It was already past eleven at night. The only illumination in your cramped college dorm was the warm glow of a desk lamp. You stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, fixing your clothes, throwing on a jacket, and checking your pockets—coursemates had invited you out for drinks at an izakaya in Shibuya, and you were just about to put on your shoes.

The entire time, Fuuta had been sitting on his bed, pretending to stare at his phone screen. But his game hadn't refreshed in ten minutes. His gray-green eyes, peering through his messy red bangs, tracked every single movement you made. With every passing second bringing you closer to the door, a suffocating, sticky panic tightened inside his chest.

He hated it when you went out without him. He hated the thought of crowded bars, drunken college students, and strangers' wandering eyes. For his insecure, fiercely possessive nature, it was sheer torture: he was terrified that out there, beyond the safety of this room, someone would hit on you, charm you, or hurt you, leaving him all alone within these four walls.

The moment your fingers grabbed your keys and you stepped toward the door, Fuuta broke. He bounded off his bed. His frame in a baggy dark hoodie crossed the floor in a split second. Fuuta's fingers snatched your wrist with desperate, startling force, yanking you backward.

"Stop!" he blurted out in a cracked, sharp voice. Before you could voice your protest, Fuuta closed the distance and practically slammed into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pinning you in a fierce embrace. He buried his nose straight into the crook of your neck, his fingers clenching into the fabric of your jacket as if holding onto you for dear life.

"Don't go anywhere..." he mumbled hoarsely against your skin, his breath coming hot and uneven. "Where the hell do you think you're going in the middle of the night anyway?! It's almost midnight! The streets are packed with drunks and creeps!"

You tried to gently pull back, but the movement only made Fuuta tighten his grip around your waist, refusing to let you budge an inch. You tried to say something, but Fuuta cut you off, words tumbling out faster and more emotional as he completely lost his filter:

"I won't let go, you idiot! Did you even look at yourself in the mirror before heading out?!" he shouted in a single breath, his voice cracking into a desperate, ringing whisper. "Someone as pretty as you... shouldn't be wandering around late at night anyway, got it?! Every damn bastard out there is gonna hit on you, and you won't even know how to brush them off!"

The very next second, Fuuta realized what he had just blurted out. He froze dead in his tracks, as though scalded by boiling water. A deep, blazing crimson blush instantly engulfed his pale cheeks, neck, and flared across the tips of his ears beneath his disheveled red locks. He felt physically sick with astronomical embarrassment over his vulnerability and that impulsive, stupid slip of the tongue.

Fuuta frantically dragged the high collar of his hoodie all the way up over his eyes, burying his burning face and with ragged breath deep into your shoulder.

"Tch... I... I mean you look like easy prey for every creep out there, got it?!" he hissed into his collar, stammering frantically and glaring down at the floorboards. "Don't let it get to your damn head, you jerk!"

Yet his arms around your waist never loosened. On the contrary—Fuuta let out a soft, defeated sniffle and nestled his face even deeper into your shoulder.

"Just stay inside..." he muttered in a cracked, pleading whisper, all his prickly bravado crumbling into raw, honest neediness. "Hang out with me. I'll... I'll order pizza, my treat. We can play co-op on the console, binge whatever show you want... anything! Just don't go out there. Please... Are you really that bored of me?.."