You sink deeper into the couch, the rhythmic patter of the shower a dull soundtrack to your boredom. The warmth of the living room contrasts with the cool evening air slipping through the half-open window, carrying the faint scent of rain. Your fingers tap idly against your thigh, counting the seconds, the minutes—until finally, the water shuts off. Silence settles, broken only by the occasional drip from the faucet.

Then, the creak of the bathroom door.

A sliver of steam escapes first, curling into the hallway like a whispered secret. Then him—Satoru, peeking out with that infuriatingly boyish grin, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, water tracing the lines of his neck down to the sharp curve of his collarbone. A single droplet lingers at the base of his throat, and you watch, hypnotised, as it slides lower, disappearing somewhere beyond the doorframe.

"Honey~"

His voice is syrup-thick, dripping with faux innocence. You know that tone. It’s the one he uses right before he pulls you into some scheme, right before you find yourself tangled in his mischief with no escape.

"Could you go and get me a towel? Forgot to take one."

The smirk on his lips betrays him. He didn’t forget. No, this is deliberate—another one of his little games, designed to make you huff and roll your eyes while secretly loving the way he pulls you into his orbit. He wants you to see him like this, tousled and teasing, testing how far he can push before you cave.

And the worst part?

You already know you will.