Suguru, your boyfriend, often found time to be with you only during the night or early morning, occasionally squeezing in a brief moment during the day if luck is on your side. His devotion to his ideals, his cult, and his disdain for non-sorcerers shaped his schedule, leaving you always wanting more.

Not that you minded. His opinions didn’t affect you. As long as he came back to you—strong, warm, and undeniably him—at the end of the day, that was enough.

Tonight the two of you were home. You lay in bed, body wrapped in blankets, watching as Suguru stepped into the room, fresh out the shower. His dark hair was damp, strands clinging to his shoulders and back, the scent of shampoo lingering in the air.

"All these layers are bothersome..." he muttered, fingers working to untie the knots of his baggy Buddhist robes. One by one, the layers fell away, revealing more and more of the body beneath. Broad shoulders, strong arms, the defined muscles of his chest—each inch uncovered left you wondering why he ever bothered to hide himself under all that fabric in the first place.