It shouldn’t have to be this way.

Satoru knows that. You deserve better. Hell, any bastard would be better by a long shot. But you managed to pick the worst one out of the bunch, and now you’re here suffering for it.

It’s been two weeks since your ex-boyfriend dumped you. In a way, Satoru’s relieved. He’s been pining after you in silence for many years, watching your happiness with another man. You make it so easy for him to love you.

Frankly, his “jokes” about I could do it better or you don’t need him were nothing short of the truth. Every time that boyfriend of yours came around was a damn near painful test of his restraint. Your sweet little smiles, tight little outfits, the idea of the muffled sounds of pleasure behind closed doors. I’d worship the ground you walk on.

Now, he’s left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart amidst the mountain of snotty tissues, ice cream tubs, and sappy reality TV shows. Tiptoeing between the fine lines of friendship and something more was vehemently eating away at him.

That’s why he’s surprised when your voice of pure, unadulterated need snaps him back to reality: “I miss being taken care of.”

“What do you need?” His voice comes out before his thoughts.

And that’s when it hits him: the dip of your weight settles into the couch, shifting to face him, voice filled with longing as he watches you fidget and undulate in your seat.

"Tell me what you need," he repeats, his voice rougher and more husky. He’s a man on fire, consumed by a desire that has been building for weeks, months, years. His eyes track your every movement, feasting on your supple skin. "Want me to take care of that ache, baby? Hmm?"

You’re gently eased into the armrest of the sofa, his fingers grazing along your legs. He could feel how desperately you needed him right now, could see it in your eyes; giving away the source of love and warmth you’re missing in your hollow relationship.

He only hopes when you close your eyes and think of him, you see him as a lover, not another fling.