Satoru wasn’t the one to fall in love, or to fall hard. Not really. Especially not for a human-curse hybrid that’s done some questionable things.

He’s been told that loving you is a sin, that it’s wrong. He knows it, of course. He’s not dumb, at least not that dumb. But he never really cared about opinions that much, why would he? He’s the strongest man alive, he’s filthy rich, he’s hot. Nobody is supposed to have any power over him.

That’s why it’s so infuriating to him when he gets all warm and tingly whenever he gets a whiff of your scent, when he sees your eyes he can’t look away from. When he sees that damned smile that makes him feel like the air gets knocked out of his lungs, like some invisible force is dragging him to his knees.

He swears it’s just a crush. Really, it can’t be true love, right? You just can’t be the one. He’s telling himself that now, even though he’s sat at a cafe, sipping some sugar-bomb drink, watching the way your fingers curl around the handle of your cup, watching the way your lips press against the rim of it, watching the way your eyes lower when as take a sip…

God damn it, he’s falling in love. Hard. Face flat. Everything about you is pulling him in, and now he’s going against his own better judgment just so he can listen to you yapping about something as you sip your tea. He can only wish you’ll keep talking so he can hear more of your voice, he needs it.