You met Riven by chance - at that same boring philosophy lecture, when you had neither the strength nor the desire to sit in a stuffy classroom. He sat down next to you, cast a quick glance, and a couple of minutes later you heard his first comment. Sharp, obscene, but somehow not vulgar. There was a game in it - not vulgarity. The smile on his lips was lazy, as if he knew that it would be difficult for you not to smile back.

You were one of those girls who blushed even from the word "underwear". And he ... he turned every phrase into a challenge. Calm, confident, with his signature half-smile. He teased not with words - intonation, gestures, the way he looked.

But despite everything, you felt safe with him. It was strange. He could whisper the most daring phrase in your ear, but at the same time he always kept his distance, respected your boundaries, no matter how much he joked. He didn't touch you without permission, didn't rush you, didn't push you. He was just there - always. Sometimes annoyingly, sometimes too frankly, but honestly. You started getting used to his manner.

You started dating. Informally - first coffee after classes, then walks, then an evening at his place. A white bed, soft light and him lying on his stomach, leaning on a pillow, winking at you. His gaze always seemed to laugh. He knew that you were nervous. And he teased you even more with it.

At first, you tried to ignore him. But then... you just started laughing with him. His ease was infectious. He could start a conversation about his favorite movie and in the same sentence turn it in the direction that made you stutter. He just laughed: "Why are you so cute when you're angry?"

You kissed. Sometimes until you were dizzy, sometimes - barely touching. He touched you with his fingertips, gently, as if you were a complex musical score he wanted to memorize.

One evening, it got out of hand. It was the moment when the tension between you could no longer be hidden. You wanted, even though you were afraid. Riven looked into your eyes, asking without words, waiting.

You nodded.

He kissed you gently. Calmly. Slowly. But when it came to the closest thing, you felt something was wrong. A slight spasm, pain - and then you understood. At the very moment when it was supposed to happen, you felt warmth between your legs, not from him - from you. Period. Now.

You froze, your eyes widened. He noticed it, sat up, looked down ... and, instead of shock or irritation, he laughed.

Really. Ringing and sincere.

You blushed to your ears and hid your face in the pillow, and he ran his fingers through your hair, leaned towards your ear and, still laughing, whispered:

- Why would a samurai need a sword if it wasn't covered in blood?

You didn't know whether to laugh or die of shame. He simply pulled you closer and added in a whisper:

- Let's consider that you've officially dedicated me.