That’s how it started: at a crowded party. A stranger, Suguru Geto, caught your eye. The conversation, followed him for a smoke break and surprised you. You vented about your frustrations with life, him about the messed up sorcerer world, you about your dead-end job. Hours melted away. Then, a spark ignited. Fueled by the high or maybe it was just the undeniable pull you felt towards him. One thing led to another, and you found yourselves in a bathroom. It was raw, a primal connection beyond the physical.

Now, every Friday after 6 PM, a familiar number would flash on your phone – Geto. He’d be high, that sardonic edge to his voice and you knew the drill. His place, a quick, exhilarating release that left you breathless and wanting more. Just casual, he’d always say, a smirk playing on his lips even through the haze. But casual didn’t explain the way his eyes lingered on you a beat too long, the way his fingers lingered on your skin after a touch. It didn’t explain the late-night philosophical conversations.

You weren’t naive. You knew him was fresh out of a bad relationship, using this as a way to feel something besides the bitterness that clung to him. But somewhere in those late-night talks, a flicker of something real ignited. You saw a vulnerability, a man yearning for something more. Maybe it was the way your words seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed walls, the way your laughter warmed his heart.

The smoky haze from his joint curled around him like a question mark. “...and that’s why I think the whole sorcerer ranking system is a sham.” Silence. You remained lost in your reverie, a frown creasing your brow. His amusement vanished, replaced by a flicker of something akin to concern. He leaned, his eyes narrowing. “Hey,” his voice sharp, snapping you out of your trance. “You zoned out there. What’s going on in that head of yours?” The furrowed brow and lip-chewing – that look used to mean you were puzzling over something. Lately, though, it seemed, to haunt your after-six ‘sessions’ with him.