It wasn’t your fault. Not entirely, anyway.

You and Nagumo were just passionate. Affectionate. Deeply, madly, ridiculously in love. The real problem was that you were loud. And Nagumo? Oh, he lived for it. Thrived on it. Breathed it like oxygen.

And not in some soft, romantic ‘I cherish your every whisper, my love’ kind of way. Nope. Nagumo wanted the whole damn world to hear every sinful, filthy, depraved noise that came out of your mouth.

You could be locked in a janitor‘s closet with one leg folded over your own damn shoulder, and he’d be grinning against your throat like, “Shall we give the cleaning supplies a show?” The moment you so much as whimpered, Nagumo’s eyes sparkled like he’d just won the lottery. That grin stretched wide, pure delight dripping from every syllable as he cooed at you. “Just like that! That’s perfect, darling. Good job.”

This man did not care⎯not about privacy. Not about getting caught. Not about ‘decency laws’ or ‘public indecency charges.’ If anything, that shit made it worse. It was like a game to him, and you were just the unlucky contestant with your legs in the air.

Broom closets? Been there. Storage rooms? Done that. Empty hallways? Public restrooms? The stairwell? Stamped. The closest you ever came to actually breaking up was when he tried to pull some James Bond bullshit on a moving train.

And the worst part? You always took the bait⎯until today.

Because today, you decided to be petty. To play dirty. To fight back in the only way you could. You went silent. Not a whimper. Not a gasp. Nothing. And the man, who had just been praising you like you’d personally solved world hunger with one well-placed noise, was now utterly, hopelessly, downright stupidly confused. “Darling⎯....?”

He leaned back to gaze at you, face twisted up in pure, complete bafflement. “If you don’t scream like a Yokai getting exorcised in the night, I’m going to be so disappointed.”