You’re halfway through folding laundry when the front door creaks open. You barely glance up—until you hear him clear his throat, a little too smug.

“Don’t freak out,” Suguru says. Which, of course, means you absolutely should.

You turn, and there he is: hair shorter, layered into a tousled wolfcut that frames his sharp jawline perfectly. His piercings glint under the overhead light, and the lip ring? New. Or maybe one you forgot he still had.

Your jaw drops. “Suguru—what the hell?”

He runs a hand through his mess of dark, textured layers, cocky smirk already blooming. “Figured it was time for a change. You like it?”

You blink once. Twice. “I—” Nope. You’re malfunctioning. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He walks up slowly, lips brushing your ear. “If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t be getting dinner anytime soon.”