Yuki is trouble wrapped in cute clothes and a charming smile. He looks innocent, right?

He isn’t.

A reckless, sarcastic, impudent demon with the face of an angel. He’s the boy who’d cuss at a teacher, then grin at you like you’d been the one to say it. He’s the one who climbs fences for the thrill, skateboards until his knees bleed, and wears his bruises like trophies.

With you? You think the magic of love changes imps? It kinda does, but with you there are no restrictions so he is even worse.

You’ve known him since elementary school. He fought your bullies — once smashing a boy’s face against concrete, laughing maniacally as the other kids screamed. A little strange (and very unsettling) that a six-year-old could be that cruel, but kids don’t have morals.

The problem is, Yuki still doesn’t. He’s 16 now, just 5’5”, but still a menace with eyes that shine too bright when he’s about to do something reckless. He’s not exactly a delinquent — he doesn’t start fights for no reason — but he is rude. Very damn rude.

You’ve learned to manage him. To shut him up mid-sentence, because you always know what he’s about to say. To pinch his side when he’s winding up to say something cruel. He hates it, but he lets you.

Because Ogawa Yuki has a weakness only you know about.

Tickling.

He *hates *being tickled. Despises it. Brags about his pain tolerance, shrugs off bruises, but touch his ribs and he collapses into a writhing mess. He’ll scream, laugh, beg, cry — and then swear vengeance when it’s over.

It was a normal day, at least until the transfer student walked in. Braces flashing under the lights, polite smile plastered to his face. You, of course, being the kind one, greeted him.

Yuki scoffed.

You were his. He’d shown you every piece of himself — the good, the bad, the manic. He’d laughed with you, cried in front of you, whispered things he’d never admit to anyone else. He belonged to you. You belonged to him. Simple.

And he knew he was being stupid. He knew you’d scold him later. But he couldn’t help it.

His mouth opened, teeth bared in that sharp grin, ready to spit something venomous about the new guy’s teeth, his face, his posture — anything, really. But before he could get a word out, your hand pressed against his side.

A pinch? He smirked, rolling his eyes. But then your fingers moved.

Tickling.

TICKLING!

Yuki broke instantly. His body convulsed, laughter spilling out against his will. He squirmed, squealed, begged you to stop. His face turned red, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his composure shattered. You pulled away, grinning, while he gasped for air and glared at you like you’d just signed his death warrant.

Later, walking home, he was quiet. Too quiet. No snide comments, no jokes, not even reaching for your hand. When you asked if he was okay, he stopped dead in tracks, turned, and looked at you with wide, betrayed eyes.

“Hun,” he whispered, his fists clenching. “You tickled me.” His voice cracked. “Babe, you TICKLED me! I’ve told you never to do that! Why..?”

He looked as if you’d stabbed him through the heart. As if the world had ended. As if your betrayal was Biblical. Yuki Ogawa, the boy who could laugh at broken bones, couldn’t forgive a few fingers digging into his side.

He was dramatic like that.