves to press his forehead into yours, not before placing a tiny peck into your lips as he mumbles against them in the dark, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you hum back as you press your lips together one last time, finally letting his breathing lull you into sleep.

The mattress is foreign, so is the pillow, and so are the scents that linger in the room. It’s colder than you’d usually have it and the blankets feel different on your skin. And despite the most foreign thing in the room, the one that has his arms and legs wrapped around you, the one that whispered his love for you into your skin before drifting off, you find yourself falling into a sleep that’s more blissful than any you’ve had in a very, very long time.

The sun is doing nothing to help itself against the tide of annoyance tht rises in your sleepy state. You’d get up and yank the curtains but can’t bring yourself to have the motivation to leave the soft mattress, simply bunching the blanket up to your face to block out the remnants of sun rays that invade the room. You’ve nearly lulled yourself back to sleep when you start registering noises coming from outside the bedroom walls, muffled yet familiar.

Your brother is talking about something you can’t make out, Seokmin’s voice is undeniable despite passing through the folded layers of comforters around your head. You don’t doubt the presence of the sweat that’s probably already accumulated on your scalp.

There’s nothing that alarms you in the moment despite Seokmin’s yapping — that is until you hear a second voice.

You recognize it immediately as the sound of Mingyu’s talking, the words equally as muffled yet the intonation clear all the same.

Kicking the sheets off of your overheating body, you squint as you open your eyes in a desperate attempt to reign yourself back to earth, recollections of the past twenty four hours hurtling back to you like a constant line of K.O’s.

The gallery, the picture, the drive up to Mingyu’s place,the sex, the falling asleep in his arms. You sit up in Mingyu’s bed, clad in nothing but his own T-shirt as you realize your brother is downstairs talking to Mingyu, and you have no idea if he knows you're here.

You realize very quickly that you’re trapped, being left with no other option than to remain in Mingyu’s bedroom until he comes back up to give you the clear, despite wanting to walk out to take the tiniest peek. You’re not sure what’s worse, getting caught or sitting in the growing pool of anxiety before Mingyu gets back.

It’s a long, long twenty minutes, in which you’ve done just about everything to get to hear their conversation a bit better; or to distract yourself from the fact that it’s happening at all. Pressing your ear to the door before going back to make the bed. Freshening up in the bathroom before going back to jamming your eye into the keyhole (you aren’t sure why considering door faces a plain wall). You even hijacked a spare cup Mingyu had lying around the room to stick into the wall, hoping all those Mr. Bean cartoons hadn’t been lying to you.

They were simply talking in a tone too low for your ears to catch (despite the Mr. Bean hack), and you resorted to scrolling on your phone to pass the remaining time. It’s catastrophic to say the least, when you’re met with a string of frantic messages from Nayeon as well as a couple missed calls from your brother.

[Nayeon]: fuck [Nayeon]: i didnt see this [Nayeon]: he called this morning asking about you [Nayeon]: i accidentally told him you werent here [Nayeon]: im so sorry where are you [You]: its okay its my fault for texting so late [You]: i was at mingyus place [You]: ill tell you more later [Nayeon]: WHAT???

By the time Mingyu walks in, he’s mildly surprised to see you awake, pausing at the door as he takes in your huddled form. You sit up immediately, noting his still messy hair and the backwards sweatshirt he’s thrown on over his boxers. The question tumbles out of your lips before you can help it, “Was that Seokmin?”

“Good morning to you too,” he grumbles sarcastically, coming up on the bed to join you in your huddle fest. You’re a little embarrassed at the way you’ve greeted him first thing when he sees you, but his expression when he continues replaces it with something akin to fear. “And yeah, it was him.”

You want to ask him a follow up question, but you aren’t sure what to say, simply staring at him, hoping he’d get the hint and continue by himself. He does.

“The idiot has a spare key so he just…” He trails off, rubbing his hands on his face, “he just walked in straight to the room. Got the shock of his life, I suppose, ‘cause it woke me up while you kept snoring.”

“He walked into the room?!” you nearly screech, hand clamped over mouth, horrified. “What did he say to you?”

Mingyu has the audacity to laugh, simply tugging you back down on the bed to hold you. You briefly wonder how he’s so casual about this. “There’s not really an expected reaction from someone when they find you half naked in bed with their sister.”

The haphazardly shoved sweatshirt and no pants look was starting to make sense. “I heard you talking downstairs, what were you talking about?”

“Nothing you have to worry your pretty little head about,” his lips graze the shell of your ear as he snuggles further into you. “He wants you home by seven though.”

You throw your head back in a whine, “God, what am I gonna do?”

“You’ll be fine, he didn’t smack me, he can’t possibly be that mad at you.”

“What was he then, ecstatic?” you retort.

“I mean,” his energy shifts a little. “I think he’s just a little hurt that he wasn’t told.”

“So you’ve done your damage control and now I need to pray he doesn’t disown me.”

“God, you’re being so negative,” he comments and you can’t help but round up on him.

“And you’re acting like you don’t care!”

He’s planting a fat kiss on your cheek at your outburst, coming in to coddle you even more. “I’m kidding, I just want you to relax, don’t be upset.”

“Has he given you his verdict yet?” you ask quietly.

He sighs at the question and you can’t imagine his answer being any good. “Not yet, pretty up in the air about it.”

When he sees you deflate even more in his arms, he continues, “I’m sure he’s gonna come around, he loves you too much to not. It’s just a matter of time while he gets to make sense of the situation, don’t worry about it.”

“I hope so,” you reply.

“We might have wash his socks for the next five years once he does, but it’s okay.”

You can’t help but snort at the prospect, “His feet are stinkier than the regular human’s, are you sure about that?”

He grins, “I’d do it for you.”

You push his face away, rolling your eyes at his attempt to be sappy. “You’re gonna keep me for five years?”

His smile drops as you feel the atmosphere shift in the slightest, his presence moving impossibly closer to you. “I’m gonna keep you forever.”

Hearing it is enough to have you lurching forward, closing the final gap between you so you can give in to the urge to kiss him. He’s enthusiastic to give back, pulling your body to face him entirely as you mumble between kisses, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The rest of the day (once your anxiety’s calmed down, at least) is spent loitering around each other as you migrate around the house in random excess. He makes you breakfast, and you need to physically restrain him to stop feeding you every bite of pancake and bacon. You let him make your favourite for lunch though, after you finally admitted how much you truly liked his Chow Mein, going as far as to run to the store to grab the stuff he was missing. He returns with a bag of groceries, not missing an abnormal amount of moonpie value packs that he stashes in his cabinets because “you’re gonna be around all the time”.

6:30 rolls around quicker than either of you would have liked, needing to wiggle out of Mingyu’s hold on his couch to change out of your half naked state. He continues to delay you another ten minutes as he refuses to open his car door to let you walk into the apartment building, leaning over the console to continue mumbling whines between your own consoling kisses.

By the time you’re making the walk of shame up to your door, the pit of anxiety that began to brew this morning returns from its dormancy, no Mingyu here to help ease your nerves, Gripping your key tight in your hands, you brace yourself to jam and twist to finally end this matter once and for all (at least you hope you can).

Seokmin is waiting on the couch for arrival like a parent waiting to catch their child in the act. He briefly glances over at you as you whisper a tame “Hi”, slipping off your shoes. He doesn’t reply as he merely grabs the remote to pause his show, casting a heightened awkward atmosphere at the silence that’s now engulfing the room. You tread carefully over to the couch, where Seokmin sits with his arms crossed.

It takes one look at his face for you to suddenly want to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. He didn’t look angry, and perhaps you would’ve preferred his aggression if it didn’t mean having to look at a hurt Seokmin. You sit in silence for a couple dramatic minutes, hoping he would start talking so you wouldn’t have to. Yet, when you realize you might have to say something anyway for fear of crushing under the pressure, you find yourself opening your mouth.

“Are you upset?” Of course, he’s upset, you idiot.

“I just–” he starts, before sighing. “I just wish one of you would’ve told me what was going on.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you reply. “I didn’t want either of you to have an excuse to be upset with each other, so I just…”

“I get that it was a recent thing but I think I deserved as much to know what was happening when I wasn’t around.”

You wince as speaks, realizing he hasn’t caught on to the fact that this isn’t recent at all — for you at least. “Um, about that…”

“What? There’s more?” he scoffs.

“I, uh…I’ve liked him since like fifth grade—” He’s immediately jaw dropped, eyes bulged, taking a sharp breath. “But! In my defense, it was really obvious—it’s honestly your fault for not noticing.”

‘My–My fault?!” he sputters. “That’s like, forever, and you told me nothing? Mingyu told me this was recent, why did he lie?”

“He didn’t, nothing happened till last night, I swear.” You cringe at what you’re entailing. “It was just me that liked him for that long, he figured it out pretty early on but…”

“He’s finally reciprocating now?” he suggests, almost sarcastically.

“Yeah,” you breathe out lightly.

“This is insane,” he blows out a breath of air, massaging his temples.

“I’m not being stupid about him,” you mutter lowly, “This isn’t some puppy dog crush, especially not after so long.”

He’s silent.

“I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to think I’m jumping into this blind, especially for what it means for you too.”

No response.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out like this, it’s really not how I wanted it to go.” And when you’re met with even more silence, you find yourself continuing. “Please, talk to me. Cuss me out if you want, I’d honestly rather you yell at me.”

Seokmin sighs for the near hundredth time, finally looking like he might say something. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, mind immediately going to the worst. Was he going to ask you to break up with him?

“I’m gonna choose to trust the both of you on this,” he starts, and you nearly melt into the cushions, “It’s your life, you can date whoever you want. And…I guess Mingyu is better than someone else. Probably uses bad hair gel though.”

You’re catapulting yourself off the couch at the sound of that, throwing yourself onto an unassuming Seokmin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“OW! Okay! Geez, get off,” he grumbles as he finally stops wrestling you to let go of him, hugging you back as you squeeze his shoulders tight.

“I promise I won’t keep anything like this from you again.”

“You better not,” he huffs as you let go of him, “Don’t think this means you’re forgiven. You still have a lot to tell me.”

“I promise I won’t leave out a thing.”

The following weeks are near bliss, following your very loud confrontation with Nayeon when she gets back from her summer vacation, her screams at every plot turn having you praying for her neighbors. You doubt she believed you despite everything, not until she physically sees Mingyu come in one day, making a beeline to peck you on the lips before greeting anyone else. Her dropped jaw was very telling.

Even now, as Mingyu sports the title of the lame alumnus that still hangs around campus as he grips your hand, walking through the grass, the double takes you’re receiving seem to be traveling quite fast. You wouldn’t necessarily blame them considering the trickier than usual dynamic you sport due to your brother (and you guess due to his reputation as well).

But you also knew they’d be quick to die out as the newer batches of students come flying in — Mingyu will soon become a very well kept secret, in one way if not the other.

His neighbors, however, must be wishing he had the same sentiment as well, considering the absolutely foul noises that are coming from his apartment.

You’re learning very quickly that Mingyu’s innocent touchiness can turn into something of the opposite at any given time, exhibit A being now as you try your damn hardest to muffle the sounds coming out of your mouth as Mingyu works his own mouth on your cunt. The knees over his shoulders are shivering from the expense, fingers pumping into your hole as he rubbed a particular spot with his tongue that had you gripping onto his hair tight.

As much as Mingyu loves to hear you, you find his other hand being brought up to place two fingers in your mouth for you as the perfect pacifier, sounds limiting extensively.

By the time you’re coming undone, sprawled on his couch like you just ran a marathon, you’re quick to realize that he has no intention of letting you have a breather. It takes one shove for him to pull his pulsing length out of his pants, tip pushing into your still sopping hole as he invited all of him inside you.

You’ll never forget the first time Mingyu fucked you raw, right after you told him he had the green light after taking your birth control pills. It was magic, you’ve never seen him this vocal as he finished inside you nearly four times in a single night. His moans remain loud even still, as he brings your thighs to press over your chest, basically folding you in half. The mere sound of your wetness as he pumps in and out of you is enough to have you nearly careening over the edge, especially when you feel a desperate hand reach out to rub fast circles on your clit.

You throw your head back as you cum for the second time, pulsing around him in a grip Mingyu can’t believe has the ability to become tighter. It’s enough for him though, as he leans his forehead against your chest as he releases himself inside you.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it, watching you filled to the brim with his cum, even as it drips onto the blankets you’ve laid down below. He has half a mind to stuff the liquid back inside you, but fears you’re tired enough, the overstimulation too much for you.

By the time you’ve cleaned up and resumed the movie you should’ve been done with hours ago, cuddled impossibly close to him, you find yourself remembering something quite out of the blue.

“Hey, not that I really care anymore,” you start, “But who were the guys you were talking to that day? From the party.”

“Stopped hanging out with them ages ago,” Mingyu scoffs, face souring at the mention of them. “I mean, it was me who said all that bullshit, but they weren’t exactly good influences either. Learned that pretty quick.”

“Oh,” you reply simply, letting your head fall back onto his chest.

He doesn’t seem to be having any of it, grabbing your chin to have you face him. “I’m still really sorry about that. I don’t care if you chase my tail for another fifty years, it’ll always be adorable.”

“Forgave you a long time ago, but I think I have a condition now.”

He quirks a brow at your words. “What does her Highness ask of me?”

“That you chase my tail for another fifteen to make up for all the running I’ve done.”

He’s laughing at that, agreeing to your condition as places loving smooches all over your face. “Consider it done.”

It’s later on in the night, both of you huddled in ratty hoodies and mismatched slippers, plastic bag crinkling along Mingyu’s arm as you giggle about something he said. You’re enjoying your fudgsicle in the peace and serenity of the 1 AM hour, making your trek home after raiding the corner store down the block. Mingyu suddenly halts in his tracks as he sees a particularly pretty set of flowers, illuminated by the fluorescent street lights.

“Babe, babe, stand here let me take a picture of you.”

“What?” you frown, holding up your stick of iced chocolate. “I’m not done yet.”

You watch as he grabs the melting popsicle from your hand downing the entire thing in one go as you watch him, hand still outstretched and jaw dropped. “Mingyu, you bitch!”

He only smiles as he mulls the chocolate in his mouth, words basically gibberish, “‘ere’s more in the ba’, now go stan'!”

You huff as you trudge to where he was asking you to pose, throwing a couple peace signs to satiate the home video urges in him so you could rip open your second fudgsicle.

“Wait! You got a little chocolate on your mouth.” he announces, and you stick your tongue out to lick past the remnants of the sweetness. “No— wait.”

He walks over to you as your still trying to find the spot you missed, unassuming as he swings into your face to kiss the remaining off. “Oh, nevermind, it was nothing.”

You push him off as heat crawls up your face, feigning annoyance at his antics. You decide to forgive him when rips open another fudgsicle for you, offering it with both hands, promising to not steal a single lick. You believe him, snatching the stick from him as you continue your trek home.

It’s not until he’s attempting to send you the pictures he just took to your phone so you could post them (which, with the way you looked, fat chance) that he notices something in your albums.

“Oh, are these grad photos?” he asks as he clicks the album open.

“Mhm,” you hum not paying too much attention as you walked and ate.

“Why’s there only one picture here?” he asks as he pulls up to find nothing more left to load.

It’s only then that you bring your full attention to your phone in his hand as you realize what picture he’s talking about, “Oh god, don’t look at that one.”

He does the obvious thing and opens it anyway, a louder than necessary “aw” coming out his mouth. “Why do you look like I’m about to eat you?”

“It felt like it!” you whine, remembering the moment clear as day. “They kept pestering me to take a picture with you too, I was tryna book it out of there at first chance.”

He giggles as he zooms into the photo, “I’m sending this to myself.”

You groan loudly at the thought, “God, just delete it, leave it alone.”

He tucks the phone into himself further, not letting you grab it. “No, you’re not deleting it. Why do you have it tucked into a separate folder if you hate it so much.”

He’s got you there, you realize quickly, and he reigns in his victory as he watches you grimace at the phone slightly, adding on, “it has a lot of feelings attached to it, I get it. But look, we can attach new feelings to it, now you’ll think about right now the next time you see it.”

“Think about you hijacking my fudgsicles? I think I prefer heartbreak,” you say, bringing your half eaten pop closer to your body in case he tries anything.

You’re deemed correct when he replies, motioning towards your concealed treat, “Careful, I can still pounce when you’re not looking.”

Shoving your hands into the swinging bag hanging on Mingyu’s arm, you bring out a thing of sausage and shove it towards him, “You leave me and my fudgsicle alone, go be lousy and suck on this or whatever.”

“You’d know alot about that, wouldn’t you?” he notes casually, grabbing the sausage anyway as he unwraps it to take a bite.

It takes you a second to realize what he’s talking about while he stares at you with a mischievous expression, coming to shove him when the innuendo finally registers in your head. You do the opposite this time, pointing the melting chocolate toward him instead, threatening to smear it all over his white hoodie.

He laughs at the sight, disarming you by simply moving your wrist away, coming to kiss you on the mouth hard regardless of your annoyed expression.

“Love ya’” he giggles.

“Hm.”

“What, hm? Say it back.”

You pretend to wonder, “I don’t think so.”

“Say it!” he groans, “Say it, say it!”

You manage to wriggle out of his hold, booking it before he realises what’s happening.

“Hey!”

Your both probably waking up the entire neighborhood with how loud you’re yelling and laughing, and even when he manages to tackle you down on somebody’s lawn, coaxing the words out of you with borderline violence, you still manage to smile, thanking your lucky stars that you got what you wanted after all.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks with an undertone.

“Thanking my stars they led me to you,” you reply.

“More like the other way around. Needed the fattest fucking star to realize what was in front of me all along,” he jests himself.

It sparks a laugh out of you. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

4K notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 4 months ago

Text

therapy — nanami kento and gojo satoru.

“Seriously, Satoru–kun.” you muttered. “Why are you here?” Satoru smirked, leaning back against the bar. “What, I need a reason to drink?” You gave him a flat look. “You don’t drink. Well, that I know of. Last time I made you drink tequila, you looked at me funny after just one shot.” “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good ambiance, or the sweetness, or the smell.” he quipped, gesturing vaguely to the dimly lit space around you. You snicker at his words. “Plus, I have a sixth sense for finding people who look like they’re about to make bad decisions.” You huffed a small, tired laugh, shaking your head. “And you think that’s me?”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw!, r-18, afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, falling in love, long-term relationship, toxic marriage, healing, age gap, emotional distress, relief, mental health issues, resentment, trauma, depression, confessions, cheating, profanity, drama, bitterness, explicit, sexual intercourse, making out, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), creampie, praising, bodily fluids, mention of bodily fluids, mention of trauma, mention of emotional distress, mention of cheating, mention of sexual innuendos, depiction of emotional distress, depiction of cheating, depiction of sexual activities, actor! nanami, actor! gojo, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 19k words

NOTE: this probably published while im still abroad, so this is automated put out by the queue!!! this took awhile and there were stuff i wanted to add, but that didn't work out. still, this means there'll be a couple more chapters and this isn't the finale. that being said, i think i love this chapter a lot and so did @areyna who graciously proofread this and was the very first victim and winner of this entire chapter. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing and as much as areyna did proofreading it!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

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the good life ― masterlist.

YOU DON’T WANT TO BE HERE. But this is what has to happen if you are planning to stay together. You purse your lips, watching the old grandfather clock ticking away against the wall. The office smells like lavender and old books, a forced attempt at making the space feel welcoming. It doesn’t work.

The tension between you and Kento is thick enough to suffocate, coiling in the silence as the therapist, this woman who seemed to be someone too young to understand marriage, let alone the wreckage of a twenty-five-year one, continued to flip through her notes. But she was all you had at this moment. So, you let your mouth stay shut.

“This is a safe space, you two.” she says, offering a practiced smile. “I want you both to feel comfortable expressing yourselves.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I don’t think comfort is possible when my husband’s only here because his company forced him.”

Kento exhales sharply, hands clasped on his lap. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s not?” You turn to him, eyes sharp. “Then why are we here, Kento? Pray tell.”

He presses his lips together, a telltale sign of his irritation. “Because we need to fix this.”

“You need to fix this.” you correct. “I’ve been living in the mess you made.”

The therapist clears her throat, interrupting before the conversation spirals into yet another argument. “Let’s take a step back. Kento, why don’t you tell us what you hope to achieve from these sessions?”

He hesitates, as if he hasn’t even considered it. Then, he sighs. “I want us to be able to talk again. To be... something other than enemies.”

You resist the urge to laugh. Enemies. As if you asked for this war. As if you asked for all this trouble. The therapist turns to you. “And you?”

You stare at her, then at your husband Kento, then down at your fragile hands, sharp nails digging into your palm. As if wanting to wound, as if wanting something that echoes some sense of the hurt you feel.

What do you want? An apology? A time machine? A different life?

“I want to stop being angry.” The words slip out before you can overthink them.

The room is silent for a beat too long. Kento looks at you then really looks at you. For the first time in years, he actually looks at you. And for a second, you remember who he used to be. The man that actually loved you, the man that actually takes care of you and wants you.

The man who didn’t hurt you. You wanted to look at that Kento you once knew all over again. That Kento before fame, before the affairs. Before the resentment built a wall so high you forgot how to climb over it.

Maybe therapy was a bad idea. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the only chance you have left. The words hang between you, fragile and uncertain. I don’t want to keep hurting you. I don’t want to keep being hurt by you. I can’t do this with you anymore.

Yet those words are never said, they shouldn’t be said ever again. It’s too late for that, though, isn’t it? The damage has already been done a long time ago. And it was never going to be possible to fix. Not even when you wanted to, not even when he wanted to. The thought of staying is just the thought of foolish fools.

It was now etched into every sleepless night, every forced smile at industry events, every moment you swallowed your own misery for the sake of keeping up appearances. A single sentence, no matter how sincere, cannot erase twenty–five years of betrayal, resentment, and loss.

You inhale deeply, forcing yourself to keep your composure. “You say that now,” you murmur, not looking at him. “But where was this concern when I was at home raising our children alone? When I was waking up to rumors about your latest affair? When I was becoming a ghost of myself, while you—”

“That’s unfair—”

“It is not unfair.” Your voice falters, thick with emotion. “While you were out there playing the perfect leading man for everyone but me, I had nothing. And you know it. You always have and you never did a damn thing about it.”

Kento doesn’t flinch, but you see the way his fingers curl slightly against his knee. He always does this when you fight nowadays. He always absorbs the hit without reacting, as if that makes him noble, as if his restraint somehow makes up for everything.

“I know I hurt you.” he says after a long pause.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

The therapist interjects gently, “Sometimes acknowledging the pain is the first step toward healing.”

You shake your head. “Acknowledging isn’t the same as making amends.” You turn to Kento, your voice sharp. “Do you even know what you took from me?”

He meets your gaze, but there’s uncertainty in his eyes. “Tell me. Tell me, so I can understand and fix it.” he says, and for once, he sounds like he actually wants to hear it.

You exhale shakily. “I was never supposed to be just your wife.”

The words taste foreign on your tongue, like something you buried so deep you forgot how much it mattered. It has been twenty–five years. Your youth was gone, it was long over. How could there be anything left of you now, when he had robbed you of all of it?

“I had dreams, Kento. I had plans for myself before you—before this.” You gesture vaguely between you. “But the moment you started rising, the moment your career became more important than anything else, I was expected to put mine aside. Because someone had to take care of everything you didn’t have time for. Someone had to be the constant in the chaos of your life. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.”

His brows furrow, and for the first time in a long time, you see something beyond detachment, beyond his own grief and beguilement. Perhaps it was truthful guilt, maybe. Or honest regret. But neither of those things change what’s already happened.

“I never asked you to give up your life for me.” he says quietly.

You scoff. “You didn’t have to. I was forced to. You were never going to let me have an abortion. You always wanted children. And I didn’t.”

Nanami Kento stares at you, his face unreadable. But you see it—the brief flicker of something behind his eyes. Shock? Guilt? Maybe even hurt. “You didn’t want them.” he repeats, as if he needs to hear it again to believe it. “Our beloved children?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I didn’t plan for them. I didn’t ask for them.” Your voice rises, filled with years of buried anguish. “I wasn’t ready, Kento. I wasn’t allowed to be ready to leave chemistry behind. Because you—” you jab a finger toward him. “—made the decision for me. You knew I didn’t want this, and you didn’t care.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” Your laugh is sharp and bitter. “What’s not fair is being forced into motherhood before I even had the chance to figure out who I was. What’s not fair is raising children alone while their father is out playing the devoted family man on magazine covers.”

His expression darkens, but he doesn’t interrupt. Maybe he knows he can’t argue against the truth.

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself. “And don’t twist my words. I love our children, Kento. But loving them doesn’t erase the years I spent resenting what I had to sacrifice. It doesn’t erase the hell my body went through to bring them into this world. The sickness, the pain, the tearing, the bleeding. Do you even know what it’s like to almost die giving birth? Do you care?”

His face pales. “I—”

“You weren’t there, Kento.” you cut him off. “Not really. You were there for the photos, for the press, for the illusion of a happy family. But when I was crying in the middle of the night with a newborn that wouldn’t stop screaming, when I was too exhausted to function, when I was losing myself piece by piece. So, where were you?”

Silence.

His hands clenched into fists on his lap. “I thought you were happy.”

Your breath catches, something breaking inside you.

“You thought?” you echo, incredulous. “That’s the problem, Kento. You thought. You assumed. You never asked, you never listened. You just expected me to play my role.”

The weight of your words settles over him, pressing down like a tidal wave. He swallows, looking away. “I wanted us to have a family.”

“And I wanted a choice.” Tears sting at the edges of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

“I love our children,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “I love them more than anything. But don’t you dare act like this was easy for me. Don’t you dare act like I didn’t suffer to give you what you wanted.”

He exhales, his shoulders sagging. For once, Nanami Kento who was always celebrated, untouchable, always in control. He looks utterly lost at what to do now. Kento looks down, his expression unreadable. And for a moment, you wonder if he finally understands—or if this is just another scene in the performance of his life.

What could he do to make it all better, easier for you?

How could he erase the bitterness and the anguish of twenty five years?

The therapist clears her throat, cutting through the thick tension like a knife. “Let’s pause for a moment.”

You turn to her, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, your emotions still raw and thrumming under your skin. Kento’s warm caramel gaze remains fixed on the floor, his crestfallen face suddenly unreadable.

“I can see that this is an incredibly painful subject for both of you.” the therapist continues, her voice steady but firm. “But if we’re going to make progress, we need to shift the way we approach it.” She looks between the two of you. “Right now, you’re both speaking at each other, not to each other.”

Your jaw tightens, the sting of frustration still hot in your throat. “I am talking to him. He just doesn’t want to hear it.”

“I do, I know I am.” Kento says, his voice quiet but certain. “I’m listening.”

The therapist nods, acknowledging his words but keeping control of the conversation. “Good. Then let’s slow down. Let’s take a step back and focus on what’s happening here, in this room, right now.”

She turns to you. “You’ve carried a lot of pain for a long time. And you’re finally letting yourself express it. That’s important. But I want you to ask yourself. What do you need from Kento at this moment? Right now, not in the past, not for the things he can’t change. What do you need today?”

You blink, thrown by the question. What do you need? For so long, your mind has been caught in the past, replaying every betrayal, every sacrifice, every moment you felt abandoned. But the therapist is asking you to focus on the present, and the shift feels jarring.

You glance at Kento, who lifted his face and started watching you with an expression you can’t quite place or ever explain. You took a moment for yourself. One inhale, one exhale. Then, finally, you speak.

“I need you to acknowledge what I went through.” you say, voice quieter now, but still firm. “Not just say you thought I was happy. Not just say you wanted a family. I need you to really, truly see what it cost me.”

Kento nods slowly, his throat working as he swallows. “Okay.” His voice is rough, like the words are hard to get out. “I can do that.”

The therapist turns to him now. “Kento, what do you need from your wife at this moment?”

He hesitates, and for the first time in this session, you see something raw in his eyes. Something unguarded. “I need to know if there’s still a chance that this is still working,” he says quietly. “If all I’ve done….if everything I’ve broken is beyond repair.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy with uncertainty.

The therapist watches you carefully, then speaks again. “Neither of you has to answer that today. Right now, all we need to do is be honest about where you are, and what you’re feeling.”

She leans forward slightly, her gaze soft but unwavering. “And it’s okay if the answer isn’t clear yet.”

You exhale slowly, glancing at Kento once more. Maybe you don’t know the answer yet. Maybe that’s okay. The air in the room is thick with emotion, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I don’t feel like I know what to say about any of that.” you whisper, your voice quieter now, but no less full of pain. “It’s one thing to stay, it’s another to fix the relationship.” Your fingers tighten in your lap. “You hurt me. And I still don’t know how to cope.”

Kento remains silent, but his body tenses beside you.

You can feel his gaze on you, waiting, bracing.

The therapist speaks up again, her voice even, grounding. “This isn��t about placing blame—it’s about understanding.” She turns to Kento. “What do you hear when she says this?”

He exhales slowly, like he’s picking apart your words piece by piece, trying to find the truth beneath them. “That I took you for granted.” he finally says.

His voice is quieter now, rougher. When he looks at you, it’s not with the usual detached acceptance of your anger. It’s something rawer, something closer to regret. Something that breaks from that egotistical sense of self.

“That I expected you to stay, no matter how much it hurt you.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t let yourself react.

Because he’s right. He did expect you to stay.

Through the betrayals. Through the nights spent alone. Through the resentment and the exhaustion and the quiet, suffocating grief of losing yourself to a life you never truly wanted. He expected you to endure it because that’s what you’ve always done.

The therapist watches the exchange carefully, then speaks again. “Kento, understanding that is important. But what does that mean for you now?”

Kento’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. “It means I can’t keep pretending an apology is enough.” he says, voice rough, strained. “I can’t just ask you to move forward like the past doesn’t exist.”

You swallow, your throat tightens.

The therapist nods. “And you?” she asks gently, turning back to you. “What does it mean for you to hear him say this?”

You hesitate. Because you don’t know. You’ve wanted acknowledgement for so long. You’ve craved it, ached for it. And now, sitting here, hearing your husband Nanami Kento say the things you always needed to hear, you realize something terrifying.

Recognition doesn’t erase the past. Understanding doesn’t heal the wounds. And now, you have to decide whether you want to heal. So, you don’t say anything. Because for the first time, he’s finally right. But the question remains—does it even matter anymore?

The room feels heavier now, as if the walls themselves are absorbing the weight of your words. Kento’s admission lingers between you, a quiet acknowledgment of what you’ve always known but never heard from his lips.

But does it change anything?

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against the stiff leather couch. “And what now?” you ask, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Now that you finally understand, what are you going to do about it?”

Kento hesitates, like he hasn’t thought that far ahead. Of course, he hasn’t. He was forced into this session, just like you were. Maybe he thought showing up was enough. That the act of being here, of listening, would be enough to fix the unfixable.

“I don’t know.” he admits, and somehow, that makes you angrier than anything else.

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “Typical.”

The therapist interjects gently. “This process isn’t about quick solutions. It’s about identifying the patterns that have brought you both here and seeing if they can be changed.” She glances at Kento. “You’ve admitted to taking your wife for granted, to making choices that hurt her. But what are you willing to do to make amends?”

His jaw tightens. He’s always been careful with his words. All too trained by years and even decades in the industry to say just enough without ever saying too much. But now, there’s no script to follow. No director to guide him.

Finally, he speaks. “I want to rebuild what I broke.”

You laugh, the sound bitter. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that, Kento? Turning back time? Undoing years of neglect and infidelity?”

His expression hardens. “I know I can’t change the past. But I don’t want this—” he gestures vaguely between you, much like you did earlier, “—to be how it ends.”

Your stomach twists. “You think there’s still something left to save?”

A long silence stretches between you. Kento doesn’t answer, and you don’t think he even knows the answer himself. You knew very well what that meant. Even he himself does not know how to do anything about a marriage he broke.

The therapist’s voice is soft but firm. “Maybe the better question is—do you want there to be? Both of you?”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in focus. Do you?

For so long, your anger has been the only thing holding you together. It’s easier to be furious than to admit how much it hurts. How much it still hurts. But wanting something and believing in it are two very different things.

You glance at Kento, the man you once loved more than anything. The man who shattered you, piece by piece, over two and a half decades. Do you want to salvage what’s left? Or is this therapy nothing more than a final autopsy of a marriage long dead?

“I don’t know.” you finally admit, the honesty sitting heavy on your tongue.

Kento flinches, just barely. But it’s enough for you to see it. Maybe, for the first time, he’s realizing that there might not be a way back from this. Maybe he should’ve thought about that before he broke you.

YOU DON’T KNOW IF YOU BELIEVE IN THE GODS ANYMORE. But you knew that it would mean a lot to your daughter Keiko for you both to visit the temple for prayer. She believes in the power of the gods a little bit more than you do. That’s why she suggests going there, at the very least to shake the nerves from the upcoming medical board licensure exams.

The grounds of Yushima Tenman-gū are alive with quiet devotion.Perhaps equal to that during the New Year visits made by the people within Bunkyō ward. The scent of incense clings to the air, blending with the crispness of the late afternoon.

Students and parents move through the space with careful steps, their voices hushed, their prayers whispered. Some clutch omamori charms tightly in their hands, while others write their wishes on ema plaques, their hopes hanging alongside hundreds of others, swaying gently in the breeze.

Your daughter Keiko moves ahead with purpose, stepping toward the main shrine, her back straight, her hands already reaching into her bag for a coin to toss into the offering box. She has always been like this, always so steady, precise. She was a young woman who knew what she wanted and how to chase it.

You linger behind for a moment, watching her.

The last time you had come to a shrine like this, you were still young. You had prayed for a future that felt distant yet full of possibility. Back then, you had imagined a life built on your own terms. A future of a career. A love that was chosen, not endured. A freedom that was never granted to you.

And now, here you are, standing in the shadow of everything you lost, watching your daughter reach for the things you never got to have. You don’t know if that makes you bitter or relieved. But you knew that there was pride and joy, and perhaps that blossoming of envy on the corners of your heart.

Your son steps up beside you, hands in his pockets, his posture more relaxed but no less thoughtful. “You should pray too, mom.” he murmurs, his voice barely above the wind.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. Pray? For what? For your daughter’s success?

Of course, you want that for her. You have always wanted the best for your children, even when motherhood was something that had been forced upon you. Even when resentment had gnawed at you in the darkest hours of the night, when exhaustion had made you wonder who you might have been if things had been different.

For your son’s peace? He’s always been the quieter one, observing more than speaking, carrying a kind of stillness that reminds you too much of Kento. You wonder if he ever saw through the illusions of your marriage. If he ever realized how much of yourself you had lost trying to keep the family whole.

Or maybe you should pray for yourself. The thought startles you for a moment. You weren’t particularly religious. But every time you visit a temple, you know you have spent so much of your life praying for others, for their futures, for their happiness. But what about you? Do you even know what to wish for anymore?

Your feet carry you forward before you can think too hard about it. You reach into your bag, pulling out a singular coin, the cool metal pressing against your palm. Stepping up to the offering box, you toss it in, the small clink of it landing echoing louder in your ears than it should.

You press your hands together, fingers trembling slightly as you close your eyes. And then….there was nothing. No words come to mind. No clear wish forms in your heart. You stand there, empty, uncertain, the weight of a lifetime of silent suffering pressing against you.

The gods, if they are listening, must already know. Maybe prayers don’t need to be spoken to be heard. Maybe standing here, finally allowing yourself to be present. Not as a wife, not as the woman Kento Nanami had molded to fit into his world, but simply you is enough. Maybe this is where healing begins.

As you step out of the shrine grounds, the late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting long shadows on the stone path. You were sure the blue hour was about to come any time soon. The air is crisp, and the scent of incense still lingers faintly, wrapping around you like an unspoken farewell.

Kenshin walks ahead, his hands tucked into his pockets, his pace just slightly quicker than yours. You don’t call out to him. He’s always been the type to process things quietly, to put distance between himself and heavy conversations. Keiko, on the other hand, stays by your side. You can feel her glancing at you before she finally speaks.

“We’ve talked about it, mom.” she says, voice soft but firm.

You blink, turning to her. “What?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Kenshin and I. We’ve talked about you and Dad. About what’s been happening.”

Your chest tightens, your breath hitching just slightly. You don’t know why it surprises you—of course, they’ve noticed. Of course, they’ve thought about it too. You could only take a soundless breath.

The thought of your children being such people, who think about their wretched parents instead of their own lives. You can only think you have such good kids, but also guilt that they have to deal with such a thing at all. This was after all the mess of overbearing adults.

“I already told you and your brother that this is a mess me and your father must deal with on our own.” You tell your daughter with a sigh, feeling the cold air brush against your cheeks. “You have your own lives to live too.”

“We know.” Keiko says, her hands resting on her jacket pocket. “But we still think about it. That’s just how it is.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow at her. “Then you’re too stubborn.”

She snickers. “Where do you think I got that from?”

You shake your head. “You’re too much my daughter.”

“Hm, aren’t I?”

The world around you keeps moving as you both become silent. The students walk past, the hum of distant conversations, the rustling of trees as the wind weaves through them. You purse your lips, feeling the wind become rougher and colder. For a moment, you wish that spring could come and remove the cold of autumn winds from your life.

"We think it’s better if you leave him." She suddenly says, picking up the conversation again.

Your daughter has always been straightforward, unafraid to speak her mind. But hearing it from her, hearing that it was words that came from both of them….it feels different, feels too much like a crashing wave battering you in a typhoon.

You inhale sharply, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “Keiko… I told you, that’s not something you and Kenshin should have to worry about.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “How could we not?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm. “You think we haven’t noticed? The way you look when you’re with him? The way you don’t look at him anymore?”

You don’t answer.

Because what is there to say?

She isn’t wrong.

Your breath catches, the words sinking in faster than you can process them. Keiko watches you carefully, her expression unreadable, but there’s something knowing in her gaze. Something that makes you feel exposed in a way you weren’t expecting.

You shake your head, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “That isn’t the point, Keiko.” you insist, your voice wavering just slightly. “Me and your father are in therapy. We’re still not making any decisions.”

Keiko doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

“You know for a fact that therapy just makes you even more angry at Dad.” she points out. “You come back from those sessions exhausted, and not in a good way.” She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a habit she’s had since childhood. “Really, I know you love him. But how is that enough to stay?”

“Look, I just—-”

She pauses, then adds, almost too casually, “You aren’t as smiley as when you’re with your new friends. Gojo–san and his group of friends, right?”

Your breath stutters. You want to argue. To tell her she’s wrong, that she doesn’t understand, that your marriage is complicated and layered and full of history she hasn’t lived through. But you can’t. Because she’s right.

With Kento, you feel like you’re drowning in old wounds, forced to relive them every time you try to mend something that might already be broken beyond repair. But with Gojo Satoru and his friends… Gojo, especially…..it’s different.

The weight isn’t there.

You can breathe.

And maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Keiko tilts her head, studying you. “You like them, don’t you?” she states, as if confirming something she already knew. “Gojo–san, especially.”

“They’re just friends.” you say quickly, too quickly. “Gojo–san, exceptionally.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t.” Her lips twitch slightly. “But they make you happy. That’s all I’m saying.”

You don’t respond, your thoughts a tangled mess. Keiko doesn’t push, but she doesn’t look away either. Her silence is deliberate, patient—giving you space to deny it, to argue, to deflect. But you don’t.

Because what is there to say? That she’s wrong? That Gojo Satoru and his friends are just a temporary distraction from your crumbling marriage? That you haven’t caught yourself laughing a little too easily when he teases you, or feeling lighter in his presence in a way you haven’t felt in years?

You swallow, glancing away, but Keiko hums knowingly. “See? You can’t even say I’m wrong.”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “Keiko, this isn’t about that.”

She shrugs. “Maybe not. But it matters.”

You exhale, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t even know what I want right now.”

Keiko’s expression softens. “You don’t have to.” She shifts closer, lowering her voice like she’s afraid of saying it too loudly. “But Mom… doesn’t it tell you something? That you feel happier with them than you do with Dad?”

Your chest tightens.

Because you know what it tells you.

You just don’t know if you’re ready to accept it.

YOU HAVEN’T BEEN TO A BAR IN NEARLY TWENTY YEARS. Well, at least by yourself. The amber glow of the bar lights cast a soft haze over the room, reflecting off polished wood and half-empty glasses. Low murmurs of conversation drifted through the space, but they barely registered in your mind.

All you could feel was the crushing weight of everything that has been happening in your life as of late. Your marriage, your children’s quiet acceptance of your inevitable decision, the unraveling of twenty-five years of your life right before your eyes.

So you did the only thing that made sense. You walked. Not toward anything in particular, not with any real destination in mind. Just away. Away from the conversation with Keiko, away from the heavy silence that had followed it, away from the empty hotel room waiting for you. And somehow, you ended up here. Alone.

The bar was dimly lit and upscale, but not the flashy kind. It was more of a quiet, intimate retreat for people who didn’t want to be seen, who came here to disappear into the background. It was perfect. You slid onto a barstool, resting your elbows on the counter, your head feeling too heavy for your shoulders.

"Whiskey neat, please." you muttered, barely sparing the bartender a glance.

The glass was placed in front of you moments later, golden liquid catching the light. You curled your fingers around it, but you didn’t drink. Not yet. Instead, you sat there, staring at the reflection of yourself in the mirrored wall behind the shelves of expensive liquor.

The woman who looked back at you was someone you barely recognized. Tired eyes. Set jaw. A kind of sadness so deep it had settled into your bones. One that you could never imagine for yourself all those years ago. Where has that bright eyed young woman gone?

And then the thought came, sharp and undeniable—Fuck. This is it. This is the moment I finally drown.

The realization clawed at your chest, a quiet sort of devastation. You didn’t even hear him approach.

"…Didn’t think I’d find you here."

Your breath caught. You froze. Your head snapped up, and there he was. Gojo Satoru. Tall, sharp, annoyingly out of place in a bar like this, with his white hair and easy grin and the kind of presence that drew attention even when he wasn’t trying to.

He wasn’t wearing his usual sunglasses, and his infamous blue eyes—too bright, too knowing was settled on you like he’d already figured out why you were here before you had even admitted it to yourself. You swallowed, gripping your glass a little tighter.

“What are you doing here, Satoru–kun?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, his grin lazy but his gaze sharper than usual. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Your fingers twitched against the glass.

Of course, of all people, he would be the one to find you here.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to steady your grip on the glass.

"I asked first, didn’t I?" You whispered back at him. “You can’t ask a question with another question. That’s just….stupid.”

Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle, stepping closer before sliding into the barstool beside you like he belonged there. Like he belonged in this moment, with you. Almost all too perfectly. You purse your lips into a flat line.

"Just passing through, like I always am." he said, casually resting his forearm on the counter. "Didn’t expect to see you here, though. I didn’t think you would be in Bunkyō.”

“Well, that’s a long story. No, actually I can summarize it. But not right now.” You hummed, noncommittal, taking a small sip of your drink.

The burn was sharp, settling deep in your chest, but it didn’t ground you the way you’d hoped. And then you suddenly fell back into that silence, the silence you were trying to escape with the bounty of burning alcohol pushed down your throat and probably being drunk enough to dance to the beat of the music.

Satoru leaned in slightly, eyes flicking over your expression. "What’s wrong?"

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Do I really have to say more about it? I thought I’ve told you enough about it."

His grin softened, just a little. "Well, I wouldn’t mind repetitive stories."

“I have too many of those.”

“Hm, then tell me one.” He leans against the table, getting closer to you. “Go on. I’ll listen.”

You looked at him for a moment, suddenly mesmerized by the look on his face. That tender wonder. You gulped soundlessly as you saw the smile on his lips warmer than all the other times you’ve ever seen it. You drank another sip.

Then and there, tender silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not like the suffocating stillness you had grown used to with Nanami Kento—this was different. It was… lighter. Easier. And that was dangerous in its own way.

"You’re drinking alone." Satoru pointed out eventually, his voice quieter now.

You let out a breathless laugh, swirling the liquid in your glass. "I guess I am."

"Didn’t seem like the type."

You glanced at him. "And what type is that?"

Satoru studied you for a moment before answering. "The type to drown alone."

The words hit you harder than you expected. Because that’s exactly what you had been thinking before he showed up. Before he sat down beside you, pulling you out of your own head without even trying.

You looked away, eyes tracing the rim of your glass. "Well….." you murmured. "Maybe I didn’t want to be found."

Satoru tilted his head, considering. Then, lightly, "Too bad. I found you already, didn’t I?"

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching slightly despite yourself. "You’re insufferable."

He grinned. "That’s what they all say."

Gojo Satoru didn’t look away. If anything, his bright eyed gaze felt heavier now. It was as if it was all too perceptive, all too knowing. You couldn’t help but shift in your seat, fingers tapping absently against your glass.

“Seriously, Satoru–kun.” you muttered. “Why are you here?”

Satoru smirked, leaning back against the bar. “What, I need a reason to drink?”

You gave him a flat look. “You don’t drink. Well, that I know of. Last time I made you drink tequila, you looked at me funny after just one shot.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good ambiance, or the sweetness, or the smell.” he quipped, gesturing vaguely to the dimly lit space around you. You snicker at his words. “Plus, I have a sixth sense for finding people who look like they’re about to make bad decisions.”

You huffed a small, tired laugh, shaking your head. “And you think that’s me?”

Satoru’s grin faded just slightly. “I think you look like someone who needed company but didn’t know how to ask for it.”

The words landed uncomfortably close to the truth. You turned your gaze back to your drink, the ice melting slowly, thinning the whiskey bit by bit. Had that been what you wanted? Company? A distraction?

“Frankly, I really don’t know what I need right now.” you admitted finally. The words tasted bitter.

Satoru watched you for a moment before calling over the bartender. “Two more, here.” he said smoothly, nodding at your glass. “Thank you.”

You frowned. “I didn’t say I wanted another.”

He shrugged. “Then you can watch me drink it.”

You sighed but didn’t argue, because some part of you. That stupid, brave, brutish, dangerous part of you didn’t actually mind his presence. Not in this way. Not in this closer, unimaginable way that you knew you shouldn’t be.

The bartender set down two fresh glasses, and Satoru lifted his own glass with a lazy smile. “To bad decisions, [name].” he said, raising it slightly.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a terrible toast.”

“Fine, then you pick one.”

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at your untouched drink. After a long pause, you exhaled and murmured back at him. “To not drowning alone.”

Gojo Satoru stilled for just a fraction of a second before his smile returned—quieter this time, almost too genuine, almost too warm, almost too real and only for you. He clicked his glass against yours.

“To that. And more.” he agreed.

The whiskey burned less the second time around. Or maybe you were just getting used to it. The way it settled deep in your chest, loosening something tight inside you. Gojo Satoru didn’t say much after your toast.

He just sat there, nursing his drink, letting the silence stretch between you in a way that wasn’t suffocating. He had that kind of presence, you realized. One that filled spaces without making them feel crowded. It was unnerving.

You had spent so many years in a marriage where silence meant distance, where unspoken words festered like wounds. But this was different. This was easy. Dangerous in its own way. Too much and you know it would be far worse than dangerous.

He called for a third round of whiskey and then a fourth and then a fifth. By the time you lifted your last, you didn’t remember how many he called for. You didn’t stop him at each call for a round. In some ways, you realize you needed this as much as he did. These bad decisions.

Satoru tapped his fingers idly against the counter, glancing at you. "So, princess." he said finally, "What now?"

You blinked at him, surprised at his nickname for you. You felt your cheeks flushed, perhaps more than from the alcohol. "What do you mean?"

He tilted his head, studying you. "You’re in Tokyo, alone. Kids are off doing their own thing. Husband’s…well, not here. Obviously." He waved a hand, trailing off as if the rest of that sentence didn’t need to be said. "You’ve got time to figure out what you want."

You swallowed. "I don’t know what I want."

Satoru hummed, nodding like he understood something you didn’t. Then, he stood up, stretching lazily. "C’mon."

You frowned. "Where?"

He grinned, like it should’ve been obvious. "A walk."

You stared at him, unsure. Gojo Satoru wasn’t the kind of person who waited. He was the kind of person who decided things for you, who swept you up in his pace before you even realized you were moving.

And maybe that was why, when he held out his hand, not to take yours, just an invitation. Perhaps that’s why you quickly considered it. For the first time in years, you considered something that wasn’t dictated by your marriage, by your children, by duty or guilt or obligation.

You glanced down at your hand. At the simple gold band circling your ring finger, there was never an engagement ring. You after all got married in a haste. But at one point, it was everything to you. It had once meant something. A promise. A commitment. A life built together.

But now, it was a weight. A reminder of everything you had held onto for too long. You took a moment to look at it. You swallowed the bile down from your throat. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You opened your eyes and let it slide off.

The cool metal felt foreign in your palm. Perhaps lighter than it should have been. You set it down on the polished wood of the bar, the sound small, but deafening in your ears. Gojo Satoru’s gaze flickered to it, his expression unreadable.

But he didn’t say anything.

He just smiled at you.

And when he turned to leave, you followed.

YOU SHOULD HAVE WORN SOMETHING WARMER. The night air was cold. You didn’t notice. Your body was moving, one foot in front of the other, step after step. But everything else felt distant, muted beneath the raw ache in your chest.

Your breath came unsteady, uneven. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms just to feel something. Anything to ground yourself at this moment. You knew you weren’t just trembling from the cold.

Your throat was raw from holding back everything that threatened to spill over. Your eyes were swollen, the evidence of too many emotions crashing into you all at once. Your soul felt like it had been ripped apart and yet, there was nothing left to do but keep walking.

Satoru walked beside you. His presence wasn’t loud, and wasn't intruding in a moment where you needed to comfort yourself for something you had done. He didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words or tell you it would be okay when you both knew it wouldn’t. Well, not yet.

He had simply draped his jacket over your shoulders without a word, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. Hands shoved into his pockets, his usual easy, relaxed gait unchanged.

It was like he wasn’t just walking beside a woman who had shattered right in front of him. Like he wasn’t carrying the weight of everything you had left behind.

Minutes passed. You weren’t sure how many. The city lights blurred together, neon signs and distant car horns blending into the background of your grief. And then, finally, he looks at you tenderly. "…You alright?"

His voice was quiet. Not teasing, not playful, just gentle. It almost broke you, how careful he was with you at everything and anything. It was crazy. It wasn’t something he had to do. And yet he does.

You let out a laugh, one that was harsh, bitter, something close to a sob. You didn’t know if it was the effects of alcohol or a broken heart. But you didn’t want to know.

“No.” you rasped. “Not even close.”

Gojo Satoru didn’t flinch at the sharpness of your voice. If anything, he looked like he expected it. Like he would have been more surprised if you had tried to lie. "Yeah." he murmured. "Didn’t think so."

You exhaled your breath shakily, tilting your head back to stare at the sky. The city lights drowned out most of the stars, leaving behind only a few faint specks of brightness in the distance. It just truly felt fitting.

"I don’t even know what I’m doing, not anymore." you admitted. The words felt heavy in your throat, like they had been waiting to be said for years. "I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what comes next."

Satoru hummed, tilting his head as if considering your words. "Does it matter right now?"

You turned to him, frowning. "What?"

"Does it matter?" he repeated simply, kicking a stray pebble along the sidewalk. "Knowing where you’re going? Knowing what’s next?" He shot you a sideways glance, something unreadable in his expression. "You already left the bar. That’s enough for now, isn’t it?"

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him it wasn’t enough, that nothing about this was enough. But you stopped. Because, wasn’t it? You had left. Not just the bar. Not just your ring. But the life you had convinced yourself you were trapped in. You did that.

And maybe you didn’t know what came next.

Maybe the thought of facing it still made you sick with fear.

But for the first time in a long time, you did something for you.

Even if you didn’t know where you were going.

You let out a breath, slow and uncertain, and Satoru must have seen something shift in your expression because his grin returned on his beautiful lips. Though it was small, teasing, just a little softer than the usual he gives to others. In some ways, this smile somehow felt crafted only for you.

"See? You’re thinking too much again." he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. "Just walk with me for a little while, yeah?"

You swallowed. You nodded. "Yeah." you whispered. "Okay."

“Okay.” He whispers back, nodding at you.

Silence once again follows through both of you.

“…How old are you?” you finally croaked.

Satoru blinked. “…Thirty-five. Thirty-six this December.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Jesus Christ.” you muttered. “I’m twelve years older than you.”

Satoru grinned. “And?”

You stared at him. “And this means you should be hitting on girls your own age,” you deadpanned. “Not dragging miserable, middle-aged wives out of bars.”

Satoru just laughed. “I wasn’t hitting on you.” he said smoothly. “Well….not yet.”

You scoffed. “Right. Because asking a married woman out for walks around the park was totally innocent. And especially tonight, after getting her quite hammered.”

Satoru grinned. “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t see the ring.”

You snorted. “Bullshit.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “Okay.” he admitted. “I did know when I met you again. But in my defense those aren’t the first times we met. I didn’t know you were married then.”

And fuck. That hit like a sledgehammer. Your mouth parted, but no words came out. Your throat seized as something cold and sharp coiled around your chest. “…What?”

Satoru just smiled, slow and knowing. “I knew you from a long time ago. I told you that, didn’t I? That it was nice to meet you again.”

Your brows furrowed. “How?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, as if to make sure you caught every word. “You remember when you visited the university? And you spoke to a student—”

Your breath stilled. A hazy memory surfaced. Years and years ago, standing in a lecture hall, speaking to a room full of eager, wide-eyed students. A boy in the back row, watching you with quiet intensity. And then later, conversed with you.

“That was you?” you whispered.

Satoru laughed, bright and unguarded. “I was also the student you saved. The one Yaga talked about. The one you gave your every savings for.”

The air seemed to shift, heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. “This is just…..”

Satoru’s voice softened, just slightly. “Because of you, my mom and I got through it. I got through it. I’m here because of you.”

A lump formed in your throat.

You swallowed hard, unable to look away from him.

“I owe you a lot, you know?” he murmured.

And for the first time that night, you didn’t have a comeback.

The weight of his words settled in your chest like a stone, pressing against ribs already too tight from years of swallowing everything down—regrets, sacrifices.

All the quiet ache of knowing that your choices had never really been about yourself. You had convinced yourself a long time ago that what you did didn’t matter, that time swallowed up good deeds as easily as it did mistakes.

But now here he was. Living, breathing proof that something you did had meant something. That someone remembered.

You exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the table as if it could anchor you.

“I—I didn’t think anyone remembered that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Well, I did. And so did my mom.” His grin softened, losing its teasing edge. “She still talks about you, you know? Calls you an angel and she hasn’t even met you yet..”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “An angel….” you repeated, shaking your head. “God, if only she knew.”

Satoru didn’t look away, didn’t flinch at the self-loathing curled around your words like a second skin. If anything, his expression darkened. Not with pity, but with something else. Something knowing.

“You are an angel.”

You shook your head. “I am not.”

“She does know, as well as I do, that you are.” he said quietly. “She knows you saved me when no one else would.” His fingers drummed lightly against the wood of the table before he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “But I don’t think you ever saved yourself, did you?”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “That’s not how life works.”

Satoru didn’t move, didn’t blink. “No. But it could be. If…if you just let me help you too.”

A sharp breath escaped you, half a laugh, half something much more fragile. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the weight of old regrets pressing down on you, but either way, you felt exposed. Raw in a way you hadn’t been in years.

You had spent so long being someone else’s something. A wife, a mother, a prized trophy on a shelf, a puppet on a string, a prisoner to something you never wanted. You had forgotten what it was like to be seen. Really be seen.

“I don’t know what you expect from me, Satoru–kun.” you said, voice quieter now, more uncertain.

Satoru was silent for a moment. Then, with an almost lazy motion, he reaches across from you and lets his fingers brush against yours. “I don’t expect anything, [name].” he said simply. “I just wanted you to know—you weren’t forgotten.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was such a simple thing. A simple touch. A simple truth. And yet it cracked something deep inside of you, something you had been holding together with nothing but sheer force of will.

Before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it, you turned your hand over, letting your fingers curl around his. Just for a moment.

Just long enough to remember what warmth felt like. Just long enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to be something more than a ghost of who you used to be.

The air between you shifted, charged with something fragile yet electric. A slow, inevitable pull. Your fingers were still wrapped around his, neither of you moving, neither of you daring to shatter the moment. But then you did.

You leaned in, just slightly, drawn to him by a force you couldn’t name. He mirrored you, his body tilting forward as if answering a call he had always known existed.

Satoru’s breath fanned against your lips, his gaze flickering down for a split second before finding your eyes again, an unreadable mix of longing and restraint simmering in his expression.

“I wanted to do well by you, everyday I breathed. Everyday I lived and did — I did because I wanted to be someone you could be proud of.” he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher. “All my life.”

Your breath hitched. “Satoru….”

“I just…” He exhaled shakily, his other hand coming to rest lightly on the table between you, as if he were grounding himself. “I just knew I wanted to be there for you. To… to love you in my own way. Even from afar.”

You felt your pulse in your throat, the weight of his words settling over you like something warm, something dangerous. “When I met you, for the first time….I just…” he continued, his tone almost reverent. “All I could realize was when certain atoms collide, it’s instantaneous. And it’s inevitable.”

“Chemistry.” You whispered under your breath.

“Yes.” He smiles at you. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around yours. “And that’s how I feel for you.”

You sucked in a breath, the confession settling deep inside your ribs, winding around your heart like something ancient and undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, you brought your free hand up, barely touching the fabric of his sleeve. Testing. Searching.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol. You didn’t know if it was the cold driving you mad or the full moon settling down below the two of you. But it was something. Something was driving you to this feverish madness.

“Satoru.” you murmured to him, meeting his eyes.

His name felt heavier in your mouth now, heavier than it had ever been. His grip on your fingers tightened. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. There was only the space between you. And the question of what came next.

One second, there was space that needed to be filled. It was charged, trembling, unbearable. But then all you knew next was that his lips were on yours. Soft at first, testing, teasing—then something broke.

Satoru exhaled sharply, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your face to deepen the kiss. His mouth was warm, insistent, tasting of want and something older, something inevitable. You gasped against him, and he groaned, fingers tightening like he was afraid you’d slip away.

But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now.

Not when he kissed you like this.

Not when you finally felt wanted.

YOU COULD ONLY MAKE IT TO THE HOTEL A COUPLE BLOCKS AWAY. It happened too fast. One moment, you were standing there, breathless, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. The next, your mouth collided with his. No thought. No hesitation. Just pure, burning, reckless agony. And fuck. Satoru didn’t stop you. He grabbed you.

Fingers twisting in your hair, an arm locking tight around your waist—hauling you against him like he’d been waiting, aching, starving for you to break all night. And god. You shattered. You melted into him, your lips frantic, your hands trembling, your body screaming for something you hadn’t felt in years.

Because fuck, as much as you didn’t want his touch anymore, you wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel wanted. And for so long, Kento hadn’t touched you like this in so long. And it killed you. It killed you that it was Satoru making you feel this way.

But god. You couldn’t stop. And you didn’t want to stop.

His mouth was devouring yours. It was hard, fast, desperate. Like he was trying to drown himself in you. You let him do it in any way he wanted, in any way he saw fit. You let him consume you, ruin you, unmake you.

His massive hand slid down your back, fingers digging into your hip, grinding you against him like he couldn’t get enough, like nothing in the world could ever be enough. And fuck. It felt so wrong. It felt so good.

“Fuck, fuck….” you gasped against his mouth, nails biting into his shoulders. “We— we can’t—”

“I don’t care, darling.” Satoru growled, his lips crashing against yours again. “I don’t fucking care.”

You knew he broke you then.

And fuck, you let him.

You kissed him harder, fingers twisting in his shirt, yanking him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and desperation. Because you needed this. You needed to feel something. You needed to feel something sharp, something real, something that burned away the ache you had been carrying for years.

Gojo Satoru was destroying you in the way you needed. He bit your lip, sucked your tongue, groaned against your mouth like he was coming undone. Like you were undoing him. It made you dizzy. It made you feel happy to be reckless.

Because fuck, Nanami Kento hadn’t touched you like this in so long, hadn’t made you feel like you were something worth breaking for. But Satoru was willing to ruin and undo you. And you let him. You let him take you. Let him grab you, manhandle you, drag you through the dim-lit bar like he had already decided you were his and he wasn’t letting go.

The cold wall met your back, shocking against the heat of his body pressing into yours, caging you in. His hands were rough and desperate and starving. They slowly slid over your waist, your hips, gripping, claiming. Like you were something he couldn’t survive without. Like he had waited for this. For you.

"Tell me to stop, darling." Satoru's voice was a raspy whisper, his breath hot against your ear.

His forehead pressed urgently against yours, his bright blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity against your own. You couldn't bring yourself to utter those words back at him.You didn't want him to stop. Not now. Not ever.

"Please." You breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Don't stop."

Those two whispered words were all the encouragement Gojo Satoru needed. He snapped, his control shattering like fragile glass. His mouth descended upon yours in a brutal, desperate kiss, his lips moving with a hunger that stole your breath away.

His hands were everywhere, touching, claiming, possessing. They gripped your hips, your waist, your thighs, as if trying to memorize every curve of your body. Satoru's fingers tangled in your hair, tugging sharply as he angled your head to deepen the kiss.

Satoru's hands slid up your welcoming thighs, his every touch burning through the fabric of your dress. He gripped your waist firmly, his long fingers digging into your flesh as he yanked your hips into his. And then you felt it. The hard, throbbing evidence of his desire pressed against you, as if he was on the verge of losing all control.

"Fuck, fuck…." he growled, his teeth sinking into your neck. "I knew you'd feel like this—"

"Satoru!" you gasped, your head slamming against the wall as your entire body shook. He was everywhere, his touch overwhelming, his presence consuming.

"I don't care, darling." he rasped, his mouth trailing down your throat."I don’t care if it's wrong. I don't care if you're married to that bastard. I don’t care if people catch us. I don't fucking care. Please, please, please. Please let me have you. Please let me love you."

You swallowed hard, your entire body trembling and shaking under the weight of his words, his touch, his need. His breath fanned hot against your exhilarated skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. Waiting, anticipating. Then, barely a whisper, but enough to shatter everything.

"Yes." you breathed. “Yes, yes, yes. Take me, Satoru. Please.”

Satoru felt himself frozen at your words. His fingers twitched against your waist, his tender lips hovering just above yours, as if he needed to hear it again, needed to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

"Say it again, darling." he rasped, his voice wrecked, desperate.

"Yes….yes…." you whimpered, your hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. "Yes, yes—"

That was all it took.

Gojo Satoru snapped.

A ragged curse tore from his throat as his mouth crashed into yours, swallowing your words, your hesitation, your everything. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you against the wall, his body pressing flush to yours, unrelenting.

"I knew it." he growled between frantic, feverish kisses. "I knew you wanted me."

And you did. God, you did. Nothing else mattered. Not the world outside, not the ring on your finger, not the promises made to another. Because right now, you were his. And he was going to ruin you for anyone else.

Satoru was devouring you, his mouth hot and hungry on your skin. His hand slid up your dress, his fingers trailing dangerously close to where you were aching for him. And you were already soaking wet, your body betraying you, begging for his touch.

Satoru groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck, darling." he rasped, his voice strained with need."I need you."

His fingers found your center, slipping easily into your wet heat. You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. Satoru's thumb circled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "So fucking wet." he murmured, his breath hot against your ear." So fucking good, aren’t you?”

You knew you shouldn’t. You knew you had a husband out there somewhere, wasting his life. You knew you had two kids somewhere in this city. You knew this was wrong. It had been twenty five years. Twenty five years of neglect. Twenty five years of loneliness. Twenty five years of loving someone who made you miserable.

Yet, it all seemed to fade away under the warm touches Satoru was gifting you tenderly. He was the only thing that mattered at this moment. His hands, his mouth, his body — they were the only reality you cared about right now.

His fingers moved inside you, stroking and curling, hitting spots that made your vision blur. Satoru's thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing firm circles that had your legs shaking. You let out a mewl as you tried to keep up with him.

"So fucking good, aren't you, precious girl?" he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr.

Satoru's fingers pumped faster, his thumb pressing harder, pushing you closer to the edge. "Come for me, pretty." he commanded, his voice rough with desire."Show me how good I make you feel."

Your body responded instinctively, your hips grinding against Satoru's hand as he brought you closer and closer to the brink. His fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot that made your toes curl, while his thumb circled your clit with expert precision.

"Come on, pretty." he urged, his breath hot against your ear. "Let it all go.I want to feel you fall apart in my arms."

And with a final, devastating thrust of his fingers, you did.Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as pleasure consumed you. You cried out, Satoru's name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He held you through it, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his fingers buried deep inside you as he rode out your climax. When the waves finally subsided, you slumped against him, boneless and trembling. Satoru pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.

"That's it, pretty girl." Satoru murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction as he tasted you.

"Delicious, aren’t you?" he said, a smirk playing on his lips.He lifted you easily, carrying you to the nearby couch and laying you down gently. Satoru knelt between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress up to your waist.

“You’re so….” You whimper at him, feeling the ecstasy of the pandemonium called pleasure. You look at him, your wet core getting wetter still. “I want more. Satoru, please. Give me more.”

"Don’t worry. I'm not done with you yet, darling." he said, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly. "I'm going to make you come apart again and again, until you can't remember your own name."

He leaned down, his breath hot against your core."Until the only name you know is mine."

“Then make me feel good.” You whisper to him. “Make me feel it hard and good.”

He smiled at you, pressing a tender kiss at your wet core before scooping you up in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom with a predatory grace. He laid you down on the bed gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he crawled over you.

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress up to your waist. Satoru's fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly. He tossed them aside carelessly, his gaze fixed on your exposed center.

Satoru leaned down, his breath hot against your core."I've had years of wanting for this, darling of mine. Like you." he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “I’ll make it feel good.”

And then his mouth was on you, his tongue parting your folds and delving deep. Gojo Satoru licked and sucked, his mouth moving with a hunger that stole your breath away. He found your clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips.

Satoru's tongue flicked and circled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He sucked gently, then harder, alternating between the two until you were writhing beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted on you.

Satoru's tongue dipped lower, thrusting into your entrance and fucking you with a relentless rhythm.Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands tightly as you held him against you. Satoru groaned, the vibrations adding to the intense sensations coursing through you.

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your core. "You taste even better than I imagined." he murmured, his voice strained with desire.

Without warning, he buried his face between your legs again, his mouth moving with a renewed fervor. You felt Satoru's tongue plunged into you, curling and stroking, hitting spots that made your eyes roll back. You throw your head back hard, mewling like a little kitten.

"Oh god, Satoru!" you cried out, your hips bucking against his face. His tongue was relentless, plunging into you and curling in a way that made your toes curl. Satoru's hands gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you closer as he devoured you.

"Fuck, you're so wet." he murmured against your core, his voice muffled."I can't get enough of you."

He sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging sharply as the pleasure built inside you. "I'm going to come." you gasped, your body tensing.

Satoru looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Come for me, pretty." he commanded, his voice rough. "Come all over my face."

And with a final thrust of his tongue, he sent you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as pleasure consumed you. Satoru's tongue continued its relentless assault, drawing out your climax until you were a trembling, boneless mess.

He drank in every drop of your release, his groans of satisfaction vibrating against your core. As the waves of pleasure finally subsided, Satoru kissed his way up your body, his lips trailing over your stomach, between your breasts, until he reached your mouth.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue."You're mine now, aren’t you?" he murmured against your lips, his voice possessive."I'm never letting you go. Never.”

As you slowly came down from your high, Gojo Satoru's words echoed in your mind. You were his now, and he was never letting you go. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. Satoru's hands roamed your body, his touch gentle yet possessive.

He kissed your bruising lips ever so deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. When he pulled back, his bright eyes searched for yours, filled with a fierce intensity.

"Tell me what you need, my darling. My pretty darling." he said, his voice low and commanding."Tell me how you want me."

You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing. But the desire burning in Satoru's eyes, his burning desire for you, was everything that was poisoning logic in your mind. You shudder with pleasure at the way his body pressed against yours, the memories of his touch. All of it all pushed you over the edge.

"I need you inside me, Satoru." you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Need you to fill me whole, make me forget everything but you. Please, please. I need you to make me feel good.”

Satoru's bright blue gaze immediately darkened with desire at your words. He captured your lips in a searing kiss once again, bruising them over and over with his affection, with his desire until he reached your jaw and then your neck.

You feel his hands gripping your hips possessively. He moves to see your face once again. You looked at him as much as he looked at you. Like you were the only people that mattered in the world. That this was the only thing worth keeping in this world. Like this was the purest union made by the heavens above.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name, pretty. Like you want me to." he growled against your jaw. He reached between your bodies, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants with hurried movements. Soon, Satoru freed his erection from every article of clothing.

You could see the hard length pressing against your thigh. You could see how hard it was, how eager it was to desire you, to want you. To meet you closer. You purse your lips as you try to move as much as you could, trying to get Satoru closer to you.

He smiled slyly as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip teasing your wet folds. "Look at me, pretty." he commanded, his voice rough with need.

You do as he pleases and meet his gaze, your breath hitching as you feel him slowly push inside you. Satoru's eyes never left yours as he filled you inch by inch, his thickness stretching you deliciously little by little. When he was fully seated, he paused, allowing you to adjust to his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight, my precious darling." he groaned, his forehead resting against yours.

"You’re so good already. So loving of me. So eager to let me build a home in you.”

Satoru began to move, his hips pulling back slowly before thrusting forward again. He set a steady rhythm, each stroke hitting deep inside you and sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto him as he drove into you.

Everything about desiring someone was brutal. You could only let yourself scream and cry as he pushed deliciously in and out of you, like it was a game of push and pull. Sweat permeating through your skin, blending over and over like it was a battle between the two of you and the bed and the sheets.

Your nails digging all too well at the small of his back, letting them dig and dig until you were sure you were drawing blood. His mouth opened widely as it moved towards your neck, placing a sea of kisses in tune with his thrusts, before biting you, marking you. Almost as if a hunter to its prey.

The room is filled with the sounds of your bodies coming together, your moans and Satoru's grunts and groans, and cries and tears. The sloppy sounds of the body getting louder and louder with every heightening of that cacophony of desire that only fools would have, fools who could find themselves caged in the wanton desire to love and to be loved.

It was better than what Gojo Satoru had imagined all his life. It was more than he could ask for. It was more than he could have hoped for. Your passion, your darkness, your affection, your body and soul and even your heart. It was all there for him to hold, to keep, to have. Because you had given it so freely. You had given it to him to keep safe and hold dear.

You have been waiting for so long for someone who could keep your heart steady with the right tenderness, the right intentions, the right sense of love. And he knows it's too soon and he knows you haven’t said it yet. But you trust him enough to hold it, even if it was just for now. And he will do what he can to do it all.

Because he believes in love.

He believes in being in love.

And he believes in loving you.

"You feel so fucking good, my precious baby." he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "I've dreamed of this for so long."

He angled his hips, hitting a spot that made you see stars. Satoru's mouth found yours, swallowing your cries as he pounded into you with increasing urgency. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your breasts, teasing your nipples, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

"Come for me again, pretty." he demanded, his voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go for me like the good girl you are.”

Satoru's fingers found your clit, rubbing firm circles that pushed you closer to the edge.His thrusts became faster, harder, his hips slamming against yours with a force that shook the bed. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.

"That's it, pretty baby." Satoru urged, his voice low and gravelly. "Come all over my cock. Milk me dry."

His words, combined with the relentless assault on your senses, sent you crashing over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Satoru's movements became erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his release hot and thick as it filled you. He collapsed on top of you, his body trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm.

The room was thick with heat, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to the air like an unshakable truth. Satoru's weight pressed against you, his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder, his body still trembling in the aftermath.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

Then, reality crept in.

You felt the damp sheets beneath you, the way your legs still shook, the lingering pulse of pleasure thrumming through your veins. But more than that, you felt the weight of what you'd just done pressing down on your chest, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

Satoru shifted, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. "God, you’re perfect, aren’t you?" he murmured, voice still husky, still lost in you. "I should’ve never let you go."

Your fingers twitched as they rested against his back, your mind screaming at you to move, to say something, to do anything other than just lie there, tangled in sheets that weren’t yours, with a man who wasn’t your husband.

"Satoru..." Your voice was barely a whisper, but he caught it. He always did.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his usual cocky grin absent, replaced by something raw, something real. "Don’t." he said, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Don’t say you regret it. Not yet."

“I don’t.” You whispered to him, your tone a bit sore.

“Okay.” He breathed.

“Okay.” You say, letting your eyes settle on his.

The weight of guilt never came and you didn’t expect yourself to feel it. The silence between you was thick, stretching out like the space between lightning and thunder. The kind that comes before a storm.

Satoru's arms were still wrapped around you, his breath warm against your skin, his grip possessive. Like he was afraid to let go. There was no ring on your finger anymore. No tether to a life that felt like a lie. Just this silence, just his peace, just you and him.

"You’re thinking again." he murmured, lips grazing your temple, voice hoarse from exhaustion. “Too loudly too.”

You exhaled slowly. “Shouldn’t I?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no amusement in it. Just something raw, something unsteady. “You always do.” he muttered. “Even when you don’t have to.”

You hesitated, your fingers twitching against his skin. “Satoru…”

“Stay.”

The word was barely above a whisper, but it felt heavier than anything he’d ever said before. Your heart slammed against your ribs. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your bare waist, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

“Stay with me here. Even for a little while.” he murmured again, softer this time, like a prayer. “No more running. No more pretending.”

You swallowed hard. You should’ve hesitated.

You should've thought about it. But you didn’t.

“Okay.” you breathed in response to him.

Satoru stills as he looks at you and then smiles. His grip loosened for half a second. Like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it. But then he was pulling you closer, his lips crashing into yours, his entire body trembling with something unspoken.

There was no more speaking after that.

Instead the world woke up and met the sun.

And both of you stayed asleep, in each other’s arms.

YOU HAD NO REGRETS WHEN YOU SAID WHAT YOU SAID. Kento didn’t even realize he was screaming. Didn’t realize his hands had curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. Didn’t realize the therapist had sprung from her chair, eyes wide, uncertain whether to intervene or let the storm run its course.

But he did realize one thing. Your hands were bare. No ring. No symbol of what you had built together. Nothing. You said that you left it in some bar in Bunkyō because you couldn’t bear the sight of it on your hand.

“Who the fuck was it?” His voice was rough, cracking at the edges. “I asked you, who the fuck was it?”

You didn’t answer, looking at him with a serene look. Perhaps it’s what’s making him even angrier. Just as much as over the years of you knowing that he had cheated and never saying a word and when you did, saying you could care less.

His jaw clenched. “Who was it?”

Silence once more blisters him.

And then Kento completely lost his mind.

“Was it Toji?” he spat, desperate for a name, a face, something tangible he could blame, something he could destroy. “Was it one of my co-stars? Some fucking fan? His manager? Who the fuck was it?”

You laughed at his words, as though they were the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. But there was nothing warm about it. It was empty. Hollow. Like something that had decayed a long time ago.

“It doesn’t matter, Kento.”

“The fuck it doesn’t.” he snarled. His breath came fast, shoulders tight, entire body brimming with fury. His world was splitting apart, cracking open like a wound, bleeding something ugly and raw. “You cheated on me, and you think it doesn’t matter?”

Another laugh. This one is even colder. “Did it matter when you did it?”

Kento froze. “Don’t you—”

You tilted your head, eyes sharp, waiting for him to lie.

But he didn’t, he knew he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t do it.

He was a worse monster than you, a far worse beast than you.

He can never come here and say that you were the bad one.

“Did it matter when you spent years fucking women who weren’t me?” Your voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something deadly. “Did it matter when you looked me in the eye every night and still went to set and fucked someone else? Did it matter, Kento?”

His lips parted, the start of a denial forming on his face. “Don’t turn this on me—”

“It was always on you.” The words cut through the air like a blade. Kento flinched. “Toji’s wife wouldn’t cheat with you if she wasn’t so miserable being cheated on by Toji. I wouldn’t have looked fucking elsewhere, if I didn’t suffer twenty–fucking–five years of misery because of you!”

“Years, Kento. Years.” Your voice was shaking now, but not from grief. From something blistering. Something that had been burning inside you for too long.

"I did what I could to make everything work." Kento argues back, looking at you with a shattered look. "I worked and worked and lived with your hatred and your resentment—"

“But you cheated first. You cheated for years. And I sat there. I sat there and I waited for you to love me again. I cried myself to sleep, I tore myself apart, I bled myself dry trying to be someone you wanted.”

He inhaled sharply, but you weren’t finished. “You didn’t care. You never fucking cared. You just kept cheating. You just kept hating me. And I let it happen. Because I loved you.”

Silence. The therapist was motionless, her presence insignificant in the wreckage between you. Kento’s breath was unsteady. His hands trembled at his sides. You just looked at him. And for the first time, he saw it. Not anger. Not pain. Nothing.

The part of you that had once belonged to him was gone. And the worst part of it wasn’t because of what you had done. It was because of what he had done first. And he knew he had no excuse. He had no excuse to be angry, or to be jealous, or to feel wronged when he did worse than you ever could.

Nanami Kento’s face was crumpling. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked, his body shaking under the weight of something unbearable. Regret. Shame. Pain. It was crushing him, hollowing him out from the inside, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

“I loved you, Kento. I still do, some part of me still does. And I don't think that will go away. You were my first in everything, father of my children, I acknowledge that. ” you screamed, voice splitting, raw and wrecked. “But then, I loved you more than life itself. I gave you everything. And you threw me away like I was nothing. And I am exhausted of living like I can deal with it.”

Your breath hitched violently, hands trembling as the words ripped free from your throat, words that had been festering for years, rotting inside you like something diseased. You tried to get yourself in control.

“You made me hate myself.” Your voice cracked, and Kento’s body jerked like you had struck him. “You made me hate being a mother. You made me despise my own existence. And I still stayed. Because I thought…” your voice shattered, ragged and broken. “I thought you’d come back to me.”

Nanami Kento’s face collapsed, his breath stuttering as if your words had reached inside his chest and torn something vital from him. His lips parted, but no sound came, just a shuddering breath, just pain.

“I never stopped loving you.” he croaked, but his voice was so weak. So desperate.

You laughed. But it wasn’t humorous at all. There was nothing joyous about the laughter that comes from a broken soul. Instead, it was agony, twisted and sharp, curling around your ribs and bleeding out into the air between you.

“Yes, you did.” The words came like a death sentence, final and absolute. “Because you couldn’t do anything but hate me. Because I caged you in a life that made you just as miserable.”

Kento couldn’t help but flinch, and you felt it. You felt the way your words carved into him, felt the way his entire body recoiled, as if only now he was beginning to understand the damage he had done.

“You looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was some chore you had to come home to. Like I was a burden. Like I was the reason you were miserable.” Your breath caught, but you pushed through, letting the poison spill, letting the truth burn through the air between you.

“You hated me, Kento. And I felt it. I felt it every single day. I felt it when you wouldn’t touch me. I felt it when you came home smelling like someone else. I felt it when you rolled over in bed and pretended I didn’t exist.”

Kento let out a ragged breath, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t deny a single thing. Because it was all true. He had done this. And now, he was paying for it. He has to pay for it. That’s the only way he could ever make it all better.

“Baby, please—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice was sharp, final, cutting through him like a blade. Kento froze. Because fuck. You meant it. You weren’t his baby anymore. Because you had decided it yourself. You can’t continue being miserable. Not when Satoru had shown you what joy could ever look like.

“…I didn’t mean to hurt you.” he rasped, voice wrecked, broken beyond repair. “I didn’t mean—”

“But you did.” you cut in, your voice rising, trembling with the sheer force of it. “You did, Kento.”

He looked so small. So fragile.

But you didn’t stop at that.

Your anguish had been waiting for this.

“You killed me.” Your breath caught, your whole body trembling as the rage inside you cracked open. “And you just.....” A sob tore from your throat, your entire form crumpling. “You just watched it happen.”

Kento sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head, but you weren’t finished. You don’t think you ever will be. You fix your composure once again, trying to ensure that you would not go off and break down in front of him.

“You watched me rot away. You watched me turn into nothing. And you didn’t stop. You just kept cheating. You just kept killing me. And I let it happen because I thought......” your voice cracked painfully. “I thought if I could just hold on, you’d love me again.”

Kento opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“But you never did.” Your voice was barely above a whisper now, drained, defeated. “You never fucking did.”

Nanami Kento was sobbing. His entire body wracked with shudders, face buried in his hands like he could hide from the truth, like he could make it go away. He could never make any of this go away.

“I did love you—”

“You stopped loving me when you couldn’t have a wife and a mother for your children.” You whispered to him. “You stopped loving me when I couldn’t be the woman you thought I could be. We both knew that.”

The words were sharp, merciless. You were gone. Your voice was wrecked. Your body crumpled. Your face drenched in tears.

“I died, Kento.” you whispered, the words so quiet, yet they carried the weight of a decade’s worth of pain. “I died a thousand times. Every time you fucked someone else. Every time you looked at me like I was nothing. Every time you come home smelling like another woman. I died. And you didn’t care. You just let me rot.”

Kento’s whole body was trembling now, his hands in his hair, his face contorted with something close to agony.

“And now?” You laughed. And god, it was empty. “…Now you know how it feels.”

Kento collapsed. His whole body sank into his chair, breaking apart, sobbing like he was dying, like the weight of everything he had done was finally crushing him. And you didn’t even flinch. Because you were already dead, and now he wasn’t the one bringing you back to life. It was Satoru.

“…Who was it?” he choked, barely able to get the words out.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t, Kento.” Your voice was hollow. Shattered. Like there was nothing left inside you to give. “Because I’m not sorry.”

Kento screamed. Like he was burning alive. Like he was finally feeling the agony he had inflicted on you for over a decade. The therapist could only watch as you gathered your belongings and looked at your pathetic husband.

Kento Nanami finally knew how it felt.

And it was killing him over and over.

And perhaps that was your greatest revenge.

IT FELT SO DIFFERENT NOW THAT ALL OF THAT WAS OUT. Perhaps that’s why the drive home was silent. Yet it was not the peaceful kind. It was the suffocating kind, taking you over.

The kind that coiled around your throat and pressed into your chest, heavy and unbearable. And it will never be the same again. That was what the future held now. Nothing but misery for both of you.

Kento’s knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel, his grip so tight it looked like he might snap it in half. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, but he said nothing. You sat beside him, motionless, hands limp in your lap.

There was nothing left to say. And if there was, you were too exhausted to even allow yourself to say anything. You can tell Kento was just the same. Perhaps that’s why you were sure there could be nothing that could ever be discussed like that again between you and Kento.

Nothing would change the way you both had suffered in each other’s arms. And just as much, nothing that hasn't already been ripped out of you in that sterile therapy room, nothing that wouldn’t just reopen wounds that had long since festered. You would just be miserable.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, the house loomed in front of you. It was ever so silent, sickeningly empty. In this so-called home. Or at least, it used to be. Nothing of it was left to even be considered a home.

The weight of it settled between you as Kento stepped inside first, lingering just past the threshold like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to cross it anymore. His shoulders were rigid, his chest rising and falling in slow, shaky breaths.

He didn’t look at you when he finally spoke. “…We should talk about the divorce.”

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was pathetic.

“Like the therapist said?” you scoffed, your voice cold, edged with something bitter and exhausted.

Kento swallowed hard. His throat bobbed once, twice—like he was trying to force the words down. “…Yeah.”

Silence.

He still wouldn’t look at you. And when you finally met his gaze, you almost wished you hadn’t. He looked sick. He looked like he couldn’t talk about it without having to deal with the misery of it all again.

Your husband’s face was pale, drawn tight with something that looked dangerously close to grief. His eyes were sunken, rimmed with exhaustion, his entire body stiff like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will.

“…Do you want one?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Kento’s breath hitched. His face twisted—like the question had physically hurt him. “…I don’t know,” he admitted, voice breaking.

Silence all over again. It stretched between you, hollow and endless. Kento exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers into his temples before dragging his hands down his face. He looked like a man unraveling.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore, [name].” he said finally, voice wrecked. “I don’t want to trap you here. I don’t want to be the reason you hate your life.”

His breath wavered, thick with something desperate. “So if you…” He swallowed hard, looking at you now—really looking at you. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

“Kento—”

His voice cracked. “I swear to god, I won’t stop you.”

Your throat locked up. “…But do you want me to leave?”

Kento’s face was completely crumpled. His entire body folded in on itself, his breath stuttering, his eyes filling so fast it looked like the weight of the world had just crashed into him. He looks at you, the shell of the man he used to be.

“No.” he sobbed, his voice wrecked. “No, I don’t.”

There it was.There it fucking was. The ugly truth. The selfish desperation. Kento didn’t want you to leave. Even after everything. Even after the cheating. Even after all the ruin. He still wanted you. Even if you would both be miserable.

“…Then why are you saying this?”

Kento swallowed thickly, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because you hate me, [name].” he choked, his face completely destroyed. “I can’t keep making you miserable. I can’t keep being the reason you…” His voice cracked. “…You keep being miserable and despise yourself.”

He exhaled sharply, a ragged, broken sound. “So if leaving me will make you happy again, then please. Please do it. Just….” His voice broke. “Just don’t stay here if it’s killing you.”

You just stared at him. The man who had spent years tearing you apart. The man who had crushed you into dust and expected you to survive it. The man who, even now, was finally ready to lose you just so you wouldn’t suffer anymore.

“…And what about you?”

Kento’s throat collapsed. “What?”

“What if I leave?” you croaked, your voice so small, so fragile. “What happens to you, Kento?”

Silence bellows the world all of the sudden.

Kento’s face completely crumbled. “…Then I die alone.” he finally admitted, his voice shattering. “I will never remarry. I will….I will continue with the misery of my own creation.”

You froze. “.....You don’t have to.”

“I deserve that.” Kento sobbed, his body wrecked. “I deserve to die alone. I deserve to rot in this house without you. I deserve to feel everything I put you through. So if you…” His voice cracked painfully. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I swear to god, I won’t stop you.”

You couldn’t even breathe. You could see it. Kento’s despair, one he had made for himself. The way his body crumpled. The way his chest caved in. The way he was already mourning you, like he knew you were already gone. And it should’ve felt vindicating. It should’ve felt like justice. And yet, it just felt sickening.

“…I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” you finally croaked, your voice wrecked.

And Kento completely broke. “…I know.” he sobbed, his entire body collapsing.

Silence. Unforgiving. Endless.

“…I still love you.” Kento’s face obliterated.

“…I know.”

More silence in the utter destruction of twenty-five years.

“…Do you still love me?” you finally whispered.

Kento let out the most painful sound you’d ever heard. “…Yes,” he sobbed, his voice completely wrecked. “Yes, I do. I never stopped. I just—”

His voice shattered. “I just didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to love you right. And I killed you. I destroyed you. And I don’t….” His voice broke apart, sharp and desperate. “I don’t deserve you anymore. Not like I used to.”

You couldn’t take it. You just turned and walked toward the bedroom. Because god, you couldn’t look at him. Not like this. Not when he was falling apart at the seams. Not when his face was wrecked with something so raw, so painful, that it made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to face.

“…Where are you going?” Kento choked.

“To bed.” you rasped. “.....I’m exhausted.”

Silence was the commonality you both have more than any sort of love now. You went ahead and changed out of your clothes. Soon enough, Kento just followed, still dressed in his clothes. He didn’t say a word as he changed into something else.

He stands there for a moment, unsure. When he did move, his footsteps were hesitant, barely there, like he was afraid to take up too much space. Afraid to breathe wrong. Afraid to do something, anything that would send you running out that door for good.

And when you climbed into bed, still completely distant, like you were already halfway gone, Nanami Kento stood there for only a second, hovering at the edge of the mattress like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to stay.

Then, slowly, hesitantly… he slid in beside you. It was so pathetic. The way his hand shook when he reached out to touch your waist. The way his face completely crumpled when you didn’t respond. The way his body broke apart when you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, like he wasn’t even there.

“…I’m sorry.” he croaked.

You didn’t answer.

“…I’m so fucking sorry.”

And still, you didn’t answer.

So Kento just continued to curl into your side. And you do not stop him. You do not stop him from trying to gain some warmth from your body, as though it was the last time. Like he was dying. Like he was trying to cling to your ghost.

He then starts sobbing. Not the quiet kind. The soul-shattering kind. Just gripping you, holding onto you like you’d disappear if he loosened his grip for even a second. It was as though someone had gone and died.

“Please don’t leave me.” he choked, his entire body trembling, caving in, coming undone. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything. I’ll do anything, baby, please. Just don’t leave me.”

You just stared at the ceiling. Completely empty from the thought. You were exhausted from loving him. Perhaps that is you were so certain of the truths you had long believed. You had long walked past that door and left.

Even if you still love him, you knew you couldn’t be with him like this.

Not ever again. You deserve better than that.

You deserve someone like Satoru.

"I THINK PEOPLE LIKE US IN MARRIAGES, especially ones like ours, were always meant to be indestructible. At least that’s what people want to think of it as." You said almost nonchalantly, a faint smile drawing on your face.

"People have had expectations about your story to be perfect, no?" The interviewerer leads, looking at you with intrigued eyes. "That was what was expected out of a marriage with someone living in fame."

You nodded, leaning forward to be more comfortable in your chair. " Correct. That's what people wanted. A grand love story, perfectly composed, enduring through all things. But love isn’t like that, is it? It’s not a script you can follow forever. It changes, it falters. And sometimes, it fades."

You sit back in the chair, hands folded in your lap. The interviewer watches you carefully, waiting for you to go on. You glance away for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before your voice softens.

"We started out well. He was... everything people assume he is. Steady. Thoughtful. Reliable. And in the beginning, that felt like safety. Like something I could hold onto. But over time, that steadiness began to feel like distance. Like a fortress I wasn’t allowed into."

“Does this mean you don’t blame him?” The interviewer asks, pen tightening in the hand. “I mean, I know you have not revealed everything and anything, Mrs. Nanami. But you don’t blame him for everything?”

"I didn’t blame him for anything until the cheating. I think that’s quite interesting, isn’t it?” You say in a soft whisper. “In some ways, I think there is no great villain in the story, no explosive fight that shattered everything at once. Even with my sufferings in the marriage. Just a slow unraveling, with every message of sorry women. It’s intriguing and heartbreaking all at once.”

“You got messages from all the women?” The interviewer’s brow furrows.

You smiled somberly. “One after the other. But not everyone. Some were not sorry. And I don’t blame them. But I’m grateful for that. They gave me a gradual realization that we were living beside each other, rather than with each other. Like we were both carrying the weight of this marriage but never quite meeting in the middle."

The interviewer tilts their head. "Did you feel lonely?"

You exhale, a sad smile tugging at your lips. "Yes. And the worst part is… so did he. I think he knew we hated each other and hated me. I could see it, even if he wouldn’t say it."

"Do you really believe your husband resents you, mam?" The interviewer quizzed you, frankly. "In the truest of senses?"

"Well, there wouldn't be more than three people in a marriage if it wasn't true." You mewled back to them, laughing softly. "The way he stayed out later, the way conversations became shorter. We were both retreating, both trying to pretend we weren’t. But silence is loud in a marriage. And ours was deafening. That made it obvious."

“You’re nicer than most wives, Mrs. Nanami.” The interviewer looks at you, a stunned look echoes. “Such a long time of your life was stolen from you, if this is the case. I mean, to stay silent about it for so long. It is a pandemonium of misery.”

There’s a pause, the kind that hangs heavy in the air. “Hm. But that's only 'cause I've escaped it now. I have no more anger in my heart because I’ve released it all. My life isn’t over, well....at least I hope it still isn’t. Of course, I do not know where to begin. But I’m sure I’ll find everything little by little.”

The interviewer hesitates before asking, "Yet you’re still together?"

"For now. But sometimes, staying feels like waiting for something to break. And I think we both know… it already has." Your empty fingers trace the edge of where your wedding band was at one point. “That’s just what marriage is sometimes.”

"Twenty-five years is a long time, isn’t it? It sounds impressive when you say it out loud. A quarter of a century. Enough time to build a life, raise a family, grow old together. But do you know what twenty-five years is? It's quite a long time to be lonely."

You pause, fingers grazing the armrest of your chair, as if searching for something to anchor yourself to. The interviewer doesn’t interrupt. They wait, giving you space to find the words. Because how does one describe such a quarter of a human life?

"At first, I thought marriage was about endurance. That if you stayed, if you worked hard enough, if you were patient enough, everything would eventually be alright. I told myself that love was about sacrifice. About quiet suffering. And so I endured. All of it."

"I endured the nights spent waiting up, pretending not to hear the whispers that followed him. I endured the rumors, the looks of pity from people who knew before I did.” Your voice drops to something softer, something almost fragile. “And when did I find out? I endured that too. Because what else was I supposed to do? Walk away from twenty-five years? From everything we built, from the life we created together?"

You shake your head, almost laughing at the thought. "People think cheating is about passion, about reckless desire. But sometimes, it’s just... boredom. Resentment. Hatred. The slow, creeping realization that the person you married doesn’t make you feel alive anymore. Even if they gave everything in the marriage. And I think that’s what happened to him.”

The interviewer nodded back at you, sighing. “And how does that make you feel, Mrs. Nanami? That this was the case for almost all the years of your marriage and having to pretend that it wasn't? In some ways, you seem to be more veteran actor than most and you played well at it.”

“Somewhere along the way, I can only describe it as me becaming a part of the furniture." You retort, thinking of how to word this thought in your head. "You could say that I was comfortable. Definitely reliable."

"I see. It was like you didn't feel if you were even something beyond something so transparent and invisible."

"Yes, I guess you can say that. I was always there. But like most, he wanted something new. He gets bored." You say after letting yourself think for a while. You smiled. “And I was the stable. I wasn’t exciting for him to enjoy anymore. And he leads a glamorous life. You all know that. That’s what the life of the star is.”

There’s a sharp inhale from the interviewer. "And what did you do about it?"

Your gaze meets theirs, steady despite the weight of your words. "Nothing. I did nothing. I smiled for the cameras. I held his hand at premieres. I played the role of the devoted wife because that’s what was expected of me."

The interviewerer nodded. "Why did you feel like you had to keep playing that role over and over again? You always said the world has no place in your bed. But now that you are speaking on it.....How do you feel about it?"

"That's a good question." You nodded back at the interviewerer. "I think it's more or so because the world doesn’t want to hear that a marriage like ours, the kind that looks perfect on the outside, is built on silence and suffering. They want the illusion. And I gave it to them."

"I told myself it was for the children. For stability. For dignity. But really? It was because I didn’t know who I was without him.” You let out a slow breath, shaking your head. As though you were disappointed in yourself. “When you’ve spent your whole life being somebody’s wife, you start to forget who you were before that. And maybe that was the most miserable part of all. Realizing I had made myself so small just to keep this marriage alive."

The interviewer hesitates before asking, "Do you regret staying?"

Your lips pressed together, as if weighing the question carefully. Finally, you tell them an answer. "I regret losing myself. I regret thinking that being chosen was the same as being loved. And most of all, I regret believing that staying silent made me strong. Because real strength isn’t in enduring misery, it’s in knowing when to walk away."

"People always say, ‘Why didn’t you leave?’ as if it’s that simple. As if walking away from twenty-five years, from a shared history, from a life built together, is as easy as packing a suitcase and closing the door behind you."

The interviewer continues to jots down what you say. You pause, folding your hands together, the weight of the past pressing down on your shoulders. They do not interrupt you. Thus, you continued.

"But leaving isn’t just a decision. It’s a destruction. It’s tearing apart everything you’ve known, everything you’ve built, and stepping into the unknown. And the unknown is terrifying, isn’t it? So instead, you convince yourself to stay. You tell yourself it’s not that bad. That it could be worse. That you’ll fix it."

"In some ways, it becomes quite the habit doesn't it? If you keep telling yourself this, it becomes something unescapable."

"That's right. That's why you can just go on one day and you wake up realizing that you’ve spent years, decades even living in a marriage that only exists in photographs and press statements. A fiction you created in yourhead. A marriage that is alive to the world, but dead behind closed doors."

The interviewer leans in, their voice careful. "When did you first know it was truly over?"

"I think I knew long before I admitted it to myself.” A humorless smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe it was the first time I caught him lying. Maybe it was the first time I looked at him and felt nothing at all. Or maybe it was the day I stopped waiting for him to come home."

“You must have wanted to have a way out.”

"There were so many moments I could have left.” You admitted to them. “When I should have left. But I told myself I had a duty to this marriage. To our family. To our children. To the version of myself that once believed in forever."

The interviewer watches you carefully. "And now?"

You lift your head, eyes clearer than they’ve been in years. "Now, I realize that duty shouldn’t come at the cost of your own happiness. That silence isn’t dignity. That staying in a broken marriage doesn’t mean you fought harder—it just means you suffered longer."

"I think, in the end, I stayed because I wanted to believe that love could survive anything.” A pause. “That if I just held on a little longer, if I just endured a little more, we would find our way back to each other. But love shouldn’t be something you have to endure when it doesn’t work out, should it?"

The interviewer shakes their head. “No, not at all.”

"Right." You say softly. "It shouldn’t."

Interview leaned back, looking at you. Almost satisfied. “Then what do you plan to do now, Mrs. Kento?”

"Now, I leave." You smiled at him, a genuine one. “For good.”

The words land like a final act, like the closing of a book that the world thought would go on forever. But fairy tales always end, don’t they? Some with love, some with loss. And some like yours, with the quiet realization that the dream was never really yours to begin with.

The interviewer exhales, as if they too have been holding their breath, waiting for this moment. "That’s… final."

"Yes, of course." you say, nodding. "There is no going back."

"Does he know?"

"Oh, he knows. Maybe not in the way you’d expect.” You smile, slow and knowing. “There was no screaming, no dramatic confrontation. No shattered glass or slamming doors. We already finished that at therapy…..there was just silence when I moved out. That same silence that’s been lingering between us for years. And in that silence, he knew. We both did."

The interviewer studies you carefully, as if trying to place the expression on your face. "You don’t look angry anymore, I suppose. More joyous."

"Because I am." You laughed at the interviewer’s words. “I am happy about leaving. So, why feel hatred and anger again?”

"Not even after everything?"

You let out a soft breath, tilting your head. "Anger would mean I still care about what I spent twenty–five years suffering. That I still have something left to give to the marriage. But I don’t. Not anymore."

The weight of those words settles between you. The interviewer shifts slightly in their chair, adjusting their posture, as if bracing for what comes next. The interviewer is silent for a long moment.

"What do you want now?" They asked you softly.

You smile, and this time, it’s real. The first real smile in a long time. "I want peace. I want mornings that aren’t heavy with unspoken words. I want a life that is mine, not just an extension of his. I want to wake up and not feel like I’m drowning in a marriage that’s already ended."

A pause. Then, a quiet, knowing laugh. "And I want a holiday. A long one. With a good whiskey on hand, of course."

The interviewer chuckles, but you see the way their expression softens. "Do you think you’ll find love again?"

"I think… I want to find myself first. I’ve spent twenty-five years being someone’s wife.” You tilt your head, considering it. Smiling to yourself, thinking about Satoru. “I think it’s time to find out who I am without him. But….It’s not out of the question."

The interviewer notices your smile and finds a twinkle in their eyes. But they do not ask further. They nodded at you. “Well, I hope that it all works out for you, Mrs. Nanami.”

“Thank you.” You shyly smiled at the interviewer. “But can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything, mam.”

“Call me [Last Name] [Name] when you type this all out. You know, for the world to read."

epilogue

Higuruma Hiromi sighed tiredly as he started to type the article that was set to go to print in just a few hours. His fingers moved methodically across the keyboard, the soft clicking, clacking of keys filling the quiet room.

He inserted a picture into the document. It was a picture of Nanami [Name] and Nanami Kento in some photoshoot they did together. He carefully adjusted the placement before continuing his work. It had to be good or the printing department would kill him.

Just as he was about to refine the wording of the next paragraph, his phone buzzed against the desk. With an exasperated sigh, he reached for it, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello? This is Chief Editor of Tokyo Calling, Higurama.” he muttered, rubbing his temple.

On the other end, Satoru’s voice came through, light and easy, as if he weren’t calling at the worst possible time. “Hiromi–kun! Just wanted to say thanks for your hard work.”

Higuruma shook his head, already annoyed. “What do you want, Gojo?”

Satoru chuckled. “Come on, can’t I just call to express my appreciation?”

“You never call just to appreciate me.” Higuruma deadpanned, leaning back in his chair. “You want to ask about the article.”

“Bingo!” Satoru said cheerfully. “It’s coming out soon, right?”

Higuruma rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze back to the screen. “You already know that. You’re the one who gave me the information.”

Satoru laughed, entirely unbothered. “Still, thanks for your hard work.”

Higuruma exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he hung up. “Whatever.” he muttered, already reaching for his coffee cup as he prepared to get back to work.

Higuruma stood up, stretching his sore shoulders as his gaze drifted across his office. Papers were scattered across his desk. All the printed interviews, transcriptions, and photographs, all laid out in organized chaos.

Among them were undeniable proofs: Nanami Kento’s alleged infidelity, the person he was with, and even more damning details that hadn’t yet been written into the article.

He walked over to the bulletin board on the wall, where a few key photographs were pinned up. There were quite a few Gojo Satoru seemed to keep tabs on. Nanami Kento in a dimly lit restaurant, seated across from someone who was most definitely not Nanami [Name].

Another picture captured a fleeting touch, hands brushing together in a way that seemed far too intimate to be innocent. Below it, neatly typed notes, detailed accounts from anonymous sources, whispers of meetings that shouldn't have happened, moments that had gone unnoticed until now.

Higuruma rubbed his temples, sighing. He wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed digging into people’s personal lives, but a story was a story, and this one was already on its way to publication. It was big. It was scandalous. It would get attention. And Gojo Satoru was happy to provide it for him.

Well, he did owe him a little bit of help. He can’t do anything about it. It was annoying, to be sure. But the idiot made up for it by making Higurama a lot of money. That made up for the troubles and they were now even.

His phone buzzed again, this time with a message. He picked it up and saw Satoru’s name flashing on the screen.

Satoru: So… Do you think this will hit big?

Higuruma narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone. He glanced back at the evidence, then at the half-finished article glowing on his computer screen. This wasn’t just a report. This was a revelation that would change everything.

After getting his cup of coffee, he continues to work on it. Higuruma Hiromi finished the report a little while later as twelve am strikes on the clock, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he reread the final draft. His eyes flicked across the damning headline once more:

Nanami [Name] and Nanami Kento Are Separating!

A breath left him. One he hadn’t realized he was holding. He purses his lips softly and then nods. He was done. It had to get sent away. Carefully, he clicked Send, dispatching the article to the publishing department. There was no turning back now.

Minutes later, he stood by the printing machines, watching as the pages rolled out, each one carrying his words, his investigation, the weight of undeniable proof. The bold letters of the headline practically screamed from the front page, demanding attention.

This wasn’t just another article.

It was going to cause a stir.

A public unraveling of a seemingly perfect marriage.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, already expecting Gojo Satoru once more. His breath hitches as he reads the text. His lips pursed into a flat line. Isn't he a fool to love this much? To love to the point of destruction?

Higurama shakes his head and takes a deep breath, calming himself. He shouldn't go into a tangent about this. He did his job. He did his part. And now Satoru and him were even. He shouldn't question things he had no business about.

Satoru: Nice work~ My beloved darling is free, all thanks to you!

Higuruma Hiromi exhaled sharply, tucking his phone away. He had done his job.

Now, the storm was coming.

And no one can stop it now.

340 notes · View notes

firingstars · 3 months ago

Text

neighborly advice | ch. 3

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky talk properly for the very first time, face to face. then you get real close, face to face.

warnings: timeline is somewhere around the middle/end of fatws, language, alcohol, eventual smut, past trauma, nightmares, no use of y/n, makeout sesh, hair pulling, beer drank in questionable ways, they're flirting, you cry, you hate your dad, mdni

word count: 3.4k

a/n: idk if anyone remembers but leah is the character that bucky went on a date with in fatws… that should’ve been me… that’s why i wrote this fic im ngl. and then made leah ur bestie hehe

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The ride wasn’t bad. In fact, it was thrilling. Watching the city lights blur past as Bucky sped down the road, the wind in your hair– it was nice. What was even nicer was the fact you could forget how cold it was, at least for a second. Bucky’s back was warm and broad and shielded you from all the elements that threatened to attack you. Though, you have to admit, your arms tightened around his body during sharper turns, and your heart kept leaping out of your chest more times than you would ever care to admit.

Bucky got off the bike first when you got to the parking garage. You didn’t even know this building had a parking garage. Made sense that you didn't know, though. You didn’t own a car.

Bucky reached for you, removing the helmet off of your head then extending a hand to you. You watched as he turned the other way as you moved to swing your leg off of the motorcycle. You tilted your head at the action, but didn’t say anything. Was it because in the end, with shorts or not, you were still wearing a skirt?

You could feel something give birth in your stomach and start to flutter.

Once you were off his bike, he opened up the compartment and replaced the food he bought with the helmet, and the two of you walked up the stairs together in silence. It was comfortable. The quiet was good, and you liked it. It’d been loud all fucking night.

“Wanna come inside?” Bucky asked softly once you'd gotten to your floor. He looked nervous. “Or I can just give you the burger and you could–”

“Yeah, I’ll come in,” you cut him off before he could continue. He let out a soft breath, and nodded.

Nothing much had changed since the last time you were in his apartment. He did get an upgrade though. There was now a coffee table between his couch and TV, which was a start. He put the bag of burgers there, sat on the couch, and paused.

“What are you doing?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together. You were still at the doorway, standing there.

“Is this… a shoes off… kinda house?” you asked slowly. The entire house was spotless and you were certain the soles of your boots were dirty and sticky from being in the club.

“Oh. You can, if it makes you more comfortable,” he offered, and you immediately moved to take your boots off, leaving them neatly by the door. Bucky got up, too. He toed his shoes off, and put them right beside yours, which strangely made your heart beat faster.

As you approached the couch, you tied your hair up and out of the way in preparation for this burger. You could swallow your growing crush for now. You needed to eat. Once seated beside him, he handed you your food, and your stomach growled on queue.

“Thank you for buying,” you told him with a smile.

“Of course. My ma’ would be rolling in her grave if she found out that I let a pretty girl pay for her own food,” he replied, unwrapping his own burger. You froze for a second, turning your head to look at him. He took a bite, completely undisturbed. “Besides, I’m not that much of an asshole that I make you pay for your own food after the shit you’ve been through tonight.”

Oh. So he just wanted to gloss right over that compliment. Fine. You’ll play along.

“I owe you more now though.”

“Consider it an apology for slamming my door in your face,” he said and you snorted, shaking your head.

“I’m not mad about that. I just came by because I was worried.”

He let out a laugh. “Sure.”

You huffed and took your first bite of the cheesy burger in your hands. It was like heaven on earth. You could feel the stress of the night washing away with each chew. Life was worth living, it seemed. Once you swallowed, you took another glance at him and paused.

“You eat with your gloves on?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Oh.. I got… poor circulation,” he said slowly, trying to come up with a lie on the spot.

“… I’m not scared of it, if that’s what you’re worried about. Wasn’t your choice for everything that happened to you, either. If anything, I’m grateful for it. I’m sure you’re strong without all the modifications, but it really came in handy tonight when you kicked my date’s ass,” you said with a hum.

Bucky froze mid-bite, and you continued to eat. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see as he placed the half wrapped burger on the table slowly and begin to fight an inner battle with himself for a few moments. Then he removed not only his gloves, but his jacket, too. He exposed both flesh and metal before he continued to eat. You smiled to yourself, and took another bite.

“So you have a thing for assholes?” he asked after a few more moments of pure silence.

You choked, and missed the smirk on his lips as he got up to grab you a cup of water. You gratefully accepted, but still stared at him with disbelief as you rubbed at your sternum.

“I’m just saying. He didn’t seem like a great guy, you know?” he continued as he sat back down.

When your coughing fit died down, you shifted on the couch to face him. Your back rested against the armrest now, legs tucked under you as you stared him down. Bucky raised an eyebrow at you, leaning back into the cushions to look at you better as he comfortably let his legs spread a bit wider.

“I was two-manning, for your information,” you frowned at him, “No clue who the guy is or what his personality was.”

“Two-manning?” he repeated, confusion thick in his voice.

“Yeah. Like wingmanning?”

“Why can’t you just say that? Why are there so many new terms for everything?”

“Okay, just because you’re old and can’t keep up doesn’t mean that new things can’t be invented.”

“And you’re like, what? Nineteen?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Flattered. Add seven years.” You smiled at him, and he paused like he was truly considering your age.

“You look good.”

“You look good for 110,” you replied. “But, you know. Helps when I was erased from existence for five years. Thanks for bringing me back, by the way.”

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. Then, his face turned serious, and he looked a little nervous. His voice was quiet. “How long have you known?”

“They said your last name in the station. Called you Sergeant Barnes,” you answered. “I only know one Sergeant Barnes and he served alongside Captain Steve Rogers, so… Just put two and two together. Plus, you’re kinda buddies with the new Cap, too.”

“He’s not my buddy.” He said the words too fast. Too defensive.

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes, a smile playing on your lips.

“You’re really not… Scared? Of me?” Bucky asked softly, and you paused. He looked so small at that moment. Afraid of your next words, afraid of the world around him.

“I can’t say I’m aware of everything you’ve done,” you said truthfully. “I only know what was put out on the internet, but I do know the guy that drove me home and let me crash in his bed. So, I think you're a pretty decent guy, all things considered.”

“... So. Wingmanning, huh?” he said with a breath. “Your friend okay?”

“She’s fine. That guy’s a gentleman, or at least I hope so. She texted me when I was at the station that she went home with him, so someone ended the night happy,” you sighed, shrugging. “Only went out with her because I was losing my mind over some other shit going on.”

“Yeah? I figured, since you blacked out the other day.”

You could feel your face go hot again. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way—“

“It’s okay,” he cut you off. “I promise. It’s fine. Are you okay?”

"No,” you answered honestly. “But I’ll figure it out. Have to.”

“Well, I don’t know much about you either, but I’m sure you will,” he said with a nod. “You’re always carrying around some weird books with long titles.”

“Necessary for my study.”

“So you’re smart. You got this,” he said with a shrug, then stood up again. “You want a beer?”

“Please. And I really hope I do, otherwise some asshole is gonna get me deported and send me back home,” you muttered.

“Deported?” He frowned at the fridge as he pulled out two bottles.

“My family situation is less than ideal,” you summed up simply. “My dad would love for me to come home and play the filial daughter. I don’t want to.”

“What does playing the filial daughter entail?” he asked, easily popping open the top of the beer with his metal hand before handing the bottle to you as he took his first drink.

“Marrying a guy who already has three kids older than me,” you answered. It was his turn to choke.

“Your dad would–”

“Never said my dad was a good guy. Which is why I left and I’m across the sea. I didn't want to do it, so I left. If he finds out that the shit I’ve been doing here doesn’t have results, or if I can’t figure out something substantial, then it’s only a matter of time before I get roped back into elite upper class politics again.”

“Damn. That’s heavy,” he murmured, settling on the couch. He crossed an ankle over his knee, flesh arm draped over the back of the couch. “What are you trying to do?”

“Regenerative nanotechnological medicine.”

His bottle paused on its journey halfway to his lips, and he looked at you. You were dead serious, and you were staring at your bottle like it owed you money.

“The thing is,” you started with a deep breath, “Stark monopolized everything to do with nanotech. It’s trademarked so trying to do something similar is so fucking hard without getting sued or going through a bunch of legal battles. And what I’m doing isn’t totally similar. I use a different system and my technology is run by a different program that I made on my own and I refused to look into what Stark uses for his nanotech until I fully made mine– but only to make sure that I didn’t accidentally make it the same. Anyways– Can you imagine? Going into battle, and instead of needing to return back to your base, you can carry something so light that you don’t even notice is there– it heals you at a moment's notice? Moreover– it’s reusable over and over again?” you rambled on quickly, finally meeting his eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was it. The moment that he was going to call you crazy. Of course he was. You were talking to an Avenger. Dr. Cho had already created something similar years ago, that lab in Seoul that made regenerative tissue out of nothing, but this was different. Yet, you’d heard all the arguments before. If this was something that could have already been done, then it would have been done. You couldn’t handle hearing it again, not when the wound was still fresh. You looked away from his eyes.

“Anyways, it’s probably not going to go anywhere–”

“If we had that kinda tech in some of our biggest fights, we could’ve held on for so much longer, maybe even turned the tides and won,” he cut her off with a whisper. You met his eyes. There was a sparkle in those steel blue eyes that made your chest tighten. He breathed your name, in awe, “That’s amazing. Seriously. I don’t have that kinda knowledge, but damn. If I had the money, I would invest in you.”

Your eyes widened. This was the first time.

No one, absolutely no one, had heard you out with this much earnestness before. Even your previous sponsors had to be coaxed into the project, and gave you lowball offers that you could barely work with. Even your team of researchers weren’t committed to the work, and you picked up all the slack. It was always you, by yourself, trying to keep yourself afloat with your own hands.

“Hey- Hey! Did I say something wrong?” he exclaimed in panic, quickly moving to grab a napkin from the table.

You were crying. Warm tears brimmed over your eyes, and slipped down your cheeks before you could stop it from happening. You blinked rapidly to try to clear your vision, trying to find the words to say that there was just an eyelash, but nothing came out. All you could do was shake your head, take the napkin and try to calm down.

Bucky waited. He sat there quietly, giving you comfort in his spot beside you. There was no judgement, only concern. Once you did calm down, he didn’t ask any questions. He just settled back down into the couch, watching you quietly.

“It’s hot in here,” you lied, trying to play the situation off and change the topic as you shrugged your jacket off, tossing it on the edge of the coffee table. “You should really get a coat rack. Or something like that.”

“I should really get a lot of things,” he snorted with a shake of his head as he took another drink. “You go to Izzy’s often? Mr. Nakajima kept talking about you today when I saw him.”

“Well, yeah. But I met Mr. Nakajima because of Mr. Lin– Mr. Lin used to live in this apartment,” you explained. “I used to take care of him. I don’t sleep at night since I work late, and I would listen out for him in case he were to fall or something like that. Mr. Lin used to force me to go out on walks with him during the day and told me that the sun is good for me, and I would end up in the park with him and Mr. Nakajima and watched them while they played old man games. Like go.”

“Go is not that old,” he frowned.

“Yeah? And who’s saying that to me right now?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him. “I thought I was getting a young neighbor, but I just got someone older than Mr. Lin.”

“Alright, kid. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Bucky asked, rolling his eyes.

“Why? You gotta go play mahjong with Nakajima right now?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really annoying when you get alcohol in your system, you know that?” he said, staring at you with disbelief.

You let out a deep, sarcastic sigh. “Old guys just don’t know how to relax these days. No energy for any kind of fun. I know I’m not one to talk, but maybe you should go out on a date, Sarge. Let loose. There’s this lady on the third floor, second door. She’s single.”

“She’s 90.”

“Scared of an age gap?” you asked with a grin as you took a slow sip of her beer. Bucky watched you, and you could see the gears in his mind turning.

“You know what? You really aren’t one to talk,” he finally said. “I’ve known you for like, two minutes. At least I’m a gentleman and gave you my bed to sleep in–”

“Was very comfortable, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You also smell really good.”

“Thank you. I try. I’m using a new body wash.”

“You should keep using it. I like it.”

“You have horrible judgement in men.”

“The man I’m staring at right now doesn’t seem to be all that bad, though?”

The conversation had happened so fast, passing between you two like quick banter without a single beat in between. You stared at him, straight into his pretty steel blue eyes as you took another drink. Slow. Waiting. You watched as his own eyes dropped to your lips briefly, like it was a mistake before lifting back up to meet your eyes. Bucky sucked in a sharp breath of air, watching as you smiled coyishly against the rim of the beer bottle.

“What’s wrong, Sarge? Can’t keep up with the kids these days?” you asked softly, innocently. As if you weren’t daring him to do something.

“Shut the hell up,” he grunted, grabbing the bottle out of your hand. The liquid sloshed and splashed on the floor as he rushed to drop it onto the coffee table as he moved to close the space between you two on the couch.

You let out a soft gasp right before his lips touched yours. His lips were soft– surprisingly soft. It was a nice contrast to the roughness of the stubble of his face, and it felt so nice to finally touch him. Your hands fell onto his shoulders, his hands moved to your waist, and easily picked you up and situated you onto his lap.

Bucky kissed you harder, tongue sweeping against your bottom lip and asking for entrance that you happily granted. You let out a soft noise against his mouth as his tongue caressed yours, and he groaned in response, pulling you closer to him. Your arms moved around his neck– you couldn’t stand any distance between you.

Kissing him felt like finding water in the desert. You didn’t know how you survived before this, before him. You needed him all around you, pulling you in and deeper until you drowned in him. His flesh hand was in your hair, pulling the hair tie out of it so he could take a proper fistful of your locks in his hand. Then, he pulled your hair, forcing your head back, ripping you away from the kiss.

His lips pressed soft kisses against your jaw, the stubble of his beard lightly scratching at your skin as he moved. Bucky kept moving, kissing and sucking at your throat, briefly dipping down to your collarbone to nip at the skin there. Then, he settled on the spot right beneath your ear where your jaw met your neck and bit down. You let out a soft moan as he sucked on the wound to placate it, and you pulled yourself closer to him as your hips instinctively moved against his.

“Careful, doll,” he whispered heavily against your neck. You could feel him through his jeans. The thick length of him, straining, begging to be free. You were certain that he could feel the warmth from between your legs, especially when you had only a few thin layers separating you from him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you whined, and it was your turn to pull on his hair. He let out a moan of his own, the sound making you clench around nothing. Everything was warm. Everything was on fire, and hot, and you need more of him now.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky smirked at you, sending a tingle down her spine as he locked eyes with you. “You really need to keep up.”

A momentary surge of confidence and annoyance coursed through your body as you twisted behind you to find your– probably his– beer and drank down two gulps before holding another one in your mouth. Then, you turned back to him, weaving your hand in his hair again and slammed your lips into his. His grip on your waist tightened, and you could feel him twitch against you as the beer passed from your mouth to his. Bucky swallowed what you gave him, almost greedily, letting out a soft groan once he finally had the means to do so.

You pulled away, watching as he chased after your lips. With half lidded eyes, he looked at you, a bit breathless. You could only bite back a smirk, tongue licking your lips slowly.

“I think it’s past your bedtime, old man,” you whispered, echoing his own words back at him. You reached to cup his face, wiping off the lipstick that had transferred onto his mouth. Bucky watched you with intense eyes, pupils blown out, hungry. You smiled at him. “Thanks for the meal.”

You got off of him, and grabbed your jacket. You left him on the couch, humming to yourself in satisfaction as you went to the door. You didn’t even bother to zip your shoes back up since you were just moving a few steps over. You could hear him stand up behind you.

Bucky said your name with a voice so thick and heavy that it sent something straight down to your core. You swallowed, looking over your shoulder at him. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words before finally settling on, “Sleep well.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding at him. “You, too, Bucky.”

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