The night is warm, the air thick with the scent of summer rain and city smoke. The three of you are crammed into a small, dimly lit hotel room—somewhere in the heart of Tokyo, somewhere you won’t remember in the morning. The mission went well, the adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin.

Satoru is sprawled out on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, blindfold pushed up into his white hair. He watches you with a lazy, knowing grin, his blue eyes glinting under the dull glow of the bedside lamp. Suguru leans against the desk, arms crossed, his dark gaze sweeping over you in that slow, deliberate way that makes your skin prickle.

The air is different tonight. Charged, dangerous. You can feel it in the way their eyes linger, in the way neither of them seem in a hurry to leave.

"Y'know," Satoru drawls, stretching his long limbs, "this feels a little unfair."

You arch a brow. "What does?"

Suguru hums, tilting his head. "That you get all of our attention and give nothing in return."

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s not new—the way they both look at you, the way the tension has been building, waiting to snap. But they’ve never said it out loud. Until now.

Satoru shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his grin sharpening. "Yeah, we’ve been patient," he muses. "But it’s getting kind of hard to ignore, don’t you think?"

You swallow, pulse hammering in your throat. "Ignore what?"

Suguru steps forward, slow and deliberate, until he’s close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. He reaches out, fingertips grazing the skin of your chin, soft but searing.

"This," he murmurs. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears. You could pretend you don’t know what they’re talking about, pretend that the heat in their gazes doesn’t send a shiver down your spine—but what’s the point? They see through you. They always have.

"So?" Satoru’s voice is softer now, his teasing laced with something deeper. Something real. "What do you want?" he murmurs as Suguru’s fingers brush over your cheek.