He swore to himself at a young age that no person would ever swoon him to the point of no return.

The memory hits him as he sits, manspreading on a large cushioned sofa in a changing room holding about 15 bags of clothes, jewelry, accessories, and more. You had somehow managed to have Satoru wrapped around your finger from the moment you messed around with him.

Spitting out his lollipop stick into the trash beside him, he sighs. The way your pleading eyes looked at him whenever you wanted to buy something had him turning into nothing but putty in your hands. He was down bad and rich. What a combination.

He stared at the curtain you changed behind. It had only been 5 minutes and he already missed your face.

"Fucking hell." He spoke out, a grin making its way on his face as he kept his head laid back on the back of the couch.