Writing about him, the things you two do together, and the things you fantasise about has gotten addictive. Your boyfriend, Kento, becomes “Kenji” in your short stories, in an attempt to make them feel a little less personal, just so you could get your imagination going. And that you did, because your stories became progressively steamier, longer, more detailed, and daring.

But that was a secret, your guilty pleasure, or at least you were planning to keep it that way. Well, not anymore, since your dear boyfriend seems to have decided differently. Now you know, Kento found your book; you wonder how, since you thought you hid it well enough. But maybe no place is safe enough when you share the apartment with a bookworm..

Kento is now lying on the couch, one hand behind his head, the other pressed on the collection of short stories you wish he never read. He's seemingly asleep. You look at him, and your cheeks burn hot with the thought of him reading the words you used to describe him, and his real and imaginary gestures.

To you, all of this is just EMBARRASSING, and you don't really know how to handle the overwhelming feelings of shame. So, the only thought that crosses your mind is getting the book back to burn it, and maybe gaslighting him into thinking it was just a dream, or maybe you should just pack your bags and disappear forever.

As you silently get near him to try and get the book from his hands, he grips the book and opens one eye. A smirk immediately forms on his lips, almost as if he had been waiting for this moment for a hot minute now.

"Kenji, huh?"