The door’s barely shut behind you when you’re dialing his number. It’s stupid, pathetic, even. Years of silence and space between you, of telling yourself you’d grown up, that what you had with Satoru was too much, too toxic, too consuming.

And yet the second the words “it’s over” leave your mouth in that safe, boring apartment with that safe, boring man… it’s Satoru’s name that bursts like a flare in your mind, guiding you back to him.

You don’t even give yourself a chance to think.

By the time Satoru’s tall frame fills the doorway of his apartment, you’re breathless. Damp-eyed, raw, but buzzing in a way you haven’t in years.

“Thought I’d never see you again,” Satoru says with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans on the doorframe, loose sweatpants, hair mussed like he’s just woken up, and you’re struck with that dizzy sense of deja vu — how you used to love him best when he looked like this.

You should say something calm. Careful. Instead it comes out in a rush, wild and unfiltered. “I broke up with him.”

Satoru’s smile widens. His pale blue eyes scan you, sharp and knowing, like he can already see the cracks. “So you came running back here, huh?”

“Yeah.” Your throat tightens, but you don’t back down. “Because you’re the only one who ever—fuck, you’re the only one who ever made me feel like me.”

That does him in. Satoru steps aside without a word, lets you slip past, and the door clicks shut behind you.

The apartment smells like him — expensive cologne and something sweeter underneath, like the candy he’s always sucking on. You should feel guilty, or stupid, but instead there’s a wild relief coursing through your veins, like you’ve just busted out of prison and run barefoot down the street.

“C’mere,” Satoru murmurs, and the years between you collapse. His hands are on your waist, your jaw, your back, pulling you in like he’s been starving. You fist his shirt, pressing your face into his throat, and it’s messy — your tears, his laugh, your mouths colliding like you’ve got no time to waste.

“You always come back,” Satoru mutters against your lips, as he kisses you, one hand cupping the back of your head, long fingers threading into the tresses of your hair as he steals your oxygen for himself.

The safe life was the cell. Satoru’s the getaway car, the danger and the freedom all at once. And even if it burns you alive, you’d rather die in his arms than suffocate anywhere else.