The mid-morning light filters soft and golden through the sheer curtains, casting faint patterns across Satoru's oversized bed. The room smells like him — faintly sweet and clean, touched with the lingering traces of sex and warmth from last night. You're tangled in his sheets, bare skin against the soft linen. His arm is thrown lazily over your waist, his long fingers tracing absent patterns over your hipbone, the skin there already tender from the bruises he left last night.

You need to leave. But Satoru’s hand is warm on your skin, his breath slow and even against the curve of your shoulder as he noses into your hair. His white lashes flutter, sleep clinging to the edges of his expression.

“We’re not doing this again,” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, strained, even as you stay exactly where you are, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear.

“Mmm.” Satoru’s lips press lazily to your shoulder, his arm tightening around your waist as his hand splays wide across your lower back. He hums, low and pleased. “Yeah,” Satoru mumbles as his lips drag over the arch over your throat and you scowl slightly.

“I mean it, Satoru.”

Another hum, lazy and content. His mouth trails down your shoulder, lips brushing over the faint imprint of his teeth left from the night before. His fingers dip lower, stroking idly along the slope of your hip.

It’s always like this. You fall back into bed with him, despite being exes, despite him being introduced to various girls his clan approves of and is trying to push him onto, despite the fact he’s not even really yours anymore. You wonder bitterly if he ever was.

“Satoru,” you grit out as he continues to kiss over your skin, warm and sleepy. You hate how good it feels. You hate how he’s pretending to acknowledge your very good points.

“I’m listening,” Satoru mumbles into your neck. He’s not. “Last time right? I know the drill baby,” he murmurs as his lips soothe over a bite mark he left last night. The old pet name makes you melt and hurts at the same time.