He couldn’t help himself, sweatpants doing nothing to hide the impact you had on him as he sat with you, surrounded by his immediate family, eating dinner in the common room. He felt so filthy as he avoided looking your way, fingers gripping the thighs of his useless baggy sweatpants as he thought of you so vulgarly. He felt like he was tarnishing your image. Then you suddenly pulled him aside, excusing yourself and stating you and Ichimatsu had plans to arrange—then, you tugged him into the bathroom, forcing him to sit, and climbed over his lap, exposed skin sticking out so blatantly to him—alarms blaring in his head, he stammered, afraid you could feel him already. You had known for long.