-> You told him not to come home. You packed his clothes, his mail, his meds, and took the first train to his place. He broke your trust with one night, one girl, one stupid, unforgettable line, and now you have to decide if there’s anything left worth salvaging.
Word Count: 6,146
P.S.: Can you tell that I've been obsessed with west end girl by Lily Allen?
-----
You don’t pick up when he calls.
The phone rattles on the low table, skittering a little with each vibration, Satoru’s name blazing on the screen over and over in bright blue.
You stare at it from across the room like it’s a curse that might go off if you get too close.
You’ve already done the only thing you can manage right now.
You sent the text.
Don’t come home.
I don’t want you in our bed.
Your thumb had hovered there after, trembling over the screen like you might take it back, like you might soften it, add something gentler, something more you.
You didn’t.
You turned the phone face-down and went to yank his shirts off their hangers instead.
Now you’re kneeling in the middle of your narrow living room floor, surrounded by his life.
White dress shirts, black turtlenecks, slouchy hoodies he insists are “disguises.” A scattering of mail from the school and the higher-ups. A box of imported sweets he forgot at the door last week. The orange pill bottle that lives on your bedside table, its plastic rattling faintly when you toss it into the bag.
You can’t remember when your hands started shaking.
You only notice when the bottle slips through your fingers, hits the floor, and skitters across the wood, thunking against the baseboard.
“Shit,” you whisper.
You lunge for it, nearly overbalancing. Your knees hurt against the floor. Everything hurts, actually, in a weird, floaty way, like someone stuffed your body full of cotton and glass.
Your phone stops ringing.
Silence swallows the apartment. For half a second, it’s worse than the buzzing.
You look at the bag. The zipper barely closes over his clothes, his things, his presence.
You look at the door.
Something inside your chest says: Go.
So you do.
-----
The streets are almost empty at this hour.
You drag the bag behind you like an anchor, its weight thudding faintly against your leg every few steps. The air is cool and damp, the kind of late-night Tokyo air that smells faintly of rain and exhaust and convenience store bread.
You pass a vending machine that hums too loudly. Its bright colors glare against the dark.
Your reflection swims in the glass for a moment: hair messy, eyes too wide, expression dull around the edges. You look like you haven’t slept in days.
You only found out two hours ago.
You clamp your jaw shut and keep walking.
The station stairs yawn in front of you, leading down into that familiar fluorescent underworld. The bag clunks on each step as you descend.
You don’t remember tapping your IC card.
You just remember the line of text on the screen earlier, the message your friend didn’t know how to soften:
I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.
I saw him. With her.
You hadn’t known.
You know now.
The platform is half-deserted. A few drunk salarymen. A university student slumped against a pillar, earphones in. An older woman with a tote bag and a blank, exhausted stare.
You step into the car when the doors slide open. The bag bumps the edge; someone glances over, then away.
Your reflection swims again in the train window as it pulls away from the station. You focus on it so you don’t focus on anything else.
It’s fine. This is fine. You have a plan.
Drop off his things. Tell him what you know. Get it over with.
Your stomach flips.
A bland voice drones over the speakers, announcing stations you barely process. You’re going toward his place, toward the quiet, immaculate Aoyama apartment he never really asked your opinion on before buying, then insisted was “our place” anyway.
You thought of it as his.
You thought of this one, the cluttered, slightly cramped apartment in Nakameguro, as yours.
The train lights flicker as you go into a tunnel. For a second, all you can see is your face, pale and too still.
Your mind, however, won’t be still at all.
You don’t see the girl’s face in detail. You see flashes: hair, skin, the slope of a bare shoulder. You see Satoru’s hands on her because your brain insists on feeding you that image, over and over.
You imagine the way he laughs when he’s trying to charm someone.
You imagine that directed at her.
Your fingers tighten around the metal pole until your knuckles ache.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
You’re not even sure who you’re begging.
You can almost feel it happening: that slow, horrible thing where your body is here, in this train car, but your mind starts sliding away, up and out and off to the side. Like you’re watching yourself from somewhere near the ceiling.
You try to press your feet harder into the floor. To remind yourself where you are. What you’re doing.
The train shudders.
Then groans to a halt in the middle of the tunnel.
The lights flicker again.
“We apologize for the delay,” the overhead voice says, too calm. “There is a problem further along the line. We will resume operation shortly.”
A soft wave of annoyance ripples through the car. Someone sighs. Someone else checks their phone.
You swallow.
Of course.
Of course you’d get stuck here.
You’re aware of the sounds: the faint squeak of the ventilation, the murmuring announcement in the next car, the tap-tap of a girl’s nails on her phone somewhere behind you.
Underneath it all, much louder than it should be, is the steady thud of your heartbeat.
That image flashes again in your head: her straddling him, her head thrown back, his hands gripping a waist that isn’t yours.
You grip the pole harder, vision blurring at the edges.
You don’t want to think about this.
You can’t not think about this.
It loops, jagged and obsessive. It mutates, picking up new details your imagination insists on supplying. You feel your throat tighten, your chest compressing under a weight that won’t let you take a full breath.
People cheat. People get cheated on. It’s not… rare. It’s not special. You’re not the first person this has happened to.
So why does it feel like your skin is being peeled off?
You close your eyes, just for a second.
“I’m not going to cry on a train,” you tell yourself under your breath.
A tear slides hotly down your cheek anyway.
-----
By the time the train stutters back to life and drags itself to the next station, you’ve bitten a raw spot inside your cheek. The metallic tang of blood is sharp on your tongue.
You transfer almost automatically, winding your way through the muted maze of corridors. Everything smells faintly of concrete and late-night cleaning solution. The fluorescent lights buzz. The few advertisements still lit blur as you pass.
You surface near Aoyama like breaking through a different kind of water.
His neighborhood is quiet in that particular rich-people way: empty streets, tall buildings that don’t show you what’s inside. A wind brushes past, rustling the leaves of neatly trimmed trees.
You adjust your grip on the bag, heavy, awkward, digging into your shoulder.
Your arms are trembling.
Your legs feel fine.
That’s the thing that scares you the most: how your body can keep moving when your brain feels like this. Like there’s a crack running down the center of your chest, widening with every step.
The building’s lobby is all polished stone and wasted space, echoingly empty. Your reflection follows you in the gleaming floor.
You jab the elevator button harder than necessary.
Inside, the mirrored walls give you three versions of yourself, all looking equally wrecked. You notice a smear of mascara under one eye and wipe it away with the heel of your hand.
It doesn’t help.
The elevator dings softly as it reaches his floor.
The hallway stretches out, lined with identical doors. The soft carpet muffles your footsteps. You know exactly how many steps it is from the elevator to his door.
You’ve walked it enough times to do it half-asleep.
It feels longer tonight.
You stop in front of 904. Stare at the silver numbers.
Your hand hovers in front of the lock for a full, wavering heartbeat before you slide your key in.
The door opens without resistance.
Of course it does. He always insisted you keep a key. “In case of emergency,” he’d said with a grin. “Or if you just miss me too much.”
The air inside is cool and faintly scented with whatever expensive diffusers he keeps buying. Underneath it, you catch the familiar, warm trace of him.
You step in.
The door clicks shut behind you.
For a second, you just stand there in the small entryway, bag slipping from your shoulder, fingers numb.
His shoes are lined up neatly. His coat is draped over the back of a chair. The living room is tidy in that impersonal, magazine-spread way he likes, a sharp contrast to the chaos in your head.
You lower the bag to the floor. The zipper gives way and a sleeve spills out, pale against the polished wood.
“Nothing’s ever going to be the same,” you whisper.
Your voice sounds wrong in here. Too thin. Too small.
You step out of your shoes by habit you wish you didn’t still have. Your toes press against the cool floor.
You move further in, slow and unreal, like walking through someone else’s dream.
The city stretches beyond the wide windows, a galaxy of lights. A car horn bleats faintly somewhere below. A siren wails in the distance.
You sink down with your back against the wall opposite the door, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them.
You stare at the bag and feel like you might float right out of your own body.
You check your phone.
3:57 a.m.
You’re not sure when you started shaking again. It’s subtle at first, just a tremor in your fingertips, a buzz under your skin.
You tuck your hands under your thighs to pin them down.
Your brain, however, won’t be pinned.
It circles back again and again to the same spot, like a tongue worrying at a broken tooth.
Her.
You don’t even know her name yet. That feels obscene: how much space she’s taking up in your thoughts without a single label attached.
You see her body with his, the way you imagine it from the scant details you got. You see his mouth on her skin. You imagine all the soft, private noises he makes, the ones you thought were yours.
He told someone else goodnight, and good morning, and—
You press your forehead to your knees, eyes squeezing shut so hard little pinpricks of light spark behind them.
“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop.”
Your thoughts don’t listen.
You think about the medication in the bag, prescribed after one too many panic attacks. You think about how many nights you fell asleep with his chest against your back, his hand warm and steady on your ribs, his breathing syncing yours until your heart finally believed it was safe to rest.
She gets that now, some part of you hisses.
You clench your teeth until your jaw aches.
You’re not a hateful person. You don’t like hating.
You’re not even sure you hate her.
You hate that your brain put her next to your medicator. Your grounding point. Your stupid, reckless, brilliant, infuriating reason for getting out of bed most days.
The phone buzzes once in your hand.
A new message:
I’m almost home.
Where are you?
You stare at the words until they blur.
You don’t answer.
The trembling doesn’t stop.
-----
The keypad beeps softly from the other side of the door.
You jerk upright, heart lurching.
Keys jingle. A lock turns. The quiet is about to end.
For a moment, you think about scrambling to your feet, about wiping your face, about pretending you didn’t come here in the middle of the night like some specter.
You stay exactly where you are.
The door opens.
Cool hallway air slips in. A familiar presence follows it an instant later, like the feeling of a pressure drop before a storm.
“...Hello?” His voice is low, cautious in a way you’re not used to. “I saw your location. Why are you-”
He steps fully inside. Sees you.
He stops.
There’s a beat of silence where all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears and the very faint creak of the door closing behind him.
He looks different like this, without the usual careless swagger. His white hair is messy, its gel-long-since surrendered, a bit damp from the mist outside. His blindfold dangles around his neck; his eyes are bare and bright even in the dimness, their usual lazy amusement snuffed out.
“Satoru,” you say, and your voice comes out raw.
He flinches.
It’s small. Most people wouldn’t catch it.
You do.
“Hey,” he says quietly, taking a tentative step forward. “You’re… here. That’s good, I-”
“Don’t,” you cut in.
The word lands between you heavy as a curse.
He stops again.
Up close, you can see the way his hand tightens around the strap of his own bag. His knuckles blanch.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, and it’s absurd because it’s his apartment, but the words come out anyway.
He exhales slowly. “You told me not to come home. So…” He looks past you, at the bag slumped against the wall. At the familiar fabric peeking out. Understanding clicks into place in his expression like a lock sliding shut. “You… brought my things,” he says.
His voice is too steady.
You want to knock it out of him.
“I know,” you say.
For a second, he looks genuinely confused. “Know what?”
The anger flares so fast it surprises you. It’s a relief, in a way. It cuts through the numbing fog like a blade.
You push yourself to your feet, palms scraping against the wall as you rise.
“Don’t do that,” you say. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
His eyes flicker. “I’m not-”
“Lying? You’re not lying?” You laugh, a choked, unstable sound. “You’ve been lying to me so much you probably don’t even hear it anymore.”
He swallows.
“Who told you?” he asks, and he sounds almost resigned, like he’s been waiting for this shoe to drop.
The fact that he doesn’t deny it, that he doesn’t even fake surprise, hits you harder than any curse ever could.
You stare at him.
“Satoru,” you say, slow and disbelieving, “oh my god.”
“Just… tell me who,” he presses, voice low. “I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it?” You bark out another bitter laugh. “What, you gonna erase their memories? Threaten them? Kill them? Is that your plan? Fix the leak instead of the flood?”
He flinches again.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks away.
You hate that there’s still a part of you cataloguing every micro-expression, translating them like a language you learned just for him.
“Was it one of the teachers?” he mutters. “Or that nosy guy from the auxiliary division. Or-”
“An old classmate saw you,” you say. “Said she spotted you, in some hotel, with a girl.” You swallow. The rest cuts on the way out. “Said her clothes were on the floor. Said yours were too.”
The images surge up again, bright and jagged. Your vision swims.
He winces while you talk like each word hurts him physically.
When you’re done, he doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
Then:
“It was only once.”
It’s barely above a whisper.
You feel your whole body go cold.
“Only,” you repeat.
He lifts his gaze to meet yours. There’s the faintest hint of panic there now.
“Don’t-” he starts.
“Do you know,” you interrupt, voice shaking, “how many times people say that? I didn’t mean to. It didn’t mean anything. It was only once.”
“Because it was,” he insists, taking a step toward you. “It was a… a mistake. I- I was exhausted, the mission had dragged on for days, I was-”
“Don’t you dare blame work for this.”
Your back hits one of the sleek built-in cabinets. You hadn’t realized you’d been inching away from him until you run out of room.
He stops advancing immediately. His hands lift slightly, palms empty.
“I’m not blaming anything,” he says quickly. “I’m just trying to explain-”
“There is no explanation,” you say, and your voice cracks on the last word. “There’s no version of this where you open your mouth and it makes sense.”
His throat bobs.
He looks at you like he’s seeing you from a great distance. Like he’s suddenly realized there’s a chasm between you that didn’t exist yesterday.
“I love you,” he says.
You close your eyes. It feels like he’s thrown something heavy at you.
“Don’t say that now,” you whisper. “You don’t get to say that now.”
“It’s still true.”
You snap your eyes open, glaring at him. “Are you in love with her?”
“No,” he answers instantly. Too fast.
It doesn’t comfort you at all.
“So what was it, then?” you demand. “Bored? Curious? Lonely? You just wanted to see if you could ruin the one good thing I thought I had?”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t call yourself a thing I have.”
“That’s what it feels like,” you say, louder now. “Like you’ve just been playing with your toys and I broke and you shrugged and picked up another one.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not-”
“You think I don’t know you?” you cut him off. “I watched you flirt with the entire world, Satoru. I watched you do that little half-smile, heard your stupid flirty voice. I told myself it was okay because I had the real thing. Because you came home to me. Because when you were exhausted and hurt, I was the one you leaned on. I was the one who held you together.”
Your chest is heaving. You hadn’t realized you were stepping toward him now, attacking with words because it’s the only weapon you have.
“I moved,” you say, voice dropping, shaking. “I moved my entire life here for you. Left my family. My friends. My job. I moved across an ocean, Satoru. Do you remember that? Do you remember how you begged? How you said you’d be my safety net, that you’d catch me if I fell?”
His eyes shine too bright in the dim lighting.
“I remember,” he says hoarsely.
You laugh again, but there’s no humor in it this time.
“The ground is gone,” you say. “You pulled the net away and the ground is gone and I’m just… falling. And you’re standing there watching me, telling me it was only once.”
He takes a slow, shaky breath.
“It was one time,” he repeats, desperate. “It will never happen again. I swear on- on anything you want. On my position, on my life, on-”
Your next words halt him.
“What if it does?” you ask.
He goes still.
The apartment hums softly around you. The refrigerator. The faint ventilation. The distant city.
Inside this moment, everything else is quiet.
“If it happens again,” you say, staring at him, “will you tell me?”
He swallows.
His gaze drops, just for a second, to your mouth, your hands, your bare feet on his polished floor. He looks back up, and for the first time since he walked in, you see it: the raw fear under the pale blue.
His fingers curl in on themselves. His voice comes out slow, careful, like stepping onto a crumbling ledge.
“If it has to happen,” he says, “do you want to know?”
The words land in your chest with the force of a curse technique.
You blink.
You must have misheard him.
“What?” you whisper.
His face tightens. “I’m not planning to- I’m saying, if something ever… if I ever fucked up again-”
“You’re talking about it like it’s inevitable.” Your voice is thin, stunned. “Like it’s weather. Like it’s a storm you can’t stop, only report on.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He steps toward you, reaching out, then aborts the motion halfway when you flinch. His hand hovers in the air between you. “I’m trying to be honest.”
“Honest?” You bark out a short, wild laugh. “Now? Now you want to be honest?”
“You always told me you wanted the truth,” he says, throat working. “Even when it hurt. You said lying was worse.”
“Why are you talking in hypotheticals?” you demand. “Why are you even entertaining the idea you’d do this to me again?”
He opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Something ugly and small flickers in his expression—something that looks horribly like self-loathing.
“I don’t-” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. Tries again. “I’m… bad at staying inside lines,” he says finally, voice shredded around the edges. “I always have been. You know that.”
“I’m not one of your stupid rules,” you bite out. “You don’t get to call fidelity a guideline you’re bad at following.”
“I know,” he says, and there’s a crack in his voice now. “I know. I’m just-”
He presses his fist briefly to his mouth, breathing hard through his nose. You’ve seen him like this after brutal missions, when the adrenaline drops and the reality of how close he came to death catches up.
He looks a lot like that now.
You realize your hands are trembling again.
He’s still looking at you like he expects you to answer him. To weigh the pros and cons of knowing versus ignorance, to make a decision about what kind of pain you’d prefer.
You don’t have an answer.
“I don’t know,” you say, and your voice cracks in the middle. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’d rather drown because I can see the wave or be crushed in my sleep. I don’t know which one hurts less. I don’t know anything right now.”
There’s a long, shuddering pause.
He looks like you’ve just hit him.
“If you leave,” he says quietly, “you’ll know that too.”
You blink at him, bewildered. “What?”
“If you leave, you’ll know what hurts more,” he says, and his words are shaking now. “Staying and trying to build something out of this mess, or walking out that door and never having to look at my face again.”
“Don’t put this on me,” you whisper. “Don’t make this into an experiment I have to run. You did this. You made this mess.”
“I know,” he says again, almost violently. “I know I did this. I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. I know I deserve-”
He stops.
His breath hitches.
Your name falls out of his mouth, soft and broken. “Just… just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Go back in time and don’t cheat?” you say. “Scrub her out of your memory. Out of mine. Out of the world. Grow up. Learn how to hold something without breaking it for fun.”
His eyes sheen with tears that don’t quite fall.
“I can’t do the first part,” he says hoarsely. “But I can do the rest. I can- I can try. I can be better. I swear, I’ll be better. I’ll-”
“I don’t trust you,” you say.
The words are soft. They still hit like a hammer.
He flinches like you’ve physically struck him for the first time.
Color drains from his face. His mouth opens soundlessly, then closes again.
He looks down at his hands, flexes them like he doesn’t recognize them.
“We can fix that,” he says after a moment, but it’s more plea than statement. “Trust can… can be rebuilt. Right? That’s what people say.”
“I don’t know,” you say faintly. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know how long I’ll see her every time I look at you. I don’t know how many nights I’ll lie awake wondering if you’re where you say you are, if your phone dies because you’re in danger or because you’re…” Your throat closes. “…busy.”
He makes a small, wrecked sound.
You swallow hard.
“I had so little,” you say quietly. “You know that. I didn’t have much to begin with, and I gave so much of it to you. My time. My energy. My stability. My… safety. The one thing I thought I could rely on, in all this bullshit with curses and missions and dying teenagers, was that when I came home, we were-” You break off, blinking rapidly as your eyes fill again. “We were the real thing,” you finish, voice threadbare. “And now I don’t even know if that was true, or if I’m just the person you decided to come home to between… experiments.”
His knees buckle a little, like the floor suddenly tilted.
He takes a staggering step back, then forward again, visibly caught between wanting to close the distance and being terrified of it.
“I wasn’t experimenting on you,” he croaks. “You’re not- You’re the only thing that feels real. Everything else is… noise. You’re the one who-” He breaks off, laughing weakly, humorless. “You’re the only person who knows me when I’m not…” He makes a vague gesture, indicating the mask, the persona. “This.”
You close your eyes.
“That makes it worse,” you whisper.
Silence swells.
He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He lifts one, lets it drop. Lifts the other. Rubs his face harshly, like he can scrub this whole night off his skin.
When he speaks again, his voice has that particular weight you’ve learned to associate with him using cursed techniques. Like he’s bracing himself for a recoil.
“If you walk out that door,” he says slowly, “I won’t stop you.”
Your eyes snap open.
You stare at him.
He swallows.
“I won’t chase you,” he says. “I won’t seal the exit or teleport you back or- or do something stupid. I won’t play with your choices.” His gaze locks with yours, and the rawness there nearly knocks you over. “If you tell me it’s over, I’ll accept it. I won’t come pounding on your door. I won’t show up at your job. I won’t… bother you.”
You weren’t expecting that.
You thought he’d cling. Beg. Manipulate. Spin the situation until you were dizzy.
You didn’t expect this quiet surrender.
A fresh wave of nausea rolls through you.
“Oh,” you say, the word small and dazed.
He takes a slow breath.
“But if you stay,” he continues, and now his voice shakes so noticeably he has to stop again for a second, swallow, and force the next words out, “if you stay… I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the person you thought I was.”
Tears spill over, streaking hot down his cheeks. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll go to therapy,” he says, humorless and desperate all at once. “Real therapy. Not flirting with the school counselor until she tantrums and throws me out. I’ll listen when you’re angry instead of deflecting. I’ll… I’ll cut people off if they make you uncomfortable. I’ll tell you where I’m going, who I’m with, I’ll-” His breath hitches again. “I’ll do anything. I don’t care how pathetic it is. I don’t care how much pride I have to spit out. I’ll burn it all. Just-”
Your name again, but this time it cracks down the middle.
“-just don’t leave me.”
He’s not the strongest sorcerer in the world right now.
He’s a man coming apart at the seams in his too-perfect apartment, hands shaking, tears streaking down his face.
He takes one more step toward you.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He sinks down onto his knees in front of you like his legs finally give up.
Your back hits the wall again. You hadn’t realized you’d been inching backward as he approached.
He doesn’t reach for you this time.
He just kneels there, head bowed for a moment, white hair falling forward to hide his eyes.
When he lifts his head, you see everything.
The panic. The shame. The genuine, bone-deep terror.
“I have faced gods,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve stood in front of things that could erase cities and I laughed. I’ve watched monsters tear people in half and I kept smiling.” He swallows. The next words scrape their way out. “I am fucking terrified right now.”
It hits you, suddenly, that this is rock bottom for him. That this is a confession he’s never made to anyone else.
His hands lift, hover inches from your knees, then drop again, fingers curling against his own thighs.
“I know I hurt you,” he says. “I know I broke something that might not be fixable. I did that. Me. No one made me. No one forced me. I can’t blame anyone or anything, no matter how much I want to crawl into some excuse and stay there.” His mouth twists. “I don’t deserve you.”
You look down at him.
Your heart feels like it’s beating inside a wound.
“If you believe that,” you say softly, “why did you do it?”
He laughs.
It’s a horrible sound, all edges and no light.
“Because I’m an idiot,” he says. “Because I’m selfish. Because I’ve spent my whole life thinking consequences don’t really apply to me. Because I told myself I could have everything and everyone and it would all somehow still work out as long as I grinned enough and killed the right monsters.”
He shakes his head.
Tears drip onto his hands, darkening his skin where they fall.
“And then you,” he says, voice dropping. “And you… made me want to be better. And instead of actually doing that, I tried to keep being me and add you on top like some decorative prize. And I broke everything.”
You stare at him.
Your throat hurts.
You’d pictured this, in a hazy way, on the train. Him on his knees. You raging. His apologies. You imagined feeling triumphant, powerful, vindicated.
You don’t feel any of that.
You feel tired.
“So what now?” you whisper. “You kneel. You cry. I forgive you, and we go back to normal?”
He flinches.
“There is no normal anymore,” he says quietly. “Not after this. I know that.”
He looks up at you like he’s drowning.
“But I’d rather build something new out of the wreckage with you than try to pretend this never happened alone.”
The words are raw. Honest in a way he usually hides behind jokes.
You press the back of your head against the wall, staring at the ceiling for a moment. A hairline crack runs across the white plaster above the windows. You never noticed it before.
It feels fitting.
Your gaze drops back to him.
His eyes are wide and red around the edges, his cheeks wet. His shoulders tremble with each uneven breath.
You realize, distantly, that your hands have stopped shaking.
They’re just… heavy.
You lift one.
It moves without your permission, almost, like your body is making a decision your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
You hover your fingers near his face, just above his cheekbone, over a trail of tears.
He leans in minutely, like a plant toward warmth, then stops himself, jaw clenched.
Your fingertips are so close you can feel the heat of his skin, but you don’t touch him.
Not yet.
His breath catches.
“Please,” he whispers. “Please tell me what to do.”
“I can’t make this decision for you,” you say quietly. “You already made the decision that mattered without me.”
He closes his eyes, a tear spilling over the edge of his lashes.
“I don’t want anyone else,” he says. “I don’t want to touch anyone else ever again. I don’t want to flirt, I don’t want to impress, I don’t want-” His voice cracks. “I just want you. I know how pathetic that sounds, but I don’t care. You can call me pathetic as much as you want. Just… stay. Give me the chance to prove I’m not lying when I say that.”
You inhale slowly.
Hold it.
Release it.
Your hand drops.
His shoulders slump like someone cut the strings holding him up.
You watch his face crumple in what looks a lot like despair.
“I don’t know,” you say.
He freezes.
You swallow, forcing yourself to keep going.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you say. “I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t know if I can look at you without seeing her for a long time. I don’t know if this will work. I don’t know if staying will just make me hate myself as much as I hate this situation.”
Each admission feels like stepping off a ledge.
“But I know I’m not ready to decide tonight,” you finish. “I know I can’t… choose something permanent while I’m like this.”
His eyes flicker open.
Hope and pain dance together there, tangled and inseparable.
“So,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m going home. To my home. I’m going to sleep, if I can. I’m going to breathe. And then, when I can think again, I’ll decide if I still want to be with you.”
He stares up at you.
You watch your words land, one by one.
For a second, you think he’s going to argue. Beg. Bargain.
He doesn’t.
He nods.
It’s tiny. Shaking. Like it hurts.
“Okay,” he says, voice shredded. “Okay. I- I can’t say I like that.” A sad, broken half-smile twitches at his mouth. “I hate it, actually. But it’s more than I deserve.”
He lifts a hand, very slowly, as if you’re a wild animal he doesn’t want to startle.
He doesn’t reach for you.
He wraps his fingers around his own wrist, squeezing hard.
“When you go,” he says, “I won’t follow.”
You believe him.
You hate that you needed to hear him say it.
You nod.
“Okay,” you whisper.
You push off the wall, legs stiff. The room tilts for a second and you steady yourself with a hand on the cabinet.
He doesn’t move.
He stays on his knees, watching you with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. Gut-level panic and some awful, hollow acceptance.
You pick up your bag, the one you brought with you, not the one full of his things, and sling it over your shoulder.
You leave his bag where it is.
“You should take your medication,” you say, because the habit of caring doesn’t know how to shut itself off on command.
His laugh is wet and raw.
You turn toward the door.
Your hand lands on the handle.
You pause.
Behind you, his breath stutters.
The city hums faintly beyond the windows. Your own heartbeat is loud in your ears.
You don’t look back when you say, very quietly:
“I loved you.”
You don’t know if it’s past or present tense. It comes out somewhere in between.
You hear the sound he makes, choked, half-sob, half-gasp.
“I still do,” he says.
It’s not a plea.
It’s not a promise.
It’s just a fact, dropped into the room like a stone into deep water.
You close your eyes.
Your fingers tighten on the handle.
You could turn around.
You could cross the few steps back to him, press your forehead against his, let him gather you up like he always does when the world goes sideways. You could kiss the tears off his cheeks and let your own fall onto his skin.
You could.
You don’t.
You open the door.
Cool hallway air brushes your face.
You step out.
The last thing you hear before the door clicks shut is your name, whispered behind you like a prayer he already knows the gods won’t answer.
-----
The corridor is empty.
You walk to the elevator on legs that feel both too heavy and not solid enough. Your reflection swims in the mirrored doors when they slide shut.
You press the button for the lobby.
As you descend, your phone buzzes once.
You don’t look at it.
You stare at your own eyes instead, ringed with red, hollowed out.
You think of the crack in his ceiling.
You think of the crack in your chest.
You think of the way his voice broke when he said don’t leave me.
You don’t know yet if you will.
All you know is that for the first time since the night started, you’re moving toward your own bed. Your own door. Your own space.
For now, that has to be enough.
Outside, Tokyo begins to lighten at the edges, just barely. Dawn is still a rumor, but it’s there.
You step out into the still-cool air.
You don’t know whether this is an ending or the ugliest possible beginning.
You do know one thing, sharp and undeniable as a curse:
Whatever comes next, nothing will ever be the same again.
tags?: afab! reader, 18+, kinda possesive xavier, some edging?, some cum play, maybe impact play (he's a bit rough with your titties), just very close sex ig
words: around 3,3k
notes: i put my whole soul in this work, it was written so fast just bc i was really horny for xavier
Gentle patter of water against the tiles woke you up. At first it seemed it was just your imagination but between warm blankets and silent darkness of the room it never went away – this faint sound of running water, soft and steady.
Opening your eyes with soft groan you saw a faint line of light coming under the bathroom door, and your pulse quickened. Looking at the clock on the nightstand told you it was 1:24am but in the last message from him, Xavier said that he should be back in the morning but hearing him now in the bathroom and seeing his unzipped bag near the armchair showed you that the plans had changed. With the soft click the bedside lamp gently lit up the bedroom, gentle enough not to hurt your sleepy eyes.
You smiled softly as you moved closer to the center of the bed – to warm bedsheets for him too. This four days mission was quick and not dangerous enough to make you worry for his life but you still missed him. The way he slept next to you. The way he helped you with cooking. The way he smelled. The way his voice sounded near your ear. Gosh, you never thought you would need someone in your life the way you needed Xavier. The same way he needed you.
Soon enough the water stopped running and after some thumping and knocking Xavier stepped out of the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him with a click. The towel draped around his neck as he slightly shook his head – his wet hair seemed darker, especially in semidark room, with some strands falling across his forehead. Some water droplets still slid down his bare torso, running down his pale strong body until they hit the edge of his gray sweatpants. They sit low on his hips and from experience you knew that they were damp (you never knew how he managed to put them on right after the shower).
He noticed you right away, dark blue eyes widening for a moment with a smile appearing on his pink lips.
‘Oh”, he said, voice low, with hints of exhaustion. “Did I wake you?”
You shook your head, heart beating a bit faster at the sight of him.
“Just a little… I heard the shower. Are you okay?”
He nodded as he was putting the towel on the drying rack in room. “We ended a bit earlier and I asked to leave to get home faster”, he gave you a small smile. “Wanted to surprise you.”
“You did”, you whispered. “I’m really glad.”
Slightly lifting the blanket, you petted the place near you and Xavier silently walked closer, his bare feet making no noise. He slid into the bed, immediately pressing his body, warm and still a bit wet from the earlier shower, next to yours. He smelled of soap and toothpaste as his face got closer and gentle palm cupped your face. Your eyes closed just in time to feel his lips.
His movements were unhurried and tender as he tasted you and your hands pressed him closer. Wet tongue licked your lower lip and with a whine you let him inside your mouth, fire burning between your thighs as kisses became wetter, hungrier and slicker. Xavier groaned as his lips traveled lower to your neck, sucking and biting, leaving spit and small bruises after.
Your eyes closed from pleasure as his hand squeezed your waist and another bite was left on your neck.
“I….I made you cookies”, your voice was already breathy. “Your favorite.”
“I know, starlight. I saw them,” his hand went higher, strong thumb brushing the underside of your boob and then gliding across the pebbled nipple – a quiet moan escaped your lips. “But I want something else. Let’s take this off."
You nodded before you tugged your t-shirt off while Xavier threw the blanked to the side. Laying down you felt how wet your panties were and the way his dark gaze travelled across your body.
Xavier looked at you through half lidded eyes, pupils dilated and lips red from kisses and bites. He kneeled between your legs, getting closer and spreading your thighs wider. You bit your lip seeing a dark stain on his sweatpants, the outline of his cock visible.
Calloused palms brushed your stomach, getting higher until Xavier squeezed your boobs, flesh trapped between his strong fingers. Your moan broke the silence resulting in the smirk appearing on his face. He pinched your nipples and you grabbed his wrists to stop this sweet torture but his hands relaxed, gently palming and caressing your skin.
Bending down he kissed your stomach, right above your bellybutton, and then, looking right into your eyes, licked a stripe starting from there, and getting up – between your ribs, then boobs, right to your neck and jaw. You closed your eyes as he brushed your boobs again, and arched just from his low voice near your ear.
“So pretty for me.”
Your hands flew to his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him as you moaned because of his actions. Pleasure filled your body, heart beating fast, body twitching from his heat and your hips restless. You whined feebly, thighs spreading wider and hips lifting from the bed, trying to feel him, to get something.
“Shhhh, baby,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek, his right hand pinching your nipple one more time before he slid it lower, right under your cotton panties. “So needy for me.”
With mouth opened you looked at him as his fingers circled your clit, occasionally dipping lower, collecting your wetness and smearing it around. High moan left your lips as his fingers massaged your folds, pressing them together, gliding between them.
Xavier gave you a smile, this possessive, carnivorous smile you loved so much before his head dipped down and he sucked at your nipples. You whimpered, pressing his head to harder with shaking hands, twitching and whining. Your back arched from the bed as two of his fingers slid inside you, scissoring you, preparing for his cock – you felt your mouth watering at the thought.
The room got hot, thin layer of sweat covering you both as slurps, wet smacks, your moans and Xavier’s groans filled the night silence. Locking down you felt a wave of heat running through your body at the sight of Xavier, eyes closed and lips around your breast, sucking in, leaving marks, enjoying your taste. Your hips moved, answering to the tempo of his fingers, getting closer and closer….Just a bit more, a bit more and…..
All of the sudden Xavier’s fingers left your tight hole and you mewled loudly from disappointment, looking at him, eyes wide and lips parted. He kissed your neck, whisper hot against your skin.
“Too early, baby,” his fingers brushed your clit through the drenched fabric, sensations nice but still dulled. “A bit more, starlight. Want to cum together, yeah? Want to feel my cum, hmm?”
You nod, eyes glassy from sudden edging and chest heaving. “Yes, please…”
He smiled as he straightened up, both hands near your pussy, thumbs pressing your sensitive folds through the fabric. You looked at his strong forearms, muscles rolling under fair skin, and whined as you felt him dip one thumb inside your hole, wet fabric not allowing him to go deeper.
“Stop….teasing me, Xavier…”
He pinched your clit one more time just to see your hips twitch and back arch before he said. “Take those off.”
Seeing him getting up, you struggled to get your panties off as you watched him walking to his nightstand to take the lube. You threw your wet underwear aside just in time to see Xavier putting unflavored lube near you as he took off his sweatpants and….There was something about him standing bare, cock hard and flushed among the neat blonde curls, giving himself lazy strokes as he watched you laying on his – yours – bed, something that made your blood boil, made you cup your breasts, then bent and spread your legs, feeling the already damp spot on the bedsheets under your hips.
You whined, lifting your hips up, showing how wet and opened your hole was for him. “Come on, Xavier, want you inside…”
The next second he was getting on the bed, kneeling between your legs, calloused palms brushing the back side of your knees. Your squeal broke the silence as his strong hands suddenly tugged you towards him so your thighs laid on his muscular ones, your fluttering pussy right under his hungry gaze.
“Want to get your pussy filled, yeah?”, he poured lube on his skillful fingers, warming it up. “Whose dick do you want?”
Your eyes rolled back as his fingers spread lube on your folds and two fingers plunged deep into your pussy. “Yours….want your dick, please…”
His lips, red and plump, curved into a smirk as he stroked himself a couple of times before slapped the upper part of your pussy with his cock – your mouth watered at the feeling how hot and heavy he was, pulsing with need, with glob of precum on the red tip. Another smack, another wet plap made you twitch, hole fluttering, empty and needy.
“Come on, say the name, love.”
Your eyes didn’t know what to focus on – his face, the way he looked at you like he wanted to eat you whole, the way his chest was going up and down from heavy breathing, beads of sweat rolling down his strong torso, the way his hand was stroking himself lazily or the way he delivered another smack with his wet dick.
“Xavier’s, want Xavier’s dick inside, please.”
It seemed that it was all he was waiting for as your mouth opened at the feeling of him finally sliding inside, blunt head smoothly pushing through resistance of your tight hole. He was thick – almost painfully so – but always filled you so good, reached so deep it made your toes curl.
Grubbing your waist, he gave it a good squeeze that made all the air left your lungs, before he lifted your hips and tugged your closer until your lower body was laying on his spread thighs. And maybe it was blood rushing to your head or the way he suddenly filled you to the brim but you moaned loudly as it seemed you could feel him in your throat.
His head rolled back, eyes closed as Xavier took deep, long breathes in, feeling your inner walls struggling around his length. Brushing your hipbones absentmindedly he set a slow, deep pace before he finally opened his eyes, looking down at the way you gripped bedsheets in your fists or the way your boobs moved from his movements.
“Fuck…. Feel so good, starlight”, your boobs moving hypnotized him and he grabbed them, squeezing and rolling nipples between his fingers. You whined, but it broke half way as he gave mean, deep thrust so your eyes closed from pleasure.
The room filled with sounds of moans, groans, slaps of skin and occasionally your soft shrieks when Xavier pinched your abused nipples, making them sensitive, puffy and hot to the touch. His palms travelled lower, brushing your stomach and pressing down to feel the way he entered you. You moaned at the additional pressure, looking down to see his thumbs brushing your hips until Xavier touched your clit, making you twitch.
You saw him smile as he trapped your puffy clit between his thumbs, rolling it slightly from side to side, making you whine helplessly at how good and exposed you felt. Sliding lower he spread your folds apart, his eyes locking on the way his dick was entering your pussy, smoothly sliding in and out.
Looking up Xavier saw your glassy eyes, face twisting with ecstasy with each roll of his powerful hips, helplessly biting your lower lip. He smiled, wrinkles forming in the corners of his eyes as he stretched his athletic body above yours, intertwining yours fingers together and planting them next to your head.
He rolled his hips again and again, reaching deeper with each thrust, wet squelches and slaps echoing in your fuzzy mind. “You’re going to cum like this, yeah? No fingers on your clit,” he licked your cheek, hot breath almost scorching on your wet skin. “You’re a big girl, you can do this, right?”
You nodded, hips moving and helping him with tempo as you struggled to breathe from pleasure and Xavier’s body almost crushing yours. Whining, you closed your eyes – it felt so good, how his thighs tensed under yours, how his cock filled your pussy, how your combined juices ran down from your hole, forming a wet spot on the bed and how Xavier was watching your face, so up close and barely blinking.
Giving you a hungry kiss, he picked up a pace and you mewled into his mouth as his dick pressed against this tender spot inside you, but he caught it all and pushed harder, pressing you deeper into the mattress. His hips rolled in deep, fast waves, trained muscles moving and rolling under his skin as you felt yourself getting closer to the peak.
Freeing your shaky hands from his grasp you hugged his neck, pulling him closer, your nails leaving marks on the back of his neck and wide shoulders. He groaned into the kiss from sharp pain and enjoyment as his hand squeezed your breast, and that was a last drop.
Eyes shut, your mouth opened in broken moan as your thighs twitched as you came, hands holding Xavier snuggly as your body shook. He groaned as your pussy spasmed, pushing deeper and seconds later you felt him cumming, grunting softly as he filled your womb with warm, sticky cum.
Xavier’s body relaxed and he carefully fell on the bed next to you, his softening dick sliding out as you both tried to catch your breath. Feeling his cum leaking out, you turned to him, nuzzling into his neck, licking and sucking tender skin, tasting salt on your tongue.
Xavier pushed sweaty bangs back from his forehead, eyes clear and cheeks pink as he held your face for a moment, seeing how soft and relaxed your face looked, before kissing you deeply, spit running down from your mouth. His hand massaged your neck, then went down brushing your soft, sensitive breasts and relaxed stomach.
You broke the kiss as his fingers dipped inside your loosened hole to collect his still warm sperm and spread it on your folds. Your breath picked up, hips twitching as you said tiredly, “Mhhhmm, feels nice….”
He smiled and you both looked down to see Xavier spreading his two fingers apart, white sticky strands glistening in the soft light. He circled your clit, making you hiccup.
“We’re not done yet, baby.”
Swallowing your moans with a kiss, his fingers started smearing his cum around your tender place and your cheeks grew hot at the image what your pussy looked like right now – still puffy and sensitive, tight hole hungrily swallowing his fingers, glistening with your juices, lube and cum. Xavier bit your lower lip and you shrieked softly as he apologetically licked your lips and spit on your chin.
“Want to do it like this.”
He rolled you onto your left side, pressing your back against his strong chest – you felt it expanding with every breath he took and the way his nipples brushed your shoulder blades. Kissing your cheek, your ear and the side of your neck he gently palmed your boobs and stomach, pressing you closer to him.
His hot whisper hit your ear, goosebumps running down your body. “Put it in.”
Blindly, your hand reached back and travelled down his ribs to his hips until you gently grabbed his dick, softly stroking. Xavier nuzzled into your neck, softly moaning as you caressed his dick – he was still sticky, but already hard and hot.
Slowly, with your wet palm you guided his cock to your opening, just in time as Xavier’s arm lifted your right leg, his palm brushing the back of your knee as he folded it. He rolled his hips and you both moaned as he slid inside your warm hole so smoothly and easy, like it was made just for him.
You whimpered as your feelings and pleasure almost overwhelmed you; in this position you felt Xavier’s whole body moving with each gentle, deep thrust, his soft grunts right against your ear as he licked and sucked the skin of your neck. You grasped the forearm of his hand that was holding your leg up, turning your head and kissing him messily, more tongues licking than lips touching.
Particular deep thrust made you squeal and Xavier’s moan for a moment blocked off the wet slaps and squelches. “Fuck, love, we should fuck like this more often, don’t you think?”
You looked at him, his gaze hazy, looking at you with half lidded eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I think we should...”, you moaned softly. “Fuck, Xavier, you’re so deep, feels so good.”
He licked your neck, whispering. “I’ll help you.”
His hand went down, so you were left with holding your leg up by yourself as he brushed your stomach gently and then pressed on your neglected clit. Silencing your soft mewls with a kiss, he circled your sensitive bud gently, in the rhythm of his thrusts.
He gently slapped your pussy, wet plaps making you twitch.
“You’re so wet.”
Laughing at your pout, Xavier rolled his hips more aggressive, pressed on your clit with more intent and you closed your eyes with soft moan, head rolling to the side. His mouth found the exposed skin, sucking and biting, leaving marks as his hot breath hit your wet skin.
With your bodies moving, pressing and sticking together, you let go of your leg and it fell down, trapping Xavier’s hand on your clit between your thighs. With a kiss to his lips, your free hand found his moving hips as you struggled to get a hold on his strong butt cheek. Finally, you grasped him, for sure leaving nail marks on his skin, and Xavier moaned loudly as he pushed deeper, his pace losing tempo.
Breathing the same air, you looked at each other and with a next roll of his fingers you came silently, eyes closing as you felt your body twitching. Xavier groaned and rolled his hips one more time before cumming with a groan falling from his lips.
Struggling to breathe and opening your eyes, you let go of Xavier’s butt cheek and brushed his hand that was still trapped between your sticky thighs, gently petting your pussy as he lazily fucked his cum deeper into you.
Intertwining your hands together, Xavier brought it to his face as he kissed your hand in his hold gently, not minding how sticky his fingers were. With a groan he pulled out making both of you to look down to see his load leaking down, dirtying the bedsheets even further.
Letting go of your hand, he moved to get up but you caught his hand, making him look at you. With his pink cheeks and hair all other the place, Xavier looked younger, so boyish and cute you couldn’t hold back a smile as you tugged him closer to kiss.
With eyes closed you whispered. “I missed you.”
Smiling, he kissed your nose. “I missed you too.”
He got up, his lean body on full display, softening dick between his strong thighs as he made his way into the bathroom to prepare the bath for you two. But even still lying in bed you could see five little marks your nails left on his right butt cheek – you laughed quietly, hiding your face in the blanket, as Xavier looked at you, silent confusion in his blue eyes.
THE HELL???? this sanity level decreasing was MY sanity because why so hot!!!! all of them!!!
putting caleb's dog tag in his mouth?????? sylus's "my little bird" AND licking his lips???? xavier's "then you'll never leave me"?????? UDTAJCUDYTSUDJCCJYSJCOHOH
ABSOLUTELY INSANE AND THEY ALL LOOK SO GOOD WITH THIS HAIRSTYLE
um men who are bigger than you and tower over you in every way possible but he's obsessed with the overwhelming intimacy of missionary sex. his whole entire body covers yours, and he loves the way it's almost like he's shielding you from the world, that the wanton expressions you're making and the way your body reacts is all for his eyes only. he can control how deep he fucks into you, can carefully watch the faces you make to see if he's hitting all the right spots. loves the way he can hold your hand as he thrusts into you; especially loves the feeling of every cell in his body going weak from how overwhelmed with his love for you he gets. the eye contact is the best and worst part for him; best because he loves looking at you, to know you feel the same, but worst because you always make him go weak in the knees. his arms can barely keep him upright, and he has to bury his face into the hollow of your neck and shoulder and-
like how utterly BEAUTIFUL is the desperation in the way he’s frantically stumbling around and slamming you into the walls, grasping your arms like ur gonna disappear??? lmao lmao lmao lmaoooooooo
adding fuel to my sylus fic because like all the guys in this FUCKING BANNER ARE DESPERATE AS HELLLLLL but sylus is HUNGRY like this kiss is so hungry in a feral way that after reading beyond cloud fall hurts my soul idk idk idk
Specifically thinking about dry humping a guy who’s trying his best to stay respectful whilst hanging onto his final tether of restraint. And you know the exact moment you’ve made him snap when you feel his hands tighten — almost bruising — against your hips as he forces you down onto his crotch.
just so you know.... this art is ALWAYS on my mind, I'm not even kidding. like yeah maybe I don't actively think about it at the moment but it's always somewhere in my head. it's like this kind of art that you can see somewhere, save it to your phone and weeks, months and even years later still remember it
I can imagine nanami being so good at nude intimacy without it being sexual
like he obviously loves you and absolutely loves your body but he also can sense your mood pretty well so just seeing you naked isn't enough to get him going
I can see him in the morning when he woke up a bit earlier than you and you two not in a hurry so you slide into your bathroom to see shower stall foggy and warm. you tug your (but originally his) tshirt and panties off as you step inside to join him, still a bit sleepy and puffy. you're immediately embraced by hot humid air as you press yourself against kento's back and plant a kiss on his shoulder blade. he turns around and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you tenderly, water cascading down his face, hair stuck to his forehead and eyes only slightly open, lashes wet. he hugs you and then helps you with washing - his strong hands massaging your sides, stomach and breasts. he doesn't get hard. you wash away all the foam before you two finish the shower and continue your day.
or you come back home late, annoyed because of your job. kento is already in bed reading, glasses on, as you walk in, talking and cursing. he looks up as you plant a quick kiss on his lips as you start undressing, never stopping grumbling about your job. you take off your jacket, white shirt and office skirt as kento simply listens to you and nods. next is your bra and kento smiles a little as hearing you sighing in relief. you tug your panties down and throw them into the pile of your previously discarded clothes. you complain furiously as you look - absolutely naked - for a clean clothes in the drawer. then you grab clothes and with "wait until I tell you the worst part!" leave him alone as you go into the bathroom. he chuckles slightly, his eyes going back to his book. he isn't hard.
so yeah. being naked isn't enough to make him hard.
(and maybe you return from the shower, skin warm and a bit wet, still sighing and rolling your eyes because of the job so kento cheers you up with his head between your legs as your thighs lay on his broad shoulders. his reading glass askew, strong fingers sinking into soft meat of your thighs as he licks and slurps. you shake as you cum and kento plants last wet kiss on your clit before he sits up and presses your weak body against his, book already in hand. he isn't hard even if his lips and chin are still wet)
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