When your daughter's psychiatrist suggests you get in touch with your abusive ex-husband in prison for her sake, you're not thrilled. Fortunately for you, he's dead. Unfortunately for you, someone else is alive and very keen on playing the part of a doting father. wc: 3.4k
PART I | PART 2.1 (you are here)
I would like to know the color of your eyes.
You wiped down the kitchen counter in a daze, the rag swiping over and over a spot that was already clean. The ten words repeated themselves in a loop, one you hadn't been able to escape since receiving them two weeks ago.
You weren't ashamed of chickening out. It didn't take anything to tell him what a drab and dull hue the color of your eyes were. Millions of people existed with the same set of eyes. It wasn't even a risk, a harmless question.
Loaded with so much intensity it took your breath away.
Every night before bed you would find yourself going over the letter, tempted to pick up a pen and write something back but the seemingly innocent question was so much more than it looked like. It felt like a caress to the cheek, whispers carrying over in the wind, the slight thrill that ran through your veins when doing something that was forbidden. It felt wicked and evil. Felt dangerous. Like your heart dropping when you tip off a cliff and go plunging into the roaring waves.
You were waiting for the waves to break skin.
His newest letter lay on top of the refrigerator, the only color in your washed-out, run-down apartment. You'd already gone through the contents of his letter to your daughter, the only letter in the envelope, resealing it to give to her when she got home. Why would he write to you when you'd given him no reason to?
You didn't want to invite him into your space any more than he already took up. The line that had been drawn in the sand had been washed away but you were picking up the stick again. You'd guard over that line yourself.
Determined, you sat down to write.
What crime are you guilty of?
Other than wanting to know you better?
Of course he would ignore your question. So, you decide to ignore his blatant flirting. He was hedging just like you were, both of you, peas of the same pod. You wouldn't show your cards till he surrendered and from what you'd gathered, he wasn't one to bow out so easily.
Almost as if he could guess that you were getting ready to shut him out again, you notice the tiny -> arrow at the bottom of the page before you flip it around to see he'd scribbled something at the back as well.
Was that question too difficult? I understand. Here's a simpler one. What's your favorite color? The little bunny likes pink or purple but I can't tell. Does her Mommy prefer the same?
It was simpler. After putting your daughter to bed, you sat on the kitchen counter, pen poised at the paper but not writing. You couldn't remember the last time you'd thought about such innocuous things. A favorite color, your favorite weather or even something as silly as your favorite candy. It had been too long since you'd wondered about these things. That innocence had long been snatched away.
Lightning flashed outside the window, catching your eye. A moment passed before the rumble of thunder followed. And like everytime it rained, you were thinking of that night.
If you closed your eyes, you could still picture the droplets on your skin coming in through the open window. The glass shard seeping deep into your foot, the living room turned upside down and the TV shattered in the middle of it from where he had thrown it at you. Between it all, you hadn't been able to tell if your forehead was also cut or if it was the rain. It was such an impractical thing to be focusing on, but you'd chosen self-preservation. And yet, you didn't dare raise your hand to touch and find out, hadn't dared remove them from around your belly as you did your best to shield your unborn child.
Lightning struck outside the window again. And even with your eyes open, you pictured it clearly. The image burned deep behind your eyelids for all of eternity.
Crimson. Unlike any you'd ever seen. Shining, gleaming, burning.
With a wry smile, you refocus back on the paper and start writing.
Bunny's preferences change like the season. Last month her favorite color was orange. This month is pink.
Mine's red.
Mine's red.
Three words. Eight letters. Shot to his chest straight as if she'd uttered them right to his face.
Red. Of course your favorite color had to be red. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
Lying in bed, your letter covered his eyes as Sylus inhaled every last bit of your perfume lingering on it. For the two weeks you had gone silent on him again, he wondered if you were done entertaining his antics.
Then he wondered if you'd correctly deduced the deeper implications of his question. The intimacy around it was as subtle as him screaming it in your face. And still, it bothered him. Every word you wrote to him bothered him. He wanted to get to know you but knew that anything personal would have you running for the hills. You were cautious, too cautious.
So, why then, were you entertaining a criminal? Involving your daughter in something that clearly went against your principles?
When he sits up, he notices the tiny, identical arrow at the bottom of the page and flips it over to see what else you had to say.
Dodging questions doesn't make you look any more innocent.
With a smile threatening to break, Sylus realizes you're not going to make it easy on him. He much preferred it that way. The following day, with his pen hovering over the paper, he makes up his mind as he begins writing.
The red packaging was glaring back at you.
Imagine your horror when you opened the sweet old lady's mailbox and a red package the size of your head, barely fitting inside was staring back at you. There was no mistaking who it was from, who it was for, and you'd quickly tossed it into your bag before anyone saw.
You were so paranoid that he might have someone watching at the post office for who takes his letters that you'd resorted to using this poor woman's address and now, now the fear had you by the neck, sweating and shivering in broad daylight.
You'd torn open the packaging as soon as you got home, before you even put your bag down, plucking out the softest, sweetest looking bunny plushie with pink fur complete with a purple tiara.
You hated your heart for flipping the way it did.
Does the little princess like her gift? I'm sorry for sending one impromptu without your permission.
Do you like yours?
You drop the letter immediately, digging through the box and coming up with a silk cloth. Too big to be a handkerchief, just barely passing the mark for a scarf. Silk, extravagant and pricier than you could ever afford. The little S stiched in the corner catches your eye, makes your heart race.
The color is an exact match of your favorite shade of red. Leaves you a little light-headed. And then the paranoia comes crashing back.
Akin to the previous letter, there's an arrow mark guiding you to flip the page.
I'm not innocent and I won't claim to be. I simply do not wish to lose a beloved pen pal and my access to her drawings.
I beat up a man within an inch of his life.
Your heart is beating so loudly that you cannot process anything over the rush in your ears. Cannot stop rereading the words. Cannot stop the tremble in your hands, the way they shake, the way your knees buckle. You hold on to the counter to give yourself some reprieve.
You'd been playing house with a criminal. How could you have given him the benefit of doubt for a single second?
Old habits die hard, you thought bitterly as you cleaned up the mess, tossing the wrapping paper and opening his letter to your daughter to inspect it. It was a pattern with you now. Ten guys could line up in front of you and you'd skip over all the 9 decent ones to choose the trashy jerk.
You're irrationally angry with yourself for entertaining him at all, for letting yourself get carried away like this. You're tossing the wrapping paper in the trash, mind half made up to do the same with the plushie but a hollow feeling taking shape in your stomach gives you pause.
The bunny is soft beneath your labor-roughened fingers, the calloused skin that was always peeling off. You wouldn't be able to afford buying a soft toy this expensive for your daughter without feeling like you'd burned a hole through your wallet. Even if you saved up for months, you would never put that money toward a plushie and you knew it. The one you'd recently bought for your daughter couldn't even begin to compare to this one.
You take your foot off the pedal of the trash can, sighing deeply. You were tired to the very bones of your body, so exhausted and worn out that you didn't remember a time before it. What it was to be carefree and relaxed. All your life, for as long as you could remember, had been spent running. First from your irresponsible, junkie parents who had tried selling you to be able to afford the drugs they preferred and then from your husband who'd trapped you in an abusive marriage before you could see the signs.
Placing the bunny on the counter, you pick up the letter again, ready to pocket it to trash it with the scarf later, when the tiny writing you didn't notice before catches your eye.
He deserved it.
The hollow feeling that had been expanding past your gut and into your chest bursts like a balloon, all the air in your lungs leaving you in a single exhale.
You don't know what it is about this criminal but his silent conviction and the quiet certainty with which he wrote those words gives you pause. He didn't overexplain his side, didn't try to play it off and brush it under the rug. He didn't shy away from answering your question (this time) but he didn't feel the need to defend himself.
With a sigh filled with long suffering, you come to a conclusion you're not enthusiastic about.
You believed him.
The little princess loves the plushie, thank you. I do hope this is the extent of your generosity though.
->
What did he do?
And you? Did you like your gift?
->
I think I'll spare you the gory details, darling. Trash needs cleaning and I feel necessary to see it through myself sometimes.
You stopped asking questions after that. You liked to think it was none of your business but frankly, you were scared to find out. Scared that his answer would inevitably lead to the end of this budding acquaintanceship.
It would seem Bunny wasn't the only one who was lonely.
Did you like your gift?
Your only guiding force in life was to give your daughter a good life and ever since she'd clutched your finger in the dingy hospital room where you'd given birth, you knew you'd do anything to make her happy. Happier than you could have ever imagined yourself to be.
To see those drawings with the black crayon marring all the other colors on the page had broken your heart. The fact that she didn't make a peep or a single complaint when you had to pull long shifts at work and couldn't pick her up from school wrecked your soul. You wanted to give her everything she'd ever want. That had made you risk something this dangerous just to please her. And you would do it every time.
But that scarf, that was the one thing that was yours. It was the first time you'd ever been gifted something, not too extravagant, barely constituting as a present but still, you wanted it just for yourself. For once. Something that inherently belonged only to you. That wasn't thrifted or bought second hand.
And so, it sat in the back of your closet, in an unmarked box like a secret. Like something of great value. Like it was your most prized possession. Like it was priceless.
It drew out a pathetic laugh from your throat. Your most prized possession was a handkerchief from a criminal serving a sentence of heaven knew how long? Truly pathetic.
No. And I would appreciate it you refrained from sending anything else going forward.
Now you weren't only pathetic, you were also a coward.
The following week, you receive a blank cheque in the mail.
I apologize for the gift; it was certainly in poor taste. There is no limit on the amount for the cheque. Treat yourself to something special on my behalf, please?
No innuendo. Just a request. Your gaze kept snagging on the last word like it was a gravitational pull. Why did you feel like this was a man that did not plead often, if ever?
The cheque feels weightless in your palm but also weighs you down like a truckload on your chest. Your eye immediately drops to check the name on the bottom right only to see initials.
S.Q
His name really was Skye then?
No matter how tempted you were, you refused to involve yourself with the likes of such men- people, again. You would not give him a chance to trace any of your actions back to you. The moment your daughter starts showing signs of her positive disposition returning, this penpal-ship was coming to an end.
But the sad, pitiful part of you was so tempted. If there really was no limit to the cheque, you take a moment and glance around your dingy apartment, wouldn't that be nothing short of a miracle for you?
With a twofold, the cheque is torn and the pieces flutter around the kitchen. A pathetic laugh escapes you when you realize your fingers are twitching with the urge to tape it all back together.
Last thing you needed was charity.
Even if it didn't feel like it.
Thank you for the cheque but I think it was too excessive. Let's refrain on sending any type of gifts altogether. Bunny included.
You find yourself thinking of him often at work as you wipe down tables and mindlessly carry orders around like muscle memory. If you let yourself indulge, you could go hours without realizing where you were, what you should've been doing.
He'd said his hair was lighter in color. Was it light brown or more of a sandy blond? If he had beaten a man within an inch of his life, he'd have to be built like a tank to achieve it, right? What color were his eyes? Did he have scars? Tattoos? Pointed nose or button? Did he wear his hair longer or was it cut short to the scalp? Did he wear specs? How old was he? What work did he do before committing the crime? Was he in the shady business long term?
You thought back to the cheque he'd sent to you. No limit, he'd said. Was this one of his tactics to lure unsuspecting women in? Was he in the business of trafficking?
That line of thought startles you to the point of dropping your tray, the clatter drawing attention of all the patrons in the restaurant. Your heart drops when you notice the broken dishes and know that it will be docked out of your pay. You don't even get a chance to think your actions through, immediately dropping to your knees and picking up the shards, numbed to the point that you don't feel anything when a few of the pieces break skin.
You're dragging your feet on your way home, well past midnight when you'd gotten to work nearly 16 hours ago, on your feet the entire time save for two half hour breaks in the middle. Sending your daughter to a good school and paying for a child therapist was going to run you into the ground.
Even as you fight the tears welling in your eyes, you know you wouldn't choose to go any other way.
You cross the mailbox, belatedly realizing it was a Tuesday as you go to check it. The crappy events of the day have only made you regret tearing up the blank cheque even more. So, what if some bored criminal 'billionaire' wanted to do some charity? He wouldn't blink if a few thousand went missing from his bank account, wouldn't even care.
When you get home, Bunny is already in bed. Your precious daughter was too mature for her age, and you hated it. Hated that you were stealing her innocent childhood from her just because her mother couldn't make the right decisions in life. For the longest time, you sit by her bedside and watch her sleep.
It's only when you're tucking her blanket tighter around her that you notice her clutching her new bunny and remember the letter in your purse.
The bulb above the kitchen table flickers once, twice, thrice and just as you're convinced that it needs replacing and your dwindling savings are going to take a hit again today, the light flicks on. Using your closed fists to massage your knotted shoulders, you pluck out the letter, bypassing the one for Bunny for the moment.
So, it would be okay if I drew pictures too?
Underneath the writing there was a stick figure drawing of three people, clearly a family. He'd drawn bunny ears for the shorter girl standing between the two adults, holding their hand. The 'mom' had cat ears, and the 'dad' had devil horns.
Before you can help it, you're laughing at how ridiculously endearing it was. He'd doodled what looks like a tiny crow next to his stick figure, a cat next to yours and a wand in Bunny's hand. It is the silliest, most goofy sketch you've ever seen, and you love it to bits.
Your smile drops immediately when you realize how easily the laugh had come to you; how light and carefree you'd felt just a second ago. The day from hell that you'd just experienced felt so far away, like it was from a different lifetime and that scares you. Enough to stand up again to dispel the spell even if your feet were killing you.
Unacceptable. You were falling back into old patterns, newer tricks with the same outcome, and you were done. The only person you're living for is your daughter and no one else has any place in the life you've built for the both of you.
But as you lay in bed that night, you're thinking of the tiny sketch again, a smile splitting your lips so wide as you recall how adorable it was.
With a silent apology to your daughter, you close your eyes. He may not have a permanent place in the life you'd built but just for a little while, you could pretend.
Right?
Pictures are okay but you need to sharpen your skills.
Pardon me for not being as talented as our daughter pretty princess. My talents lie elsewhere, I'm afraid.
You ignore his usage of our even as you fight a smile.
What do you do for a living? Apart from being the occasional garbage collector and a struggling artist?
Sylus laughs, immediately sitting down to write back.
Meditate, mostly. Solitary confinement can be lonely. Occasionally participate in the sparring matches here on Saturday to pass time.
You weren't a fool. Solitary confinement wasn't just given to just any other inmate. The crime had to be of a serious measure, or he'd have to be someone who was a danger to other criminals.
Maybe if you stopped beating up people, they'd let you in a public space instead of keeping you isolated.
Do you atleast win these matches?
Do you atleast win these matches?
Sylus has to rub the back of his palm over his mouth- once, twice before he gives up any attempt to hold his amusement down, smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks.
I cannot be blamed for the half-witted fools who challenge me in the ring. Besides, you need to get a few bones broken to build resilience (:
If I said no, will you tend to my wounds?
You're rolling your eyes when you first read the words, but you've smiled to yourself all day every time you've thought of them.
Sylus opens your letter impatiently.
I'm not your caretaker.
His brows furrow at the flippant tone. Confused, he peeks into the envelope to see if there was more. Between his daughter's letter and the envelope, there's something lodged in the middle and he plucks it out, only to bark out in laughter when he lays his eyes on it.
->
Bunny is.
Please thank Princess Bunny for her care and the hello kitty band-aid. Atleast someone cares for her old man. Her mother's charm is her cruelty.
All your life you'd felt like a pushover. Someone who was used to being walked all over. A doormat.
Your lips lifted. Felt nice to hear you had claws too.
How old are you?
Old enough to be the starring role in every fantasy you've had of me.
That letter gives you pause. Makes you look around like he'd caught you. Like he knew what you did lying in bed. You decide he needs humbling.
Sylus is brimming with tension when he plucks out the second letter in the envelope. It had been 3 weeks since you'd responded and he'd worried that he'd taken it too far, that you were done with him, spent sleepless nights wondering if you'd write back.
Full of ourselves, are we?
Feeling left out, darling? Want to feel ful(l of me)filled too?
You hate that he doubled down every time. There was really no humbling a man who considered himself above the average lot.
You kiss your mother with that mouth?
Your response is instantaneous this time and he can almost feel the way you must be seething, if the blot of ink against the letters is any indication.
No, just our daughter's mother.
There was truly no winning with him.
A/N: First things first, I know the chapter is a bit underwhelming as compared to all the promise of the premise but there's a reason I'm calling this part 2.1 cuz I am a staunch believer in buildup, and I want to do it justice.
Secondly, I am OVERWHELMED at the response the first part got. The kind words everyone wrote, trust me when I say I reread the comments hundreds of times and scrolled thru the reblogs like a fanatic. Truly thankful to everyone who stopped a second to say such sweet things, in my comments, in the reblogs and even my asks. I'm so grateful<3 Feel free to reach out if you notice any typos or errors!
I don't have a permanent taglist but if you'd like to be tagged for updates on this fic, comment below and I'll add you!
When your daughter's psychiatrist suggests you get in touch with your abusive ex-husband in prison for her sake, you're not thrilled. Fortunately for you, he's dead. Unfortunately for you, someone else is alive and very keen on playing the part of a doting father. wc: 3.1k
Anyone who saw the way you were glaring at the red envelope sitting on your kitchen counter would assume you were trying to vaporize it through thought alone.
When your daughter's recuring nightmares had made you consult a children's psychiatrist, she'd come to the conclusion that your daughter missed her deadbeat of a father.
"He's in jail" You'd deadpanned.
"Perhaps, she could visit?"
"Thank you"
You weren't interested in any suggestions the psychiatrist had to make that revolved around getting your daughter involved with your criminal of a husband. Not that you could even if you wanted to.
Hell didn't really have a visitors' policy.
As you absentmindedly braided her hair that night, you wondered if it was your bad luck or good grace that he'd been killed in a riot in jail. When the penitentiary had phoned for you to come and identify his body, you'd been scared.
Scared that it wouldn't be him and the bastard would've cheated death itself.
You decided there was no need for your daughter to ever know what kind of person her father was. But as she grew older and the neighbors' kids started talking, it was clearly affecting her more than you'd realized.
"Hey, Bun" You softly turned her to face you "Do you miss Daddy?"
Her eyes widened like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar before she hid her hands behind her back, shoulders drooping "No.."
"It's okay if you do" You reassured her. You couldn't blame her for feeling left out when she watched all the little kids get picked up by both their parents. It was obvious she'd wonder why she didn't have that.
You weighed your options. If you played it right, you could satisfy her and also keep her in the dark at the same time.
"Would you like to write him a letter?"
Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw how instantly she bloomed in joy, nodding vigorously and trying to escape your hold so she could do it immediately. You stopped her, promised you'd help her write it the next day if she went to bed at once.
Three days after she posted her letter, you brought one home with a flourish, telling her that her father had written back after all!
If the little lie you told was the reason your daughter had the dopiest smile on her face, you'd never feel guilty for it ever again. Especially not as you tucked her into bed that night, her little fist still clutching the letter like it was her lifeline.
It was only a few days later that you felt your heartbeat nearly triple when she rushed into the house, clutching a blood red envelope "Mommy! Mommy look!" You'd been folding laundry when she barreled into your legs "Daddy wrote letter again!"
You didn't mean to, but you snatched the letter from between her hands so fast, it startled her. Lower lip wobbling, you saw the tears well up in her eyes and immediately decided to do damage control.
"Daddy said I should only give you this letter if you freshen up for dinner quickly!"
When your daughter turned and sprinted for the bathroom, you couldn't believe it had worked. Abandoning the laundry, you tore the envelope open and started reading.
You stared in disbelief. Sure, you had really posted the letter to the penitentiary when your daughter had insisted to take it all the way to the post office herself. You'd come up with a random serial number on the spot and figured they'd just toss the letter when they realized there was no one with that number on the roster.
My dearest Princess,
Daddy very much misses you as well. I'm always thinking of my precious daughter.
P.S You are very good at drawing! I'm proud of you.
Love,
Daddy
Not only had someone received her letter...they'd also written back? In character?
The obvious conclusion is that it's an accident. An obvious mix-up. But your daughter is so ecstatic, you can't possibly break her heart like this.
So, you let her write a letter back. Again going to the post office and posting it.
When the third letter comes back from the prison, you decide to take matters in your own hands. Writing a little letter of your own and enclosing it with your daughter's drawings.
I really appreciate you humoring my daughter, but this was just a way to cope since her father is dead. There is no need to keep up with the farce.
I don't mind it. I quite enjoy her little sketches of the three of us. Tell her that Daddy's hair is lighter in color (:
I will not be telling her anything of the sort.
So cutthroat. You wound me, darling.
Despite yourself, you found your lips lifting at his words, but you caught yourself in record time, shoving the little note in your jeans as you quickly skimmed over his letter to your daughter before you deemed it okay to hand it to her.
She squealed with delight, clutching her new bunny by the ear as she thundered down to her room to read her letter in "secret". You watched her go till she was out of sight, still staring after her and wondering if it really was a bad idea to exchange harmless letters. If some bored criminal wanted to play house with your daughter over some letters, was there really any real danger to it?
You'd always check the letter she'd write, illegible as it was, to see if she didn't accidentally reveal any information about herself. And after she'd go to sleep, you'd only change one little thing.
Erasing her name at the bottom, you used your non-dominant hand to sign a pet name. Not once had you let your daughter's letters carry her real name over to a criminal. For the sake of her mental health, you'd allowed the letters, but this was non-negotiable to you.
Like clockwork, every Tuesday his letter arrives, you skim the contents before re-sealing it and handing it over to your daughter when she comes home from pre-school. Subsequently, you post her letter every Wednesday evening, using an address that was four blocks away from yours, belonging to the sweetest old lady who lived by herself and had dementia. You felt horrible taking advantage of the fact that she never checked her mail so you could always just conveniently swipe out the letters from her mailbox, but you brought her enough baked goods to make up for it. The letters you sent were just addressed to the penitentiary; with the serial number of an inmate you'd never know the owner of.
He signed his letters Skye but after having lived a life in hiding with a criminal, you'd learned not to trust the lot. If your daughter's deteriorating mental state hadn't been in question, the first letter would've never gone out.
One Tuesday evening, your daughter pulls at your pants to grab your attention and gives you a tiny note that she says is from Daddy. Your senses immediately go on high alert, wondering how you could've missed it, worrying he's said something inexcusable and you would have to stop this little pen pal relationship.
Am I not allowed to know what my daughter looks like?
You feel a vein throbbing in your forehead, smiling at your daughter as she stares at you with her big doe-like eyes before you distract her with a snack.
If he wants to know what your daughter looked like, he would do something crazy like wanting to meet her if he ever got out. And if that wasn't bad, he'd probably kidnap her or do something inane, maybe he was already plotting it. Feeling your heart drop to your chest, you decide it really was the end.
That week, you don't send your daughter's letter. It remains in an unmarked envelope, hidden on the top shelf of your closet in a big box at the very back. The Wednesday of the week after, you wake up in cold sweat wondering if he sent a letter anyway. The morning of, you drop by the old lady's mailbox and quickly look through her mail just in case and sigh in relief when there's nothing in it.
The next week, you can't help the dread as you're swiping through the mailbox again, realizing how stupid you'd been. Not only had you probably endangered your daughter, but also the sweet old lady who always babysat for you whenever you had to pull extra shifts at work.
You can't keep the guilt off your face when you run into her at the grocery store that weekend, paying for her share as well when you realize she didn't remember to bring her wallet with her, heart pinching in agony at having taken advantage of her situation. Your daughter is skipping in front as you carry all the grocery bags, dropping the old lady off at her place with her stuff. She insists you stay for tea and you're about to decline but she's already bribed your daughter with cake and it's too late to retreat.
The sun is setting in streaks of orange and blue when you finally wave goodbye to her, adjusting the beanie on your daughter's head before she runs off again. You cross the mailbox, your stomach dropping as you backtrack and decide to doubly check.
Your hands are sweaty, forehead perspiring as you pluck out the blood red envelope, gulping as the dread overwhelms you, like hands wrapping around your throat and squeezing squeezing squeezing to see how long you'd last.
You quickly shove the letter inside your purse before your daughter can catch sight of it. There was no way she was going to read it- if at all- without you proofreading it first.
The entire walk home, you cannot keep your eyes off her. Heart palpitating like any minute you expect someone to pick her off the street and run away where you could never find her again.
Your mind is on the contents of the letter throughout preparing dinner, watching your daughter's favorite show, her bath time, reading her a story to bed and finally, like all the other nights for the past week reassuring her that her Daddy does love her even if he's not written back in a while.
By the time you're finally alone, you're about ready to rip off your hair from its roots as you hastily open the envelope and pluck the letter out.
You skim the letter, it is inconspicuous, nothing suggesting that he never received another letter, keeping the conversation going like always. Asked her about school, her best friend Kara (who was a plushie, but he'd never know) and what kind of cake she liked. Totally innocent. Picking up where they'd previously left off.
You checked for another note, and sure enough there was one. Hands trembling, you opened the twofold and started reading.
Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,
You'd have appreciated the sarcasm if your knees weren't fighting the urge to buckle and give in from the dread.
I suppose I have scared you with my little request. Thus, the lack of letters from your end for the past couple weeks. I apologize for the same, I only realized the implications of my request afterwards. I meant no harm and would understand if you would like to stop completely.
You trusted the man as far as you could throw him. Considering you knew nothing about him; you decided even that was unreliable.
But once in a while, with your permission of course, if the little bunny draws any more pictures, I'd be very much interested in seeing them.
You huffed out a laugh at his audacity, feeling your chest deflate. Years spent trusting your instinct to protect your daughter had wound you so tight that feeling even a single knot loosen was enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.
In sickness and in health,
Daddy
As you posted your daughter's letter that Wednesday, you couldn't help but laugh at your inside joke, wondering how he'd take it. If his previous demeanor was anything to go by, you were guessing it'd be in stride.
"Mail!"
Complete silence filled the yard, all the inmates stopping where they were, at odds with how they'd usually be clawing over each other to get their mail first.
Because no one touched their letters till he had taken his.
The crowd parted like the red sea, hordes of men in orange clearing a path till the mailman who, for all the brave face he put on, was trembling in his pants as well. He could feel the bead of sweat on his back, lining his forehead as he watched him approach, praying to all the Gods up in Heaven that someone- anyone had written this man a letter.
When he'd realized there was no letter for him, yet again, no one had been allowed to take theirs. Not because he forbade them, but because they were scared of what he'd do.
He'd not raised his voice, barely bothered looking intimidating and yet no one stood in his vicinity as he carded through the envelopes, not finding one for himself before asking in a saccharine tone "Are you sure you didn't misplace any?"
The first week, the mailman had been cocky, confident. He'd tched as he snatched the mail back, wondering why no one else was stepping forward "Don't blame me just 'cuz there ain't a letter for you in here ya bloke"
But when no one else stepped forward to take their mail, all that confidence had wavered as he looked around at downcast eyes, no one willing to risk upsetting him any more than he already was.
For the past two weeks, inmates had been avoiding him like the plague. He wasn't amiable on any day but if he didn't receive his letters on Friday, it was a long weekend for all of them.
Especially the ones who challenged him in the ring on Saturday nights.
The second week, it was a similar outcome. The mailman didn't understand what exactly was going on but the nervous, fidgety energy of the inmates was making him nervous as he watched him go through the envelopes and come up empty.
This time he'd just raised an eyebrow, making the mailman sweat "I didn't misplace any!" The desperation and fear ringing clear in his voice.
He'd smiled, crimson eyes glimmering in the sunlight "No one's blaming you" He'd turned around but the wind still carried over the last word "Yet"
The mailman had found himself rechecking for any lost envelopes thrice. He didn't know what would become of him if he returned another week without a letter.
Everyone waited with bated breath as he flipped through the stack of mail the mailman had just handed over and a collective sigh of relief escaped when he plucked out a measly white envelope, lips lifting in a sinister smirk as he handed the rest of the stack back, uncaring of the crowd descending on the poor mailman now that they had the green signal.
He returned to his cell, littered with drawings lining the walls surrounding a single bed, desk and chair. His fingers were twitching with excitement as he tore open the envelope and three things fell out.
He picked up the one on the top first. His daughter had written back to him finally, describing in great detail that she had won a finger-painting competition in school, that Kara came second, her favorite cake was "stroubery". A wry smile lifted his lips at the little sketch of the cake next to the text with cherries lining the top.
Like always, she'd signed it
He admired your resolute, truly. Your daughter's writing was so dark that it would leave indents behind the paper and yet, you'd erase her name so cleanly every time that despite multiple attempts at shading over the lines of the pencil indents, he was yet to figure out her name.
Luv u forehver
Princess Bunny
Picking up the second letter, he couldn't help the smirk spreading over his lips when he saw what you'd addressed it.
Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,
God, he wanted to see you mouth off to him in person so bad.
I've attached a picture of her.
He was so surprised that he immediately dropped your letter to look at the polaroid you'd sent him. One he stared at for all of two seconds before throwing his head back and barking with laughter, unable to help himself as his shoulders shook with mirth.
Resting his forehead on the letter, he could faintly smell the perfume lingering on it and wondered what you looked like. He'd spent almost every day since your first letter wondering who you could possibly be. Sure, he had no reason to lie here and actually complete his sentence, he could get out whenever he wanted but he looked forward to his daughter's letters. There was no fun in finding out who you were through Luke and Keiran when he was sure he could get you to come to him. And you would. Slowly but surely.
Beautiful, isn't she?
She looks forward to your letters so I suppose you can keep sending them.
In happiness and in sorrow,
Mommy
As he pinned up the latest letter next to the others, he also pinned the polaroid next to it, unable to escape the huff of laughter escaping him when he gazed at the ultrasound.
Sylus would make you his. There was simply no other option.
Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,
She is, indeed the most beautiful little princess I've ever seen. She takes after her mother, I'm sure. For research purposes, would you be willing to provide evidence I can submit?
To have and to hold,
Daddy
Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,
Do you want my ultrasound too?
For better or for worse,
Mommy
Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,
I don't mind. Although, I'll admit I usually save the ultrasounds for a third date.
For richer or for poorer,
Daddy
Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,
Unfortunately for you, I don't have those ultrasounds or a third date for you.
To love and to cherish,
Mommy
Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,
Why don't we start at a first one then? I would like to know the color of your eyes.
Till' death do us part,
Daddy
A/N: This has been marinating in my drafts for two months now. Time to unlock multiple chapter fics<3
Summary: a continuation of a cat hybrid!mc/reader x sylus story. After Sylus kills your owner in a business deal gone sideways, you follow him home without asking for permission. This part is a story about some of the consequences of that decision, and how you unintentionally returned to your human form. To be continued in part 4. 4,268 words.
Content: mass murder, sushi, eyeball licking, fluff and angst, Sylus having the time of his life.
And thus begins your life of fableâthe dread dragon, feared by all, rumored to cannibalize his enemies and scorch the territories with flames and salt the fields of anyone who dares oppose himânow always appears in public within his empire with a little black cat on his arm, who lounges in his lap as he negotiates deals in the most exclusive night spots in the N109 zone.
The dread dragon, Mr. Qin, is known to always get what he wants.
But everyone knows black cats bring bad luck.
And so, at first, rivals and begrudging business associates assume he's lost his touch. Maybe gone a little soft, or daft.
So, like sharks circling chum in the water, failing to see the wicked hook in the bloody gloom, they begin to test their luck.
Previously reliable suppliers start 'misplacing' certain parts of shipments. The best parts. Rivals begin to edge in on the dread dragon's turf, causing ruckuses at businesses he is known to ownânightclubs, casinos, and a chain of cat cafes he recently acquired. They intimidate the employees, the nearby residents, offering better 'protection' than what the dragon can offer these days, what with his true colors showing as a frivolous peacock with a weakness for literal pussy.
After all, as quickly as a king can rise, a king can fall, they say.
Mr. Qin takes it all in stride, receiving the increasing reports of insulting chaos encroaching into his domain calmly, only tapping his finger against the kitchen counter as he lounges on a stool, idly watching you eat your weight in perfectly seared wagyu beef on a delicate plate of china.
"You gotta do something, boss-man," one of the magpies, the one with the scarâKieran, says agitatedly one night. He's almost vibrating with indignation.
"We can take care of it. Just give us the wordâwe can have charges in every single one of the upstarts' bases within twenty-four hours," the other magpie, Luke, shifts from foot to foot, just as restless as his brother.
They're both clothed, nowâall black ensembles, cargo pants with as many belts and buckles and pockets as Mr. Qin seems to have on his 'casual' outfits. Unfortunately, they've have never appeared before you naked since that first night.
"And just one detonator! One click andâ" Kieran cries.
"Boom! Like the end of Fight Club!" they crow together, miming entire skyscrapers collapsing one by one, complete with sound effects.
"Only the film version,"Mr. Qin just sniffs disdainfully. "The film was completely unfaithful to the book."
"Not the point, boss! The point is, BOOM!" Luke's eyes are wide, like a little kid who thinks that if he just explains his genius plan to the grown-up slowly and loudly this time, the grown-up will eventually come around to seeing his genius vision.
Leaning forward, Mr. Qin rests both elbows on the counter. "Many bases these fools own are prime real estate. Destroying them would be a waste, when I can simply take over and lease the premises to tenants with a better sense of self-preservation than their current occupants."
The twins' shoulders slump in unison.
"However, I do have some small fish that need frying, so you're welcome to throw grenades into their ponds instead."
Immediately perking up, the magpies are so overjoyed that they'll get to blow anything up in the near future even if it's not as cool as Fight Club that they shift right out of their clothes, winging around the room in a flurry of chittering, dive-bombing Mr. Qin's head, and then zooming out of the kitchen when your back has arched enough to let them know that if they continue, there will be Consequences.
Luke had to lose a few feathers before they both understood that you mean business when it comes to protecting Mr. Qin's glorious hair.
"Did you eat your fill, Kitten?" Mr. Qin asks idly.
You answer with a satisfied purr, slinking over to him and rubbing your cheek and body along his arm and chest leaning over the counter.
Thoughtfully running a hand over your back, he scritches behind your ears. "Good. I hope your appetite is as endless as always, because it's time to kill two birds with one stone, and you're going to help me do it."
More food, and helping Mr. Qin?
A truly fabled life indeed.
Later that night, you find yourself in a familiar setting. To the average patron, it's a small place. So small that the waiting list for a reservation is known to stretch into years, and not just months. Just a few stools along a bar, a few small tables for two along the windows facing a quiet city street. The waiting list is so long because it has always been, essentially, one person operation. The art of sushi has been passed down for generations in the same family, with the parent training their child who then takes over the business and continues the family legacy. All they make is sushi, and they simply make the best sushi in the world. No wonder that the menu prices reflect such exquisite offerings.
However, to those in the know, beyond the tiny dining area, there is a back room. Larger than the dining room out front, but still small as far as rooms that serve its purpose typically are. Back here, there are no chairs.
The room itself, windowless, only narrow enough to contain the long table, still feels light, airy, with its blond wood-paneled walls lined with alcoves containing lovely vases and elegant flower arrangements. The effect is serene, a counterpoint to the blood soaked, high tension decisions that are made within its walls.
At the far end of the room, next to the door leading to the front and the kitchen, a beautifully carved liquor cabinet sits. The respective lackeys accompanying their bosses mix the drinks and serve âwarm sake. Whiskey and soju. Bourbon and scotch. Serious drinks for supposedly serious people.
The clientele sit on cushions, shoes off, socked feet whispering across the tatami mat floor when they must move around to obsequiously pour their boss's drinks or discreetly hand them documents for review.
To enter this dining room, weapons must be surrendered at the door to the restaurant's only staff aside from the chefâthe sous-chef, in training under her mother, this generation's current chef. This is a neutral location, after all, and all must walk in having surrendered their means of harm to others. That is the sacred rule of this hidden room, inviolate for years stretching back into memory.
Mr. Qin sits at the head of the long, low table. He has said nothing, simply nodding his head as the guests initially filed in and took their seats. He's relaxed as you curl into his lap, cradled between his crossed legs. The picture of indolent insouciance, his serenity sharply contrasts with the acrid stench of nervous fear wafting through the air from most of those seated around the table. All but one person reeks of guiltânot remorse, but the feeling of having done something that, if discovered, will warrant swift, horrifying punishment.
The sous-chef, tall and svelte, enters repeatedly, bringing in each round of sushi, carefully plated, one item at a time, to be savored in its individual glory before the next round is brought.
As the food arrives and empty plates depart, the guests share surface-level pleasantries, innocuous and polite.
All lies. Tigers wearing bow ties.
You don't pay attention to the particularities of meetings like thisâthey mean nothing to you, provided no one smells of violent hostility towards Mr. Qin. They can hate all they like. They can look all they like. And so long as Mr. Qin smells calm, you don't trouble yourself with his fleeting anger or amusement, with what's actually being said underneath the sheathed words.
As Mr. Qin's silence stretches, the discomfort in the room rises. But he waits, patiently, occasionally sipping some fizzy concoction that reeks of gin, as the people in the room grow increasingly restless. They desperately try to avoid staring as he hand-feeds you a portion of each priceless dish carefully prepared by the internationally-renowned chef, even as indignant disgust thickens their already foul scents.
After more than two hours of his silence, and as the meal is entering its final course, the sous-chef brings one of the highlights of the menu: fugu sashimi. Or, raw pufferfish.
A delicacy, and incredibly dangerous if prepared by inexpert hands due to the neurotoxin naturally occuring within it. You perk up, having heard of fugu before, back before, before, beforeâŠ. you shake your head, ears flapping.
It's prized as such a delicacy not only because of its taste, but because the thrill of eating something so deadly often evokes a euphoric feeling in the one eating it. Some even report an aphrodisiac quality to their experience of consuming it.
As the sous-chef places the dish before Mr. Qin, you lean over to take a lick, but for once, his large hand slips between your nose and the fish.
"Not tonight, Kitten. I'll share fugu with you another time, under more convivial circumstances."
This gentle denial, given as if you're an actual person, is the final spark that ignites the simmering, resentful ire of the gathered guests.
"How much longer must we endure this grotesque display of poor manners before we get down to business?" One of the guests demands, loud and irritated. Many others grunt or nod in accord, finally brave now that someone else has drawn a target on his own back.
Mr. Qin simply hums, not taking his eyes off you. "Would you say that bringing an emotional support kitten to an establishment that allows them is less polite than say⊠theft or extortion from your valued business partners?"
The room goes quiet as the clink of chopsticks against plates and everyone's breath ceases.
Finally, the mutinous guest who was brave enough to initially complain clears his throat. "That is a serious allegation, Mr. Qin." He glances around the room, as if gathering support from his counterparts. "Do you have proof?"
"Proof, hmmm," your human, ruby eyes glinting in the low light, muses. "My kitten is all the proof I need."
"Ha, yes. We've all noticed lately how your⊠behavior, has changed recently. As if you've become more⊠distracted." The leader of the mutiny, though his confidence is growing with Mr. Qin's seemingly bizarre behavior untempered by shame or concern, remains cautious in choosing his words. The scent of fear, but also derision, intensifies.
"If I were distracted, you would be free to continue your unwise flirtation with my ire without consequence," Mr. Qin slips a thin slice of the fugu into his plush mouth. His subsequent noise of pleasure elicits a purr from your own throat, as you enjoy seeing him happy as much as experiencing your own happiness.
The leader of the mutiny has the audacity to roll his eyes. "You must be confused, if you think anyone at this table would dare cross you." His fear fades as his conviction that Mr. Qin has lost his marbles rises.
"Let's find out, then." Mr. Qin runs one long, elegant finger along the top of your head, down your spine. "Kitten, could you kindly indicate everyone at this table who is currently gambling with their life?"
The noises of disbelief, confusion, and disgust shatter the otherwise quiet room as you, without hesitation, rise to your paws, tail straight up in the air, and hop lightly on the table. Winding your way around and over the plates of each guest, you stop to sniff, growl, and then turn, showing your own asshole to every single asshole in this room who reeks of the scent of smug betrayal and lies.
When you stop before the one person who now smells of fascinated curiosity, the same one who hasn't smelled guilty since the beginning, you flick your tail in satisfaction and briefly nose her palm in respect, and then trot your way back to Mr. Qin's lap. He rewards you by lifting your small body into the air and nuzzling into your furry tummy. "Thank you, sweetheart."
The leader of the mutiny scrambles to his feet rather ungracefully from a cross-legged position, and seethes over the table. "This is absurd, and exactly why we can no longer trust your grip on the N109 zone. This dinner is over!"
He turns to leave, only to stop abruptly as he almost runs into the sous-chef. She stands, relaxed, legs spread a bit, one foot in front of the other. It's almost a boxer's stance, if not for the razor-thin sushi knife held, blade down, in her fist.
A knife-fighting stance.
"The meal is not quite over," she says calmly. "I must ask you to return to your seat."
The mutineer sneers as the rest of the patrons stiffen, reaching for holsters and knife sheathes out of instinct, only to remember that they're empty. "This place's neutral status is sacred. How dare you threaten us within its walls? We'll raze you to the ground if you don't stand down this instant."
The sous-chef remains unruffled. "Mr. Qin's house, Mr. Qin's rules."
The mutineer spins around, raising a finger to point at Mr. Qin, but stops, a confused look crossing his face. He lifts his fingers, now trembling, to his lips instead. As if they're already tingling as the puffer fish's neurotoxin surges through his veins. "What the fuck have you done?"
Mr. Qin ignores him, turning instead to the only person who hasn't double-crossed him in the room. "Please, continue. It would be a shame to leave this divine dish unsavored."
With wide eyes, she lifts her chopsticks and slips another slice of fugu into her mouth, as the mutineer drops to the tatami, unable to breathe another word. The remaining patrons begin to slump in turn, some straight backwards with quiet thumps, some sprawling forward onto the table, the cacophony of dishes clinking and drinks spilling rising into a crescendo until the only sound remaining is the quiet chewing of the person left alive at the table.
"Thank you for another lovely dinner, Rin-san," Mr. Qin nods to the sous-chef in appreciation. "My regards to your mother." She nods in turn and slips out of the room. Turning back to the final guest, he waves his hand. "Stay, if you'd like. But when you are done, spread the word of what happened here tonight. I'd rather focus on my Kitten, instead of fools, for the near future."
"Of course, Mr. Qin."
And that, was that.
Your days continueânights, really, drifting along at the dread dragon's side. The unrest in his domain evaporates, so much steam from screaming kettles boiling empty into silence. Now, when business partners or rivals see the black cat on his arm, the only scent in the air is terror.
Everyone knows black cats bring bad luck, after all.
To them. Not to Mr. Qin.
Mr. Qin's house, Mr. Qin's rules, after all.
This makes you purr, eliciting an answering pleased rumble deep in Mr. Qin's chest. You don't question why, simply reveling in the satisfaction of enemies quivering in fear and your human's pleasure in their amenability to his desires.
One night, months later, Sylus lounges in his huge, standalone marble bathtub. It sits before a soaring window as the N109 zone's sky lightens almost imperceptibly, signaling the coming dawn that this rancid part of the world never sees.
You slink along the rounded edges of the tub, enjoying the challenge of not slipping from either side while still remaining as close to Mr. Qin as possible as he soaks in a place you will not follow, mo matter the depth of your devotion to him. He twirls a glass of wine from languid fingertips, steam rising from the warm water, rippling with every little movement of his powerful body.
"You could join me," he offers, offhandedly. He's not looking at you, instead gazing into the wine before taking a sip. In his scent, a deep interest belies his seeming indifference to any response from you. "If you wanted to change into⊠something more comfortable."
Continuing to glide along the smooth stone, you ignore him. No way you want to get wet. If you need to get clean, which you do not, thank you very much, as you are already pristine and perfect in every way at (least in terms of hygiene, even if not in temperament), that is what your tongue is for, not a death pool ready to drown you and make you look ridiculous with flattened fur if you do manage to escape.
"Shame." His gaze, which you are pointedly ignoring, is so heavy behind you that it slightly raises the fur along your spine. It remains on you for a beat before he sighs and casts it toward the window and the glittering city below. "Perhaps I am losing my mind, after all," he murmurs, but there is no conviction in this assertion in his scent. Whatever is puzzling him, he is sure he knows the truth of it.
More months pass. You don't know how long you've been with him. Only that he has never stopped showing you the kindness, the care, and the companionship that he offered you from that very first night.
Perhaps you should have seen it coming. Perhaps you should have run long before it was even a possibility.
But how could you know to run, if you didn't think it were possible?
One can't return to the past, after all. Time doesn't flow backwards, no matter how much you throw yourself against the bars of the cage.
What's done is done. Caleb is dead. And with Caleb, your old self died too.
You are a cat, with a dragon-like human who needs to be protected, and cherished, and adored, as he does for his cat.
That is all there is. That is all you need.
Mr. Qin reads aloud to you every dawn before bed, as the morning sun spills over everywhere that is not here, signaling his night, and yours as well.
Whatever he happens to be reading, he reads out loud, with his rimless, gold accented reading glasses glinting in the light of the lamp on the nightstand, some kind of stained glass, Tiffany-style thing, designed to look like a crimson flower with wicked points. His words are the lullubies to your dreamless, peaceful nights curled at his side. By the dawning of the night, you often wake, curled up on his chest instead.
One such night, you wake to find that he is already awake too, staring at you with calm, curious eyes. You have the strange sense that he has been awake for awhile, but for some reason has made no effort to move you aside all the while, no effort to get up and start his version of the day. You've trained him well.
It's as if he's waiting to see what you'll do, now that you're awake too.
You roll a little, crouching on your belly like you're on the hunt for a mouse and want to remain as low as possible. The corners of his full lips lift slightly, the interest sharpening in his ember-eyes. Creeping forward, you brush your nose against his.
He doesn't move, just continues to watch you. There is something about his eyes that is so maddening, if you look into them for too long. Especially his right eye, the same one that glowed so bright, almost blinding, when he took you to the mall. You haven't seen it glow like that since, but you have the urge, all at once toâ
you surge forward, as if pouncing on a mouse, and lick his right eyeball.
Both his face and scent reveal shock, fading to surprise, and then amused disgust.
"I don't know what I expected," he laments, a low laugh rumbling through his chest and through your body still crouched on him.
He lifts you into his arms and swings out of bed, and thus your day begins.
That night, he reads The Traveling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa as you're falling asleep.
"As we count up the memories from one journey, we head off on another." His rich voice is a soothing bass rhythm as he reads. "Remembering those who went ahead. Remembering those who will follow after. And someday, we will meet all those people again, out beyond the horizon.â
The words melt into you, fusing into the marrow of your brittle bones, seeping into spidering fractures you hadn't realized were there. Somehow, these words are comforting. Deep lilac, shot with sunset orange and pink, fills your half-asleep consciousness. But for once, that strange mewling is nowhere to be heard.
All the while, Mr. Qin's voice cradles you, a steady vessel carrying you safely on an endless river free from memory as you drift into dreamless sleep.
The waking is easy.
The waking has been easy, for months now. Maybe over a year?
You don't know how long you've been with him.
You should have seen it coming.
The waking is easy.
Warmth. Smooth skin, soft silver fur under your cheek. Long legs, entwined with yours. Your body rises and falls with his breath as you're draped over his soft, firm, pillowy steel-muscled chest.
The waking is easy.
You should have seen it coming.
The past can't be undone, nor can a leopard change its spots.
A cat who is not only a cat can't stay a cat forever.
The waking is easy.
Red eyes meet yours, crinkling at the corners with such genuine, unguarded joy that they are briefly rendered unfamiliar to you. You've never seen him smile so fully.
"There you are, sweetheart."
You can only live your head, chin resting against his chest, gazing placidly at him, easy in your waking, not suspecting anything amiss. Yet his handsome face with its severe contours, his long nose and the regal profileâit all seems ⊠smaller. Everything about him seems smaller, somehow.
He's still huge, but he's less⊠giant, somehow.
He's gorgeous, actually. He's gorgeous not just as a sculpture in a museum, but attractive in a way that is physically painful, not just in your chest from your heart squeezing in the face of such artistic, divine beauty, but painful everywhere. His bulk under the entire length of your body. The soft hair along his legs brushing along your own legs. His heart jack-hammering in his chest underneath yours, matching your own jack-rabbiting beat. His skin against yours, silk and electricity.
His skin against your skin.
Not your fur.
You should have seen it coming.
He lifts his hand and brushes his thumb along your cheek. "I knew you'd be magnificent, if I were right." His voice is soft, steeped in awe. "But I hadn't realized just how truly breathtaking reality would be."
You should be able to smell the truth of his words, not just hear it in his voice.
But your nose, the scents in itâmuted, and yet more colorful. He still smells delicious, musk and sleep, warmth and citrus, clean sweat. But all the layers of his feelingsâ
You can't feel his feelings from the way he smells anymore. He's an opaque polaroid instead of a neon mural, and you can only fumble for the clues of his feelings by the crinkling of his eyes, the timbre of his voice, the slowly tightening lines of his full lips as his smile fades into concern.
His soft silver eyebrows draw together, the furrow between them deepening.
"Kitten," he says, cautious. "I'm still me."
You wonder why he's saying this until his other hand joins his first, both palms now cupping your cheeks.
"And you're still you."
Oh.
You're shaking. Rolling tremors, an earthquake under your skin.
He thumbs along the sensitive skin under your eyes soothingly. "Breathe with me." Taking a deep breath, expanding his big chest where its pressed under yours, he coaxes your breath from your body.
After all this time, under his shelter, in his care, sheltering him, caring for himâwhat can you do but follow where he leads?
He's still him.
Even if you don't know what you are, anymore.
"Mr. Qin," you croak, helpless. Your cheeks are hot, and wet. Moisture slicks the paths his thumbs take, back and forth. The air is thick with its salt.
The furrow between his brow fades, his lips curving in pleasure again. "Surely we're on a first-name basis by now, Kitten, what with you watching me bathe and piss for over a year, and now waking up naked in my bed. Call me Sylus."
You look down, see the truth in the swell of your chest pressed against his own, feel the truth in the silk sheets along your bare back and ass.
Of course. It's not like you can take your clothes with you when shifting from human to animal, animal to human . Any movies or games that depict such idiocy are just censored nonsense.
But that's unimportant. You frown back up at him, the inexplicable tears fading as indignation rises. "If you didn't want company while you were on the toilet, you should have locked the door, Sylus."
He blinks in shock, eyes widening ever so slightly, but recovers quickly. "It took you long enough, but oh, were you worth the wait," he laughsâhearty, breathless, excited.
You don't need his scent to know that he's delighted.
Thank you for reading! there will be a part four with you learning how to human (or trying) and Sylus courting his kitten. I'm having a great time writing this. I'd love to hear what you think in tags or comments! People asked to be tagged so I'm going to try to do that in the comments.
Also, please note that for dramatic effect, everyone was affected by the pufferfish neurotoxin at the same time. This is not realistic at all, so Rin-san convinced her mother to add a little extra 'seasoning' to the sashimi to ensure the dramatic end that Mr. Qin was aiming for. So don't come at me if you're some kind of marine biologist or pufferfish connoisseur. Or actually do, I love all feedback. Okay bye!
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As a person with⊠I think hazel eyes? Idk, theyâre blue ringed with green that turns to an orangey-yellow around my pupil, I feel this post needs more positive commentary.
Summary: You and Levi form a new dynamic and come to an understanding, but not without a bump in the road.
Word Count: 12.5k
Content/Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 139 AND PART TWO, sexual themes, rumination, emotional angst, mentions of canon-typical violence, self-hatred, guilt, post-traumatic stress, mentions of character death, alcoholism, allusions to depression, shared trauma
Authorâs Note: Wow it has been a hot minute since I updated. Sorry for the wait - I ended up rewriting the entire chapter because I loathed the first draft, and it also ended up being 10k, then I spent way too long looking at this so now I canât tell if it's good or not. I just know my eyes are burning. Though I do really love this chapter because itâs pretty much entirely Levi-centric! Big thanks to @lacheri for beta-reading a scene - sheâs posting one of my favorite Levi series right now so you should go read it if you know whatâs good for you!!!
Series Masterlist | Buy Me A Coffee | AO3 | Next
Levi sits with his back against a tree, one knee tucked to his chest with the other outstretched in front of him.
Beside him, Isabel picks at the grass. She hums quietly, sprinkling the specks of green over his leg. It tickles where it falls, but he doesnât stop her because he doesnât want to have to entertain the redhead himself.
Furlan is off having a piece of gear adjusted by a Captain. From a distance, Levi can still see his brow wrinkled in concentration while he tugs a stubborn strap a few notches tighter over his chest.
Itâs peaceful, mostly. Quiet conversation hovers in the air from a short distance away. A cadet is laughing obnoxiously loud. Wind rustles the leaves above where the midday sun threatens to poke through.
The break passes by at a slow pace.
Leviâs lost in his own thoughts when a boot-clad foot nudges his ankle. Distracted by her grass-picking, Isabel seems to notice the presence just as Levi does.
He grunts then glances up through dark lashes, brows and lips pressed into a firm, unamused line.
Sharp eyes and a tilted mouth greet him warmly.
âOi, Levi,â the voice says. Itâs familiar, as if heâs only ever heard it once before. Probably because he has only heard it once.
The back of your head moves in front of the sun so he can finally see your features. Right, youâre that girl from the forest. The one who kept up, who almost beat him. You spent more time talking and less time watching where you were going. It was a wonder you didnât crash into a tree.
âWhat?â he sneers.
You smile down at him like youâre the happiest woman alive. All teeth with sparkling eyes that wrinkle in the corners. He wonders how someone who lives in a world as shitty as this one could possibly bear a grin as bright as yours.
Distaste lands on his tongue.
âRelax,â you ease. âI just wanted to say⊠Iâll beat you next time.â
His brow raises. âHuh?â Beside him, Isabel bursts out into a fit of giggles. Her eyes are shining and blue and her smile stretches so wide you can see all her teeth, kind of like you, but kind of not.
Thereâs something inherently different in the way you both smile. Maybe itâs in the eyes. Levi isnât sure what prompts the realization because he doesnât really care about you.
âYouâre crazy!â she squeals, oozing excitement. Her energy spills out in waves that would drown any normal person. âNo one can beat my Bro! Heâs the fastest. And the strongest!â
Levi exhales through his nose.
You hum in consideration. Another shrug of your shoulders catches his attention, and you steady one of your hands on your belt. âAh, maybe.â The other scratches at the back of your neck. âI guess weâll just have to wait and see then, wonât we?â
Isabel giggles, nodding her head, and Furlan rejoins his friends. He stands beside you, offering a firm bob of his head to be amicable. You return the gesture.
âI donât think weâve met before,â he acknowledges, studying you. Something kind flickers in his eyes. Leviâs gaze drifts suspiciously towards him.
âOh,â you grunt. As you open your mouth to answer, a shrill voice barks out a name, and your head swivels over your shoulder. When you turn back to the three, your eyes squint. âSorry. Theyâre calling me!â
Levi watches your heels pound the grass as you leave. You wave goodbye over your shoulder.
He assumes that was your name that was called. Whatever. Heâll forget all about it anyway when he leaves this place.
Furlan breaks the silence. âShe was hot.â
Levi grumbles. âShut your shitty mouth and get a grip⊠Fucking ridiculous.â
Isabel howls with laughter.
-
His hand traces your hairline, pushing back stray strands that have matted in your sleep. While his fingernails gently scratch back into your scalp, he holds his breath, not wanting to wake you too soon.
The sun isnât even out yet. He just woke earlier than expected despite how deeply he was sleeping, and now that the sight of your dozed face is plastered in front of his own, it feels like a mistake to even blink.
Levi slowly reaches down and tugs on the thin sheet below the comforter, tucking it over your shoulder. He moves the thicker blanket into place overtop. The last thing he wants is for you to wake up shivering from the cool morning.
His fingertips return to your face, feather-light strokes outlining the small scars and divots in your skin; one scar hidden under the hairs of your eyebrow; another more faded scar near your temple. He combs the messy hair of your eyebrow into place with his blunt fingernail, following the arch before veering down your jawline to your chin.
He pulls down on your bottom lip, follows the canal of your Cupidâs bow, brushes the tip of your nose, then your under eyes and your lower lashes.
His hand sinks back into your hair, scrunching soothingly before smoothing out the mess he made.
Memories of the night before trickle into his consciousness, and he sighs into himself, wondering if the clenching deep inside his chest will ever seize. Some intense part of him enjoys the discomfort that comes with it, because it reminds just how close you are to him.
No oneâs looking, but his palm covers as much of his face as his fingers can stretch, shielding the blush burning on his cheeks. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, then proceeded to fuck you into the sheets like heâd never been touched in his whole life.
Godâs sake, heâs felt your mouth once and already has memorized the weight.
You stir, face pinching as you roll onto your back. You have to blink your eyes a few times before your vision can fully adjust, and you drag your thumbs below your eyes. Levi watches with his head propped on his knuckles.
âYouâre up early,â he greets with a hoarse voice.
You merely grunt in response and sit up, the sheets slinking down around your waist. Levi stretches his arm far to swipe his collared shirt off the floor and fixes the sleeves so theyâre no longer inside-out.
âHere.â He holds the shirt open behind you. âItâs cold.â
You murmur an incoherent âThanksâ and slide your arms through the sleeves that Levi presents, only bothering to button half of the shirt. Leviâs hand on your shoulder stops you before you can get up.
âAre you crabby this morning? Hm?â he mutters, but his gray iris glints with fondness. He pops his thumb into his mouth and brings it to the corner of your mouth, wiping away saliva that managed to dry on your skin in your sleep. Your entire body warms. âGo brush your teeth then come back to bed.â
You nod, leaning into his touch, and he reluctantly lets his hand fall to his lap.
âGood girl,â he sighs. It reminds you of the way he sighed last night after every kiss.
You spend only a few minutes in the bathroom, but when you come out, you look a little less disheveled than you did when you first awoke.
But instead of walking around to your side of the bed, you crawl on top of Levi, bare legs pinned on either side of his body. He winces and lets out a grunt, caught off guard, but angles himself comfortably so the two of you are on your sides facing the other. The blankets separate your bodies.
âHi,â you finally hum, nose brushing his neck. He can feel your small intakes of breath over his skin.
âGood morning,â he responds. His hand cups the naked backside of your thigh and slides up over your bottom. When his fingers reach your lower back, he rubs soothing circles. âDid you sleep okay?â
âMm-hm. You?â You squirm around on top of him before wriggling below the blankets, your shirtâor his shirtâriding up so that your stomachs are pressed flush together. He settles the blankets back into place over your hips.
âI did,â he answers. âChrist. Youâre so fucking hot.â
You laugh through your nose. âThanks, I guess?â
âNo. I mean, youâre like a thousand degrees. Iâm sweating my ass off already.â
Your head snaps up and you frown at him. âFine then,â you grumble. âIâll just go back to my cold sideâ â
Levi letâs out an irritated huff. His arms lock around your waist and he rolls your bodies over until heâs on top, your wrist pinned beside your head by his fingers. Your chest sinks in, his eye following the shallow movement before flitting back up. He looks into your eyes before his gaze drops to your mouth; his pounding heart does very little to steer him away.
âYes?â you inquire, breathless.
Leviâs hand moves from around your wrist to your hand, where his remaining fingers thread themselves within your own. You squeeze back, following the path of his other hand through your lower lashes as he picks at the buttons of his shirt.
âYou gonna fuck me again, Levâ?â you exhale, eyes fluttering shut. You had sex last night, and that blissed-out expression that was there post-climax is still very much etched into your features.
Heâs tempted to oblige you just to keep that expression there for a little longer. âWould you like me to?â
I will, he thinks, Iâll bury myself inside you until all you can feel is me.
You shudder as his mouth ghosts over your sternum, hand still securely entwined with yours. You feel more fingertips drifting up and down your side.
âYou can do whatever you want with me,â you whisper.
He kisses you right over the hollow spot, thumb ghosting your already pebbled nipple. Thereâs a heat building between you, but it isnât anything too unbearable, and Levi finds that it isnât necessarily sex heâs eager for, but a goddamned good morning kiss.
Like heâs some needy brat.
But he almost feels a bit too shy to ask.
Levi studies you for a moment and decides you look ready to fall back asleep. He wouldnât mind feeling you curled up against him, back rising and falling with even breaths while he traces every scratch and scar on your skin.
Is he allowed to kiss you again?
He settles back onto his knees and watches you drift off.
Itâs been four years and he still isnât quite used to how your lives have turned out. He knew he had to make it to this pointâhe had to make it to the end and see the results of his comradesâ sacrifices. And he stayed true to every last one of his promises. Thanks to you, heâs sure he did.
At the beginning, he underestimated you. He didnât see the reason behind having a Second in Command, but back then, he had no interest in giving Erwin a hard time where it wasnât needed.
Either way, you surprised him.
He doesnât think you know how much you occupy his thoughts. Not now, and certainly not then.
At first, it irritated him more than anything in the world and consequently put him in a shit mood. He had to deal with you for the majority of his day, so when he finally had some time to himself, why was he still thinking about you? Why would he be able to hear your voice and picture your expressions perfectly in his mind? Why would he notice every little thing you did when he didnât even try? He was observant but it wasnât like he fixated long enough on people to find himself in a rare situation like this one.
Perhaps it was because you were forced together by none other than Erwin himself, which meant Levi couldnât refuse you, even if he wanted to.
Levi glances over his shoulder and realizes the disaster of clothing on the floor. His body snaps into motion.
He remembers plenty of his life before you. He remembers the stench of the Undergroundâthe stuffiness of the city and the dust that floated in the air. He remembers cutting through that air, with Isabel and Furlan on either side. The higher he flew, the cleaner and crisper the air he swallowed. He remembers the day they were taken from him, because that was the day he finally understood.
The world was cruel, but it would find a way to be crueler. There was always a way it could be crueler.
He pulls on a clean pair of briefs, and once the clothes from the floor are folded and piled on your respective suitcases, he tucks away the condoms and lube from the night before and sneaks back below the sheets. His legs are cold, but your body is warm.
You sleep soundly, to Leviâs delight, and he adjusts the blankets around you for a second time before draping an arm over your naked waist. His nose inhales the smell of the shirt. Linen sheets combine with something warm and sweet.
That reassurance he lost the day his friends died is right here beside him now, in another body, in another form.
Then, when he looked over his shoulder, there would be you. A superior and his dutiful, intolerable Second, who had a ridiculously high tolerance for ale and an appetite for competition that was never satiated.
It was nothing. Until it became long walks in the corridors after lights out, when the two of you were the only ones left awake.
Mulling over paperwork until one of you fell asleep with your face squished against the desk and the other working around them until the flame devoured the wick.
The tea kettle screeching before you took it off the stove, despite the amount of times Levi scolded you not to boil the water.
Corralling you into your bed after one too many drinks, and inebriated babbling that entertained him far more than heâd ever care to admit. Sometimes, when he was feeling selfish, he would keep you up a moment longer than he should have.
Stolen cigarettes shared below the stars in the dead cold of the night. When Levi looked up, he still saw his friends, but he didnât try to trouble himself with what happened after death because there were more worthwhile things to think about; like that gleam in your eyes that never seemed to leave, that he desperately aimed to preserve and feared the day that it dimmed; like the quiet sound of your laugh, and the way the corners of your eyes wrinkled when you were so happy you couldnât stand yourself.
And he just never fucking understood that unshakable look. You changed over the years. Became older and more beautiful and stronger. But that lookâit was the only thing about you that stayed the same. Some sort of childish dream. Some sort of hope, that towards the end, never sat right with him; never felt real; only until that final moment.
-
Levi holds his blazer in place over his slouched shoulders while his eyes follow the carpeted path laid out before him. Flames flicker against the stone brick walls.
The sun went down hours ago, yet Leviâs still getting interrupted by cadets in the middle of the night, informing him of the Commanderâs request to see him immediately.
Hence, his sour attitude.
He raps his knuckles against the familiar oak door, tempted to turn around and walk the other way, but when he gets the okay to enter, he nudges the door open and slips inside.
âAh, Levi. Welcome in,â Erwinâs low voice garners a grunt of recognition from Levi. âClose the door behind you, please.â
He does as asked. Itâs only then when he notices him and Erwin arenât alone. In fact, youâre here. If memory serves him right, youâre the same woman from the forest from all those years ago, whose name he still remembers despite the fact he promised heâd forget.
Has it really been that long already?
Heâs only properly spoken to you once before, but that hasnât stopped him from meeting your gaze several times in the dining hall when you happen to sit at the same table, or during strategy meetings when you end up across the room from each other.
Your eyes are a bit duller than the last time he looked into them, but they still glow with something sharp that captivates him a little too strongly for his liking.
He stares at you, utterly indifferent; to you, it looks like Leviâs never been more bored in his entire life.
âLevi. You know Reader, yes?â
âOf her, yeah,â Levi replies. His voice is laden heavily with exhaustion. Hours of paperwork when youâre still learning how to read and write takes its toll.
Levi approaches, the smack of his soles against the stone floors interrupting the thick silence.
He stops in front of the desk and turns, giving you a onceover. âSo, do you still say weird shit to people you donât even know?â
An awkward laugh escapes your lips, and you scratch the back of your neck. Like before, the corners of your eyes wrinkle up as a smile forms on your lips. âAh, right, I didn't think youâd remember that!â
âI do,â he responds.
Curiously, he watches you harden your features. You do a bad job at it, but with enough practice, you may be able to look as upset as he does on a daily basis.
You drop your hand to your side. âWell, do you typically glare at people when they have a better sense of humor than you?â
Levi doesnât glare. He stares. Mostly because heâs a tad fascinated by that glow in your eye that crackles like a flame. He realizes they hold a fondness in them. Some sort of hope.
He didnât care about it before, but he thinks he admires it now.
âI have a sense of humor,â Levi argues plainly.
You snort, shoulders relaxing. You become comfortable rather quickly with him once you realize heâs all bite. âIâm sure you do.â
âI do,â he insists.
Erwin laughs softly from his desk and interjects, âI have a feeling this will be a smart arrangement, then.â Leviâs brow arches, and Erwin takes that as his cue to explain. âLevi, Iâve recently asked you to assemble and head our new Special Operations Unit.â
Sarcastically, he murmurs, âYou did?â
âAfter taking into consideration what your new position entails, I decided itâd be wise to lift some of the burden from your shoulders. Just to help things operate more smoothly, of course.â
Levi hums. âOh? I knew what I signed up for.â
âYes, well,â Erwin gestures towards you, âIâve appointed you a Second in Command. You should get more comfortable seeing the Captain around. From now on, you will be working closely with her.â
Leviâs eyes remained glued to yours, his gaze bone-chilling, but you donât dare break eye contact with him. You let him get a good, hard look at you.
He wants to make some snarky comment about how he doesnât need a Second in Command, but assuming from Erwin's clarity on the matter, Levi knows there isnât much room left for disagreement.
Besides, when he contemplates the proposal, the benefits obviously outweigh any plausible hindrances.
Not to mention he knows plenty about you. Against his own will, of course. And from hearing people talk.
Objectively, youâre an impressive candidate for the job. A diligent and smart Captain. Tough. Witty. Your superiors speak highly of you, as does Erwin, and Levi values his opinion above anyone elseâs. Still, he concludes that youâre an intolerable and impossible person because he refuses to think anything else remotely âniceâ about you. Thereâs nothing else to it.
He watches you outstretch your hand, fingers flat like theyâre ready to slice through him. You wait for him to take your hand into his own and greet you properly.
Leviâs eyes acknowledge the scrapes and bruises littered over your knuckles. Calluses cover the pads of your fingers. He doesnât like dirt, but from what he can tell, the beds and undersides of your nails are spotless.
He reaches forward and folds your hands together. Your heart catches in your throat. Something buzzes deep inside of him.
âYou know how to make tea?â Levi asks.
You throw his hand down with enough force it nearly hurts. âDonât get it twisted, Captain. Iâm your Second, not your goddamn servant.â
Levi swears his mouth twitches. Erwinâs thick brows rise at the odd sound that escapes the manâs lips. Itâs a soft, quiet noise which lasts barely even a beat, but by the small shake of Leviâs shoulders, Erwin can tell heâs laughing.
âI prefer iced tea, anyway.â
Well, youâve done it now.
âFuck did you just say to me?â Levi growls.
Erwin intervenes, âFeel free to appoint Reader with whatever you need, Levi. Sheâs at your disposal. I trust that you know whatâs appropriate to ask of her and what isnât?â
âI do not.â
Erwin tilts his head towards you. âThen the Captain will fill you in. You both are dismissed. Thank you.â
You and Levi filter into the hallway, walking silently side by side. He removes his blazer off his shoulders and folds it over his forearm while you stare straight ahead.
Thereâs something about your presence beside him that feels final. Absolute.
âSo,â you break the silence first. âThe basics.â
Levi stays silent, but you take it as a means to continue.
âNumber oneâŠâ
You drone on, and Levi listens. Sometimes, when he gets tired of the conversation, he says something to provoke you.
He likes the way it riles you up.
-
Rain rolls down the glass windows like teardrops, and the relaxing splash coaxes Levi into the corner of his seat. His arms cross as he snuggles into himself, temple resting on the wall beside him.
He sleeps.
Minutes trickle by while the overcast sky drapes the afternoon in darkness. Though it doesnât taper your mood. Your eyes follow the rows of words before you.
For a fleeting second, you glance up, your gaze softening at the sight. The corners of your mouth upturn and you settle back into the cushion of your seat, losing your place in your book, but it isnât too much of a bother.
Leviâs shoulders rise and fall with every slow breath, his fair skin looking even paler in the grayness. There arenât any bags below his eyes. There isnât any inherent hollowness that comes from living too many lives in a single stretch.
His eyes flutter for a moment, slate-gray iris glinting below the flickering yellow light. He uses the back of his hand to rub at the scarred side of his face, scratching an invisible itch.
âEverything okay?â you ask, and he is soothed by how softly you speak.
He nods, grunting in response.
Your lips curl even further upwards. âWe should be at the station in a little less than an hour.â
Leviâs hand dips into his jacket and he pulls out a pocket watch. He sniffles. âI wonder if the rain will carry over.â
âWeâll just have to see, I suppose.â
He looks down and acknowledges the paperback in your grasp. âIs your book any good?â
Heat crawls along your cheeks. Sheepishly, you shake your head. You were too busy watching him sleep to remember any of what you read. âI-I forgot.â
âYou forgot?â He raises a brow.
âMm-hm,â you hum. âI got distracted.â
âOh? By what?â His eyes follow the menacing outline of tall peaks and forest green outside while yours linger on the sharp curve of his jaw. What a perfect picture Levi is, you think.
You wave him off. âNothing. I canât remember.â
Thankfully, he drops it. Until he opens his mouth again.
âItâs easy to tell when youâre doing that, by the way.â
You blink. âDoing what?â
Levi meets your gaze. âWatching me sleep.â
You gape for a second, trying to damper your own embarrassment by racking your brain for a way to defend yourself. But, thereâs not really any point in denying it, so why would you even try?
âI can feel it,â he continues, unperturbed, his eye contact unwavering. If you didnât know any better, youâd think he was trying to coax you to his side of the table so you could sit closer together the remainder of the trip home.
You shrug and sink into your seat. âItâs a habit.â
His eye glows a little more brightly. âA habit?â
You stare right back. âYes.â
Levi doesnât say anything more. He simply settles his head back into its previous spot and closes his eyes. âMakes sense,â he murmurs.
He has plenty of habits like that, too.
-
Petra, Eld, Oluo, and Gunther are dead.
You have a sprained wrist, and his ankle is fucked, but a sprained wrist beats a sprained ankle which means that youâre pretending to be Levi until he fully heals.
It shouldnât bother him as much as it does. Youâve proven yourself, and he knows your limits are far from being reached. He also knows youâre no stranger to operating under Erwinâs orders.
All of your friends are dead, but still, that light in your eyes doesnât go out. Levi thinks you have to be some sort of sociopath for that not to happen.
Whatâs your secret? What keeps you going? Do you sleep through the night or cry into your pillow?
He doesnât know where these questions come from.
Never in his life has he ever struggled to say anything, but there are words stuck in his throat as you mount your horse and follow Erwin to the ends of the Earth to bring Eren back. Would you do the same for him? Follow him to those ends? Would he follow you?
He waits impatiently for you to come home, and heâll brace himself in case you donât.
***
When you do come home, you're caked in blood and dragging a barely conscious commander toward the barricade of nurses and medical staff.
Levi watches you. Heâs never seen you command a crowd like this, or bark orders so loud the ground nearly shakes. The cadets listen to you. They make haste to their respective areas.
People move inside the castle, and Levi follows behind the crowd, glancing towards the 104th. Jean Kirstein is on a stretcher with a bandage wrapped around his head and dried blood on his chin. Mikasa, that gloomy brat, is attached to Eren, of course.
You're yelling again. People are shoving past you, and you knock elbows with an older guy. Harsh words are exchanged.
Leviâs there in a blink, hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. Your body trembles beneath his palms, and he chalks it up to adrenaline and exhaustion.
âLevi,â you say, voice hoarse. Your eyes droop but your irises are glinting below the lights. Shining.
âI saw you bring Erwin in,â he states, hand still on your shoulder. If you werenât so delirious, you would question why heâs touching you like this and for so long.
You nod. âHis arm is titan fodder but that crazy bastard will definitely pull through. Theyâre going to operate immediately.â
You begin to ramble, muttering stuff that sometimes doesnât make sense. Your steps falter and you sway, so he grabs you by the bicep to hold you steady. His fingers dig in harshly.
âAre you hurt?â he asks.
âWhat? What didâ â
Louder, âAre you hurt?â
âHuh, oh, no. I still got both arms. Both eyes. All my teeth. Fingers, toes, kneecapsâ â
He wonders how long youâve been awake. He wonders how long you were fighting.
âYouâre done,â he says, and he guides you out of the stuffy wing, down the corridor and to a familiar room youâve completed paperwork in dozens of times before.
Levi unlocks the door and makes sure you get inside first. Hints of pine and black tea hover in the air. You stumble into the bathroom and keen over the sink, head nearly dropping into the porcelain bowl. He has to yank your hair back to spare you a concussionâor prevent a concussion from worsening.
The sink is turned on and it takes a few seconds for warm water to pour out. He shoves a bar of soap into your hand and places your hands below the faucet.
âAre you helpless?â he remarks, covering your hands with his own to guide your movements. The white soap bar turns bright pink, suds gathering on the drain.
âTired,â you slur. Your knees wobble. You grab the edge of the sink and brace yourself. âCanât. âm tired.â
âStand up,â he orders. He grabs you by your chest harness and straightens you up with as much strength as he can muster. When your hands are a little cleaner, he pats them dry with a clean towel. âGo sit down on the edge of the tub.â
He doesnât have to tell you twice to sit down. You do it, hunched forward, and he winces as he lowers himself down in front of you and begins undoing the belts lining your thighs and hips.
âYour ankle,â you murmur. You never miss his pain.
âItâs fine,â he assures. âYouâre such a brat.â
You laugh quietly. âI donâ need a shower. Let me go to sleep.â
âNo.â
âWhy you doinâ this, Levâ?â
He nearly shudders at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and he tries to ignore why that is because he doesnât want to add it to the long list of things he already doesnât understand. âBecause you wonât remember it,â he decides.
He skillfully removes all the straps, metal clunking against his floors, followed by tall leather boots. He reaches his arms around you and unbuckles your chest harness, stiffening when he feels your forehead on his shoulder.
His heart stops.
âWhat the fuck are you doing?â he hisses. âStop that.â
âTired,â you whisper, and in a small voice murmur, âHelp.â
âI am helping,â he reminds gently. âLift your head up, Captain.â
Your head feels like a rock as you struggle to sit upright, and Levi moves around. He maneuvers you into the tub, fully clothed, then turns on the water. Ice cold bullets pelt you.
âLevi!â You lurch up. He grabs the curtain and yanks it closed. âCold!â
âTake off your clothes,â he ignores.
You poke your head out from around the curtain, wet and matted hair clinging to your face. The dried blood on your face begins to drip down your skin like crimson paint.
You look like a cat caught in a rainstorm.
ââdonât have any clothes here.â
âI will find you something to wear,â he says. âShampoo and conditioner are in there.â He hands you a clean bar of soap. âDonât forget to scrub under your nails and get your ears. Blood gets stuck in there sometimes. And donât fall asleep.â
Your head disappears behind the curtain, and before Levi leaves, he watches a red-soaked shirt land on the floor. A pair of breeches, socks, and underwear follow.
It takes you a little while to shower, mostly because every ounce of strength has depleted from your body and itâs nearly impossible to lift your limbs. You have to resort to sitting on the floor of the tub in a compact ball, knees tucked against your bare chest, heat resting on the very top while suds surround your feet. For the most part, youâve managed to scrub out the soap. Conditioner will have to wait until tomorrow.
It has to be good enough, because the water stops. You blink up, then an arm appears above you holding a clean towel.
âLevi?â you murmur. ââthat you?â
âYes. Dry off.â
âCanât.â
Silence hangs over the two of you, and itâs almost quiet enough to finally sleep in peace. You donât even hear the shower curtain opening. You just feel a towel being draped over your back and wrapped around your front. Instinctively, you seek warmth and curl into the fluff.
Leviâs strength never fails to baffle you. All he has to do is squeeze you on both sides to pull you to your feet. You step out of the tub, immediately struck by cold air that tickles every inch of wet skin.
âCold,â you whimper.
A hand carefully brushes your forehead. Levi examines a nasty, raw gash in the skin. âDid this not sting when you were washing?â
You grunt. âNumb.â
His brow wrinkles. âYouâre numb?â
You donât respond. He doesnât pester you, either. Instead, he closes his eyes and slips a loose long sleeve shirt over your head. He has to move your arms around to get them through the sleeves, but eventually, he manages to hike a pair of cotton sleep pants over your bare legs, and a pair of thick wool socks over your feet before putting you to bed.
You greet the comforter with open arms, kicking your feet underneath. The pillows are firm, like theyâre rarely ever used, but you sink into them nonetheless. Linen sheets swaddle you from your toes to your chin. You fall fast asleep in seconds, breaths evened out, feet rubbing together.
Levi sits there for a moment. Tired. Canât. Numb. All of your one-word responses bounce off in his head. You need to eat. You need to drink. You need your wounds dressed. So many things you need to do, but you can barely stand on two legs.
He brings the back of his hand to your forehead and makes way to your cheek. You arenât running a fever, which eases some of his nerves.
âWhat a bother,â he huffs, then tucks in the sheet for good measure.
The bathroom is a disaster. Itâs another thing thatâs bothering him, but heâll deal with it later. Right now he needs to check on Erwin, and see if he can be of any use.
Before he leaves, he spares a glance over his shoulder at the sleeping girl bundled up in his bed. Your body rises and falls with every breath.
By the time heâs halfway down the hall, heâs already itching to go back. Almost like itâs out of instinct; or a newly-formed habit, perhaps.
-
When you and Levi arrive at the front of the shop, Gabi is shoving the door open and flinging herself towards Levi. He grunts from the brute force of her embrace, and berates her gently while petting the top of her head. Your own arm slides around Falco's neck, tugging him into your side.
The door closes behind you and the bell sounds. Onyankopon pops up behind the counter, clad in an apron and covered in coffee grounds.
âHey you guys!â he greets, tossing his hand up.
The four of you approach the counter, and you and Gabi place the luggage onto the ground before your fingertips instinctively reach for one of the leftover croissants in the case.
âWe missed you!â Gabi smiles, leaving Leviâs side to run behind the counter. She pulls a kettle off the stove and fills two teacups.
âThank you,â Levi murmurs. He slides into a stool, propping his elbows on the countertop.
Gabi places the cup and saucer in front of him. She knows she doesnât need to tell Levi to wait for the piping hot beverage to cool. He prefers it to singe his taste buds.
Onyankopon hands a pile of letters to Levi. âRenovations tomorrow?â the man asks.
Levi sighs and begins to flip through the envelopes. âYes. Weâre getting new floors and paint.â He pulls out a folded sheet of paper and skims the fine print. âShit.â
âWhat is it?â you sigh, resting your chin on his shoulder to read the letter. âOh, taxes are due. Did you forget?â
âIt may have slipped my mind,â he responds, his voice vibrating right beside your ear. It sends a chill down your spine. You donât think you will ever get used to being so close to him.
Onyankopon pauses as he wraps the leftover pastries, brown eyes raking over the two of you. Levi doesnât make any effort to shake you off, but instead he slouches into the back of the chair and holds the letter higher so you can see it better. You mutter something softly, and he hums in response. When you pull back, your fingertips brush the nape of his neck before you join Gabi behind the countertop.
A smirk tugs at the corner of Onyankoponâs mouth. Victory pounds in his chest.
âWhy donât you guys stay for dinner tonight?â you offer. You throw a dry rag over your shoulder and drag a soaked one over the countertop, switching between the two as you clean. Levi wordlessly lifts his arms and your mail off the table and sets it on his lap to avoid dampening the paper. You wipe around your saucer.
âWe wouldnât want to impose like that,â Falco shakes his head. He pulls Gabiâs apron loose and slips it over her head.
You wave your hand, âNonsense.â
âWhat were you thinking?â Onyankopon asks.
You shrug. âNot sure. Iâll run to the store and pick up something. Beats whateverâs in the fridge.â
âIâll come!â Gabi shouts.
Falco hums in agreement. âMe too.â
You drop the rags and circle back around, sifting through your bag for your coin purse.
âAre you sure you want to go out?â Levi leans closer, gaining your attention. You look up from your hands. âI know youâre tired.â
You grin. âSays the grumpy old man who fell asleep on the train.â
Levi frowns. The wrinkle between his brows grows dark but youâre quick to smooth out the skin with your thumb.
âAh-ah,â you click your tongue.
âIâm not old.â Onyankopon snorts, and Levi jerks his head in the manâs direction. âYou got something to say, huh?â
He pretends like heâs fiddling with the register. âNothing. Nothing at all.â
You shove your coin purse back into your bag and turn to Levi. âWeâll be back in twenty or thirty minutes. Anything you need me to grab while Iâm out?â
His gaze lingers on you for a moment. You look the same as you always have but thereâs something different about you. He knows it isnât the wispy frizz climbing over your face from the humidity, or the way you stare into his eyes with a calm expression. He feels nothing at this moment. Not a racing heart or clammy palms. But your existence still sweeps over him and makes his eyes droopy, like he could fall asleep and dream good dreams.
His face heats when he realizes everyone is watching, waiting for him to open his mouth. When he does, he dips his head and sheepishly murmurs, âChocolate.â
âOf course. You want the same brand?â
âYes.â
With that, you, Gabi, and Falco all head out of the store. The sky outside isnât looking too promising, and Levi insists that you hurry home, but thatâs the last thing thatâs said before the door shuts and heâs left alone with Onyankopon.
He still has that shit-eating grin on his face.
âWhat?â Levi snaps.
âYouâre just a funny guy,â he chuckles.
âYouâre intolerable. Are you done closing shop down here?â
âYes.â Onyankopon takes off his apron and slides it onto the hook hoisted on the wall. After he grabs yours and Leviâs luggage, he spares the man a glance over his shoulder. âWhiskey?â
âSounds good to me.â
Levi and Onyankopon walk through the apartment with purpose. The luggage is dropped beside the couch, and the lights are flipped on. Levi even cracks open the balcony doors despite the humidity (itâs chilly enough to aid in some air flow after the place has been locked up for a few days).
He hovers by the bev cart and lifts a glass vile of amber liquid. A memory resurfaces.
The smell of liquor on your lips. Your thighs straddling his lap. Your bodies pressed together. The feeling that he never wanted to leave this place.
And to think he didnât kiss you that night.
With his thoughts slowly untangling themselves, he heads into the kitchen, where Onyankopon already has two glasses set out.
âIce in yours?â he asks.
Levi shrugs. âWhy not.â
Two glass cups are filled barely halfway with amber liquid and topped with ice.
He knows that Onyankopon is ready to bombard him with questionsâan interrogation of sorts, which he canât necessarily refuse because Onyankopon is technically the instigator behind what unfolded in that auditorium and that hotel room.
Damn him. Damn him because Levi fucking owes him, and he knows it.
Drawers are making a racket as the two men move about the kitchen. Silverware is placed on the counter. Pots and pans are prepped on the stovetop. From the upper cabinets, Onyankopon retrieves plates and glasses.
Levi takes a sip of his whiskey. Onyankopon mirrors him.
They partake in a staring contest.
âSay what youâre going to say already,â Levi grumbles over the rim of his cup. He takes another swig and holds it in his mouth, not really minding the potency.
Onyankoponâs face appears entirely blissed-out. âI gather you and the missus had an enjoyable weekend.â
âGet your head out of the gutter,â he sneers. His glass is placed on a coaster and Onyankopon tilts his head, enticing the man to continue. âIt was nice,â Levi settles.
âNice?â
âIt was nice, yes.â
âWhat else did you do?â
Levi thinks back. What did you do? You went to a few restaurants. Sat and ate and talked. Went to the beach. Argued for a minute. Played some card games. Went to a show but didnât watch it because you were too busy groping each other like careless, hormonal teenagers.
âWe went to the beach one of the days,â he answers. âIt rained a lot, but it didnât take away from our plans.â
âAnd the show? How was that?â
Levi throws his head back. âIt was good,â he swallows. âIâd never seen one before.â
âOh. And what was your favorite part?â Levi stares at him, devoid of any emotion, and Onyankopon bursts out laughing. It was obvious he already knew the answer before he asked. âCaptain, you dog.â
Leviâs cheeks flush pink. âFuck off.â
He waves his hand. âSo, youâre finally together then? It was starting to get pitiful, watching you pine for her.â
âWe arenât together.â
Onyankoponâs face drops. The bemused glimmer in his eye completely fades. âLevi.â
The man in question nurses his whiskey. âWhat? Itâs not that easy.â
âNot that easy, my ass,â he insists. He narrows his gaze. âYou better not be sleeping with her like that, Levi. Itâs pathetic if you areâ â
âIâm notâ â
âYouâre not? Then what are you doing?â
âI donâtâ â
âWhatâs so wrong about telling her you like her, then? Surely you know she feels the same. She has for years.â Onyankopon isnât an idiot like Levi is. From the minute that he met you all, the moment he befriended Hange, he knew everything against his own will.
âWhat?â Levi grumbles. He shakes his head. âDonât sayâ â
âAh.â Onyankopon closes his eyes, never allowing the man to complete his thought because he knows that itâs probably pulled from his ass. His face softens. âLiberio.â
Leviâs silence is a good enough response as is.
âI remember that day,â Onyankopon continues, rubbing his chin. He hands a stack of placemats to Levi who begins laying them out on the dining room table. âStill havenât figured out how to tell her, huh?â
Levi says nothing, again.
Onyankopon hums in consideration. âI suppose it isnât easy to tell your partner that you got her killed.â
Levi wants to shout at him to be quiet, but there isnât anything wrong with what he said. Itâs true, after all. Besides, knowing the person Onyankopon is, there isnât any malicious intent behind his words. Heâs simply thinking out loud and assembling the pieces Levi unknowingly provides with his silence.
âShe didnât die,â Levi whispers. He's feeling lethargic again like he did on the train this afternoon. Maybe itâs the alcohol.
âSorry. Almost killed,â he corrects, like it makes any difference. âYeah, that definitely canât be easy⊠being the one who shot her and all.â
âWhat are you doing?â Leviâs voice is low. Threatening. Like heâs being backed into a corner and clinging desperately to whatever defenses he has left. Something claws at the back of his throat and makes it impossible to swallow.
Onyankopon is silent now. Levi huffs as he slaps the final placement down, lips tugged into a frown.
âWhen are you going to realize that you did what you had to do to keep her safe?â he asks. He notes Leviâs posture, and the firm line that his mouth shifts into. Another possibility enters his mind. âOr maybe you are beginning to understand it was a mistake. And that bothers you more than anything else.â
âShut up,â Levi grunts.
âHave you ever forgiven yourself for anything?â
He hasnât, but he would, if thatâs what it took for him to finally be with you. Eventually, heâd find a way. Because he wants you more than he wants anything else.
Levi knows you would. âShe shouldnât,â he sighs.
âMaybe not, but when has she ever allowed anyone to dictate her choices?â Levi remains still, setting knives and forks into their respective places, lingering on his reflection in the silver. âI think you look like youâre tired of carrying all this baggage by yourself.â
âThanks for the psychoanalyzing,â he barks, head snapping over his shoulder. âHow much do I owe you?â
Onyankopon chuckles quietly. âConsider it advice from a friend who cares very much about your happiness.â
Levi turns away. He still isnât quite used to people caring for him, and it makes him feel guilty because he doesnât know if heâs worthy of their companionship. Onyankopon was a friend to Hange before he was a friend to him, yet he never showed any inclination that he wished for the two to switch places after they died. He took Levi as is. Somehow, that makes Levi feel like he owes him more now.
âIâm getting married in a month,â Onyankopon mentions out of the blue.
âI know.â
âYou should be the best man at my wedding.â
Levi nods. âIf thatâs what you want.â
âAbsolutely.â Onyankopon leans against the dinner table that Levi has yet to fully set, arms folded, while he waits for him to meet his pointed gaze. âIâm assuming that I donât need to arrange separate accommodations for you two.â
Levi says nothing.
Onyankopon places a hand on his shoulder. âYeah, I know I wonât have to do that, because by that point, youâll both know for certain how in love with each other you really are.â
Levi shrugs his hand off and turns away. Itâs almost like heâs too tired to patch up his walls, so all he can do is hope Onyankopon spares him by not looking.
Heâs never done the whole âbeing in loveâ thing before. Ever since you started your lives here, in this strange place that still feels like it will be ripped away from him, heâs understood the feeling a little better. Most times, what he feels is too overwhelming to put into words, so heâll bring the ice cream out of the fridge to dethaw or heâll dust off your tiny antiques on the shelves instead. Maybe it isnât good enough but itâs all that heâs been able to figure out.
Does it only matter if he says it? If he screams it at the top of his lungs? Who fucking knows.
âYou went through hell, man,â Onyankopon offers Levi his glass, refilled halfway again. And his eyes are kinder. âSo, it makes sense that youâre a pessimist. But you have to think about it like this: By the Grace of whatever higher power, you made it out, and not only that, but you have at least one person by your side who knows your pain better than anyone else.â Leviâs lips part. âYou donât think that means something?â
Levi doesn't really believe in that fate bullshit, but hell if Onyankopon doesnât sound incredibly convincing when he suggests it.
âShit,â he curses under his breath, rubbing his temple. âOkay. Okay. Youâve made your point.â
âDamn right I did.â Onyankopon tilts his head back and swallows a gulp of whiskey. He winces. âSo then why do you still have a constipated look?â
âDonât steal my jokes.â
âYou mean, the same jokes you stole from a prepubescent kid in primary school?â
Levi frowns. âNow Iâm not gonna listen to what you said.â
The other man surges forward. âThen I take it back!â he cries, and only looks peeved until a quiet laugh shakes Leviâs shoulders.
Onyankopon has to remain in his slanted position as he fully processes the sight and sound of Levi actually laughing, because otherwise heâll trip and land flat on his pretty face.
Of course, thereâs still that line between his brows that grows darker the more he hurts. But, the tension in his shoulders is gone and his expressions are lighter. Even his eyes will open wider when he talks, like he doesnât mind letting a little bit more of the world into view.
âSo, how was the trip, really?â
Levi covers his hand with his face to hide his blush. âFuck off.â
âOh, come on, Levi. You seriously think that I didnât give her those tickets for one reason and one reason only?â
âYou're a scheming son of a bitch.â
He cackles. âYou needed the push.â
Levi points a threatening finger in his direction. âYou set me up!â
âI set you up to get laid, and it worked. Youâre welcome, by the way.â
He sighs. âYeah.â Then he lifts his chin. âThanks.â
Onyankoponâs eyes widen. âExcuse me? What did you just say to me?â
Levi reaches for his whiskey and pokes his head into the pantry.
âDonât be shy, Levi. Say it again! Loud enough so I can hear properly!â
âOh, will you just shut up already!â He slams the door shut behind him. âI said thank you!â
Onyankopon shakes his head in disbelief. âIncredible,â he murmurs.
âYeah, youâre looking at me the way Hange did when they realized Titans didnât have bowel movements. Iâm done with this conversation.â
He puts his hands up in surrender, returning his attention to his glass of amber. âAye aye.â
Right on time, the door creaks open, and Falco and Gabi enter with groceries in their arms. Youâre popping off a square of chocolate and placing it on your tongue.
âWe got stuff for bruschetta!â Gabi announces.
The three of them fall into motion, darting through the kitchen and preheating the oven. Gabi tries to smack Falco over the head with a baguette like sheâs wielding a sword, and the poor boy nearly jumps out of his skin.
You and Levi linger near the dining table, a clean glass placed in front of you. He tilts the bottle of whiskey and pours you a glass, which you graciously bring to your lips.
The liquid burns as it goes down, but you donât flinch.
âNot as good as that wine Paddy bought,â you tease.
Levi sneers then reaches forward and plucks the glass out of your hand. His eyes donât move from yours as he places his lips on the rim where yours once rested.
âIf youâd rather ask him for another bottle, then by all means,â he hums passively.
âOh, come on.â You lean forward, flashing your lashes at him. A square of chocolate is held up between your fingertipsâa peace offering, of sorts. âYou know Iâm just teasing youâ
Satisfaction burns in his chestâor maybe itâs the alcoholâand he glances toward the chocolate. With a lopsided grin, you pop the square onto his tongue, his lips barely wetting your fingertips.
âSay something like that again and Iâll make you regret it,â he murmurs through sticky lips and a tangled tongue. His knee knocks yours under the table. You wish you could scoot closer. You want to be alone with him.
âNow youâre just tempting me to misbehave.â
âOkay, then do it and see what happens,â he fires back.
You pluck a strand of hair away from your mouth, shifting back in your seat, and Levi smirks because he knows youâre flustered.
âDo you like it?â you ask, nodding towards the crinkled wrapper of the half-eaten chocolate bar on the table. You rub your nose.
âYes,â he nods. âThank you.â
You smile. âYou have a secret sweet tooth.â
He pouts, unknowingly. âNo, I donât.â
âYes, you do.â
âNo, I donât.â
You roll your eyes and swipe your glass back from where it sits guarded in front of him. Levi is never one for dessert before dinner, but tonight, he continues to pick piece after piece of the candy bar, munching and cleaning his thumb after each bite.
You want to talk to him about last night. About the kisses, the sex, and the following morning. Heâs talking to you now perfectly fine, albeit a little more tame than usual, but still, you hate not knowing what heâs thinking. All of this time and you still struggle. Sometimes it feels like you arenât smart enough to read his mindâlike you donât deserve him if you canât.
You want to be closer to him, like you were last night, breathing him in. The way his body felt melded to yours couldnât be described as any other way than right.
âHello?â he grumbles, tilting his head. âWhat are you thinking about?â
You exhale. Levi makes you feel loose and content. âYou.â
You decide not to tease him when a rosy tint dusts the tops of his cheeks. He grabs his glass of whiskey. âOh, really?â
âReally.â
âWhy?â
You shake your head. Your smile is small but the glow in your eyes makes it appear brighter and wider. âWhy not?â
Levi straightens up in his seat. âSurely there are better things to think about.â
âNot for me.â
He clenches his teeth. âYouâve had too much to drink already.â
âIâve had three sips.â
âThatâs three sips too many.â
The night continues on like that, with you and Levi secluded at the dining table and Onyankopon supervising Gabi and Falco in the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, youâre topping the bruschetta with a bit of seasoning, and Leviâs replacing your whiskey with a full cup of water. A handful of appetizers line the table. Gabi has no shame in loading her plate.
Levi watches you from the head of the table, waiting until you scarf down half a piece of bruschetta before he starts in himself.
âHow was the beach?! I want to know everything!â Gabi grins through a mouthful. She turns her head and looks at you expectantly.
You shrug. âIt was cloudy, but we still enjoyed it, right, Levi?â
âShe fell in the water.â
You slam your hand on the table. Silverware clatters. âNo, I didnât!â
âShe found a recipe for lemon meringue pie, too,â he adds.
âI did.â You turn to Falco. âYouâre good at the whole baking thing. Maybe you could help Levi make it one day.â
Falco nods. âSure!â He reached for his glass. âHow was the show?â
Levi chokes on his salad. You laugh awkwardly. Onyankopon tries to reel in his amusement but fails miserably when he chuckles into his cup.
âUh, it-it was fine?â You do your best to
âOnly fine?â Levi glares.
âWhat?â You have a strange feeling you arenât talking about the show anymore. âOh, noâit was great! Best show ever! Great, solid performance!â
The corners of his mouth quirk. âOut of ten, how would you rate it?â
You flail your hand. âOh, definitely an eleven out of ten! For sure! Infinity out of ten!â
âReally? Infinity?â he inquires, staring you dead in the eye. âI thought it was more like a three.â
Your jaw goes slack. Gabi and Falco glance between the two of you, quietly eating their food.
âShut the hell up, Levi!â you growl. âIt was a ten, and you know it.â
He hums, âThe actress was so loud and obnoxiousâ â
Onyankopon holds up his hand. âYeah, youâre done.â
âReally? Loud and obnoxious?â Your grip around your fork tightens until your knuckles pale, until you finally relax into your seat. âWell, actually, I thought her male countertop was struggling to keep up with herâ â
âExcuse me?â he bellows.
Falco chuckles tightly. âI shouldnât have asked.â
-
The apartment is silent aside from the sound of running water and the occasional clang of silverware and plates. The ice in yours and Leviâs stemware has melted and watered down the potent taste of alcohol, lukewarm and likely to be downed by you in a single swig.
Levi washes. You dry.
Outside, the storm has finally caught up, which is the reason for Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falcoâs early departure. Rain begins to patter against the windows, echoing in the living room where the glass doors take the brunt of the hit.
He should tell you how he feels, but heâs never been good with words. Heâs never been good at comfort. Heâs just good at cooking you meals so you donât forget and making room on his shelves for whatever youâd like. He thinks heâs good at kissing you hard on the mouth.
The throb in his chest wants one thing, but heâs never been good at following that feeling, either. His mind and his shit way with words tends to sabotage it all in the end anyway.
âYou seem like you want to say something,â you hum, sparing him a glance. You swirl the lightweight towel around the freshly cleaned plate. âIs everything okay?â
âWhat?â He perks up and pauses. âIâm fine.â
Though âIâm fineâ is the least convincing pair of words Levi could ever say to you, you donât prod. Mostly because you donât know what you want to say yourself.
You should probably talk about this weekend. Last night, specifically. And the morning after. You should talk about all of it, because itâs so blatantly obvious that your relationship has changed, and these things donât fare well when they arenât addressed.
âAre we okay?â You ask, hesitant.
Levi stops. The sink water continues to run and drenches his hands in wet heat. âI donât know,â he answers.
Your lips part.
âI just meant, things are different now. Thatâs all,â he corrects quickly. His heart begins to thump obnoxiously hard in his chest, making breathing and speaking and even thinking borderline impossible.
You agree. âHow do you feel about that?â
âHow do you feel?â Levi wants to get on his hands and knees and beg you to never ask him that question ever again.
He remembers this weekend, laying at the beach with you. For a moment, he had his head on straight. For a moment, he realized that if this was something he really wanted, he would have to give you something. No matter how small. An even transaction. If he didnât give you some part of himself, he could never expect to have any part of you.
So, if he wants to know how you feel, he has to answer the fucking question. That dreaded, annoying fucking question.
He feels a lot of things that he doesnât understand because no one ever taught him. He feels like heâs about to pass the hell out. He feels like a traitorâlike scum of the earthâbecause he did something terrible and he didnât tell you but he still slept with you and kissed you back and watched you sleep. He still let himself hope for a fraction of a second that this could be it for him.
He forgets everything Onyankopon told him. No, this burden he has to carry himself. This is the exception, because this was his fault.
âLevi?â You ask, holding your breath.
âI... â How does he feel? How does he feel? âI donât get it.â
A clap of thunder vibrates through your toes, and a bright flash swallows the darkness outside. In the blink of an eye, itâs black again.
You swallow tightly, slower with your movements, instinctively more cautious. The last dish is placed into the drying rack. Levi turns off the tap. Rain falls. âDo you regret sleeping with me?â
He stares at the wilting plant above the sink and curses at himself for forgetting to water it. Does he regret sleeping with you? He regrets ever putting his hands on you and thinking he could do it once and never want it again. He should regret all of it. Touching you, kissing you, entertaining those moments where he was on the verge of convincing himself he was allowed to be happy with you despite his mistakes. But of course he fucking doesnât. Thereâs not a single piece of him that regrets betraying his own logic.
Firmly, he declares, âNo.â
You exhale.
âBut, I⊠I think youâre making a mistake.â
The silence is palpable. Neither of you breathe.
âA mistake?â The way he was looking at you this morning suggested this was anything but a mistake.
His voice is gruff. He pats his hands dry with a towel and wrings his fingers together below the fabric until they crack. âI meant what I said the other night, that Iâm terrible. That thereâs a lot to be sorry for. Because there is.â
You furrow your brows. âAnd I meant what I said.â
If you are terrible, then I am worse.
You could betray me, and I will still forgive you.
âYeah, well⊠You shouldnât say stuff like that,â he tells you. His palms fold over the smooth edge of the countertop.
âEven if itâs the truth?â
âIâd rather you hate me for the shit Iâve done than forgive me.â
âWhat the hell are you talking about? You go on and on about how terrible of a person you are, but I canât remember a single shitty thing youâve done besides try to stay alive,â you yell. Frustration wells up in your eyes and makes your face flush with warmth.
He stares, helpless.
âLevi, please tell me you didnât just sleep with me just to sleep with me.â Your voice wavers. âPleasetell me you didnât do that. Because that is something that would make you a shitty person.â
âNo!â He cries, turning around. âFuck. I slept with you because Iâ â
Leviâs shoulders are heaving and youâre looking at him expectantly, eyes glazed over like youâre about to cry, and he wants to punish himself for being the one responsible. His feet move without any thinking or prompting, sending him forward. Warm, damp hands cup your face, tilting your mouth so it slots perfectly with his own, and he kisses you hard. Your back meets the refrigerator, the door handle molding your body into a bow.
Leviâs tongue dips daringly past your teeth, nose knocking yours. Thereâs so much frustration. You swallow it down, gasping while his hand fists your hair. He tugs and scrunches, tilts your head to the side and scrapes his canines right over your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades.
You want it so bad, but you know you canât have it. Not right now. Levi canât tell you anything when his tongue is all over you, and you sure as hell canât listen when heâs on you like this.
âLevi,â you groan.
He pulls himself off, shoulders shaking. He runs the back of his hand over his mouth. âSorry,â the man murmurs, but something tells you he isnât sorry at all. You donât think you are, either.
You shake your head. âI⊠I donât think weâll get anywhere if we just keep fucking each other,â you pant, straightening out your blouse. His eye flickers down to your neck, where his saliva glints on your skin.
He nods. âYouâre right.â
âBesides, we... â You run a hand through your hair and gather your thoughts. âWe have a lot going on this week, and⊠We should think about what we want out of this, ifâŠâ
âIf it's worth the risk of ruining what we have.â
Your breath catches. A crestfallen expression hangs on your features, and you lift your hand to your chest like something sharp has cut through your lungs. âYou really think we could ruin that?â Your voice is small, stretched taut like youâre going to cry.
âIâ â He wants to reach out to you, but his hands hang heavy by his sides. A headache throbs behind his scarred, blinded eye. âWe both have so much baggage, itâs hard to tell if weâd make it.â
You nearly flinch. Through grit teeth, you hiss, âYouâre a fucking coward.â
Leviâs head snaps up.
Your eyes burn. You didnât think he was terrible before, but you do now. âSince when the hell do you give up so easily? That isnât at all like the man I know!â
Levi takes a step forward. He doesnât want to yell, but his voice raises, âI donât want you to settle for me!â he starts, and he canât stop. âYou tell me all this shit like I can do no wrong! You have any idea how impossible it is for me to live up to that person in your head?â
âWhat the hell are you even talking about?! You know what I think of you!â You shake your head. Your voices match each otherâs. âAnd believe it or not, Levi, but Iâm a big girl! I think I know what I deserve without needing you to tell me!â
âWell,â he grows quiet and looks you dead in the eye. âClearly, you donât.â
âOh, fuck you,â you curse. Your voice breaks. âI know what youâre doing.â
âIâm not doinganything. Iâm not⊠Iâm⊠Iâm⊠Fuck.â
He blinks, and he sees red. This reminds him of the time he left for the forest, when you found him in the corridor prepared to go without saying so much as a goodbye. You stood down the hall, clad in casual clothes and swaddled by thick white bandages, still a little pale in the face, because you fell and he shot you; because that pool of blood he sat in while trying to bring you back belonged to your lifeless body.
It was an accident. It wasnât supposed to happen like that, but your gear had malfunctioned, and he wasnât thinking. His reflexes had sprung into motion, consequences long forgotten over a dire attempt to keep you by his sideâindefinitely. A goddamn mistake, and all his fault.
He canât tell if the fact youâre standing right in front of him, alive despite his carelessness, is a reminder that he hurts everything he touches, or the universeâs cruel way of keeping him in check.
But he still went and fucked with it anyway. He just couldn't keep his greedy hands off you. Couldn't stop kissing you, couldnât stop fucking you. Somehow, that aching need he felt for you outweighed any sort of guilt.
âDonât ever lecture me about what I need,â you say, your voice low and your words sharp. Your gaze cuts through him. âAnd donât ever imply that I have little self respect to want to be with you. Because thatâs also something a shitty person would do.â
He closes his eyes and nods, regret weighing painfully in his chest. A lump forms in the center of his throat.
âIâm sorry,â he croaks. âI wonât do that again.â
âWhatever,â you snarl, disappointed because Levi never seemed like the kind of man to be terrible and you just learned that he can be.
âFuck, I amsorry!â Your name flies from his lips like a helpless plea. âIâm sorry about everything! Iâm sorry I couldnât save any of our friends, and Iâm sorry Iâm the person you got stuck with, and Iâm sorry that I fucking hurt you, Iâ â His breath catches, and his eyes widen in horror like heâs said something that he shouldnât.
You slump against the counter, tears smudged below your eyes. Finally, you get that little peek inside Leviâs psyche that youâve been chipping at for years. You see the guilt and you feel the pain, then the strangest thing happens. You smile. A pathetic, depressing smile that wobbles as it fights its way onto your lips.
You speak quietly. âLevi, if only you knew how much I feel like Iâve failed you.â
His face collapses. Your admission is like a punch to the gut, enough to have him nearly keeling over.
You wipe your eyes, blinking away more tears. âI was the one who was supposed to protect you. You know how impossible it is to succeed at that when your partner is the strongest person alive?â Your voice is congested, almost reminiscent, and raw from screaming. âI could never reach you, no matter how hard I tried. You were always better than me at everything. I never⊠let it bother me, because that was my jobâI was supposed to bring out the best in you. Be the person behind the curtain, even if everyone else thought that I was a joke.â
Levi stares at you, that tightness growing more and more intolerable. His fingertips are trembling and he feels cold all over his body.
âI tried so hard to save as many people as I could, not for their sake, but for yours, because I⊠I was given an impossible job. But at least, maybe, if I could save your friends, I could give you some sliver of happiness in that shitty world we lived in.â Leviâs hand lands on your shoulder, his head bowed forward. âI failed. Obviously. Iâm just a person, and I certainly wasnât humanityâs strongest soldier. But I couldnât die, either. No matter how badly I wanted to, I wasnât allowed to. Because I had to keep you safe.â
âYou did,â Levi reassures. âYou did.â
âI didnât.â You shake your head, pitiful. âIt was Hange who saved you. And I let them die, too.â A wry chuckle rips from your throat. âI let everyone you love die, and now youâre apologizing to me for it.â
âPlease, donât say that,â he begs you gently.
âWhy not? You donât like to hear it?â you ask, placing your hand over his and lowering it to his side. Your fingers wrap around his wrist. âAre you sad to know how terrible and selfish I am, Levi? Do you have such little self respect that youâre willing to settle for someone like me?â
He grabs your biceps, guiding you back against the countertop so that your gazes meet. âYour job,â he whispers breathlessly, âwas to help me with my fucking paperwork. Not save me.â Tears escape your eyes and he wipes them with his smooth fingertips. They used to be so rough, just like him, but not anymore. His thumbs run over your under eyes and your name is whispered into your mouth. âMy happiness was neveryour responsibility. So donât say that shit about yourself ever again.â
âSo, you can say that stuff, but I canât?â you argue, and he softens because he knows youâre right. âYouâre a hypocrite, Levi.â
âI know I am.â
You give him a break. âThere are worse things to be, I suppose.â
âYouâre a dumbass,â he grumbles. His head drops forward until his forehead rests on your shoulder, hands on either side of your body, caging you in. You still smell sweet like you did in bed this morning when he didnât ruin everything. âOne of the only things that kept me going was that stupid fucking look on your face.â
Your heart stops. Your jaw drops.
âIt was always youI could never reach. With that shitty expression. I never understoodââ He grits his teeth, willing himself to continue. âI never understood how the hell you could just⊠hope. How you always had so much of it no matter what.â
Your eyes are so wide that the tears well over and fall without a blink.
âThen I realized, the drinking and the isolating, and I-I was a fucking idiot for not understanding it was all a goddamn lie. You never had any hope at all.â His hand comes down on your shoulder and snakes around your neck, pulling you into him. Leviâs embrace is suffocating, but it protects you from everything that threatens to hurt you. âSo, no. I donât deserve you.â
You want to say, so what if it was all a lie? The only way to keep everyone going was to give them something to hope for, even if you didnât believe in it yourself. That was the facade you chose to wear. The kind of person who you chose to be. Your choice. Your burden, and the only burden you would never share, because you would never want anyone to pay the price of your personal decisions, especially the person you love most in this world.
Your hand lands on his back, fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his collared shirt, searching for bare skin just to feel closer.
âYour only job was to be my fucking superior,â you hiccup.
Leviâs body stills. Against your neck, he mutters, âI guess weâre both insufferable overachievers, then.â
You laugh, raw and wet, a little lighter. âYeah. I guess we are.â
-
âHe needs a companion,â Erwin shrugs.
You gape at the man. âErwin. Please donât tell me youâre assigning me as Leviâs Second in Command solely because he has no friends.â When Erwin makes no implication that youâre wrong, you sit up straight in your chair, incredulous. âDo you also want us to braid each otherâs hair and make friendship bracelets while weâre at it?â
He laughs deeply. âNo, of course not. Levi has some lone wolf tendencies and I need someone who can squash those habits to bring him to his full potential.â Erwinâs using his hand as he speaks, You realize, which means heâs trying to make a point. At least the man has his reasons. âAnd honestly, I see the two of you bringing out the best in each other. That is all.â
You arenât entirely convinced, but nonetheless, you digress. You sigh and slouch into your chair. âYou gamble the same way you did back in primary school.â
Erwinâs eyes glow with a memory. âI always won back then, didnât I?â
âYou did.â
He smiles. âLevi will grow to love you.â The candlelight on his desk twinkles in his blue eyes. âAnd perhaps one day, heâll understand.â
You wave your hand. âYeah, yeah. Whatever that means. Just tell me now what color you want for your bracelet so I know for later.â
Silence stretches over you two, then, he bites, âOrange.â
with an arranged marriage set in place, the sacred bond is doomed with a wife who wants to make the relationship work and a husband whoâs ready to ruin it all. unbeknown to him, a tragic fate already lies within the pages of his romance book.
genre. heavy angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage, modern au, 18+
tags/warnings. mentions of trauma, mentions of depression, blood
notes. last chapter everyone! donut be scared :] the angst is lesser than part 19. thank you for the overall support this series has received! please see more notes after the cut <3
series masterlist -> sequel
additional notes. i donât wanna be too dramatic so iâll try to keep it short, you guys probably have heard about this a million times whenever i answered asks, but sincerely not was supposed to be my last piece of writing on tumblr. i had such a terrible writing slump before i posted it and it came to a point where i wasnât satisfied with all the content iâm putting out. i didnât expect that sn would blow up, or let alone have such a loyal and supportive audience that now became the reason why i work hard every week to pump out long chapters. i sincerely canât thank you guys enough for going through this 5-month journey with me. with more than 200k words, 20 chapters, and a community built because of this series, this is perhaps a work that i will cherish and remember for the rest of my life. thank you to each and everyone who stayed up all night reading this series, to those who always eagerly left comments and theories under every post or in my ask box, and to those who contributed amazing fanarts for this fic. from the bottom of my heart, thank you and i love you. - sincerely, saint âĄ
3 YEARS LATER
âAs you all know, three years ago, I lost control of this company.â Standing in front of the executives and the shareholders was Satoru Gojou in his three-piece Zegna suit. âThe market cap suffered a significant decrease to eight billion less. Because of the scandals and mismanagement on my end, not only did many investors pull out, but we also lost some of our most brilliant employees who all have contributed to the companyâs growth over the last twenty-five years.â With all eyes set on him, the tips of his fingers felt unusually cold, but he had to continue his talk by walking around the new faces that filled up the conference room. âI know what youâre all thinking: âWhy is the Chairman talking about his sob story?â After all, no one would have thought that a person like me could still save the Gojou Group from its massive decline. Many journalists even referred to it as a major corporation failure. When my companyâs stock price bottomed out, many people took the chance to buy stocks dirt cheap and I was already foreseeing how long it would take for me to file for bankruptcy. I went through terrible depression, my health deteriorated, and my mind was in a dark period for a year after I got divorced, but I still did everything I could to salvage the only thing I had left. But how could I? Where do I begin? At the time, it was nothing but a hopeless and ambitious thought.â
Satoru stopped from his leisurely gait and placed a hand on top of his CFOâs shoulder. As he looked down at the blond with a grateful smile, he then proceeded to finish his speech, âTo play this game or any game, you must have a good mentor. Mine was my colleague, Nanami Kento, who once told me that if my life crumbled apart after I lost my wife and my child, I should also think about my innocent employees whose lives would be far more affected if I didnât do anything to save the company. He was right. I couldnât possibly mope around and watch more people suffer from the difficulties I've caused. And so, I sought his advice and worked with him to rebuild the Gojou Group from ground zero.â Satoru turned on his heel as he finally arrived at the far end of the table. âJust like Nanami, you are all here because youâve given me another chance at reconstructing the damages I had done. It was a tough three years and weâre still working to restore the company back to how it was, but I just wanna take this time to express my sincerest gratitude to each and every single one of you inside this room for inspiring me and allowing me the opportunity to rise up from the bottom. In return, I will ensureâas the Chairman of the Gojou Groupâthat you will all be generously rewarded for your dedication and hard work. Thank you.â
After the general shareholders meeting, Satoru was back in his office with his CFO and his secretarial staff who were seated on the couch to deal with schedules and paperwork while discussing the spontaneous speech he had just done at the meeting.
âWhat in the world was that?â Nanami asked, unfolding a newspaper before resting his back against the couch. âYou made a speech like you were stepping down on your position.â
Satoru chose to sit at the edge of his office table as he took a sip from his coffee mug. âWhy? Do you wanna be an interim CEO again?â His tone was playful, although remembering how difficult it must have been for Nanami to be in the highest executive position at such a desperate time. Back to the days when Satoru was mentally and emotionally incapable of making good business decisions, the Gojou Group and its twenty subsidiaries would have all collapsed if not for Nanamiâs immediate action plans to keep the company intact as one of the nationâs largest conglomerate in terms of assets and the second largest in terms of sales.
That being said, the blond didnât even hide his year-long exhaustion after becoming the company's major pillar of support. âPlease. Iâd rather retire early than have you punish me with that title ever again, interim or not.â
âDonât say that, Nanami. Weâre gonna have a really long loving relationship as Chairman and CEO-to-be, you know.â Satoru continued to tease and earned Nanamiâs glare as a response, all before the former noticed his secretary who was chuckling at the sight. âI think Miwa has better time management when sheâs reporting to you, anyway.â
The blue-haired girl was quick to deny. âNot true, Chairman!â said Miwa while arranging some papers on the coffee table. âI always handle my time perfectly well no matter who Iâm reporting to.â
Undoubtedly. Even if he treated her like a robot sometimes, Satoru was lucky enough to have had the chance to see Miwaâs professional growth from the past three years that she had been his executive assistant. He would never in his life forget that this girl stayed by his side during the lowest period of his life. Her loyalty was what led her closer to him to the point where they grew a sibling-like connection. Although they maintained a professional superior-subordinate relationship, he was able to joke around with her while she was given the rare opportunity to speak to him informally at certain instances: one, when he needed a good scolding and two, whenever he was teasing her about Yuuta (but that was a story for another day).
âLetâs see⊠What if I reassign you to be Yuutaâs secretary one day?â Satoru grinned in mischief as he set the coffee mug down. âHeâll be graduating next year and Iâll appoint him as the Vice President once he returns to Japan.â
Instead of Miwa whose cheeks were suffused with a pink tint, it was Nanami who immediately reacted in surprise. âYouâre really gonna train him for the position as soon as he comes back?â
âYeah.â Satoru offered a nod before signaling his secretary to reach for the special suit she carefully hung on his rack this morning. âHe looks forward to it. Heâs smart, responsible, and analytical, so you wonât have a hard time mentoring him.â
The man exhaled deeply, languid as he flipped the pages of his newspaper. âWhy do you always leave the job to me?â
âBecause youâre the best, Nanami~! Take it as a compliment.â
âI donât need compliments, I want a Bugatti in return,â he made a quick bargain, âa mansion in Aoyama and a one-year vacation leave to Kuantan, Malaysia with no texts, calls, and emails from you.â
Satoru was better off as a statue after hearing his CFOâs offer. âAnd thatâs what I call a good businessman!â He gave him a well-deserved clap and turned to his secretary in haste, âMiwa, take note. This kind of brazenness is something I wanna see from you.â
The girl simply laughed at the good-humored exchange between Nanami and Satoru while she held the expensive suit in front of the latter. As if she had read his mind, Miwa suddenly asked, âAre you really going to⊠do that today, sir?â
It would be nice to blame the air conditioner for the sudden thickness in density. Not even ten seconds had passed and the mood swiftly changed into something more sullen, more gloomy. As Gojou took off his Zegna coat and unfastened his cufflinks, his gaze fell down on the visible scar on his forearm. Once a deep gash that required multiple stitches, now a reminder of that cold December night where blood and glass shards surrounded him as he sobbed his heart out in his motherâs arms.
He could ask Miwaâs questions to himself and only one answer would come out each time. âI have to.â
âWant me to go with you?â offered Nanami out of genuine concern. âI can reschedule my meeting with the finance department.â
Satoru, despite being genuinely appreciative of their concern, did not muster enough courage for the past two months anticipating this day just to back out at the last minute. âNo, I got it.â That was all he had to tell Nanami and Miwa before he changed into the classic Givenchy tuxedo that was gifted to him three years ago. âTake care of everyone here while Iâm gone.â
Gojou could barely remember what the atmosphere was like on his own wedding day. Because it was rushed and planned by everyone else except the bride and groom themselves, he didnât have a great archive of memories relating to that special day that ultimately changed his life. Frankly, he was fairly busy with the company back then so he didnât have much time to participate with the whole wedding preparation, leaving the designers and wedding planners to be the ones who visited him in the office just to remind him that he was going to become a married man. His distaste towards the forced marriage doubled his anger towards an innocent bride that later became a vital part of his life.
Many people asked him this: would Gojou consider getting married again? His answer would depend on the person. The answer, among many options, was only one particular woman with a selfless heart and an altruistic soul. Satoru couldnât think of getting married to anyone else other than his soulmate whom he had promised a wedding to back when they were six. His childhood friend who had spent his birthdays with him just before they grew apart. His other half whom he had shared the most memories with from then and now. The lover, the wife, the mother of his child.
This wasnât an alternate universe nor was this his own wedding.
This simple and yet sophisticated church wedding was his Earth-shattering reality to serve as a reminder that the tragedy was in his romance book, not yours.
With over seven billion people around the world, he was granted with only one person that had been his supposed life-long partner. Unfortunately, life could no longer offer him a rewind after everything that happened. He didnât have a free pass to travel back through time to rewrite his past. Just like the ugly scars on his forearm, some things just never fade. What he had for himself was the futureâthe chance to be a better man without the expectations from a yearned woman. A closure, not to accept his defeat, but more so to prove his eternal love.
Not many guests were familiar to him except for your cousins and the groomâs immediate family. The wedding in itself was an intimate setup, seemingly only for those who were dear to the wedded couple-to-be. It was a great contrast to your first glamorous wedding where almost every famous personality was invited amongst the swarm of influential businessmen. In this wedding, attention was not being waved at his face because the primary focus was the ceremony that would soon unify a man and a woman as one.
He wasnât even invited, so why the hell was Satoru Gojou in here?
Thankfully, no one had really noticed him as he managed to escape from any unwanted attention by sneaking close to the walls until he finally reached one of the exits that headed towards the back. There was a pavilion just a couple of steps away from the church where they kept the bride before the actual ceremony would begin. Needless to say, Satoruâs blood had drained from his face as soon as one of the notable bridesmaids walked out of the door.
âIeiri.â Gojou took off his face mask and noticed how his voice had become unstable. âWhereâs sheââ
âInside,â replied Shoko, pointing towards the room. âSheâs with her friend, but it should be fine. Gen went to see their father. Did anyone see you?â
âNo, I donât think so.â His heart was pounding on his chest. His head, pulsating. Air was luxury for him to breathe at this moment when he thought of the man he would become once his eyes were set on you again three years after you left.
Ieiri must have felt his temperature rising (or falling in that sense) because cold sweats started forming on his temples, but not until she snapped her fingers in front of his face to wake him up from his trance. âHey, itâs okay.â A couple pats on the back lessened Gojouâs tension. âYou can do it. This is your last chance.â
They said during moments of panic, it was normal for a person to feel numb. Everything was in slow motion and very few sounds were picked up by the ears as all the unnecessary hubbub would be blocked out. While he tried to reach for the doorknob, Satoruâs hand was visibly shaking due the accumulation of anxiety that he never realized had built up upon coming here. His nerves were like seismic waves forming ripples on a pond. What was he scared of? He had gone through so much alone for the last three years, but even so, this day might be the summit of his pain. It would mark as the highest point in his mountain of broken heart and eternal loneliness.
It was different in his head than when he actually opened the door and stepped inside the room. A girl with dark hair in a half-updo was smiling at you from the mirror as you two were unaware of the new presence that had entered the room. Even from afar, even when he could only see your side profile, Gojou had already fallen weak on the knees. A wave of strong emotions washed over his body as he saw the very woman that he loved and still undeniably did.
ââŠY/N.â
When had he last called you by your name?
To him, the name that rolled off his tongue had also sparked a flame to his heart. To you, on the other hand, the voice that called it out was nothing more than a stranger from the past that you wanted so badly to erase. He could see it in your eyes with how they widened in shock, leaning on the negative scale more than the positive as you hastily got up from your seat. âW-What are you doing here?â
The girl who stood by your side kept a guarded stance while she mumbled, âY/N, should I call for Toji?â
âNo need.â Satoru blinked thrice in the same second and shook his head. âHe knows Iâm here. HeâŠâ trailing off, he drew in a deep breath, âHe told me to see you before the ceremony.â
It happened a week ago when Gojou found out you came back to Tokyo after three long years. He heard rumors about you dating Toji, but he never really thought your bond was deep enough to lead to another marital union. Wasnât it such a cruel fate? Someone who was once his bride, was now someone elseâs.
As hard as it was for Satoru to swallow, he knew that Toji Zenâin must love you a lot and he wasnât even surprised that you ended up with his rival after all the things that had happened. Not many guys would allow an ex-husband a chance to meet his bride on the wedding day just for the sake of closure. But you see, your groom respected you and trusted you and cared for you enough to understand that this was something you and Satoru had to have. A private moment to conclude the relationship that scarred both you and him, which could possibly cause complications in any of your future marriages if not resolved. There was no harm in having this much needed conversation, especially since three years had gone by and you were close to strangers at this point. Or at least, he was to you. Any feelings you once harbored for him were completely gone like how the same gleam that used to shine for him was now empty.
You must have realized that fearing Satoru Gojou would not help you in the long run, so you ended up allowing him inside before you turned to your friend. âUtahime,â you spoke to her calmly, âcan you excuse us for a while?â
From the corner of his eyes, Satoru noticed how the woman with the gentle face glanced at his way before she decided to trust your words and subsequently made her exit. With the door shut in a 33-square meter room, it didn't seem as if the distance between you and him was there. Not when he had become too enamored of your ethereal beauty to a point where he couldnât breathe.
And he had to swallow. Hard. Because you were so goddamn beautiful that his eyes were filling up with tears. Are you real? The pain he felt sure was. Are you really in front of him? He scanned every inch of your face and remembered how he used to wake up staring at those eyes each morning, how he used to touch those cheeks, how he used to kiss those very lips. He never had the chance to appreciate you back on your own wedding day and his greatest regret in life was not telling you how breathtakingly regal you looked in a wedding dress. Forget the swarovski crystals that hugged your figure or the natural make-up that enhanced your featuresâSatoru believed that no other woman could beat your grace and elegance in his eyes even if you were wearing a simple white dress with a bare face.
You aged three years older after you last saw each other, but the most fascinating part of it was seeing you in the best version of yourself. Not a trace of heartbreak. Not a hint of loneliness. There was that certain class and maturity that made him fall in love with you all over again.
âYou look beautiful,â he meant to say it aloud despite the clench it caused his heart because he had to let you know no matter how shameless. âI know I never got to tell you this before, but⊠this, this is also how beautiful you looked on our wedding day.â
You watched him take a deep breath as if he was the rightful groom who was star-struck at the sight of his bride. âYou never even looked at me on our wedding day.â
âI did, I know I didâŠâ He stared at you in pining melancholy. Did Gojou imagine having this casual talk with an ex-lover? He was afraid that this might be the calm before the storm. âIâm sorry for bringing it up. I-I donât intend to stay throughout the ceremony today.â
âSo, what are you here for?â
ââŠâ
âSatoru.â
âI just think that, maybeâŠâ
With a distant gaze, your impatience led you to go straight to the point. âWeâve been divorced longer than we have married, Gojou.â But what hurt more was the way you avoided meeting his eyes. âIf you have nothing important to talk about, save it. If youâre here to congratulate me, thanks. I hope you find someone else to marry, tooââ
âWhy did you let go?â
The sudden question rendered you speechless, so much that you almost sympathized from the guilt and agony that casted your ex-husbandâs face. Satoru had been suffering for three long years thinking of the picture perfect family that he had lost and all of those unwanted memories during his darkest days were now swallowing him in whole. They were burying him six feet under and pulling him back into that abyss of torment that he thought he had already escaped. It was endless, bottomless, complete darkness.
But even with the obvious pain in his visage, you couldnât find the right words to answer. He had to be the one to clarify it further. âOur baby,â his voice broke and his words took him back to that sorrowful day at the hospital, âI wanna know why you let go. I-I donât understand why you did it.â
âYou know why.â Tears were threatening to spill from your shiny eyes. âDonât bring it back. I donât wanna talk about it right now.â
It hurt. It hurt so much that he wanted to hug you, but couldnât. That he wanted to wipe your cheeks, but couldnât. That he wanted to kiss your forehead, pull you into his arms, hold you close. It hurt how much he longed for you day and night for the past 1,095 days, hoping that you would come back to him and be his wife again. How foolish. This woman in front of him wasnât the same one he married for that woman had given up on him, but himâhe never once gave up on you. He kept holding on like you were the last buoy keeping him afloat in the vast sea. âI messaged y-you nonstop.â His breathing hitched as a sob rose in his throat. âI sent you hundreds of voice mails even if you had me blocked everywhere. I followed you to New York and tried to search every corner of it for you, b-but I was told to leave you alone. In the end, I had to leave you alone and give you space, because I didnât want you to hate me more than you already do. Do you know how it feels to be⊠to be abandoned by someone you love, and three years later that person comes back only to marry someone else?â
Out of the many things Gojou learned from his therapist: you can never suppress sadness. It always managed to seep out and the best way to handle it was to release such a heavy emotion out of the bottle. His face was already a screaming sign of Fragile: Handle With Care. But if anyone were to break him, the privilege was yours.
âSatoru, we never should have married in the first place,â you argued, eyes glistening with similar blues as you looked up at him, âWe were doomed from the beginning because that marriage was never genuine. Stop holding on to me like Iâm more than just a key to your personal goals.â
âY/N, I love youâŠâ At this point, he couldnât stop the waterfall that gushed out of his eyes, emptying his sockets until he could no longer cry. His voice was thick with tears, his words were strangled in his throat. âI love you, I cherish you. I still do. I still fucking do and Iâm so miserable without you. Donât say that I was never genuine when I truthfully fell in love with you.â
You refused his words and swallowed the pity forming at the back of your throat. âNo, you fell in love with the idea of me. You fell in love with the idea of having your own happy family regardless of the person you wanted to share it with.â
Satoru attempted to reach for your arm, but felt wrong for having tried because his cold hand didnât deserve to touch your sacred warmth. âThatâs not true.â
âIâm not your wife anymore.â Your reminder served numerous stabs in his hollow heart. âGojou, you need to move on and live your life without me. Youâre young, youâre single, you can easily go back to the way you were before you were ever married. You can even forget our marriage happened. Just please⊠Please find your happiness elsewhere.â
âI donât⊠I donât wanna forget.â
He came here promising himself that he was only going to apologize and clarify his intentions, it was never part of his plan to be a sobbing mess in front of you while begging for the love he had taken for granted. He wanted his wife back. He wanted Y/N Gojou to accept him again and give him another chance to be a better husband. But that was not the agreement he had with Toji when he allowed him to have this talk with you. Gojou had to remind himself not to steer away from his original path and respect the boundaries that were set in order to live a guiltless life. He ought not to be selfish, but more selfless because that was something he learned from you.
And in saying that, his only option for you to achieve your peace and true felicity was to let you go. Like setting a dove free from a bird cage, spreading its wings into open air before flying awayâyou had to have that freedom without a pathetic ex-husband clinging on to you. All he ever brought you was misery and heartache, so the best way to repent for his sins was to cut the thin string that kept you tied to him.
âDo you love him?â he asked once and for all, even though it shattered him inside, even though it squeezed his heart and every artery. Layers of unsettling emotions overcame him as the thought of you marrying someone else, having a family with someone else, doing the things you did with him to someone elseâabsolutely, agonizingly wrecked him. âWill you be happy if you married him?â
Along with your modestly downcast eyes, you took the chance to dodge the direction of his desolate gaze. âProbably so much more than when I married you.â
Who knew that an honest answer could make oneâs world crumble into ashes?
In every sad song, sad movie, or sad novel there was, Gojou believed that his tragedy could sell billions of copies because there was nothing more satisfying than reading a story about how the man who once had it all, in the end lost it all.
As for you, your immediate thought was to turn away, searching through your jewelry box on the table before taking out the very last piece that connected you to him.
Your wedding ring.
The same ring he was still wearing to this day.
âSatoru, I loved you.â Your words flew past your mulberry lips as you reached for his hand. Throughout your marriage, it was for the first time he ever heard you say those three words. Three words that were now in the past just like the ring that you placed on his palm. âIf you ever wanted to hear it, I did love you. I loved you so much that I stayed that long because I wanted us to work. I love you enough that I want you to be happy, even if weâre no longer together.â Gojouâs eyes were the loneliest shade of blue as he felt your thumb running across his cheek. âFor the eleven months and twenty-two days we were married, all I did was to try and fix you. Now let me fix me.â
Didnât you know? When you were in love, your voice was always the calmest. Your eyes, the dreamiest. Your face, the softest. It was a slapping contrast to the loom of darkness that swept over your ex-husbandâs faceâthe man you once loved and was bound to by vows. But if his sorrow meant that you would find your joy, then he was ready to have his heart broken over and over again by the one person he loved the most. You.
Words neednât be said. He accepted the ring you returned with a great wretch of sadness, keeping it safe in his own hand like he was holding onto a person in the form of a gold wedding band. In an hour or so, another ring would adorn your finger and it would be much more beautiful than the one you previously had from an ex-husband that you easily forgot about.
Your love story ended here.
On the first day of spring, where flowers bloom to signal the start of your new beginning. The radiant woman he loved the most would start a new chapter in life with someone else. And unlike you, Satoru was stuck in his cold, winter sorrows. There were no four seasons in his calendar for his days remained in the coldest months of the year because his source of sunlight found another world to shine on.
âI have to go.â The soles of his feet wanted to stay, but he couldnât linger around any longer than he shouldâve. What last words would he have to say to his ex-wife? âHave a happy marriageâ? When that, in fact, was a form of self-punishment. But on a similar note, he felt the longing in your eyes and it allowed him to wish for nothing but the best for you. âI know heâs gonna take care of you, but⊠just in case,â he trailed off, forcing an upward curve on his lips, âI hope he kisses you every morning when he wakes up.â
âSatoruâŠâ
His words were surprisingly cathartic. âI hope heâll call you beautiful each day, stroke your hair when you lie on his lap, take you out on movie nights and spontaneous dates.â To make it more lighthearted and less dramatic, he added a few happy memories. âI hope he wonât drink straight off the milk carton or forget to turn the lampshade off at night. You deserve to be with someone who lets you spend pink toilet papers and expensive skin care masks on his credit card. Someone who stares at you in your sleep, thanking God for blessing him with a wife like you.â
Your lips quivered, eyes achingly staring at his.
Gojou ignored the weakness gnawing his chest and offered a smile that may have a million meanings, but truly only translated to one: Iâm happy when you are. And so, he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead. It was a harmless, unassuming kiss to let you know that he would always care for you the same. âI love you.â
Hesitance then bathed your eyes as he pulled away. Was that guilt in your gaze? Or was it pity? Either way, you squeezed his hand and opened your mouth reluctantly. âWait, I⊠Thereâs something you need to know.â
At the rate of your growing anxiety, Satoru decided for himself that today was not the day for you to deal with it. He may have been selfish all his life, but he didnât want to ruin your wedding for his sake. With the Zenâins was where you belong. After all, they were a family void of drama or any ulterior motives that could break your trust in the long run. That was the household you deserved to be in.
âWill I be crying on my knees if I did know?â
You held your breath. âMaybe.â
âWill it fix us?â
âI donât think so.â
Knowing a disappointing truth was better than wondering forever. But in that moment where palpable silence became one of his biggest fears, he decided that the less he knew, the better. âItâs okay. You donât have to say it,â he assured, backing away and learning the art of letting go, âI should head out.â
ââŠOkay.â
His cue to leave was your sudden sympathetic gaze. His signal to turn around and step out of the room was the fact that he despised seeing sympathy in your eyes because it made him yearn and seek for your love. He didnât need your sympathy, he needed you. It was a dangerous zone that he ought to avoid or else there was no going back.
The only way was forward.
Walking through the hallways alone gave him a newfound sense of catharsis. Although the other half of his soul remained with you, lovers didnât necessarily have to be soulmates. They came in different shapes and forms, be it with a childhood friend, a past lover, an ex-wife. He was content for not sticking to his brand of selfishness which cost him a wife and a child in return.
Fate must be playing with him, because just as he turned to the corner of the hallway, he stumbled upon a little boy with white hair who was hiding his face against the wall.
Could it be�
Stopping in his tracks, his eyes widened and brimmed with tears. He must be imagining this whole thing. He must be hallucinating. Why did his chest hurt this badly? Why did the atmosphere suddenly make him feel queasy? He felt sick to the bones after remembering the depressive episodes he went through because of his unborn child. The pain he suffered from his loss was more than a person could take. And now, thisâŠ
ââGumi!â The giggling kid ran past Satoru to meet Tojiâs teenage son who immediately carried the little boy in his arms.
âThere you are,â Megumi spoke to the child with a rare smile on his face, âYouâre not supposed to show yourself when you play hide and seek.â
Satoruâs heartbeat quickened exponentially. His pulse was thumping with a heavy beat. It wasnât until Megumi saw his figure down the hallway when the dark-haired boy became nonplussed. He knew what the older guy was thinking, and he didnât seem to know how to react to it.
The little boy with similar white hair was facing away, so Gojou was yet to see if the kid looked like a splitting image of him to confirm his questions. He was already shell shocked and he would probably break down had he learned that the child was indeed his.
But seemingly hearing Satoruâs trail of thought, Megumi took the chance to keep the little boy away. âCome on, letâs go see your mom.â
âMama?â The kid turned around, noticing Satoruâs presence as the person who carried him walked further and further away. Each growing distance did not do anything to melt the block of ice he had become. Frozen as he stood there, eyes wide at the sight of the child with white hair and baby blue eyes.
This couldnât be real.
At the beginning of spring, the sky was crying and so was he. You were moving into new spheres, but this heart of his could love so infinitely that everything becomes muted. His heart could love so blindly that everything you do merited its forgiveness. It was unimaginable for anyone who actually cared to understand the gravity that had fallen on Satoru as he rushed into the parking lot. In a daze, lost in his own thoughts while putting the missing puzzle pieces together.
Three years in New York City.
Had he been deprived of a child that he believed hadnât been born at all?
He was searching through his many antidepressants in the glove compartment of his car. Satoru had been so full of anxiety for this day that he missed taking a couple of pills that he strictly had to take to aid his severe depressive episodesâone of which was about to happen in a few. That child of his could have been a hallucination after all. His mind liked to play tricks on him ever since his mental state went on a downward slope. It wasnât your fault nor anyone elseâs.
It was his.
The onus was always on him. The blame, the criticism, the hatred even to himself. While the wedding was on going, Satoru was in his car crying silently to himself with his head on the steering wheel as his saddest thoughts haunted him. He could easily walk out of the car, crash your wedding, and perhaps confirm if that child was not just a fragment of his imagination.
But what scared him the most was getting a confirmation that you did hide his child for three years without telling him. Why did that scare him, you wonder? Because it meant that he would have to hate you again. It meant that he had to feel strong hostility towards you, when that feeling was the last thing he ever wanted to feel for his own wife.
During his lowest moments, the person he ran to was also the person who once ran away from him. You werenât aware, but his mom never once left his side at times where the world felt hopeless. Or when breathing felt like luxury than a need. Or when simply existing felt like an undeserved privilege. She stayed and nurtured him to make sure that he wasnât alone as much as he believed. It was her duty as a mother to care for her child. The only person who truly understood his never-ending pain.
âMom.â One minute he was crying soundlessly in his car, the next he was on his phone choking a sob. âMom, I-I canât do this alone.â
âSatoru? Whatâs wrong, honey?â Worry laced her voice on the other end of the line. âWhere are you?â
His chest rose and fell heavily. âI w-wanna wake up from this nightmare. I wanna wake up next to her.â
âWhere are you?â His mother repeated her question with her anxiety increasing tenfold. It was one of âthose daysâ. Those terrible, dark days where the other side was whispering in her sonâs ear, tempting him to escape this world in his own hands. âDid you go to her wedding? My sonâŠâ
Gojou released a sigh, but it sounded more like a plea for help. His eyes were bloodshot and forlorn as he stared at the ceiling of his car. âI saw her and she looked beautiful. Sh-Sheâs happier, sheâs⊠sheâs⊠Mom, I love her.â
âIâm coming to pick you up.â He could tell his mother was tearing up. âStay where you are, Satoru. Iâll be there as soon as I canââ
âWe have a child,â he spilled out of the blue and the way it flew past his lips only brought a burning ache in his chest. âOur son, he looked j-just like me.â He pictured it all out in his headâhow his son would look sleeping in your arms, how his son would run towards his stepfather each time he came home, how his son would look at Satoru Gojou without recognizing him as the father who anticipated his birth with such excitement five months into your pregnancy. âI have a son and he doesnât know me.â
Deafening silence took over his mother, though it didnât last long until she spoke in a careful voice. âWhat are you planning?â
There was no handbook on what to do after finding out that your ex-wife faked her abortion all along. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to yell the nastiest profanities for the absolute fool he was seen as, and yet everything he would do would just be futile at this point. He was already having difficulty in processing the idea of your marriage with someone else, much less a child with you. Instead of fighting for the family he lost, he felt like he actually just lose a hundred battles more.
He had to think. Think, away from this place, away from the wedding that was happening inside the cathedral. He needed to clear his mind and figure it all out on his own. For one, was he supposed to pretend that nothing happened? Were you supposed to hide the child from him forever? Were you going to let another man be a father figure to a child who looked exactly like the husband you escaped from?
In a minute, Satoru revved his engine and accelerated the car past forty. He hit sixty when he drove through the street, then he hit a hundred when he reached the freeway. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and drove with blithe disregard for the rules of the road as tears blurred his vision. But maybe, instead of finding a way on how his presence could contribute properly to an ex-wife and a long lost child, he had to choose the easier optionâto disappear. Because for all its worth, he wasnât needed anymore. You managed three years without him, and you could manage fifty more years without him.
His little boy could continue his life not recognizing his shameless father who cheated on his mother, neglected her, ruined her. He was a bad influence and that was solid proof that Satoru could have never been a great dad as much as he liked to believe.
Though, for one reason, you were wrong. As he stomped his foot on the gas pedal, he remembered your words from earlier, âyou fell in love with the idea of having your own happy family regardless of the person you wanted to share it withâ. He didnât want that family with anyone else but you. That mansion he purchased wasnât meant for Sera, but for a home he pictured out with a woman he would marry and have dozens of children with. He wasnât given a chance at explaining himself nor was his voice heard when he tried to beg for forgiveness. You didnât owe him one, but it broke him to know that because of that miscommunication, your love couldnât be fulfilled in this lifetime.
This was a world where he was and would always be alone.
Reaching for his pocket, he took out the ring you returned to him and placed it between his fingers, reminding himself of a piece of you that he could still hold onto.
Other than the ring, he also had memories of both good and bad. The wedding day, Iceland, the auction, the morning after his fatherâs birthday, Bora Bora, Nanaâs death, finding out you were pregnant, knowing you had stable angina, that sunset in the yacht, Eula going to jail, him losing everything including you. If any author decided to write about him one day, Satoru hoped that people could learn from his tragedy and value their marriage before it was too late.
Wasnât it pathetic how he barely remembered everything he had done for the past three years except for those moments with you?
His phone rang wildly from the cup holder as his mom ceaselessly called him. But before he could manage to reach for the gadget, he failed to hit the brakes when the traffic lights turned red. Another blinding light greeted him in slow motionâhe realized that the lights were from another car. A much bigger vehicle was speeding towards him when the corner of his eyes saw it from a split second and it was all too late when he tried to steer himself away given the carâs screeching sound, the cacophony of horns echoing left and right, and the tires skidding on the pavement. The collision happened faster than his mind could take. Although his ears picked up the sound of a glass shattering, his eyes didnât capture the sight of the vehicle that led him to a fatal crash.
There was no deus ex machina to save him from the accident and neither were there flashbacks of his life from childhood until now. There was only darkness that pulled him in and embraced his soul into that empty, inescapable void.
On your second wedding, you expected that things would be easier this time around.
You had your father and Genâs support while raising your son in a country minus the spotlight from the media that could have caused you more stress three years ago. You hoped Satoru could understand. You just wanted to raise your baby in an environment without all the negative energy that surrounded him and your past marriage. So even if he would end up hating you now, you only ever wanted to prioritize your child. Your decision not to tell him was because you no longer had any connections as husband and wife soon as you divorced. Keeping the baby back then could mean that it would be harder for Satoru to let go, so despite having heard his heartbreaking screams that day in the hospital, you had to act on the advice that your father and sister gave you which was to finally put an end to your arranged marriage.
Besides, you were still blessed with a respectable man who had been there for you through thick and thin. A man you would soon lock eyes with once the towering doors by the vestibule was finally opened.
But at the thought of marriage, you suddenly remembered your first husband. You were foolishly thinking of Satoru Gojou at a wedding with a different man. Your trembling fingers matched the increased pace in your heart, just as much as how you blinked through the sting in your eyes. You realized that you were blinking tears until the wooden doors swung open to welcome you into another marital union that once put you through hell.
There they were, awaiting for you to walk down the aisle in your glamorous bejeweled gown. You saw your small audience of families and friends smiling at you as they eyed you with admiration. You saw Toji Zenâin at the far end of the aisle, handsome and perfect in his classic tuxedo while anticipating his status as a married-to-be.
With all eyes on you, you slowly made your way across the aisle, but each step was suffocating. The thought of going through marriageâhoping that it would be perfect only to be crushed by reality in the endâscared you. You didnât realize that you had developed trauma with weddings all because of a certain white-haired male who altered your vision of what marriages were supposed to be.
Three steps.
Could you really do this again? Could you become someoneâs wife and be locked under the vows of marriage for better and for worse?
Two steps.
Could you really offer yourself with wholehearted devotion towards a man who could end up ruining your trust once more?
One step.
The loud thumping of your heart was the answer: maybe you could. For Toji. For the love you deserved. For the marriage you always dreamed of.
But although you concluded with that answer, your hand lost grip on the flower bouquet as you saw another future as a wife back to square one.
âCall the ambulance! 911! Somebody help!â
âSir, please stay with me.â
The light came back to him while he was sandwiched between the cold dirt and the hot metal of the car. The heavy weight of the vehicle was pressing down on him and keeping him paralyzed amongst the broken shards of glass. No voice escaped his hoarse throat, but he could feel blood dripping on the side of his head where a throbbing sensation had just started to grow.
Yet all in all, he was numb.
He couldnât move his hand, couldnât see beyond the confines of his car, couldnât breathe more oxygen that his lungs neededâall his mind could process was the thought of you. Right when the shiny gold ring was within armâs reach on the concrete floor, Satoru lifted his broken arm up just to hold onto that one piece of memory he had of you.
He wasnât certain if he was only waiting for death or something much worse, but at the rate of the excruciating pain that his brain was giving him, he knew one way or another that he would lose a part of himself from hereafter.
But he hoped to every saint that he wouldnât lose that part of him that loved you.
That Satoru who first fell in love with you at the age of six, got married to you at the age of twenty-five, and still loved you at the age of twenty-eight was the version of him that he wished not to lose.
He was an antagonist in his own tragic story and was merely a plot device to set up conflicts, obstacles, and challenges for the protagonist. Although in most fairytales, the main characters were granted a happily ever after, you and him were given an inevitable twist of fate.
Perhaps this was the end. Or perhaps it wasnât.
Sometimes the end wasnât really the end.
After all, this was a universe where he was a character with unmistakable flaws that could not be redeemed. While that may be true, he hoped that you wouldnât forget that at a certain point, he was truthfully, unselfishly in love with you.
That in this universe and in all other parallel universes, he was and would always be sincerely yours.
with an arranged marriage set in place, the sacred bond is doomed with a wife who wants to make the relationship work and a husband whoâs ready to ruin it all. unbeknown to him, a tragic fate already lies within the pages of his romance book.
genre. heavy angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage, modern au, 18+
tags/warnings. profanity, explicit smut, violence, blood, injuries, illnesses, mentions of sexual harassment (not to reader)
notes. 14.1k wc. not the best written chapter n there are soooo many things happening at once, but pls enjoy it nevertheless! 3 chapters left :) thanks for the beta @kazbrkker n @https-inarizaki !!
series masterlist -> part eighteen
âŠPulse rate? 94
âŠBlood oxygen level? 96%
Surprisingly, for someone who had a sensitive heart condition, you were still a lot more energetic compared to your seemingly paralyzed husband who had sprawled in bed for the past hour. His chest rose and fell through heavy breaths, oscillating like a pendulum as he closed his eyes and succumbed to his fatigue. He wouldnât have been in this pathetic state at nine in the morning if he didnât insist on welcoming his birthday by receiving one of his âgiftsâ to start the day. Because your generosity as a wife exceeded his expectations, now he could barely get up as exhaustion had finally caught up to him.
âIs your stamina weakening?â You lay on your side and propped an elbow on the mattress, staring at Satoru with a faint smirk resting on your lips. Your fingers traced his bare chest to feel every swell and dip on his muscles that were glistening with sweat.
He turned his head towards you, clearly offended by your assumption. âNo, but you made me do all the work, pillow princess.â Your husband released a low groan from the soreness of his hips. âI came so much. I feel like Iâm gonna die.â
âFrom cumming too much?â You chuckled loud enough that it echoed across the yachtâs master bedroom. You were about to poke fun at his ego, not until your eyes caught sight of the pink floral dress that he had easily discarded on the floor. You couldnât help but frown after seeing how impossible it was to ever fix the dress back together. Perhaps you shouldnât have seduced him had you known that he was going to act like a horny beast. âHey, you ripped my favorite dress!â
Not just ripped it. He tore it apart as though you were a present that he wanted to unwrap with such eagerness on Christmas day. You even excitedly woke up at seven just to surprise him with that dress and it only ended up as nothing but a torn piece of clothing. Satoru, being the prick he was, hummed like it was no big deal. âYou wore that sundress on purpose.â
âBut you werenât meant to rip it!â A small pout appeared on your face as you sat up and covered your breasts with the white sheets. âNo more sexy time throughout this cruise.â
âWhat, wait!â Wide blue eyes looked at you in protest. âIâm gonna replace it. Just let me off this time.â
This wasnât even the first time he had ripped your favorite dress off and you doubted that it would be the last, but despite your distrust, you reminded yourself that today was his birthday and it was part of his privilege to be spoiled by his wife. âFine, but youâre getting me the same exact dress when we get back home.â
âYes, I promise.â
The visible grin that tugged at his lips made your heart flutter and the blissful feeling only heightened even more when he pulled you to his chest so he could give you a soft, open-mouthed kiss. âMmh.â His tongue was warm while synchronizing with yours. His heartbeat, slow and steady. His breathing, deep and restrained. Yours? The loud beep on your smartwatch was a sign for you to press your hand against his chest and pull away from your intoxicating make out session. âSatoru, wait. We canât.â
âWhaâ? I was ready for another round.â Disappointment laced his voice as he eyed how you sat upright again and turned off the faint alarm on your watch. Your husband then reached for your wrist to check your vitals on the small screen. âYour heartbeat. Shit, are you okay?â
Satoru didnât waste another second on checking everything from your temperature, your breathing, to the color of your face. His reaction made you chuckle and had you gently pushing him off. âIâm fine. My heartâs pounding, but my chest isnât in pain. Maybe our babyâs just excited because itâs daddyâs birthday.â
Although he wasnât convinced that you were completely okay, he did place a hand on your belly and leaned forward to plant a kiss on it. âReally? Does my angel wanna greet daddy, hm?â
Cute. You ran your fingers through his white hair with the feeling of content bubbling inside your chest. How adorable would it be if your babyâs hair had the same color as his? It would look like you gave birth to a snowball. âOur munchkinâs telling you that itâs time to get up.â
âAh⊠Are we in Okinawa yet?â Yawning, he glanced at the nearby window where you could both see the clear skies and the crystal blue oceanâa color reflective of the same hues in his eyes. It was amazing that you didnât fall seasick throughout the trip to Ishigaki Island because you of all people wouldâve been the first to have morning sickness.
âYeah, weâve arrived,â you confirmed, cupping his cheeks before giving him an affectionate peck on the lips. âHappy birthday, my love.â
Your husband smiled through the loving kiss. âMm. Thank you, my wife.â
How did you even end up here?
Take a few steps back and recall the days that led to you and the birthday boy inside his luxury superyacht. Two days ago, you two spent the whole day shopping for the baby and your husband decided to show off and buy almost every single item he could see. All the clothes, all the toys, all the milk bottles, even the most expensive crib and strollers. That was how you realized that Satoru must truly love his child because he couldnât hide his excitement at welcoming your precious baby into this world. At some point, you even teared up because you just couldnât process that your husband was doting you with overflowing love and affection to make sure that your pregnancy would be physically and emotionally healthy for you. In his words, âa happy mommy means a happy babyâ.
Well, just five more months and you would be ready to see your angel in due time. You could already imagine how hands-on your husband would be as a father and your heart felt full at the thought of Gojou kissing your babyâs small cheeks.
But back to your recollection of prior events, the trip to Okinawa was pretty much a last-minute decision after you shopped that day. Ever since you brought up the idea of chilling in a yacht with his best friends for his birthday, what you had in mind was just to spend a nice afternoon cruising across the Tokyo bay. You didnât think that Satoru would go out of his way and bring his superyacht to Okinawa because of the subtropical weather there compared to the cold winter breeze back at home. Sagittarius people could indeed be very spontaneous and Satoru Gojou was the embodiment of it.
âIâm gonna change into my swimsuit,â you announced, separating yourself from your husband while he, on his own, was still in his âbirthday suitâ. His eyes followed your naked body as you walked towards the closet and reached for your swimwear amongst the row of other outfits that you prepared for the day.
And yet, he remained lazy in bed even though he showed curiosity from your actions. He must be wondering why you were planning to wear a swimsuit when you wouldnât even bother swimming into the sea. âYouâre gonna swim?â
âNo, duh. Itâs for Instagram.â You beamed, holding the garment and teasing your husband with it.
He crossed his arms. âYouâre posting bikini pictures on my account so everyone knows youâre mine.â
Is he serious⊠âI think the whole world knows.â
âNot the guys thirsting for you on Instagram apparently,â he hinted and you werenât oblivious to the fact that he always scrolled through the comment section on your photos to see if anyone was sending you both lewd or hateful comments. Thankfully, you have never been targeted by jealous fangirls even in the first few months of your marriage so you havenât really had an experience in dealing with trolls.
You chose to ignore Satoruâs petty jealousy while you focused on wearing your Tommy Hilfiger swimsuit, checking yourself out in the mirror and quickly noticing the flaws on your face and unflattering body. âIâm getting uglier everyday!â
Just one look in the mirror and your confidence lowered down to zero. How does he even still smile at me in the morning when I look like this?
Hormones. Blame the hormones. The birthday boy was quick to finally get up from bed and slip into his underwear and swimming shorts. His expression was one that hinted how this mood swing was a regular occurrence in your household. âSays who? Youâre the prettiest youâve ever been,â he claimed as his hand touched your cheek while his sapphire eyes traveled to your collarbones, pleased with the map of hickeys he had left all over.
You allowed him to take the scrunchie from your wrist and pull your hair up into a ponytail. âIâm serious,â you silently whined. âMy face looks swollen and my bodyâs losing its shape.â
âStill sexy to me.â After he skillfully tied your hair back, he soon crouched down to be at face level with your baby bump. âYou hear mommy? Doesnât she look beautiful everyday?â
His baby-talk never failed at melting your heart like an ice cube on a sunny day. How could you even make this about you? Today was his and his alone. You shouldnât steal the spotlight even if your emotions may get the best of you because he was meant to have a stress-free birthday without having to constantly appease his wife. So in consideration for your husbandâs special day, you pushed back any unnecessary temper and insecurities that you had by swallowing them down your throat. âForget it. Letâs just go to the deck, please.â
A very obedient husband then held your hand, guided you out of the bedroom and headed into the walkway leading to the balcony. Immediately, the sea salt smell greeted your nose when you took a deep inhale and you felt refreshed after seeing the dome of jewel-blue skies that were of the same color as the sea. The sun was golden amongst the pillow of clouds and the waves were rippling gently to the soft blow of tropical winds. As far as you remembered, the last time you had been able to experience such a view was in Bora Bora which wasnât exactly the happiest phase of your marriage, but you tried to bury the memory in your head as your husband squeezed your hand and brought it closer to his lips.
âAre you hungry?â he asked, soon kissing your temple. âI think the chefs prepared brunch for us.â
You tugged his hand and craved the briny taste of baked scallops and lobsters. âSeafood?â
Satoru adjusted the tightness of your swimsuit around your hips. âYes, but not raw. You canât have raw fish.ââ
You sighed and looked at Mr. Nutritionist with your sad, puppy eyes. But instead of complaining about your inability to consume raw seafood because of your pregnancy, you shifted the attention back to the luxurious yacht that was big enough to fit thirty people on board. You remembered getting in this yacht before when his father celebrated his engagement with your stepmother-in-law, but that was way back when you were a teenager so you forgot how big the vessel actually was at daylight. It wasnât like Satoru invited a ton of guests for this vacation, though. Aside from the crew, the people currently aboard his familyâs superyacht only consisted of you, Gojou, Ieiri, and Getou.
Speaking of which, you saw Getou and Ieiri as you finally reached the cockpit and noticed how his hand was locked securely on her waist, his lips on her ear, and an undeniable intimate atmosphere surrounding the two of them. You and your husband froze at the unexpected sight, watching how they shared a cigarette where Suguru sucked the smoke out of Shokoâs lips before releasing it into thin air.
âWhat the fuck?â Satoru blurted out, eyes widening like he was scandalized.
You slapped his chest as soon as the âcoupleâ moved away from each otherâor at least, it was Shoko who pushed Suguru off her. She even laughed it off and tried as much to redirect the attention away from them. You saw nothing, her eyes screamed. âHey, birthday boy. Took you long enough to wake up!â
âIâve been awake since seven,â he answered while glancing back and forth between Getou and Ieiri, forming a conclusion as to how he should feel about his two best friends possibly dating. Truth be told, you werenât expecting it too but you would leave it for Shoko to clarify any misunderstandings.
Whatever it was that they had going on, she obviously wasnât ready to disclose it so you clung around Satoruâs torso and distracted him from asking them questions. âIâm hungry,â you said, feeling his palm resting on your lower back. âWe should eat first.â
An unfazed Getou was displaying a cheeky smile while he dragged his best friend into the dining area. âYou heard her. Donât leave Y/N grumpy.â
Just then, you traded looks with Ieiri who was already glancing at the love bites all over your neck, limning your cheeks incarnadine because you knew that she was aware of your recent sexual adventures. She didnât hold back at shooting Gojou a look of disapproval, but chuckled nonetheless. âHow are you feeling, Y/N?â She spoke like a doctor when she delivered the question.
As your husband pulled a seat for you, you faced Ieiri across the table with a smile while the two guys left to make special requests to the crew. âIâm doing pretty fine so far.â
Shoko nodded and sipped cold lemonade from the glass. âI was worried you wouldnât be able to handle long distance trips. Iâm glad Gojou chose to stay in Japan.â
âWhere did you guys spend it last year?â you inquired out of interest.
âWe went snowboarding in Canada,â she recalled the memory while slicing the bread for you like a caring mother. âIt was for a whole week.â
You took a small piece of garlic bread and dipped it into the clam chowder before plunging into your mouth. The savory taste filled your hunger and Ieiri was smiling fondly to see how satisfied you were with the food. âSo what was it like last year?â you continued. âWas Sera with you guys?â
You probably shouldnât have asked because you were clearly digging your own grave. Shokoâs hesitance was enough to tell you that your husband did have an enjoyable time back then with his ex-girlfriend. âYeah, she was. Nothing really significant, though.â
Still, for some reason, your curiosity still won you over. âWas he also clingy to her?â
How did he spend his mornings? Did they keep each other âwarmâ since it was freezing over there? Was he as affectionate to her than he was with you now?
âY/N,â Ieiri placed a hand above yours as if understanding the whirlwind of emotions that you were going through as a pregnant woman, âYou have nothing to worry about. He looks happier now than he was last year.â
Sighing, you slumped on your seat and stared at the calm sea. âI just wanna make sure that Iâm not falling behind or anything.â
âYouâre way ahead, trust me. Heâs almost worshipping you at this point,â she stated, finding the chance to change the topic. âAlso, thereâs something I need to tell you as your gynecologist so please have an open mind.â
You looked at her with pure, innocent eyes. âWhat about?â
At that moment, you knew that it was Dr. Ieiri speaking and not Shoko. âI know youâre in that phase where your sex drive is really high since itâs normal to experience an increased libido late in the first trimester. Youâll also have increased vaginal lubrication and a hypersensitive clitoris due to extra genital blood flowâitâs okay to take advantage of that and you can enjoy as much intimate time as you want. However, I just wanna remind you that you canât take nitrates so continuous strenuous effort might pose a threat to your heart. I suggest you get Satoru to engage more in oral sex since penetrative sex requires more physical exertion on your end.â
Heat quickly permeated your cheeks after hearing the topic that she had just brought up. It never crossed your mind that you would be having this conversation with Shoko and it was funny how professional she actually was with it. She spoke like a true doctor as these conversations were fairly normal in her chosen career, but you were still feeling sheepish since she personally knew you. âDonât worry, weâre being really careful and heâs always making sure that Iâm comfortable when we do it.â
âI know.â She smiled understandingly. âDo you monitor your heart rate and oxygen levels whenever you do?â
You nodded. âYeah. Honestly, Iâm just not used to this either. I get so sexually frustrated and itâs like,â you hesitated, shyly lowering your voice down, âitâs like I always want him inside me.â
Ieiriâs eyes gleamed in humor. âIâm pretty sure he feels the same. Though I recommend that you get angioplasty as soon as possible. Itâll make your pregnancy a lot more comfortable.â
That reminded you⊠âDid the research go well? Do you think itâll be a hundred percent safe?â
She leaned back on her seat as she responded. âYes, thereâs only a very slight risk to perform actual surgery. It will be more successful than not, and your baby will be unaffected.â
To live an angina-free life was what you had always prayed for and you were close enough to achieving it. The universe must be finally listening to your wishes knowing how difficult things have been for you because you almost believed that your situation was hopeless. If your mother could see you now, you wondered if she was watching you with a smile on her face. âThatâs great,â you exhaled in gratitude. âIâll speak to Satoru about it.â
âSpeak to me about what?â The said husband returned to his seat, placing a hand on your lap as he looked at Ieiri in curiosity.
Meanwhile, Suguru had taken the chair next to Shoko before he focused all of his attention towards her. Youâve always suspected if he had been hiding his affections for Ieiri before, but the way his gaze fell on her just basically confirmed your previous suspicions. Getou and Ieiri dating? Strange, but not quite. When did it all start? As much as you were dying to hear their story, you figured that respecting their boundaries was more important in this situation.
âNothing,â you replied, facing Satoru with a small smile. âI think I should get an ultrasound soon.â
Shokoâs face lit up at your proposal. âVisit my clinic when youâre free. We have to check if the babyâs healthy.â
Even if you round up every single employee in the Gojou Group, they would all say that Satoru was a strict, methodical boss who would not think twice about firing his staff if they didnât meet his standards. That Satoru and this current Satoru were two different people morphed into one body. As a businessman, he was a cynical perfectionist who rarely greeted his employees with a smile. But as a husband, he was a puppy who always wagged his tail for his wifeâs attention.
Not once did he lose his sight of you ever since you two boarded the yacht nor could he stand being too far away from you even for just a few minutes. Satoru theorized that maybe his unusual attachment to you was an effect from your pregnancy because he always felt the urge to stick by your side wherever you went. It was almost laughable how willing he was to lose the dominant hand in your marriage just to please you. Do expectant dads really find their wives a hundred times more attractive because of their pregnancy?
âSheâs so cute.â Satoru grinned from ear-to-ear, watching the movements of your butt as you walked with Ieiri towards the deck like a bunny in your one-piece swimsuit.
Getou followed his line of sight and realized that his best friend was staring at his wifeâs ass. âJesus,â he spoke in disbelief, elbowing Gojou on the rib before he continued, âSheâs already pregnant and youâre still trying to get her pregnant. Control yourself!â
Satoru gave him an exaggerated look of defense. âWeâre married!â said through a whiny voice before he raised an eyebrow. And just then, he found the perfect opportunity to change the topic. âSo, what the fuckâs up with you and Ieiri? You two are disgusting.â
âYou act like itâs a big deal,â Suguru huffed, leaning his back against the metal railings. The wind continued to blow on his raven hair that was loosely tied into a bun.
âYes the fuck it is,â replied Satoru, âweâre literally friends!â
The guy looked at him in disbelief. âSo? Friends can date.â
Does that mean theyâre really dating? Gojou considered that friends can indeed date, but then again, when he imagined Ieiri and Getou⊠âFeels like incest.â
Right then and there, Suguru would have thrown his best friend out into the open sea. âWeâre not dating,â he corrected, emphasizing his next word, âyet.â
His words made Satoru feel like he was being tasked to solve a puzzle since he had forgotten how it was like to live the life of a bachelor. âThe hell does that mean? Are you fuck buddies or what?â
A shrug, a moment of silence, a click of the tongueâthe dark haired man couldnât really say anything much about it. âKinda like that. Ieiri thinks Iâm not serious about her since I have a different lifestyle.â
âMan⊠I canât believe this.â As the yin to Suguruâs yang, Satoru never imagined that this spontaneous situation was bound to happen at all. He had never thought, more or less entertained the possibility that both of his best friends would be fooling around with each other behind his back. On the bright side, this setup wasnât so bad. They were familiar with each other better than anyone else and Gojou knew by experience that it was better to be with someone who was aware of his flaws than someone who could still take years building a concrete understanding of who he really was as a man. Satoru would best exemplify himself because he married a childhood friend, a wife who had been his best friend and partner in crime since the very beginning. âItâs gonna take a while to win Ieiriâs heart, you know? Sheâs always busy with her career.â
Getou threw his head back as if the bright blue skies had the answer he needed. âThatâs what she keeps telling me. Saying she doesnât have time to date âcause sheâs too focused on her career and all that, but I think she just doesnât trust me.â
âI wouldnât, either. Why would I trust a man who goes to nightclubs every weekend?â Gojou smirked in mischief and purposely earned his best friendâs scowl.
âYouâre too loud for someone who cheated on his own wife,â was his retaliation. He didnât need to say that! âBesides, Iâm a nightclub owner. Itâs business and itâs not like Iâm there to meet girls. Well, I used to, but none of them can compare to Shoko.â
Whatever. They were both grown adults who could date if they wanted to. Satoru realized that he was in no position to comment on his best friendsâ relationship because he would be a hypocrite to do so. Only a faithful man who properly treated his wife since the very beginning deserved to give rightful advice on relationships and marriages. Men hardly talk about love, anyway. And Gojou was the last person to talk about being the perfect lover.
âYou wanna take a dip?â he then asked out of the blue, leaning forward to peek at the oceanâs current. âY/N wouldnât dare swim with me.â
In fact, you chose to lounge with Ieiri like a beautiful mermaid in the pool instead of actually swimming into the ocean. Satoru was still pleased to see that you could enjoy such a view while basking under the sun in a luxury yacht that was now both yours and his property.
âYeah, we can give them privacy,â Suguru agreed, slipping out of his Hawaiian shirt as they both headed towards the deck. Just like old times.
The whole afternoon was very eventful. While Gojou and Getou were enjoying themselves by swimming into the warm waters of the ocean, you ended up taking photos of them from the deck as you sunbathed with Ieiri. The yacht was resting in the middle of the sea with a resplendent tropical view of an island that none of you would normally see in the business district of Tokyo. This yearâs birthday celebration wasnât the grandest, but this was the most intimate one Satoru has ever had. He didnât need to throw a huge party with hundreds of guests just to say it was the best, no. All he needed was you and that smile on your face as you watched him from afar. And truly, the best gift he had received in his twenty six years of living was the angel inside your womb. A product of you and him. A chance to build a family with the woman he loved the most.
Days seemed longer in the northern hemisphere even though the winter solstice had begun. Or perhaps, longer sunshines were a privilege that only Okinawa could offer because there was no doubt that the skies would be a little different now in any other parts of Japan. The extra daytime allowed you and your husband to enjoy his birthday by yourselves, just an hour into the late afternoon when he dragged you to the second floor of the yacht so you could spend some private time together. The balcony offered the best scenery that overlooked the stretch of cerulean waves and distant coconut trees, but the more pleasant sight for Satoru was you leaning forward against the couch to luxuriate on the open view.
âLike it here, baby?â he asked, holding your waist from behind as he pressed himself against you. âYou can see the horizon from here.â
You hummed and kept a tighter grip on the metal railings. âItâs so pretty.â
Was it your sweet smell? Or was it your skin tight swimsuit? Satoru couldnât tell which one drove him the craziest, but he could no longer help himself when his hands rested on your buttocks while you knelt on the couch. âThis is the perfect spot,â he playfully whispered into your ear, hot breath sending shivers to the curve of your spine. He kneaded your bum and molded his hands on its plumpness, secretly wondering how sexy it wouldâve been to see his handprint on it.
Should he? No, he probably shouldnât. That was way too naughty.
âS-Satoru,â you tilted your head just enough to look at him. âThe people downstairs⊠They might see us.â
âSo what?â Frankly, he didnât care. He can fuck you anywhere in this yacht without hesitation and none of the crew nor his best friends could say anything because 1) it was his birthday 2) you were a married couple 3) the atmosphere was too intimate. âHow about a quick one if youâre that shy?â
You grabbed his chin and gave him an affectionate kiss that turned rough when you two involved teeth and tongue. âHow quick is quick to you?â
With a triumphant grin, his hand travelled towards your inner thigh where he cupped your clothed core with his right palm to rub the plump folds that were restrained by the tight swimsuit. âIt depends how wet you already are.â
âI-Iâm n-not,â you held back on moaning as he slid the fabric to the side to free your aching pussy that was already lubricated by your own arousal. Would two fingers suffice? âSatoruâŠâ You instinctively met his fingers as they brushed against your entrance. That was how he decided to play with you a little and concluded that you deserved three fingers. âS-Satoru!â
âShh.â Three long digits entered your sopping cunt that sucked him like vacuum while he worked on moving them in and out of your stretched walls. With his other hand, he opened up your butt and watched the small hole that he had been dying to feel before. The question was, were you ready to be more adventurous? You hardly even managed to suppress your whimpers from the way he was fingering your pussy and the squelches only made the position even more erotic than it was. âDamn, youâre clenching around me.â
Your shameless mewls couldnât be helped. âG-Get inside meângh!â
âWhich hole, baby?â His playfulness was coming out at the same rate as how his boner got even bigger from his pants. âYou think we can try anal today?â
Your whole face was flushed as you arched your back to look up at him with half-lidded, scandalized eyes. How cute. âNnâthatâsâŠ! I-Iâm not ready.â
After a few more strokes, he took his fingers out of your cunt and moved them towards your clit, pleasuring you with circular motions while he continued to squeeze your ass cheek. âFine,â he mumbled and realized he might have expected too much. He had no lube ready to prepare you for anal penetration and this was only meant to be a quickie. Your tight pussy was already his paradise on Earth so all he wanted to do was rearrange your guts and be sated from the intimate heat that was building inside of him.
Seriously. How come you were so good at summoning the horny beast that was hiding?
âAgh, I canât take this anymore. Iâll put it in.â
You should look at yourself in the mirror to see just how fucking sexy you were when you lazily smiled at him, upper body dangling on the railings with your knees glued on the couch. Only though, you couldnât see Satoru lowering his shorts and releasing his aching member that slapped against his lower abdomen because of how hard he was. You made him like this. âYes, please.â
See how needy you were just as he was to you? âSpit on my hand,â he ordered, cupping your mouth so you could eject saliva on his palm which he later used to lubricate his shaft. Once he managed to make his cock wet, he slid the tip into your entrance and deepened his penetration slowly. âFuck.â
So warm. So tight. So, so⊠heavenly.
âAahâah!â
When was the last time you two did this position? He nearly forgot how he liked hitting you from behind like this. âYouâre doing so good, baby.â Praises left his mouth as his nails dug crescent moons on your hips, bruising you from the tightness of his hold when his thrusts got faster and deeper and harder. âShit!â
âA-Anyone can s-see us here,â you spoke in between moans while your body was being dragged back and forth to meet his hips like a rag doll. It felt as though his cock was leaving its shape inside your tight walls, carving every ridge while he was splitting you open so he could be in his deepest entry. You stained his length with blotches of cum as he angled his dick better to hit your most sensitive spot. and it was a delicious sight to see his member entering your swollen pussy that had received no other manâs seed but his. Just his and rightfully his.
âThen they can watch,â he answered frivolously, âweâre giving them live porn.â
âYouâre s-so vulgar!â He could sense the shyness in your voice before you proceeded to release more tempting moans. âAh, m-my legs are shaking.â
He could feel it even if you didnât say and he wasnât surprised when your lower region twitched against his crotch, feeling every hard slam of his pelvis that left your booty sore. âFeel every inch, honey.â
His entire cock disappeared when he shoved all of his length balls deep into your cunt, heightening his arousal when his member pulsated inside of you. If anyone from the nearest island had a telescope and decided to peek at the second floor of the yacht, they would be blessed with a live view of a husband and his pregnant wife having shameless sex like animals in heat. Gojou couldnât even stop himself from feeling your body, tracing your curves and squeezing your breasts from behind. Not once did his hips take a break from thrusting into you until he made the effort to increase your pleasure by letting his fingers play with your clit while his thick cock penetrated you nonstop.
âIâmâah, ah! It feels hotâŠâ You threw your head back and allowed it to rest on his shoulders while he continued his ministrations. He, too, was reaching his own high. He was so close to arriving at his ecstasy, his euphoria. The climax was building inside of him just as it was with you, however, the exciting and notable difference was how your legs began to shake the more he increased his pace using his digits and his throbbing member. Your whimpers were loud albeit restrained on the back of your throat and your hands were grasping his arms as though you were about to feel a combustion of flames.
And how big of a plot twist was it to your spontaneous lovemaking when your orgasm was in the form of warm, transparent liquid after he spoiled you with dual g-spot and clitoral stimulation?
âHngâ? Wh-Whatâs happening to me?â You squirmed from his hold, but he had his arm locked around your waist. âI-I feel like Iâm peeing.â
âNo, youâre squirting. Itâs normal.â Satoru released his own guttural moan, cursing under his breath and mumbling how fucking sexy it was to make you squirt for the first time. And now, it was his turn to release the result of his intense arousal. âShit. Shit, Iâm gonna cum.â
Hot spurts of seed soon coated your spongy, vaginal walls. The combining smell of sweat, sex, and the sea was an olfactory sense that he was certain would be stuck in his mind for the rest of his life.
As soon as he pulled out, you plopped yourself on the couch in heavy but stable breaths. Your cheeks were still in heat from the unusual ejaculation you had just felt and your husband quickly gave you kisses all over the face to show his appreciation. âI canât believe I did that.â
âIt was amazing,â he said, kissing your neck and snuggling closer to you. âNever had that with anyone before.â
The immediate frown that appeared on your face made him realize his poor choice of words. Why the hell would he say that to a hormonal wife? It was scary how serious you became. âI see how it is. So most of the stuff we did, youâve done it with many women in the past.â
Satoru kissed your lips. âDonât be jealous now, baby. Everything feels brand new with you.â
âYeah, right.â Despite rolling your eyes, you still ended up scooting closer to him as you two waited for the sunset.
The sunset! Your husbandâs eyes widened in remembrance. âBabe, can you meet me down on the deck? I just have to get something.â
You sat up, checked the stability of your heartbeat and planted your feet on the floor when you deemed it safe to exert more physical effort again. âOkay, Iâll see you there.â
It was already 6PM and the sunset in Okinawa would happen around quarter to six. By the time Gojou returned to meet you on the deck, you were already there, dressed in a beautiful yellow maxi dress that perfectly complemented the orange horizon. The glowing sun illuminated the skies, kissing the warm colors of dusk that reflected the oceanâs meek waves. It was such a picture perfect sceneryâyou standing at the edge of the yacht, hair swaying from the soft wind, and your face gleaming with romantic hues of dusk. Only high quality cinematic scenes could ever deliver a portrait as vivid as this and he quickly found his humble silence because there were not enough words in the dictionary to describe how mesmerized he was with you.
His wife. His better half. His lifelong partner.
Satoruâs heart was pounding when he took careful steps towards the love of his life. As you reached a hand out to him, he took it without sparing a second before he finally closed the distance by planting a kiss on your forehead. âYou look beautiful,â his compliment sounded mellow as it left his mouth, âIâm so lucky.â
The upward curve of your lips made his knees weak. âI have a gift for you.â You beamed, squeezing his hand before you showed the other hand that you were hiding behind your back. âWell, not exactly a gift. Iâm sorry. Itâs been hard to pick the perfect birthday present since you can get anything you want in this world, butâŠâ
But what? He stared at you in patient curiosity until you lifted his hand and slid a familiar gold band on his finger. Could it be�
âY/N.â Who knew that uttering his own wifeâs name would only bring out his heartâs felicity? Seeing you slide the wedding ring back on his finger, the same ring he unapologetically threw on the ocean back in Bora Bora, was causing the throbbing pang in his chest. He didnât deserve every inch of you.
âWe should wear them again.â You let him intertwine his fingers with yours, both hands decorated with wedding rings to signify your marital status. He felt like a complete asshole for not having valued the gold band around his finger the same way he was too late at appreciating you as a wife before he made those mistakes. Foolish mistakes that would never be erased as those scars would remain with you forever. He knew so well that there was still resentment rooting deep inside you, but you were selfless enough to give him a chance at working hard to right his wrongs, to be a better husband and to not be an absent father. âIt feels like forever since we wore it.â
He pulled you into an embrace before you could see the build up of tears that were dancing in his eyes. âIt was my fault that we stopped wearing them in the first place. I didnât think that youâd give it back.â
A soft sigh escaped your lips just as you pulled away to look up at his face. âIf you throw it again, thisâll be the last time youâll ever see me wearing the ring.â
âI wonât.â Heck, it was already unforgivable enough that he hurled it into the ocean out of anger. He was a different man back then compared to how he was now and Satoru would rather die than to go back to his old self. He could never put you through the same agony again. âIâll never take it off, I promise.â
You sealed your love with a kiss as the sun dipped from the sky in each passing minute. The susurration of the water and the distant chirping of the birds both relaxed your mind, painting the scene with the warmest palette as though you were living straight out of a movie. To think of it, you looked like Jack and Rose from Titanic when they were on the bow of the ship.
âI have a gift for you, too,â said Satoru, kissing your hand and chuckling as soon as he saw the look on your face.
Confused? Curious? Perhaps both. âA gift for me?â you asked, âItâs your birthday.â
You should have known by now that your husband loved spoiling you with gifts, but this one took the cake of being the most expensive gift he has ever purchased. âYeah, itâs my birthday and youâre already the greatest gift Iâve received so,â he cringed at his own cheesiness before he pulled out a gold key from his pocket. âHereâs my gift.â
Your emotions only became even more puzzled. âA key?â
He nodded as a response while tracing the slope of your spine. âI figured we need to have a bigger living space since we have our munchkin now.â After tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, he pulled you to his chest. âThe neighborhoodâs great and the backyard is large enough for the kids to run around. I havenât picked the furniture because I wanna leave the interiors for you to decide on.â
âHold on.â A finger shut his lips closed. âYou got me a mansion?!â
âThatâs a four billion yen property under your name,â he confirmed with a haughty grin. âThe largest estate in the neighborhood.â
To be honest, you looked like you were about to pass out. âI canât believe you justâŠâ Your glare was soft as if reprimanding him. âThatâs too grand even for us!â
âItâs okay. You deserve to feel like a queen in your own home.â It was true. He had always wanted to move out of the penthouse and let you live in a house big enough to be your own palace. âWeâll visit the mansion when we get back home.â
It actually took you another day before you arrived safely back to Tokyo. Gojou wouldnât have had the best birthday weekend if it wasnât for you, and stringing Getou and Ieiri along made things more celebratory in a sense. On the night before you went back home, both Satoru and Suguru had a few drinks that were enough to make them tipsy and the latter wouldnât stop professing his love for the embarrassed Shoko in a drunken state. It was nice to see their dynamic and Gojou wished that he had paid more attention to his bestfriends, but the past few months were his darkest so they couldnât blame him for being out of the loop.
Unfortunately, those dark days didnât seem to end yet. When the yacht docked at the harbour, Miwa and the bodyguards were there waiting for the couple to get inside their vehicle. However, the unusual countenance on his secretaryâs face hinted that there could be bad news.
âOh, Miwaâs here.â You smiled softly while you clung to your husbandâs arm, walking across the wooden platform until you made your way to the sedan.
âMr. Gojou,â the small, blue-haired girl offered a courteous bow as she spoke. âI-I couldnât reach your phone.â
What was it about? Did a huge investor pull out? Were any of his on-going projects miscalculated with a tight budget again? That couldnât be possible because Satoru exhausted himself at work to ensure that everything would continue to go smoothly while he was on a weekend getaway. But then again, Miwa wouldnât usually fidget like this if it wasnât so urgent.
âWhat is it?â he asked a little impatiently, and he was met with a cautious glance between him and his wife. Ah⊠Miwaâs expression told him that it wouldn't be best if you were around. As soon as he got the hint, he turned to you and urged the bodyguard to escort you into the car. âBabe, you wanna get inside the car so you can rest? I just need to talk to Miwa.â
In spite of the worry in your eyes, you nodded and did as told. âOkay. Come join me soon.â
It wasnât until you were out of earshot when he faced the agitated Miwa again with a stern expression. âJust get straight into it.â
âUm, y-your father.â Her doe eyes gazed at him carefully. âMr. Chairman is in the hospital. Heâs in a critical condition. You should probably see him immediately, sir.â
His father was in a critical state? Satoru didnât exactly know how to feel about this, but he was nevertheless shocked to hear the news. âHowâd that happen?â He glanced at the car and saw you peeking worriedly from the backseat. âMiwa, take my wife home and tell her Iâll see her tonight. Iâll be heading straight to the hospital.â
Satoru grew up in an abusive household that was mainly due to his fatherâs temper. At an early age, his standpoint about love was tainted because of the kind of relationship that he saw between his parents. It was difficult to believe that love existed between a husband who constantly hurt his wife and a wife who desperately wanted to escape her husband. In his eyes, why did they get married in the first place? Were all marriages like that? He was a child born for the sake of having an heir because his mother was an aristocrat arranged to an influential man who had been running a business empire since he was eighteen. They had him late because his mother had trouble conceiving a child for so long until he became the miracle that she had always prayed for. If Satoru hadnât been born, what would have happened to his mom?
More importantly, would his dadâs behavior be even worse?
It was rare that he received genuine attention from his father as their relationship and bond was mostly transactional. All of their conversations were usually about business and the man trained him throughout his youth to prepare in running a multinational conglomerate since he was the sole heir of the Gojou Group. Satoru could remember his father being proud of him once when he graduated top in his class and it was for the first time where he heard the words, âIâm proud of you, son.â
The thing was, Satoru yearned for his fatherâs love. His attention. His respect. But while witnessing the late night arguments from the corner of the room, he became disgusted with the violence that his father often inflicted on his mom which was when he started to grow a deep resentment towards him.
It got even worse when his mom finally divorced him and left, leaving Satoru at the hands of an abusive man who directed all of his anger towards the son he never once loved.
So, why should Satoru feel any sort of sympathy towards this man?
Even after seeing him in a vegetative state on a wheelchairâunresponsive, immobile, and paralyzedâSatoru couldnât find it in himself to feel terrible. What he felt was curiosity as to how all of this happened. Two nights ago, his father constantly bombarded him with texts and calls asking if he could meet with you to see how far you were in your pregnancy. He was exuding the happiness of a grandfather that he didnât deserve to be and Satoru prohibited him from getting near his wife because he refused to give him the privilege of ever being acknowledged by his child.
Now, that man was here, limp and suffering an incurable syndrome. His jaws were unaligned, body stationary, and only his eyes were moving with tears filling up at the sight of his only son looking at his pitiful state.
âLocked in syndrome?â Satoru verified with the doctor. âHe fell from the staircase and now heâs forever paralyzed?â
âWe also refer to it as pseudocoma. Weâve done MRI to identify the pontine abnormality after we detected damages to the pons due to infarct and hemorrhage,â the veteran male doctor explained, âand Iâm afraid that the accident resulted in his inability to show facial expression, move, or speak. Communication is only possible by coded eye movements.â
Satoru took a deep breath and assessed his fatherâs current condition. How much of a punishment was it that the old man would live the rest of his life by being trapped in a limp body?
âWill he still recover from it?â he asked the doctor, noticing how his father looked at him miserably. It was as though he was trying to desperately say something to his son, but he was limited to eye movements. âOr will he just continue to deteriorate from hereafter?â
It was a doctorâs job to give hope to their patients, so it was expected for him to offer possible treatments. âHeâll be completely bedridden and reliant on caregivers, but we can place him under rehabilitation and various supportive therapies, though there is no guarantee that heâll improve.â
According to the maid who narrated the events, there were loud indiscernible screams that occurred at the mansion that day which gave her the impression that his father and his stepmom were fighting. As for the evil stepmom, she claimed that due to shock, her husband suffered a stroke and fell from the stairs before she could even catch him.
Eula also recounted their argument as something that was in relation to Satoru, once again blaming him for being the cause of his fatherâs tragic fate.
Speaking of the witch, his stepmother soon entered the hospital suite with her fake crying face as she approached her husband. âShinzo! Oh, my!â she crouched down and stroked his cheek, forcing tears to pool her eyes knowing that Satoru was watching her with a rigid stare. The strange part was how his fatherâs eyes widened at the sight of Eula which clearly reflected fright, but the woman played it off as him being in a traumatized state still. âMy poor husband, itâs going to be okay. Iâm here. I wonât leave you.â
âPlease allow him to rest frequently,â the doctor advised before excusing himself to give some privacy.
And as the doctor took his exit, their family lawyer then entered the room and immediately acknowledged the three of them by offering sympathies to the Chairmanâs critical medical condition. There were papers in his hand and Satoru assumed that these were legal documents that needed to be read with all the family members around.
âIs that my dadâs Living Will?â Satoru inquired, arms crossed as he stood at the edge of the hospital bed.
Before the lawyer could confirm, Eula eagerly got up and showed interest in the said document. âYouâre distributing his assets, right?â
Seriously⊠Gojou clenched his fist. Why was she concerned about that? âA Living Will is a written document detailing the medical care he requires in case he becomes physically compromised.â
The stepmom shot him a piercing gaze as if she was offended by not understanding the difference. âYou shouldnât even be here. It shows how youâre only interested in inheriting everything your father has because of your greed.â
Satoru was about to snap until the lawyer cleared his throat to cut the growing tension. His stepmom was lucky that no one was around because God knows what he could have done to her. Maybe not today, he told himself and sought self-restraint as he urged for the lawyer to explain the contents of the document.
Only the lawyerâs voice filled the room when he described all the medical treatments that his father wished to receive in case he suffered a life-threatening condition. Aside from allocating sufficient staff to nurse him at home and provide him better care, he also wished to receive all treatment necessary for the betterment of his healthâthis includes surgeries, dialysis, and/or rehabilitation.
âApart from the medical directives,â the lawyer read off the document, âthere is a sub clause highlighting that in the event where Shinzo Gojou has become incapacitated, Satoru Gojou shall become the Chairman and CEO of the Gojou Group. Satoru will oversee all business obligations and everyone including but not limited to; employees, security, and house personnels must follow orders under his command.â
It seemed like Satoru himself had become paralyzed after hearing those words. He could barely process the amount of responsibility that his father had placed on his shoulders because he nearly believed that he had stripped him off his rights. He made him think that he wasnât going to inherit the company after the merger did not push through.
âImpossible!â His stepmom protested, face seething in anger as she looked at the lawyer. âWhat about my son? What about Yuuta? Read it all over again, I canât accept this!â
Was this how it felt to be victorious for once? He did feel terrible for how his father ended up in a vegetative state, but the denial on Eulaâs face made him satisfied inside. After years and years of being harassed by this woman, she finally received the plot twist of her life.
âIâm sorry,â said the lawyer, âOnly Satoruâs name was mentioned in the document.â
âNo! No, absolutely not! This is ridiculous!â
Frankly, she wasnât easily accepting her defeat either because she was furiously glaring at her unresponsive husband for betraying her. How ironic was it to marry someone for their fortunes only for the hated son to snatch every single penny?
With a faint smile on his face, Satoru walked towards his father and leaned closer to whisper in his ear, loud enough so his stepmom could hear. âDonât worry, dad. Iâll take care of everything.â
It was a threat to Eula more than a promise of obligation and she was left with gritted teeth and clenched fists while watching her stepson walk out of the room in complete satisfaction.
When Satoru said he was going to come home later that night, you had already fallen asleep before you even got the chance to talk to him. You had been anxious for the whole night wondering what might have occured for him to suddenly head somewhere else instead of going home with you. It didnât help that Miwa had remained tight-lipped when you asked her where your husband was going, but she assured that all you had to focus on was your health.
Since the yacht cruise took a huge chunk of energy from your body, your maids immediately tended to your needs when you came home until you blacked out in bed because of exhaustion. Sadly, when you woke up the next morning, you were greeted with an empty bed realizing that your husband was already gone.
All that was left was a post-it note above your bedside table to inform you that he did sleep next to you last night.
Baby, Iâm sorry I have a busy day ahead. Iâll make it up to you when I come home. I love you - Satoru
With a sulking face, you soon walked out of your bedroom and brought your lonely heart along, especially with how much you missed your husbandâs presence. Something serious must be going on with him because he usually wouldnât leave the penthouse until eight in the morning. Could it be about Sera? Did he regret kicking her out of the company and now he was making it up to her? How foolish were you to think that he could easily forget about her?
On the contrary, you didnât mean to overhear the conversation between your maids while they prepared your breakfast in the kitchen and that was how you finally learned why Satoru had urgent things to attend to.
âDid you hear? Mr. Chairman hit his head after falling from the stairs and it resulted in complete paralysis. Itâs such a gruesome accident! Because of it, Mr. Satoru will take over as the new Chairman and CEO starting from today.â
âEverythingâs just so sudden. I actually heard him talking to a lawyer this morning and heâs requesting for his stepmomâs financial statements. Maybe theyâre fighting about matters of inheritance?â
âI heard they never got along!â
âApparently, the stepmomâs ambitious and most people donât like her because sheâs new money. Mr. Satoru seems to despise her because of that.â
âRich people are soâOh, Miss Y/N!â
You didnât realize that you had been holding your breath throughout their conversation even as they all consequently lined up with their heads bowed down in utter shame. They continuously apologized for gossiping about your husbandâs personal life until you raised a hand to dismiss them. You werenât going to fire them because of something as petty as that and, truthfully, you wouldnât have known about all that Satoru was going through if you hadnât eavesdropped.
âGood morning, Miss Y/N,â greeted one of your maids with a shaky voice, âIâll prepare your Açai bowl. Would you like some blueberries to go with it?â
As you nodded, the other maid with light brown hair helped you up the bar stool behind the kitchen island. âYou look pale, Miss Y/N. Iâll get you some water.â
âSatoru,â you spoke to them in a daze, âhowâs my husband when he left? Was he alright?â
Both maids sent you a look of concern. âHe seems fairly okay, Miss. He looked more serious than usual, but he still reminded us to make sure that you take your meals properly.â
Of course. You let out a sigh. How could he be okay? It hasnât been long since Nana died and now another one of his family members was on the verge of suffering the same fate. Although Satoru despised his father, he was still a son and he must be having a rough time dealing with the amount of responsibilities that he suddenly had to carry on his shoulders. Not to mention he also had a pregnant and ill wife at home who required constant care. A person, no matter how resilient, could only take so much.
âMiss Y/N? Your phoneâs ringing,â a maid with raven pixie hair ran to your side with the gadget in her hand, âI think your mom-in-lawâs calling.â
Oh. She must have heard about the news. You mouthed a quick âthanksâ to the maid after you took your phone from her grasp and answered the call, âHey, mom.â
âY/N, darling. Are you and Satoru doing okay?â The gentleness of her voice was unexpectedly comforting. âIâll drop by later tonight for dinner if you two are free.â
You smiled as if she could see. âThatâd be nice, mom. Iâm sure Satoru would love to see you, especially now.â
You didnât have to specifically state why because she seemed to be very well aware of what you mean. More than that, she didnât exactly have any place to react to her ex-husbandâs medical condition anymore. âHow about you?â she asked from the other end of the line. âStress is bad for your baby. Are you getting enough rest?â
âYeah, Iâm doing fine. Donât worry, mom. So many people are looking after me.â In fact, even your dad wanted to hear updates about you every now and then because he was all for making sure that you were treated well.
âOkay, thatâs great. Iâll see you two tonight.â
âSee you, mom. Take care.â
It was only after the call when you realized that you received a text message from an unknown number and it managed to steal all of your interest in this unusual morning. Was it just a spam message? As you chewed on your lip, you opened the message and read it:
With a protective hand placed on your belly, Sera cleared her throat and adjusted her seat. You could see the way she returned to her humble attire, discarding the previous style that she was shamelessly copying from you. âIâm not here to make amends,â she clarified without acknowledging your question.
You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. âWhat makes you think Iâd even forgive the woman who tried to harm my baby? I could easily send you to jail if I wanted to.â
It wasnât a threat. You just had to establish a thick line that she should never cross or else she would face the most powerful lawyers in Japan.
âI wasnât thinking when I did that.â She couldnât really meet your eyes when she spoke again and the only space she could stare at was the tableâs surface. âI was driven by anger and jealousy. Even I'm disgusted with myself for what I almost did to you, but I did it because I wanted to get my revenge on Satoru. I wanted him to feel the pain he left me with.â
You raised an eyebrow and remained coldly stiff around her. âHe apologized to you over and over. He even begged for you to hurt him instead of directing your anger towards his wife and his unborn child. Did you really think he was going to take it lightly?â
âBut thatâsâŠ!â
âBetween us both,â you cut her off, âIâm the one who should be angry at him. Iâm the one who has the right to be completely spiteful and unforgiving after all the pain that you two put me through. Do you think Iâve completely forgiven Satoru just because heâs my husband? No. I have more grudges on him than you do and thatâs how it should be. Iâm the wife who was wronged and youâre the accomplice to his mistakes. You have no right to get back at him or me because you knew what you were getting into by staying with a married man. You donât know how much I suffered in our marriage and youâll never understand how ruined Iâve become because you refuse to acknowledge other peopleâs pain except your own. Youâre selfish. Youâre shallow. Youâre a miserable excuse for a woman.â
Both of your hands were shaking from rage as your temperature rose at the same rate your heartbeat increased. The only reason your fury subsided was because Sera was suddenly bowing her head down as though she was ashamed of all the things she had done and that there was no way she could save face. The prideful and stubborn Sera, here she was showing her raw vulnerability in front of you. It was either you struck a nerve or she was just beginning to realize her actions, but she had nothing else to say after you finally released the resentment you had been keeping inside.
Instead of arguing back, she met your eyes as if seeking an answer to the questions in her mind. âWhy did you⊠reinstate my brotherâs scholarship?â
The question caught you off guard and rendered you speechless for a moment. Was this the real reason she wanted to meet up with you? You were expecting that she would put up another fight or even scream at you for âstealing everythingâ she had, not her bringing up a certain kind gesture that you did in secret.
You gave her an honest response either way. âYour brother has nothing to do with the mess you created. Iâm only being fair to an innocent person.â
Based on Sera's facial expression, it seemed like she just wanted to confirm it by herself that you had no ill intentions when you restored her brotherâs scholarship. She saw it with her own two eyes that it was pure generosity and altruism that ought to be returned, which was why you were taken aback when she pulled out a paper bag and crouched down right in front of you, carefully reaching for your foot like a mere servant. Her sudden actions alerted the bodyguards who tried to pull her up until you raised a dismissive hand and told them that it wasnât necessary.
âIâm just returning whatâs yours,â she stated the words exactly as how she said it in text, later wiping her lachrymose eyes before she took a box out of the paper bag and revealed the bejeweled light blue Jimmy Chooâs that were once owned by a late-princess from Great Britain. Sera took it upon herself to swallow her pride, remove your sandal and replace it with the shoe that fit your size perfectly. âI knew itâd fit you.â
What does she mean? Your confusion reflected on your visage. âI donât need your shoes. These are yours.â
She was insistent at shaking her head and wiping her damp cheeks. âHe bought it for you,â she corrected before returning to her seat. âThese shoes were meant for you. What happened that day, I-I just came to meet him at the wrong time when he picked the shoes up. He was heading back to give it to you, but I took interest and asked him who they were for. We were still dating back then so he didnât wanna hurt my feelings and said that the shoes were for me.â
Impossible. Satoru hated you at the time, so how�
âThese arenât mine,â was your strict reply. âIâm not interested in anything that belongs to you.â
She, however, remained resolute. âThey barely fit me and Satoru knows my shoe size well enough before he purchased it at the auction. Itâs yours whether you believe it or not.â
Sera never explicitly apologized nor did she utter the words âIâm sorryâ or âI hope you can forgive meâ. She stayed true to her character and chose to repay your kindness by lowering her pride. In her head, it was the least she could do and the best that she could ever allow herself to. She was at a point where her dignity was irretrievable so her solution to it was to find a way to lessen the guilt that was eating her alive. One, for sleeping with a married man. Two, for harassing the rightful wife. And three, for almost harming an unborn child.
You would never become the best of friends even if she did beg on her knees to apologize. It was better that way.
âLive a life without envy, Sera,â you told her with a detached voice. âSome people have it worse.â
FLASHBACK â The Hyatt, Hotel Bar
On the topic of pride, the man who possessed that quality the most was none other than the Chairman of the Gojou Group. Shinzo grew up protecting his own image and dignity for the sake of his family name and the business that he spent blood, sweat, and tears for. Nothing in this world was more important than the company, even to the point where he drove his ex-wife away and forced his son to suffer from attaining his perfectionist standard. He was a hubristic man whose source of satisfaction was to always remain at the top. Those he deemed incompetent were ultimately seen as undeserving and this was an ideology that he wanted Satoru to have. To be the best, to keep his pride intact, to be heartless when needed. As much as he saw him as a real son, Shinzo was blinded by his rage and greed that he treated Satoru like a pawn more than his own flesh and blood. For him, his direct lineal heir was only born for the sake of running the company, nothing more and nothing less.
This was why he could understand why the same son shunned him away like he was the most despicable man in the universe. Aside from the physical violence that he unapologetically inflicted on Satoru, he was also the root cause of the unimaginable trauma that he acquired. He was a ruthless father with a heart made of stone, that even on his own sonâs birthday, he could not find it in himself to greet him.
Instead, he was here at a hotel bar to deal with something that was in dire need of attention. It was neither about his son nor his business.
It was about his wife.
âWhat do you have to say about this?â After slamming the folder on the table, the old man watched how Sera flinched across from him and saw the collection of photosâor evidence, ratherâthat she and Eula met up at a rooftop not long ago. âAre you that shameless that youâd meet with my wife to ask for money? How much more do you need?â
Sera was incessantly shaking her head at his accusations. âSir, itâs not what you think. ItâsâŠâ
He sent brutal daggers by staring straight through her soul. âDonât lie!â yelled the old man. âYouâre desperate âcause youâre jobless and now youâre leeching off of my wife?â
âNo, itâs really not what you think.â Along with her firm denial, she looked like she was hesitating about something important. This wasnât really the first time he had met with Sera since he previously held a private meeting with her when he gave her a check to ensure that she would stay away from Satoru. She must already be aware that she was facing off against a man with a sadistic temper and she should know not to lie to his face when her life was on the line. How brazen was this woman to even look him in the eye? âSir, Iâve never asked Miss Eula for money. Not even once.â
Her eyes glanced at his enclosed fists just as he asked, âSo what else does a woman like you need from her?â
âSh-She was giving me advice on how to get Satoru back,â the girl admitted, hiding her rueful face while she continued, âAt first I thought she just⊠wanted to help me. But then I realized that she was doing it to make sure that Satoru would never get on your good side, because if he ended up with me, you would have punished him.â
Bullshit. What kind of bullshit was this? âYouâre painting my wife as a bad person. Do you realize the gamble youâre taking here?!â
âIt doesnât matter because Iâm telling the truth, sir.â Seraâs lips quivered at every word. âYour wife isnât who you think she is. Sheâs manipulativeââ
Shinzo downed a glass of Scotch and slammed it on the table. âWhy should I believe you?â
She wasnât really begging for him to believe her. Her countenance showed how much she just wanted to spill the truth rather than convincing him to see his wife in a different light. âBecause,â she paused, gulping nervously, âsheâs having an affair with a younger man. Someone whoâs very close to me, thatâs the reason why I met up with her.â
What? Laughable. This was absurd by all means that all he could do was find humor in it. âWho the hell are you talking about?â
âItâs true! I canât even call it an affair because he was being forced into it.â Strangely enough, there was no trace in Seraâs face that hinted at her lies. âShe was sexually harassing him and he wanted to file a case against her, but he knew itâll be bad publicity to your company and reputationââ
âI asked for his name!â His growling voice bounced back from the concrete wall.
âN-Naoya,â answered Sera, her voice shaking uncontrollably, âNaoya Zenâin.â
Naobitoâs son? Shinzo found his silence as he processed the newfound information. To think of it, he had always suspected that Eula was sneaking out behind his back. He had turned a blind eye to it, but he was aware of her hotel expenses, her extravagant gifts, and her interest in the Zenâin Group. All along, he believed that she was simply scheming on how to sabotage the rival company and he didnât expect that she was actually preying on a younger man who only ever dated women his age.
âPlease donât hurt Naoya,â Sera begged as if protecting the manâs life was more important than her own. âHeâs a victim.â
But in the end, Shinzo had nothing else to say.
The only person that could confirm these bold accusations was Eula herself.
The wife he had married solely for her beauty. He might not have been the best husband, but he could never forgive betrayal of this caliber. He was a ticking time bomb that was ready to detonate from a single trigger and he didnât even have any plans to hide his rage when he came home that night to confront her. Vexation fueled his mind and vicious was the fire in his eyes as he walked up the stairs and saw Eula coming out of her sonâs room with a smile.
âShinzo,â she greeted and reached for his arm, feigning innocence with her stance, âI was just asking Yuuta to start packing up. His flight is in three days.â
He snatched his arm away, allowing his wife to jump in surprise before he spoke with gritted teeth, âThat kid Naoya. Whoâs he to you?â
Eulaâs reaction was already a confirmation in itself. The way her eyes widened, the way her soul left her body, the way her voice became stuck in her throat. âWhat⊠What are you talking a-about? I donât know him.â
âWhy did you check in at The Hyatt last fourth of September? Who were you with?â he questioned while keeping his last bit of patience depending on the answer she would give him.
âI-I was⊠I was with Mrs. Nakamura,â she responded, backing away as he took careful steps towards her. âWe had a few drinks and I insisted that we check in because the poor woman was drunkââ
Her face was met with a harsh slap. It was painful enough that it left a bright red mark on her cheek, but there was no way Shinzo could still hold himself back. âYou lying whore! Nakamuraâs wife joined our business trip to Macau that day!â
And the attacks came straight after that. His anger coursed through his entire body when he hit her again and again and again. However, the stark difference between his first and second wife was the fact that Eula was fiercer and surprisingly aggressive. She held her cheek with fury in her eyes as though the man had just unforgivably ruined her face. âHow dare you hit me, you crazy old man!â She screeched and attacked him with her long nails, pushing him back while he was dragging her along with him. âHow dare you lay a hand on me after all that Iâve done for you!â
âEverything youâve done for my money, you mean?â Shinzo let out a devilish laugh that sent goosebumps on Eulaâs thick skin.
âAnd so what?â Her chest rose and fell heavily. âYou marrying me is your karma. Did you think anyone would want to marry a pathetic, abusive man?â
âYouâ!â
Just as he was about to swing his hand onto her, she was fast enough to push his old body off towards the flight of stairs where he stumbled backwards and hit every limb, dislocated every joint, and popped every artery until blood gushed out of the back of his head when he landed on the floor. It was for the first time where Shinzo saw the actual face of the demon and it wasnât in the form of Satan, but in the form of a smiling wife he referred to as his own karma.
Ever since he was born, Satoru grew up preparing to take the role of a Chairman and CEO.
There were many instances in his childhood where he could only sneak out a few hours throughout the day to play with you because he was always expected to spend his time at the library. Instead of fantasy novels and mangas, Satoru had to read thick books about business strategies, marketing psychology, and financial management. His childhood was mostly of him being trained to become a competent businessman with not much career choices except to run a huge company. He wasnât complaining per se. In fact, he considered himself blessed for being an heir to an established conglomerate that only acquired more value day by day. There were huge expectations resting upon his shoulders and the amount of pressure that his father placed on him turned him into a greedy and self-important leader that was an exact carbon copy of his father.
Morally speaking, he didnât really wish to follow his fatherâs footsteps. He despised the idea that people saw his fatherâs qualities in him because anything about the man was what he, ironically, tried to avoid all his life. The cheating, the emotional manipulation, the violenceâSatoru could list down all of his fatherâs red flags and he would end up publishing a ten-volume book with about five hundred pages each copy. The only thing he ever admired about his father was his passion for the company, a passion that he valued more than his own family to the point where he preferred submitting himself to all the stress at work than paying attention to his own wife and son.
Because he cared more for the company than his own family, he ultimately lost his first wife and his son grew detached from him. This was what Satoru was scared of, that if he had ever failed to balance his work and personal life, you might also end up leaving him just as his child might alienate him.
So, if anyone was wondering about how Satoru felt now that he was announced as the Chairman and CEO, it wasnât exactly as triumphant as he imagined.
Ask him eleven months ago and he would have celebrated it with a pop of champagne. At the present day, however, he didnât make a big deal about it. Of course, he was nonetheless celebratory and he was gratified to have finally reached his goal. After all, the initial reason why he agreed to marry you was because of his lifelong dream to take over the company without fighting for the inheritance. But like a racecar that had taken a different course from its original route, Gojou realized that the experiences he had gone through for the past several months had actually changed many things about him. He saw the importance of patience, integrity, and perseverance and there was nothing more satisfying than to rise to the highest position in the company because he managed to earn his fatherâs trust at the most crucial period of his life.
Everyone from the Board of Directors were glad to see Satoru take over despite the rumors of him being stricter than his father when it came to closing deals and approving proposals. They all congratulated him for being appointed to lead and also paid sympathies for his now-incapacitated father at the same time. It was a double-edged sword just as how one of the executives put it, because even though the new face of the Gojou Group was a man who was made to run a business empire, they were still sad to see that the previous Chairman had to step down from his position due to a tragic illness.
But in spite of his fatherâs ill fate, Satoru was responsible enough to ensure that the company would be very well taken care of.
âMiwa,â the newly appointed CEO walked through the corridor while his secretary kept up with his fast pace, âI want to see all the backlog of paperworks from the past two weeks.â
As he entered his new office that was much more spacious than his previous one, he was surprised to see Miwa catching her breath and looking extremely exhausted after attending meetings left and right. âYes, sir. Iâll request them fromââ
âDo I need a secretarial staff?â Satoruâs question was not a criticism. Neither was there any trace of animosity on his face when he sat on his chair and opened his laptop. Miwa, who stood in front of his desk, was looking at him with an uneasy smile. âIâm asking you if you need me to hire more secretaries to help you around. Iâm not saying youâre slacking, but you need to step up now that we have more work to do.â
The blue-haired girl sighed in relief. Did she think she was going to get fired? âIt would be very ideal if you do hire another secretary to the team, sir.â
âInform the HR team and ask if we can get someone internally,â he ordered while browsing through the files on his laptop. âI want someone whoâs dedicated, diligent, and responsible like you.â
There was a moment of silence that took over after he said those words and he had been too occupied at checking his emails when he realized that Miwa was teary-eyed when he looked up at her again.
âS-Sorry, sir.â Miwa offered a 90-degree bow to him. âItâs just⊠Itâs the first time I ever heard a compliment from you.â
Gojou chuckled softly. His secretaryâs face basically screamed the words: âyou used to overwork me without acknowledging my hard work!â and âyou gave me a hard time rescheduling your appointmentsâ. Things were bound to get even busier from hereafter, but he wanted Miwa to feel appreciated. âAs soon as another secretary joins you, you can take a week off from work.â
âReally, sir?!â Miwa was so overjoyed that Satoru could imagine her skipping merrily across a flower field. âThe Gojou Group is the best company! And our boss is super duper handsome!â
Her liveliness was contagious that even Satoru himself felt momentarily relaxed after a tedious first day as the highest ranking executive in his company. The day alone had already drained every bit of his energy and his face reflected his weariness, which then prompted Miwa to excuse herself and get him some refreshments while he took an hour to rest inside his office. Checking the clock, it was already quarter past four and he still had another appointment to attend. And when his eyes found the photo frame above his desk, he stared at your beautiful smiling face and figured that it was the most effective way to calm his heart. My wife.
How were things back home? Surely, it felt like forever since he last had a proper conversation with you because he was busy dealing with his fatherâs current condition and he also didnât expect that he would be appointed as the Chairman and CEO straight after his birthday getaway. He hoped that it didnât make you feel like he was neglecting you because he would still prefer cuddling with you all day than be burdened by numerous paperworks, meetings, and fieldworks.
Maybe he should give you a call and tell you how much he missed you or that he couldnât wait to come home for dinner and spoil your baby bump with endless kisses.
Unfortunately, he must have forgotten that he still had to face one of the many obstacles in his life. With that obstacle being his stepbrother.
âNii-san?â Yuuta showed some hesitance when he peeked through the door before entering with fidgeting hands. âAre you busy?â
What the hell does he want? Perhaps he was here to try and claim a position that was not even given to him. Did he and his witch of a mother really expect that they would be inheriting the company instead of Satoru who was a direct heir to the Gojou bloodline? Was being a freeloader at the mansion not enough to satisfy their insatiable thirst for money and power?
âDid you schedule an appointment?â Satoru asked coldly, never once meeting his stepbrotherâs gaze. âIâm quite busy, you know.â
ââŠAh, I just need to talk about something important.â Why was he fiddling with his shirt like he was nervous? This was unusual from Yuuta who always carried himself with humble confidence, the kind of aura that his wife possessed.
He hated talking to this boy, but what exactly did he need for him to even go out of his way and visit the office? âDonât you have a flight to catch? Youâre better off in the US. I can take care of my company.â
Yuutaâs eyes were glued on the tessellated carpet while he firmly shook his head. âItâs not that. Iâm here toâŠâ With a deep breath, he gathered the courage to speak again, âItâs about my mom. I-I donât want her to hurt more people. She⊠She was responsible for killing Nana and pushing dad off the staircase.â
Satoruâs body temperature became as cold as ice.
âI can testify in court,â said the younger man in a resolute voice, âPlease send my mom to jail.â
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