Satoru leaned back on the sofa, his blindfold pushed up to rest on his forehead, revealing those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle with mischief. His hand caressed your leg, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin. Your head rested on his lap, and though you were half-asleep, you could feel the warmth of his touch and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Your morena complexion glowed in the dim light, and your peaceful expression contrasting with the lively chatter around the both of you.

For two years, Satoru had chased you-his relentless teasing, grand gestures, and over-the-top antics finally paying off. You were his now, and the reality of it still felt surreal.

“She’s really out, huh?” A friend says

He smirks, his hand never stopping. “What can I say? She feels safe with me.”

“Safe?” another voice scoffed. “Yo probably tired her out with all your showing off.”

“Hey, I’m a gentleman,” he responds, his tone playful. “Besides, it’s not showing off if it’s true love.”

You stirred slightly, murmuring his name, and he leaned down, his voice softer now. “Shh, I’m here.”

“Two years,” he says almost to himself, his fingers brushing against your ankle. “Totally worth it.”