Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tick tock tick tock. The repeating sound of the blinker slowly fades from Takumi’s consciousness as he stares into the distance, cigarette butts falling onto his lap one by one. He finds himself replaying the same sentence over and over again.

“I want a divorce.”

Four simple words that shouldn’t have surprised Takumi as much as they did. He had seen it coming, of course. He and Nana had been separated for so long that any lingering hopes he once held had long since evaporated. And yet, hearing them spoken aloud, so definitively, felt like a punch to the gut.

When she delivered the news, they were in the kitchen of their Shirokane apartment. Takumi had literally just returned from London, still tired from the flight, his clothes all rumpled from Satsuki jumping on him. He hadn’t even had a chance to change or settle in. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to tell her they’d found Osaki. 

And just like that, she sat him at the table, made him some hot tea, and calmly declared, “I want a divorce.”

He didn’t initially get mad. He told himself it was for Nana’s sake, to not make her upset, to be a fucking supportive husband for once. But in reality, he just felt defeated. And when Takumi feels defeated, he gives up. He lets the punches land and the blows rain down upon him without any form of resistance. 

He simply resigned himself to his fate, accepting his position. It’s his own neglect that drove her away. His own coldness. His own arrogance. He took her for granted, treating her more like an accessory than a wife, and now he’s reaping what he sowed. He was a lousy husband and he’s going to have to live with it. It’s fine. Nana deserves better than what he can offer her. 

So he wasn’t riled up by Nana’s declaration, not really.

But what followed it actually made him livid, self-control be damned. He would’ve shouted if it hadn’t been for the children playing in the living room. 

“I’ve been seeing Nobu. He takes good care of Satsuki. He loves her like his own daughter.”

If the news about the divorce had been a punch to the gut, this felt like a knife being twisted in his side. It wasn’t just a betrayal; it was a deep, personal wound that cut through layers of his pride and ego.

His (now ex) wife had been cozying up to her old flame, while he was across the globe, working his ass off and searching for her best friend.

It’s not even the thought of Nana possibly cheating on him that drove him mad beyond reason. No, that would be hypocritical. What they had had always been more akin to a business arrangement than an actual romantic relationship between two people, and Takumi himself had long been seeking entertainment outside the marital bed.

It’s the thought she was doing it with Nobu that really got under his skin. Fucking Nobu. The very same man he can’t help but see as competition. It was as if his own partner had gone over to fraternize with the enemy. 

He’d always looked down on Nobu, dismissing him as weak and spineless, but now Nobu was taking something that he saw as rightfully his. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to, and it unsettled him deeply. 

Nana had also loved Nobu once. Maybe still does. Most likely does, if Takumi’s being honest with himself. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Nana’s an incurable romantic.

He didn’t even question the specifics of what they did together. It made his stomach churn. He preferred to be spared the intimate details. Instead, he rose from his seat, abandoning the untouched tea.

The children’s laughter echoed in the background, a jarring contrast to the tension in the room. Takumi wanted to yell, to scream, to do anything to release the pent-up frustration, but he couldn’t. Not there. 

He knew he had no right to be angry, not anymore. Because it was his own fault. And he knew that if he allowed himself to give in to that anger, it would only make matters worse. 

So he did what he always does in stressful situations: he stepped out onto the patio for a smoke. He needed a familiar and grounding ritual, a temporary escape. The cool air and acrid burn of nicotine did little to calm his nerves, but it was better than nothing. 

And when he came back, Nana already had his suitcases lined up by the door.

She straight-up kicked him out of the house, his house, taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t even unpacked yet. He barely managed to convince her to let him at least change into a fresh set of clothes. 

Ren observed the whole scene with wide-eyed silence, expression a mix of confusion and concern. But it was Satsuki’s innocent question, her tiny voice asking, “Daddy, why are you leaving again?” that made his heart break in the end. 

Forcing a smile onto his face, he told her he was going to stay at Uncle Naoki’s for a while. He promised them both that he’d be back tomorrow to take them to the new amusement park in Tokyo, hoping to alleviate some of the worry in Satsuki’s eyes.

However, reality set in as he gathered his things. He’s no longer a member of this household. Nana will likely get custody, relegating him to weekend visits with the children, if he’s lucky. Junko will help her ensure she’s going to secure the most favorable terms in the divorce settlement.

And now he’s on his way to that bastard’s place. He memorized the address of Nobu’s inn as it was scribbled on the sticky note Nana had left on the fridge in her loopy, feminine handwriting.

If there’s one thing about Takumi that hasn’t changed, it’s his stubbornness. He’s one stubborn motherfucker, and he’s not going to let this slide without at least having one last confrontation with Nobu.

***

The place is huge and it only serves to stoke Takumi’s anger further. The audacity of this jackass to play the role of some underdog scraping by on mere pennies, when he’s been fucking loaded all this time. That inn could accommodate Emperor Akihito with his entire entourage, and then some.

Takumi pulls up and parks his car, killing the engine. For a few moments, he simply sits there, gripping the wheel. He takes a moment to compose himself, straightening his tie and smoothing down the wrinkles in his suit, then steps out of the SUV.

The light from the inn’s windows casts a warm glow. The exterior is dark, the only light emanating from the windows upstairs. He’s all too aware of the late hour, knowing there’s a good chance that Nobu is already asleep, but he doesn’t care. He has to speak to him, now.

Without hesitation, he pushes the door open and heads into the dimly lit lobby. As he enters and looks around, scanning the place for a sign of Nobu, he spots a few people still loitering around, their gazes lingering on his figure. He catches snatches of whispered conversations—“Isn’t that the guy from Trapnest?”—confirming his suspicion that he’s been recognized.

Takumi’s incentive to disguise himself, hide from prying eyes and paparazzi, has long since waned. It makes little difference to him at this point. He just hopes no fangirl will come running up to him for an autograph. He’s not in the mood, and it certainly wouldn’t make for a pleasant photo op.

These people must be accustomed to the presence of celebrities anyway. From what Takumi knows, Nobu has been assisting his elderly parents in managing the inn for a good while now. Ever since… Nana Osaki disappeared and Blast’s activities were suspended, that is. Baldy and Shin probably visit all the time.

As Takumi approaches the reception desk, he gives a nod to the young woman behind it. She looks up from her computer, her eyes widening at the sight of him, a hint of admiration crossing her face. Takumi’s not quite sure whether she recognizes him too, or whether she’s simply taken by his presence. He finds it hard to tell sometimes.

“Good evening, sir,” she greets, her voice sweet and a bit too sultry to be strictly professional. Her eyes rake over him brazenly, obvious interest in her gaze. “How may I help you?”

Takumi quirks an eyebrow. Okay, she’s definitely flirting with him. Takumi’s no stranger to women hitting on him, and it doesn’t faze him much, but this one’s a little too shameless. The way she leans over, trying to show off her ample cleavage, makes him inwardly snort.

“I’m looking for Nobuo Terashima, the owners’ son,” he replies curtly, his tone uninterested, not bothering with the honorifics after Nobu’s name. If this exchange had taken place a few years back, he would’ve probably entertained her advances and taken her to bed. But no luck tonight, lady.

“I’m afraid Mr. Terashima is not available at the moment… Would you like me to book you a room instead?” She chirps back, still batting her eyelashes. Takumi rolls his eyes. God, this girl is relentless. And she’s not taking the hint at all.

He leans against the counter, maintaining a casual demeanor.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just wait for him. When is he coming back?”

As if on cue, footsteps echo down the stairwell. A moment later, Nobu emerges into the lobby, a tired expression on his face. The bags under his eyes suggest he had a long day.

His eyes fall directly onto Takumi, who’s leaning against the reception desk. Then they shift to the reception lady, who’s now blatantly flaunting her assets with the front of her blouse unbuttoned. Nobu’s gaze instantly hardens.

Fucking great.

Nobu stops in his tracks, a scowl taking over his features as he locks eyes with Takumi. The sight of him is obviously not something he wished to come back to. But here they are now, face to face in the reception area.

They glare at each other in this silent standoff before Nobu saunters towards him across the tiled floor. He draws the attention of the few remaining guests.

He’s wearing a traditional yukata and it looks far more attractive than it should on him. Against Takumi’s better judgment, his eyes linger over Nobu’s frame, taking in the way the silk fabric clings to his body in all the right places. 

Nobu’s hair is down, free from any trace of gel. It’s cropped, shorter than Takumi’s, even after his haircut. All Takumi can think of is that he looks like a paramour of some big-shot samurai from the Heian period. Cute. 

Takumi shakes away the intrusive thought. Nobu’s sour expression contrasts with his otherwise sweet appearance. He’s staring daggers at Takumi, his face flushed in what seems to be… anger? Surprise? Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t look too bad on him either.

What is he even thinking?

“What are you doing here, you scumbag?” he snarls, his fists clenched at his sides. He deliberately avoids meeting Takumi’s gaze, feigning interest in anything but his face. So that’s how he’s going to play this. Fine. “Already had to hit on the receptionist, huh?”

Takumi wants to protest that it was, in fact, her hitting on him, but decides to just turn a blind eye to the comment. Doesn’t matter what Nobu thinks of him, right? He can think Takumi’s the sleaziest son of a bitch to walk the planet, for all he cares. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

The way Nobu scans the scene, his expression darkening as he takes in the flirtatious display of the receptionist, is almost amusing to watch. Takumi can’t help but feel a small pang of satisfaction, seeing how visibly riled up he is. He doesn’t care if Nobu thinks he’s interested in her. But it’s obvious that Nobu himself does care. It seems he still has no luck with the ladies. It honestly surprises Takumi.

It’s strange how Takumi’s anger dissipates in an instant, too. Nobu in the yukata, the angry flush on his face, the tension radiating from his every pore—it’s almost comical. Takumi’s not one to hold grudges for very long, especially not under such extenuating circumstances.

“Nice to see you too, Nobu,” he replies coolly. “What’s with all the insults? We’re in public,” he adds and, sure enough, he can hear a few giggles and whispers coming from the bar area of the inn. Nobu stares at the commotion, shamefaced, and humphs. Fucking humphs like a scornful kitten. Takumi has to suppress his laughter.

“Well, I didn’t exactly expect you to visit,” Nobu mutters. He crosses his arms over his chest, and his yukata slips a little from his shoulder. Takumi can see a milk-white collarbone jutting out. 

Is this what Nana’s been attracted to this whole time? His delicate, pretty boy features?

Takumi tries to ignore the effect that collarbone has on him. It’s not his fault for noticing. Any normal person would find it attractive on a man or woman, wouldn’t they? Nothing weird about admiring a bit of bare skin, right?

Has Nobu always looked like that? It’s an odd realization that he’s somehow never noticed that Nobu is good-looking. He always saw him as just another member of Blast. 

He never really paid much attention to him when he was decked out in his usual punk attire. But now, the sight of him in the traditional outfit does something to Takumi. His brain conjures up images of what lies hidden underneath all those layers. 

Stop it, he tells himself firmly. 

“Follow me,” says Nobu and motions for him to come along, leading to a secluded room off to the side. Some kind of private office? 

He follows Nobu down the hallway. The sight of the bare collarbone is strangely magnetic, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. He forces himself to look away, pushing the thought of Nobu undressed from his mind.

They reach the office and Takumi’s eyes dart around the intimate setting. It’s a small room, sparsely furnished save for a dark oak desk, a few chairs, and a leather Chesterfield sofa. The door shuts with a quiet click, cutting them off from the outside world. They’re alone. 

Once they’re out of earshot, Nobu spins around, his eyes blazing. “You’ve got some nerve coming here. After everything you’ve done, how dare you show your face here? What do you want this time?” 

For a moment, Takumi is taken aback. There’s a fire in Nobu’s eyes that he’d never seen before. It’s captivating, in a way. 

“Quite a welcome,” he remarks dryly. He leans against the door with a nonchalant slouch and lights a cigarette, the flame casting flickering shadows. 

Nobu wrinkles his nose distastefully. He sits on the desk in the center of the room, arms crossed and an unimpressed glare aimed at Takumi. “Put that out,” he snaps. “I can barely breathe in here.”

Takumi, in his typical defiant fashion, takes an even longer drag, the end of the cigarette glowing ominously. He smugly blows out the smoke in a thin stream. He knows he’s pissing Nobu off, and he’s loving every second of it.

“What, you don’t like the smell of a good cigarette? They’re French,” he quips as he takes another puff. He can almost see the steam coming out from Nobu’s ears. 

“You’re making it awfully hard for me to be civil to you,” Nobu finally says, voice taut. 

“Why so uptight? Worried your little receptionist is gonna throw herself at me again?”

Nobu shoots Takumi a withering glare. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? What’s your problem?” he asks through gritted teeth. “You show up unannounced at my inn, you flirt with my staff, and now you’re smoking here like you own the place. I can’t believe you’re still such an insufferable jerk after all this time. You didn’t have to come here. You’re not welcome, and yet here you are, acting like a prick as usual. Just go.”

Takumi pushes himself off the door and stalks over to where Nobu is sitting on the desk. He comes to a stop right in front of him, the toe of his shoe touching Nobu’s sandal.

“I wanted to… talk. Can’t I come pay a visit to my old pal, without an ulterior motive?” he taunts, watching with amusement as Nobu’s cheeks flush crimson and he once again turns his face away to hide it from view.

It’s a lie. They were never friends. They maintained a facade of civility with each other, before the whole Nana fiasco, but they were never friends. Nobu had always thought Takumi was a dick. But Takumi relishes the opportunity to tease him some more before delving into the crux of the matter.

He studies the way Nobu’s face twists in anger, the way his body language tenses up. It’s like poking a hornet’s nest. And Takumi does it so effortlessly.

“Cut the crap.” Nobu jumps off the desk and moves next to the window, putting distance between them again. “I’m not in the mood for your mind games.”

He looks out the window, his back ramrod straight, watching a car pass by below. A gentle breeze drifts through the half-open window, causing the curtains to sway slightly.

Takumi flicks the ash from his cigarette. It falls on the carpeted floor, leaving a small, dark spot.

“Mind games, eh? You think this is a game to me? Why would I come to this shithole in the middle of the night just to play games with you?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Nobu retorts flatly, still refusing to look at him. He knows Takumi too well to believe that he’s here for a mere ‘chat.’ He probably assumes he has some ulterior motive as always. 

“How should I know why you do the things you do? You’re always playing games, whether it’s with your women or with me. You never do anything without some kind of agenda,” Nobu’s voice shakes slightly. “Everyone’s a disposable pawn for you to use. So what would you be here for then, if not to annoy me? You’re not one for heartfelt conversations; I know that much.” 

There’s irritation in his voice, but Takumi can’t help but notice something else as well, something more complicated, closer to hurt. Like he wanted Takumi to visit without a deeper reason.

He can only see Nobu’s profile, lit up by the street light flooding into the room from the window. It highlights his jaw, his long lashes, the curve of his bottom lip. Something stirs in Takumi’s chest at the sight. It also makes him almost… somber.

“It’s about Nana,” he sighs, taking the last drag from his cigarette. He tosses it into the bin, then pockets his hands once more.

“What about her?” Nobu asks, trying to maintain his composure, but failing. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions. He wears his heart on his sleeve. Takumi finds that endearing for some reason. Maybe because he’s the exact opposite.

He takes a few steps toward the window, chasing Nobu’s shadow. He comes to a stop just behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. He smells good, comforting. Not like the artificial fragrance of a perfume or a cologne, but rather the fresh, clean aroma of laundry detergent.

Nobu’s breathing hitches slightly at the proximity. Takumi’s fingers are itching to reach out and touch his shoulder, his hair… anything. But he stops himself, clenches his hands into fists. What is he even thinking? He goes back to his place by the desk.

“She’s divorcing me.” His words hang heavily in the air. Silence blankets the room, only disrupted by the distant hum of the highway. “We haven’t slept in the same bed for years now. I think she officially hates me. Congratulations. You’ve done it. You’ve won in the end,” he laughs bitterly. 

Nobu turns around, and a strange expression flashes across his face at Takumi’s words—there for an instant, then gone. A wave of various emotions flit through his eyes before they shutter, revealing nothing but a blank slate. “Congratulations? Do you really think that was my intention all along? To break up a marriage? Do you think this is some kind of victory for me? I… I never wanted to ‘win’ anything.”

He then looks at Takumi, really looks at him, for the first time since their conversation moved to the office. “I… how is this winning? I’m not like you. I don’t take joy in your misery.” His voice is quieter than just a moment ago, almost like guilt washed over him. 

Takumi has a sudden urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, do anything to wipe that look off his face. Please, anything but that. The last thing he wants from Nobu is pity. He’s not here for condolences.

“She told me you two had been seeing each other.”

“N-nothing happened,” Nobu stammers, his voice betraying him. It’s kinda cute. It’s taking every ounce of self-control for Takumi to not blurt out that he thinks so.

“Oh, really?” Takumi’s gaze sharpens. “You’ve been hung up on her for years. Why would that change now? What happened to that pornstar of yours, anyway? The one that looked like Nana. Yuri Kosaka, was it? She dumped your ass that soon? What is it? Couldn’t get it up anymore?” 

“You don’t know anything. I haven’t— I’m not—” Nobu sputters, looking and sounding like an anxious mess. He’s always so transparent around Takumi, so easy to read. “Is everything about sex with you?”

Nobu’s last line reminds Takumi of that one quote he once read. “Everything in the world is about sex — except sex. Sex is about power.”

Ha.

Nobu folds his arms again, and Takumi notices how the yukata shifts around the lean muscles of his biceps, accentuating his slender figure. He looks like he’s ready to throttle him, but his flushed face betrays his embarrassment more than anything.

The yukata slips precariously off his shoulder, and Takumi can now see the line of his collarbone in all its glory. His mind is assaulted by an unbidden image of Nobu without his clothes on, the yukata pooling at his waist as he stands in front of Takumi, bare and exposed. It surprises him, this sudden desire.

Why is he suddenly noticing these tiny details about Nobu? His collarbone, the softness of his hair, his long eyelashes, the way his shoulders move beneath his yukata. He’s here to confront Nobu, not to notice the little things about him.

“Well, in any case, you’re free to make a pass at Nana now. She’s all yours. I’ve heard Satsuki even has a room here at the inn. You can play house and pretend to be a happy family, for all I care. I’m done fighting a losing battle.”

“I—How can you even say that?” Nobu looks down. He looks so vulnerable, and Takumi again has to fight this sudden urge to reach out and touch him. Comfort him. What the hell is wrong with him today? “Well, at least you’re aware Hachi’s not your property. You don’t own her. She has the right to move on.” 

Nobu starts circling the room. Takumi watches him, feeling strangely torn. On the one hand, he wants to tell him to quit pacing like a trapped animal. It’s pissing him off. On the other, seeing Nobu all worked up is… distracting. He has to admit that he doesn’t dislike the way he’s bristling with anger like a feral cat, despite the words he’s hurling.

Everything he says pisses him off, but at the same time, there’s something about seeing him so agitated that makes his heart flutter stupidly in his chest.

Stupid, emotional, annoying…

“Listen, why are you here after all this time, Takumi? Go back to London. You ruined Hachi’s life. You’re lucky she’s even willing to talk to you, let alone let you near the kids. She should’ve filed for a restraining order a long time ago.”

Takumi’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. The words burn him deep inside. Nobu’s not wrong. He’s been trying so damn hard to keep it together, but… Nobu just has a way of breaking down his walls. A part of him, a very small part, wants to drop all pretense now.

“I know all that, okay?” He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve messed up big time. I’m paying for my sins every single day. I’m going to hell anyway, and I’ve accepted that I won’t be forgiven. Not by her, not by anyone, and certainly not by myself. But despite all that, I’m at least trying to make some amends. So spare me your moralizing bullshit.” 

Takumi swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Is… Nobu staring at his lips?

“No, you don’t get to play the victim. You don’t get to play the repentant husband. She gave you too many chances already,” Nobu’s voice trembles now, and Takumi can see him fighting hard to hold back the tears, eyes bloodshot with anger. “You made her life a living hell. She was in so much pain, and you were the cause. You weren’t there when she was crying herself to sleep, night after night. You weren’t there when she couldn’t get out of bed because she was too depressed. The number of times I’ve held her while she sobbed, the number of times she was sick to her stomach from the sheer stress…”

The image of Nana, crying in Nobu’s arms, makes something in his chest twist painfully. He doesn’t know if it’s guilt or jealousy, and he can’t decide which is worse.

“Shut up,” he growls, but there’s no heat behind it. He doesn’t have the heart to argue back. He just stands there, feeling like a chastised child being lectured by a parent. 

“Do you know how many times she called me in the middle of the night, terrified and alone? Do you have any idea how it feels to watch someone you love be destroyed by the person who’s supposed to cherish them? She’s stronger now, but she was never the same. And that’s on you.”

Takumi’s chest tightens more and more with each word that comes out of Nobu’s mouth. He feels like he can’t catch his breath, like he’s drowning, and it’s all thanks to those expressive eyes that keep boring into him, like they can see right through him.

The pain in Nobu’s voice… it’s too much. He can’t handle it. He won’t. He doesn’t want to know.

“I…” Takumi reaches for another cigarette, but his hands are trembling so much that he struggles to get one out of the pack. A task that’s usually second nature suddenly feels impossible. He curses under his breath.

Nobu continues circling the room and rambling, his words tumbling out in a relentless stream, as if he’s been waiting forever to throw them in Takumi’s face. 

“She deserves someone who will love her unconditionally, who will be there through thick and thin, who will never make her doubt her own worth. And that’s not you. It never was. So don’t you dare come here and pretend like you’re some kind of changed man. While you were out there doing God knows what, she was falling apart. I saw the toll it took on her, how she lost herself trying to be the perfect wife for you. And you…” He points an accusatory finger in Takumi’s direction, disdain etched on his features, “You were too busy with your side chicks, with your business deals, with Reira, to even notice.”

Takumi flinches at Nobu’s words. The truth behind them stings, deep and bitter. He knows all too well how he neglected Nana, how he treated her like an afterthought.

But Reira? Takumi barely saw her in London. She was avoiding him like the plague, like he didn’t even exist. She fucking let him go. Does Nobu seriously believe they were sleeping together all this time? The idea is absurd. He can’t believe Nobu would think something like that, given how Reira had acted during and after the funeral. 

He hates that he’s being made to feel like the bad guy for this of all things. He hates that his heart is hammering against his chest, his palms are suddenly sweaty, and goddamnit, he can’t tear his eyes away from Nobu’s lips too.

He finally finds his voice. He feels pathetic. Hollow inside.

“Don’t you fucking dare bring up Reira! You don’t know anything! You weren’t the one married to me, were you? You didn’t share my bed, my life, my burdens. Nana did. I stood by her… I was there for those sleepless nights, moments of doubt and fear. I was the one who held her when she was falling apart. I was there… I was…” 

His voice cracks, the anger briefly giving way to a pleading tone. He’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Nobu or himself. “I was there,” he repeats like a broken mantra. His eyes are searching for that validation that will no doubt never come. 

“Not when she needed you most, clearly! I was there for her in every way that you weren’t,” Nobu screams back, and Takumi’s guilt and desperation are again replaced by anger.

“You think you’re so much better?” he asks, anger flaring in his voice. “Are you pretending that you’re some saintly figure, a martyr to my wickedness? Rich coming from the guy who was too much of a pussy to fight for the supposed love of his life. Who left her at her lowest point. You’re a fucking coward, Nobu. Always have been. You run away the moment you need to show some semblance of responsibility. You’re nothing but a damn child, too soft and weak to handle the realities of life. You’re naïve and idealistic, living in a fairytale world!”

“I might not be as capable as you, or a ‘tough guy’ like you. I might not be Hachi’s ideal type, but one thing I have over you is that I genuinely loved her.” Nobu pauses, the word ‘loved’ hanging heavily in the air. Takumi raises an eyebrow, the implication sinking in.

Loved? Why is he speaking in the past tense? Does that mean… there’s nothing between them anymore? Was Takumi being paranoid over nothing? Were his suspicions misplaced?

He’s careful not to let his facade slip, however.

“You know, I used to find your whole nice guy schtick amusing, but now it’s just pathetic. You always want to play the hero, rescuing broken women from their unhappiness like some knight in shining armor, when you’re partly to blame for the way things turned out. You could’ve easily taken care of that baby. You had the money. You were a spoiled rich kid all this time, apparently. Not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths. What even gives you the right to judge me?”

“Oh, because you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth? Everything comes so easy to you. You snap your fingers and people bend over backwards to accommodate you.”

This makes Takumi see red. This presumption that he had well-to-do parents like Nobu, caring parents, who provided him with everything he desired. Parents who actually spent time with him. Parents who left him with a career path in case his dream didn’t work out.

He didn’t have that luxury.

He lashes out. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me! You don’t know my life and what I’ve been through to get to where I am today. I haven’t had it easy. Mommy and Daddy didn’t hand me everything on a silver platter. I worked for it. You have no idea what it takes to rise to the top when you have nothing to your name, so just shut your goddamn mouth, you little punk,” his voice rises so high that he’s afraid someone might hear them, despite the soundproof walls.

“I don’t care what you’ve been through,” Nobu spits back immediately, trembling with fury. “You’re a heartless, egotistical prick who doesn’t deserve an ounce of happiness in his life! You walk around, acting like the world owes you something, but you’re nothing more than a shallow shell of a human being. You have to constantly numb yourself and block out your emotions because you’re terrified of facing the truth! You’re incapable of feeling a shred of compassion, or empathy, or love. You destroy everyone around you, leaving a trail of shattered lives in your wake. The only person you care about is yourself, and that self-centeredness is eating you alive from the inside out. You’re lonely. You’re rotting away, and you don’t even have the decency to admit it!”

Ouch.

Nobu’s words are a brutal slap in the face, and they hit their mark. They hit harder than any fist could. Takumi hadn’t expected such a vicious onslaught, not from someone who has always been too kind, too soft. It… hurts?

He’s always been adept at shrugging off insults like water off a duck’s back. But these words, spoken with such vitriol, slice through his defenses and leave him exposed. It’s like he’s been flayed alive, and suddenly, everything he’s worked so hard to bury and forget, all the emotions he’s tried so desperately to suppress, come rushing back. 

What’s worse, he can’t find a single fault in Nobu’s accusations. It’s all true. He’s a callous bastard. A hollow shell of a man. And he’s alone. Always alone.

Goddamn it, he hates this. He’s not like this. He’s always in control.

“Wow, what a speech. What, are you a psychotherapist now? You’re going to try to ‘fix’ me now, too? Is that your thing?” he says sarcastically. “You’re not even man enough to stand up to me properly. And you’ve always been jealous of me, haven’t you? Look me in the eyes, for Christ’s sake.” He takes another few steps towards Nobu, closing the distance between them. 

Now he’s practically cornering him, eyes searching his. The brat is not even brave enough to face him.

Then Nobu rasps, eyes shimmering with tears he refuses to shed, “At least I don’t have blood on my hands. You basically murdered Ren by not letting him go to rehab.” 

His words cut through the air like a knife. Takumi is speechless for a moment. It’s a low blow and Nobu likely knows it too. But the guilt, the regret, it’s all too easy to weaponize. 

Takumi didn’t kill Ren. He was eventually going to get him help, he was. Trapnest was just drowning in scandals, and certain things had to be hushed up. Takumi’s logical side prevailed. As it should. He did what he thought was best for the band, for all of them. It was Narita who was supplying Ren with drugs. And Takumi did try to protect him in his own way. He got Narita to back off. 

He didn’t kill Ren so… Why does it sting so damn much? Especially coming from Nobu. Why does he even give a damn what that punk thinks? The mere notion fills him with rage. All those cutting words fill him with absolute rage. 

Before it even registers in his mind what he’s doing, he’s pinning Nobu’s hands to the wall, holding them firmly in place. He looms over him, leveraging his six-inch height advantage (and Nobu’s not wearing platform shoes for once). 

Nobu struggles at first, a futile attempt against the overpowering strength of Takumi’s grip, but then surrenders, allowing him to restrict his movements. 

He’s finally forced to properly look up at Takumi. Takumi’s breath hitches when his eyes meet those big, brown ones, glassy with unshed tears. Nobu’s cheeks are flushed, hair is disheveled. Something in Takumi stirs.

“You…” Takumi’s voice is a low, velvety whisper, his breath hot on Nobu’s face. 

But before he can utter another word, before he can seize his chance for a retort, Nobu stands on tiptoes and presses his lips against his own. It all happens so quickly that Takumi doesn’t have the time to react. 

Five fleeting seconds later, Nobu pulls back, flustered, headbutting him away, silently confessing that this was a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgment. His face contorts in embarrassment and fear. He looks like his heart stopped dead in his chest. He’s scared. Of Takumi…? Of what he might be feeling? A sadistic part of Takumi finds perverse satisfaction in this.

Fuck.

It’s all so wrong, but Takumi doesn’t care anymore. His cock twitches wildly, and all he can think about is that the hunger he’s feeling needs to be sated right this moment. A peck is not nearly enough. Nobu started it so now he has to finish it. 

He absolutely loses it. He loses control of his body, driven purely by instinct. He seizes both of Nobu’s hands with one of his own and keeps them pinned down, while the other grasps his head, drawing it closer. Then he clashes their lips together. 

Nobu makes a small, hesitant noise at first, unsure of how to respond, but soon melts into the kiss. It awakens something primal in Takumi. He wants to devour him right this moment. His tongue pushes its way into Nobu’s mouth, exploring every crevice. The inside is warm, wet, and absolutely intoxicating. He pushes harder, deeper, almost bruising in his fervor. He’s not sorry in the slightest. 

The kiss is sloppy, and feverish. It’s like years of pent-up resentment, all the simmering animosity, have been cast aside, swept away in an instant. All that remains is animalistic lust. Nothing else seems to matter anymore. 

It’s ludicrous how Takumi feels himself buckle. He pants and groans into Nobu’s mouth. Blood rushes to his cock, which is growing harder with each second.

It’s only when they both pull away, a string of spit connecting their lips, that it fully dawns on Takumi what he’s just done. Not only did he kiss a man, he kissed fucking Nobu. 

Takumi’s not gay. He’s definitely not gay. All his life, he’s only ever been attracted to women. So why is Nobu of all people making his cock stand up straight on alert? He looks down and realizes that Nobu has a boner too. It sickens him. 

Nobu’s eyes are as wide as saucers. He’s panting like he’s just ran a damn marathon. He stares at Takumi, as if expecting him to do something, make the next move, lead the way. Like a helpless child waiting for instructions. His sudden obedience makes Takumi’s cock that much stiffer in his pants. 

So, of course, despite all the disgust he feels towards himself and towards Nobu, Takumi decides to just get on with it. He has Nobu backed against a wall, breath ragged, all needy and desperate. His own cock is already hard. He might as well toy with him a little… Use it to his advantage. Have something to hold over Nobu and get himself off at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone. 

He’s moving on autopilot. He grabs the front of Nobu’s yukata and jerks it open, loosening the obi belt and letting the garment slip off his shoulders, exposing his chest. Takumi is immediately struck by how scrawny he is, how smaller he looks in comparison to him. That gets him going more than he could have imagined. 

Nobu looks so goddamn erotic with his face flushed, mouth wide open in anticipation, hands still pinned up, and chest almost fully bare. It’s as if he’s waiting for Takumi to violate him, inviting him to commit unspeakable acts on his body. His eyes are closed, lost in the moment. His breathing is still labored. 

Holy shit.

Takumi’s gaze trails down to his hardened nipples. His areolas are of a delicate pink hue and they create an angelic contrast against his skin. A twisted grin tugs at the corners of Takumi’s lips as he takes in the sight, a debased fascination rumbling within him. This is going to be so much fun. 

He budges closer, his breath scorching against Nobu’s skin. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, he brings his hand up, brushing his fingers lightly over one of Nobu’s nipples, feeling it engorge even more under his touch. Nobu’s body tenses, a shiver seemingly running through him as Takumi’s deft fingers begin to tease and play.

Takumi’s thumb and forefinger pinch one nipple, rolling it gently, then harder, watching Nobu’s reaction. Nobu gasps, the sound of surprise and pleasure, his chest arching inadvertently into Takumi’s touch. His body is on fire.

Good. He’s into it.

Takumi leans in close, his breath brushing against Nobu’s earlobe, and whispers with a cruel smirk, “You’re so sensitive. Are you sure you’re even a man?”

Nobu’s eyes flash open for a second, embarrassment and anger swirling within. He probably hates having his masculinity called into question like this, but any plans for a riposte dissolve the moment Takumi flicks his tongue over the other nipple, sucking it into his mouth. Nobu’s hands clench in the air above him, his breath coming in short, ragged heaves.

Takumi alternates between teasing licks and firm bites, his fingers never ceasing their torment on the other nipple. Nobu’s moans grow louder, his body writhing under the assault of sensation. 

“P-please,” he finally whimpers, strained with need. “Please, T-Takumi…”

Takumi pulls back just enough to meet Nobu’s eyes, his own full of triumph and desire. “Please what, Nobu?” he goads him, his fingers still working their magic, twisting the sensitive bud with just the right amount of pressure.

“Please... m-more…” Nobu breathes, his face aglow, eyes glazed with lust. He’s completely at Takumi’s mercy. Takumi wants to stuff him full of his seed already, but he’s going to have to be patient.

With a satisfied sneer, Takumi dives back in, his mouth and hands moving with renewed intensity. He’s relentless, pushing Nobu further, watching as his composure shatters completely. “Look at you, squirming and begging for me like a desperate little slut. Who would have thought you’d fall apart so easily?”

Nobu grits his teeth, trying to suppress a moan as Takumi’s fingers pinch his nipple harder. “I hate you. This doesn’t change anything,” he protests weakly, but his body is shivering with pleasure. Getting this punk to admit he’s enjoying himself is going to be a challenge.

He’s lucky that Takumi likes a challenge.

“Sure it doesn’t.” He punctuates his words with a sharp bite to Nobu’s earlobe, eliciting another gasp from him.

He decides to take it a step further. 

Smiling deviously, he slides his hand down Nobu’s trembling body. He traces the contours of Nobu’s abdomen and belly button, skirting the edge of his waistband before dipping lower. Nobu’s breath catches in his throat. He’s teetering with excitement. Takumi does everything with deliberate slowness, not yet giving Nobu what he wants. He’s tantalizingly close yet agonizingly far—

And then, in one swift motion, he spits on his hand to provide some lubrication, and shoves his hand down Nobu’s briefs, wrapping around his hard member. Nobu’s cock is small enough for Takumi’s hand to envelop it in its entirety and Takumi wonders how he even managed to fuck women with it. 

Despite the initial shock of Takumi’s sudden intrusion, Nobu’s response is a guttural moan, his hips instinctively bucking against Takumi’s hand, seeking more of the friction. Takumi’s grip tightens, his fingers teasing and tormenting Nobu’s length. 

The knowledge that he has Nobu (quite literally) under his thumb right now is sending spasms of arousal to his already bursting cock. He makes a conscious effort not to think about the fact that it’s Nobu he’s doing all this stuff to, or he might actually go mad. 

The strokes start off slowly, which Takumi’s learned is the perfect pace to drive Nobu wild. He examines Nobu’s face again and any second thoughts, any regrets that he knows will for sure come later, don’t matter at this moment. Nobu’s eyes hold a silent plea, screaming, begging, Takumi to fuck him. How could he possibly refuse?

When he starts pumping in fluid movements, Nobu’s moans fill the air. He’s too spent to even form coherent words, too overwhelmed to plead with Takumi to go faster or slower. He turns into a sobbing mess, and for a split second, Takumi thinks he glimpses a look of pure ecstasy reflected in his features. It works on him like an aphrodisiac.

As he ups the ante, he senses Nobu’s arousal building. He’s so close to release now, body completely taut. He tries to move his arms again, tries to break free, grasping at anything within reach, but Takumi mercilessly keeps them pinned in place. He doesn’t know who is holding the other hostage at this point. 

“Cum for me, Nobu,” Takumi commands, voice croaky. He doesn’t give him the slightest reprieve. The sight of Nobu unraveling under his touch is almost too much. He has never seen him this vulnerable. He’s feeding off his submission like a damn vampire. 

“I-I can’t… can’t…” Nobu gasps, his whole being on the edge of pleasure and pain as the stimulation gets almost painful.

“Oh, but you can,” Takumi murmurs, and in reply, Nobu’s body arches up, eyes shut in bliss, and goes rigid as his orgasm washes over him like a tidal wave. It takes them both by surprise, and as Nobu’s body stills, his breathing finally returns to a ragged panting. They stay like that for a moment, out of breath, lost in each other’s eyes. 

“See? It wasn’t so hard, was it?” Takumi withdraws his hand from Nobu’s briefs, leaving him a sticky mess. As he pulls back, Nobu shivers from the loss of touch. Takumi holds up his hand for Nobu to see, the evidence of his release glistening on his fingers. They’re covered in white fluid. He finds the whole ordeal disgusting, but seeing Nobu’s debauched expression makes it bearable. 

“Looks like you enjoyed yourself.” He tilts his head to admire the aftermath on Nobu’s flushed face. Nobu’s panting softly, red to the tips of his ears. With his eyes cast low, he barely manages to choke out a quiet “No.” He’s too worn out to protest or put up a fight now. 

Takumi continues instructing Nobu. “Lick it off. Don’t waste a single drop,” he says, waving the cum-slick hand at Nobu with an air of authority. Nana always hated that tone. Said it made her feel like he was her boss. But it should work just fine on Nobu.

To his astonishment, Nobu complies, almost without hesitation. While the punk’s been unusually cooperative thus far, there’s a level to this newfound compliance that catches Takumi off guard. He should at least offer some resistance, grumble a little. 

But now he just takes Takumi’s fingers into his mouth without a word, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if he’s trying to prove something to Takumi, goddamn it. Perhaps he knows better than to resist. Takumi wonders if this will be his first time tasting himself. 

Slowly, almost sheepishly, Nobu flicks out his tongue and begins to lap at the release coating Takumi’s hand, lightly licking at the tips of his slender fingers. He circles them, tasting the salty bitterness. Each stroke elicits soft groans from Takumi’s lips, though he tries to suppress them. No. He can’t afford to lose his composure, especially not in front of Nobu. 

Undeterred, Nobu continues to drag his tongue, gently cleaning off the stickiness. God. The way he’s sucking on his digits is downright sinful and Takumi thinks he’ll gladly go to hell if it’s with this image burned into his mind. 

He imagines what Nobu would look like wrapped around his cock, taking him in like a good boy. He wants to see those big, brown eyes and long eyelashes glistening with tears, cheeks burning with desire, as Takumi’s fucking his mouth. 

“Good,” Takumi whispers, watching Nobu finish the job. The hand is clean, licked spotless, and Takumi finally unpins Nobu’s wrists, which fall limply at his sides, like Nobu’s forgotten how to use them. He retrieves a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket to wipe off any lingering residue. 

Then, he takes out a packet of Gitanes and lights another cigarette, all the while maintaining a watchful eye on Nobu. With a flick of his wrist, he exhales a plume of smoke and issues his next command, “My turn. Get on your knees.”

Chapter Text

Nobu has no idea how they even reached this point. His head is swimming slightly, his veins are pumping blood to his brain at a speed beyond his comprehension, and his speech is a tad slurred, but he knows one thing: he wants this. Really badly.

When he saw Takumi in the lobby, all smug and self-assured like Nobu remembered him, he was furious but also… weirdly curious. 

They hadn’t crossed paths in years. It’s not that surprising, considering they’d been practically at war ever since Hachi and Takumi married. 

Moreover, after Ren’s death, Takumi announced that Trapnest was taking an extended hiatus, leaving Nobu (thankfully) with no opportunities to see him. A year ago, he had left for London with Reira and Naoki, and that was that. Chapter closed. Nobu had hoped it would remain shut. If it was up to him, Takumi would stay in London forever. Stay there forever and leave Hachi alone.

But seeing Takumi in the flesh again… Nobu would be lying if he said something about his presence didn’t pique his interest. 

He wasn’t shocked when Takumi dropped the bomb about the divorce. It had been a long time coming, and besides, Nobu had already discussed it with Hachi. He knew she was wasting away in that loveless marriage. The kids will understand when they’re old enough. They have to.

What really got to Nobu was the fact that Takumi specifically came to see him. Why was it his first instinct? 

Sure, Takumi had discovered Hachi had been seeing Nobu, but was he genuinely still jealous? 

Jealous over a wife he had cheated on with more women than Nobu could count? Jealous over a wife he had mistreated, neglected, and scorned? 

Or was it something else entirely? Has there been more to this rivalry between them all this time?

And now Takumi’s back, all remorseful, claiming he’s changed. 

He looks different, no denying that. He cut his hair and appears even more dashing, if that’s even possible (stupid asshole with his stupid good looks). 

He seems somewhat less hard-hearted too, most likely softened by fatherhood (though he still hasn’t lost his sarcastic edge, his arrogance, his self-righteous manner that never fail to piss Nobu off). 

As much as Nobu hates to admit it, he makes his heart skip a beat. He makes Nobu understand why Hachi stayed for so long. He makes Nobu suddenly want him, even if he’s always been drawn to Takumi to a minor degree. It’s utterly demeaning.

Takumi’s right. Nobu is naïve. Because he thinks there was something strangely vulnerable about him when he spoke about Hachi earlier. Nobu had never seen this side of him before, this… humanity. 

When Takumi’s usually cold and unfeeling, even with the people who are supposed to be the closest to him, this brief glimpse into something real, something raw and human, felt monumental. It made Nobu’s stomach drop.

He half-expected Takumi to lash out, to deflect and deny, as he usually does. He didn’t expect him to suddenly turn soft. It threw Nobu off. It almost looked like pleading. Or begging. It was so far removed from his usual calm, collected self.

Nobu was surprised to discover that he actually felt a pang of… sympathy for the man. 

He hadn’t heard him sound like that since… Well, he’d never heard him sound like that before. He had seen him angry, annoyed, cold, distant, even happy. But vulnerable and pleading? That was new. A flicker of something unfamiliar bloomed in Nobu’s chest, something he’s not too keen to name. 

He wants to see more of this Takumi.

But Nobu also knows better. Takumi hasn’t truly changed. He’s not actually remorseful in the slightest. 

It’s all an act, a self-congratulatory performance, to get everyone to pat him on the back and make him feel better about himself. A front to convince himself he’s doing something meaningful after wreaking havoc on everyone’s lives. 

Perhaps Ren’s accident and Trapnest’s fall bruised his ego too much. He needs his narcissistic supply now more than ever.

So all of that makes Nobu’s current actions even more absurd and impossible to explain. 

Despite knowing that Takumi’s the same old scoundrel, despite knowing that he’s probably here to make his life even more miserable, rub salt into the wound, he finds himself reduced to a bitch in heat in his presence.

Kissing him was a mistake, undoubtedly. He acted on impulse. Takumi’s lips were hovering so close, drawing him in, along with his heady cologne. The combination of that woody fragrance, the faint tobacco smell, and the crisp scent of his freshly ironed suit made Nobu dizzy. He leaned in without a second thought. 

What he didn’t anticipate was Takumi reacting by actually grabbing his chin and kissing him back with a passion that left Nobu’s mind spinning. As if he was staking his claim. 

The way he’d taken control, the way he’d taken what he wanted, leaving no room for doubt or questioning… It was so unlike anything Nobu’d expected—or rather, anything he’d allowed himself to want.

And he tasted so good, so unique. Like tobacco, a hint of whiskey, and something distinctly Takumi. But also like a promise of a good time. Nobu craved more, sinking into the kiss. He lost himself in it, his resistance melting away like ice in the sun.

So it’s no wonder he let Takumi explore his body however he pleased, his hands roaming freely, playing with his nipples until they hardened. Every caress was a silent permission, an invitation to indulge without restraint.

He allowed him to jerk him off, feeling the rough yet tender friction of Takumi’s hand, and sucked his fingers without even batting an eye.

And now, as Takumi commands him to suck his cock, Nobu realizes that he’s wanted this. Maybe for longer than he realized. 

Of course he drops to his knees without a moment’s delay.

What unseen power does Takumi wield over him? What is this irresistible force that bends his will, that makes him ache for more, for everything Takumi can give and take?

He questions himself as he feels his knees pressing into the wooden floor. Could it be the lack of thrill in his currently mundane life that’s making him do this? The days of Blast are but a distant memory; currently, he’s just running the family inn. He wants to act out. That’s it. Surely, it can’t be a genuine desire for the man he despises. 

And then there’s the power dynamic at play. Nobu’s always harbored an inferiority complex when it came to Takumi. When Takumi throws down the gauntlet, doesn’t he simply want to prove himself?

Takumi gazes down at him now, a cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers, the smoke curling around him. He looks so powerful, and a surge of excitement and curiosity courses through Nobu’s body. 

Just a taste couldn’t hurt, could it? His cock stirs as blood rushes to the tip, the sight of Takumi’s prominent hard-on ultimately more arousing than off-putting. 

Before Nobu can think any longer, his hand reaches up to firmly grip the outline of Takumi’s dick. He traces his fingers along, feeling every pulse, vein, and twitch. It’s radiating heat. He hears a faint chuckle from above him, which must mean Takumi finds humor in his coyness. 

“Go on, then,” his deep voice sets something off in Nobu, like an automatic switch. He looks up at Takumi, doe-eyed and flustered, with crimson red cheeks. He’s ready to follow instructions, all docile, and submit.

He unbuckles the belt of Takumi’s slacks (the bastard still dresses impeccably), his fingers skimming over the fabric, making Takumi tilt his head back and hiss. Nobu brushes his hand at the bottom of Takumi’s boxers to feel his tip.

It’s moist to the touch. The mere thought of Takumi leaking pre-cum feels extremely vulgar. It’s enough to set both of them off. 

Takumi runs his hand through Nobu’s blond hair, caressing it momentarily until a strong grip comes to follow. It feels almost possessive, like he wants everyone to know who belongs to him at this moment. 

Nobu can’t take it anymore. The energy in the room is suffocating him. He shouldn’t. He knows for certain he’ll regret this. But how can something so wrong feel so right? 

Why is he even horny for a man who should fill him with nothing but repulsion, contempt, and loathing? 

Despite it all, he wants nothing more than to have him in his mouth right now. Maybe in other places too. 

He desperately tugs on the waistband, struggling as his fingers tremble. Takumi’s erect cock immediately springs out of his boxers, pointing firmly south. 

The view is magnificent. Takumi’s manhood can only be described as handsome. It’s long, thick, and curves to the right. It’s a beautiful light shade of brown that grows darker as it gets closer to the tip. Multiple veins start from his faint V-line and travel through his cock. It looks just as appetizing as him.

He’s much bigger than Nobu, which is a given when he thinks about their obvious height difference and build. Or how many sex buddies Takumi has, for that matter.

A tiny part of Nobu that’s used to competing with Takumi, constantly comparing himself to him, is envious, but the larger part of him that’s taken over is salivating at the sight. He wants to devour him whole. 

Now, Nobu has never given head to a man before. He’s seen his fair share of big dicks and blowjobs on porn. He even masturbated with Shin a few times, just for shits and giggles. But he’d never dared to take another man’s cock into his mouth. Never in his life did he imagine that he’d be recreating it from this perspective. 

So what he’s doing right now is preposterous.

Before that rational part of his brain—the one barely working in the background—can scream at him to stop, get himself together, and run from this room, this man, he wraps his tongue and the inside of his mouth around Takumi’s cock and starts doing what he can only assume you’re supposed to while sucking someone off—bobbing his head up and down the shaft. 

It’s dirty, it’s obscene, and it shouldn’t turn him on the way it does. 

Nobu’s mouth is stretched wider and wider with every inch he takes in. He delicately places his palm on the shaft, evenly spreading his saliva across. 

To his surprise, he finds himself enjoying the process. Maybe this could be another way to prove his worth to Takumi, to force him to acknowledge that he’s not just a pushover—by driving him mad with desire, making him forget all reason and logic. 

He uses his hand to guide the bobbing rhythm of his head, establishing a consistent pace that he himself would find satisfying—not too slow but not too fast. 

It’s working. He looks up to see Takumi’s eyebrows knit together in a look of pleasurable disbelief. He’s biting his bottom lip, denying himself any outward sign of gratification. It’s a rare sight for most, but boy, is it incredible. 

Nobu knows he’s on the right track slurping on Takumi, like a popsicle on a hot summer day. The sensation is strikingly similar, with his saliva trickling down his arm like a melting popsicle juice running down the wooden stick. The only difference is that this feels deliciously taboo. Nobu is savoring every moment.

He pulls his head back and begins to slowly swirl his tongue around the tip, lathering it with his spit. He makes all sorts of lewd noises as he takes Takumi into his agape mouth bit by bit, until he engulfs him once more. 

The feeling of Takumi’s tip hitting the back of his throat causes him to gag, but he holds steady, enduring the sensation of having his throat filled. 

Nobu’s eyes water with each choke that escapes him, feeling the wetness of the tears on his eyelashes. He imagines it’s a pretty view, a sight for sore eyes because Takumi wears a look of awe on his face.

The warm, wet sensation of Nobu’s throat clearly sends him into a trance, as he starts jutting his hips forward, eager to drink up this pleasure as much as possible. Nobu feels himself writhe and squirm, struggling for air, choking by Takumi going deeper.

Fuck—why is this so hot?!

Nobu desperately squeezes his thighs together in a futile attempt to relieve the unbearable tension building down below. He’s hard too, his cock practically begging for release again, even though he had already cummed mere minutes ago. 

Watching Takumi lost in pleasure brings Nobu halfway to the edge; each grunt and sigh from Takumi makes him twitch with hunger. The burning desire to also get off brings him close to tears yet again. He needs to be touched, preferably by this asshole.

“Good boy,” purrs Takumi in between grunts, and Nobu knows very well he’s doing it on purpose now, just teasing him, but he still moans despite himself. The praise makes him feel almost lightheaded, all the more submissive, as he peers at Takumi.

Takumi looks unfairly good with half-lidded eyes and that lazy smirk on his face. 

It makes Nobu want to pleasure him further, make him proud somehow, have him praise him more, and he finally understands how Takumi has a roster of women begging for his attention. Again, it’s unfair. His face must be burning red at this point.

After experiencing what feels like thirty seconds of ecstasy with a hint of torment, Nobu pulls his head back to catch his breath. His throat convulses with multiple coughing spells as he gasps for oxygen. 

“Tapping out already?” Takumi mocks, grabbing Nobu’s wet chin to force eye contact. Nobu rejects the touch, even though it’s too late to salvage any shreds of pride or shame. They’ve both gone too far to entertain such feelings now. 

“Fuck… try sucking a dick your size and see,” Nobu breathes out, face flushed and oddly radiant, his eyes dilated more than usual.

He winces in pain, realizing he’s harder than he expected. The friction from the tight fabric rubbing against him doesn’t help. Takumi uses his foot to caress Nobu’s inner thigh and brush against his cock, forcing a choked moan out of him. 

The hard material of Takumi’s Prada dress shoes pressing into him feels degrading. Nobu can feel his inferiority complex bubbling to the surface, yet it can’t suppress the yearning and craving planted on his face. He leans into the touch, determined to extract as much pleasure from it as he can.

Nobu can feel the obvious ache in his jaw as he continues to lick and suck, this time fondling Takumi’s balls. A big vein runs along his length, and Nobu is entranced by it. 

Takumi’s hands dance in his hair or massage his back (so unexpectedly gentle), his eyes—dark with lust—never leaving Nobu’s. He’s making ungodly sounds that only fuel Nobu’s arousal more and more. When Nobu hollows out his cheeks and sucks harder, he lets out an involuntary “shit” under his breath.

Suddenly, he yanks Nobu’s head back by his hair with a forceful tug, and Nobu catches a sadistic glint in his eyes. Nobu’s mouth makes a characteristic pop sound as it’s freed from Takumi’s cock, leaving him feeling instantly empty. He wants it back, wants to be filled again. He needs it like air. 

There’s drool everywhere. There’s so much drool dripping from Nobu’s swollen, parted lips. He’s never felt this messy, but also never felt so much desire. 

“If only Nana saw you like this,” Takumi chuckles darkly, and Nobu feels his face flush again. It really must resemble a tomato by now. 

If Nana saw him like this, she would be revolted. She would want nothing to do with him anymore. Here he is, on his knees, going down on her soon-to-be ex-husband—someone he’s considered his rival for years, someone who ruined both of their lives, their chance at happiness. 

He hates himself. 

Takumi’s the last person Nobu should be doing this for. He’s not only his ex’s husband who broke her heart. He’s now almost a divorcee. He’s the father of Satsuki and Ren. He’s an unfaithful playboy. He’s selfish. He’s a control freak. He has anger issues. He’s emotionally unavailable. Nobu’s pretty sure he’s Lucifer himself. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But the wedding ring on Takumi’s finger (that Nobu guesses he forgot to take off) also makes his belly feel even hotter. 

Forbidden fruit is indeed the sweetest.

“Shut. Up,” he mutters exasperatedly, but not before long, Takumi grabs his head with both hands, the cigarette between his teeth now, and slams his mouth onto his cock again. Nobu feels like he’s choking. The entire length is in his mouth, the tip hitting the back of his throat, burning it. 

It’s disgusting and humiliating, and he definitely shouldn’t enjoy it, but he can’t help it—something in him bursts, and his cock twitches in his briefs. 

Takumi, however, proceeds with his verbal onslaught. 

“I bet she’d be horrified to discover what a cock-hungry whore you really are,” he says with that infuriating smug smirk that Nobu simultaneously wants to wipe off his face and kiss senseless. 

The demeaning nickname stings, yet there’s an odd allure in the way Takumi oscillates between praising and talking down to him. 

His thrusts are so violent that he’s not letting Nobu speak. It’s all so stimulating that he might pass out from dizziness. 

The mention of Hachi also makes him flinch again. He doesn’t want to think of her, not now, not while performing this… shameful act. Nobu’s insecurities will just flare up, gnawing at him. Is Takumi bringing her up because he’s comparing them in his head? Is Nobu not as good as her at… sucking cock? Did she even do it for him? She must have; she’s his wife. 

Nobu, stop, get a grip.

The worst part is that Nobu’s envious—and this time not of Takumi, but of Hachi. He’s angry that they had a whole life built together while he’s destined to be just another hook-up for Takumi, another notch on his belt. 

In Takumi’s eyes, Nobu’s just like that damn receptionist (whom Nobu might or might not have been jealous of as well). 

Still, it fills him with a strange sense of pride—the fact that it’s him Takumi chose, that it’s him Takumi decided to make his for the night (or perhaps just the hour, since he could stop at any moment, throw Nobu away like a rag doll, and leave). 

Not Hachi, not the receptionist, nor any other woman. Him. 

Why? Why is he having these thoughts?  

He’s not thinking straight. He’s simply drunk on Takumi and what he’s doing to him. And now, he’s letting lust cloud his judgment, having all these ridiculous concerns. It has to stop. This is just a one-time thing, their dirty little secret. He’s not going to become one of Takumi’s cumsluts; he has too much self-respect for that.

‘Do you? You’ve always been weak,’ whispers an insidious voice inside his head, that treacherous little devil on his shoulder. The words are like poison, seeping in and tainting everything in their wake. It’s a thought that he wants nothing more than to ignore but can’t quite shut up. Instead of quashing it, he finds himself contemplating it, much to his own dismay.

Takumi, meanwhile, continues his assault on Nobu’s mouth. His grip tightens on Nobu’s hair as he thrusts deeper, the relentless rhythm of his hips sending shudders down Nobu’s spine. 

Nobu’s throat feels raw, stretched to its limit. The room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the wet, lewd noises of Nobu’s mouth working tirelessly around Takumi.

Takumi’s deep groans reverberate in the room, each one a testament to how close he is. Nobu can tell he’s on the brink by the subtle quiver in his legs, the way his grip tightens almost painfully.

“Hell…” Takumi growls, his voice thick with hunger, or lust, or something even more deplorable. Nobu’s eyes water again, but he continues to move his head rhythmically, the pressure in his own body reaching a breaking point. The tension is coiling tighter and tighter in his belly, almost like during Blast’s first big gig.

What an inane analogy. He needs to leave Blast out of this. 

Takumi’s strokes become erratic, his pace quickening, each movement more forceful than the last. “You like that, don’t you?” he snickers, his words punctuated by deep, powerful thrusts. Nobu’s vision blurs. His body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. The friction between his cock and clothes edges him closer to release. 

And then it happens. The sudden, overwhelming pleasure crashes through him, and he cums again, the release so intense it steals his breath. 

His body trembles, muscles clenching as he spills into his underwear, completely at the mercy of Takumi. His orgasm rips through him, wave after wave of intense pleasure that leaves him gasping.

He feels slick and achingly wet between his thighs. He’s absolutely drenched. 

Fuck, it’s so humiliating. He wants the ground to just open up and swallow him up.

Nobu wishes desperately—no, he prays with every fiber of his being—that somehow, by some miracle, it escaped Takumi’s attention. 

But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. 

Takumi freezes for a moment, feeling the frantic spasms around him. His eyes widen briefly, then narrow. “Did you just cum from me fucking your mouth?” he sneers, a mix of astonishment and amusement in his eyes. 

Nobu’s face, burning with embarrassment, flushed and tear-streaked, must be a sight that finally pushes Takumi over the edge, because with a final, deep thrust, he lets out a guttural moan, and shoots his hot load down Nobu’s throat. 

Instinctively, Nobu gulps, drinking down all of it.

The taste mingles with the remnants of his own release. Takumi’s semen tastes saltier, more metallic. It’s so thick, thicker than Nobu’s more watery one, but despite its density, it slides down his throat effortlessly. Fuck, it feels amazing.

He’s acting like a wanton slut.

And… that almost certainly means Takumi gets off on humiliating him. Nobu is conflicted. 

On one hand, it feels degrading, like he’s a bug under Takumi’s shoe, but on the other… he can’t deny the rush of excitement that comes with being desired in such a raw, primal way. 

He made Takumi cum. He made the son of a bitch climax. He might be the submissive one in this scenario, but he still holds a certain power over Takumi. It’s addicting in the most dangerous way possible.

Nobu looks up, expecting to see that look of pure bliss that he’s certain he’ll find on Takumi’s face but... there’s no satisfaction there, no hint of smugness or pleasure at what they just did. Nothing. All he suddenly finds is indifference. Coldness.

There’s no trace of the previous desire on his face, only an icy calm.

His eyes roam over Nobu’s body—the flushed skin, the mussed hair, and the dampness on his thighs. His grip on Nobu’s hair loosens. The loss of touch is too much.

Then Takumi withdraws and starts fumbling with his zipper, trying to tuck his softening, spent cock back into his boxers and pants as if he’s in a rush to be somewhere else. The casualness of it, the abruptness, makes Nobu feel like crying.

But not of pleasure this time. Of disappointment. Of hurt. And something else. He doesn’t yet know what but something deeply unpleasant. 

A thousand thoughts race through his mind, none of them good. Did Takumi hate the blowjob? But Nobu had put so much effort into it, and Takumi looked like he enjoyed it. He’d cummed, for God’s sake. His body had shivered and tensed, his grunts had filled the room—signs of satisfaction that should have meant something.

So why did his attitude change so drastically like this? Why is he suddenly in such a hurry to leave? Nobu had known he would be discarded like an old tissue, but not... not this soon. Not when the taste of Takumi still lingers on his tongue and his own mess is cooling in his briefs.

“Get up,” Takumi says finally, his voice harsh and uncompromising. He extends a hand to help pull Nobu up off his knees.

They nearly give out, but Nobu somehow manages to steady himself, and not collapse against Takumi. Now standing before him, limp and defeated, he feels his own cum slowly trickling down his leg.

Has he lost all decorum?

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Takumi adds flatly, almost dismissively, with a look that’s so chilling that Nobu shivers. He straightens his clothes and smooths back his hair, his movements precise and deliberate.

Everything about him screams coolheaded, put together. The only thing betraying anything is the slight flush of his skin, the ghost of what has just happened.

Nobu hates it. He hates that Takumi suddenly looks so emotionless, so unaffected by the whole affair. Like he wasn’t just choking Nobu with his dick. 

Nobu’s own body is still trembling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions, and yet Takumi is back leaning against the wall like nothing significant has taken place.

“We shouldn’t have done that.”

As if Nobu doesn’t know that. As if he’s not the one who should be saying this. He’s in a much more difficult position than Takumi. He has infinitely more to lose. The sympathy of his friends, his own dignity, Hachi. 

How could he have been so stupid? How could he let himself get swept up in Takumi’s charm, knowing full well the kind of man he was dealing with? 

The thrill, the illicit excitement, the forbidden act—it all seemed so worth it in the heat of the moment. But now, in the cold aftermath, all those reasons start feeling hollow, empty.

Takumi steps away from Nobu, a sense of cool detachment in his demeanor. There’s an almost mechanical quality to his movements, like he’s distancing himself from the situation. 

He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray by the window and takes a few steps towards the doorway, poised to leave without saying a word. But then, he abruptly halts.

For a moment, he seems to waver, a subtle tension in his shoulders. Silence stretches before he finally speaks, his voice dry and cold.

“I think… I’ll ask for a room after all.”

At first, Nobu doesn’t understand what Takumi means. He stares, dumbfounded, his mind struggling to take in what he said. It reels, and for a second, he thinks he’s misheard.

Then his heart sinks. He knows what this means, what this implies. Takumi’s desire to stay over is a hollow gesture, void of any genuine sentiment. But why does this bastard keep giving him mixed signals?

“I’m tired,” Takumi adds, voice detached and business-like. “I don’t feel like making the trek back tonight,” his words come out almost as an afterthought.

Nobu feels his heart slam in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears loud enough for him to believe Takumi definitely must have heard it as well. Despite his earlier resolution, he can’t help the undercurrent of hope that dances in his stomach.

He clears his throat, then manages to croak out a reply. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he assures, his voice sounding small and brittle, even to his own ears.

Takumi turns back around, his eyes flicking to meet Nobu’s gaze. They remain on Nobu’s face, almost like he’s committing something to memory. There’s a slight furrow in his brow, his expression inscrutable.

He gives a single nod of acknowledgment before he turns on his heel and exits the office without another word. There’s a sense of finality to his departure, a certainty that the night has concluded. 

The sound of the door closing behind him resonates like a final punctuation mark. It echoes in the room, leaving Nobu alone with his jumbled thoughts and lingering sense of rejection. 

The silence now feels deafening. The sudden emptiness in the room is palpable, as if all the air has been sucked out with Takumi.

Nobu tries to swallow down the rush of emotions—disappointment, humiliation, desire—but it’s like trying to catch a fish with bare hands. They dart and wriggle out of his grip, slipping between his fingers.

His yukata, rumpled and torn in places, clings to his skin which still feels sensitive… and sticky.

He stands there, shell-shocked, trying to process what just happened—or rather, what didn’t happen. Despite his initial expectations, he’d foolishly held out hope that Takumi would stay the night. And he will. 

Except it’s unlikely he’ll see Nobu in the morning. He probably won’t want to see him ever again.

As Nobu’s eyes rove over the office, noting how it looks exactly the same as it always has—almost barren—he thinks he spots something shimmering in the corner. 

He squints, trying to focus through the haze of his emotions. There, half-hidden under the curtain, is a small, glinting object. 

Intrigued, he walks over and picks it up.

It’s a Cartier wedding band. Takumi’s. It’s so like Takumi to have a wedding ring from one of the most luxurious jewelry brands. Even at the height of Blast’s fame, Nobu wouldn’t have splurged on something so extravagant.

The band must have slid off his finger mid… doing it, and somehow found its way there. Nobu turns it over between his fingers, the cool metal feeling almost alien against his skin. He hides it in the sleeve of his yukata, despite his better judgment.

Perhaps it’s just another one of his silly ideas, but the ring slipping off Takumi’s finger while they were together feels… oddly symbolic. Like a sign that Hachi and Takumi’s marriage is really done for. Like there’s no turning back now. And he is the cause.

***

Nobu is just finishing washing up, wrapping himself in a bathrobe, when the inn’s housekeeper comes by his quarters with a message. “Mr. Ichinose was wondering if you’ve seen his wedding ring, sir.”

Just his damn luck. Of course Takumi’s already noticed it’s missing.

His brain short-circuits, his tongue feeling like sandpaper against his palate. The ring, now in the pocket of his robe, feels like a hot lump of iron, burning through the fabric and into his skin.

For a moment, he considers telling the truth, handing over the ring, and avoiding any further involvement. But something stops him. Maybe it’s the strange sense of satisfaction he feels, knowing he’s keeping such a significant item from Takumi. Maybe it’s the thrill of knowing that Takumi needs something from him.

Or maybe it’s the thought of keeping Takumi and Hachi apart. He knows it’s irrational, but by holding onto the ring, he feels like he’s preventing them from ever reconciling. The ring represents the bond between Takumi and Hachi, and as long as it stays off Takumi’s finger, that bond is fractured, incomplete.

He should just return it as soon as possible. A clear, objective part of his mind knows this.

And yet his fingers instinctively tighten around the band. It’s a stupid move. Selfish—he can acknowledge that too. But the idea of letting even the most insignificant item related to Takumi go feels... painful.

“Wedding ring? I haven’t seen it, no,” he answers hastily, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, though a tinge of frustration colors his tone. He comes off as guilty, almost as if the ring were sitting right there on his own finger.

He will return it eventually. He has to. Takumi will get suspicious if he doesn’t. He’d just prefer to do it later rather than sooner.

The housekeeper looks at him strangely, as if detecting the tension in his voice. “Oh… sorry to disturb you, sir. I’ll let Mr Ichinose–”

No. She can’t do that.

It’s Akari. One of the prettiest housekeepers employed at the inn. She just exudes femininity with her soft yet sultry voice, her perfect features accentuated by the effortless low bun she always wears. 

Akari is definitely Takumi’s type, and Nobu can easily imagine him making a pass at her, like at the receptionist. Would he… Fuck, why does that even matter? It can’t be jealousy again, can it? Why would he, a grown man, feel threatened by a woman?

It’s just… He’s protective of his personnel, that’s all. Knowing Takumi’s tendencies and reputation, Nobu would rather avoid any trouble with his employees possibly being harassed by a guest. 

But then again, it’s not just any guest—it’s Takumi Ichinose from Trapnest. Wouldn’t anyone welcome his advances without hesitation?

Nobu clenches his jaw, a flicker of annoyance passing through him. He’s not that stupid, he knows what makes Takumi appealing to women. The man is outrageously good-looking, wealthy, charismatic, and carries a certain mysterious air about him. All the ingredients for a perfect lady killer.

He’s witnessed it firsthand: how his groupies swoon and throw themselves at him, like bees to honey.

Well, it’s not just women he excels in manipulating—Takumi’s skills extend to everyone: journalists, paparazzi, and unfortunately Nobu himself. It’s aggravating that Nobu finds himself falling under his charm time and time again.

Of course, that’s the reason he would rather take the ring up himself. To protect his staff, not because of his crumbling self-esteem making him feel inferior to his employee. 

It’s definitely not jealousy, or an excuse to see Takumi again.

“No, don’t worry, I’ll let him know myself. I need to talk to him anyway,” Nobu interrupts her before she can finish her sentence. 

There he goes again; he’s unable to hide his emotions. Why can’t he just be like Takumi—calm and collected, with a poker face? 

He has the urge to punch himself. He feels exposed, as if Akari can see right through him and knows exactly why he doesn’t want her anywhere near Takumi.

Because Nobu would have to compete again. He always does, whether it’s with him or for him. It doesn’t matter.

“Forgive my intrusion, sir. I’ll be leaving,” she bows her head and closes the door behind her. The moment Nobu hears the latch click, he takes out the silver ring.

He examines it for a moment and sees the initials “T + N” engraved on the inside. Nobu had heard about the inscription Takumi had put on the ring, but seeing it up close and personal makes him queasy. 

Being reminded of how long those two were married is always a hard pill for him to swallow. It takes him back to what he considers his darkest period—not just losing Hachi, but losing her to Takumi. It’s a familiar pain that refuses to let go, no matter how many years pass.

Although Nobu has moved on from Hachi in many respects, revisiting this chapter always reopens old wounds. His mind is haunted by memories of his cowardice, the missed chances, and the overwhelming sense of loss.

The pain, the regret, the humiliation of his past choices, his failure to be the one Hachi needed when she was at her lowest—it all comes flooding back, leaving him feeling small and insignificant.

He quickly pulls himself together, throwing on a nude linen shirt with matching bottoms to pair. It’s not the most stylish outfit, he knows, but it’s already past midnight, and looking good is the least of his worries. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’s walking down the long corridor. Takumi is also in a first-class suite, but his room is at the far end from his own. Each step Nobu takes towards it feels like a march towards a guillotine.

He thinks about what he should say as a conversation starter. “Hey, you left your ring behind,” or “Look… about earlier”? No. Nobu shakes his head, practically cringing at everything that pops up in his mind. How can he even approach a situation like this? It’s definitely foreign to his past experiences.

Now standing at the door, a single knock away from another confrontation, he feels his stomach turn as a wave of anxiety washes over him. The thought of facing Takumi and discussing tonight’s events is… uncomfortable, to say the least. Especially now that the thrill of the moment has passed. 

He feels like vomiting, every worst-case scenario playing out in his head over and over again. 

Don’t think, just do. Don’t think, just do. 

Nobu takes a deep breath in, then exhales slowly. Just as he raises his fist to knock, the door swings open with such force that a slight breeze brushes against him.

“Nobu?” Takumi says, confusion etched on his face. Nobu stands there silently, taking in a sight he’s never seen before: Takumi with only a towel wrapped around his waist—his lower waist to be exact—damp hair sticking to his forehead, droopy eyes with dark circles under them, face flushed… from what? A hot shower? Or has this man actually been crying? Nobu doubts he’s even capable of that. 

Takumi’s faint six-pack glistens with droplets of water, a happy trail leading down to his pubic hair shyly peeking out from the towel. Nobu can’t help but notice just how broad his shoulders are, usually concealed beneath clothing. Nobu realizes he’s never seen him in a tank top.

He looks dejected, vulnerable, but fucking hot. It finally clicks in Nobu’s brain that he’s the one being seduced by Takumi. Tonight, the only victim of Takumi’s manipulations will be him.

“What do you want?” Takumi’s voice is lackluster, devoid of its usual bluntness or attitude. It’s just the tired voice of a man who has finally accepted his dues.

“You dropped your wedding ring. I wanted to give it back to you personally,” Nobu can feel Takumi’s intense gaze as he speaks. Suddenly, he feels self-conscious about the thin linen top he’s wearing. Can Takumi see his sore nipples, or how his thin arms barely fill out the quarter sleeves?

Takumi licks his lips before uttering a curt “Okay.”

That’s it? Nobu raises an eyebrow in confusion. Takumi’s indifference towards the ring takes Nobu off guard. He expected some sort of reaction at least, especially since it’s no ordinary ring. It’s a wedding band, a symbol of commitment, love, and marriage. Surely, he would want it back for sentimental reasons. 

“Do you not want it back?” Nobu asks, this time fixating on Takumi’s face, trying to capture his expression. Or maybe it’s to avoid letting his eyes wander down to Takumi’s abs. Takumi’s eyebrows furrow softly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. Why did he request to have it delivered, then? Nobu was so reluctant to part with it.

“Takumi?” Nobu says more softly this time, voice laden with concern. Takumi’s lack of response feels unsettling, like something is profoundly wrong.

“Nobu, do you think I deserve to go to hell?” Takumi blurts out, his voice raw and broken. It’s so out of character for him. “Everything I did, I thought it was for the greater good. I thought I was making decisions any sane person would… but that’s not possible. How can someone who was fucked up from the start try to make ‘sane decisions’? All I did was curse everyone around me,” he laughs humorlessly, the sound empty and bitter.

He fixes Nobu with that same sad, pleading look as before when he spoke about Hachi, seeking some form of validation, a confirmation that he’s not damned, or beyond redemption, but all Nobu can muster is undeserved pity. 

Nobu also recognizes this look as something else—burnout, the culmination of years of stifled emotions and relentless pressure. It’s a weight that has been quietly creeping up on Takumi for years. 

And now, here in the inn owned by Nobu, his self-proclaimed enemy, Takumi is finally succumbing to it.

“Takumi, I-I don’t know what you want me to say,” Nobu replies, feeling the awkwardness thickening the air, as he doesn’t have any words to comfort him. He rummages in the pocket of his pants for the ring and holds it up on his palm, presenting it to Takumi. 

Takumi’s gaze shifts between the ring and Nobu, sharp and piercing, each glance feeling like a dagger. It never ceases to bewilder Nobu how his grey eyes can be so magnetic, yet steely cold at the same time. They’re such a stark contrast to his own warm, bambi-like ones.

“Sure, why not just rub it in my face even more that you’re taking my girl? It’s like I’m losing my grip on everything I once cared about. Before I know it, Satsuki, my baby, won’t even want to know me anymore,” Takumi pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a heavy sigh.

“That would be your own fault,” is what Nobu wants to say but… he can’t. For the first time, Takumi appears to Nobu as a lost cause. All the walls and barriers that once shielded him are crumbling, his hard exterior unraveling by the second.

It’s difficult, having to accept that Takumi isn’t just a one-dimensional monster, the villain of the piece, with no emotions whatsoever. It complicates things; makes it harder for Nobu to hate him. 

“Look, take the ring and get some sleep. I don’t think anything I say or do can make you feel better right now,” Nobu suggests, his palm still open, offering the ring.

Within seconds, Nobu hears the sound of metal bouncing, growing louder as it gets closer to the ground. His palm is empty. Takumi has tossed the ring behind him, visibly rattled by its reminder. Nobu simply watches in disbelief as the ring rolls across the wooden floor of the suite.

“Takumi, what the fuck—” Nobu’s sentence is cut short as Takumi grabs his hand and forces him into the room, the door slamming shut behind them.

After a brief blink, Nobu feels his face being urgently cupped and drawn into a kiss. He attempts to resist at first, pounding on Takumi’s chest and letting out muffled protests. But the tender way Takumi runs his fingers through Nobu’s hair, cradling him gently, melts his resolve.

“Just… let me have you for tonight, and I’ll leave you alone, I promise. I don’t want to be on my own,” Takumi breathes out. Nobu can see the desperation in his eyes, a heavy silence falling between them for a moment.

It’s mind-boggling how fast Takumi’s demeanor changed again. Nobu once heard Hachi describe him as fickle, but that word doesn’t cover it. He’s volatile, utterly unpredictable. Nobu finds himself constantly on the edge, never knowing what to expect with him.

He studies the man before him, taking in his defenseless stance, the towel around his hips, and the pleading look in his eyes. Takumi looks so damn vulnerable... and yet he also manages to be seductive at the same time.

Wait. Is… is he intending to use Nobu as a rebound? To get his mind off the divorce? 

Of course. Why would Takumi want to sleep with him for no apparent reason? He always has a motive. But it’s not like Nobu hasn’t been using him either. It’s not like he has any feelings for Takumi. It’s just lust, plain and simple. So who fucking cares, right?

Gradually, he returns the kiss, syncing his lips with Takumi’s in a slow, rhythmic dance. There’s no tongue or force this time, just tender touches, heavy breaths, and quiet moans. 

He wraps his arms around Takumi, urging him closer, but Takumi has other plans. Swiftly, he lifts Nobu off the ground, wrapping his legs around him. Neither of them breaks the kiss.

Nobu notices Takumi carefully guiding them towards the bedroom. And just as they finally part from the kiss, he feels himself being thrown on the king-sized bed. He can’t ignore it anymore. He is hard for Takumi. Again. He hates how he’s so powerless against him.

“Did you say there’s nothing you can do to make me feel better?” Takumi’s voice rings clear, the intent behind his words crystal clear. They both understand their desires in this moment. As if they could make each other cum with just foreplay and call it a night.

The shift in Takumi’s behavior feels like a pendulum, swinging between hot and cold. Nobu can’t wrap his head around how quickly the situation has spiraled into something he didn’t foresee. One moment he’s dismissive and distant, and the next, he’s all over Nobu like a man starving for touch.

His mind races, trying to make sense of the changing dynamics between them. It’s confusing, and he feels like he’s stumbling in the dark, unable to read Takumi’s erratic mood swings. It throws him off-balance, leaving him grasping for solid ground. 

But he also wants Takumi to fuck him right now. He wants to fully get him out of his system, and if that means having orgasm after orgasm, so be it. He’s already been called a slut; he might as well embrace it for tonight.

Chapter Text

The ring. Nobu keeps going on about that damn ring, as if it still holds any significance in Takumi’s life. Does Takumi still even consider it a wedding ring?

Yes, he dropped it by accident. Yes, he reflexively asked to have it back. It… felt right in the moment. 

But it’s just a scrap of metal at this point. A token, a relic from a past life that means nothing to him. He’s not even married anymore, for crying out loud. Seeing it only reminds him of his failures. Of everything he’s lost.

More importantly—bold of Nobu to show up all casual in front of him, unannounced, without a care in the world. Especially looking like that. Like he dressed specifically to drive Takumi wild.

After that blowjob, Takumi had to get away from him. He knew he turned unnecessarily cold, but he felt… guilty. Post-nut clarity hit him like a truck, making him regret everything—forcing Nobu on his knees, putting his cock in his mouth, fucking himself in and out of him.

But when he went to shower, the hot water streaming over him, he… couldn’t get Nobu out of his head. He imagined what Nobu’s face would look like, contorted with pleasure, as Takumi’s cum is oozing out of his abused pink hole, staining the sheets. How Nobu’s rim would clench around him, squeezing him so tightly that he felt light-headed.

He started stroking his cock, and before he knew it, he came all over the bathroom tiles. 

He normally never cums this fast. If anything, he avoids unnecessary masturbation, as a way to practice sperm retention. But this time, he was unable to control himself. And the worst part is that it was not enough. He wasn’t satisfied in the slightest. 

He wanted the real thing.

Takumi’s gaze hungrily sweeps over Nobu’s appearance now. He looks so unpremeditated, so unassuming, and yet the effect he has on Takumi is anything but.

He’s wearing a thin linen top that leaves little to the imagination. He’s practically naked with the way his nipples are looking straight at Takumi, semi-swollen, with a faint hue of redness. They look so fucking sweet. His mind drifts back to the moment he had Nobu beneath him, nipples kneaded and teased until raw. 

God forbid he ever tries that again. 

And that figure—slender, with long, delicate limbs, slightly effeminate. His build is no different from a petite woman’s, and his thin, dainty arms barely fill half his sleeves. 

Takumi gauges how easily he could pin Nobu’s arms behind him, how easily he could overpower him, should he choose to. His thoughts are filled with impure images of how he could have his way with him, all the wicked things he could do to the lithe body in front of him. 

Fuck, it turns him on. 

It awakens something within him, something that feels like a sick, twisted desire to possess and control. And Takumi can’t let himself succumb to it.

Meanwhile, Nobu just stands there, unaware of the explicit thoughts swirling through Takumi’s head. Unaware of how Takumi’s eyes rake over his figure, appraising him like a piece of art. Or like a piece of meat.

Takumi zones out, his eyes zeroing in on Nobu’s lips as he talks. He can’t help but notice how they curve and pucker as he speaks, and the soft, almost glossy sheen of them. 

His gaze moves up, taking in the rest of Nobu’s face—the dewy glow of his skin, the way his hair falls disheveled, the way his eyes sparkle slightly as he talks, the expression in his eyes. He looks so damn good under that dim light in the corridor.

They’re standing close enough that he can smell the faint scent of lavender shampoo coming from Nobu. It’s soft and gentle, just like him. And it’s making Takumi’s head spin.

Would it be so wrong for Takumi to help himself to seconds—just feel those pouty, plush lips against his own once more? The urge to reach out and taste that sweetness, to have him in his arms again, is too strong. 

He envisions himself tracing the expanse of Nobu’s body with his tongue, contemplating the taste and texture of his skin in intimate detail. The very thought makes Takumi all hot and bothered, almost catching in his throat as the desire manifests as a physical strain on his body.

Nobu should let Takumi take him, just for one night. 

Takumi knows how much he needs affection, some warmth, some touch right now. Any form of companionship would be enough for him at this point—considering everything happening in his personal life.

What the hell is wrong with him? He knew staying here for the night was a bad idea. 

God, he’s so pathetic.

But at the end of the day, he’s still the same old scumbag that needs sex as a way to blow off steam, to rid himself of all the built-up tension. That never changed. The only thing that did was how consistent it was. After Trapnest’s hiatus, a huge part of Takumi’s life was stripped from him.

Trapnest consumed him in every aspect, bringing him happiness, stress, and fulfillment all at once. In times of stress, he turned to sex, but with no Trapnest, there was almost no stress—until now, that is.

Takumi obviously doesn’t need anyone to tell him a divorce is stressful. So this is his excuse, his way to justify his aching lust to have Nobu bent over, taking his cock, making him cum multiple times. He’s indulging to relieve stress. That’s what he tells himself anyway. 

In Takumi’s mind, there’s a twisted logic to it all. The absence of the band, the divorce, the mounting stress—it all adds up to a need for release. 

And standing before him, looking nothing short of tempting is Nobu… the perfect outlet for it. 

“…I don’t think anything I say or do can make you feel better right now,” Nobu’s words ring out.

A blatant lie, and they both know it. There’s no way he can deny the suffocating tension that hangs thick between them. He must know that showing up at Takumi’s doorstep in such a state will test them both. There is a single, obvious course of action.

His mind is already made up. Too bad for Nobu. He shouldn’t have come here if he knows what’s good for him. 

Shouldn’t have this, shouldn’t have that. Fuck it.

Takumi plucks the ring from Nobu’s open palm, its once-valued presence now weightless to him. Without a second thought, he flicks his wrist, sending the ring arching through the air, falling somewhere, ignored, behind him.

Takumi is good at justifying his actions to himself. In his mind, there’s always a reason, an excuse, a way to make what he wants right. And right now, what he wants more than anything is Nobu.

The way Nobu looks, the way he smells, the way he breathes... it’s making his restraint snap like a taut rubber band. He’s drowning and Nobu is the only life raft in sight.

He’ll ravage him this time.

Takumi’s body moves of its own accord, as if following a natural rhythm, pulling Nobu into an embrace and connecting their lips. How good Nobu feels against him, how perfectly they fit together, it’s all intoxicating. 

Nobu’s attempts at protesting mean nothing at that moment; there’s no chance in hell that he’s letting go. They don’t deter him—only make him irresistibly cute in Takumi’s eyes. 

He continues to tempt Nobu with his lips, hoping to coax a surrender. 

“Just… let me have you for tonight, and I’ll leave you alone, I promise. I don’t want to be on my own,” he breathes, his tone tinged with raw desperation. He’s surprised himself by how hopeless he sounds. He should be ashamed of himself… if he could even think straight right now.

Hearing the pleading in Takumi’s voice is the breaking point for Nobu, finally making him give in. He returns the kiss passionately. Takumi threads his hands through Nobu’s blond hair, holding him with the utmost care. It almost feels like a kiss that should only be reserved for lovers.

Soft, intimate moans pass between their lips as their groins press together, seeking closer contact. There’s no aggressive clashing of tongues or teeth; only a profound desire to fully communicate their longing for each other.

Takumi, wanting to feel even closer, shifts his weight and lowers himself gently onto Nobu. He adjusts their position so that Nobu can kiss him more comfortably, their faces now perfectly aligned. 

Nobu takes this as a cue to put his arms around his neck. 

Holy shit.

The one who ordinarily crumbles in such situations is Nobu, but Takumi can’t fight the urge. With a swift motion, he hoists Nobu up, wrapping his legs around his waist. He’s struck by how damn light and easy to maneuver Nobu is—almost as light as Nana.

It’s a fucked up thing to think about, but it makes his cock twitch. 

He walks them over to the bedroom, their lips still locked in a kiss, breaking only when he throws Nobu onto the bed, ready to take him then and there. 

He stands at the edge of the bed. Nobu props himself on his elbows, his doe-eyes meeting Takumi’s with that vulnerable, earnest look. His lips are parted, bearing the evidence of their kiss, now puffy and tinged rosy.

“You say there’s nothing you can do to make me feel better?” Takumi reiterates.

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” Nobu asks, maintaining that innocent tone, despite sitting there with a prominent boner and flushed cheeks. 

Fucking cocktease.

Takumi wants to laugh at his feigned cluelessness, a desperate ploy to maintain some shred of dignity. Hell, he knows exactly what he’s doing, playing dumb and coy as if he doesn’t get what this all leads to.

He can see the obvious tent in Nobu’s pants, and it pisses him off how he pretends to not understands what Takumi wants from him. His eyes drink in the sight before him, taking in each curve and contour. 

“You know exactly what I want, pretty boy,” he says, his voice low with desire.

The pet name feels foreign on his tongue, but at the same time, it feels right, fitting for Nobu. And he can’t ignore the flutter of pride that goes through him when he hears the gasp that it elicits.

Takumi reaches out, caressing Nobu’s face with his hand. His fingers trace a path from his jawline down to his neck, his touch light and barely-there. He feels the heat radiating off Nobu, the way his skin responds to him.

“N-no, I don’t,” Nobu stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s trying to maintain that feigned innocence, his eyes looking up at Takumi with an almost naïve expression. Yet, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the short, labored pants give him away.

“So stubborn. Still putting on that cute little act, are you?” Takumi’s voice drops to a commanding timber. “Get rid of your clothes, or I’ll rip them off you myself,” he orders, leaving no doubt that he’s serious. 

Nobu complies, slowly removing his bottoms first. With no briefs on, he’s fully exposed. The boner he was trying to hide so desperately is now fully on display. Takumi doesn’t take his eyes off him for a second, thoroughly entertained by Nobu’s obedience.

Nobu proceeds to take off his top, his face flushing bright red with embarrassment. 

Takumi ogles his naked chest, his eyes fixating on the hardened, flushed nubs. “My, look at those nipples,” he lets out an appreciative hum. “So red and swollen.” 

Nobu, clearly self-conscious, attempts to cover himself up, but his two skinny, trembling arms can only do so much.

Takumi scoffs loudly, then grabs Nobu’s heel, yanking him down to the edge of the bed where he stands. Nobu lets out a small yelp, clearly shocked by the abrupt move. 

“That’s as big as it can get?” Takumi mocks, poking and prodding at his member from various angles. “Are you sure you’re even hard, Nobu?”

Nobu’s face burns as he tries to look away from Takumi’s probing gaze. 

“I… Fuck you,” he spits out, squirming, trying to fight out of Takumi’s grip. This only encourages Takumi to squeeze tighter, holding him in place with even more force.

“What?” Takumi inquires, amused. “I think it’s cute.” He stares in marvel as Nobu looks away embarrassedly, his ears turning red and likely hot to the touch. 

He takes in every detail of Nobu’s features as he lies there, completely defenseless. 

His defined collarbone, the small baby hairs on the nape of his neck, and the elegant curve of his waist—Takumi wants to wrap his hands around it just to see if his fingers would touch. 

They probably would.

He takes in Nobu’s smooth, lightly bronzed complexion, wondering if it would feel just as velvety against his tongue. He wants to taste him, devour him really, and make him cry out his name like it’s second nature to him. 

“Fuck…” he breathes out as he runs his hands up and down Nobu’s legs.

His cock throbs with desperation, aching for release. He pulls Nobu’s ankles up, lifting his waist off the bed. 

“Takumi—what the hell, wait!” Nobu protests, but Takumi ignores him, comfortably positioning Nobu’s ass right against his erection.

“Grind on it,” Takumi demands, shooting daggers at Nobu, knowing he won’t refuse. Nobu looks partly frightened but undeniably aroused, and he does just that. Takumi can see the curiosity in his eyes; he clearly wants to try it out, just to see what it feels like.

Takumi feels the first hesitant movement as Nobu experiments with how he can move his hips. At first, he swings from side to side, then juts forward. It’s only when Nobu begins to rhythmically grind his hips up and down, pressing against Takumi’s cock, that they both begin to feel good—almost overwhelmingly so.

Nobu finally settles into a pace and rhythm that works for both of them. It’s a sight to behold, watching Nobu use his hard cock to pleasure himself. The way he moves, it’s like he’s a seasoned pro, grinding against Takumi up and down, like an insatiable slut.

It’s so fucking erotic.

Takumi can hear Nobu’s muffled moans growing louder, his breath hitching as he twitches and writhes. “That’s it, just like that, Nobu,” he murmurs, elongating the word ‘just.’

He releases Nobu’s ankles and grabs his waist instead, trying to take control. He follows Nobu’s rhythm, pushing his hips forward as well everytime he feels Nobu grind up. It feels fucking incredible. 

His towel starts slipping, gradually revealing more and more skin until he stands naked, his erect dick fully out and exposed to both of them. 

A moment later, they both groan deeply as Nobu’s tight hole rubs perfectly against Takumi’s shaft.

Takumi watches as Nobu grinds against him harder, using his arms for momentum and support. 

“Look at you, so eager to cum,” he murmurs, his voice deep and gravelly. “Does my dick feel that good?” 

Nobu shakes his head faintly in denial, though he’s clearly seconds away from orgasm. 

Takumi is doing his best to stay composed, but his lower abdomen is quite literally tied in knots. He wants to cum too, but battles the urge, even if it’s nearly impossible. 

Nobu’s hole is impossibly soft, and his ass, while not particularly large, is nice and supple, perfectly shaped—enough to make someone like Takumi cum.

Eventually, Takumi caves in, a guttural groan escaping his throat. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, trying to suppress the moans, but he gets lost in the sensation for a moment, and allows some noises to slip out.

The realization that he’s about to cum hits him like a ton of bricks, that familiar knot in his lower stomach slowly threatening to unravel. He stops himself just in time, swiftly pulling Nobu’s waist off him. 

Fuck… that was close. There’s no way he was about to cum just from Nobu grinding his ass on him.

He casts a look down at Nobu, who is already in a state of stupor, his knees trembling, panting heavily like a dog chasing its tail. 

“I haven’t even put it in yet, Nobu. Are you always this sensitive?”

“Just shut up. You think I didn’t hear your moans too? Stop acting like I’m the only one getting worked up,” Nobu bites back.

Takumi raises an eyebrow and smiles smugly. He’s always been drawn in by this side of Nobu—the bratty, petulant attitude of a pampered kid he remembers him to be. Like he’s just begging to be tamed. A challenge Takumi finds all too tempting to resist.

He leans down, boxing Nobu in with his hands, placing one knee between his thighs. He can practically hear Nobu gulp, his throat bobbing nervously. This is such a delightful game. Tormenting him is one thing, but there’s a new dimension now—a forbidden form of pleasure. It’s a double win for Takumi.

“What should we do about this?” Takumi uses his knee to press onto the spot between Nobu’s ass and dick. He had heard once it’s an erogenous zone as well.

“There’s lube… in the bathroom drawer,” Nobu mutters, looking away in embarrassment. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Takumi pokes the bear, trying to get a reaction. 

Nobu loudly sighs in frustration, shoving Takumi off him. Takumi relents, letting out a small laugh as he steps back. It’s satisfying to see that little touch of fire in Nobu, that spark of resilience that he tried to hide so desperately.

Then, his attention turns to a more practical consideration.

Lube in a ryokan? Takumi doubts something like that would be found in a traditional Japanese inn. Was Nobu playing with himself in this room? The mental image of Nobu with his ass up in the air, possibly stuffing himself with a dildo, makes him stiff as a pole.

He watches as Nobu scrambles off the bed, trying to hide his naked body with what little he can, and stomps over to the en-suite bathroom to rummage through the drawers. 

He can’t decide what’s cuter: the way Nobu stomps around naked like an angry kitten, or how he tries to seem tough and unbothered despite his still-hard cock.

The moment Takumi sits on the edge of the bed, Nobu returns with an armful of supplies—three bottles of lube, and a handful of magnum condoms. 

“Here, take these. Extra large, just for you,” he says, tossing everything onto the bed next to Takumi. “You don’t have to be so—” 

However, before he can fully form his sentence, Takumi pulls him onto his lap, silencing him with a rough gesture.

Without missing a beat, he then uses his hands to spread Nobu’s legs further apart, situating them on either side of his own.  

“T-Takumi, wait,” Nobu squirms, but Takumi holds him down with his forearm. 

“Shhh. Bear with me, okay?” he replies, this time in a softer tone.

He picks up the tube of lube, uncapping it, and pouring some of the liquid on his fingers. 

He’s still mildly suspicious about its presence in the suite, but hell, what does he know, maybe it’s a new trend in luxury inns—catering to their guests’ every need. Perhaps he’s just out of touch with the standards these days, especially considering this is a first-class suite.

“How convenient. Looks like you were planning ahead, eh?” he laughs sardonically. 

“That’s bull, do you even know what you’re impl—” Nobu’s rendered speechless again when Takumi employs his middle finger to slowly rub circles around his hole. 

Takumi prefers to be careful; it’s his first time with a man, and he doesn’t want to jump the gun. If he’s doing something for the first time, he’s determined to make it count. He’s quite the perfectionist in that regard. 

As much as he loves toying with Nobu, he doesn’t want to straight up rupture his colon. He doesn’t want to… actually hurt him.

When did he turn so soft?

Younger him had obviously been curious about what sex between two men was like, so he does have a brief idea of how it should go. It’s not much different from doing it with a woman, there’s just a bit more… prep.

He familiarizes himself with Nobu’s eager hole, circling the rim, and generously coating it with slick lube. The entrance is soft and yielding under his touch, and he feels Nobu’s breath quicken as he massages it. 

Finally, Takumi decides he’s ready to insert his finger. But just as he does, Nobu begins to clench, making it impossible. 

“Hey, come on, you need to relax, alright? Just… trust me on this,” Takumi implores softly, his voice filled with an attempt at sincerity. He knows it’s a tall order, asking for Nobu to let down his guard after everything they’ve been through. As if Nobu could ever trust him. Takumi can’t really blame him; he hasn’t given him many reasons to, after all.

Nobu’s body goes taut for a moment. But he takes a deep breath, and slowly, Takumi feels him relax.

He notices the change, feels Nobu unclench, and takes it as a green light to continue. Slowly, he pushes his middle finger in, just a little deeper, just a touch of pressure.

“Ah… Fuck,” Nobu gasps, throwing his head back to rest on Takumi’s shoulder. Takumi doesn’t mind; it’s pretty cute, actually.

The finger is well-coated in lube, so there’s barely any resistance; it slides right in. 

“Good boy. See how well you’re doing?” He praises Nobu. He takes a moment to analyze the feel of his finger—encountering a nice, tight hole, typical of a virgin, warm and rugged inside. 

Takumi concludes Nobu must not have touched himself before, after all.

He feels every clench around his digit as Nobu tries to adjust to the foreign sensation. 

He could get used to this.

No, their temporary truce is just for one night. In the morning, it’s back to Nobu hating him, and Takumi barely tolerating his presence. Though he might as well make the most of their time together.

Takumi takes his time to curl and prod his finger, searching for the prostate. It takes a bit of effort to reach deeper, but finally, he angles his finger just right. To his surprise, Nobu lets out a loud, unabashed moan. He hastily covers his mouth in shock and embarrassment. 

Takumi grins at the sound, knowing he’s struck gold, “Ahh… found ya.”

The moan alone gives Takumi a great amount of confidence to proceed. He slowly fucks his finger in and out of Nobu’s hole, making sure to target the prostate whenever he motions inward. Looking at Nobu’s face, he sees an expression of unbridled pleasure. The satisfaction is plain to see, the sensations clearly overpowering any lingering inhibitions.

Takumi must be doing a good job, because Nobu has his eyebrows scrunched up, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He’s breathing heavily, twitching and rolling his hips to meet Takumi’s finger. 

“Yeah?” Takumi taunts with a cocky smile, to which Nobu can only respond with more moans. 

He picks up the pace, the room gradually filling with the sound of slapping and wet noises. It’s so lewd. 

Takumi finds himself fixated on Nobu’s expressions; if he looked good before, now he looks fucking captivating. 

He’s getting hard again, knowing he’s the cause behind it. He just wants to speed up the process and shove his dick into Nobu, filling him to the brim. 

He adds his ring finger in. 

“That feels too—” Nobu struggles to finish his sentence as Takumi does a ‘come hither’ motion inside of him, brushing against his prostate over and over again. 

“Good?” He finishes for Nobu. 

“Urgh, T-Takumi I can’t… I think I’m—I think I’m going to cum,” Nobu chokes out.

Takumi watches as Nobu grabs his own dick and desperately jerks himself off, seeking maximum arousal and stimulation. He lifts his head off Takumi’s shoulder, fixating on the sight of his own hole getting used and abused. 

Takumi observes the tremors running through Nobu’s cock, and seeing the man’s need, he decides that a simple kiss might suffice for now. 

With one hand still working to pleasure Nobu, Takumi uses his other to capture his face, pulling him into a sloppy, rough, and raunchy kiss. Their tongues tangle together, taking and giving in equal measure, as they seem to devour each other instead of properly kissing. Nobu can barely kiss back, unable to hold back moan after moan. He’s close.

Takumi’s lips move down, brushing against the sensitive skin of Nobu’s neck, nipping and sucking at the tender flesh until a small bruise forms.

“It’s okay. You can cum,” Takumi breathes out. “Cum for me,” he repeats, reminding Nobu who calls the shots. As Takumi continues to thrust a few more times, he feels Nobu’s hole clench and pulse around his fingers, sending a thrill of excitement through him, like a swarm of butterflies. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Nobu moans out, and seconds later, his cock shoots out white strips of cum all over his stomach, hand, and Takumi’s arm. 

Nobu collapses, drained. Takumi feels him go limp in his lap, his arm falling to his side, chest heaving rapidly as the orgasm gradually wears off. 

Cautiously, Takumi extracts his fingers, inadvertently causing Nobu to twitch again. He holds his hand up in front of them, inspecting the results of his efforts, and the mess Nobu has made. “Lord. Who knew your ass was capable of this?” 

His fingers are covered in juices. 

Takumi pats Nobu’s stomach, signaling for him to stand up, but Nobu’s knees buckle, and he nearly loses his footing. Takumi grabs his arm to prevent him from toppling over, using the opportunity to manhandle him onto the bed, forcing him into an arched pose. 

“Could you be any more aggressive?” Nobu retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes, though Takumi can’t quite determine if it’s irritation or pleasure fueling the reaction.

Takumi allows Nobu to find his balance and settle into the new position, admiring the view of his sweet ass out for him to use. 

“Push that ass out more for me. Arch your back lower,” he instructs, his eyes glinting with anticipation. It just dawns on him that he actually has Nobu bent over for him, completely submissive, and primed for a thorough fucking.

Nobu obliges, spreading his legs wider and arching lower. Takumi feels like he’s conscious of the effect he’s having, trying his damndest to show off (‘look at my perfect arch’), but in his defense, it’s working. 

Despite himself, Takumi is taken aback by how sexy the sight is—Nobu looks like he’s ready for breeding, his hole glistening with the remaining lube.

He never thought he’d say this about a guy’s asshole but… it’s so goddamn pretty. Like its owner.

Takumi begins to stroke his cock at the sight of Nobu twitching and begging for more. He squirts more lube onto Nobu’s entrance—the cold gel making him squirm a bit—and then coats his own dick, assuming it’s the smartest thing to do as two fingers weren’t enough to prep Nobu for his size. He’s too impatient, and he’d rather just have Nobu adjust to his size as he fucks him.

“Feel how your hole is pulsing, Nobu? Are you that desperate?” Takumi asks, his voice dripping with derision. There’s lube everywhere, dripping down Nobu’s thighs and coating his ass cheeks. 

Takumi’s fighting the overwhelming urge to just shove his dick in and pound away mercilessly, fucking Nobu until he’s an incoherent mess. This situation is definitely testing his willpower.

With his cock thoroughly lubed, he positions himself at Nobu’s entrance, ready to stretch him out. He gives a playful slap with the head of his dick against Nobu’s hole, eliciting a lewd, wet sound that fills the room. As he presses the tip against the tight entrance, poised to slide right in, Nobu flinches at the skin-to-skin contact, making him stop in his tracks. 

“A-are you not gonna wear a condom?” Nobu asks, glancing back at Takumi with concern in his big puppy eyes. 

Takumi pauses for a moment, considering the question. It’s a fair enough question to ask, but the thought of using protection hadn’t even crossed his mind. He gets tested regularly—he has to, given his many casual partners. Though, truthfully, he hasn’t been with anyone in a while.

He despises condoms. They’re uncomfortable and dull the sensations he craves during sex. If he wore them regularly, he probably wouldn’t have to deal with so many unplanned pregnancies. But fortunately, there’s no need to worry about that with Nobu. 

Although he’s never had relations with another man before, wearing a rubber is an inconvenience he doesn’t need right now. There’s a certain allure in the risk, in the idea of taking what he wants without consequences, and he finds himself giving in to that impulse as he looks at Nobu’s back, bent over before him. 

Plus he wants to feel him. All of him. Breed Nobu’s hole, pump him full of his cum.

“Are you worried about… you know. Getting knocked up?” he teases.

Nobu’s flushed cheeks grow redder still as he processes Takumi’s words. His eyes widen and his mouth forms a little ‘o’ shape. “W-what? No way! I meant STDs, idiot,” he stammers, looking absolutely scandalized by the idea.

“Relax,” Takumi says, grabbing onto Nobu’s hips. “I’m clean. Been checked lately,” he says, the smirk returning to his face. “But if you’re still worried, I can wear one.”

He pauses, waiting for Nobu’s response. There’s a small part of him that’s surprised at his own willingness to be obliging. He knows it might seem out of character for him to offer, considering how dominant he’s been up till now. But there’s something about the expression on Nobu’s face that suddenly makes him feel somewhat protective, almost gentle.

“N-no… you don’t have to…” Nobu replies shyly, burying his head in the pillow. 

Takumi raises an eyebrow, surprised by Nobu’s quick acquiescence. The punk wants to do it bareback? He hadn’t expected him to be so… lax about this. It’s a small victory, but he takes it nonetheless.

“Oh? Changed your mind so quickly? Got impatient, did you?” He smirks, teasing him again. His dominant side reasserts itself as he slowly enters Nobu for the first time, pushing his cock into him, gripping his waist firmly.

“Ah! Takumi… I-is it even gonna fit all the way in…? You’re so b-big… W-Wait, oh fuck,” Nobu gasps, the sound muffled by the pillow, struggling to maintain his arch as the sensation of being stretched overwhelms him.

Takumi is known for his self-control, his ability to keep a cool head in even the most stressful situations. It’s a skill he had honed through years of practice, becoming an essential part of who he is. 

But now, in this very moment, as he moves back and forth inside Nobu, with the tightness gripping him so deliciously, knowing that he’s taking his ass virginity, he feels all his composure slipping away.

“Holy- Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans, biting his bottom lip hard to stifle his own moans, nearly drawing blood. The tight, hot pressure around him feels incredible, almost too much to bear. Nobu’s hugging him, sucking him up. Takumi’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, his body tensing with pleasure, his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

He’s in awe of how tight Nobu’s hole is, and he questions (just for a second) why he hadn’t tried this sooner, why he’d been so closed-minded about a man being with another man. 

He fully bottoms out in Nobu. He can feel him quivering, spread out beneath him. 

“Jesus, Nobu…” he breathes out. The sensation of first slipping in makes him want to cum instantly, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. “Looks like you’re useful for something, after all,” he adds condescendingly, just to mess with him.

Despite the compromising position he’s in, Nobu doesn’t take the insult lying down. “I… ngh… could say the same about you… you twat,” he hurls back, kicking Takumi in the shin. 

Takumi just chuckles in response, enjoying the way Nobu is giving him a bit of an attitude.

He gathers his composure, taking a deep breath in and out, then leisurely begins to ease himself in and out of Nobu’s hole, testing the waters, trying to find a steady pace and rhythm that’s comfortable for them both. “Mmm, you’re so perfect, so tight, so goddamn perfect,” he grits out.

He takes a moment to adjust, gripping Nobu’s hips tightly to anchor himself, his nails digging into the soft flesh. He knows it’s going to leave marks, but he doesn’t care. He wants to make sure Nobu doesn’t forget this. He’ll feel it for days. Days and days of remembering exactly who it was that was inside him.

He needs to keep control, to keep himself together. But it’s a struggle.

Takumi can’t remember the last time he felt this way, this completely undone by someone else. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

He takes a moment to look at Nobu, taking in the way his body is thrashing under him. He’s beautiful, with his messy hair and flushed cheeks. Takumi can’t help but feel a pang of tenderness, which he quickly tries to push down.

He runs his hands up and down Nobu’s sides, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingers. He can see the tension in Nobu’s body, the way he’s trying to hold himself together. Takumi leans down, his body covering Nobu’s, and plants a trail of soft kisses along his spine. “You alright, pretty boy?”

He almost hates himself for the question, feeling like it’s a sign of weakness. But he can’t help it. He’s genuinely asking this time, not trying to tease or antagonize. He knows he can be rough, dominant, relentless. But he wants to make sure Nobu is enjoying this too.

“I’m fine,” Nobu mumbles into the pillow, his voice cracking. He’s lying, and Takumi knows it. He can tell from the way his body is quivering, the way he’s tensing up, the way his fists ball up the bed sheets, that he’s trying to hide his discomfort.

Takumi smirks, amused by Nobu’s feeble attempt to play it cool. He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, his tone firm. “I can tell you’re not. You’re a terrible liar, Nobu.”

He spreads Nobu’s ass cheeks wider, exposing his hole even more. Nobu’s grip on the sheets tightens, his body squirming in response to the vulgar move.

Takumi can tell he’s pushing Nobu too far, but a part of him can’t help but want to see just how much more he can take.

“I… said I’m fine,” Nobu repeats, his voice firmer this time. He’s trying to put up a strong front before Takumi, but Takumi can see right through it. He knows Nobu’s body is struggling to adjust to his size, that he’s in pain.

“Stubborn little brat,” Takumi mutters under his breath. He’s annoyed by Nobu’s hard-headed attitude, but also strangely turned on by it. 

“Very well, then,” he says with a shrug. “Don’t expect me to hold back now.”

And with that, Takumi loses his last thread of self-control. He pulls out slightly, then slams back in with a force that makes Nobu gasp, brushing against his prostate.

“A-ah! Takumi, slow down…!” Nobu cries out, his body jolting forward. His hands grip the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white. He’s not used to this intensity, this rough treatment. He was clearly not prepared for the sudden, deep penetration. “Oh, fff-uck.”

Takumi glances down and sees Nobu’s cock, hard and bouncing with each thrust, dripping with pre-cum. Each thrust sends a shiver through Nobu, causing his cock to twitch and leak more, adding to the feverish friction between their bodies. The sight is hypnotizing.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m not holding anything back,” Takumi grunts, his voice low and rough, pride swelling in his chest. 

He’s enjoying the sound of Nobu’s moans, the way his body is responding to him. He’s enjoying the fact that he can have this effect on him, that he can make him moan and writhe beneath him, even as he pushes him past his comfort zone.

Seeing Nobu struggle to take him, seeing him come undone beneath him… it’s a rush like nothing he’s ever experienced. 

He picks up the pace, pounding into him harder and faster with abandon. He can feel the heat and tension building between them, the room growing increasingly steamy and stifling. 

The sounds of their flesh slapping together, Nobu’s labored breaths, his moans and Takumi’s grunts fuse into an intoxicating rhythm. 

“Fuck—you feel so fucking good around me, Nobu,” Takumi can’t help but let out.

Nobu’s hole is slowly but surely getting broken into his shape.

“Nghh-T-Takumi, slow… down… You’re too… b-big. I can’t… I can’t,” Nobu cries out, fighting to keep his arch as his back twitches and contorts. 

“C’mon, Nobu, be a good boy for me, hmm? You can take it, right?” Takumi’s words, spoken in a sweet, yet patronizing tone, juxtapose the merciless pounding he’s giving Nobu. 

To Takumi’s mild surprise, Nobu nods in agreement, affirming his resilience. He’s striving to meet Takumi’s expectations, determined to prove himself. He’s taking it like a true champ, accepting everything Takumi throws at him.

“That’s what you wanted, huh? You wanted me to wreck you? To defile you? Like the little slut you are,” Takumi rasps, and Nobu moans in response, pushing himself back on Takumi. The comment clearly stirs something in him.

“Yeah? You fucking minx,” Takumi spits out, his hand coming down hard on Nobu’s ass. It lands with a loud smack, the impact leaving a mean red handprint on Nobu’s skin. Nobu lets out a cry, half-pain, half-pleasure. 

“Fuck… yes,” he whimpers, his voice barely audible as he hides his face in the pillow. 

He might try to muffle his voice, but Takumi’s sharp ears pick up on it anyway. He smirks, satisfied with the reaction. He rubs gentle circles over the spot where he spanked him, intending to soothe the sting. 

Seconds later, he lands another smack on the same spot, not giving Nobu a chance to recover. The smack resonates through the room, and Nobu lets out a pained gasp. The sight of him taking it so obediently, even getting off to it, is unbelievably stimulating for Takumi, making his cock twitch with excitement. 

“Ah- fuck,” Nobu moans out, this time spewing pre-cum all over the sheets, his hole clenching tightly around Takumi. 

“How naughty of you,” Takumi pulls him up by the shoulder, now forcing Nobu to rest his back against his chest, his body hugging Nobu’s from behind. “I didn’t take you for such a masochist,” he says into his ear.

He slides his hand up until he reaches Nobu’s throat, then wraps his fingers around it, not quite squeezing, but holding him firmly in place. He can feel the rapid pulse beneath his grip, a constant thrum that indicates just how worked up Nobu is.

Takumi then uses his other hand to grip Nobu’s cock, using his thumb to press over the opening. Nobu’s entire body twitches and stiffens at the touch. 

“Would you like to cum?” Takumi asks, watching the desperation and excitement play across Nobu’s face. Nobu quickly nods, his need palpable.

Takumi watches as he desperately bucks his hips up and down, trying to thrust his cock into Takumi’s fist to seek some sort of pleasure. 

“Do it then. Make yourself cum,” Takumi suggests, testing Nobu to see what he’s capable of. 

“Wh-what? Can’t you move instead?” Nobu pleads.

“No, no. I wanna watch you do it yourself. You seem so eager to finish,” Takumi interjects playfully, cutting him off. He stares in anticipation, keen to see Nobu’s next move. 

“O-okay…” Nobu responds, all confidence stripped from his voice. Takumi lets go of him, giving him room to act, and do as he pleases.

There’s hesitation in his movement at first, but then he places his hands in front of him for support and slowly begins to fuck himself back onto Takumi. A few wheezes fall from his lips as he finds a steady pace.

“There we go, nice and easy,” Takumi encourages him, also beginning to feel the pleasure as Nobu moves with more intent. 

Nobu’s moaning now, finding the perfect rhythm to fuck himself back. Takumi’s cock hits the right spot for him everytime he thrusts himself into him. He gains some confidence and decides to pick up the pace, now pushing himself back harder, dirty noises leaving his mouth every time their skins slap against each other. 

His rhythm starts to grow sloppy; Takumi witnesses as he falls forward onto the bed, trying to continue, but his stamina is low, and he quickly gets tired. 

Nobu begins to lazily jut his ass back and grind himself up and down on Takumi’s cock, whimpering desperately, clearly seeking something more aggressive than the half-hearted bouncing he’s doing. 

“Takumi… p-please,” Takumi hears him mutter. He’s evidently embarrassed that he can’t make himself cum, and they both know he needs help. 

“What do you want from me, Nobu?” Takumi asks, pressing Nobu for an answer. 

“Jus—just hurry up... L-let this… be over… and done with…” 

Takumi doesn’t respond at first to Nobu’s plea for faster relief, letting a smirk cross his face as he leans back, hands behind his head, enjoying the view. He watches as Nobu clumsily tries to move his hips, grinding on him eagerly. 

Needy little thing.

“Hurry up?” he asks, his voice dripping with fake annoyance. “I thought you were actually going to try.” 

He knows exactly what Nobu wants, and he’s not going to make it easy for him. He grabs onto Nobu’s hips again, stopping his movements.

He’s growing tired of dancing around the fire they’ve created. He wants to hear Nobu beg, no, he needs to.

“Use your words. Beg me to fuck you,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

“W-What?” Nobu gasps out, his voice caught in his throat. He’s struggling to regain his breath, his body shaking with need. His hole is aching, pleading for Takumi to move again.

Takumi leans in, his voice dropping even lower. “You heard me. Beg. Me.”

“A-are… you… kidding me? You… ngh… you fucking… asshole…” Nobu manages to get out through gritted teeth, still defiant in his current state, even if his body is screaming for more. But the need, the overwhelming desire, wins out in the end. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath.

“P-Please… Taku…mi…” he finally lets out a whimper as he breaks, his voice hoarse. “Please… I need… you to… f-fuck me… harder…” he hiccups.

Jesus Christ. 

Takumi’s smirk widens at Nobu’s reluctant surrender. “That’s more like it,” he purrs, his voice a husky whisper. He leans down to grab the back of Nobu’s head and shoves it into the pillow, forcing him into submission. 

With a sudden, powerful thrust, he plunges deep inside Nobu again, drawing a loud, uncontrolled moan from his lips. “You want me to fuck you harder? Yeah? That’s how much you want it?” 

He begins to move with a vicious pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, slamming into Nobu’s p-spot, relentlessly assaulting it. Nobu’s breathless gasps mingle with Takumi’s grunts of exertion. 

Takumi’s hand snakes around to grasp Nobu’s neglected cock once again, stroking it in time with his thrusts, making sure to milk him as much as possible. 

The dual sensation must be too much; Nobu’s cries rise in pitch as he hurtles towards his climax.

“You know what to do, Nobu,” Takumi whispers, voice rough and demanding. “Cum all over yourself while I fuck you.” 

With a strangled cry, Nobu’s body tenses and he erupts, orgasm ripping through him with a force that leaves him shaking. His cum splatters across the sheets as his body spasms uncontrollably around Takumi’s cock.

“That’s it, that’s a good boy. Let it all out, Nobu… Fuck,” a deep groan follows Takumi’s words as the sensation of Nobu’s hole pulsating around him sends him into ecstasy. He’s doing everything in his power to not finish then and there. He wants to join him so badly.

Takumi watches Nobu’s knees give out beneath him as he falls onto the bed, twitching, hyperventilating, his mouth agape with drool. He looks cock drunk. His sweat casts a warm glow over his body, patches of red and purple covering the parts of him Takumi had his way with. 

Before he collapses completely, he manages to slur out with a last burst of effort, his voice thick with emotion, “I… hate you… so fucking much…”  

Chapter Text

Nobu is lying sprawled out on the bed under Takumi’s weight, his cock slowly going flaccid. He’s covered in his own mess, the sheets slippery with his cum. 

He’s being humiliated and reduced to this state in his own inn—by Takumi, of all people.

It’s repulsive, filthy, yet so fucking pleasurable at the same time. He can’t deny that it’s probably the most intense pleasure he’s ever experienced in his life.

He feels Takumi withdraw from his entrance, leaving his wet, abused hole gaping from the sheer size of his cock. It desperately tries to clench onto something that’s no longer there, but the effort’s in vain.

He’s barely breathing, he’s so spent and exhausted, but then Takumi (the bastard still hasn’t finished; Nobu wonders how that’s even possible) manhandles him into a missionary position by grabbing his waist and flipping him over onto his back.

“Don’t even think for a second that I’m done with you,” he says, and suddenly his eyes are so close to Nobu, peering into his own, practically piercing through him. 

That’s exactly what Nobu was afraid of; that’s why he had his head in the pillow the entire time Takumi was hitting it from the back. 

He gulps, feeling blood flow to his dick again. 

How does Takumi have so much libido and stamina? Is he some sort of sex machine? Nobu isn’t ready for round two. He feels bone-weary, barely able to catch his breath, yet this jerk looks like he hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“Keep your eyes on me this time. Don’t you dare look away,” his breath is hot and heavy on Nobu’s face. 

He smells so masculine; no longer like tobacco, but still like wood, with a blend of musk and sex pheromones. (Fuck, is Nobu imagining this?)

“Don’t you dare look away.”

It’s so easy for him to say. He has no idea what it’s like to be pinned down and scrutinized this way by a man like himself.

It’s ironic how Nobu briefly mourns Takumi chopping off his long hair—the same long hair tied to memories of pain and trauma. He can’t help but wish to experience those silky strands brushing against his face, cascading like a waterfall while Takumi’s on top, hovering above him. 

But, on the other hand, the short hair allows Nobu to appreciate every detail of him; his penetrating eyes, the tiny mole beneath his ear that Nobu had never noticed before, his thick eyebrows, his high cheekbones, his chiseled jaw. He has to admit, it really accentuates Takumi’s sharp features, giving him a more rugged, mature look.

He’s perfect. If only he wasn’t… well, Takumi.

Takumi’s fingers wander to Nobu’s nipples, already sore and aching from the earlier torment. He pinches them hard, making Nobu gasp and arch his back. Fucking prick. He knows how sensitive this area of Nobu’s body is.

“You hate me, huh?” Takumi murmurs. He rolls Nobu’s nipples between his fingers, tugging harder, watching as Nobu’s face contorts with a blend of pain and pleasure. “Then why are you trembling like this?”

Nobu tries to retort, but the words die in his throat as Takumi’s mouth descends, capturing one of his nipples between his lips. He sucks hard, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, and Nobu can’t suppress the moan that escapes him. The sound is desperate, needy, betraying his earlier words.

Takumi’s hand travels downward, sliding over Nobu’s sweat-slicked skin until he reaches his throbbing cock. He wraps his fingers around the shaft, stroking slowly, teasingly. “Still hate me?” he asks, giving Nobu’s cock a firm squeeze.

Nobu’s head lolls back, his eyes rolling up as he’s overwhelmed by the dual sensations. Takumi’s mouth moves to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same rough attention, biting down just enough to make Nobu cry out.

“Yes... I... hate… you,” Nobu gasps, his voice trembling. But his body betrays him, thrusting up into Takumi’s hand, seeking more. 

Takumi chuckles darkly, releasing Nobu’s nipple with a wet pop. He leans back, admiring the sight before him—Nobu’s chest heaving, his nipples red and swollen, his cock twitching in Takumi’s grip, dripping with pre-cum again. 

“Liar,” he whispers.

Without warning, Nobu feels Takumi seize his inner thighs and spread them wide open, exposing him completely. His sense of pride is shredded, leaving him both embarrassed and very much turned on. There’s not an inch of his skin that Takumi hasn’t already seen. 

The knowledge that Takumi can see how hard he is for him, and how his hole is reacting to his touch, sends a chill down his spine.

Nobu watches as Takumi spits on his hole, making a loud ptooey sound. He teases Nobu’s slick entrance with his tip, slapping the head against it, creating a wet, lewd noise with each hit. 

“That’s all you. You’re so fucking wet for me.” 

Nobu shies away from the comment, turning his head away from Takumi’s burning gaze. 

“You’re going to feel every inch of me,” Takumi promises, pushing forward slowly, stretching Nobu out inch by inch.

Nobu’s eyes widen, mouth falling open in a silent scream, as he feels Takumi’s cock fill him deep inside again, noticing how easily it slides in. The stretch is insane, almost too much, but the pleasure that follows is undeniable. 

Takumi’s big size hurt Nobu at first, stretching him to the point of excruciating pain. But as he continued to move, his thrusts becoming more fluid and powerful, the pain began to meld with pleasure. 

Nobu’s body adapted, accommodating Takumi’s sizeable girth, and soon the initial discomfort was replaced by a series of sensations that, though unfamiliar, were decidedly not unpleasant.

Now, Takumi’s thrusts are slow, calculated, pulling almost all the way before slamming back in, hitting deep. Nobu can feel his hole eagerly clenching around his length, welcoming it as if it were a present. 

“I said look at me when I’m fucking you,” he hears Takumi demand as he cups his chin to force eye contact, his voice authoritative yet laced with a heady sensuality.

Nobu’s body shivers involuntarily, as his eyes lock onto Takumi’s. The eye connection between them is something else, and in that moment, he understands what Hachi must have felt—the intoxicating danger of surrender to someone so controlling, followed by an overwhelming wave of pure arousal.

Fuck, he shouldn’t think this. Hachi suffered so much because of this bastard.

Takumi pulls out abruptly, and before Nobu can even finish his train of thoughts about Hachi, he feels him begin to pound himself into him, his eyes not leaving Nobu’s the entire time. Nobu watches as Takumi’s eyes widen with frenzy, a sex-crazed expression on his face filled with raw lust.

The world around Nobu fades away, leaving only the acute sensation of being completely filled. His fingers dig into Takumi’s back, his nails leaving marks as he arches his body to meet each thrust. Their breaths come in ragged gasps, mingling with the sounds of clapping and the bed creaking beneath them. 

Nobu thanks the heavens that the walls are soundproof. His parents are away, but still... He doesn’t want to know what would happen if anyone caught him being screwed by a guest. No, being screwed by Takumi. 

Takumi’s voice is dripping with praise as he speaks, a low, sultry rasp. “You’re taking me so well. You’re practically swallowing me whole.”

“T-Ta… kumi...” Nobu moans out in response. He feels so good right now; each thrust hits that spot repeatedly, making his lower stomach tie into a knot.

Then he feels Takumi, fully sheathed inside him, press down firmly on his tight, flat stomach, the feeling too overwhelming to fully register. 

“Look at this. You can see my print inside you. You’re nothing but skin and bones, but it’s like you were born to take my cock,” Takumi scoffs, a twisted satisfaction in his voice.

Under Takumi’s touch, Nobu can see the faint outline of Takumi’s cock inside him, pressing against the thin barrier of skin and muscle. How is that even possible? The surreal, obscene sight makes Nobu’s breath hitch. 

Takumi grabs Nobu’s hand, guiding it possessively to rest on top of the print. “Feel that? That’s me, buried deep inside you.” 

Nobu’s fingers tremble as he touches the bulge, the reality of it sinking in. The sensation of Takumi’s cock rubbing against his insides, rearranging them, and the hand on his stomach are driving him wild. 

“W-wait, T-Takumi—That… ah… feels too…” Nobu whimpers, his bony frame trembling.

“What? Feels too good? I know it does,” Takumi laughs smugly. 

He’s so fucking cocky, ugh. Well, he has every reason to be, but still. Nobu can’t stand him.

“Hachi… isn’t here… t-to watch right now… nghh… y-you… don’t need to… show off,” Nobu bites in between gasps, trying to hit him where it hurts the most. He wants to get a rise out of him at least once, snatch a small victory of his own.

As a response, Takumi starts to ram mercilessly into him, as if trying to prove a point, clearly offended by the comment. He’s angry and he’s taking it out on him. Mission accomplished.

“Ngh- See… ah… See… what I mean…? How is it… I can get… under your… skin so easily…” 

“I know you’re not talking this reckless when I’ve got you pinned like this. Shall I fuck some more sense into you? Because I can go all night.”

Nobu doesn’t reply properly, he can’t. His words are lost in a gasp as Takumi takes control. He can feel the last vestiges of his stubbornness melting away, replaced by a growing need for release. His body is overwhelmed with sensation, every thrust igniting a torrent of pleasure.

“Aah-! Ah-!” Nobu’s gasps turn into moans as Takumi starts to speed up, the pace relentless.

“I- I… I… oh God…” He’s lost for words, mind going blank. “Y-you… b-bastard…” he finally manages to mutter out.

His vision blurs as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak. He wraps his legs around Takumi, pulling him even deeper. 

“That all you got? You were being so feisty earlier… What happened to that sass?” Takumi growls, his hot breath tickling Nobu’s ear before he sinks his teeth into his earlobe. “I thought you liked to fight… but look at you now. A whimpering, trembling little mess… all because of me.”

Is… Takumi referring to that night at the club all those years ago? When Nobu challenged him to a fistfight over Hachi? What a fucking asshole. Unbelievable.

“S-Shut… up… h-huh…” Nobu mutters, his voice weak and winded. He’s too far gone to respond properly.

He gasps out between moans, his body shaking in pleasure and frustration. He hates the way Takumi is making him feel, like he’s a puppet dancing to his twisted tune. Yet, he can’t help but relish the feeling of being so wanted, so desired. His skin tingles where Takumi’s fingers trace patterns, sending jolts of electricity straight to his core.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want me to shut up.” Takumi grabs onto Nobu’s wrists, pinning them above his head. He bites down on the soft skin at the nape of his neck, leaving a vivid mark that throbs with each pulse of blood.

Nobu’s breath hitches as Takumi hits that spot inside him again, that wicked, perfect spot that makes his vision white and his legs turn to jelly. His body is on fire, every nerve ending electrified and alive. He can’t keep up the act anymore, he’s too overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him.

“S-stop… mmm… n-not… ah… fair…” he tries to retaliate once again, but his words turn into a moan as Takumi continues to pound into him. His body is flailing beneath him, a slave to the pleasure and pain.

“Who would’ve thought your boypussy would make me feel this good?” Takumi sneers, thrusting hard into Nobu.

Nobu’s face turns redder at Takumi’s crude language, but he can’t help but let out another moan, his body tensing up once again. Takumi’s words only make it worse, or better, he’s not sure. 

“H-Hey… Don’t c-call it that… mmmhh…” He tries to object, but his protests are lost in another gasp as Takumi’s cock drives deep into him again. “You’re… too… ahh… much… mnnn…”

He’s still not used to this kind of dirty talk (let alone about that part of him), even after everything that’s happened thus far. But the way Takumi says it makes his chest flutter. 

Boypussy.

It’s filthy, degrading, emasculating. It’s like Nobu doesn’t even have a functioning dick anymore, just a useless, flapping appendage, making him nothing more than a hole. 

But, at the same time, the thought of Takumi using him like his personal fleshlight, like a fucktoy, solely for his pleasure, is… kinda hot.

Or has Nobu gone completely crazy? Crazy from this man’s cock. 

“Fuck it,” Takumi says suddenly. He snatches Nobu up, grabbing him by the waist and lifting him off the bed as if he weighs nothing. His strong, sure arms encircle him from behind. Takumi moves like an expert, effortlessly, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

The sudden change of position catches Nobu off guard, and he lets out a startled yelp. “Wha- what… are you… doing?” he whines, his voice breathless. His arms and legs instinctively wrap around Takumi for support, leaving scratches again, and he buries his head in the crook of his neck. 

“Making sure you can’t escape,” Takumi replies. “Can’t have you running away when things get good.”

Nobu finds himself pinned against the wall, his back pressed against the cold surface. He can feel the coolness of it against him, but the heat radiating from Takumi’s body is even more intense. The contrast makes Nobu’s sensitive skin prickle in response. 

They’re chest to chest, their bodies pressed tightly together. Takumi hasn’t even pulled out; his cock is still inside of Nobu, brushing against that spot, teasing him with every minute movement.

“Besides, this gives me better access to… this.” He emphasizes his words with a sharp thrust, his hips slamming up into Nobu, his cock hitting a new angle. The sudden force makes Nobu’s toes curl, his nails digging into Takumi’s broad shoulders. 

Nobu’s eyes fill with tears again. He hopes Takumi doesn’t notice, but with his face buried in the crook of his neck, the wetness is probably felt against his skin.

Takumi shifts slightly, sensing Nobu’s distress.

“C’mere, Nobu, look at me,” Nobu hears him whisper. He’s hesitant at first, but the softness in his voice makes him comply. He lifts his head and positions it so that they’re face to face, a single tear trickling down his cheek as their gazes on each other grow more heated.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” Takumi coos, pressing his forehead against Nobu’s. He then gently kisses away the tear from the corner of Nobu’s eye.

What the hell? What’s with the sudden princess treatment?

“It’s- just t-too… much,” Nobu responds in a shaky tone. He’s more than overwhelmed; everything’s happening so quickly, and he’s barely managing to keep up, process it all. He’s just taking it in. 

The intense feeling of being fucked by Takumi, the mix of hatred and lust, the thick tension in the air, their undeniable chemistry—why, oh God, why do they have to be sexually compatible—it’s all too much for him. Of course he’s going to cry. 

He feels Takumi lean in, angling for a kiss, and he eagerly accepts, opening his mouth to allow him access. But this time, it’s Nobu who takes the lead. He keeps the kiss languid and tender, not wanting to rush. Takumi is a little taken aback but gladly accepts the change.

Their lips part slowly.

“You can keep going for me, right?” Takumi’s question brings Nobu back to his senses, reminding him that he’s still impaled on his length. He ponders the words, aware that if he gives up too early, before Takumi can even finish, this will be held against him. 

He can take it. He will.

“I… I can…” Nobu answers, determination lacing his voice.

“Good, because I’m tired of taking it easy on you,” Takumi begins to move again, rocking back and forth. 

There it is again. That maddening hot-and-cold attitude. One second he’s kind, almost tender, the next he’s pitiless. As if he catches himself showing softness, and hates himself for it. As if it’s something to be ashamed of. 

He reverts back to his usual self so quickly.

Nobu gasps as Takumi bucks his hips up, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. He goes from being cradled, and soothed like a fragile doll, to being pinned against the wall, and ravaged like a piece of meat. 

Takumi’s thrusts grow harder, more relentless, as if he’s punishing Nobu for making him show weakness.

“Mngh… hnh… oh god…” Nobu moans, struggling to keep up with Takumi’s pace.

Takumi increases it once again, the wall supporting them as he hammers into Nobu. He doesn’t even have to move much in this position to get the desired effect, every subtle movement rubbing against Nobu’s prostate. 

“There we go,” Takumi murmurs, his voice low but intense. “Don’t pass out on me just yet, pretty boy.”

“M-mmm… f-fuck… m-more… p-please…” Nobu’s words come out disjointed and delirious. All he can do is cling to Takumi’s body and hang on for dear life as he pounds into him. Takumi’s own arms are wrapped around him like a vice. It’s like he’s trying to hold him close, but also restrain him at the same time. “I-I’m… close…”

Nobu tries to focus on anything in the room besides the immense pleasure surging through his body, but there’s no respite. 

“Already?” Takumi says, mock disappointment in his voice. He smirks as his hips continue to piston in and out of Nobu. “Come on, I thought you could last a bit longer than that… I guess I overestimated you, huh?”

But he’s also panting now, his grip on Nobu growing tighter. He’s close too, but he won’t let himself finish just yet. What a poser. 

The smack of flesh slapping against flesh grows increasingly loud, and their combined noises fill the room, making it feel like a hot, cramped bubble isolated from the rest of the world. Takumi’s grip on Nobu is bruising, but neither of them cares about the pain. It’s just a mere byproduct of everything else that’s going on.

Takumi takes one of his hands off Nobu’s hip, relying on the wall for support, and instead rests it on Nobu’s chest, just above his heart. Nobu’s keenly aware that he can feel the frantic beating beneath his fingers, quick and erratic.

“Mnghh… T-Takumi… please…” he moans, his body shivering under his touch. He’s so close, he can taste it, but Takumi is denying him what he wants most.

“You’re so easy,” Takumi adds, his lips brushing against Nobu’s ear. “So easy, it’s almost embarrassing.” He starts rolling his hips in slow, circular motions, each one designed to tease and prolong Nobu’s torment.

He feels Takumi’s fingers move, tracing a slow circle over his chest. The cool touch is a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and it only drives Nobu even deeper into insanity.

“J-just… let me… cum… ngh… you… f-fucker…”

Takumi grabs a fistful of Nobu’s hair instead, wrenching his head back, making his scalp sting. “Fine. I want to hear you scream, Nobu. Scream my name and how much you love my cock.”

“H-huh?” Nobu croaks out, his brain foggy and muddled. He’s almost in a haze, struggling to even comprehend what Takumi is saying right now. “Wha—”  

He doesn’t get to fully articulate his thoughts, because Takumi takes the opportunity to nuzzle his neck, nibbling and sucking, which causes a sharp moan to escape him.

Wait.

Scream? That he loves Takumi’s cock? No way in hell.

“You’re such an… ah… n-ngh… egomaniac, you know that…?” He lets out a shaky gasp as Takumi drives into him again.

He slows down his pace, each thrust purposefully slow and shallow, and Nobu’s hole clenches around him, desperate for harder stimulation.

Takumi chuckles. “So I’ve been told,” he leans in closer, his lips touching the shell of Nobu’s ear. “Just do it. Say it. Moan it. Cry it. I know you want to.”

There’s something both demeaning and commanding in Takumi’s voice, that makes it difficult to defy him. Every cell in Nobu’s being wants to dig in his heels, to be stubborn and resistant. But his body and heart, unheeding, give in to the pleasure and the need. 

The thought of actually screaming out such a thing is mortifying. He’d never be able to look at himself in the mirror afterwards. But, he’s so goddamn pent up, so desperate to get off, and his pride is hanging by a thread as it is, so… what choice does he have?

It’s an admission of defeat.

“You know I’m not going to give in otherwise,” Takumi adds, lips still pressed up by Nobu’s ear. “I’m a cruel, vindictive, sadistic bastard. That’s what you think, right? So I won’t let you get anything until you do what I want.”

He rocks his hips again, grinding against that spot that makes Nobu see stars, but then he completely halts his movements, and the absence of friction is agonizing, leaving Nobu writhing in frustration. 

“Come on, Nobu,” he murmurs, “let me hear you.”

“...Takumi…” Nobu’s eyes roll back as he moans, his voice strained by lust and a hint of resignation. “I-I… love your… cock.”

“Louder. I want you to shout it for me.”

Takumi’s tone is harsh, brooking no dissent. He’ll keep going until he gets what he wants. Nobu knows this. That’s just the kind of person Takumi is. 

This is so humiliating, so far beyond anything he ever thought himself capable of saying. He feels like an animal in heat, begging and pleading. It’s so embarrassing to give in, to be so vulnerable to his worst enemy (if he can call him that), but the stimulation is so intense, and he needs to orgasm so badly.

“I-I-” Nobu starts, his voice catching in his throat. The words are stuck there, stuck right in front of his lips. He hates how hard it is for him to say such crude and degrading things. He hates how his mind is screaming at him to just give in, that it’s not the end of the world. He hates how much he needs this, needs Takumi.   

“I-I love your... your…” the words burn in his mouth, his pride wounded and damaged. But he feels as if he’s been pushed to the edge.

So with a strangled moan, Nobu repeats himself, trying to ignore the deep flush of shame that spreads across his face. This time he yells, almost at the top of his lungs: 

“I… LOVE YOUR… THICK C-COCK… DEEP INSIDE MY GUTS… TAKUMI… IT’S MADE ME CUM… SO MANY TIMES…”

Then, without warning, Takumi resumes his thrusting. It’s aggressive, brutal, violent. His cock drives into him with an almost savage intensity, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. His pace is punishing, fucking him silly, as if he’s trying to imprint himself on every inch of Nobu’s insides. 

“Fucking hell… Nobu… If you only knew what you do to me,” he moans. 

For the first time, as far as Nobu’s concerned, he’s allowed himself to really moan.

Nobu’s body jerks with each powerful thrust, his own moans turning into desperate, breathless cries. He feels every inch of Takumi’s cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside him, driving him closer to the brink once again.

His back arches off the wall, his muscles straining under the onslaught, his hands clawing at Takumi’s back for any semblance of stability.

His cries escalate, turning into incoherent babbles of need and desperation. His vision blurs, tears streaming down his cheeks again as his body is pushed beyond its limits.

“Takumi… I’m—oh god—I’m cumming… ngh!” 

He shoots a final, exhausted spurt of cum all over his stomach, the force of his orgasm sending some of it splattering onto his face and even into his eyes. The sperm is diluted, almost clear, a testament to how completely spent Nobu is. 

His body trembles with the effort, every muscle taut and quivering, practically running on empty. He’s given everything he has, and now there’s almost nothing left.

Takumi isn’t far behind, the sight and feel of Nobu’s release, combined with the tight, rhythmic contractions around his cock, pushing him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, his cock throbs as he empties himself inside of Nobu. 

Nobu feels the hot rush of Takumi’s cum flooding his insides, filling him completely until it starts to leak out, spreading a deep heat through his core.

As Takumi’s thrusts finally get more shallow and stop, he pulls out his cock slowly, liters upon liters of his cum continuing to seep from Nobu’s stretched hole. A mix of their fluids trails down Nobu’s thighs. 

Nobu’s body goes limp, his strength completely drained. He can barely keep his eyes open, the edges of his vision darkening as exhaustion and sensory overload take their toll.

Nobu’s last conscious thought is a mixture of relief and resignation. He feels Takumi’s hand gently caressing his face, whispering words of praise, “You did so well,” before everything fades to black.

***

Nobu blinks repeatedly, the late spring sun caressing his exposed skin. His eyelids feel heavy, each blink a slow, deliberate effort to shake off the sleep. He has no idea what time it is, but judging by the sun’s position high in the sky, he assumes it’s well past 11 AM. 

He stirs, his eyes slowly adjusting to the daylight. The memories of the previous night flood back to him as he becomes more aware of his surroundings. He tries to sit up, rubbing his eyes groggily, but a wave of soreness instantly reminds him of the aftermath of what happened between him and… Takumi. 

He looks down at himself, at his naked body littered with bite marks and bruises, and gets flashbacks of last night—how he’d sobbed and begged, and, God, how he’d actually screamed Takumi’s name. And other things. Shame and embarrassment overtake him, and he lets out a soft sigh, hiding his head in his hands.  

His body aches all over, especially the area between his thighs. The faint scent of sex still lingers in the air.

He’s under the duvet. He’s clean. He recalls how, while he drifted in and out of consciousness, Takumi had cleaned him up. He can still feel the warm, damp washcloth against his skin. He can still feel… Takumi’s long fingers inside him, skillfully helping to drain his cum from deep within Nobu’s insides.

He looks around, but the other side of the bed is empty. The sheets are rumpled as if someone had been sleeping there, but Takumi is nowhere to be seen. 

How long has it been since he left?

The room is silent, filled only with the soft sounds of morning traffic muffled by the closed window. Nobu shivers, the air cold against his bare skin. How did it come to this?

His mind is a jumble of confused emotions, a mix of anger, embarrassment, and residual desire. He can still feel Takumi all over him, taste him in his mouth. He hates it, yet he also craves more.

A part of him is relieved that Takumi is not there, that he doesn’t have to face him after what happened between them, but a stronger part feels strangely... lonely. Why he feels that way, he cannot fathom.

He looks around the empty room. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it doesn’t budge. Despite everything that had happened between them... he kind of had hoped for something different. Stupid, really.

His eyes fall onto a small piece of tissue paper on the bedside table. There’s writing on it. Despite the trepidation, Nobu instantly moves to shuffle closer and stretches his arm out to grab it. His heart is drumming in his chest.

He unfolds the note with trembling hands, bracing himself for whatever is scrawled on that paper. He has an inkling that it’s not going to be a pleasant revelation. Yet, he allows himself to cling to a glimmer of hope that it’s an innocuous message—something like “Left you breakfast in the fridge” or “I trust you slept well.”

But the text written there in neat, sophisticated penmanship is exactly what he expects—cold, clinical, and to the point. Just like their author.

“Forget this ever happened.” 

There’s no sign-off, no signature, but he doesn’t need one. Just like Takumi to leave such a callous note, even after they shared something so intimate. The words echo in Nobu’s head with cruel finality. 

His heart sinks reading them, but he tries to keep himself together. He crumples the paper in his hand, then tosses it aside. 

What did he expect, anyway? Some sappy declaration of affection?

Takumi had kept his promise. Just one night.

Chapter Text

With the little strength he has left, Nobu tries to drag himself out of bed, but he’s still weak in the knees, aching all over—especially in the back. No wonder, considering he and Takumi had fucked like rabbits last night. Nobu’s never had sex this intense before.

He surveys the room, noting the scattered items that fell during their… heated moment. His clothes are strewn everywhere, a lamp is knocked askew, and a few items from the nightstand lay haphazardly on the floor. What a mess.

He considers heading to the en suite to grab a robe, but his eyes fall on the pillow on Takumi’s side of the bed. It still has the imprint of his head. Takumi had slept on it. It probably still carries his scent...

Why does that make Nobu hot all over?!

Would it kill Takumi to stay a bit longer? They could’ve had morning sex…

“Shut up, Nobu,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head to dispel the thought. But it’s too late; the mental image has already taken hold.

He craves Takumi—his warmth, his company, his touch. 

Nobu hesitates for a moment, the rational part of his mind telling him to just leave it, but the craving for Takumi’s scent is too strong. 

Slowly, he reaches out and grabs the pillow, pulling it close to his face, and inhaling, deep. The familiar aroma is addicting—that mixture of Takumi’s sweat, musk, a hint of the cologne that Nobu smelled on him last night, and something uniquely him. He exhales, a breathy moan escaping his lips. He needs more. 

Tearing off the pillowcase, Nobu buries his face in it, sniffing hungrily like a dog searching for something. 

He’s sick of his body’s traitorous reactions to Takumi: the way his nipples pebble, the dull throb of desire between his legs.

Dazed and intoxicated by the smell of the man he has no business yearning for, he collapses back onto the bed. 

His heart races, his throat tightens as his cock twitches and grows harder by the second. He squeezes his thighs together, hoping it’s just a fleeting moment, and he’ll be back to normal soon, but he knows he’s lying to himself.

Takumi’s scent has put him in a trance—a sex-crazed trance, reminding him of everything: the sex, the dirty talk, the way Takumi held him, the feeling of being choked and forced into submission. It makes him crave Takumi like a rare delicacy he’d only get to taste on the luckiest of days. 

“Just this one time,” he tells himself, clutching the pillowcase tightly as he stares up at the ceiling.

His fingers brush against his erection, and he shivers.

He knows he has to do something about this. Pressing the pillowcase tightly over his mouth and nose with one hand, as if about to suffocate himself, he grips his hardened shaft with the other. Spreading his legs wide, he takes a deep breath and begins to move his hand up and down, jerking himself to the smell of Takumi.

“Ahhh-h…” he moans, louder than intended, his breathing syncing with the rhythm of his stroking hand. He throws his head back and arches his back off the bed, drinking up the sensation. 

Desperately, he bucks his hips up to fuck his fist. “Oh fuck, more… I need more,” he whines, tightening his grip on his cock to help himself get to the desired finish. 

But he’s not anywhere close to it. The usual motions don’t bring the satisfaction he craves. He bobs his fist up and down, his waist tiredly matching the rhythm, yet he gets nothing. 

Nobu picks up his pace, changes the rhythm, but it also doesn’t help. 

“God, why can’t I—” he breathes out, his arms falling limp to his sides, weak and tired. He feels useless. Normally, he can make himself cum in seconds if he really wants to, so why...?

Why isn’t anything working? Is he broken?

He thinks back to his recent escapade with Takumi, and a lightbulb goes off in his head. Maybe if he tries this…

No, it can’t be.

But he shifts positions anyway, lying on his stomach with his ass arched in the air, allowing his fingers to slide in and out of his puckered hole.

His hand ventures to his ass, fingers finding their way to his entrance. Nobu’s breath catches as he traces circles around it, remembering how Takumi’s fingers felt inside him.

“Takumi…” he moans softly, pushing a finger inside himself. It’s not quite the same, but he tries to mimic Takumi’s movements, curving his finger to find that elusive sweet spot. 

His fingers aren’t enough, can never be enough. They’re way shorter than Takumi’s, a poor substitute, so he’s not able to reach the same depths that Takumi would with relevant ease, but if he just imagines that it’s Takumi doing it for him, prepping him for more… 

“Fuck… yes… that’s so good,” Nobu cries out when he finally finds the prostate. The stretch is minimal, but the thought of Takumi taking him again spurs him on, enough to keep him going.

So that’s it. It feels like he’s officially lost his manhood. He can’t even cum from the front anymore. He’s so desperate, so needy, that only the memory of Takumi can satisfy him now.

He adds another finger, pumping them in and out while his other hand continues to work his cock. The rhythm quickens, and he’s soon lost in the sensations, the pillowcase pressed tightly against his face, almost in his mouth. He imagines Takumi’s cock instead of his fingers, filling him up completely, making him moan and writhe with pleasure.

“Y-Yes… I’m your desperate slut,” Nobu whispers to himself, responding to the makeshift voice of Takumi in his head. He’s fully immersed in the fantasy. He’s still nice and supple from last night, so he’s able to fit three fingers inside and completely ravish himself.

The wet, squelching noises of his ass growing slick make Nobu’s cock twitch with anticipation. He’s lost almost all focus on the pillowcase now, his mind consumed by the memory of last night. He uses his free hand to jerk his dick again, seeking as much pleasure as possible. 

Everything feels perfectly synchronized. He creates a rhythm where every time his hips jut up, his length gets to feel that thrusting motion, and every time he goes back down, his fingers brush against his prostate. 

Takumi has ruined him, turned him into a horny piece of shit. 

His life became increasingly hectic after taking on the responsibility of the inn, forcing him to put his sex and love life on the back burner. He’d had his fair share of casual partners and dates, but he always found himself mentally checking out and eventually ending things. He just struggled to find someone who could wow him or keep him hooked for long.

Even masturbation had become a rarity, often leaving him unsatisfied—he’d either want the real thing after, with no one to turn to, or he’d just rush to finish, making the experience underwhelming. 

Never in his life did he expect that the person to rekindle his appetite for sex—the one to awaken that part of him that once loved having it regularly—would turn out to be that man.

“Takumi… harder… nghh,” Nobu moans now, his thrusts growing more urgent. It’s his first time masturbating with his ass, and honestly, it’s one of the best things he’s done in a while. 

What if he buys… a dildo, or two? No one would ever have to know, and it could certainly make things easier for him.

He drives his fingers deeper, matching each thrust with the strokes on his cock. He’s chasing that high, that feeling of being utterly filled and dominated.

He’s drenched in pre-cum and sweat, moaning deeply as wave after wave of sensation rolls over him.

His body heats up with every second, shoulders tightening and contorting as he nears the finish line.

“Yes… Fuck… I’ll be a good boy,” he manages to choke out, as he imagines Takumi showering him with praise. He wishes Takumi were here, wishes it was Takumi’s thick length making him moan and feel this incredible. He’s missing out.

“I… want t-to… cum for you…” he breathes out. He can’t take it; he’s about to explode. The butterflies in his stomach intensify, he feels that familiar knot slowly becoming undone, and he knows he’s close. “Just a little… more,” he gasps, his chest heaving up and down, as his breath hitches.

The fantasy takes over, and he can practically feel Takumi’s presence—his hands gripping Nobu’s hips, his cock slamming into him relentlessly from behind. For some reason, he pictures him fully suited up, the sharp lines of the fabric rubbing against Nobu’s bare skin, the belt buckle clinking rhythmically with each thrust. 

The thought is enough to make him climax, and within seconds, he’s convulsing, feeling his hole pulsing tightly around his fingers. 

“I’m cumming… fuck… yeah… ” he moans, eyes rolling back as he splatters his warm, white seed all over his hands and the bed sheets. His body shakes as he milks himself dry. His fingers slip out, and he’s left feeling empty, but the raw satisfaction lingers.

The orgasm is overwhelming, far more powerful and prolonged than his usual solo sessions. His knees give way, leaving him sprawled out, completely worn out. 

As the sex-crazed high wears off, reality crashes down on him.

“…What the fuck am I even doing…”

***

The first thing Nobu does after coming down from his high is conceal any evidence of his (and Takumi’s) dirty activities in the suite. 

He carefully puts away the lube and condoms, ensuring they’re out of sight. Next, he gathers the sheets with traces of dried cum on them, and deposits them into the laundry basket, as if he was simply tidying up after a guest. Finally, he sprays a fragrant mist in the air to get rid of the sex smell.

With that taken care of, Nobu briefly steps into the bathroom in his own quarters to shower. He turns on the faucet, splashing water on his face and wiping off any remaining cum. As he gazes at his reflection in the mirror, he takes a moment to examine his body.

He really is too thin. He hadn’t even noticed how much weight he’d lost over the past years. It must be all the stress from managing the inn and worrying about Nana’s whereabouts. It’s ironic, considering that when he was a nation-famous performer, he should have been stressing much more.

And, yep, just as he thought—he’s covered in bruises and hickeys. That damn bastard really went all out. It’s going to be a challenge to explain these away to his staff. 

He can already anticipate the curious glances and questions from his employees. Some of them might even notice the slight limp in his step. But, as much as he tries to avoid it, he knows they’ll all inevitably catch sight of his bruised neck. 

He considers his options, contemplating whether he should come up with an excuse or simply pretend nothing happened.

He decides to just act like he has a cold for the next few days, and wear turtlenecks or scarves. He can only hope that no one questions why he suddenly seems to have developed a “cold” that only affects his neck and upper body.

For today, he opts for a lightweight shawl that complements the color of his yukata and could pass for a fashion choice. It adds an extra layer of coverage. He’ll only say he’s ill if anyone asks. 

As he exits the quarters, and heads towards the front lounge, he sees Akari doing her routine cleaning. He notices her just as she’s about to enter the suite where Takumi had been staying. He gulps. 

Though he knows he had cleaned up any visible signs of their tryst, there’s always the possibility that Akari might sense something is amiss. She’s a pretty intuitive person.

But there’s no turning back now. Nobu gives her a nod of greeting, plastering a courteous smile on his face as he continues on his way.

Walking down the corridor, his eyes flit to the strategically placed security cameras mounted on the walls, and the realization hits him with sudden urgency: he needs to erase any video evidence of his visit to Takumi’s suite. 

He quickens his pace, his mind already formulating a plan.

Once he reaches the privacy of his office, Nobu sits in front of the computer, his fingers trembling slightly as he logs into the security system. The screen flickers to life, displaying rows of time-stamped footage. He browses through the records, his eyes scanning for any sign of his presence. He swiftly locates the relevant CCTV footage of himself disappearing into Takumi’s suite at about 12:20 AM and coming out 11 hours later. 

But before he hits the delete button, at the last second, he scrolls through the footage to find the exact moment Takumi left the suite in the morning. After capturing the correct frame, he notes down the time stamp, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

7:57 AM. Damn early bird. He must have set an alarm on his phone. So Nobu is the only one who passed out after sex, like a complete loser. 

He stares at the screen, studying the image a little more closely than necessary. The sight of Takumi’s tall figure makes his heart involuntarily skip a beat. Even in the grainy security footage the son of a bitch looks as good as ever.

Takumi is seen coming out of the room, fully dressed (of course, what did you think, that he’d be naked?! Dumbass). However, for a brief moment, before he closes the door behind him, his eyes linger on something inside the suite, his expression morphing into what looks like… fondness? A hint of affection, maybe. Nobu has to replay the footage to be sure he isn’t imagining it.

But almost as quickly as it appears, the expression shifts back to his usual sternness, and with a slight shake of his head, Takumi turns away and strides down the hallway. 

Nobu’s heart pounds away in his chest as he processes what he’s just seen. What could this mean?

Oh. 

Oh.

Was he… observing Nobu’s sleeping form? 

With a quick keystroke, Nobu saves the file, securing it in a hidden folder on his computer, far away from prying eyes. 

He’s not even sure what possesses him to do that. He recognizes the absurdity of it, but… he’d rather keep this on hand. It might prove useful someday. 

Takumi has enough compromising material to hold over him as it is—knowing the bastard, he probably recorded Nobu screaming that he “loves his cock” (which isn’t true, by the way)—so Nobu would prefer to have some leverage of his own.

Then, he deletes the rest.

After wiping the incriminating evidence, he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. 

That’s it. He has nothing else to worry about… or so he hopes. He’s taken all necessary precautions. The proof has been effectively wiped away. He and Takumi are the only ones privy to the fact they did something shameful, something they shouldn’t have. As long as Takumi keeps his mouth shut—and he will, given how obsessive he is about his image—their secret remains safely tucked away.

Is Nobu being paranoid right now?

Yes, he’s definitely making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is. After all, their encounter was ultimately a private matter between two consenting adults. 

Takumi’s probably pushed everything out of his mind already. He’s most likely already forgotten about Nobu, about what happened between them. Nobu is just another faceless name on his long list of conquests. 

So why is he getting so worked up over this? Fuck.  

Nobu shakes his head, pushing the thoughts aside for now, and starts his daily routine. He begins by straightening out the office (also after yesterday’s exploits), but it’s already pretty spotless. 

Next, he proceeds to deal with paperwork. He goes over reservation forms, invoices, and other administrative tasks, ensuring that everything is in order. While sorting through the documents, he pauses to look at the reservation records. He checks if there are any VIP guests scheduled for the next few days, but nothing unusual catches his eye.

Normally, it’s his parents who still handle much of the administrative work. Sometimes he feels like his father doesn’t even want him to take over with the way he criticizes Nobu’s every move. But his parents are away so Nobu has to manage everything completely by himself until they return. 

He doesn’t mind, though. In fact, having more responsibility has allowed him to step up and prove that he can handle the inn on his own. Even if he’d rather spend his time on tasks that don’t involve being cooped up in a cramped office.

Nobu misses being a performer. He misses that thrill of playing on stage, and being part of a band. Sitting in this office, buried under piles of paperwork, seems a world away from the vibrant energy of the music scene.

He’s still a musician, sure. He plays the guitar every day and runs a club for local punks. But Blast had given him a sense of belonging and purpose, a feeling of being part of something greater than himself. The bond he had with his bandmates was special, a connection only fellow artists could fully understand.

Now, the whole of Blast is scattered across Tokyo, or even farther. Yasu continues his career in law, while Shin remains the only one who stayed in show business, dabbling in acting. Nobu is surprised he still wants to work in that hellish world, considering what he went through as a teenage boy.

And Nana left. Just like that. She said “fuck it all” and disappeared. They’ve been receiving pictures of her singing in some faraway, remote bars and clubs. She might’ve grown her hair, or maybe it’s a wig—Nobu’s not sure.

It’s strange, continuing to live as if nothing happened. All of them exist in a kind of limbo. It’s as if they moved on, yet they hadn’t. Ren’s death united them in mourning, but tore them apart at the same time. 

Nobu imagines each of them copes with that loneliness differently.

But who would’ve thought it would be Takumi who’d make Nobu feel alive for the first time in years?

He hates him, he does. He might never find it in himself to forgive him. But… he’d be lying if he said he hates how Takumi makes him feel. Like he’s gone back in time. Like he’s reliving his youth.

The question is… Is he willing to risk a heartbreak?

***

Nobu just can’t seem to settle down today. He’s antsy, restless, searching for anything to keep his hands occupied, but nothing’s working.

Thank God the woman Takumi was flirting with the previous day isn’t at the reception desk today. Instead, there’s Keiko, who Nobu knows well enough to pretty much be on a first-name basis with. 

Except now he’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost jumps when she speaks to him.

“I’m managing just fine here, sir,” she says with a kind voice when she sees him at the front desk for what feels like the fifteenth time today. “You can head back to your quarters.” 

Oh, so she’s picked up on the fact he’s been hanging around the lobby more than usual. 

He forces a casual tone into his response.

“I’ve told you time and time again, just call me Nobu. No ‘sir’—it makes me feel ancient,” he says, the words coming out a bit strained. “And thank you, but I think I’ll stick around for a bit longer if you don’t mind.” 

Keiko shoots him a puzzled look, her eyes studying his face.

“Are you alright? You seem…” she pauses, trying to find the right word. “On edge today.”

Pffft, it’s nothing. Just the minor detail that he slept with his ex-girlfriend’s husband. No big deal! 

It’s not cheating technically—they haven’t been together for a while now. But they still remain married, and that makes things all kinds of awkward. 

How is he going to look Hachi in the face? How is he going to explain it to her? How is he going to play with Satsuki and Ren, as if nothing happened?

How is he going to handle being in the same room as Takumi from now on?

Oh, and let’s not forget: he’s just discovered that he might be a bit gay. Apparently, he likes it up the ass. And he’s even planning on buying a bunch of sex toys, because he’s a pervert, and just his hand doesn’t do it for him anymore.

Nope, all is absolutely fucking fine!

Nobu lets out a weary sigh, readjusting his shawl. 

“Yeah. Why would I not be?” he replies, a bit too quickly, a bit too defensively. He glances away, busying himself with rearranging the bowl of candies on the desk. The candies stir memories of his childhood, of his mom scolding him for sneaking them, and of his first love, Yumi.

“You sure about that? You’ve been fidgety all day,” Keiko prods gently.

“I’m not fidgety,” he protests, his eyes darting around the lobby for no particular reason.

She laughs softly. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know. Anyone could see that.”

“It’s nothing. Just… didn’t get much sleep, is all.” He feigns a yawn, as if to reinforce the idea that he’s merely tired.

Keiko nods, but there’s a hint of skepticism in her expression. She seems unsatisfied with his answer but doesn’t push any further.

“If you say so,” she replies with mild disbelief.

Takumi said Nobu’s a terrible liar. Is it true? Is he really that obvious about it? Takumi would have already called him out on his bullshit.

Nobu glances up from the desk at the sound of the inn’s entrance door opening. A figure walks in. For a fraction of a second, his heart leaps into his throat, his blood running cold.

It’s a man, tall and clad in a dark suit, his face partially hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses. For that split second, Nobu thinks he sees Takumi.

His mind clouds over with panic, but then the newcomer draws near, and Nobu realizes it’s not Takumi at all. The initial resemblance is there—the same tall stature, silhouette, and dark hair—but as the man removes his glasses, Nobu decides that he doesn’t look even remotely similar.

He really is being paranoid.

The man is attractive in his own way, Nobu supposes. His eyes hold a gentle kindness, and his smile is warm and inviting. 

However, it’s a far cry from Takumi. Takumi’s handsomeness is striking, almost intimidating. His presence commands attention the moment he walks into a room. It’s not just about physical appearance; it’s the way he carries himself, the confidence that radiates from him, and the undeniable charisma that makes people take notice.

The guest approaches the reception desk, and Nobu is about to hear his voice, about to judge just how much it differs from Takumi’s, when his cell rings. 

The unexpected sound startles Nobu, and he jumps again (Keiko rolls her eyes at this, a hint of a smile playing on her lips). He quickly fumbles for the device, almost dropping it in the process (she laughs this time), and steps a few feet away from the counter to take the call.

He glances at the screen to check the caller ID. It’s Yasu.

Ugh. What does he want?

With a mixture of unease and curiosity, Nobu presses the answer button and brings the phone to his ear. “Hey, Yasu. What’s up?”

Yasu’s voice on the other end of the line is calm and level as he speaks, “Hey, man. You good to talk?”

“Yeah, I’m all ears. Why? Something happened?”

He listens closely, but his mind races uncontrollably. Is there a chance Yasu has spoken to Takumi in the last 12 hours? Unlikely, but Nobu is in paranoid mode now, questioning everything.

“No, it’s nothing alarming like that,” Yasu reassures him, sensing the dread in his voice. “Listen, I was just on the phone with Ginpei. He told me Gaia wants to organize a reunion for Blast’s 10th anniversary. They plan to invite Trapnest and combine it with a little memorial service in Ren’s honor. He used to be a Black Stones member, after all. I know we’re technically broken up, but they believe that sort of thing would be good for us and the fans… And honestly, they might be right.” 

Oh, shit. The 10th anniversary of Blast’s Tokyo debut is coming up. It had completely slipped Nobu’s mind.

Fantastic. This might be even worse than anything he’d been fearing.

A reunion event with Trapnest? And Takumi will be there? He’ll be stuck entertaining guests all night, desperately trying to avoid both him and Hachi. Just what he loves: being forced into the same room with the last two people he wants to see right now.

Yasu continues, “I know how you feel about seeing Takumi and Nana at these events, but I’m afraid this time you’re gonna have to suck it up. Cause we need you to be there.”

Of course he has to be there. He’s got no choice. But fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is this the absolute worst timing ever? It has to be.

Nobu takes a deep breath, trying to tamp down the anxiety that threatens to surface, but then another thought crosses his mind.

“What about Nana Osaki? A reunion and memorial for Ren without Nana? What’s the point?”

There’s a brief silence before Yasu speaks again. “Oh, right… Guess you don’t know about that. Takumi and Naoki found her in England. I’m flying over there tomorrow. I’m bringing her back.”

Nobu is stunned. What? Takumi found Nana? Why didn’t he mention anything? Is that why he went to England? He was looking for Nana all this time? 

That’s… uncharacteristically kind of him. Nobu tries to process this unexpected revelation. It’s definitely not like Takumi to go out of his way to help someone.

“Is-is she even going to want to come back?” Nobu asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. He knows Yasu can’t answer it. He probably doesn’t know either.

“Ren’s ashes are scattered here. And her Hachiko is waiting for her. I’m sure she’s tired of hiding away on the other side of the world,” he says with a sigh.

Yasu’s words hang in the air. Nobu understands the point he’s making—that Nana likely feels the pull of home and the memories left behind. 

Nana… What Nobu wouldn’t give to see her again… even if it means enduring her yelling and the occasional slap. What he wouldn’t give to play music with her once more.

Whenever he swings by 707 to hang out with Hachi, Shin, and Yasu, he always makes sure to strum her guitar and play a little tune. Just in case she shows up at the door, ready to pick up where they left off.

“Alright, good luck, Yasu. Please bring her back safely.”

“Right. Thanks, man.”

“When’s the reunion?” he remembers to inquire just as the call is about to end.

“Three weeks from now, if everything goes smoothly. They want to televise some of it, but it’s mostly a private gathering for Blast, Trapnest, and some industry folks. You can invite whoever you want. We’ll rent out a hotel like we did for Shin and Reira’s birthday party. Or we could hold it at your inn… what do you say, Mister Manager?”

“Oh, uh… Sure, why not? Business is a bit slow at the moment anyway. Dad should be happy,” Nobu replies.

He wants to say no, but that would definitely raise suspicions. And he can’t risk being seen as suspicious under these circumstances.

He mentally starts calculating the logistics—who to invite (is inviting Asami a good idea? Their breakup was pretty dramatic, but Miu might invite her anyway), what supplies they’ll need, the layout, the arrangements, and so on. Anything to distract himself from the impending reunion with He Who Shall Not Be Named.

“Great. Send my regards to your old man. I’ll keep you updated with the details. We’re counting on you,” Yasu says, trying to be encouraging.

“Yeah… See you soon, Yasu.”

“See you soon. Take care.” With that, Yasu hangs up.

As the line goes dead, Nobu lowers his phone, his mind still spinning. He stares blankly at the wall for a minute, two, barely registering that Keiko is calling his name. 

This is going to be a long three weeks.

Chapter Text

Takumi spent the entire morning driving aimlessly through the streets of Tokyo. He didn’t stop—except once, for a light breakfast at a diner, though he barely managed to stomach it. 

Mostly, he just… drove. He put on an old Stones record and didn’t even notice that Gimme Shelter looped approximately twenty-five times. That’s how out of it he was. 

He kept thinking about that damn note he left for Nobu. 

Cruel? Sure, but the punk already hates him anyway. It won’t make a difference. The instructions were clear. Nobu will follow them. Because it’s Nobu, and because he wants to forget too.

Presently, he’s in Shirokane again, because of the promise he made to the kids. He’ll be damned if he ever lets his kids down.

He draws on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke with a sigh. Since last night, he’s been burning through packs faster than he’d care to admit, as if it might numb him to reality. He really ought to quit.

What reality, exactly? The divorce?

The fact that he slept with Nobu... and might have liked it?

What the hell kind of karma? The disgust he feels with himself is one thing, but to pretend it didn’t feel good in the moment would be a lie. So Takumi decides to shove the whole situation aside—for now, at least, until it demands his attention again.

Because he isn’t gay. 

He respects and has nothing against the gay community. He used to be a promiscuous rockstar, so he has no right to judge or police other people’s private lives. Naoki, his closest friend, is gay, for fuck’s sake, and Takumi even suspects Naoki had a small crush on him back in middle school. Despite that, he never commented on it, never so much as looked at him with disdain. He supported him when he came out. He himself is just… not part of that crowd.

What happened between him and Nobu is different. It was just… an experiment. He was curious, that’s all. Nobu’s hole practically looked and felt like a pussy. A real tight pussy. He’s not gay; he’s just open-minded. There’s a difference.

Sure, it felt good—amazing, even—but that doesn’t mean he has to label himself. It was just one experience. It was the thrill, and the need to connect with someone. Takumi had a lot of connections that didn’t define him.

Nobu was just the wrong person at the right time. 

And again, he’s always been attracted to women. He’s had relationships with women, real, deep relationships. One night doesn’t change that. He still finds women beautiful. 

So, he’s not gay or into men, or anything like that. He’s just someone who explored something different. It was a momentary lapse. He’s still Takumi. The womanizing jerk Takumi. Or just jerk Takumi because he hasn’t felt the loving touch of a woman in a while.

And now the whole thing goes to the delete-from-short-term-memory folder. 

That is his forte: burying situations in his mind regardless of their severity, and only dealing with them when he’s actually ready. Which, in this case, might be never.

He shakes his head, takes one last drag, and snuffs out the cigarette in his pocket ashtray, storing the butt inside for later disposal. He spritzes himself with cologne to mask the odor clinging to his turtleneck (always keeping a few decants in the car is a must for a chain-smoker) before popping a piece of gum into his mouth. The least he can do is look presentable for his now ex-wife and kids.

He locks his car behind him and makes his way up to the front door, fumbling for the house keys out of habit, muscle memory kicking in. 

“Ah,” he tuts, remembering that Nana took them from him yesterday to prevent any unannounced visits. Not that he ever intended to do that in the first place, but he understands she was within her rights. This house has always felt more like Nana’s than his anyway. 

He knocks on the door in the rhythmic pattern they created as a family, a secret code that only they knew. Although the situation is upsetting, Takumi might as well make light of it for the sake of the kids… and his own sanity. 

“Daddyyyy!” he hears the familiar squeal of his baby girl, the most important woman in his life, and his heart does a somersault in his chest. 

“Satsukiiii!” he calls out. As soon as her tiny face peeks out from behind Nana, Takumi scoops her up in his arms, enveloping her in a flurry of kisses. Satsuki squirms and giggles, her laughter bubbling up as she squeals, “Stop that, Daddy, it tickles!” 

He can’t hide how much he missed his little princess. Being apart from her is always difficult, so he treasures every moment they have together.

“Did you miss me?” Takumi coos, playfully poking Satsuki’s stomach and delighting in her infectious giggles.

She nods eagerly at her father and stretches her arms as wide as they can go. “I missed you thiiiis much!” 

“Wow, Satsuki, that’s an enormous amount of missing! I missed you even more,” Takumi replies with a smile as they walk to the living room. 

“Daddy, guess what, guess what? Jun bought me so many new dolls to play with! One even looks like you, and one looks like Mommy. Can I show them to you, please!?” 

“You know, you may be the spitting image of me, but you act just like your mother when we first met,” he says through laughter, basking in the loving moment. 

He glances at Nana, but her expression carries a touch of sadness, and the atmosphere between them grows subtly tense.

“Come on, Satsuki, your Daddy must be tired…” Nana lifts Satsuki from Takumi’s arms, giving his back a welcoming pat. “Why don’t you go check on Ren, Takumi? He’s been sulking all morning.”

“It’s good to see you, Nana. I’m really glad you’re healthy,” he replies, pretending that yesterday’s conversation never took place. For now, they both know they have to keep up appearances for the kids’ sake.

“Mhm, same goes for you. I’m sure Ren is waiting for you,” she says, signaling for him to make himself comfortable. 

Even though he wasn’t a good husband to her, she could never call him an absent father. Nana doesn’t have it in her to stop Takumi from seeing the kids because she knows it wouldn’t work in her favor. They love him to bits. Allowing him to keep a relationship with them is the least she can do. 

Takumi makes his way to Ren’s room, knocking lightly on the door three times, but there’s no response. “Hmm, what a shame it would be if the famous Ren Ichinose wasn’t awake. I came all the way here to see him, and get no answer… I guess I’ll just have to leave,” he sighs dramatically, dragging his feet as if to walk away.

Moments later, he hears the faint sound of small footsteps approaching the door. Ren opens it, leaving just the tiniest of cracks to allow Takumi entry. 

God, how can his kids be so stubborn yet so cute? He can’t handle this.

Inside, Ren is huddled under the covers, trying to hide from view. The muffled sniffles betraying his efforts at concealment make it clear that he’s been upset. Takumi takes in the sight, wishing he could ease his son’s distress.

He kneels beside the bed and looks at what’s before him, “Aw, come on, Ren. I’m finally here, and now you want to hide from me? You’re breaking my heart.” 

“Hmph!” Ren snaps, rejecting his attempt at gaining sympathy. 

Takumi chuckles softly, acknowledging the rejection with a rueful smile. “I suppose I deserve that. I haven’t exactly been on my best behavior.”

Slowly, Ren pulls back the covers, peeking out to catch a glimpse of his father, and finally, their eyes meet.

“There you are, bud. Come on out.”

To his surprise, Ren listens, unraveling the quilt and freeing himself from its confines.

As Ren wipes his eyes, drying the tears that have stained his cheeks, Takumi ruffles his hair. “How’s my boy?”

Ren hesitates, lying still for a moment before quietly replying, “I’m fine,” between sniffles.

Takumi opens his arms, “Hug?” 

This time, Ren leans into the embrace. Takumi holds him tightly, feeling his heart ache as Ren starts to break down again. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Ren,” he whispers. “Daddy’s here now, so don’t be sad,” he lifts Ren and props him up, adjusting him to sit cross-legged in front of him. “I thought my boy was tougher than this, hm? I see you’re a sensitive lad like me.”

He pinches Ren’s cheek in hopes of coaxing a smile out. It works—a faint smile appears on the boy’s face, and Takumi can’t help but smile back. Ren’s smile is cheeky, almost smug, and impossible not to return. 

“Wanna tell Daddy why you’re crying, then?”

Takumi knows there are only two things that send Ren into actual hysterics: his guitar being taken away and discussions about going back to school. He already suspects it’s the latter, but of course, he wants to hear it for himself.

“Well…” Ren hesitates at first, but the soft look on his father’s face gives him a bit of confidence. “It’s school. I really, really, really don’t want to go back. I hate it.”

Takumi knew as much because it’s been like this for a while; Ren simply refuses to return to school.

“Is there a specific reason why, buddy? I never really asked you properly, so let’s talk about it, and maybe we can get to the bottom of this.” 

Ren’s eyebrows knit into a small frown, and he begins to pout like a sad puppy.

This is clearly a touchy subject for him, so Takumi knows the best approach is to be patient, to listen, and to help him find a resolution. He wants to do what he wished someone had done for him when he was the same age—offer guidance and support. 

“I just can’t bear the attention, Dad,” he mumbles, still somewhat ashamed. “Ever since people found out I’m your son, they keep expecting things from me or trying to suck up to me. All they want to talk about is Trapnest and Reira and that guy’s death. It’s annoying. I just want to be normal. I haven’t even been able to make any friends.”

Takumi watches in shock, taken aback by his honesty. While it’s often easier for children to hide their feelings, Ren seems completely sincere—it looks like he didn’t inherit Takumi’s compulsive lying gene. 

Two things stand out to Takumi immediately. 

First, the use of “Dad.” These past few weeks, Ren has been refusing to call Takumi “Daddy” like he always used to. It feels like a rebellion, a sign that he’s outgrowing a phase and trying to assert his maturity, perhaps to distinguish himself from the still childish Satsuki. Fair enough.

Secondly: “that guy.” Ren Honjo hasn’t exactly been a hot topic in the Ichinose household; it’s a delicate matter to explain to prepubescent children. Still, Ren knows enough to understand that he shares a name with someone who was once a member of Trapnest, a guitarist who lost his life in a car accident.

Takumi hopes to one day share the full story of his namesake with Ren, but for now, he has to do his best to work around it.

“Ren, I know it’s tough when people focus on you because of who your parents are. It can feel overwhelming and like no one sees you for who you really are. But listen, that attention isn’t what defines you. What defines you is how you handle it.”

He gives Ren a reassuring squeeze. “I know it can be a pain when all they want to talk about is Trapnest, but remember, they’re probably just curious or even a little jealous. You’re interesting to them because of that, but that’s not all you are. You’re Ren, my smart, talented son with so much more to offer.”

Even though Ren was attending a prestigious private school in Tokyo, and was surrounded by plenty of influential names, he must have been quite the sensation. Takumi knows how much buzz Trapnest still generates—the tragic death of their drug-addicted guitarist, the remaining members retreating from the public eye, the vocalist being admitted to a hospital, and the mysterious disappearance of the dead man’s lover from a rival band—all of it is breeding ground for gossip and conspiracy theories. 

He continues comforting Ren, “As for making friends, it’s perfectly fine if it takes time. You know, when I was your age, I didn’t have many friends either. Everyone at school was scared of me, and I can’t say I blame them... I probably gave them plenty of reasons to be. But I had Reira and Uncle Naoki.”

Ren’s eyes begin to light up as he realizes that his situation isn’t as dire as it seems; it’s simply something everyone goes through. The shift in his body language gives Takumi a boost of confidence. 

“Not everyone you meet will understand you right away, but you’ll find your people—those who like you for who you are, not because of who they think you should be. And sometimes, it starts by showing them the real Ren. The right friends will appreciate you for that.”

He smiles, ruffling Ren’s hair again. “Remember, no matter what happens at school, you’ve always got me and Mommy in your corner, cheering you on.”

Ren pauses, his expression shifting as he processes his father’s words. For a moment, a flicker of belief and a hint of happiness cross his face, but then he speaks up, “But I still like it better in London. No one knows me there, and I can play guitar whenever and wherever I want…”

Takumi lets out a sigh, feeling the air whoosh out of him like a deflated balloon. And to think he was so proud of his little pep talk… Talking about feelings like this still doesn’t come easily to him. But somehow, it feels like it fell flat.

“Okay, enough playing now, Ren. You need to get back to school here in Japan, and this time, I’m not taking no for an answer,” he declares, his tone going from good cop to bad cop in an instant. He’s aware that Ren didn’t want to return to Japan just to dodge school, but it’s gotten to a point where the government is sending letters to their home. It can’t go on like this. 

“Aw, come on! That’s not fair!” Ren protests, springing up and darting into the living room.

Takumi pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Lord, what am I going to do with this kid?” he mutters. Ren always seems to shut down and throw tantrums whenever the topic of school crops up, and it’s wearing him down.

While Ren can no longer talk his way out of continuing his education, Takumi is determined to help him ease into the transition. At the end of the day, he’s partly to blame for the whole affair, having given in to Ren’s pleas to stay in London. Nana was against that decision, but Takumi got the final say and allowed him to miss classes. He’s currently dealing with the repercussions.

Jeez, why is he such a pushover for these kids? But then again… How can he say no to them?

He knows he has to put his foot down this year. But he also understands where Ren is coming from; after all, he hated school too. The difference is that Ren has options. 

Takumi is seriously starting to consider homeschooling. Perhaps that would be the best solution for everyone involved. He wouldn’t mind investing in a top-notch tutor for his son. He needs to talk it over with Nana.

He heads back to the living room, only to find her shouting, “Ren, come back!” 

“Did he run off to hide in the closet again?” he asks as he approaches her. 

“Yep. He always does this when the topic of school comes up.”

“Just leave him be; he’ll come back in five minutes once he gets bored. If not, I’ll try and talk to him again,” Takumi says, then cups his hands and calls out so that both Ren and Satsuki, who’s probably in her room, can hear him, “Okay, kids, time to get ready! We’re leaving in 20 minutes. I need to have a quick talk with Mommy, so use this time to pack up your things and make sure you haven’t forgotten anything!”

They walk to the kitchen, where Takumi leans against the island, his gaze fixed on Nana, analyzing her body language, as she moves to stand opposite him. He studies her appearance, noticing how youthful she still looks and how her body has fully bounced back after the pregnancies.

Nana is still beautiful in his eyes. He doubts that will ever change.

He senses the familiar tension in the air that signals when something’s weighing on her mind. She’s about to pry, and he knows her far too well to miss the signs—the single raised eyebrow, the crossed arms.

He definitely missed these confrontations, as they always led to makeup—

Anyway.

“So, where did you sleep last night?” Nana asks, her blush-pink, almond-shaped acrylics (she made sure to drill into his head exactly what kind of nail sets she wears as if it makes any difference) tapping a rhythm on her folded arm. As always, he finds the sound oddly relaxing.

He notes how much her hair has grown; it seems she’s dyed it too, as it’s at least a shade lighter than the last time he saw her before his trip. Now a strawberry blond with more layers. 

“Oh, I… crashed at the studio.” 

The lie rolls off his tongue so effortlessly. Sometimes Takumi wonders if being such a good liar is a blessing or a curse. He hates that he still has to lie to her, but this is one of those times he deems it necessary. He hasn’t even fully admitted to himself what he did, so telling Nana is absolutely off the table. 

Well, he does plan to stay at the studio anyway. It’s his favorite place. He makes and produces music there (less frequently after Trapnest’s disbandment, but he’s still brimming with inspiration). He plays and practices there, and it’s spacious enough for one person to live. He regrets selling the apartment in Akasaka (the first place purchased with his own money) but he has to make do with what he has.

“How long are you going to stay in Japan?” is Nana’s next question.

Takumi feels like he’s being interrogated; her tone is so cold and blunt. Nana is usually a bundle of sunshine, so seeing her in this mode is both scary and entertaining to watch.

“I’m getting a new place here. I’m not going back to England. Not now. I want to be close to the kids.”

“What about your business? You’ve just started your own record label,” Nana tilts her head and squints, trying to suss him out like he’s some random sketchy man. Thanks so much for trusting me, he snorts inwardly.

“I can manage everything from here. I don’t think it’s going to be much of a problem.”

Okay, it is going to be a bit of a problem, especially since the company is operating out of London, but he doesn’t want to trouble her with something that doesn’t even concern her anymore.

“I understand,” she says after a beat, a hint of dissatisfaction in her voice from his answers. It hits him that that’s how she must have felt throughout their entire marriage—perpetually dissatisfied. He was always keeping things from her, always sidestepping her questions, always offering vague answers. Even when he thought he was doing it to protect her. 

She sighs eventually.

“Look. I’m sorry I kicked you out like that yesterday. But I did a lot of thinking while you were away, and… I really want this divorce. I think we both agree that a separation is pointless. We’re staying in this marriage for the sake of the kids, but ultimately I think we’re doing them more harm than good by staying together. I don’t… want them to grow up seeing their parents be so cold to each other.”

Takumi nods. He’s been expecting this conversation for some time, but still, there’s a knot of unease in the pit of his stomach.

He takes a good look at her and sees a new, determined Nana staring back at him. There’s something undeniably admirable about her firm resolve, and he can’t help but respect it. She still has a fight left in her. It’s a good thing. 

“I can’t argue with that,” he concedes. “Our situation isn’t great for the kids.”

“Also… I’ve been seeing a therapist. I realized I’m not happy with the way things are. I’m not happy with you, Takumi. This marriage makes me miserable. Please, understand that.”

She’s been seeing a therapist? Who put that idea in her head? Probably Junko. Though to be fair, Nana does seem like the type to benefit from therapy, even if it’s some bullshit placebo effect. Unlike him. It’s too late for him anyway. 

“Please, understand that.”

He does. It’s alright. He wants Nana to be happy. And Nobu was right; he could never make her happy. Whatever this skinny love between them was, it was never enough. He fucked it up, but this relationship was never meant to last. They’re both better off apart, leading separate lives.

Marriage, let alone to someone like Nana, had been a mistake in the first place. He’d genuinely wanted to do the right thing, and it blew up in his face. Nana needs someone who can shower her with an abundance of attention and affection, someone who can love every inch of her unconditionally, and Takumi knew he couldn’t do that from the start. 

He’s incapable of fully devoting himself to another person. Perhaps it was his upbringing, courtesy of his old man, that left him so emotionally stunted. Maybe he’s even incapable of love altogether. 

What he knows for sure is that he’s not cut out for long-term relationships, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise all these years. He should stick to casual flings that won’t tie him down or demand more than he can give. This way, he’ll avoid disappointing anyone ever again. 

“You deserve to be happy,” Takumi says, his voice quiet and accepting. “And I can’t give you what you need. I’m sorry for that.”

It’s too late to apologize, he understands, but the words spill out anyway. He knows better than to expect a response.

Nana shifts her weight to the other leg, her expression softening, but there’s still that guarded edge in her eyes. She hesitates before speaking. “Nobu actually helped me come to a lot of these realizations… After yesterday, you must have been under the impression that we were having an affair, but it’s really a closed chapter between us. He had my back while you were—”

Takumi’s eyebrows shoot up and he straightens. “Hold up. There’s nothing between you anymore?”

Nana rolls her eyes. “Yes, Takumi. Is that so hard to believe? He’s the one who made me see that divorce is the right decision, but neither of us plans to rekindle anything. I mean, we’re exes, so there will always be something there, but it’s firmly in the past. I think he’s moved on for good.”

Takumi’s mind spins. 

So Nobu wasn’t lying after all. Fuck. He and Nana aren’t sleeping together. The anger that drove him to Nobu’s place, the assumptions he’d made... every single one was off the mark. He ended up making what could be the biggest mistake of his life for no good reason.

He’s a fucking idiot, that’s what he is. An impulsive, reckless fool.

“You do realize it’s Nobu we’re talking about, right?” he reasons with her. He’s grasping at something—anything.

Nobu, like him, isn’t gay. He’s into women. Women like Nana. Takumi knows for a fact he still feels something for her. So what’s stopping him from eventually making a move? Is he just going to hang back and… what? Keep his distance?

Nana is so naïve. It’s obvious what Nobu is doing—slowly working his way back into her life, cozying up to her, to eventually get her into bed. Takumi despises guys like that. At least he’s always upfront about his intentions. But if he said any of this out loud, she’d react the same way Nobu did last night: “Not everything is about sex, Takumi.” Sure it’s not.

Nana and Nobu are so similar when he thinks about it. Is that why they’re drawn to each other? Is that why Takumi is drawn to him? Except he’s not drawn to him at all; it was just—

Nobu can deny it all he wants, but the truth is, he’s still a man. Takumi might’ve made him his little bitch last night, but he’s still got his manly needs and desires. He never stopped fancying Nana. 

Nana lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Stop it, Takumi. What’s come over you?”

What had come over him? He doesn’t know why this gets him all fired up. 

“You’re right. It’s just… never mind. I’m sorry,” he mutters, dropping the subject. It’s embarrassing, really. He’s above this. He needs to stop caring about Nobu and Nana or stop thinking about it altogether.

Nana tries changing the topic.

“Can you please explain to the kids why you won’t be living with us anymore? In your own words. It’s too early to talk about divorce, but I can’t with the excuses. Telling them you’re staying at Naoki’s? Seriously? He has a whole toddler on his hands. I think Ren is suspecting something.”

“Sure,” he squeezes her hand. He doesn’t comment on the fact that Naoki’s daughter, Momoko, is no longer a toddler.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He looks down at his shoes, realizing in surprise that he had forgotten to remove them, and marvels at the fact that Nana hasn’t raised a ruckus. 

“Nana… I actually have to tell you something important. I don’t know if this is the right time, but I want you to hear it directly from me.” Takumi pauses, bracing himself for what he’s about to reveal. “We found Osaki. Baldy is flying there soon to bring her back,” he says loud and clear, so Nana can’t misunderstand him.

Nana’s eyes go wide, and she stops in her tracks.

“Huh…?” Nana drops to her knees, and within seconds, she’s in hysterics. Takumi had expected as much. Her fingers tremble profusely as she wipes her tears. “Wh- How? When?”

“Stand up, come on,” Takumi says, grabbing her arm to lift her. He guides her back into the living room, settling her onto the couch.

“Takumi… don’t play… with me,” Nana says between breaths, hyperventilating.

“You have the weirdest crying face. You know that, right?” He jokes, but Nana shoots him a nasty look that instantly makes him stop laughing. “Too soon…? Okay, sorry.”

He kneels in front of her so they’re eye to eye and holds her hands. “Yes, we did find her. I wouldn’t lie about that because I know how much she means to you.”

“Oh my God,” Nana whispers, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m just so happy I can’t stop crying.” She struggles to get the words out. Takumi chuckles and sits next to her, rubbing her back for support.

“Take your time, and breathe, please. I don’t need another one of you dying on me,” he mutters, thinking back to Ren’s accident. 

“You’re such a… But wait! That reminds me! Trapnest members have been invited to Blast’s tenth-anniversary celebration and tribute to Ren. Naoki called, said they couldn’t get ahold of you.” 

Damn it. That’s why that idiot was blowing up his phone.

Takumi feels his heart in his throat. Just when he thought he couldn’t have another problem to ignore.

***

As expected, Ren emerges from his hiding spot shortly afterward, packing his backpack in a hurry. Takumi figures that the prospect of going to the amusement park was simply too enticing.

Satsuki brought her toy music player along, and to Takumi’s mild annoyance, she’s been blasting Blast songs (pun intended) the entire ride. The car is filled with energetic beats and punk lyrics that seem almost comical coming from such a tiny device.

“Baby…” Takumi begins gently, “Who put those songs on your player?”

“Uncle Nobu did. But don’t worry, Daddy, I still like Trapnest more!” Satsuki reassures him, her eyes twinkling with innocence.

Nobu. There it is again. His name keeps popping up. Can that punk stop invading Takumi’s mind? He just wants to forget. That was the plan.

“That’s my girl,” he replies with a smile, feeling a swell of pride at Satsuki being a Trapnest fangirl.

Takumi obviously loves both of his children equally. But any parent would be lying if they said they didn’t have a favorite, the apple of their eye. And for Takumi, that’s always been Satsuki. He has the biggest soft spot for her and adores her dearly. Oh, how he lamented being separated from her for so long.

After a moment of silence, Satsuki’s voice pipes up again, this time with a more serious tone. “I don’t think Uncle Nobu likes you very much, Daddy.”

Takumi’s smile falters slightly. “What makes you say that, blossom?” 

“He said you make him and Mommy sad,” she states matter-of-factly, her childlike honesty cutting through the air.

Oh. 

He glances at Satsuki in the rearview mirror, her innocent face blissfully ignorant of the tension she’s inadvertently triggering.

So Nobu has been playing the good uncle, filling his sweet, little girl’s head with his own views on Takumi and the relationship between her parents. He should’ve known he was badmouthing him, but it still irks him.

“Is that so?” Takumi replies in a casual tone. “What else did Uncle Nobu say about me, baby?”

Okay, he’s curious now. He can’t help it.

Satsuki appears to be in deep contemplation, her tiny fingers fiddling with the straps of her music player. However, after a few moments of silence, she raises her eyes to look up at Takumi.

“Well…” she trails off, sheepish. “He also said you were a big, old, meanie-grumpy man.” 

He laughs at first because of Satsuki’s wording, but then his frown deepens, and his annoyance with Nobu grows. So that’s how he portrays him to his kids. He’s poisoning them against him. It’s hard to stay impassive about that.

He lets out a small huff, flustered by the accusation. He doesn’t like the thought of being perceived as a grouch, especially by his child.

“Uncle Nobu likes to joke around, flower. Sometimes grown-ups say things they don’t really mean.”

Satsuki looks out the window, her little brows furrowed. “But it didn’t sound like a joke.”

“Do you agree with him, then?”

She shakes her small head, her ponytails bouncing. “Of course not! I think you’re the coolest Daddy ever! You always make time for me and give me the best gifts. So I don’t care what Mommy or Uncle Nobu say about you. I love you just the way you are, Daddy.”

Takumi’s previous annoyance with Nobu melts away at Satsuki’s confession. 

It’s a sincere answer, void of any bias or influence. Her words are so pure that they make Takumi’s heart skip a beat. It nearly brings tears to his eyes, and he has to blink rapidly to hold them back. Fatherhood really turned him soft.

“Thank you, flower. That means more to Daddy than you’ll ever know.” He reaches out over the car seat to ruffle her head affectionately. His daughter loves him unconditionally… That’s the most important thing to him. It’s moments like this that make him feel less alone in the world. 

“Uncle Nobu does compliment you sometimes, Dad. Satsuki’s a fibber,” Ren cuts in quietly from the back seat. “He says you’re smart and strong and that you always work hard.”

Takumi glances at his son through the rearview mirror. Ren is often the quiet one whenever the three of them are together, so his input catches Takumi off guard.

When was this? Clearly, Nobu had been sharing more with his kids than he thought. He didn’t expect him to say anything positive about Takumi, though. It makes him feel weirdly good.

“Am not a fibber!” Satsuki protests at Ren’s comment, blowing a raspberry at him. “Daddy, what does ‘compliment’ mean?” she asks curiously, turning to him.

Takumi chuckles softly at the unexpected twist in the conversation. “A compliment is when someone says something nice about you, like that you’re smart or kind. It’s a way to show they appreciate you.”

Satsuki hums thoughtfully, her little fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress now. She looks at Takumi earnestly. “That’s right! Then Uncle Nobu once called Daddy handsome,” she giggles, a cheeky smile on her face. “Daddy, don’t be mad, okay? I think you’re super handsome... but Shin’s the prettiest!”

Takumi quirks an eyebrow in surprise, momentarily ignoring the fact that Satsuki might have a little crush on Shin. Nobu admitted he’s handsome, huh? Interesting. 

He feels like being petty so he mutters, “Next time you’re with Uncle Nobu, you can tell him I think he’s a booger-brain. But… I guess he does play a decent solo on Kuroi Namida.”

***

Takumi spends the day at the amusement park. Ren walks on his right, occasionally pointing out the various rides and attractions, while Satsuki holds onto his left hand, her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his pinky.

Satsuki loves riding the merry-go-round and the colorful spinning teacups, giggling with delight each time. After much pleading, she convinces Takumi to join her on the kiddie bumper cars. The sight of the tall man squeezed into the tiny bumper car next to his daughter, his knees bent at an awkward angle, is rather comical. He tries to keep a poker face, but Satsuki’s contagious laughter eventually breaks it. She shrieks with excitement as they go up in the Ferris wheel, while Ren tries to act cool on the pirate ship ride. They make their way to the game booths, and of course, Takumi cannot resist showing off his aim at the shooting gallery.

Despite his earlier reservations, he finds himself enjoying the day as he watches the kids have the time of their lives. They ride all sorts of attractions, from roller coasters to the carousel, faces beaming with joy. He takes a few pics with his BlackBerry (it’s such an upgrade from a flip phone).

When Satsuki gets tired and starts clinging to his side, Takumi picks her up and carries her on his shoulders. She holds onto his hair, directing him like the rat from Ratatouille.

At some point, they encounter one of those claw machine games. Satsuki immediately spots a cute plushie she likes.

“Daddy, can I play that game?” she asks, tugging at Takumi’s sleeve.

Takumi looks at the game skeptically, knowing these things are rigged, but he can’t say no to his daughter.

“Sure, blossom,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some coins. “Just don’t be sad if you don’t catch the plushie.”

Satsuki’s eyes light up as she takes the coins from him and rushes over to the machine. She inserts the coins, grabs the joystick, and concentrates on trying to snag the plushie.

Takumi and Ren watch as she maneuvers the joystick, her little tongue peeking out in concentration. Despite her best efforts, she fails to catch it on her first few attempts. Takumi has to resist the urge to take over the game and use his own expertise. He knows if he stepped in, it would ruin the fun for Satsuki.

As the day progresses, Takumi notices a few fans (or anti-fans?) discreetly snapping pictures of him from a distance. It’s frustrating that he can’t even enjoy a simple day out in peace. He tries his best to ignore them and focus on the kids, who seem to remain blissfully unaware of their father being photographed.

Eventually, the trio settles down for a rest near a food stall, enjoying cotton candy and ice cream. Takumi takes a moment to glance at Ren and Satsuki with a mix of pride and tenderness. They may squabble occasionally, but they are his flesh and blood, his living legacies. 

He knows he’ll now have to make a concerted effort to spend more time with his kids. He already feels immense guilt for not taking Satsuki to London, and there’s always the gnawing doubt whether he’s truly a good father. He fears that long-term, he might not be. Because you can’t have a piece of trash like that around kids. He doesn’t want to pass his shit onto them. 

“If the father’s bad, the baby will grow up to be bad, too,” he reminds himself. It feels like ages since he said that to Nana, yet it still rings true.

Sometimes he feels it would be better for them if they didn’t know him. Or if he disappeared from their lives. Then Nana could raise them properly on her own, or with someone else as the father figure. They already have better role models in other people around them—Baldy, Junko, Kyosuke… Nobu. 

But Takumi’s selfish. The thought of leaving his babies tears him apart. He loves them too much. And they give him the chance to be the father he never had. He probably needs those two tiny human beings more than they need him.

After a few more rides, they head back to the car, and Takumi announces it’s time for a more substantial meal since it’s already pretty late. The kids beg him to go to Lotteria, and he eventually relents. Nana would have a fit if she knew he took them to a fast-food restaurant, but he convinces himself that a bit of junk food once in a blue moon won’t hurt. 

The burgers taste like cardboard to him—he’s too used to fine dining at this point, which makes him feel like a class traitor considering he lived off cup ramen at their age—but hey, the kids enjoy them. That’s what counts.

When they finally pull up in front of the house, Takumi notices the curious looks on the kids’ faces, puzzled as to why he isn’t getting out of the car, and he decides it’s time to have the talk. Turning in his seat to face them, he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to speak, but it’s Ren who breaks the silence first.

“Dad… are you going to leave us?” 

So he did notice that something was wrong.

The question hits Takumi like a knife to his heart. The last thing he ever wants is for his kids to feel abandoned. They are his pride and joy—he’d never dream of leaving them. “Ren, bud… I’m not going anywhere. Why would you think that?”

Ren’s eyes drop to his lap. “You didn’t sleep at home last night. And… I think you and Mom are fighting.”

Ren’s ability to pick up on things never fails to surprise Takumi. He glances at Satsuki, who’s listening quietly, wide-eyed, taking in every word.

“Listen, sometimes adults have disagreements, and need some space from each other. Does that make sense?”

Ren tilts his head thoughtfully. “Hmmm… kinda like how Reira and Uncle Naoki fight sometimes?”

“Exactly that. You’re a smart one, you know that?” Takumi laughs, relieved at Ren’s simple understanding. At least he can save face with this. Ren obviously wouldn’t understand the complications of a divorce—let alone what led to it—so Takumi can leave it at that.

But before he can relax, Satsuki reaches out to tug at his arm, her big eyes full of pleading. “Daddy, come home with us, pleeease! I want you to read me a bedtime story tonight. And I still haven’t shown you the new dolls from Jun…”

“Satsuki… babygirl…” He takes a steadying breath, realizing he has to find the words he’s been avoiding. “I need to tell you something important first… Daddy won’t be sleeping at home anymore. At least not for a long while.”

Satsuki’s face falls, her bottom lip quivering. “Why…?”

Takumi swallows, not sure how to explain the situation delicately to a child. God, he sucks at this. Nana should be the one having this conversation with them.

“I won’t be living with you and Mommy anymore, flower,” he says gently. “But don’t worry. You and Ren will still see me all the time, and I’ll be close by. I just won’t be sleeping in the same house, or keeping my things there.” 

Satsuki is still for a moment, staring at him. Then, as if some invisible switch has been flipped, her face crumples, and tears spill over. It’s as though a dam has burst—once they start, they don’t stop, streaming down her cheeks in an unrelenting flood.

“But why?!! You just came back,” her voice rises and then cracks. She’s distraught by the news.

“Sometimes grown-ups need their own space. I have a lot of work to do, and so does Mommy with her boutique. I’ll be staying at the studio, sweetheart. It’ll be a bit lonely, but it’s okay.”

“What about me?! I’ll miss you, Daddy,” she says through tears.

For the second time today, Takumi feels like crying. “I know, blossom. But I’ll still come over to kiss you goodnight. I’ll soon get a place near Mommy and you, and you’ll also spend time there. You’ll have two homes! How cool is that, right?”

It sounds pathetic coming from his lips.

Satsuki starts crying even more hysterically. “I don’t want two homes!” she cries. “I just want you here.” 

Takumi feels his heart break. He reaches out to comfort her, but she pulls away, her tiny body wracked with sobs. “Satsuki, it’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Nana appears at the car door, her eyes meeting his for a brief, loaded moment. There’s concern there, but beneath it, a glint of something sharper—like she’s quietly judging him. She picks up Satsuki. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed,” she soothes, carrying the sobbing child away.

Ren remains in the car, looking up at Takumi with sad eyes. “So you’re not leaving us, Dad?” 

Takumi shakes his head. “No, Ren. I’m not leaving you. You’re my children, and I’ll always be here for you.”

“You promise?” Ren holds up his hand, pinky extended. 

“Pinky promise,” Takumi says, hooking his pinky around Ren’s, sealing the deal with a thumb tap and a handshake. 

“Attaboy. All good?” 

Ren nods slowly, some of the tension easing from his small frame. “Yeah, all good.”

But it’s not all good. Far from it. Takumi can see it on his face. Still, he offers a soft smile, hiding the ache in his chest. “Alright, let’s go in. It’s been a long day, huh?” 

He’s not entirely sure what he’s referring to—their adventures at the park, or the fact that he can’t escape his own mind.

***

Takumi helps Nana comfort Satsuki, allowing her to introduce him to her new dolls. One does indeed sport a haircut similar to Nana’s, but the one she claims is supposed to resemble him is just a standard Ken doll with black hair—maybe it’s a friend of Ken’s (since Ken himself is blonde, like Nobu); Takumi’s hardly a Barbie expert. Still, it’s touching that it reminded her of him.

Afterward, he tucks her into bed, honoring her request to read “The Three Little Pigs” (he thinks the moral is pretty fitting for what Satsuki’s currently going through). 

Once she’s calm and drowsy, he joins Ren for a final Mahjong session. About an hour later, he says goodbye to Nana, then heads back to his car, glancing at the house one last time before leaving the driveway.

When he gets back to the studio, he takes the time to properly unpack and then has a conference call with some British executives. They aren’t too happy about his permanent move back to Japan, but it’s not like they have a choice in the matter. If they object too strongly, he’ll simply stop doing business with them. That’s one of the perks of being your own boss. That and no more dealing with incompetent managers whose work you’d just end up doing for them.

By the time he finishes, the clock reads 12AM. The call had been a bit longer and more tedious than he’d hoped for. The time difference definitely complicates things. But as always, he can manage. When has he not? Life threw all kinds of shit at him and he’s pulled through every time.

He realizes he hasn’t eaten since early evening. He decides he should probably whip up something before calling it a night. He rummages through the cupboards and fridge for something quick to fill his stomach, but they’re disappointingly bare. In the fridge, all he can find are some wilting vegetables, a package of cheese, and a bottle of beer. He curses under his breath, annoyed that he forgot to buy groceries for the place.

Exhausted, he just plops down on the cramped little studio bed, feeling the springs dig into his back. It’s so uncomfortable that he makes a mental note to start looking for a new flat as soon as possible. 

It takes him seconds to fall asleep. That night, he dreams of cup ramen and Nobu’s thighs.

Chapter Text

The next three weeks are a whirlwind. Cigarettes and booze have become Takumi’s constant companions. He never drank that much before.

Baldy finally managed to bring Nana Osaki back. 

According to his reports, she put up a hell of a fight. She refused to come home, and it took days of pleading, maybe even a bit of emotional blackmail. Baldy might not call it that, but Takumi knows better; the guy’s far more cunning than anyone gives him credit for. He and Takumi have more in common than Baldy would care to admit.

When she came back, she was a wreck. Takumi had already seen how bad it was with Naoki in London—she was disturbingly thin. She had gone through a total makeover, and if it wasn’t for the pictures Nana got anonymously sent in the mail (Takumi has his own suspicions as to who the anonymous tip was), they might not have even recognized her.

It had gotten to the point Baldy said she was suicidal. As soon as they touched down in Tokyo, he took her straight to the hospital for a checkup and got her in to see a shrink. He also moved her into his and Miu’s place for now, saying he didn’t want to leave her alone.

All that seemed reasonable.

Nana’s been visiting her almost every day since, and says Osaki’s been doing better.

Takumi doesn’t doubt it for a second. The two Nanas have this almost healing effect on each other. And he’s seen the way Nana looks at Osaki. She’s never looked at him like that. She’s never looked at anyone the way she looks at her. Takumi figures that if soulmates really exist, then the two of them must be it.

He also bought a new flat. His bachelor pad is situated in Roppongi. It’s still in the Minato ward, ten minutes by car to Shirokane. It’s missing Nana’s touch—the artfully selected pieces that made their home feel alive. She really has an eye for interior design. But at least the kids love it, thanks to the entertainment room stocked with every gaming console imaginable.

Two of the rooms are reserved for Ren and Satsuki. Him and Nana agreed on a 60/40 joint custody arrangement—on paper, at least. Given Takumi’s status, he had the influence and resources to secure Fridays and weekends with the children. But how that will play out in reality is another matter entirely. His schedule is unpredictable.

As for the financial side of things, Nana won’t be left wanting. The settlement ensured she’d keep the house. Beyond that, there would be more than enough in child support to ensure she never has to worry about money again. A car, maybe. A generous lump sum. Possibly a stake in his business. Whatever it is, Takumi won’t let her struggle—whether out of obligation, guilt, or something else entirely. He doesn’t know.

Presently, he’s in the bedroom of Nana’s house (not their house, just hers, he has to remind himself) getting ready for the banquet or whatever messed-up name Gaia’s come up with for this “celebration.” She let him inside the bedroom one last time, it seems.

The situation is weird, to say the least. They’re supposed to be celebrating the anniversary of Blast’s debut, but at the same time, they’re mourning Ren. It feels wrong. Joy and sorrow shouldn’t be colliding like this.

And to add the cherry on top, the event is being held at Nobu’s inn. Takumi hoped he wouldn’t have to set foot there again anytime soon, but was clearly mistaken. Now, he’ll have to walk around with a poker face on like he wasn’t balls-deep in Nobu in the very building. 

“Have you prepared the speech?” Nana asks as she fixes his tie. She always used to do that when they were married. He feels a painful twist through his gut at the memory.

“No, I didn’t prepare a speech. What am I, at some school opening ceremony? He was my bandmate, for fuck’s sake. I’ll just say whatever comes to me in the moment.”

Yes, it’s true Baldy asked him to say a few words in Ren’s honor, but Takumi would much rather just wing it. Preparing a speech would be… disingenuous. Least of what Ren deserves. Takumi has never been fond of grand speeches anyhow. He finds them pretentious and unnecessary. And he despises these ceremonial formalities, the fake smiles and shallow condolences. 

He’s mostly kept his silence since Ren’s death, avoiding any outward discussion of Trapnest’s hiatus or how he’s personally coped with the loss. The one exception was a press conference, where he delivered a scripted statement drafted by the record label.

“Takumi…” Nana murmurs, eyes trained on the ribbed pattern of his tie. “Why do you have to be like this?”

Hell if he knows why he’s so fucked in the head. He can only blame his childhood so much. 

He’s aware he can be a bit too blunt and insensitive. She still has that subtle ability to soften his edges, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He hates it. Hates how comforting the whole thing feels. Hates how much he misses her. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, Nana. For everything.”

He’s already apologized so many times. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. Because fuck… Nana wanted a picture-perfect suburban family. And he desecrated her dream. Took her vision of happiness and twisted it beyond recognition.

But he’s grieving too. Because he’s lost the chance of a lifetime. To think he once had it all—a devoted wife, a fulfilling career, two beautiful children, and a warm, cozy home. And yet, he destroyed it all, because he couldn’t overcome whatever fucked up inner turmoil he’s been fighting since the age of 12. 

“It’s not that you couldn’t—you just chose not to. Because it was easier that way,” whispers a voice in the back of his mind.

He watches her hands at work, tying a perfect full Windsor. Their eyes meet, and for a brief moment, there’s still a trace of longing there, but no longer a match to spark the flame.

It’s really over.

Takumi leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, drawing her into a tight embrace—one last time before they part ways for good. Their final tender moment. She doesn’t move to hug him back. He sees how much effort it requires of her to keep herself from pulling away.

“And thank you,” he adds softly.

She still takes much too long to respond.

“Yeah… I know. You’ve said that already. Thank you too. Not for… you know… but for being there financially, and for loving our kids the way they deserve.”

Takumi catches the single tear sliding down her cheek with his thumb. Although Nana has grown jaded, it’s still difficult for her to talk about—revisiting all the hurt, neglect, and suffering she endured.

He brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and smiles at her. She tries smiling back, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s a painful sight. To think this is the same woman who would get all giddy and excited over something as simple as a baby bib. 

He broke her. Takumi breaks everything he touches. He’s like the opposite of King Midas.

“Doesn’t this give you déjà vu? Ten years ago, we were getting ready for a birthday party for Shin and Reira, and now we’re commemorating Ren’s death and celebrating ten years of Blast,” Takumi says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You forgot the part where you didn’t want me there,” Nana snaps back. Seems her memory of that night is a bit different.

“Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck, a guilty smile creeping across his face as he remembers his past attitude.

He had thought he was right to keep her away. Or at least, he had convinced himself he was. But all she wanted was to wish Shin a happy birthday, and yet he’d been so cold, so cruel to her that night.

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts quickly. “Please just save it. I was joking.”

Takumi’s unsure how to respond to her turning his past mistreatment of her into a joke. Does he laugh along or does he silently cringe?

“Speaking of Reira… any news?” Nana asks, genuine concern in her voice. It’s good she doesn’t hold grudges anymore—if she ever did.

“She’s not coming. Can’t make it after all,” he grumbles. “It’s actually ridiculous that we managed to bring Osaki back, but Ren’s own bandmate won’t be there.” 

Reira didn’t return to Japan with Takumi and Naoki. She flew straight to the USA. Mentioned something about retracing her roots. Takumi figured it might be good for her, so he didn’t object. But trying to get in touch with her has been a pain in the ass.

“It’s her choice. You can’t force her to attend,” Nana responds. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

Takumi lets out a frustrated huff. He still can’t really understand Reira, her reasons, and her attitude, but he knows better than to argue about it now.

Instead, he focuses on what he can control.

He spritzes himself with some cologne and straps on his watch. He went with a black velvet three-piece suit from Valentino, paired with a classic Burberry trench coat.

Going the extra mile, he’d arranged for a hair and makeup team to pamper both himself and Nana. After such a dull few weeks of finalising their divorce and tying up loose ends, it seemed like a nice way to bring their chapter to a close.

His eyes linger on her again. He admires the soft glow on her face, and the way the light makeup enhances her beauty. It’s bittersweet to see how much happier she is to no longer have Ichinose as her last name. Nana is finally happy. At the cost of Takumi’s absence. 

She’s dressed in a silk champagne slip dress, complemented by vintage Dior slingback pumps Takumi gifted her as a push present (it took him a while to track them down, and Nana might be wearing one of the very last pairs ever made).

“I’ll never forget how much you cried when I surprised you with those heels,” Takumi says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You were practically in a crying contest with Satsuki.”

Nana giggles. She actually giggles. “Don’t even remind me. I didn’t know whether I was crying from sheer exhaustion or pure joy—because of the heels, or finally meeting our baby girl.”

Satsuki’s birth definitely tested both Nana and Takumi’s resilience due to a few complications, but it was all worth it because Nana brought a beautiful, intelligent bundle of sunshine into the world.  

“Honestly, you pulled through pretty well. I was more worried than I let on—finished three packs of cigarettes that day.”

“Oh, trust me, it was written all over your face. The midwife even asked if you needed the gas,” Nana says as Takumi pinches the bridge of his nose.

She finishes her look with the leather version of his trench coat and sprays a generous mist of floral perfume over herself.

“You ready? The driver’s outside,” Takumi asks, glancing at his watch.

“Almost, just one last thing,” she replies, reaching for the pearl choker laid out on the table.

Takumi watches as she fumbles with the clasp, her nails making the task frustratingly tedious. 

“Here, let me,” he offers, taking the necklace from her hands.

He stands behind her, and she gathers her hair out the way, careful not to ruin her blowout. She flinches as his fingers brush against her skin, trying to mask her discomfort.

“Thank you,” she says quietly as he secures the clasp, the pearls gleaming against her skin.

“Perfect. Let’s get going.” 

They exchange quick goodbyes with the kids, who seem to be watching a Studio Ghibli movie with Junko and Kyosuke. The couple is staying over for the night, and Takumi thinks he’ll never not be grateful for everything they’ve done for Ren and Satsuki. 

He doesn’t like how quickly his kids have gotten used to him being gone for most of the week. He visits Shirokane as often as he can and has kept his promise to tuck Satsuki in each night, but still… they’ve grown too comfortable with him no longer being part of this household. Children adapt too quickly to change.

He lets Nana lead the way as he locks the door behind them.

“Good evening, Sir and Madam,” the chauffeur greets politely, holding the car door open.

Takumi gestures for Nana to enter first, then slides in beside her.

“You okay?” she asks, her eyes searching his as he settles into his seat.

“Yeah, just thinking about how the night will go.” 

“You’ll be fine.” 

If she only knew.

***

After a smooth drive, they arrive at the inn. The driveway is already lined with luxury cars, a sign of the high-profile guests in attendance. A few familiar faces from the industry mill about, exchanging pleasantries beneath the glow of the entrance lights.

As they step toward the doors, they’re greeted by two waitresses on either side, holding trays of complimentary champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

“Here you go,” Takumi says, passing a glass to Nana before keeping one for himself. A little liquid courage won’t hurt. Hell, it might be exactly what he needs tonight.

“Guys,” a familiar voice calls out from behind, and Takumi instantly feels his heart drop. 

He turns, bracing himself—only to let out a quiet breath of relief when he spots Miu and Baldy walking toward them, hand in hand.

Nobu and Shin have a tendency to tag along with Baldy, so Nobu being with them wouldn’t have been out of the question. But considering this is his inn, he’s likely already here, hiding in plain sight.

“How’s it going, Takumi?” Baldy asks, extending a handshake that’s cordial but not exactly warm.

Their relationship is... fine, Takumi supposes. They were never particularly close, but when it comes to business, Yasu is his best bet. He’s the only member of Blast Takumi found worth keeping in touch with over the years.

“What’s up, man? Keeping your woman happy?” he teases, nudging Yasu’s arm. He notices Miu’s smile as she chats with Nana. 

If anyone was destined for a healthy, stable relationship, it was always going to be Baldy. Takumi had always seen him as an equal, but when it came to women, he couldn’t help but envy Baldy’s level-headed approach. His track record is damn near flawless. Takumi’s, on the other hand… well, that’s a different story.

“I’m trying my best,” Baldy responds, the satisfaction evident on his face. Takumi doesn’t need to dig deeper to see it; he’s completely smitten. Miu is, without a doubt, the one.

“I’m sorry, Yasu…” Nana interrupts, a bit impatient. “Could you just tell me where she is?”

Baldy immediately intuits who she’s asking about.

“Over there, with Shin and Misato,” he nods toward one of the tables in the banquet hall, which is slowly filling up with guests.

Osaki’s wearing a black gown, her long blonde hair flowing down her shoulders. Though she still appears ghastly pale and thin, the company seems to be working wonders—she’s laughing at something Shin’s said.

Nana steps away from them at once, her heels clicking behind her. Takumi figures he won’t see her alone for the rest of the evening. Miu watches her go with the same smile but says nothing. 

“So… How is she?” Takumi asks, turning his attention back to Baldy.

“That’s a tough question... I honestly don’t know, Takumi. She has these moments where it seems like she’s making progress, but then she falls back again. One minute she’s manic, the next she’s sinking into depression. I think she never fully processed a lot of things, and I’m pretty sure she dissociated during those years. That’s how she managed to keep going, at least semi-normally,” Baldy sighs.

Miu, who has been quietly listening, finally weighs in. “It’s almost like she’s been on autopilot since Ren’s death, completely burying her emotions. I think being back in Tokyo has forced her to confront everything again... grieve properly instead of suppressing it like she usually does.”

Takumi nods slowly. “Do you think that’s why she ran off to London in the first place?” 

“The thing is, I don’t think it has to do with Ren. Something else must’ve happened right before she left for England... or someone. Either way, she won’t open up properly—only to Hachi. All we can do now is give her time,” Baldy explains, resigned. 

Someone… That reminds him.

“We still haven’t identified who sent those photos, have we?”

“No. Maybe they’re the key to all this. But for now, I’m just happy she’s able to be here. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Hachi visiting and Miu’s support, she would’ve been in a much worse state.” 

“I get it. You don’t want to push her.”

“Exactly,” Baldy says. “Anyway, I’ll catch you in a bit. And don’t even think about slipping away. I know you, Takumi.” 

Takumi wishes he could slip away. He feels like sitting somewhere quiet, avoiding any conversation. Or maybe sneaking off for a smoke. Yeah, smoking—always a good idea. He needs to get his mind off all of this bullshit for a bit. But the night’s only just begun, and he still needs to go mingle with all the other big shots.

Then he hears Naoki’s voice and sees him bounding over to him with… his boyfriend.

He’s seen Naoki’s boyfriend, Yuzuki, a few times, but they’ve never appeared together in public, until now. As far as Takumi knows, Naoki’s out to Blast members now, but even so—this is a pretty big risk. Japan’s still a conservative country so if the media caught wind…

Then, it’s not like Naoki would care. He’s probably counting down the seconds to his public coming out.

Naoki’s boyfriend (or should Takumi say partner? In any case, they’re raising a daughter together) is the polar opposite of Naoki: quiet, reserved, unassuming. They make quite the amusing contrast, but somehow, it works. 

“Takkunnn,” Naoki chirps, and Takumi can’t help but roll his eyes, because what fucking nickname is that? If there’s one thing he hates, it’s being called cutesy names. “Your suit looks great, as always. Let me guess… Prada?”

“Valentino,” Takumi replies coolly. “Nice to see you again, Yuzuki.” He extends his hand to shake the other man’s. Yuzuki is a lean figure, about Naoki’s height, with messy dark brown hair and a well-groomed stubble.

“Yuzu really didn’t want to come. He’s camera-shy, you know. But I convinced him by promising we could finally spend a night together without any distractions from our daughter. Right?” Naoki hooks his arm around Yuzuki. 

Takumi tries to hide his indifference. “Well, aren’t you lucky.” 

Yuzuki mumbles something in response, not happy with the borderline PDA, but Takumi’s distracted, because at that moment he spots Nobu. 

Nobu can’t see him from this angle, he’s pretty sure. Which means Takumi has the perfect excuse to stare as long as he wants. And damn, if Nobu doesn’t look good. 

He’s not wearing a suit, yet he still manages to look effortlessly elegant. Dressed head-to-toe in black, every piece contrasts perfectly against his pale skin. A fitted shirt, tailored slacks, and a distressed leather jacket with matching boots. It’s the first time Takumi’s seen him like this. Well, he’s seen him dressed up before, of course, but always in his Vivienne Westwood costumes. Even the suits he wore screamed punk. This is something different again.

It’s only when Nobu turns that Takumi notices all the accessories. A necklace and stacked bracelets to personalise his look. Not bad at all. And… is that an exposed midriff? He’s practically gawking now. He’s a little impressed, and… maybe even slightly turned on, by the amount of thought and effort Nobu has put into his look. The image of Nobu with less clothes crosses his mind again. He’s really such a pretty boy. Still very youthful.

God, he sounds like a lecherous old man. He blames it all on the sexual frustration, which makes him susceptible to sudden distractions like this. 

Except Nobu’s talking to Yuri. Yuri Kosaka. That pornstar who Takumi suspects dumped his ass, even if he wouldn’t admit it the last time. And it’s making Takumi uneasy. Because what business do they have talking to each other? He’s not like, still into her, is he?

She’s not accompanied by anyone, but they’re just talking… Just talking. There’s nothing more to it. So it’s really not that weird, and Takumi doesn’t care. He could hit on Yuri in front of Nobu if he wanted. Just to piss him off. Just like he (largely) pursued Nana to piss him off.

“Earth to Takumi…” Naoki waves a hand in front of his face, and follows his line of sight. “What, you checking out Yuri?”

“Huh? Oh sorry. My mind’s all over the place.” 

“I don’t blame you, honestly. If I was straight, I’d tap that. But hey, I heard she’s a serious actress now. Quit AV.”

Really? Takumi hadn’t heard. Good for her. 

“Yuzu, grab me another, would you?” Naoki gestures to his empty champagne glass, practically shooing his boyfriend away. Yuzuki flashes a smile, pats Naoki on the shoulder, and steps off to oblige. Takumi thinks Naoki really hit the jackpot with such a patient boyfriend. The idiot’s probably a handful to deal with. 

As soon as Yuzuki’s out of earshot, Naoki leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “A little bird also told me she was pretty nasty to Nobu when they broke up. Yuri, I mean.” 

“Oh yeah?”

It’s strange. Takumi’s never been particularly interested in Nobu’s personal life before, but all of a sudden, he finds himself asking questions.

“Yeah, it was a messy breakup. I think she also had, or has, some mental issues,” Naoki continues, not noticing Takumi’s sudden interest in the conversation.

“Like what?” Takumi can’t believe he’s indulging Naoki’s gossip. But he does want to know what went down—if maybe Nobu has deeper reasons for his trust issues. And he obviously can’t just ask him that directly.

“Dunno. I’ve barely ever spoken to her. But apparently she’s insanely jealous and throws tantrums at the drop of a hat. The type who’s like, ‘You either worship the ground I walk on, or we’re through.’”

Takumi raises an eyebrow. He knew about Kosaka’s reputation for being difficult to work with, but it seems she’s even more intense than that. It is kind of amusing how Nobu always seems to end up in these kinds of situations. The guy really has no backbone. Him falling victim to a maneater isn’t that surprising. 

He himself can’t imagine being in a relationship with a woman like that. He has his preferences and he certainly wouldn’t put up with a temperamental diva. He’s the one who makes the rules. 

“Nobu must’ve been seriously in love if he dated her despite that,” Takumi remarks in a dry tone.

Or could it be… she reminded him of Nana in appearance?

“Who knows, it’s just rumors. And you know how those AV girls can be…” Naoki shrugs. 

At that moment, Yuzuki returns with a fresh glass of champagne for Naoki.

“Thank you, darling,” Naoki says, taking it and immediately downing it. “Anyway, I was asking how the kids are coping. With the divorce and stuff. But you weren’t listening, as per usual.”

Takumi gives him a dismissive look. “As well as they can be.”

“You’re no fun at all, Takkun…” Naoki pouts. “Is it true you’ll be making a speech? You better not trip on your words. Ren will be listening.”

“Jesus Christ, I hope not,” Takumi mutters. “He’ll haunt me from beyond the grave.”

***

Someone had a stroke of genius and came up with the brilliant idea of assigning name tags at each seat for supper. As a result, Takumi is forced to sit opposite Nobu. At a round table shared by Blast and Trapnest members. Fucking fantastic. 

He briefly muses that it’s been a while since they were huddled together like this. Probably not since Ren’s funeral. That day, the atmosphere was suffocating, far from the casual, chaotic energy they had during Trapnest’s impromptu visits to the 707 apartment. Tonight, at least, there’s alcohol to dull the edges. Not that anyone else seems to find it awkward—or maybe they’re just pretending everything’s fine. Osaki’s already going after Nobu, and Takumi would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying the spectacle.

“What’s with the outfit, knucklehead? Not even a safety pin in sight. Trying to impress someone?” she scoffs loudly, clinking her spoon against the bowl as she shovels lobster bisque into her mouth, “You’re such a poser.”

“Knock it off, Nana,” Baldy chides gently, ever the patient guardian. Somehow, he still acts like it’s his job to rein her in, even though she’s a grown woman who turned 30 this year. Some things never change. 

“Trying something different once in a blue moon won’t kill me,” Nobu huffs defensively, visibly flustered. Takumi notices how pointedly he avoids his gaze. Let’s see how long that lasts…

“Oh! It’s right up Takkun’s alley. I bet he could recommend you a good tailor if you’re looking for one,” Naoki chirps in brightly. 

Takumi immediately stares daggers at him. Is this idiot out of his mind? “A good tailor, eh? I know a few, but they’re pretty exclusive. Definitely not for just anyone.”

Oh, geez. He should not have said that. Too often, he says something and regrets it five seconds later. Baldy and Miu exchange knowing glances, while Naoki looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. 

Nobu gets red in the face. “Just anyone? What the hell’s that supposed to mean, asshole? You think I don’t know how to get around? Last time I checked, you’re the one who’s all flash with no substance.” 

He’s staring at Takumi now, wide-eyed with anger. A streak of champagne drips down the corner of his mouth, and Takumi has the sudden urge to wipe it away with a napkin. Or, better yet, lick it off. 

“That’s not wha—”

“Don’t worry about me. I’d rather die than be a stuffy rich guy like you, so don’t bother giving me fashion tips. This is just for the occasion. I’m still a punk.”

Damn, that was snarky. There are a few snickers at the table. Osaki snorts.

“Touché,” Takumi says.

“Well, it’s a cute get-up,” Shin sums up, “but I doubt it’ll win you back Asami or Hachi.” His comment earns him a sharp elbow to the ribs from Misato, seated beside him. Judging by their body language, the two must have patched things up after their recent break.

“Shut it, pipsqueak,” Osaki shoots back without missing a beat. She leans slightly toward Nana, flashing a cocky grin. “Hachi’s with me tonight. Right?” 

Shin mutters under his breath, “You really need to stop treating me like a kid.” Osaki smirks, ignoring him entirely, and Takumi allows himself a faint smile.

Nana flushes at the comment. Her mouth opens, as if to respond, but she veers away at the last second, turning to Nobu instead. “The soup is delicious, Nobuo. Did your parents put together the menu? I’d love to say hello to them.”

“No, actually, you’ll be disappointed. My parents are in Okinawa. They’re opening another inn there, trying to turn it into a chain. But guess who gets to deal with the fallout? All those locals will be left for me to manage in the future, as if I don’t already have enough on my plate.” Nobu pauses, stealing a glance at Takumi again. “Yassan helped with the organization, though. Couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Did he now?” Takumi hums sarcastically. So the dreadful seating place cards were 100% Baldy’s idea. He probably wants everyone to feel like one big happy family or some other sentimental shit. Well, it’s not like Takumi would have sat alone anyway… And he would’ve run into Nobu sooner or later. There’s no escaping it.

Nobu clears his throat. “Yassan’s good at organizing. Definitely helps that he’s not a control freak.”

Was that a dig at Takumi? That little shit.

Osaki, who picked up on that too, laughs so hard she has to hold her stomach. “Damn, you guys are hilarious. I’d pay to see you fight it out for real.”

The table erupts in laughter, except for Nana, who still feels uncomfortable joking about two of her exes, and Nobu himself, who’s currently acting like the salt shaker in front of him is the most fascinating thing in the world.

Takumi takes another mouthful of the soup. He has to admit, it’s good—easily on par with the gourmet dishes served at Michelin-star restaurants.

“How long have you two been together?” Yuzuki asks out of the blue, nodding towards Shin and Misato. Takumi’s surprised he even spoke, but then he’s probably just trying to make polite conversation. He must feel like an outsider, after all. 

It’s not going to be easy, though, with trolls like Shin and Osaki at the table. Maybe even himself, too—his humor’s pretty crude. But today, he just doesn’t feel like talking. Unless it involves Nobu, oddly enough.

He looks around. He doesn’t like the fact that if the Nanas are paired off, that leaves him and Nobu the only ones at the table without a partner.

“Five years now,” Shin replies, wrapping a protective arm around Misato. “We’ve had our share of ups and downs, but we’re back together for good this time around.”

Misato smiles. “Actually… we wanted to tell you all...” She holds up her hand, revealing a large diamond ring. “We’re engaged.”

A brief silence falls over the table as everyone’s attention shifts to the ring. Then, Nana breaks it, voice filled with incredulity. “Shin, baby, what on earth…? Why didn’t you tell us sooner? This definitely calls for a celebration!”

She starts pouring another round of champagne, and for the next few minutes, Takumi’s ears are drowned in congratulations, laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses. Then the main course arrives in the form of roasted lamb chops.

“This means we’ve got two engaged couples, a couple raising a kid together, and two divorcees at the table,” Baldy announces. “Nobu, it’s your turn to tie the knot.” 

“That’s right, Nobu,” Osaki joins in. “When was even the last time you got your dick wet?”

“Why is everyone on my case tonight?!” Nobu groans, “Leave me alone.”

Takumi can’t help but notice how Nobu’s eyes flit toward him yet again. It’s as if every time the conversation turns to love or couples, he inadvertently looks in Takumi’s direction to see his reaction—and then quickly looks away. 

Honestly, it’s not a good sign. If this keeps up, they’re going to blow their cover, all because Nobu can’t seem to live down the fact he slept with a man once. He could at least be more discreet about it, like Takumi.

“I think openly discussing our sex lives is actually great for mental health,” Miu says matter-of-factly. She delivers the line with such a deadpan expression that everyone bursts into laughter again. Nobu sits there, his face turning an even deeper shade of red with every passing second.

“Look at how he’s blushing. Is he thinking of someone? He totally is,” Shin teases further.

Nobu keeps protesting, all shy, but no one’s buying it.

Naoki has to chime in, of course. “I already saw Takkun ogling Yuri, so I fear Shin was right, Nobu... no luck for you on that front.” 

Takumi nearly spits out his drink, and has a coughing fit in response. That back-stabbing bastard, Naoki, pats him on the back in an attempt to help him recover. He glances over at Nana, but her eyes are lowered to her lap. Fuck. This isn’t exactly a pleasant situation for him, either. Thank God Reira isn’t here to make matters even worse.

What catches him off guard, though, is Nobu’s reaction. He looks... hurt suddenly. If he’d been hoping to get back together with Yuri, Takumi can understand. But why would he want that? He’s too good for her.

“See, Nobu, so once again, you’re the only one not getting any action,” Osaki says.

It’s probably normal banter for them, but Takumi can tell that Nobu is getting increasingly uncomfortable with the attention. And honestly, he doesn’t want to risk things escalating or, worse, slipping into dangerous territory. Time to shut this down.

“Oh, please. Can we change the subject already? Enough about Nobu’s sex life, or lack thereof. I’m getting nauseous at the thought. Let’s talk about something more interesting, shall we? Like Naoki’s daughter.”

Osaki rolls her eyes, knowing where this is going. Heads turn toward Takumi in confusion. Of course they’re wondering why he, of all people, would swoop in to defend Nobu. (Great. That won’t raise any suspicions at all.) But after a beat, Naoki starts babbling about Momoko, diving into a long-winded anecdote (mission accomplished), and the tension lifts. 

Takumi feels Nobu’s eyes searing into him. He takes a large sip of champagne to distract himself from the fact that Nobu just won’t stop staring at him. At some point, it almost feels like eye fucking in front of everyone.

As the conversation continues to flow, Takumi’s peripheral vision catches how his expression changes again, this time to a scowl. Is he mad? What’s got his panties in a twist now?

Just then, a young woman who appears to be staff approaches Takumi, tapping him on the shoulder. She hands him a small scrap of paper and politely asks him to pass it along to Nobu. Clearly, it’s too packed for her to get to him herself. Takumi does as asked, stretching out his hand. 

Nobu looks momentarily confused but reaches for it too—and then fuck—their hands brush. The contact is electric, and Nobu must feel it too, because he jumps back in panic, knocking over a glass of champagne in the process. The entire table is soaked in seconds. Takumi would laugh if he weren’t too busy mentally facepalming. But it’s Nobu, so it’s also way more adorable than it has any right to be.

Nobu quickly mutters something about “manager duties” and excuses himself, while another staff member on standby wipes down the table.

“What’s up with Nobu, Takkun?” Naoki whispers in his ear.

“Dunno,” Takumi shrugs, voice clipped. Without waiting for a follow-up, he pushes his chair back and stands up. “I’m going for a smoke.”

***

The wind outside is sharper than expected, biting through Takumi’s suit and making him regret not bringing his coat. He considers going back for it but decides against it. The cold means fewer people are outside, giving him the perfect excuse to stay outdoors as long as possible.

Nobu needs to be stopped. The way he blushes, how easily he gets flustered, the way his gaze lingers—like he’s trying to undress Takumi with just his eyes. It’s not subtle. And Takumi knows damn well that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

That was too close back there. An awkward conversation about sex lives, and those damn insinuations... as if Takumi hadn’t already planned to shove these thoughts deep into the back of his mind. Except now, they’re clawing their way back. The champagne trailing down Nobu’s lips was almost identical to the way he shot his load into that same small mouth. 

His throat tightens.

And those flushed cheeks, and wide, innocent eyes—he’s seen them before. In the bedroom. How could he not think about it? 

“Shit!” A sharp sting snaps him out of it. He hisses in pain as a stray ember from his cigarette lands on his hand. 

He stares at the burn, watching as it deepens into an angry red. With a sigh, he stubs out the cig in a nearby bin, and makes his way to the restroom. The last thing he needs tonight is a nasty blister.

He pushes open the door to find it mercifully empty. Perfect. He can steal another few minutes of peace. He turns on the cold tap, letting the water run over his burn. The sting fades, replaced by the soothing chill.

After a minute or so, he pulls his hand away, grabs some tissue from a nearby cubicle, and pats it dry. The sound of the restroom door creaking open pulls his attention, followed by the faint shuffle of footsteps heading toward the mirrors. He doesn’t bother turning around. It’s not like it matters who it is. Until it does.

Emerging from the cubicle, Takumi freezes. “Nobu… It’s you.”

Their eyes meet in the mirror. 

“Jesus Christ,” Nobu mutters, exasperated. “Can’t get a moment to myself, can I?”

“Looks like great minds think alike,” Takumi laughs. “Already done with your ‘manager duties’?”

He strolls closer, leaning casually against the sink as Nobu turns on the tap to wash his hands. There’s something endearing about the way he squirts the soap onto his palms in a neat swirl, then scrubs them in slow, exaggerated circles. 

Watching Nobu like this makes Takumi realize it wasn’t the sight of him that bothered him earlier. It was the group setting, and the suffocating atmosphere. Here, in this stolen moment of privacy, things feel... different. Easier. Almost welcome.

“First of all, why are you staring, you creep?” Nobu snaps suddenly. “Second, nothing I do is any of your business. And third—what the hell was that back there?!” 

Takumi raises an eyebrow. “What, about your outfit? You look good tonight, if that’s what you wanted to hear. All black suits you,” he teases, letting his gaze drift over Nobu.

“You know what I mean. Seriously,” Nobu spits, ignoring the compliment, even though it clearly affected him.

“To be fair, I should be the one asking you that. You’ve got to get a grip. Your poker face is practically nonexistent. It’s embarrassing,” Takumi says, outstretching his arm in an attempt to grab his shoulder.

He stops mid-motion when Nobu pulls back as if burned. 

“What?” Takumi asks, his tone softening into something more curious than mocking. “Are you afraid to be alone with me or something?”

“...No, I just can’t stand the sight of you right now, that’s all. It’s bad enough having to sit at the same table with you. We don’t need to talk too.”

Takumi tilts his head in confusion. “Is that the only reason you’re so prickly?”

Nobu exhales sharply. “God, are you dense? Maybe it’s ALSO the fact you had to go and save my ass. Like I need your help. I can handle myself just fine.” 

“I wasn’t trying to save your ass for the record. I just didn’t feel like sitting through another five minutes of everyone ragging on you.”

“They weren’t ragging on me…” Nobu trails off, almost questioning. 

“That’s why you were sitting there like a kicked puppy?”

Takumi narrows his eyes. Yes, he knows what Nobu wants to say—that he doesn’t know Blast members like he does, that they were just joking around. But he wasn’t imagining it; Nobu looked uncomfortable, agitated even. How could he not step in? Then again, why does he care so much about protecting Nobu’s dignity? He’s a grown man, who can handle his own shit.

“Says the guy who almost coughed up a lung over a little comment,” Nobu shoots back.

Takumi chuckles at that because okay, fair enough.

He wants to ask if Nobu believes Naoki’s accusation that he was checking out Yuri, but he probably does. Maybe this mistrust could work in Takumi’s favor in the long run—keep Nobu on guard, questioning every little interaction, and making it easier for Takumi to maneuver. 

He’s such a sick fuck. What’s the point of all this? He should just leave the punk alone. And yet, every time he ends up alone with him, he can’t seem to pull away. It’s hopeless. 

He takes a deliberate step forward, closing the distance. “I can’t help but notice how much attention you’ve been paying me.”

“W-Why are you so close? Get outta my way,” Nobu half protests, doing everything in his power to avoid Takumi’s gaze. 

Takumi leans closer, so that his lips are inches from Nobu’s ear. “Saying that after everything we’ve done? Please. You’ve been stripping me with your eyes this whole evening.” A pause, just long enough to make Nobu squirm. “Tell me—was I your sexual awakening?”

Nobu shoves his head away. “Shut up, you bastard. You’re deranged. Besides, you were the one who told me to forget everything that happened. Why are you suddenly bringing it up?”

Takumi’s aware he’s being a total hypocrite. It doesn’t stop him, though.

“I’m just curious about your fixation on me tonight,” he replies, boxing Nobu against the sink this time.

He slides his knee between Nobu’s thighs, denying him room to move. The flicker of panic and surprise in Nobu’s expression amuses him to no end. Toying with Nobu is quickly becoming his favorite pastime.

“You’re imagining things,” Nobu’s eyes dart nervously to the door and back, like he’s paranoid that someone might walk in on them. “Besides, what exactly do you expect me to do? We’re not–” He bites his tongue. 

They’re not what? They’re not lovers? They’re not friends? No. They’re not anything. They’re not even on speaking terms. All that links them is Takumi’s ex-wife. Takumi guesses that’s what Nobu was trying to say.

Still. He raises his hand, fingers tracing a soft trail down Nobu’s cheek. “Look, all I’m saying is you should be more careful, pretty boy.”

Nobu’s breath hitches, and he bristles at the nickname. “Are you insane?!” he hisses, his cheeks blazing, “We’re in public!” 

It’s clear that it flusters him not because it’s demeaning, but because it’s what Takumi called him during sex.

“Fucking disgusting pervert,” he adds under his breath.

Takumi finally steps back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Relax. I’m leaving,” he says, turning toward the door.

Nobu fumbles to straighten his shirt, turning to the mirror to ensure everything is in place. His outfit’s fine, but nothing can disguise the deep flush staining his cheeks. Or how huge his pupils are.

Just as Takumi is about to exit, he pauses and looks back at Nobu over his shoulder. Something else catches his eye, and he nearly does a double-take, stifling a laugh.

“Oh, and Nobu? You might want to do something about that,” he points to Nobu’s crotch and winks at him before disappearing down the hall. 

He doesn’t stick around to witness Nobu’s reaction, but he’s sure the brat turned beet red. Well, it’s not Takumi’s fault if he’s so damn sensitive. He really did get a boner. Was it the nickname? Jesus. What a prude.

If only Takumi didn’t have other things to take care of right now, he’d definitely have his way—

“Dude, what took you so long? I thought you just went for a smoke. Yasu needs you on stage in ten,” Naoki cuts into Takumi’s thoughts. Then he catches the faint grin on Takumi’s face. “Wait a second… No way. Don’t tell me you snuck off for a quickie. You sly devil,” he says, conspiratorially covering his mouth as if he’s in on some huge secret.

Takumi smacks the back of his head. “No, you ditz. I wasn’t fooling around. I just made a stop at the bathroom. Let’s go.” He takes the champagne glass from Naoki’s hand and they start walking towards the main venue. 

***

About fifty people fill the room. It’s not a huge crowd when Takumi thinks about it; he used to frequent events with hundreds, even thousands of guests. Yet… he feels so small when Baldy signals for him to take the floor and hands him the microphone. He’s not sure why he let himself get roped into this bullshit.

It’s the subject matter that’s the problem. He’s used to public speaking. He’s a natural-born leader, after all. The masses listen to him and follow him. People usually eat out of the palm of his hand. But tonight, he’s here to open up and be vulnerable, which is far outside of his comfort zone.

All these souls are waiting for him to deliver an eloquent speech, ready to hang on every word. The cameras are rolling, and soon this will be uploaded online, passed around by strangers. 

He taps the microphone, testing it, then clears his throat before speaking.

“Good evening, everyone,” he begins. “I hope you’re all having a splendid time. Thank you for being here with us tonight. It means a lot.”

He scans the crowd. Nana and Naoki offer him encouraging smiles. Osaki sits beside Nana, holding her hand, gaze lowered toward her barely-eaten plate. Baldy remains as stoic as ever, giving nothing away. Shin eyes him warily. Nobu’s face is neutral.

“As you all know, almost ten years ago, Trapnest, as well as Black Stones, lost someone irreplaceable. We might not be active as musicians anymore, but the shadow of him continues to influence almost everything we do. He’s also partly the reason we’re gathered here tonight, so let’s make a toast.”

He raises his glass, and the room answers in unison: “To Ren!” Applause ripples through the crowd as glasses clink in solidarity.

“To Ren,” Takumi repeats, taking a sip to soothe his suddenly dry mouth. The applause fades, leaving only an oppressive silence, and the pounding of his heartbeat.

“I guess now’s the time for me to say a few words,” he says, pausing to articulate his thoughts. 

“Ren was one of my closest friends. I know how that must sound coming from someone like me. ‘Friend’ was never a term I used lightly—or at all, really. I used to think I didn’t need friends. After all, friends are a distraction, a liability; friends are just obstacles on your way to the top. They hold you back and make you soft.” 

He sighs, rubbing a thumb over his glass. “But Ren… somehow, Ren slipped past all of that. He had this… I don’t know, this quiet persistence, this way of being in your life without demanding anything. He just showed up one day after Baldy… I mean, Yasu… introduced us, and he kept showing up, like a stray cat you feed once and then find curled up at your door, refusing to leave.” 

His mouth curves in a small smile. “Before I knew it, I started to rely on him in ways I never thought I would. Because… he was just there, I guess. Reminding me, in his quiet way, that even someone like me could find comfort in another person. And he always had my back. So I started asking myself… ‘Hey, by any chance, isn’t that what a friend is supposed to do?’”

He lets out a bittersweet chuckle. The edges of his vision blur slightly, but he blinks it away, dismissing the prickling behind his eyes. 

“You know, Ren always used to say, ‘We’re just Takumi’s soldiers,’ ‘We’re just pawns in Takumi’s master plan.’ He’d say it with this humble, almost self-deprecating smile, like his place in the band was just another replaceable job, nothing special. He always downplayed his role, always acted like he was there just to do his part, like he was simply an instrument in some grand scheme I had concocted… And then there was me with my overblown ego,” he attempts another chuckle to defuse the tension, but this time it falters, breaking slightly.

He looks down at the floor for a moment, grounding himself, then looks back up. His voice softens further, cracks forming. This is bad. “I thought I had it all under control, like I really was some damn mastermind and they were all just along for the ride. I could be so blind, so wrapped up in my own ambitions that I couldn’t see what he really meant to everyone… what he meant to me.” 

He pauses, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallows hard. “But Ren wasn’t just my soldier. He wasn’t just there to carry out my plans, or to help me reach some kind of lofty goal. He was more than that—so much more than that. He was someone’s son, someone’s fiancé, someone’s brother. And to me…” His voice hitches, and this time, he can’t hide it. “...he was a friend. A real friend. Ren was… well, he was dear to all of us in his own way, and nothing I say could ever do him justice.”

Fuck, it’s worse than Takumi could’ve anticipated. It was supposed to be Osaki giving the speech, but Baldy had insisted she wasn’t in the right mental state—would’ve just embarrassed herself in front of the cameras. Now it looks like Takumi’s set to make an even bigger fool of himself. Nice call, Baldy!

He exhales shakily, but the pressure behind his eyes refuses to dissipate. His vision is definitely blurring now, but he keeps going. “I don’t know if I’m the best person to give an emotional speech like this. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m not,” he admits. “I’m not exactly known for pouring my heart out. But… today, nine years after Ren’s death… I miss him. Terribly.” 

“I’ll never forget the day I saw him lying, cold and lifeless, in that morgue.” His voice is trembling audibly, and he hates it, hates how exposed he feels. “I went in with Nobu, and witnessing his reaction just… broke something in me.” 

He risks a glance at Nobu, and to his surprise, Nobu’s eyes are glossy. Or is Takumi’s imagination playing tricks on him? 

“I think it was only then that it really sank in. Only then did I understand that Ren wasn’t coming back. He was gone. Not ‘out of town,’ not ‘on a break’—gone, in a way that’s impossible to come back from. That’s also when I realized—however childish it might sound—that there are some things you can’t fix, no matter how much you wish you could. My money and power couldn’t bring him back.” 

Ren’s death was, perhaps, the first true failure in his artificially created new life. Up until then, his path had been lined with victories, each one affirming his belief in his own strength, his own invincibility. But losing Ren shattered that illusion. For the first time, Takumi was faced with the harsh truth that he couldn’t control everything, couldn’t protect the people he cared about. In the end, he was just a flawed, vulnerable human, capable of losing everything in a single moment. And that hurt like hell.

The knot in his throat tightens even more, goddamn it. A tear slips down his cheek before he can stop it. He hurriedly wipes it away, but more follow. 

No, no, this isn’t happening.

“I know I fucked up so many things when it came to Ren. I should’ve helped him so much earlier. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. Maybe I was blind, or maybe I was choosing to be blind... He was—God, he was such a gentle soul, not built for the harshness of this industry. He wasn’t cut from the same cloth as a bastard like me. He was so… fragile deep down,” he chokes out, tears streaming freely now. 

“I’m so fucking sorry for having failed you, Ren. If I could go back in time, I’d listen—to your silent cries for help, to that pain you tried to keep hidden from everyone, including me. You deserved better. You were hurting in ways I can’t fathom, and I was too preoccupied to see what was happening right in front of me. Knowing how much you wished for peace… all I can hope is that you’ve finally found it. I pray you’re in a better place now. Free of suffering.”

By the time he finishes, he’s full-on sobbing, right here, in front of everyone. The room is silent, save for his ragged breathing. It’s so unbelievably humiliating, he actually thinks he might die. Because he doesn’t cry. Not ever. He probably hasn’t shed a tear since he was fucking nine years old. He barely recognizes the feeling as his own.

And it’s not just about Ren anymore. As much as he cared about Ren, Ren is barely the reason behind these tears. It’s him, but it’s everything else too—the divorce, the kids, the guilt, Reira, Trapnest, the fame and the responsibilities that come with it, the endless cycle of mistakes he can’t seem to break because HE CAN’T QUIT BEING A JACKASS. His father, mother, sister and even her good-for-nothing ex-husband. 

He feels like a complete and utter fuckup. He feels weak.

It doesn’t even register in his mind when people begin clapping. It doesn’t register when Nana comes up to the podium and places a hand on his back, pulling him close to her.

Normally, he’d lash out at anyone trying to comfort him, but he’s too tired at this point, so he just lets himself be hugged by her, like some helpless child. 

Why does she still want to hold him? How is she not disgusted by him in this state? Just earlier, she was practically peeling his hands off her, yet now, she’s offering sympathy like he still means something to her.

But then again, Nana always seemed drawn to softness—if she ever looked at Nobu more than twice. 

Nobu. Fucking Nobu. 

It would be so easy to pin it all on him. So easy to come up with excuses and point the finger in his direction. He could even claim Nobu seduced him. Nobu wore that damn yukata. But no—this was all Takumi. And he’d been sober, too. Nobu just went along with it for whatever reason. Let himself get used. Maybe he’s more messed up than Takumi initially thought.

As Nana helps him off the podium, he feels a wave of dizziness. He can’t think straight anymore.

One thing he knows for sure is that he desperately needs a stronger drink.

Chapter Text

Shin breaks the silence first. “Well, that was… definitely a speech.” 

For a moment, no one seems sure what to do with themselves. Nobu realizes his hands are trembling a little under the table. He shoves them into his pockets, annoyed with himself and his reaction. 

He hadn’t thought anything could surprise him about that man anymore. But then again, he thinks that every time they cross paths, and Takumi always manages to prove him wrong.

“I think he deserves a little credit,” Miu says gently. “It couldn’t have been easy for him to open up like that.”

Nobu watches her from the corner of his eye. He’s always admired how Miu manages to find something kind to say about everyone. Even a bastard like Takumi.

Naoki is crying openly, clinging to his boyfriend’s sleeve. If Reira were here, Nobu imagines she’d react the same way. But he’s glad she’s not… for a variety of reasons.

Nana looks angry. She hasn’t said anything yet, but there’s tension all over her. Still, there’s something in her eyes that tells Nobu she’s close to crying, too.

He gets it. He doesn’t know what to make of any of it, either. Not the speech, exactly, but Takumi’s delivery, Takumi’s tears, Takumi’s sincerity. It affected him. Unfortunately. 

When he wished to see more of Takumi’s vulnerable side, he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Takumi himself is prideful and stubborn. And yet… he cried.

Sure, Takumi’s a great actor. Nobu’s always begrudged him for that, for being effortlessly good at everything. But this wasn’t acting, he wouldn’t go that far. Those tears were real. Which means that, at the very least, he was genuine about his desire to change.

Not that it means Nobu suddenly forgives him. But he supposes it’s a step in the right direction, at least for the people around him. Takumi’s stopped actively resisting being a decent human being. He hasn’t given up completely. That counts for something. For the children, if nothing else. 

Nobu still doesn’t owe him anything, though. Certainly not forgiveness. He’s still a piece of shit and he’ll forever remain a piece of shit.

He watches as Hachi returns to the table alone, glancing over her shoulder toward the hallway she came from. She looks tired, but somehow more beautiful than ever, and for a moment, he feels that old ache stir again.

“How is he?” Yasu asks her. 

“I don’t know. He left.”

“Goddamn Takumi.” Yasu sighs. “At least we got what we wanted out of him.”

Takumi’s embarrassed about losing face, Nobu knows it. He wants to ask Hachi if she knows whether he went home, but he doesn’t. Because why would Nobu care?

So far tonight, Takumi had: flirted with him (at least Nobu thinks that was flirting) at a table full of their friends, saved him from a firing squad-level conversation, cornered him in a bathroom, left him with a boner—and then, just when Nobu thought he’d recovered, had the nerve to pour his heart out in front of everyone in a way that almost made Nobu cry. 

And now he is gone. Just like that. Classic fucking Takumi. 

At last, Nana speaks. “Hachi, why are you still running after that yakuza bastard anyway? You finally freed yourself from him.”

“I’m not,” Hachi replies, slightly offended. “He’s the kids’ father. I was worried, that’s all.”

“You’re too kind for your own good,” Nana huffs.

Misato’s gone quiet, retreating into herself the way she always does when things get too serious. Shin reaches over and squeezes her knee.

“Honestly,” he says, “if I were him, I’d disappear from this goddamn table too.”

“Yeah,” Nana retorts. “Because it’s full of people who loved Ren. And Takumi wasn’t one of them.”

“He was part of Ren’s life whether you liked it or not,” Yasu says dryly. “Whatever he’s dealing with, he handled tonight better than I expected. He said what needed to be said.”

“Well,” Nana says, “congratulations to him. He showed up, gave some fake-ass speech he didn’t mean, cried on cue, ran off, and you guys are still applauding.” 

“That’s not fair,” Miu replies. “You know it isn’t.”

“What part?” Nana snaps. “The crying, or the disappearing?”

Yasu raises a hand, like a referee about to call time-out. “Nana.”

“Don’t Nana me.”

Naoki sniffles and looks up, voice trembling. “H-he didn’t mean to ruin anything. He just… doesn’t know how to be here without Ren.”

“None of us do,” Yasu murmurs.

Naoki wipes his face. “I thought it was beautiful. He’s always been such a closed-off guy, you know? It’s like seeing him human for once.” 

“Human?” Nana scoffs. “That’s generous. He’s a professional manipulator. He’d be running a cult if he didn’t already have a band.”

“He doesn’t have a band anymore,” Hachi says softly.

There’s a silence that follows. It’s not awkward, just… aware.

Nobu still hasn’t said a word. His hands are wrapped tightly around his drink, eyes locked on the condensation.

Naturally, Nana picks up on it.

“Nobu, you haven’t said anything nasty about Takumi,” she points out. “Are you alright? Caught the sympathy bug?” 

“I think he meant it,” he blurts out.

All eyes turn to him, and he curses inwardly.

“I don’t think he planned to cry,” he rushes to explain. “Why would he? He hates vulnerability more than anything. It just… broke through.”

“Why are you defending him?” Nana asks flatly. She’s so short-sighted sometimes.

He shakes his head. “I’m not. I just don’t think he was acting.”

Shin raises a brow, amused. “Ohhh no. He did catch the sympathy bug.”

“Shut up,” Nobu says, feeling heat creep up his neck.

“You are so not okay,” Shin says, grinning. “But yeah… fair point. Nana’s just looking for something to rip into.” 

She glares at him.

Yasu studies Nobu for a long moment. “That’s more grace than I expected you to give Takumi.”

Nobu shrugs. “Just trying to be objective.” 

Nana looks from Yasu back to Nobu. “It doesn’t make him a saint. Ren was ours. Takumi doesn’t get to rewrite that with some tragic eulogy and crocodile tears.” 

Yasu meets her glare calmly. “He’s not rewriting anything. He just honored him.”

Nobu exhales quietly, grateful someone else said it. Yasu has definitely too much patience.

Hachi tries intervening as well, and whispers something to Nana, but it doesn’t seem to help. Nana doesn’t even look at her.

“Funny,” she shoots back. “Considering Takumi’s part of the reason why Ren started spiraling in the first place.”

“This I have to agree with,” Shin mutters into his glass. He’s such an instigator.

Naoki wipes his eyes with his boyfriend’s sleeve (who probably feels really out of place right now). “Okay, let’s not turn this service into a Takumi hatefest! I mean, you guys can do that literally any other time, right?”

“Yeah,” Miu agrees. “It’s Ren’s and Blast’s night. Let’s not give him any more airtime.” 

Shin stretches dramatically in his seat. “I give it ten minutes before Nana—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll carve it into your bass.”

Shin shrugs with a mock-innocent look. “I’m just saying, this table is like a graveyard of exes and unresolved trauma. It’s kind of impressive.”

A few people laugh, tension softening. Yasu gives Nobu another long, assessing look that unsettles him more than he cares to admit.

Misato swats Shin’s arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly handsome,” he corrects smugly. “And wise beyond my years.”

“You’re twenty-six and you still think prank-calling Yasu’s office is peak comedy,” Miu says under her breath.

“It is peak comedy,” Shin insists. “Have you heard his serious lawyer voice? I swear he’s auditioning for a crime drama every time he picks up the phone.”

Nobu has heard it. He has to admit, it is pretty funny. The voice itself isn’t even that different from Yasu’s usual tone. But it’s the way he does that thing: drops it half an octave and slows down just enough to sound like he’s narrating a documentary.

Yasu doesn’t look up from his plate. “The only crime is letting you near a phone.”

Naoki sniffles, managing a small laugh. “God, I forgot how much I missed some of you.”

Yeah. So did Nobu.

***

Two hours slip by. Nobu had a few errands to run earlier, but he’s been back for a while now, watching the party slowly wind down.

The crowd has thinned a bit. Shin and Misato disappeared upstairs. Nana’s outside with Hachi. Naoki and his boyfriend are somewhere between the dessert table and the dance floor, giggling like middle schoolers at a slumber party—mostly Naoki.

At their table, only Yasu and Miu remain. Even Yasu seems half-present, murmuring into his cellphone. Another client, maybe. He’s been surprisingly busy lately, but that’s just who Yasu is. He doesn’t know how to relax. Just like Takumi.

There have been a few notable developments. Narita, the former president of Trapnest’s agency, made an appearance. Naoki exchanged a few tense words with him. Considering Naoki is cheerful with absolutely everyone, that alone was enough to set off alarm bells.

From what Nobu’s heard, Narita stepped down soon after Trapnest disbanded. And of course, he decides to reappear tonight. When the cameras are here, and Trapnest’s legacy’s being repackaged into something neat and palatable.

It’s not really Nobu’s business, but he feels a simmering resentment toward the man. He should’ve at least shown up sooner. Takumi would’ve raised hell, no question. But he should’ve sat and listened to Takumi’s speech. To hear the grief in his voice, how Takumi—that arrogant, unshakeable man—is hurting.

Even Ginpei is here, holding court at a table with a bunch of Gaia and Shikai higher-ups. At some point, he challenged a label exec to a karaoke battle. It ended with him standing on a chair, passionately belting out a Blast song.

Yet, despite all of that, Nobu is really, really bored.

He spins the remains of his cocktail with a stirrer shaped like a tiny guitar, watching the ice melt. A feel-good rock anthem by Slade plays low in the background, no doubt a favorite of Naoki’s.

“I’m sorry, Nobu.” 

It’s Miu. She’s slid into the seat beside him.

“For what?”

“For asking Asami to come tonight... I didn’t think it through.”

He’d talked to Asami briefly. She probably showed up just to be caught on camera, since this Blast and Trapnest reunion had generated quite a buzz, and she’s promoting her new film. 

At some point, she casually mentioned she was dating a director now, someone “serious.” After years of being single, that should’ve stung. But it didn’t. He felt utterly indifferent.

“I’m fine,” he says. “She’s gone already anyway.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“Nothing much… She has a man now.”

Miu leans back slightly, observing his face, performing her quiet brand of psychoanalysis. “Really? Do you want to talk about it?”

He winces. He regrets ever telling her Asami cheated. It had slipped out one night when he was drowning his sorrows in beer in her and Yasu’s kitchen, not long after the breakup. He has no desire to dredge it up again.

“No,” he says. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

She nods. “One thing I’ve always admired about you, Nobu, is how you were never put off by her work. A lot of people tried to make you feel ashamed of it, but you never let them. I do believe you loved her in your own way. Even if you don’t think you did, and carry that guilt with you.”

Nobu’s taken aback all over again by Miu’s kindness. He remembers when things were different between them, when she kept her distance and looked at him with something close to contempt. She blamed him for letting Asami seduce him while he still had feelings for Hachi. But she’d changed, and warmed up to him over the years. Or maybe just allowed more of herself to show.

Being with Miu was good for Yasu, yes. But somewhere along the way, Nobu started to believe the reverse was true too: that being with Yasu had helped Miu grow in ways she might never have otherwise.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I… I don’t know if I deserve that. But thank you.”

If he loved Asami, it was not enough. That’s why she cheated in the end. It might have been the last straw between them, but the cracks had always been there. 

He glances over at Yasu, who’s just lowering his phone, but Yasu’s expression is clouding over. Nobu frowns, confused. 

“Fucking hell…” Yasu mutters. 

Nobu turns instinctively, following his line of sight, and his heart jolts. It’s stupid and involuntary. But it is there: a clumsy, offbeat thud against his ribs.

It’s Takumi. 

He looks like a wreck. Disheveled, with bloodshot eyes, and clearly drunk off his ass. He’s stumbling across the banquet hall floor, making a beeline for the dance area. One of Nobu’s staff attendants scurries behind him, trying to stop him, but is not brave enough to lay a hand on him.

Takumi lurches sideways, nearly colliding with a waitress balancing a champagne tray, which sends the glasses clinking dangerously.

“What the hell does this idiot think he’s doing?!” Yasu hisses, rising halfway from his chair.

Takumi barrels on with a grunt, shoving past the attendant without so much as a glance. It seems his eyes are locked on a single target: Narita, standing near the far edge of the floor, mid-conversation.

“You!” Takumi slurs at him with venom. “You—fuckin’—shhhhitbag—!”

Narita turns too late. Takumi stumbles forward, and before anyone can move, he swings. The punch lands with a sick, wet sound against Narita’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. A collective gasp ripples through the room.

It doesn’t end there. Takumi lands another blow, sending Narita sprawling to the ground. He’s on him in an instant, and for a few seconds, pummels him wildly with his fists. It isn’t especially gory (some of the strikes glance off or miss entirely) but it’s still a disturbing sight to behold.

“I tol’ you!” Takumi shouts. “Tol’ you t’stay th’fuck away! Y’think I was jokin’?”

Nobu is frozen. He barely has time to grasp the implications. Maybe this is why Narita hadn’t shown his face until now. And maybe Takumi’s hatred for him ran even deeper than Nobu had ever imagined.

But there’s no time to dwell on it, because everything is happening so quickly. 

In three long strides, Yasu’s at Takumi’s side, arms looping under his shoulders, yanking him back.

“Alright, that’s enough—Jesus, Takumi!”

Takumi thrashes against him like a cornered animal. 

“Lemme go! Lemme fuckin’ GO! He’s a—he’s a rat! A goddamn...lee...leech! Always crawlin’ back, like we owe ‘im somethin’... Sticks t’everything, won’ leave me alone!”

Narita, to his credit, doesn’t retaliate, even though Takumi’s so drunk that it’s probably the only time he’d stand a chance against him. He just wipes a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. A Cookie exec Nobu doesn’t recognize moves to help him up. 

Narita lifts his head, looks Takumi square in the eye and says, loud enough for every onlooker to hear, “You’re the reason Trapnest was a failure.” 

Takumi’s face twists, rage giving way to something even uglier.

“You are,” he snarls. “You smug—smug lil’ fuckin’— ” He lunges again, but Yasu digs his heels in, tightening his grip.

“Takumi, stop! You’re drunk, and you’re making a goddamn scene!”

“GOOD!! Let ‘em see! L-let all ‘em see what kinda asshole he is! Showin’ up here, like—like nothin’ ever—” Takumi jerks forward just enough to spit at Narita’s shoes.

“The only one looking like an asshole right now is you. You started this,” Yasu protests. 

Security’s already converging, but Yasu moves faster. He flashes a quick nod to the two guards advancing toward the scuffle. “I’ve got him—seriously, it’s fine. He’s just had too much—Takumi, for the love of god, shut up.”

Takumi’s still thrashing, barely coherent. Somewhere between leech and motherfucker, his voice breaks.

Naoki’s boyfriend materializes next to them. He takes Takumi’s other arm without a word, and between him and Yasu, they start half-dragging, half-walking him toward the guest wing.

Nobu realizes with a fresh spike of dread that Yasu probably doesn’t even know which room to take him to. He hurries after them, heart pounding. 

“Wait—Yasu!” he calls, trying very hard not to meet Takumi’s gaze. The last thing he needs right now is to lock eyes with him. “208. That’s his room.”

The smell of booze hits him full in the face. God, he must have bathed in it.

Yasu gives a curt nod of thanks, but before Nobu can back away, recognition dawns on Takumi’s face, and he drawls ominously, “Nobu… tha’ you? We ain’t done yet…”

Nobu gulps, forcing his voice to stay clipped. “I… don’t know what you mean. We have nothing to talk about.”

Thankfully, Yuzuki doesn’t pause to let the exchange drag out or give Nobu a chance to read Takumi’s expression. He keeps hauling him forward, and Nobu can only hope Takumi doesn’t start blurting anything he shouldn’t.

It’s only when he exhales that Nobu notices the phones are out. Of course they are. A dozen hands raised, screens aimed at the worst possible moment. 

“Come on, put the phones away,” Yasu barks over his shoulder, tone firm but still polite enough to pretend this is all just a minor hiccup. “Nothing to see here. Just a drunk ex-rock star, okay? We’re good. You’ve all seen worse.”

Nana and Hachi get back into the banquet hall, dumbfounded. Takumi’s still shouting slurred nonsense. “Fuckin’ snakes… every one’a you...”

Yasu ignores him. “Just walk, Takumi. You’re done. That’s it. We’re getting you to bed.”

But Takumi begins resisting again, chin jutting stubbornly. “I can walk, lemme go—’m fine.”

Then, as they near the side wall, just past the curtain partition, he spots it. A red emergency panel, clearly marked with a bold white kanji fire symbol. A manual pull alarm, right beside the glass door.

For one bizarre second, Nobu sees the exact moment Takumi gets the idea.

“NO—Takumi!” he hears someone shout. Maybe it’s Hachi, he’s not sure.

But it’s too late. Takumi twists free of Yasu and Yuzuki’s hands, slams the side of his fist into the glass-covered button and drags it down.

The fire alarm goes off instantly. A shrill, high-pitched siren pierces the air, followed by a mechanical female voice over the speaker: “A fire has been detected. Please evacuate calmly.”

Somewhere near the buffet line, a single sprinkler bursts to life, spraying in a tight arc over a corner of the dessert table. Guests jump as the alarm wails, flashing red lights strobing along the walls. A few dishes break.

Takumi staggers, winded but triumphant, and bellows, “PARTY’S OV’R, MOTHERFUCKEEEEEEEERS,” like he’s very proud of himself at this moment. Nobu’s certain he is.

The banquet hall erupts into chaos. Staff rush to assure the guests who weren’t paying attention (not many of them) there’s no real fire. Others scramble toward the alarm control box. Somewhere in the distance, a second wave of alarms starts from the kitchen wing. 

Someone finally disables it, but the damage is done. Nobu doesn’t even want to think of things like whether this is going to void their fire inspection cert. All around them, guests murmur in confusion, some laughing nervously, others already gathering their coats.

“Son of a bitch—” Yasu growls, wrenching Takumi away with renewed force. 

That’s the last Nobu sees of him. 

***

The fire department hadn’t arrived—thank god for small favors. Even so, there’d be a service fee for the reset, a few coats got wet, and one speaker shorted out. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to make Nobu look like he had no control over his own damn event. Worse still, he’d been so thoroughly humiliated in front of his staff that he’d ended the night by promising everyone an extra bonus. 

Yasu took point on damage control. And, surprisingly, it worked… ish. Most of the guests were industry folks. And they know the drill. No one wants to be the one caught running their mouth when they have skeletons of their own clanking around backstage. There’d certainly be leaks, even if the camera crews had cleared out by then. But that was Takumi’s problem to deal with.

Narita also promised to keep a lid on it, if only out of courtesy for the years he and Takumi had worked together. He made it clear he had no interest in stirring up more scandal. 

So now, another two whole hours later, after dealing with the fallout, Nobu lies on his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He turns over for what feels like the thousandth time. 

The cotton pajamas he’s wearing usually provide the kind of comfort that lulls him to sleep. Tonight, they might as well be made of burlap. His pillow feels too warm no matter how many times he flips it over.

The quarters he kept aren’t old-fashioned, not anymore. The ryokan had modernized over the last year, slowly and reluctantly. Most guests don’t want to sleep on tatami, no matter how authentic the experience is supposed to be. They want Western-style beds, en-suites, quiet A/C. Half the rooms have hardwood floors now. 

A handful of the original tatami suites have been preserved (one of them Satsuki’s favorite), but even those have an option of an adjustable bed instead of a futon. Nobu’s own quarters, like the staff’s, are modern. It’s what the market demands. Convenience over tradition.

His head keeps replaying tonight. Not just the clusterfuck at the end—but seeing everyone together again, talking, laughing, pretending they weren’t all living wildly different lives now. For a moment, it almost felt like Trapnest and Blast were one. Like Ren wasn’t the giant, silent weight between them.

A few years ago, Nobu wouldn’t have thought it possible. 

He makes a mental note to thank Yasu tomorrow for pulling this off, even if he’d cursed him up and down when he first floated the idea. And even if Takumi… complicated everything.

A knock. 

It’s not loud. More of a lazy thump, like someone leaning into the door rather than knocking properly. But Nobu sits up instantly. Somehow, he already knows who it is. 

Speak of the fucking devil. 

The way his body responds before his brain can catch up is ridiculous. It almost feels like he’s been waiting for this. Like this was the reason he couldn’t sleep. 

Funny, how Takumi went from refusing to acknowledge his existence after what they did to suddenly hanging around everywhere, just to get under his skin. And apparently, even drunk off his ass, he hasn’t had enough of it. 

Nobu swings his legs off the bed and crosses the floor barefoot, annoyed with himself. He opens the door just a crack to confirm. 

Takumi’s still in the same shirt, stained and wrinkled, misbuttoned halfway up. His tie is gone. He reeks of whiskey. He’s still shitfaced. The flushed look on his face makes it even more apparent. 

His hair is tousled—he looks like he caught a bit of sleep, but woke up mid-dream, disoriented, and remembered his one stupid, godforsaken mission: to torment Nobu some more.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Nobu hisses. He has to hand it to Takumi… drunk or not, his persistence is impressive. 

Takumi doesn’t argue. He wobbles slightly in the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. “Nobuuuuu… c’n I come in…? M’legs ain’t workin’ so hot…”

“You’re such an idiot. Anyone could see you—” 

Nobu darts a look down the hallway. The private quarters, unfortunately, aren’t far from the guest wing, tucked just past the linen storage and a small alcove for fresh towels. A wooden plaque marked with the characters for okami makes it obvious whose room it is. Even in a drunken stupor, Takumi would have known where to find him. 

The last thing Nobu needs is someone on a late walk back witnessing him hovering outside Nobu’s door in the middle of the night. He yanks him inside, closing the door shut with a snap.

Takumi stumbles slightly but grins, lopsided. “You ‘ctually let me in,” he mumbles, sounding pleased with himself.

Nobu slaps him. Hard.

The crack of it echoes in the quiet room. He doesn’t hesitate, and doesn’t regret it for a second. Takumi touches the spot and blinks at Nobu like he’s trying to remember where they are.

“Ow… What th’hell—” 

The room’s still dim because Nobu hadn’t bothered turning on the lights. But there’s just enough glow from the hallway to show the mark darkening on Takumi’s face. It’s going to bruise. Nobu doesn’t care.

“That’s for humiliating me, Hachi, Naoki and the entire goddamn band. For turning the night into a circus. For doing whatever the fuck you want without sparing a thought for the consequences.”

Takumi squints, expression vacant.

“And for the record,” Nobu snarls, “my staff had to clean up your bullshit. I’m promising them bonuses just to keep things from exploding into PR hell. You planning to cough up the money for that?”

Takumi smiles drunkenly, unbothered. “Ughh—gimme a break… like y’never been drunk b’fore? If it’s buggin’ ya tha’ much—I’ll pay yer staff’s… their boner—bonus. Wha’ever.” He hiccups, then laughs quietly at his own mistake. 

Nobu doesn’t laugh with him. 

“Now,” he says coldly, “care to explain what the actual fuck you’re doing here?”

“Dunno… Felt like… seein’ you.”

That’s not an answer, Nobu wants to shout. Felt like torturing me, more like. 

“You better pray Narita doesn’t sue your sorry ass. A slap from me is nothing compared to the state you left him in.”

Takumi snorts. “He won’... Bastard knows he had it comin’.”

He blinks slowly, and rubs at his eye with the heel of one hand. Then, out of nowhere: 

“S’suki said you… tol’ ‘er I’m a grump. Whassit you been tellin’ my kids? Tha’ ’m… some kinda jerk? Big ol’ mean drunk-dad-dickhead?”

Nobu just stares at him, incredulous. Is he serious right now? Of all the things to bring up?

But Takumi’s not mad when he says it. Just… vaguely sad.

Nobu had braced for a fight, some aggressive posturing. After the stunt with Narita, he’d assumed Takumi was an angry drunk. But now he’s surprisingly mellow. He might not be an angry drunk, just a miserable one.

Takumi sways in place, like he might fold in on himself at any second.

“Christ,” Nobu mutters. 

There’s no way to get him back to his room now without waking half the inn. And letting him collapse here, on the hallway floor, is out of the question.

Still muttering to himself, he steers Takumi into the inner room, his bedroom, and sits him down in the single armchair he keeps by the coffee table, mostly used for reading or scribbling out orders. Just until he decides what to do with him.

Takumi melts into the cushions. He glances around, then whistles low. “S’nice in here,” he slurs. “Figured ya’d be… sleepin’ onna futon…” 

“My parents thought it was only fair to upgrade the staff rooms too,” Nobu mutters, unsure why he’s even explaining himself. 

Takumi gestures towards the electric guitar propped in the corner. “Y’still play tha’ thing?”

“What’s it to you? It’s not like we’re in rival bands anymore,” Nobu sighs, tired. “But yeah, I still play. When I have time.” 

Resigned, he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Yer just… not what I ‘member,” Takumi mumbles. “Lil’ princeling all grown up, runnin’ a bizness… S’weird…”

The nickname sets Nobu’s temper sparking.

“Not what you remember? You remember jack shit. Don’t give me that,” he barks.

It’s true, though—he’s not the same starry-eyed romantic from ten years ago, who balked at inheriting his parents’ business. He’s more adult, more responsible.

Takumi smirks lazily. “Still such a li’l brat, huh…” 

“And you’re a reckless drunk.” 

“Don’ usually drink,” Takumi mutters, rubbing his nose. “I mean—I do, but like… fuck off, y’know what I mean...” 

“Oh, I can see why.”

Their eyes lock, Nobu’s glare laced with disdain. He’s been cruel to Takumi all evening, and now Takumi’s in no state to be held accountable for anything. But it’s not Nobu’s fault he’s so… easy to hate. And it’s so fun telling him off and lording it over him. Nobu almost feels like he has a certain power over Takumi by withholding his forgiveness. 

Takumi exhales, flopping his head back toward the ceiling. “Fuuuck… that was so humiliatin’… Can’t believe I cried in front’a everyone like a pussy.”

Just as Nobu suspected. This was the real reason he’d drunk himself into oblivion.

Nobu used to fantasize about seeing Takumi brought down a peg. It was always satisfying in theory. But he doesn’t see this as humbling in the way Takumi does. He doesn’t feel vindicated. Takumi is wrong to think that showing basic human emotions is something to be ashamed of.

“Takumi, the speech wasn’t embarrassing. People actually liked it. Everything that came after? That part was.”

“How d’y’know they weren’ laughin’ at me?”

“Because crying isn’t embarrassing.”

Takumi snorts. “Yeh, well… maybe f’r you. Y’don’t know what it’s like… in m’position.” 

He tries to join Nobu on the bed but misjudges the edge, landing face-first on the mattress with a garbled “Oof—crap.”

“Bullshit,” Nobu says, flicking him on the back of the head. “That’s exactly why everyone assumes you’re heartless. You act like this all the damn time.” 

Takumi rolls onto his side. “Y’r bed smells… nice…” he says, pressing his face into the blanket. “Like… flowers or somethin’. Fancy… fancy soap…”

“Don’t get comfortable,” Nobu warns.

“Too late… ‘s comfy… m’never leavin’.” Takumi smears his cheek across like a cat. “Y’can’t make me…”

Nobu’s stomach twists slightly at the quiet, almost childlike comment. “Where’d you go earlier?”

“Huh? Ah… th’ bar... up th’ road… y’know, th’ one w’th the… shitty neon sign...”

Oh, that one. Nobu doesn’t like that place. It’s dark, dingy, with sticky floors and a putrid stench. It attracts all the worst kinds of people. No wonder Takumi managed to get blackout in record time.

“Of course you went there,” he mutters under his breath. “Perfect for lowlifes like you.”

Then, more audibly, “I just… Why do you do this? Why come here and screw with me?”

Takumi doesn’t look up. “’Cuz y’fuckin’ hate me?” he half-says, half-questions. “An’ when people hate ya… least y’know where y’stand. ‘Sides… y’always take care’a shit. Figured if I showed up like this… y’wouldn’ lemme rot.”

“You’re disgusting,” Nobu says.

“M’just tired,” Takumi mutters. “Tired’a everyone actin’ like they know what I am...”

Nobu’s unsure if he was meant to hear that.

“Y’think I planned f’r any’a this?” Takumi goes on, voice muffled. “Y’think I wanted t’end up some washed-out piece’a shit?”

“No,” Nobu replies. “But you sure as hell didn’t stop it either.”

“Y’know… S’suki keeps askin’ why I don’ live with ‘em no more.”

“What’d you tell her?” 

“Las’ time I told ’er m’no good at bein’ ‘round people too long…”

Nobu sighs. Takumi still has no idea how lucky he is. That little girl worships him, and Nobu doesn’t see that ever changing. He doubts he’s meant to have children of his own (unless, by some miracle, the right kind of woman comes along in the next few years), but he knows he’d love to be a dad to children as beautiful as Takumi’s and Hachi’s.

“I didn’t mean to say that stuff to her,” he says finally. “About you. She just… she caught me on a bad day.”

And on bad days, when everything’s going wrong, Nobu finds it easiest to blame Takumi. Along with his entire existence.

Takumi shrugs against the bedspread. “S’okay. Y’weren’ wrong anyway.”

There’s silence again. Nobu reaches toward the bedside table, grabs a bottle of water, and holds it out. “Drink this before you puke on my blanket.”

Takumi takes it without thanks. He drinks a few mouthfuls, then sets it on the floor and lets his hand dangle off the mattress. 

Nobu watches him. He’s laid out drunk, defenseless. Honest. If there’s ever a time to ask about that night—the night they don’t talk about (or rather, the night Nobu refuses to discuss when Takumi’s sober)—it’s now. Chances are he won’t even remember come morning.

“Hey…”

Takumi’s eyes crack open. “Hnn…?” 

“About that night,” Nobu says carefully, “three weeks ago… Why’d you take care of me like that?”

Takumi shifts, barely. “Wh—whas I s’posed t’ leave y’there? Naked n’ passed out? Leakin’ all ov’r?”

“Well, you didn’t have to… y’know,” Nobu looks away, cheeks coloring. Scoop your cum out of me. “I could’ve cleaned myself up in the morning.”

Takumi squints at him, as if offended. “Y’think m’gonna jus’... leave my fuckin’ load in someone? M’not a savage… I got standards. Not my sheets, either.”

Fine. Nobu supposes that’s an answer as good as any. He lies down next to Takumi.

“So… you’ve done it before? With a guy?”

Takumi tenses. “M’not gay,” he slurs instantly. 

Right. That’s the story. Nobu doesn’t feel like being the lone idiot here admitting he might’ve had a tiny gay awakening. 

“Yeah. I know. I’m not either.”

Takumi snorts. “Coulda fooled me. Y’d make a good gay guy.” 

“Excuse me? The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Y’know… yer sensitive. Smell sweet. Y’got pretty hands. Gay guy shit.”

“That’s just person shit, asshole.”

“Whatev’r. Maybe it’d ‘plain why girls keep dumpin’ ya.”

Fucking douchebag. 

“Oh, please. It would explain you more. You realize that on paper you fit the profile of a repressed gay man? A playboy who can’t commit and keeps hopping from woman to woman.” 

Takumi lets out a laugh. “Pffft… y’jus’ makin’ shit up. Nothin’ gay ’bout likin’ pussy.”

“Even if I was, it’s a perfectly plausible theory!”

“‘Mmhm… eith’r way… if y’ever came out?” Takumi points at Nobu’s chest. “Dudes’d be crawlin’ all ov’r ya. Swear t’god…”

“So I’d be your type if you were into men?” Nobu scoffs. This is so ridiculous.

“’Course. Y’r goddamn pretty when y’try… like… t’night.” 

Wow. Okay. “You sure know how to give backhanded compliments,” Nobu says, even though heat crawls up his neck.

“An’ yer jus’ mean t’me…” Takumi grumbles.

“You’re bullying me! Like last time, when we… had sex.”

“Wasn’ bullyin’. T’was dirty talk.”

“You—” Nobu splutters. “You can’t just say stuff like that and act like it’s normal.”

Takumi goes quiet. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out. 

Nobu hesitates, then dares again, softer. “Do you… regret it?”

Takumi drags a palm over his face, sighing. “If I’da known th’future, I wouldn’ta come. But…” His voice drops. “I liked it.”

Nobu stiffens. “What?”

Takumi rolls onto his back, eyes half-lidded. “Said I fuckin’ liked it, a’ight? Liked talkin’ dirty t’you… fuckin’ you...”

Nobu’s mouth goes bone dry.

“Y’were warm,” Takumi continues, “an’ soft. Looked so fuckin’ sexy, Nobu. Y’ were. I know wha’m sayin’.”

“Oh yeah?” Nobu doesn’t know why he’s humoring this.

“Y’were makin’ all these lil’ sounds, y’know? Back then. Mmmnn. Fuckin’ insane to hear ‘em from you. An’ then when y’begged…”

“I did not beg!”

“Y’did. Kinda whiny. Real pretty. All breathy like, ‘Takumi, please’… Almost came on th’ spot.”

Why, oh why, is this stirring something in Nobu’s gut?

He groans, burying his face in the pillow. “I should have the legal right to decapitate you.”

“D’n’t act all shocked now. S’true… Y’loved it. Clawed m’back up real bad too. Still got th’scars.”

“If you’re trying to embarrass me into throwing you out onto the hallway, it’s working.”

Takumi huffs out a drunken laugh. “I’d do more wick’d stuff t’you…”

“Too bad. It’s never happening again.”

The worst part? Nobu would sleep with him again... if he could shove down the guilt, if this wasn’t Takumi, or at least if he could forget it was Takumi… maybe with a paper bag over his head… No. Too many reasons not to.

Takumi blinks up at him, almost wounded. “’S not?”

“No. That… thing you call a dick is never going near my ass again. I thought you were gonna split me in two!”

Nobu’s exaggerating but he’ll be damned before he gives Takumi the satisfaction of knowing he fucked him so good he saw stars. Screaming he loves his cock when he was desperate to cum is not really the same, and Takumi knows it.

“No one e’er complained ‘fore,” Takumi mutters.

“Probably ‘cause they were too terrified to tell you. Or into pain.”

“Ain’t you into pain?”

“No! You just think that because you’re a sadist!”

“If I am then… y’didn’ seem t’mind all tha’ much…”

Nobu rolls his eyes. “Okay, serious question—if you’ve never done it with a guy before, how the hell were you so good at it?” 

Takumi smirks. “S’now I was good? Thought I was tearin’ you up... Which issit?”

“Ugh… y-you know what I mean. Like, your technique was good. I guess. You knew what to do.”

“Technique? Yer judging my fuckin’ technique?”

“Just answer the question, dickwad.”

Takumi goes quiet for a second, his gaze drifting to the ceiling again. “Ain’t tha’ diff’rent from fuckin’ a chick. If y’done anal b’fore... rest’s like… kinda intuitive. Naoki—hic—he shares way too much ‘bout his sex life... Visual aids, almost. Alsoooo, uh, looked at some gay porn… back in th’day. Jus’ t’see what th’ fuss was ‘bout.”

“Huh. That kinda makes sense—wait. You watched gay porn?!”

Takumi grins wider. “Like you didn’.” He squints. “Or… y’prob’ly didn’, huh… Ever done anal w’th a chick?”

“...You really don’t give a shit about what’s too personal, do you?” Nobu shoots back.

He had his chance with Asami once. But he panicked and couldn’t go through with it. After that, she never brought it up again. 

He’d always been insecure about his size. Given Asami’s line of work, he knew she’d been with men whose dicks were much bigger than his. She always assured him it didn’t matter, that what mattered was that she loved him because doing it with someone you love always feels better. But he knew it probably bothered her.

Takumi snorts, lolling his head to the side. “‘Too personal,’ he says… I seen yer asshole, man. Think we kinda passed that exit.”

The self-pitying version of Takumi from before is long gone. 

Nobu glares at him. “And you passed the exit for shutting the hell up like ten minutes ago.”

Takumi chuckles. “Can’t help it. T’was a pretty asshole… Shoulda taken a pic. Prime spank bank material.”

Nobu feels hot in the face again. Like Takumi needs ‘spank bank material’ of some scrawny male punk. Does he even need to jack off? He probably just snaps his fingers and someone shows up to do it for him. 

“You deserve nothing good in life,” Nobu mutters.

“Yeh, yeh…” Takumi slurs. “What ‘bout ya… y’take care’a that stiffy in th’ bathroom?”

Nobu’s mind flashes back to the restroom, and how that brief encounter with Takumi had made him hard embarrassingly fast. 

He’d locked himself in a stall, stroking his dick in desperation, barely getting any relief. He’d sucked on his middle finger, getting it wet, and he was just about to push in when he heard the door creak open. His heart dropped to his stomach, and the boner went down on its own.

But the memory still makes his face burn. What the hell was he thinking? He’s really turning into a pervert.

Takumi laughs softly. “S’pose tha’s a yes.”

“I didn’t—! I stopped, okay? I came to my senses.”

“Betcha were ‘bout t’stick a finger up there...”

Nobu covers his face. “I was not—!”

“Yer ears go red when y’lie.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“Y’gonna try it ‘gain later? Get all cozy, light a candle, lube it up real nice—”

“Enough!” Nobu snaps. “Seriously, you’re disgusting. I fantasized about how to kill you. That’s different.”

Takumi lifts a hand, makes a finger-gun, and shoots himself in the head with a whispered, “Bang.” Then he pretends to drop dead.

Nobu scoffs. “Wow. There it is. The miracle we’ve all been waiting for. Suddenly the world’s all sunshine and rainbows. World peace achieved. I think I see a unicorn. They really exist. They just couldn’t bear to live in the same universe as you.”

Takumi laughs at that. “Y’know… yer ‘ctually pretty fuckin’ funny, Nobu. All thin’s considered.” His voice softens. “Yer a decent guy. I… I like talkin’ t’you. An’... ’m sorry f’r ever hurtin’ you.”

Oh well. 

Nobu guesses Takumi’s not the worst person to talk to, either. At least like this… when they’re not at each other’s throats. And when he’s so plastered he can barely string a sentence together. But honestly…is he really that different sober? Maybe the difference is not that Takumi’s more honest, but that Nobu’s not afraid to ask questions.

Before he can say something along the lines of You can shove your apology, Takumi shifts closer so that his face is hovering just inches from Nobu’s. 

“Who’d y’get all dressed up f’r t’night, hm?” he murmurs. For a moment Nobu thinks he sobered up, the way the sentence rolls off his tongue so smoothly and seductively.

Nobu’s lip quivers. Obviously, he’s not about to say You. He turns away, trying not to look.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout now?” Takumi asks, cupping Nobu’s chin, his thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth.

Nobu feels the warm, comforting sensation of Takumi’s boozy breath. He lets himself admit one more thing. “That… I hate how badly I wanna kiss you.” 

“Then do it. I been waitin’ all fuckin’ night…”

Their lips nearly touch, barely a hair’s breadth between them. Nobu can feel his heartbeat in his throat. The tension is unbearable. He presses his forehead to Takumi’s, fighting himself, breathing in and out. 

No, it’s wrong. You just told him a few minutes ago it’s never happening again. Be a fucking man.

Takumi’s hair is a mess, sticking up in places. His skin is flushed from the alcohol, pupils blown wide. Those eyes, usually so cold, are gleaming. 

Nobu swallows. And before he can talk himself out of it, he closes the gap, pressing his lips against Takumi’s.

The taste of whiskey hits him immediately, but it’s pretty much the same kind of sensation he remembers, and he gets a reminder of just how dangerous and addictive it was.

The kiss deepens fast. Nobu moans softly into it, and there’s no air for him to breathe, but he doesn’t care. He wouldn’t mind suffocating like this.

He feels Takumi’s hands trail down slowly to his neck, then tweaking a nipple. Nobu jolts at the touch, but it doesn’t stop Takumi. He goes down to Nobu’s lower stomach, teasing the waistband of his pajama shorts.

This is escalating faster than Nobu anticipated. He tears his mouth away and sits up abruptly, chest heaving. Takumi sits up too, propping himself up with one hand.

“I’m sorry,” Nobu says, looking at his lap. “You just shouldn’t be here. Can’t you… go back on your own?”

Before I do something even more stupid.

Takumi doesn’t listen. Instead, he shuffles closer. “Y’don’ wan’ this t’end righ’ now, Nobu…”

He kisses Nobu’s ear, then works his way down, planting wet kisses on his neck. Nobu shivers. 

It’s his fault. Again. He provoked him, again. And drunk people are like children—give them an inch and they take the whole damn mile.

He puts a hand on Takumi’s chest, but it’s weak. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re drunk.”

Takumi lets out a lazy, hot breath against his skin. “S’what? I still know wha’ I wan’, pretty boy...”

“You don’t want me,” Nobu insists.

Takumi pauses, eyes flicking between Nobu’s. “D’you not wan’ me?”

“I…” Nobu’s voice falters. “That’s not the point.”

“Then stop me.”

Nobu feels like a priest being tempted to abandon his faith by the devil himself. “I am trying to stop you!”

“Try harder.” 

Takumi’s hands slide down and shamelessly cup Nobu’s ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Nobu lets out a whimper before he can swallow it.

“S’ okay…see?” Takumi murmurs. “We both wan’ this…”

Yes, they do. Nobu does, at least. Because Takumi doesn’t know what he’s doing.

They’re both rock hard already, straining against their clothes. When Takumi sits back against the headboard and crooks a finger to beckon Nobu closer, he hesitates only a moment before climbing into his lap.

Takumi’s hands settle on his hips, tugging him closer until their cocks are snug between their stomachs. Nobu shoves his pajama shorts down in a rush. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Takumi clumsily unbuckling his belt, popping the button on his dress pants and shoving his boxers down far enough to free himself, too.

Within seconds, they’re both exposed, cocks flushed and standing side by side.

That flicker of masculine pride in Nobu recoils with quiet shame at how much smaller his manhood looks next to Takumi’s. But the sight also sparks white-hot need that coils low in his gut.

Takumi wraps a big, warm hand around both of them, beginning to fist them together in an eager, messy rhythm. Nobu’s shorter length slips out of his grip now and then, but the friction (catching and sliding in teasing half-strokes) only sharpens the sensation, making Nobu gasp and jerk helplessly against the solid press of Takumi’s body.

Takumi’s other hand wanders behind again, kneading at Nobu’s ass, fingers tracing close to his entrance. The touch isn’t even inside him, but the threat of it, how casual it feels, makes Nobu’s breath come faster.

“Oh… oh God—” Nobu chokes out, turning his head, trying and failing to hide the pleasure burning across his face. 

“Y’see how good our dicks look t’gether?” Takumi asks. “Love how cute y’rs is…”

“Of course you—ah—fuck… of course you love it. Makes your… freakshow look even… bigger...” 

Takumi huffs a laugh. His fingers slide a little lower, teasing the rim of Nobu’s hole. Nobu’s whole body twitches under the weight of that hand, already drunk on the way Takumi’s working his magic. 

He’s so disgustingly greedy. So easy. All it takes is a little teasing and he’s ready to spread his legs again. 

“I know, pretty boy… s’fine,” Takumi purrs, like he’s reading Nobu’s thoughts. Maybe he imagined Nobu saying something, or just wants to hear more. 

His hand on their cocks keeps stroking faster, while the other palm drifts between squeezing his ass and rubbing circles right over his entrance, never quite pushing in. 

“Ngh—always… always trying t’ get… in my head,” Nobu whispers to himself in short pants.

He presses their foreheads together and kisses Takumi again. Takumi’s so out of it he misses half his mouth, sloppy and wet. Nobu struggles to keep up, spit dripping from his mouth and smearing between them as Takumi shoves his tongue in, desperate to taste him.

Normally, he’d gag at this kind of mess. It’s revolting. But now, it just makes his cock twitch harder in Takumi’s fist.

Nobu feels like he’s a teenager again—like he’s making out with his friend’s gorgeous and off-limits older brother, the one everyone said was straight. The one who wanted to “experiment” and made Nobu his willing guinea pig. 

Maybe it isn’t just him being weak. Maybe Takumi gives him something no one else ever has.

Nope… it’s definitely him being weak.

They pull back from the kiss, both of them panting raggedly. Takumi’s hand doesn’t stop, working them slicker as precum leaks over his knuckles. He uses it to glide easier. The fingers at Nobu’s rim keep circling, just barely dipping inside and then sliding away again, a maddening tease that makes Nobu’s stomach clench.

“Shit… y’migh’ make me cum firs’ this time,” Takumi groans.

“Then—fuck—just shut up… ngh—shut up and do it already,” Nobu rasps, hoarse.

The sound of skin meeting skin grows louder, filthier. Nobu feels himself slowly unravel, breath stuttering as Takumi crowds closer, refusing to give him even an inch of space. The constant drag of Takumi’s dick grinding against his own is too much, feeding the heat twisting low in his belly.

He raises his head… and Takumi is right there, staring down at him with that claiming look like he already fucking owns him. Nobu’s mouth falls open, brows furrowing tight as he tries to swallow back a cry.

“F-fuh, tha’s it, pretty b’boy,” Takumi hums. “Lemme… ngh… lemme hear all th’ sweet li’l noises…”

“Aahhngh!” Nobu lets out a guttural moan, throwing his head back.

“Uh-huhh… feel g’d, don’cha?” Takumi breathes, but even he can’t keep it together; his voice cracks into a shaky whine.

“Please—god—I… I wanna cum,” Nobu pleads.

“Fffuck… me too… gotta cum w’ me… ‘kay?” Takumi demands, gripping them tighter, pumping with no finesse left at all. His other hand slips further between Nobu’s legs, two fingertips pressing right against his hole.

The strokes turn erratic. Nobu lays a palm over Takumi’s hand, but his own is smaller, useless against the rough motion. So instead he clutches Takumi’s shoulder and digs his nails into it, silently warning he’s close.

“Gonna scratch m’up again.”

“D-don’t… don’t talk anymore,” Nobu begs, pressing his other hand over Takumi’s mouth—because he can’t bear it, can’t listen to those slurred words. Right now, they just make him feel guilty. Taking advantage of a drunk…

There’s a hazy kind of hunger in Takumi’s eyes, glassy with desire and half-lidded from the alcohol, and Nobu feels him smirk behind his hand. 

That alone is enough to set him off and he feels that growing heat build up extremely fast. 

“Ngh—! T-Takumi—shit—I’m—!” Nobu cries out as he cums, spilling hot and sudden over his top.

Again, it isn’t Takumi who finishes first. But he’s only a heartbeat behind. He groans against Nobu’s hand, hips thrusting once, twice—and then he cums in thick, messy spurts that soak his already ruined shirt. 

Nobu lets go of Takumi’s mouth, and for a moment they just stay like this, both of them breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. Eventually, he climbs off Takumi’s lap in an awkward shuffle, not really knowing what to do. 

What do two men do after a frot session?

Takumi smiles faintly and lets himself slide down fully onto the bed. He fumbles clumsily at his boxers, barely getting his cock tucked inside before giving up entirely on the zipper. His pants stay open, belt loose. He just sprawls there like that.

Nobu sighs, the aftershocks buzzing through his limbs. He glances down at the jizz on his top, then over at Takumi whose eyelids are drooping. “Jesus…” he mutters, peeling himself away from the bed. 

He goes into the bathroom to rinse the stains from his top. When he gets back, it’s quiet, save for Takumi’s breathing. Nobu kneels beside him, and gently cleans the mess off his shirt, even though the front is mostly soaked through. 

Favor returned.

Takumi flinches a little at the cold cloth when it makes contact with his stomach, but doesn’t protest. Just lets out a sleepy noise and turns his head to the side.

“Too much?” Nobu murmurs, mostly to himself. He tosses the towel into the corner, not really caring where it lands for now, and sits back on his heels. He watches Takumi for a moment, eyes tracing the rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips are slightly parted. 

He hates that he let this man touch him again… let him press close, have his way with him, make him feel so damn good.

And yet, distantly, he wonders if he’d push things even further if Takumi was up for it. Now that the line’s already been crossed twice, and he’s started expecting more from him... But then he stops himself again. 

Takumi’s wasted. Not just buzzed like him—completely drunk. And Nobu’s already taken advantage of him enough. 

God, is he really that vile? Would Takumi do the same to him if the roles were reversed?

What if he wouldn’t? What if… Nobu’s worse than him in some way?

Before he can sink more into his moral dilemma, he notices Takumi’s eyes have fluttered fully shut, and his breathing evened out. 

“Takumi?” 

No answer.

He’s asleep in Nobu’s bed. And Nobu just doesn’t have the heart to wake him.

Chapter Text

When Takumi opens his eyes, three things are immediately clear. One: it’s far later than he usually wakes (he can tell from the angle of sunlight cutting through the curtains). Two: he’s horrifically hungover (his skull is trying to split itself open). Three: Nobu is staring at him.

Or was, because the second their eyes meet, Nobu jerks back like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He mutters something under his breath and busies himself at the foot of the bed, gathering a change of clothes from a chair and pretending he hadn’t just been full-on watching Takumi. 

Takumi groans, drags a hand over his face, and tries to stitch the night back together. He remembers getting absolutely plastered, stumbling back to Nobu’s inn, punching Narita (okay, that part feels satisfying), and eventually crashing here. The details are foggy at best.

He kicks the covers off to find he’s down to his boxers—and pitching an inconvenient case of morning wood. The fabric drags across his cock when he shifts, enough to make his teeth grit.

Nobu’s gaze flicks down, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. “You were… uh. Spooning me in your sleep,” he explains.

Takumi scratches his neck. “…What?”

“You grabbed me. Pressed right up against me. It was—yeah.” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. That’s embarrassing. Takumi makes a point not to sleep over, and on the rare occasion he does, he’s not exactly the cuddling type. But sure, pressing his dick against Nobu’s ass all night would surely contribute to this state. The image of Nobu waking up to that makes his cock twitch.

“Why am I undressed? Did we hook up?”

“You passed out cold,” Nobu says, eyes averted. “I helped you out of your clothes so you’d be comfortable. We… didn’t do anything.”

Deciding to take his word for it, Takumi flops back on the pillow. “Good.” He squints at the ceiling. “What time is it, anyway?” His phone’s probably still in his suit jacket somewhere, back in his own room.

“Just past nine,” Nobu says after checking his own. “I woke up not long before you. Thought we could use something warm, so I brought breakfast from the kitchen. Already ate mine.”

Nine o’clock. Late for Takumi—unforgivably sloppy. He wanted to be up before Nobu, damn it. Still, he hasn’t slept this well in ages.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Obviously I tried. You growled at me and rolled over. In the end, I figured I’d let you sleep some more.”

Takumi’s annoyed to realize that, for once, Nobu looks more put together than him. Every strand of his hair sits neatly in place, skin dewy and rested. He looks sexy, scantily clad in a thin pajama top and shorts. He even brought breakfast. 

Takumi, meanwhile, looks like he got dragged backwards through a hedge. A quick glance at the mirror across from the bed confirms it: his hair’s sticking out in every direction, pillow-crease is stamped across his cheek, and there’s a faint dark smudge blooming along his cheekbone. He prods at it, then turns toward Nobu.

“What the hell is this?”

“Trust me, you earned it. Ask literally anyone what happened.”

Takumi narrows his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Nobu says, folding his arms. “You barged into my room in the middle of the night, and demanded attention like a fucking toddler.”

“See, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not. And I’m already doing you a massive favor letting you crash here and feeding you. But I can just as easily kick your ass out and tell everyone you were harassing staff in the dead of night.”

Takumi stares at him, slack-jawed. “Jesus. Fine. Fuck. I’m sorry, alright?”

For some reason, that only seems to piss Nobu off more. 

“I know you’d rather wake up next to some leggy bimbo after a drinking binge,” he says suddenly. “But you’re stuck with me, so at least try not to look like you detest being here.”

Takumi frowns. “What the hell are you even on about? What crawled up your ass?”

Is this about earlier? Is Nobu lashing out because he caught him staring while he slept? It wouldn’t even be that weird. He could’ve just been waiting for Takumi to wake before heading out somewhere.

Nobu doesn’t miss a beat. “You asked if we hooked up like it would’ve been the worst thing imaginable.”

“That’s not—” Takumi exhales sharply. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing imaginable. I just… I feel like shit. I’ve got memory gaps, I overslept, I’m hungover as hell. I hate not having control over what I said, what I did. And I cried on camera last night.”

“For someone who doesn’t like losing control, you sure drink like it’s an Olympic sport.”

Didn’t Nobu used to get drunk at every Blast get-together all those years ago? Funny he’s lecturing him.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have let me in if I was such a nuisance.”

“I didn’t want you choking on your own vomit. Seemed irresponsible.” Nobu grabs a towel from the dresser and tosses it over his shoulder. “Whatever,” he mutters, moving toward the en-suite. “I’m gonna go shower. Water’s in the mini fridge, aspirin’s on the coffee table with your breakfast. Try not to choke on that too.”

Nobu’s being awfully considerate, all things considered. The fact he thought that far ahead trying to accommodate him makes Takumi feel weirdly… looked after. Not something he’s used to. Plenty of people have done things for him over the years, but that’s not the same as being cared for. Only Nana really did that. And he took her for granted. 

Still… this feeling? It’s good. 

He lies in bed for a few more minutes before he finally drags himself to the mini fridge, and grabs a bottle of water. The cold plastic against his forehead helps for about two seconds before he cracks it open and downs half of it in one go. 

Nobu even left a gel pack in the chiller box. Takumi presses it to his cheekbone, winces, then looks toward the tray on the coffee table.

A neatly set plate, cutlery, a pot of coffee, Omurice. The breakfast Nana always made him. 

Was Nobu aware? Mocking him? With him, it’s impossible to tell.

Takumi forces himself to eat anyway and swallows the aspirin, though his stomach turns uneasily with every mouthful. 

When he looks around at last, he gets a clearer sense of the place. A short corridor leads from the foyer to the bedroom, a closet on one side, kitchenette on the other. Aside from the mini fridge, the kitchenette holds a few small appliances, enough for quick meals, though Nobu probably takes most of his food from the inn’s kitchen. 

The bedroom’s centered around the queen-sized bed they’d slept in, flanked by two nightstands and a low coffee table with an armchair pulled up beside it. A dresser and a set of shelves line the walls, cluttered with vinyls, spiked bracelets and gloves, manga volumes, stacks of cords and empty beer cans. In the corner rests Nobu’s old white Strat with a small amp. Takumi remembers him switching between it and a Les Paul, but maybe that one didn’t survive the years. There’s a door to the en-suite across from the bed, with a full-length mirror next to it.

The room strikes Takumi as oddly balanced between a bachelor’s den and a little shrine, caught somewhere between trying to grow up and refusing to. 

He investigates Nobu’s shelves, mostly interested in his substantial vinyl collection. There’s plenty of punk, like the Pistols, The Clash, Ramones, Hi-STANDARD (the same bands from the posters on the wall). But wedged between those are softer records, ballads and slower albums that clash with the image of the hardcore punk Nobu once tried so hard to project: Jeff Buckley, Nick Drake, Mr. Children, Koji Tamaki.

Takumi listens to a little bit of everything (has to, to be a good producer), but his own shelves at home are heavier, more “serious”: The Stones, Zeppelin, Floyd, The Who… the canon. As a self-proclaimed audiophile, he’s always after high-fidelity and cleaner pressings. Nobu seems to just collect feelings. 

After a moment of digging, a more pressing need hits Takumi. He shuffles over to the en-suite door and raps his knuckles against it. “Nobu, I gotta take a leak. Let me in.”

“For fuck’s sake, Takumi,” Nobu calls back exasperatedly. “Can’t you hold it for fifteen minutes?”

He could. But why bother?

“Quit being such a bitch. I’m literally just trying to piss.”

There’s a long, suffering groan, followed by the wet slap of footsteps on tile and the click of the lock turning.

Takumi steps inside, taking in his surroundings. The bathroom isn’t huge (spacious enough, but not cavernous) but it’s pretty fancy. The traditional ryokan bathtub is gone, replaced by a modern shower booth. It’s the kind without a threshold, just a smooth expanse of tile that slopes toward a hidden floor drain. A glass partition slices the space in two, offering Takumi an unobstructed view of Nobu rinsing off under the spray.

“Try not to piss all over the wall, asshole,” Nobu grouches, referring to Takumi’s half-hard cock. 

Takumi rolls his eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at his mouth. 

He moves over to the toilet, feeling Nobu’s eyes on him even as the other man pretends to fuss with the shower controls. The room is warm and a little hazy, the glass fogging between them, but not enough to obscure Nobu’s silhouette.

“You done judging me?” Takumi asks over his shoulder as he lifts the seat.

“Hurry up before you start monologuing about your dick.”

Takumi snorts and relieves himself, then moves to the sink, washes his hands, and reaches for Nobu’s toothbrush without a hint of shame.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Nobu demands, partially turning toward him. He seems to be watching his every move from the corner of his eye like a hawk. 

“Trying to brush my teeth like a civilized person,” Takumi replies, squeezing out a line of toothpaste. “Would’ve done it before breakfast, but you didn’t give me the chance.”

He thinks about asking about the Omurice… then decides against it.

“Not with my toothbrush, you’re not.”

“Do you see a fresh one anywhere?”

“You’d have one if you stayed in your fucking room.”

Takumi levels him with a bland look. “Calm down, smartypants. Need I remind you we’ve already swapped spit?”

“Just… make it quick.”

Takumi leans over the sink and starts scrubbing, but he doesn’t really know where to look (his own reflection right now is not the best view), so he ends up just gawping at Nobu. Nobu is rinsing shampoo from his hair, head tilted back. Takumi can’t help noticing how ridiculously plump his ass is, and how his nipples look tight and perky as he stretches and flexes. 

Is he doing this on purpose? He has to be.

Something dark catches his attention near the top of Nobu’s thigh. He frowns around the toothbrush, then spits into the sink. Without much thought, he steps into the shower with Nobu, warm water immediately soaking his boxers and dripping down his chest.

Nobu startles, mid-rinse. “What are you—”

“Relax,” Takumi mutters, ignoring him. His gaze drops, landing on the dark bruise blooming high on Nobu’s thigh. “What happened here?”

Before Nobu can answer, Takumi reaches out, fingers brushing the discolored skin. “You get this last night? Looks nasty… I didn’t assault you, did I?”

Nobu inhales sharply at the touch, his thigh tightening reflexively. “No, it’s not from you,” he mutters. “I… I don’t remember where I got it. I bang into stuff when I’m asleep.”

Takumi doesn’t press. He pulls back, only to realize the water is already soaking his hair, running in rivulets down his chest and making his boxers cling embarrassingly tight.

“Shit,” he pants, glancing down at himself. Then back up at Nobu, who’s fixing him with a flustered scowl. “Well… I’m already wet. Might as well shower properly.”

“You did this on purpose.”

“Never showered next to another guy before? C’mon, I’ll scrub your back for you.” Takumi hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, drags them down, and kicks them aside, stepping fully under the spray beside Nobu.

He tips his head back under the water, eyes slipping shut as he lets the heat pound against his shoulders for a moment. When he looks again, Nobu is frozen, shampoo still dripping from his hair, gaze flicking down over every inch of him.

“What?” Takumi asks, amused. “You’ve already seen me naked.”

Nobu’s mouth works for a second before he manages, in a rasped voice, “You have a nice body… But you knew that already.”

Takumi feels a warm, satisfied swell in his chest. Fuck, Nobu is so cute when he gets shy. “So do you.”

Nobu mutters something that sounds like, “No, I don’t,” then looks away. But Takumi doesn’t give him much space. He crowds in deliberately, reaching past to snag the shower gel.

“Move,” he says, but doesn’t really wait. His arm bumps along Nobu’s stomach as he lathers his hands, and he lets his thumb graze the trail of hair below Nobu’s navel.

Nobu tenses so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t slip.

Takumi works the lather over his own shoulders and chest, watching the foam swirl down the drain. When he glances up again, Nobu is still looking (staring, really) at the slick path of soap, throat bobbing.

“Want that back scrub or not?”

“Fine,” Nobu hisses, the tips of his ears flaming as he turns around. “At least you’ll be useful for something.”

“Trust me, I’m doing your water bill a favor,” Takumi boasts, squishing some gel on his palm and starting to work circles against Nobu’s back. His hands glide over warm skin, tracing the curve of each shoulder blade until Nobu lets out a contented sigh.

“See? You’re tense as hell. You should take better care of yourself.”

Like he’s one to talk.

“Yeah, well… you do that,” Nobu grumbles.

“Me? I raise your stress levels?”

“You have. For the last ten years or so.”

A beat passes before Takumi laughs under it. “Scary how long we’ve known each other.”

He wants to ask how often Nobu thought of him during those years. Was it always in connection to Nana, or did he ever invade his mind on his own? Has Nobu always found him attractive? The thought of Nobu fighting that attraction makes the narcissist in him preen.

He’s thought of Nobu, too, if he’s honest. Wondered how he filled the void left after Nana. Whether he stayed with Yuri (he knows now he didn’t). If there were other women. How he dealt with Blast’s collapse and Osaki leaving. What really drove him to take over his parents’ inn. What his relationship with Ren was like and how he coped with his death. How he spends time with the children. What it’s like for him being in his thirties—if he’s lost his lust for life like Takumi sometimes feels he has.

Takumi keeps going, working the knots at the base of Nobu’s neck, savoring every second of obedient service he’ll never admit he enjoys giving. He trails his hands lower, spreading the soap across the slope of Nobu’s back, following the ridges of muscle down to his waist. His thumbs skim the hollows just above his hips, and Nobu’s breath hitches.

“Ticklish?” 

“No,” Nobu says, though it’s embarrassingly unconvincing, considering how he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Takumi’s hands slide forward, around Nobu’s ribs, then higher, brushing lightly across his chest. He feels Nobu suck in a sharp breath. Without pausing, he teases one of Nobu’s nipples. Nobu throws his head back against Takumi’s shoulder, and lets out a strangled moan that echoes off the tile.

“Fuck,” Takumi whispers, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers, feeling it pebble. Nobu shudders and lets out another broken little sound that goes straight to Takumi’s cock.

Takumi presses in closer, chest flush to Nobu’s back now. He pinches lightly, rolling Nobu’s nipple between his fingers until Nobu’s hips give a jerk forward. He follows him like they’re dancing in rhythm: chest to back, hip to hip. His own cock drags along the cleft of Nobu’s ass.

“God, the sounds you make,” Takumi breathes. One hand drifts lower, splaying across Nobu’s stomach, feeling the taut muscles contract under it. “I’m barely doing anything, and you’re acting like I’m torturing you.”

“You are.” Nobu’s words dissolve in a gasp when Takumi tweaks the other nipple, a little harder. His head falls back against Takumi’s shoulder again, exposing the line of his throat.

Takumi noses along the side of his neck, teeth scraping the tendon. “Say you want me to stop,” he murmurs.

He has a flicker of déjà vu—didn’t he say something like that last night? Weird if they didn’t do anything. 

He hopes Nobu will tell him to stop. So they’d put an end to this madness.

But Nobu’s only reply is another shivery moan. Exactly what Takumi was afraid of.

“You know you’re going to regret this like last time,” he says softly, almost sadly. His fingertips skim just above the trim line of Nobu’s pubic hair. “But then you’re hard just from me playing with your tits. So I guess you’ll be good and let me do my thing.”

Nobu shivers so hard his voice breaks, but his words are still an icy bath. “You don’t get to dictate the terms today.”

“Oh, no?” Takumi asks, as he finally closes his hand around Nobu’s warm flesh throbbing for attention.

Nobu cries out as Takumi gives him a slow stroke. His hips buck into Takumi’s fist.

Takumi keeps teasing his nipple with the other hand, rolling it while he works Nobu’s cock with an unhurried rhythm. “Seems to me,” he says, “I’m in the perfect position to dictate whatever I want.”

Nobu’s still panting, but Takumi watches the way his mouth moves, like he’s biting back a retort.

“Turn around,” Takumi says, tugging him by the hip. “I want to see your face.”

Nobu reluctantly turns to face him, and—fuck—his expression is so lewd it makes Takumi’s breath catch: lips parted, pupils blown wide, cheeks burning pink.

Takumi’s palm still glides up and down his cock, squeezing just enough to make him twitch with every pass.

Then, unexpectedly, Nobu lifts a shaky hand and presses it flat against Takumi’s chest. His gaze drops lower, like he’s working up the nerve, and then he trails that hand slowly down the plane of Takumi’s torso, tracing the dip between his abs.

Takumi’s pulse spikes. “Hey—what’s this?” 

Is it one of Takumi’s wild fantasies or is he actually initiating physical contact? 

Nobu slides his hand lower, until his fingers brush the hard length of Takumi’s cock. For a second he pauses, almost shy, and then he curls his fingers around him in a hesitant grip.

Takumi’s head tips back with a groan, the spray beating down on his throat. “Shit… Nobu.”

“Told you—you don’t get to call the shots today,” Nobu mutters. His thumb rubs experimentally over the slit, smearing the bead of slick there. Takumi’s hips jerk before he can stop himself.

“Don’t just… tease,” Takumi grits out. “You start, you finish.”

Nobu lifts his eyes and starts stroking him with the same slow rhythm Takumi had used on him. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Takumi breathes. His own hand starts moving again, matching the pace, working Nobu’s cock while Nobu works his. 

Then, almost pleading, but unable to meet his gaze, Nobu whispers, “Make me feel good, Takumi.”

Takumi’s breath stutters because he knows exactly what that means. It’s an invitation for Takumi to fuck him. 

Nobu spreads his legs apart so that Takumi can see everything… can watch the fingers of his free hand press between his cheeks, massaging his own entrance.

It’s up there with the hottest fucking things Takumi has ever seen. It makes him immediately forget how rotten he felt waking up. As if a piece of Nobu’s ass could be the cure to his hangover.

Something molten and possessive snaps loose inside him. Seeing Nobu so eagerly open himself up for him makes him lose his head.

“Christ. It’s pulsing like it’s begging for me already. You want me to take you that bad?” 

Nobu does shiver at this, but it’s quickly covered by a scowl. “I hate when you say things like that. Get to work and do something.”

Takumi closes the last inch between them, pressing Nobu’s chest against the fogged glass. One hand sprawls over his sternum, feeling the frantic beat beneath skin, while the other slides to cover Nobu’s fingers, guiding them in circles over his hole. 

Nobu lets go and braces his palms flat against the partition, hips tilting back in a silent demand that makes Takumi’s vision go white at the edges. Takumi cups one cheek, spreading him open for a better look, and can’t stop the groan that rumbles out of his chest.

“D-don’t make me repeat myself,” Nobu rasps. “Hate you too much to wait—”

Takumi slicks his fingers with gel and slides two in. He sinks in easily, too easily. He leans closer, mouth brushing the shell of Nobu’s ear. “Did you prep yourself? Your ass feels pretty stretched already.”

Nobu’s cheeks flush, but he turns his head to meet Takumi’s stare with a defiant little smirk, teeth flashing. “Maybe I did. So what?”

He’s so cute when he’s daring like this, too. Cute isn’t even close to covering it.

“So what,” Takumi echoes. He crooks his fingers, drawing a moan out of Nobu. “Were you playing with yourself before I came in?”

“What if I was?”

Takumi’s composure shreds. “Fuck, you filthy little—”

He drags his fingers free, slick with precome and gel, and lines himself up. He pushes his cock in until he’s buried to the hilt, and Nobu cries out, back arching as the water cascades over them.

So much for saving on water bills. Takumi couldn’t care less.

“What were you thinking about?” he growls, hips rocking forward with a deep thrust, pinning Nobu’s hands behind his back. “When you were stretching yourself open—what were you imagining?”

Nobu swallows a moan, forehead knocking lightly against the partition. “You,” he chokes out. “Fuck… you, Takumi—”

For a moment, Takumi can’t tell if it’s “fuck you, Takumi” or “fuck, you, Takumi.” He decides it’s the latter and the thought alone makes his whole body jerk. “Yeah? What was I doing?”

“You were—ah—” Nobu tries to speak, but Takumi snaps his hips forward with a wet clap that punches the words right out of him. “—fucking me so g-good, ngh—just like this—”

“Holy shit,” Takumi groans, burying his face in Nobu’s neck, pressing a line of stinging kisses down the column of it. He then bites just under his ear. “You feel even better than last time.”

“Then don’t stop,” Nobu pants. His hips roll back to meet the next thrust. “Keep going—fuck—make me stop thinking—”

Nobu’s definitely more assertive than last time (as well as very determined to keep his voice steady), and Takumi absolutely loves it. 

He pulls out only long enough to spin Nobu around, catching his mouth in a rough kiss that tastes faintly of steam. Nobu’s hands fist in his wet hair, nails scraping his scalp as he clambers to hook one leg over Takumi’s hip, opening himself up.

Takumi pushes back in, sheathing himself in one smooth thrust that has Nobu whimpering into his mouth. 

“You’re so fucking tight—” Takumi moans out. He’s buried so deep he forgets where he ends and Nobu begins.

Nobu bites his bottom lip in a kiss—hard enough to sting, not enough to draw blood—making Takumi’s cock twitch inside him as Takumi begins moving again. “Here you go acting like you’ve never–ah—had a tight hole before.”

Takumi said it because he knows Nobu likes hearing it. What’s wrong with that? He knows Nobu likes being praised, affirmed, and reminded. 

Nobu reaches down, wrapping a hand around his own cock. Takumi puts a hand against the glass beside Nobu’s head, the other gripping his thigh to keep him open. 

Nobu looks beautiful like this, Takumi thinks. Hair sticking to his flushed face, blush pink cheeks, shiny plump lips falling open in soft, eyes rolling back with pleasure, hickeys on his neck, choked-off cries, body clenching around him like it never wants to let him go…

Their skin slaps together, but Takumi can only look down, watching Nobu’s hand working himself, seeing how his cock leaks.

“Nngh—Takumi—” Nobu leans forward to kiss him again, tongues sliding filthy against each other, and then breaks away just enough to say, “Harder—Show me what a brute you really are.”

Hell.

Takumi’s not sure if Nobu really means it, given how sensitive he can be, but who is he to deny him? He doesn’t think, doesn’t care. He slams in deeper, and Nobu nearly sobs. “That’s right… what was I again? A disgusting pervert? The disgusting pervert is gonna leave you limping.” He catches Nobu by the throat lightly.

“You sure you want to mark me up even more?” Nobu snarls, but it’s ruined by the whine that breaks free when Takumi thrusts up hard enough to rock him against the glass. 

Takumi rams into him one last time, feeling Nobu’s body seize around him, hot and clenching. He watches through a haze of lust as he locks up, back arching. Nobu spills over their stomachs, his voice cracking into a hoarse cry. The tight heat of him milks Takumi’s orgasm out in the next second; he grinds in as he floods him.

They stay joined like that for a moment, Nobu’s hand still loosely wrapped around himself, cum sliding down his knuckles.

“The water’s so cold now… get the fuck out of me,” he finally says, disgusted.

“As you wish,” Takumi sighs, though he doesn’t miss the way Nobu shivers when he slowly pulls out. A thick dribble of cum spills down Nobu’s thigh. Takumi can’t look away.

Nobu groans and tries to turn away, but his hip is caught by Takumi. 

“Don’t you dare—”

“Shhh.” Takumi kneels a little, eyes fixed on the mess. “Lemme just get the cum out, yeah? You don’t want a bellyache now, do you?”

Nobu opens his mouth to protest, but it melts into a choked gasp when Takumi slides two fingers back inside his hole. He moves slow at first, curling and scissoring, pretending he’s only trying to clean him up… but the truth is, he can’t resist. He watches the way Nobu’s rim clenches around his knuckles, the slick white drip smearing his fingers.

“Ah—hey—stop that—”

“Hold still,” Takumi purrs, swirling his fingers. “You’re still clenching around me like a madman.”

Nobu bites his lip hard enough to whiten it, a tremor running through his thighs as he tries—and fails—to smother a moan.

Satisfied, Takumi finally eases his fingers free. They glisten with cum and slick. “Your ass is such a slut.” He lifts his hand, watching Nobu go unbelievably red and his pupils dilate when he brings the mess to his mouth. “Open up.”

Nobu hesitates. Then, with a defiant little huff, he closes his eyes and parts his lips. Takumi slides the fingers into his mouth, feeling Nobu’s tongue curl greedily around them. He watches, transfixed, as Nobu sucks deep until his throat flexes.

Takumi’s cock stirs again at the sight. “Mmmhm,” he groans, licking his own bottom lip, fighting the urge to haul Nobu in and kiss him senseless right there.  

Finally, with a wet pop, Nobu lets the fingers slide free. A slick string of spit clings to Takumi’s digits before it breaks and drips onto Nobu’s collarbone.

“Okay, that’s enough now,” Nobu mutters, turning away his head fast. “It’s freezing in here. Just—get me out.”

“Alright, alright… but you’re not walking out of here like that. Let me help.”

Takumi finally steps back, grabbing one of the towels off the hook and snapping it open. He drapes it over Nobu’s shoulders, rubbing briskly down his arms and back. Nobu makes an annoyed little noise but doesn’t pull away.

Once Takumi’s satisfied Nobu’s warm enough (and he’s dried off himself), he slips an arm behind Nobu’s knees and hoists him up in a bridal carry. Nobu startles and stiffens, clutching at his shoulder, but lets himself be carried princess-style to the bedroom.

***

By the time Nobu’s dressed in a new yukata, Takumi has sprawled out nude atop the sheets (to Nobu’s visible irritation), finishing the last sip of his cold coffee while his boxers hang over the heater. Going out commando isn’t exactly his thing. 

He reclines against the headboard, watching Nobu hunched in the armchair, scribbling into a notepad. Restock list, probably. He’s turned at an odd angle, pretending his ass isn’t sore.

Doesn’t he make a pretty sight for morning coffee.

“Gotta hand it to you,” Takumi says. “Charming little cage you’ve got here. Real cozy.” 

Nobu doesn’t look up. “You said that last night.”

“Did I?” Takumi muses. “Hope I didn’t wax too poetic.”

Nobu’s mouth twitches, just barely.

Takumi watches him a little longer. The craving for nicotine hits him hard (always worse after sex) but his pack’s somewhere in his room. He assumes, anyway. Maybe he dropped it on the way here. That would be no good. 

He exhales through his nose. “Guess I owe you an apology.” 

“That right?”

“For doubting your… purity regarding Nana. That was admittedly presumptuous. And idiotic.”

“Apology rejected,” Nobu says, still without looking up. “But I’m glad you’re aware of your idiocy. Your moments of clarity used to be so rare they needed to be documented.”

Nobu’s bluntness doesn’t surprise him anymore. It’s the sheer lack of interest in his apology that stings in this moment.

“I was out of line. Still. Can’t blame me for not taking your word as gospel truth.”

Nobu’s pen goes still. He lifts his eyes, and his tone drops a notch. “Last time you came over,” he says abruptly, “I wiped the CCTV footage.”

Takumi blinks. “You what? Who even checks that shit?”

“My parents could. But obviously you don’t care about anything that doesn’t directly involve you.”

“Do they really check? Aren’t they half-senile by now?”

That earns him an acidic glare. “Sure, laugh it up. I don’t think they’ve ever checked, unless asked, but better safe than sorry.” Nobu’s eyes flick down, then quickly away. “You could at least consider covering up your most important parts.”

“You could stop staring,” Takumi replies, grinning when Nobu splutters an indignant “I wasn’t!”

“Sure. I’ll take your word for it. You’ve never lied before,” he says and rearranges himself to look more deliberately provocative. 

The tension crackles off Nobu’s shoulders again. It’s funny how someone so skinny could be this tense. Takumi toys with the thought of lazily stroking himself to piss Nobu off (he is a little bit of an exhibitionist like that) but he lets it go for now.

“You planning on staying long?” Nobu asks tightly.

“Nope,” Takumi says. He does need to leave soon.

He rolls out of bed to collect his boxer briefs off the towel rack in the bathroom. They’re still damp. He dabs at them with a towel, then gives up and starts rummaging through cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Nobu appears in the doorway.

“Looking for a hair dryer.”

With a sigh, Nobu pushes past him, kneeling to dig out a compact dryer from under the sink. He hands it over without meeting Takumi’s eyes. Takumi spends the next five minutes trying to get his underwear to a vaguely wearable state. Once he declares the job done, he pulls them on and pads back into the bedroom. Nobu’s sitting where he’d been sprawled earlier, elbows on his knees.

“Don’t go… just yet,” he says hesitantly, unsure if he should still bother Takumi for a conversation.

Takumi looks at him quizzically.

Nobu steels himself. “Well… you’re sober, we’re alone, and I already touched on the subject… I think it’s a good idea to talk about… us. This thing between us that started three weeks ago.”

Takumi flops back down beside him, half-reclined, pillowing his hands behind his head. He decides to roll with zero punches pulled. 

“Actually, yeah. Let’s. Since we’ve now done it twice, might as well get it out in the open… Yes, we made a mistake that first time. But there’s no going back now—and it’s not my fault you fucking turn me on.”

Nobu’s head snaps toward him. “…I turn you on?”

Come on. 

“Why else would I sleep with you twice? All I can hope is that I turn you on too, because the last thing I want is to find out later that I forced myself on you and you just went along with it because you were scared to refuse me or something.” 

He’d rather not find out from the tabloids anyway. 

Color rises in Nobu’s cheeks, but his voice is steady for now. “You didn’t force yourself on me. I kissed you first, remember?”

“Then we’re two adults who find each other hot and want to fuck.” Takumi shrugs. “I don’t see the problem.”

Nobu immediately lets out a sharp laugh. “You don’t see the problem? You don’t see how fucked up our situation is? You’re the ex-husband of the love of my life, the father of her kids. I’ve known you for a decade, and for nine of those years we avoided each other like the plague. Why? Because we hate each other’s guts! Our history is too complicated for you to sit here and act like there’s nothing wrong with that.” He shakes his head. “There is. This is… sick. You’ve infected me with your sickness.”

It’s quite a little speech. But Takumi, ever the bastard, zeroes in on one thing. “You’re still calling Nana the love of your life?”

“What’s your problem with that?”

“Nothing,” Takumi says easily. “Just think you two weren’t together long enough for you to be throwing around words like that. It was more like puppy love, no?”

“Because you’re the expert on love. The guy who’s never been in love a day in his life.”

“You’re always assuming things about me. Fine. I’ve never been in love. Do I have to be a food critic to know when a pasta dish tastes like shit?”

Nobu snorts, not amused in the slightest. “You’re hilarious, Takumi. Really. It’s fascinating how multifaceted you are. You can be both a miserable asshole and a stand-up comedian.”

Takumi likes that Nobu can dish it out. Years ago, he sure had claws, but not the backbone to go back and forth with him like they were equals. It’s refreshing.

“What about Yuri Kosaka then?” he needles. “She wasn’t the love of your life? Kinda disrespectful to erase her like that.”

Nobu stammers, caught off guard. “I-It was different with Asami. We met at a bad time in my life. It had no right to work out.”

“Right. It’s always about timing with you. Wrong place, wrong time, not your fault, all that jazz.”

“Oh, so we’re full-on fighting now?” Nobu finally explodes. “You sure you want to go there? Because you know I’ve got way more ammo than you. It could get ugly.”

“This isn’t a fight. I’m not trying to fight you. I just think calling Nana ‘the love of your life’... is not the right label.”

“Why the hell do you care so much?”

Takumi closes his eyes, jaw tightening. “Because it makes me feel worse, alright?! It makes me feel worse about what I did to you both!”

For a long time, he convinced himself he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had been meaning to let Nana be happy with Nobu after seeing that picture of them together on her cell. But then she decided to keep the baby, with Takumi as the father. Still, it’s undeniable he tried to force Nobu out of the picture. It stopped being about Nana at some point—it turned into a weird, messed-up competition between them. He wanted to prove something to Nobu, but he also wanted to prove something to himself.

He hears Nobu’s voice go cold. “That’s not my problem. And I hope you feel bad. I hope you feel fucking terrible for the rest of your life. Serves you right.”

Takumi doesn’t open his eyes just yet; he waits for the storm to pass, because the last thing he wants right now is a serious fight, not with his head still killing him (the aspirin barely took the edge off). He’s got a real knack for getting into arguments. Even if he loves getting a rise out of Nobu, he swears he didn’t mean for it to blow up. And as tempting as it is to let this turn into angry foreplay—angry sex, with him pounding the shit out of Nobu again—they have to get out of this room eventually.

Finally, he exhales. “Anyway… about what happened between us. We don’t have to tell anyone. We don’t even have to put a name to it. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It was just sex, so—”

“Of course! Just sex!” Nobu cuts in. “You’re conveniently leaving out the part where it’s sex with you. Out of everyone I know—”

“What, you’d rather hook up with Baldy or something? Is that it?”

Takumi’s only jesting but he can imagine Baldy being more Nobu’s type. Mutual interests and all that. He’d rather not picture them together, though.

Nobu looks offended. “Don’t be obtuse. You know what I mean.”

“I know,” Takumi says. “I’m the bad guy. I deserve nothing good in life. But it’s not like you signed a contract binding you to eternal damnation in this room with me. And hey… since we’ve now done it more than once, and neither of us hated it—why not just keep it going?”

He said it. He said the thing.

Nobu stares at him like he’s grown another head. “Sex with you? A regular thing? You want to be fuck buddies? Even for a shameless bastard, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

He expected that, so it doesn’t faze him.

“Probably,” Takumi admits. His hands still itch for a cigarette, but instead he picks up the empty mug on the nightstand and taps the ceramic like it’s a lighter.

“What about your lady friends? Can’t they keep you satisfied? Or are they all on sabbatical?” Nobu asks resentfully.

Oh god. Takumi’s first instinct is to dance around the topic. “What lady friends? What did Nana tell you?”

“Just that your contact list’s longer than your dick.”

Takumi huffs a laugh, setting the mug down. “Cute. But nuh-uh. I’m done with that lifestyle. I just need one steady supply of ass.”

“You’re repugnant,” Nobu says flatly, though his ears tint pink. “And I’m not going to be your ‘steady supply of ass.’ That’s what a wife’s for. And look how you treated yours.”

Repugnant? He’s running out of adjectives.

Takumi rakes a hand through his hair. It’s been short for a good few years now, but he still feels the ghost weight of it when he does that. “Look, Nobu—yeah, I cheated on Nana. A lot. I suppose cheated is the correct term, even if she knew about it, and even if she was fine with it. I was an idiot with a sex addiction in my twenties, and thought everything could be fixed with an apology or a designer handbag. She deserved way better, and for the life of me, I’ll never understand why she didn’t leave me sooner—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all this before. Get to the point.”

“Since you brought it up… Me and Nana had a dead marriage for years, sex included. Then, yes, I still used those contacts. But I cut them off. I don’t sleep around anymore. Haven’t for a while. In fact—” He pauses, weighing how much to give away. “I’ve been celibate for a year. And you’re the first person I’ve slept with since.”

Nobu’s brows shoot up, skepticism written all over him. But it’s true. All of it is true. However un-Takumi-like it sounds. Even Sumika, with all her persistence, can’t get through to him.

“I get it if you want nothing to do with me,” Takumi continues. “I wouldn’t blame you. I just thought… considering how stupidly good the sexual chemistry between us is, and how much I could use a distraction, maybe it was worth saying out loud.”

“Why would I believe you?” Nobu asks.

“What, about deleting the contacts? Go through my phone if you want.”

“No, I don’t care about that. Like I said… it’s you. I’m not doing whatever this is with you. I need some excitement in my life so I wouldn’t mind a long-term sex partner. Just not you. I don’t trust you. And you could find someone hotter in two seconds anyway.”

It should probably make Takumi happy but Nobu’s self-deprecation when it comes to his physical appearance or performance in bed pisses him off. It’s incomprehensible to him that someone this attractive could be this insecure about himself (because Takumi certainly isn’t), and he’s starting to suspect Nobu is just looking for validation.

“Again with the self-doubt. Have you seen yourself? I thought I made it abundantly clear how sexy I think you are.” Takumi’s hand snakes out, giving Nobu’s ass a squeeze.

Nobu yelps and bats his hand away, cheeks flaming. “I can’t do this, Takumi. I want you… like that… but I can’t.”

“Yeah, we said it was a one-time thing the first time, too. But here we are,” Takumi says. “Someone like Nana, with all her cute little voodoo crap, would probably call that fate.”

He realizes, not without irony, how quickly he came around to the idea of having sex with Nobu.

“Don’t drag Hachi into this again,” Nobu says half-cross, half-embarrassed. “That’s low. She’d actually say this is the work of the Demon Lord. And since you’re the Demon Lord, you’re clearly manipulating me right now.”

“It’s called the art of persuasion. You’d be smart to learn the difference. I’m simply stating my case. There’s nothing wrong with casual sex by two adults who are very, very compatible.”

Takumi’s not sure how much sex Nobu’s had in his life, but he’s had a lot. And what they have is special. He hasn’t felt this kind of spark in a long time. Maybe the last time was back in high school, when he was messing around with the vice president as a delinquent. The thrill of it was hot. She was a pretty girl. And horny. Then again, there was always some element of thrill to each of his flings.

Nobu folds his arms tighter across his chest. “I just don’t want to wake up three months from now wondering what the fuck I’m doing sneaking around with you of all people.”

Takumi gets it, of course. Doing something like this in secret—like it’s a crime or a sin—takes it out of you. The endless explanations if they did end up getting caught, however… even worse.

He sighs, looking at the ceiling. “Forget it. You’re right. I don’t know why I even offered. Guess I’m just lonely. Forgot how much guilt I felt after that first time, too. How much I hated myself.”

“Hated yourself?” 

“Of course,” Takumi mutters. “Happens more often than not these days. For all sorts of reasons.”

Yuck. He cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. He hates the sound of his own self-pity, and hates how often he catches himself looking for pity in Nobu’s eyes. Like Nobu is the only person, aside from Nana, capable of granting him absolution.

He’s doing that thing again… putting people on pedestals. 

“Do you hate yourself now?” Nobu presses. “After the second time?”

“That’s the problem… Not as much. You do something enough times, you get used to it. You stop questioning it. I’ve never been great at drawing clean lines between good and bad. I still have a pretty bent moral compass and a seared conscience. It’ll probably hit me later, but for now, no, I don’t. It still feels right, same as it did in the moment. Why do you think I made the offer?”

It unnerves even him sometimes, the way he can shrug off things most people would lose sleep over. Back in the day, he could probably have killed a man and not felt a thing for weeks. At least now, he’d have some moral qualms. Jesus fuck, this sounds sociopathic. But he was told antisocial tendencies mellow with age.

Nobu scoffs. “If you’re so morally bankrupt, that means I shouldn’t listen to your bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Takumi says. “You shouldn’t. Figure it out for yourself, Nobu. I’ve got to go.” He rises, stretching lazily, then pulls on his ruined Valentino suit. Nobu’s scowling on the bed, so he can’t resist antagonizing him a little more. “Not all of us are trust-fund babies pretending to have jobs, who can laze around and still hold their positions. Some of us have actual work to do.”

It’s not exactly true—he doesn’t have any work obligations today. It’s Sunday, the day before the actual 10th anniversary of Blast’s Tokyo debut, scheduled early to make things easier for everyone. He just feels guilty; it’s his turn to look after the kids, and he doesn’t want to impose on Nana any further, what with Junko and Kyosuke already watching over them at her place. First, he’ll need to swing by his own pad to change.

“Douchebag,” Nobu fires back. “I’m already working. You’re the one lazing around in that company of yours. That’s right, Hachi tells me everything. You think you’re some hotshot CEO?”

Takumi smiles. He makes Nobu check if the coast is clear and then leaves with a quick goodbye.

***

When Takumi goes downstairs after collecting his things, he finds Naoki still lingering in the lobby. The moment he spots Takumi, he perks up and jogs over.

“Man, you look rough,” he comments immediately. “What happened?”

“Yasu slapped me,” Takumi lies. He can only hope he won’t run into Baldy now; he doesn’t feel like improvising another excuse.

Naoki’s expression softens somewhat. “Look, Takkun… I wanted you to know that I’m on your side. In the whole feud with Narita.”

Feud. The word lands heavy; he wasn’t aware this was suddenly some drawn-out drama worthy of sides being picked. He doesn’t see anyone else around, which probably means the others have already left… or maybe they’re sleeping in, mercifully.

“Yuzu drove here,” Naoki barrels on before Takumi can protest or correct him further (not that either would help). “Want a lift?”

Ten minutes later, Takumi is slouched in the backseat, smoking, while Naoki chatters relentlessly from the passenger seat about last night (avoiding any mention of Takumi’s speech) and Blast members—something about being surprised they still hang out with Misato and that Shin is marrying her. Her real name is Mai apparently. Takumi barely listens. He thinks that Naoki has every right to call him a terrible friend, and that’s exactly what he is. But his thoughts keep drifting back to Nobu and what his next move is going to be. He guesses that’s that, though. He made his pitch and Nobu said no. Now they really have no reason to see each other again. Back to the grind of his pathetic little existence.