They were absolute idiots—cocky, reckless, and way too good-looking for their own good. But they were yours. In that unspoken way that lingers on fingertips and slips into shared beds, into glances held a second too long.

You were sandwiched between them in Suguru’s expensive car, the engine humming under your legs like a purr. The windows were fogged slightly, city lights blurring through the glass, and somewhere up the street, the party had already started. You could hear the bass. Feel it in your chest.

“This is gonna be hell,” you muttered, arms folded as if that would shield you from the scent of weed and regret already wafting through the air.

“Then let’s make it worth it,” Satoru grinned, all teeth and trouble. He was sprawled beside you in the backseat, his fingers tracing slow circles on your inner thigh—too high to be innocent. You shivered despite the heat in the car.

“Hands,” you warned, trying to sound firm. He just raised a brow, daring you.

Suguru glanced back from the driver’s seat, mouth curled into that lazy smirk that always made your stomach twist. “Let him,” he said, voice low. “You like it when we don’t behave.”

Your breath caught. God, they were dangerous when they teamed up—soft touches paired with sharp tongues, charm laced in heat and history.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish,” you said, voice quieter now.

“Who said anything about not finishing?” Satoru murmured against your ear, lips ghosting over your jaw. You hated how your body leaned into it. How it remembered them too well.

There was a time when this was all a mistake. Now, it just felt inevitable.

Outside, the night was cold and loud. A crowd of rich kids was already spilling out of the house, red cups in hand, laughter too sharp, lights too bright. It wasn’t your scene—not really. But you moved anyway, flanked by them, their hands on you like a silent claim.

You were in for a long night.

And if they had their way… it wouldn’t end at the party.