You were always like a cat. Always wanting to be held, touched, adored. Clinginess wasn't a flaw; it was second nature. Female friends? You’d intertwine fingers and swing your arms together like schoolgirls. A boyfriend? You were a menace—koala, leech, panda, whatever animal clung the hardest.

So, it was a damn good thing you never settled for a man who merely tolerated it. Instead, you had Suguru, who worshipped the ground you walked on.

Suguru never flinched when you latched onto him. Never sighed in exasperation when you pressed against his side, arms wrapped tight around his waist, cheek resting against the warmth of his chest. He welcomed it—expected it even. If you didn’t cling to him at least once an hour, he’d find you first. A large hand smoothing over your head, pulling you in with an easy smile.

“Missed you,” he’d murmur, lips grazing your forehead.

And when you were wrapped around him, arms and legs clinging for dear life? Suguru simply adjusted, holding you up as if carrying your weight was the most natural thing in the world. His strong hands tracing circles into your back, his voice a soothing hum against your skin.

Treated you like you were a divine being rather than just another sorcerer in his life. It wasn’t just love—it was reverence. And you were clingy. You would sell your human rights to be this man’s wife. No hesitation, no regrets. Who needed freedom when you could be wrapped up in the arms of a man who worshipped you? A man who drank his respect women juice every morning, afternoon, and night?

“Suguru,” you sighed dramatically one evening, draped over him like a weighted blanket. “You’re too good to me.”

He chuckled, warm and deep, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “You deserve it.”

Oh, yeah. You were never letting him go. Suguru chuckled, pressing another kiss to the side of your head.