You peek into the guest room, watching as Satoru talks on the phone, his voice low. It’s Nanami on the other side, you think.

Your eyes trail over his body, from his messy white hair, the blindfold around his eyes, down to his chest, skin smooth and tanned from the Japanese summer sun. You watch his arms as they flex, and you peek your head in more. His chest is slightly sweaty, a post coitus glow.

Satoru looks over at you as he sits in an armchair, manspreading wide. His eyebrow raises as he watches you pad over, kneeling next to him. You lay your head on his lap, eyes fluttering shut as his calloused fingers comb through your hair.