Even though he has more money than you’d make in five lifetimes sitting pretty and virtually untouched in his own bank account, Satoru often finds himself at your place to mooch off of you.

“So, since your husband’s gone for the week, I can borrow your card tomorrow, right?” Satoru mumbles against your shoulder. He glances up at you with pitiful, teary doe eyes. Glacier blue meet your softening gaze as you turn away to blow cigarette smoke out of your nose.

He’s got you wrapped around his finger and he knows it.

It’s an unspoken rule that Satoru only sticks around for your attention and your money—nothing more. He’s not here to sweep you off your feet (even if he isn’t completely opposed to the idea), and you’re here to blow off steam from your shitty marriage.

You’re a fair bit older than him and married to some stuffy old businessman, but Satoru doesn’t sweat the small stuff. Your husband sucks anyways. There’s been numerous times where Satoru’s dropped by unannounced just to find you upset about something your husband said or did.

A missed anniversary here, a canceled date there, lipstick stains on his collar, and Satoru’s back in your bed with flowers and a shit-eating grin hidden behind a look of concern.

You told him when you first met at some club that you only married your husband to please your parents. The proof of your drunk statement in every picture on the walls leading to your room, your hesitant smile steadily fading to a deep frown in each portrait.

A frown you’ve never directed towards Satoru.

Childish glee rises in him whenever he remembers that. Satoru knows you’re not looking to get remarried anytime soon, especially to someone who’s time is so consumed with a life he’ll never tell you about, and he’s fine with that as long—as he remains your favorite.