Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Satoru."

"Mmm."

Satoru's very distracted hum is met with an exasperated sort of sigh, a slightly damp towel thrown at her head. She just barely ducks out of the way of the hand that reaches out to try and loop around her ponytail, and when she glances back over her shoulder, tongue poking out of her lips in impish delight at having avoided the trap, she's surprised to find Suguru looking more than a little miffed.

"What?" she snaps, swatting her friend's hand away.

Suguru snorts. "It's impolite to stare."

"I wasn't staring," Satoru retorts, eyes flicking back across the gym to settle on the man standing by the free weights, eyeing the selection with a careful eye. "I was… appreciating."

"Uh-huh."

"Just… taking it all in."

"For five minutes? You were taking it all in for five minutes?"

Satoru watches as the man makes his choice, palming a couple of dumbbells towards the higher end of the set, the ones far too heavy for her to lift. His muscles bulge as he picks them up, the veins that stick out on the back of his hands prominent enough that she can see them from clear across the room.

Mmm.

Nice.

Though the guy's face isn't really anything to wax poetic about, she's not ashamed to admit she has a brief vision of those very vascular hands wrapped around her hips, digging into the softness of her thighs as he fucks her from behind, and like -

It's definitely not a bad mental image.

"…there's a lot to take in," she mutters, biting her lip.

Suguru rolls her eyes and pushes to her feet.

"It's not that impressive," she points out, watching as the man settles into position for his bicep curls, eyes trained on his form in the floor-length mirrors lining the walls. "He's only working fifteen kilos or so."

Satoru's eyes bulge.

"Fifteen kilos," she repeats. "Fifteen kilos, that's - Suguru, those weights are big as my head!"

"Yeah, right. Your head's way bigger."

Incensed, Satoru tosses her water bottle at her friend.

"Asshole," she snaps, nose scrunching up in distaste even as her lips curl up into a smile at the teasing. "You jerk, Suguru, they are not -"

Suguru laughs and gives the poor water bottle a gentle kick, nudging it back over towards where their things are situated at the base of the squat rack.

"Well, they're definitely nothing to write home about," she insists. "I mean, shit, I can press that. Easy."

"You can?"

Suguru grins, leaning forward over the bit of metal that separates them; the movement puts her muscular shoulders on full display, has all the ridges and valleys of her deltoids standing out in stark relief from the bone. The way Satoru's eyes map out the lines of her arms is almost involuntary, as is the way her gaze travels across the expanse of her toned chest to land on the swell of her breasts, and while Suguru's not particularly well endowed, not really, she has enough cleavage to be noticeable.

Her tits are big enough that sweat gets trapped in between them when she works out, and Satoru watches, rapt, as a tiny little droplet slides down from the base of her throat to disappear somewhere between the two beneath the line of her sports bra.

Is it uncomfortable, she wonders? Hot, sticky?

Satoru's own boobs are nothing to write home about, her chest nearly as flat now as it was when she was a kid. Unless she's doing a lot of cardio, she can generally get away with not wearing anything at all, and even then, she's not gonna be, like - uncomfortable or anything. Her breasts aren't gonna fly up and thwack her in the face every time she does her sprints.

And most days, she doesn't mind.

Most days, she doesn't care, because she'd much rather walk around without a bra than worry about filling out her tank tops, and it's not like the lack of cleavage really impacts her life.

But sometimes, she's curious.

Every now and then, she finds herself thinking about what it might be like to have a decent-sized pair of breasts, to fill out shirts and dresses and tops the way that Suguru does. She wonders what it might be like to have someone touch them and maybe not cup the entire thing to their palm at once, to be able to have someone cup just a portion in their hands and squeeze them tight.

She wonders, not for the first time, whether or not that's something Suguru enjoys, which -

Is probably kinda weird, yeah? To think about your best friend's tits like that?

It's all strictly academic, of course.

Satoru's only interested in asking about whether or not Suguru likes to have her breasts played with so she can compare it to what she knows she likes herself, so she can… file it away for later, cataloguing it with the rest of the things she knows about Suguru.

She's not interested in actually doing anything with that knowledge.

Of course not. No.

That would imply that Satoru's interested in Suguru, like, sexually, and while she doesn't think there's anything wrong with that, obviously, she's straight.

Very, very straight.

Not that she's taken the test, or anything, the one Utahime sometimes brings up when she gets sad and makes them all watch reruns of The L Word. She's never actually sat down and thought about it before, or looked too closely at any of the (sometimes startlingly explicit) daydreams she's had about certain female friends and acquaintances, the way she finds her gaze sometimes lingering on a pretty stranger.

And like, sure, women are gorgeous.

Women are lovely and wonderful and soft in ways that society often doesn't let men be, and there's been a few times where she's caught a glimpse of a particularly breathtaking woman at the supermarket or the train station and felt a little like she's been hit over the head with a baseball bat.

But doesn't everyone feel that way?

Doesn't everyone feel that same sort of appreciation for the same sex? Doesn't everyone occasionally have their breath taken away by someone who's the same gender as them, as well as people who aren't?

Satoru likes to think so.

She likes to think it's perfectly fine, and probably very healthy, even as other people have given her kinda odd looks when she brings that sort up thing up in everyday conversation, and so again, she's not given the idea a whole lot of time or attention. She's not really spent a whole lot of time thinking about why she likes what she does, or what draws her attention.

And honestly, even if it was relevant, it doesn't really matter.

It's not really pertinent, because Satoru's only ever been with men.

She likes men, thank you very much - which is probably why she's been ogling the guy across the room for the better part of ten minutes now. He checks off all of the boxes in the short list of traits that she finds most appealing in a guy, or at least the first two, even if he is making these weird little grunting noises every time he hefts the weight up and down, and has Satoru mentioned that she's really fucking horny?

God, she's so fucking horny.

It's a little embarrassing, honestly, how wetly her thong's clinging to her beneath her leggings.

And yeah, part of that is because she just got off the treadmill.

Sure, she can blame some of that on the five kilometers she spent the better part of the last twenty-five minutes slogging her way through - but she also can't help but lay some blame squarely at the feet of the guy on the other side of the gym, and also her very dusty inbox, the dearth of meaningful messages she's been getting on her dating apps lately.

She can and will blame her current dry spell on every stupid man she's blocked from sending her dick pics, on every one of the stupid men she works with who think that because she likes physics, and they like physics, and they have this one single thing in common, she must want to date them - mostly because dealing with all of that kinda kills the desire to actually throw her hat in the dating ring, but also because it's just exhausting, yeah?

It's just tiresome, and so while Satoru would very much like to find a tall, strapping specimen of a man and climb him like a fucking tree, she also can't be bothered.

She can't be assed, apparently, to do anything other than ogle hot guys and her own best friend at the fucking gym, for fuck's sake -

Suguru clicks her tongue, tearing Satoru out of her very unfortunate thoughts.

"It's impolite to stare," she says again, knowing.

And Satoru, caught again, flushes and looks away; she wipes her sweaty hands on her tights as she pushes up to her feet, and after grabbing her towel and slinging it around her shoulders, she clears her throat.

Suguru, graciously, doesn't comment on it.

But she does answer Satoru's question, sighing as she nods at her heads at the man in question.

"My preferred weight for biceps is about seventeen, eighteen kilos," she murmurs.

The vivid imprint of said biceps still very much front and center in Satoru's brain, she swallows, hard.

"Is that a lot?"

Suguru shrugs. "I can go a little higher, if I'm only doing a couple reps. But arms aren't really a big muscle group. You can't go too high, so… yeah, that's about all I'm comfortable with most days."

"…right," Satoru nods. "Physics."

Suguru snorts. "Not everything is so scientific, you nerd."

"What? Of course it is," Satoru protests. She waves a hand at the rest of the gym's patrons, from the guy deadlifting a, frankly, obscene amount of weight to their left to the handful of women doing a cool-down routine on the mats off to the right. "Lifting weights is, literally, an application of levers -"

Suguru claps a hand over her mouth, quite effectively shutting her up.

"Shhh. No work talk at the gym."

Satoru shoots her a very flat look as she peels her palm away. "You work at a gym," she points out.

Suguru lifts a brow. "So?"

"So, all gym talk is work talk for you."

Huffing out a soft laugh, Suguru shakes her head. "You're not my client, Satoru," she says.

"Semantics, Suguru."

With a very patient roll of her eyes, Suguru moves to re-rack the plates she'd been using. She undoes the clip keeping them in place and then rolls the giant circular disks off the bar, stacking them one-by-one in the area by the wall meant for such things. Her movements are graceful, effortless -

The fluidity of it leaves Satoru very much aware of how in control of her body Suguru is, how each and every one of her motions is made with care. She's spent the last ten years crafting her body into a veritable work of art, and while she's not, like, beefy, or anything, not like the group of muscleheads over in the corner bragging about how many times they max out a week and how balanced their macros are, there's a sort of solidity to her body that Satoru's always found intriguing.

It's not something she'll ever be able to achieve herself, Satoru thinks.

It's just not in the cards for her, because while Satoru is objectively pretty athletic, her limbs are long and lean; she has trouble putting on muscle mass most days, has struggled for every gain she's managed to glean from Suguru's tutelage over the past few years, and while she isn't truly skinny, not anymore, she has a feeling she'll always be slender. She'll always be just a few inches shy of Suguru's breadth, just a little smaller than her shorter, stockier friend.

For some reason, she kinda likes that.

"I'm better at chest presses, and you've seen me do squats."

Satoru hums, forcing herself to stare at the man she'd been checking out before; she gets lost in the way he pumps the iron, how the ridge of his biceps contracts and then lengthens back out as he lifts the dumbbells up and down.

Physics, she reminds herself. Concentric and eccentric contraction.

Nice.

"What's your max chest press?" she asks absently. "Forty kilos? Fifty?"

Suguru chuckles at that, like she's said something funny.

It rips Satoru from her staring, and she whips back towards her friend quickly enough that her ponytail whirls around and smacks her in the face.

"What? That was a serious question!"

"Satoru," Suguru says, still laughing. "Babe."

"Yeah?" she demands, a little petulant.

"I can bench press you," she says, and oh -

But isn't that a thought.

Satoru inhales sharply and jerks back with a startled noise, nearly tripping over a yoga mat.

"Careful," Suguru cautions, as if she hasn't just thrown Satoru's entire world for a loop. "Don't fall."

"I didn't," she snaps, huffing out a frustrated breath as she rights herself and takes a few breaths to try and slow her racing heart, her frenetic pulse.

Then, once she's back in control of herself, she demands, "What did you say?"

Suguru frowns. "I'm sorry. What part of that didn't you get?"

"You think you can bench press me?"

Something about that must be funny - because Suguru's concerned expression melts into a grin, and she does this… this thing with her eyes, where her gaze drifts from Satoru's face all the way down her chest and thighs, lingering for just the slightest moment on her hips, on the swell of her ass.

It makes Satoru feel funny, makes her feel hot all over -

Or maybe that's just the lack of air conditioning in this gym, the relative coolness of the day doing nothing to mitigate the damp, stagnant air inside the building.

Who knows?

Satoru doesn't, that's for sure.

What she does know is that Suguru's toying with her, still smiling sweetly at Satoru as she laughs to herself, like she's done something funny.

"Satoru," she murmurs. "You're, what, seventy-five kilos? Give or take?"

Satoru nods stiffly. "Give or take."

"Mmm. My max is close to a hundred."

"…it is not."

"No?" Suguru quirks an eyebrow, huffing out a laugh. "Did I write it down wrong last time I did chest?"

"I don't know. Maybe you were light-headed from the endorphins, or something."

Suguru hums. "I don't think so."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Prove it, then."

"What?"

Satoru sets down her things, crosses her arms over her chest. "You heard me," she snaps, certain that she's managed to call Suguru out on her bluff, that she's caught her fibbing. "Prove it."

"Are you serious?" Suguru snorts, amused.

"As a heart attack!"

Suguru sighs, pushing up off the squat rack.

"I shouldn't indulge you like this," she murmurs, wandering off towards the handful of empty benches at the far side of the gym. "I shouldn't encourage it."

With a grin, Satoru dances across the floor to catch up with her.

"You shouldn't," she gleefully agrees. "But you will."

Suguru purses her lips as she snags a seat, settling herself comfortably across the padded leather cushions. She straddles the bench like she belongs there, hiking up the waistband of her sweatpants a little so they're not digging irritably into her belly, and then leans back, lining herself up with the headrest and making sure her back's properly aligned.

Satoru comes around behind her in case she needs someone to spot her, inspecting the plates already situated on the bar -

But Suguru grabs her by the wrist just as she makes to go and grab some more, keeping her in place.

"Where are you going?" she asks, staring quizzically up at Satoru.

Satoru blinks. "To get more weight…?"

Suguru shakes her head, grinning. "Don't need it."

Glancing back at the bar, Satoru makes a confused noise. "But that's just the bar. It's not enough."

"I said I could bench press you, Satoru," Suguru reminds her. "Not the bar."

Then, patting her chest, she grins and adds, "So hop on."

Satoru blanches.

She sputters, and flushes red-hot, and tries to determine whether or not it's some of joke. But Suguru looks serious, and she makes no move to get any closer to the bar situated just above her head; she doesn't budge, even when Satoru makes an incredulous noise and puts her hands on her hips, so -

Yeah, she's being serious.

She wants to bench press Satoru, wants to use her body as a weight instead of the bar.

That… doesn't seem very safe.

It probably goes against every policy the gym has on personal safety, and it definitely makes the warning signs about common sense that Satoru so often ignores go off in her mind.

It also makes her feel a little hot under the collar -

Or it would, if she wearing anything that actually had some semblance of a neckline.

As it is, there's nothing more than a thin layer of lycra between her torso and Suguru's hands, and so when she slowly situates herself over Suguru's chest, struggling a little to keep her body flat as Suguru fists a hand around first the back of her tank top and then the fabric bunched up around her waist, the touch burns. It sears, the imprint of Suguru's hands and strong, firm grip leaving her weak -

"Ready?" Suguru asks, quiet.

Satoru sends her one last, warning look.

"You better not drop me," she cautions.

Suguru snorts. "I won't, princess. Trust me."

"I'll put something soft and squishy in your bed."

"Mmm. I'm terrified."

"You should be," Satoru snaps. "You should be - oh."

She sucks down a ragged inhale as she's slowly lifted into the air; a low, soft sound punches its way out of Suguru's throat as she presses Satoru's body upwards, so very different from the annoying grunts of the man across the way. Instead of making Satoru feel like she's listening to a bunch of neanderthals ooh and aah over the sudden existence of fire, the sound goes straight to her core, lighting her entire body up from the inside, and has she mentioned that Suguru has really nice hands?

Really big hands, all rough and calloused from years of working at a gym.

Her grip is strong, and though Satoru's just kind of hovering above her chest, her arms and legs stretched out dutifully to either side of Suguru's body in some kind of attempt to mimic an exercise bar, she's not worried about falling.

She's not at all concerned with the thought of tumbling down towards the ground, because she knows that Suguru will catch her, that she'll hold her fast and keep her steady.

It's a grounding feeling. Good.

It's also, once again, super, super hot, and Satoru barely stifles a whimper as she squeezes her thighs together, desperately hoping that Suguru can't tell how wet she is.

The small saving grace of being sweaty, she thinks -

Her leggings are already damp, and there's still a thin sheen of perspiration beading along her hairline from where she's been running. Her body had never quite cooled down, and she's sure it's written all over her face as Suguru slowly lowers her back down and relinquishes the grip on her shirt, giving her thigh a soft pat to let her know when she can stand back up.

Satoru twists her head to the side as she slides down onto her knees, twisting at the last second so she can prop her chin up on Suguru's arm.

"What the fuck," she says.

Suguru snickers, gently flicking Satoru in the forehead.

"What the fuck, Suguru, that was -"

"Impressive?"

"Hot."

The word slips out before Satoru can think to draw it back.

It sits there, hangs in the air between them like a shout, to the point that Suguru gives her a weird look, and Satoru winces, thinking through a few excuses very quickly in her head before she finally just shrugs and settles on, "Like, you should do that with all your hookups. Super good foreplay."

"…foreplay," Suguru repeats.

"Uh-huh. Really gets things going."

Suguru does that thing with her eyes again, the one that makes it look like she's undressing Satoru in her mind. "Did it get you going?" she asks, and fuck -

It takes her a minute to realize that Suguru's teasing her.

It takes Satoru a real long time to discern that her friend's just giving her shit, her lips and eyebrows alike quivering with barely suppressed mirth. When she finally figures it out, she groans, swatting at Suguru's thigh as she buries her face in her hands.

"Oh, my god," she murmurs. "Suguru."

"You like being manhandled like that, huh?"

"Stop it."

Suguru winks at her, the asshole, and Satoru wants to die.

"That's cute."

Satoru peers out of the cage of her fingers, eyes narrowed into angry slits. "It's not gonna be, when I murder you for slandering my character like this."

Suguru slaps her shoulder, knowing the threat's as hollow as they come. "Come on, babe," she says, unperturbed. "Let's go hit the showers."

"You're so mean."

"And you're a horny mess."

Fuck.

Guilty as charged.

But Satoru lets herself be dragged to her feet, lets Suguru grab their bags and gently lead her out of the main gym area and down the hall towards the women's locker rooms. She passes over the wristband with the keys, urging Satoru to get their towels and shower bags out while she goes and claims two of the stalls in the back of the room, and when she returns, just a handful of minutes later, she's already shucked off her sneakers and stripped out of her sweats.

Satoru isn't going to look.

She's not, because she doesn't need to. She's seen Suguru's body a thousand times before, has seen her in every possible state of undress that possibly exists, and like -

Sure, she's usually not really paying all that much attention.

She hasn't ever really sat back and taken a good look at her best friend's body - not unless Suguru asked her to scrutinize something first, not unless she's asking Satoru's opinion on some outfit she's chosen, or whether or not she thinks something would look good on her.

But she still knows what Suguru looks like, if not because she's been staring on purpose then because it's really fucking difficult not to when you've been living with someone the better part of five years.

It's the sort of thing that's just hard to avoid, and so the sight of Suguru's taut, toned abdominals, the glimpse of her thick thighs and the dark hair poking out of her underwear that she's never bothered trying to trim or wax away isn't startling to her. It's not new.

Her core clenches all the same.

Her pussy throbs, does that weird fluttering thing she sometimes feels when she gets a sudden glimpse at a really, really attractive guy, and she has to bite her lip to stop the noise that wants to spill from her lips.

Suguru, unfortunately, notices.

She looks down at herself, wipes a hand across her belly.

"Something wrong?" she asks. "I get something on my ass?"

"No," Satoru chokes, forcing herself to look away as Suguru twists to the side, said ass on prominent display as she peers over her shoulder. "No, nothing, you're -"

Suguru raises an eyebrow.

"You're good," Satoru finishes, weak.

Eyes narrowing, Suguru grabs for the bag Satoru had set out for her, twining the drawstring around her wrist. She stares at Satoru as she slips on her shower shoes, and when she bends forward to pick up her towel, shoving it under an arm so she can take it back to the stall with her, she says, "Am I, Satoru?"

Satoru takes a deep breath.

She counts to three, gives herself a minute, and vomits out the very first thing she thinks to say, which -

"I just wish my ass was as fat as yours."

- in retrospect, is kind of awful.

It's kind of uniquely horrible, given the situation, and Suguru's eyebrows go sky-high as her lips part in surprise.

Luckily for Satoru, she quickly seems to write it off as a joke.

She laughs, holding up a hand to her mouth as she swats affectionately at Satoru's thigh with her shower bag, and when she jerks her head back towards the shower and says, "C'mon, dumbass. Water's gonna run cold," it's entirely fond.

"Yeah," Satoru easily agrees. "Yeah, let's - let's do that."

With one final odd look, Suguru traipses off to the shower, slinging her towel across the hook on the outside before she shoves a hand beneath the elastic band of her sports bra and tugs it off. Satoru just barely thinks to look away in time before her breasts bounce free, her mouth going very suspiciously dry as Suguru then moves a hand down to work on her underwear.

Somehow, she doesn't make a fool of herself.

She keeps it together as she strips off her sweaty clothes and hastens into the stall, tugging the shower curtain shut behind her; she even manages to wait until Suguru's form has disappeared into the little cubicle next to hers before she smacks a hand to her forehead in utter, utter mortification.

Jesus Christ, she thinks, finally stepping beneath the spray of hot water.

She really needs to get laid.

Satoru does not get laid.

She does not go on one single date over the course of the next few weeks, because she's unfortunately reminded that dating in the post-modern era is a figurative and literal cesspool every time she opens up her apps and sees the plethora of unwanted dick pics waiting for her in her inbox. She barely even has time to delete them all before she's getting another unfortunate close-up of some poor guy's scrotum, and like - fuck, is it that difficult to start with a hello? Is chivalry well and truly dead?

It must be, she reasons, because this is just gross.

It's totally unnecessary, and eventually, one day, in a bit of a blind, irritated rage, she deletes all of said apps from her phone and chucks it across the room to bury her face in her hands.

Not for the first time, she rues the absolute travesty that is being attracted to men.

And then, because her phone starts to vibrate, and it's making a really irritating noise when it rubs against the wall, she rues how addicted she is to the damn thing.

With a huff, she pops up to her feet and pads across the room to retrieve it.

"I hate everything," she announces as she answers the call, not even bothering to check who it is before she brings it up to her ear. "Existence is meaningless."

Suguru, on the other end, snorts.

"Bad time?" she guesses.

"The worst time," Satoru agrees. "This is, quite literally, the very worst point in human history. People will write songs about it in the future."

"I can think of a few historians who would disagree with that," Suguru hums.

Satoru scoffs. "Well, who asked them?"

Suguru laughs at that, low and soft; the sound is as familiar as it comforting, and Satoru feels some of her frustration melt away, even as she sags back down onto her bed and makes an irritable face up at the ceiling as she curls up into a ball.

"Hey, so I was gonna stop by that noodle shop on the way home from work. You want anything?"

"Udon."

"…it is thirty degrees outside."

"So?"

"Do you want to be hot on the inside, too?"

Satoru clicks her tongue. "Technically, I'm already hot on the inside."

"Satoru," Suguru groans.

"Thirty-seven degrees and change, unless I'm sick -"

"You know what?" There's a tinkling noise on the other end, the relative silence of the phone call's background noise suddenly bursting with sound as Suguru moves around. "I don't know what I expected. This is on me, for thinking you might tell me what you want for dinner without a fuss."

"I'm not making a fuss," Satoru retorts.

"You aren't?"

"I am informing you, casually, that I am hotter than any food you might bring me - internally and externally, thanks very much."

Suguru snorts. "I'm sure," she says, her voice very flat. "Now be a good girl and tell me what you want to eat, and try to be a little more specific this time."

Satoru grumpily complies, rattling off an order and huffing out her thanks in the same breath. It probably makes her sound a little ungrateful, like the brat Suguru's always teasingly accusing her of being - but Suguru doesn't seem particularly bothered by the attitude, and when she gets home a half hour or so later, her arms filled with delicious smelling take out and what looks like a special box of Satoru's favorite desserts, Satoru kind of melts into a pile of happy, very well taken care of goo, cuddling up to her best friend's side as they repurpose the coffee table into a makeshift buffet.

"You didn't need to get me these," she says, popping a cream puff into each cheek and holding one more in her hand for later. "I still had snacks in the cabinet."

Suguru laughs, leaning over to wipe a stray bit of cream off her cheek with her thumb.

She immediately sucks the digit into her mouth to clean it off, and Satoru fights very, very hard not to combust on the spot. As it is, she still makes an entirely embarrassing sort of noise and goes very red, even as Suguru snickers and shoves playfully at her shoulder.

"I know that," she replies, grinning. "You've got enough cookies squirreled away to feed a small village."

"Oh, fuck off. My stash could feed, at most, twelve people -"

"But you also sounded kinda upset earlier, so… I figured it couldn't hurt."

Satoru wilts a bit at that, even as something within her preens at the thought of Suguru noticing how upset she was, at clocking her so very well through a damn phone call.

Because she knows what's coming next, yeah?

She knows what Suguru's gonna follow this up with, her gentle observation about Satoru's current mood merely the opening gambit in her quest to figure out what's been so obviously bothering Satoru lately, and Satoru -

Well, she can't just tell Suguru the truth.

She can't just come out and tell her best friend that she saw her workout one fucking time and got so turned on that it changed the very fabric of her reality. She can't tell her that every time since then that she's gotten a glimpse of Suguru walking around in just a sports bra, her muscular back on glorious display, has driven her absolutely crazy, or that when Suguru had abruptly decided to re-arrange the furniture of the living room last week completely by herself, working up quite an attractive sweat in the process, Satoru had felt kinda light-headed.

She definitely can't bring up the fact that she's taken to masturbating morning, noon, and night in a desperate attempt to keep things normal between them.

That's a bit much to put on someone over dinner.

She'd rather not have her last fond memory of her and Suguru's friendship associated with the most delectable pastries she's managed to find this side of Daikanyama, and so she quickly diverts their attention to the television, flicking over to some documentary she knows Suguru's been trying to get her to watch for what feels like forever.

Suguru doesn't take the bait.

The sidelong glance she shoots Satoru's way is nothing short of accusatory, and she huffs out an unamused breath as she leans forward to grab her own container of cold soba noodles -

But she doesn't protest, either, and by the time they're finished eating, some half an hour or so later, she's totally engrossed in the show. Her attention's been captured, the stiffness to her broad shoulders relaxing a bit as she sinks back into the cushions and draws her feet up underneath her, and Satoru breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

A few more days, she thinks.

She's won a few more days to try and figure out what the fuck is going on here, and how she's supposed to act around her best friend in this new normal.

And it's not like she doesn't want to talk to Suguru about it.

It's not like she's trying to keep secrets from her best friend, or that she's ashamed to admit she (apparently) finds Suguru really fucking hot.

She's not, actually, because that's just objective reality.

That's just the way things are - the sky is blue, the grass is (mostly) green, and Suguru Geto is unfairly, inordinately attractive.

But there's a big difference between knowing your friend is hot and knowing your best friend is hot, because you suddenly realize you find them super, super attractive, and sexy, and maybe even want them to do something about it, and that's where she's having a problem dealing with this. That's where it's all kinda starting to break down for her.

Because she doesn't really know where to begin, yeah?

She doesn't know whether this is all just a product of her dumb hormones or a real, bona fide rediscovery of her identity, and so she resolves to keep her feelings to herself for now.

She decides to keep her mouth shut.

Because her problems are just that, after all; they're her problems, and she sees no reason to burden Suguru with the potential ramifications until she's more sure of herself.

She does, however, see the wisdom in maybe getting an outside opinion here -

Which is how she finds herself plopping down into the chair across from Shoko on her lunch break the very next day, having traipsed all the way across the campus to get to the medical sciences building where Shoko spends most of her time.

"Shoko," she announces, heaving out a dramatic sigh. "I need your help."

"Obviously," Shoko teases, not even bothering to look up from the page of the textbook she's reviewing - it's something on immunosuppressing diseases, from the looks of it, very dry and very dense, much less interesting than Satoru's current predicament, and honestly?

Such blatant dismissal seems kinda rude!

She says as much, kicking Shoko's chair for good measure. The action earns her a frustrated look, and Shoko chucks the highlighter she was holding at Satoru's head - but she also pushes the textbook up and away, finally giving Satoru her complete and undivided attention, so.

Not exactly a whole lot of incentive for her to change her behavior.

But she shouldn't push her luck, Satoru thinks.

She shouldn't push Shoko enough that she gives up on Satoru and abandons her altogether for the afternoon, something that has (unfortunately) happened on more than one occasion in the past, and so she takes a deep breath, clasps her hands together in her lap, and says, "Seriously, Shoko. I have a real problem on my hands."

Shoko lifts her eyebrows, settling back in her chair. "Oh?"

Satoru nods, a couple strands of hair falling out of her loose bun to frame her face.

"I am having a real constitutional crisis here."

Shoko hums, thoughtful. "I didn't know you were a federal government."

"It's a recent development," Satoru retorts.

"Do you have a bill of rights?"

"I have a charter, and it's in shambles."

"Ah."

"How did you know that you like women?"

Shoko stares at her for a moment, unblinking.

Then, with a low, soft whistle, she says, "That is… one hell of a non-sequitor, Satoru."

"There was a train of thought going," Satoru protests, waving a hand.

"I'm sure."

"It was only going in my head, sure, but… there was a thought."

Shoko sighs and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Okay, Satoru. There was a thought. A… gay thought?"

"Very gay," Satoru agrees, nodding. "Sapphic. Lesbian." Scrunching her nose up a little as she thinks on it a bit more, she adds, "Or maybe bisexual? I don't know, I don't have enough data. Haven't run the numbers."

Shoko gently clears her throat, shooting Satoru a pointed look.

"Who are you having gay thoughts about, Satoru?"

Satoru shifts around a little in her chair, fingers picking nervously at the fabric of her jeans.

"I wouldn't say I'm having thoughts about a particular person," she tries. "It's more like… an amorphous combination of traits and features. You know, an idea. A schema."

Shoko snorts, clearly disbelieving. "Right. Okay."

"But it's something I can't stop thinking about," Satoru continues in a rush. "I can't stop wondering what it might be like - dating women instead of men, I mean. Being with them."

"So I gathered."

Biting her lip, Satoru looks up at her friend through the curtain of her bangs, a little hesitant now that she's gotten the initial question out of the way; though she's broached the subject of women dating other women, Shoko doesn't seem to want to carry the conversation along. She doesn't seem particularly inclined to answer Satoru without getting a little more information first, and like -

Satoru supposes she can't really blame her for that.

It is a bit of a bombshell, one Satoru had just kind of dropped on her without warning. Maybe she can forgive Shoko for being a bit quiet.

…but then again, Satoru drops bombshells on their friends all the time.

She's very well known for it, actually, for zipping into the room, plopping herself down on the couch, and completely taking over whatever conversation had been going on prior to her timely entrance. She's eccentric like that, and also charming, and so maybe Shoko shouldn't look as contemplative as she actually does, sitting back in her chair like that with her index fingers steepled together in front of her face.

"Well, if I'm being honest here," she finally says, her voice careful and slow as she sounds out each word, "It's not something I ever really had to figure out. I just… knew."

Satoru blinks.

"You just knew," she repeats, like she's testing the words out.

Shoko nods. "Yeah. Kinda."

"You always knew you liked women that way."

"Pretty much."

"…how?"

"Well, how do you know you like guys?"

The question takes Satoru a little aback.

She frowns, mouth working furiously as she tries to come up with an answer - and when she can't, when she's forced to confront the reality that there really wasn't any one thing that ever gave it away, that she just looks at certain men and finds them appealing in that evolutionarily old part of her brain that also encourages her to eat and sleep and do whatever the heck else she wants, the id or whatever nonsense Freud named it, she makes a sheepish sort of noise, rubbing at the back of her neck.

"Yeah, okay. That's fair."

"Attraction's not really something you decide," Shoko says carefully, still eyeing Satoru curiously. "It's more… something you know? Something you just feel, when you look at people. Or don't, I suppose, if you're not interested in people that way. That's cool, too."

Satoru sighs.

Because that's not really the answer she'd wanted to hear, yeah?

That's not really particularly helpful, it doesn't aid her plight.

Though she can sense the truth in Shoko's words, and also the sincerity underlying her soft, careful tone, the knowledge that she's just gonna have to muddle through this crisis on feelings and vibes alone is kinda ticking her off - because she is a creature of science, she thinks.

She is a very logical and highly rational person; she follows the numbers.

The variables in the physics equations she loves to teach are all known concepts, things that she can explain to other people in cold, hard facts. She doesn't have to rely on anything other than the math in order to prove a point, and so something like this, something where she doesn't have anything to fall back on except for the rapid beating of her heart when Suguru looks at her a certain way nowadays is just -

It's just maddening.

It's awful, frustrating in the worst way imaginable, and Satoru absently tugs on the end of her ponytail, a soft, distressed sound pushing past her lips as she tries (and fails) to figure out how she's gonna do this, how she's gonna live with these weird, terrible feelings until they either go away or get squashed down into something more manageable, something she can live with.

But Shoko gently reaches out and takes her wrist.

She pulls Satoru's fingers away from her hair, clears her throat, and takes a deep breath, and when she says "Satoru," her voice is a little stern and a lot patient.

Satoru swallows, thick.

"Let me ask you something else."

She nods. "Okay."

"Have you talked to Suguru about this?"

It takes Satoru a little bit to respond to that.

It takes her a good couple of seconds, far too long to answer what is a very simple question, and it's that, she thinks, that ultimately gives her away.

Shoko makes a commiserating noise, nodding to herself.

"Ah," she says. "I see."

With a sigh, she sits back in her chair; still absently holding onto Satoru's wrist, she strokes her thumb over the veins on the underside, the touch feather soft. It's meant to be calming, no doubt, soothing.

Instead, Satoru just finds it grating, and she rips her hand away.

"Why would I talk to Suguru?" she asks.

Shoko quirks an eyebrow at her.

"Because she's your best friend, and you two are obnoxiously codependent?" she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Also, she's gay, so… kinda seems like a two-for-one kind of thing."

Satoru makes a frustrated noise. "Well, yeah, but I can't - I can't just talk to her."

"Sure, you can."

"No, that's - that's the whole problem, Shoko."

"What is?"

"…Suguru."

Shoko laughs at that, a little mean. She pauses to take a sip of her drink, swirling the coffee around in the can for a few moments before she sets it back on the table, and when she speaks, her voice is wry.

"You mean this amorphous combination of traits and features you mentioned earlier is actually your best friend?" She snorts. "I'm shocked."

Satoru whines. "You're mean, is what you are."

"What, did you think you were being subtle? Because you weren't, actually."

"You are a grade-A asshole, Shoko Ieiri -"

"And you've got it bad for your best friend."

Satoru winces, the words cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Maybe," she allows, looking away. "I don't know."

Shoko's other eyebrow raises to join the first, giving her a gently perplexed expression that at any other time, Satoru would probably find hilarious.

"You don't know?" she repeats.

Satoru nods, glum.

"I really fucking don't," she says. "Because, like - I love her, yeah? Obviously. She's my best friend, I've known her since we were in middle school."

"Uh-huh."

"I'd die for her. I'd kill for her."

"That's mildly concerning."

"But… I dunno," Satoru continues, ignoring the jibe. "Things have been different lately."

Shoko's eyes narrow. "Different how?"

As succinctly as possible, Satoru relays the story of the gym incident.

She spares no details as she retells the story, and to her credit, Shoko doesn't interrupt; she just nods along as she pays attention, occasionally waving a hand to prod Satoru along when her thoughts threaten to start spiraling off into tangents, and when Satoru takes a deep breath and admits that that she doesn't know whether she just wants to sit on Suguru's face or go down to the courthouse and requisition a marriage certificate, that what had started as a simple realization that Suguru's attractive had morphed into something much bigger, more consuming, the look she gives Satoru is knowing.

"Does it matter?" she finally asks, as Satoru sips at her soda.

Satoru blinks and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you obviously want Suguru," Shoko points out. "In both of those scenarios, you are attracted to Suguru and want to have sex with her, so… have you ever considered just doing it?"

"I - I mean, of course I've considered it," Satoru huffs.

"…but?"

Satoru makes an exasperated sort of sound, arms flapping every which way as she shoots Shoko an incredulous look.

"But I don't know what I want," she insists. "I mean, first of all - wow, that's kind of a lot to ask someone. I don't even know where to start with that.

"What if I do ask Suguru to have sex with me, though? What if I figure out a way to work it into a conversation, or the question just pops out sometime?"

"You… talk about it? Like adults, hopefully?"

Satoru shakes her head. "I dunno if I can do that. I mean - what if it's terrible? What if the sex is so bad, I don't ever want to do it again?"

Shoko shrugs. "Then you don't ever want to do it again," she replies.

Satoru scoffs at that, rolling her eyes - but Shoko fixes her with a pointed look, and so she listens.

"Don't act like everyone puts such a heavy emphasis on sex, Satoru," she reminds her. "It's not a big deal for a lot of people. Friends can, and do, sometimes have sex with each other, and you don't have to have romantic feelings for someone to fuck them."

Well, sure.

She gets that. She understand that for some people, sex is just sex.

And it's not like Satoru's ever been terribly sentimental about it, either. She's never had any problems in the past with slipping out on her hookups before the sun rose, or letting guys know that thanks but no thanks, she wasn't really interested in pursuing things further.

But Suguru is different.

Suguru is… well.

Satoru doesn't think she could just have sex with Suguru one time and then pretend it never happened. She doesn't think she could just forget it.

Because there's just an emotional intimacy there that can't be ignored.

There's a level of trust she has with the other woman, the foundation of their friendship built on literal years of love and commitment and patience.

It wouldn't be just sex, she fears.

It would be something deeper, something meaningful.

And that's kind of the whole issue, actually.

While having sex with Suguru might be the easiest, quickest way for her to figure things out, it's not without risk. There's a lot that could potentially go wrong.

Because, like, is this just a passing thing?

Is this a phase, is it something she'll get over?

Considering the fact that she'd gone back to her office the other day after getting lunch with Suguru and spent the next four hours drawing little hearts all over the scientific article she was supposed to be annotating, she doesn't think so. It's pretty pretty good evidence to the contrary, actually, as is the way that she keeps leaning into Suguru's every touch these days, hanging onto her every word and actually, physically sighing like a lovestruck schoolgirl every time she's reminded that she has work to do.

And it's not like she hadn't done that before all of this.

It's not like she's ever not been a little gremlin for Suguru's attention - call it daddy issues, if you will, or maybe just the product of a childhood of benign neglect, but Satoru has always, always been something of a sucker for Suguru. There's never been a day that she hasn't wanted to spend at her best friend's side, or a time when she's envisioned a future for them where they aren't together in some capacity.

But it's different than it was before.

Something has changed, the world tilted on its axis just enough to feel unfamiliar to her.

It's a little like seeing the world in color after staring at a grayscale image, the way that Suguru's presence suddenly seems to brighten up her entire world, and has she mentioned that Suguru is hot?

God, it's so annoying.

It's unreal, that one person can be so attractive, and like - again, this is hardly the first time that Satoru's noticed this sort of thing.

She does have eyes, thank you very much.

But she's never really studied Suguru's beauty before, either, has never really contemplated doing anything about it. She's never woken up in the middle of the night, thighs absolutely shaking with need at the thought of looking down and finding Suguru with her head between her knees, her golden brown eyes glittering and coy. Until just recently, she's never pressed the heel of her hand against her clit and allowed herself to imagine it was Suguru's fingers bringing her to completion, imagined it was Suguru's hand toying with her nipples, Suguru's shaggy, dark hair hanging around her face like a curtain as she kissed her senseless -

Lately, though, it's all she can think about.

Every time she closes her eyes, her scorching dreams come back to haunt her; she hasn't gotten a restful night's sleep in weeks, and not just because of that obvious, all-consuming attraction.

While that (very hot, very silly) little stunt at the gym had been the stimulus to kind of set all of these confusing feelings of hers into motion, she has to be realistic here. She has to be honest about the fact that there's an equal amount of ooey, gooey romantic thoughts mixing in with the horny, that this seems bigger than just a brief flash of curiosity.

It's not something she's going to get over anytime soon, not now that she's finally noticed she's something there, and like - has it always been this way, she wonders? Has she always harbored some kind of latent attraction towards women?

Or this just how she feels about Suguru?

Honestly, if she's being truthful with herself… she thinks she knows the answer.

Though she's maybe been a little naive about it, and has maybe missed the forest for the trees, she thinks she understands. She gets that, on some level, there's always been an attraction to women there that she'd ignored, or maybe just written off as appreciation.

Dreams she always struggled to explain, infatuations with the girls in her classes that had always toed the line between rivalry or friendship and something stronger, something deeper. Somehow, she'd always managed to convince herself that she wanted to be those girls, instead of admitting that she wanted to be with them, and in retrospect -

She's bisexual, obviously.

She's really, really queer, and judging from the very unsurprised, unshaken look on Shoko's face when she gives it voice, also the very last to know it.

But that's alright, she thinks.

It's not a crime to figure yourself out later in life, and sometimes it takes you a while to get to your final destination. Life's a marathon, not a sprint, and it's not like there's anyone out there giving you points for how quickly you get your shit together.

It is generally a good idea to know what you want before you go about potentially ruining life-long friendships, though. Which is why it's all the more imperative that she determine whether or not this - this thing she feels for Suguru has any sort of longevity to it, yeah?

She needs to know whether it's just a harmless little crush or something that could actually mean something; she needs to know if her sudden desire to ride Suguru's big, strong thighs until she cums is because it's a terribly wonderful, intimate thing to do with someone you really, really like, or if it's because she's just desperate to fucking get off -

And she needs to be certain.

She needs to be sure, if not because she's having doubts about the situation (she's not, really) then because she owes it to Suguru (and herself) to take her feelings seriously.

To her surprise, Shoko actually looks a little impressed.

She nods along with Satoru's latest little diatribe with something that looks very much like understanding, and when she's done, her mouth snapping shut with finality as she once again grabs for her soda, she says, "Well, why don't you just go get laid?"

Satoru groans, nearly face planting into the table.

"If this is really just you being horny, and not you finally discovering you have real feelings for Suguru, then having sex would fix it, right?"

Satoru glances up from her spot amidst the salt and pepper shakers, forlorn.

"You think I haven't tried that?" she demands.

Shoko snorts. "I think you put forth the minimal amount of effort, and when that didn't work, you gave up," she replies, ignoring the indignant sound Satoru makes. "Sometimes, you have to actually go out and get what you want, Satoru. You can't just wait for it fall in your lap."

"You can't - you can't just clock me like that, Shoko, what the fuck -"

"Go to a bar. Go to a club, see if you can find someone to take you home -"

"This seems like questionable advice."

"Better yet, just go to the bathroom. Do it then and there -"

"Ew."

"- hot and heavy, and if that solves your problem? Great. You were just horny, crisis averted."

"…and if it doesn't?"

Shoko's expression softens. "Then you and Suguru need to have a real conversation. And you need to be honest about what you're feeling, with both yourself and with her."

Satoru winces.

"Yeah," she admits, her voice low. "Fuck."

Shoko reaches a hand across the table, gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

"Hey," she says. "It's gonna be okay, yeah? Suguru isn't gonna get mad at you for being honest."

"She might," Satoru disagrees. "She might be… weirded out, or not take me seriously."

Shoko clicks her tongue. "She would not, and you know it."

Yeah, Satoru thinks.

She does know that, just as she knows that Suguru wouldn't ever treat her differently for it.

She'd probably be very understanding, actually, even if she didn't feel the same way and was forced to let Satoru down gently. That's just the kind of person Suguru is -

Warm, compassionate, empathetic.

With the people she cares about, at least, and Satoru likes to think she's among that crowd; she likes to think she has pride of place on that list, that she's right at the very top, and so she lifts her head from the very questionably clean table and gives Shoko a reluctant nod.

"Okay," she says. "I'll try."

"Yeah? You will?"

"I'll go and get someone to fuck my brains out."

For the first time since they'd really started talking, Shoko seems to relax; she settles back into her chair with a gentle roll of her eyes, shaking her head even as she smiles.

"And if I come back home and it doesn't change anything, if I realize I do still want Suguru…"

Satoru pauses there, uncertain.

She bites her lip again, and looks up to Shoko, a little desperate for some advice.

Shoko's expression softens.

"Then you be kind to yourself," she finishes. "You try and accept the way that you feel, and remind yourself that it's perfectly normal, and okay, and also that Suguru loves and cares about you."

Satoru makes a weak noise, somewhere between a laugh and sigh.

"You make it sound so easy," she mutters.

Shoko's head tilts to the side in question. "Well, do you know another way to test your hypothesis?"

And Satoru's never thought about it like that before.

She's never stopped to consider that her current predicament could be so easily solved by the application of the scientific method; she's never really thought about it in quite those terms, and like -

On the one hand, duh.

It just makes sense that the only way to get to the truth of the matter is to put the question to the test, to see whether or not the null hypothesis is, in fact, not true.

It's so obvious, it makes her laugh; it makes her giggle, despite the way her stomach still kinda feels all tied up in knots, and she reaches out her fingers to grab at Shoko's hand, hoping it conveys all the things she still doesn't quite know how to say, like thank you and fuck me and Jesus Christ, what a mess.

Shoko gives her hand an encouraging little squeeze.

"Things will get better, yeah? You'll see."

Things do not get better, actually.

They do not improve, because Suguru is wonderful and lovely and perfect, so very patient with her even as she's moody and cranky and upset, and Satoru just kinda looks at her sometimes and wants to cry, in the best possible way. She wants to hug her, and card her fingers through her hair, and also kiss her very badly, the incessant thoughts about every little thing she wants to do with (and to) Suguru living rent-free in her head, and honestly?

It's a problem.

It's a real big fucking problem - which is probably why she eventually takes Shoko up on her advice and decides to go out clubbing. She dolls herself up one Friday night after she gets home from work and forces down a plateful of mediocre, reheated tempura, stuffs a handful of yen notes down her bra, and hops on a train across Tokyo to Shibuya.

Unfortunately, it doesn't go well.

It doesn't go very well at all, because while Satoru loves to dance, while she adores being the center of attention and has never had any problems attracting a crowd, the press of people around her body as she sways and rocks her hips to the beat feels stagnant. It feels cloying, the hand of the guy she'd encouraged to dance with her clammy rather than hot, and has this club always been so dirty? So busy, so smelly, the strobe lights lining the stage with the DJ's booth turned up way too bright?

The sharp, melon-flavored drinks she'd been sipping at all night are really starting to kick in now. The liquor is thrumming in her veins, making her head heavy and her thoughts muddled; it's amplifying every confused, guilty thought she's had lately, making her morose and sad and mopey instead of happy and carefree and giggly.

But that's probably on her, she thinks.

She always gets this way when she drinks, which is why she generally only indulges when she's around people that she trusts, or when she knows she's in a safe place.

This club is anything but, and so she calls it quits shortly after midnight, stumbling out onto the curb and plucking her phone from the little wristlet she'd brought with her.

Sned hep, she texts Suguru.

The message is followed up by a very articulate dunk, and a messy approximation of her location that she hopes Suguru is smart enough to interpret.

Sure enough, her phone buzzes just a few short seconds later.

Satoru makes a delighted sound as she brings the screen up to her face, her vision swimming a bit as she squints down at the words staring back at her, eager to see what Suguru has to say.

The message leaves a little to be desired.

Stay where you are, you lush, Suguru's typed. I'm on my way now. Drink some water, if you can.

Satoru scoffs at that, stuffing her phone away.

Because really, the audacity of it all.

Calling her a lush -

But then she stumbles over the curb and almost falls on her face, just barely grabbing onto a nearby signpost to keep her balance, and she's forced to admit that maybe Suguru's right. She sinks to the ground with a giggle, tugging the hem of her dress down a little so her ass isn't scraping the concrete; the last thing she needs is to wake up with scratches on her butt, and don't think she hasn't noticed the couple of guys pointing and staring at her from across the street!

She makes a face at them, one that's very unflattering.

She sticks out her tongue and screws up her nose and eventually, they get the memo. They saunter off, throwing another couple of furtives glances over their shoulders as they head down the street towards the convenience store on the corner, and Satoru feels vindicated. She feels powerful -

Or maybe that's just the half a liter of midori sours sitting in her belly.

Who knows?

What she does know, however, is that she feels a little better now that she knows Suguru's on the way.

She feels mollified, the frustration and pain of not knowing what's going on or what she's been feeling lately fading away with the knowledge that Suguru will be here soon. Her best friend has always been a little like the sun, Satoru thinks, or maybe a hot cup of tea; she makes Satoru feel warm, makes her feel safe and content and loved, and like - is that a sign, she wonders?

Is that a hint that she likes Suguru as more than just a friend, that she is just as far gone as Shoko insists?

The thought of ever being without her is… terrible, frankly.

It's awful, so much so that Satoru doesn't really like to think about it very much.

She doesn't like to entertain the notion that Suguru's eventually gonna settle down with someone else, that she's gonna wake up one day and walk out of her bedroom into a kitchen that's cold because Suguru's not there to make the coffee. She doesn't want to contemplate an existence where she can't walk around the apartment in Suguru's oversized hoodies, where the living room doesn't smell like eucalyptus and bergamot and all those other oils and creams Suguru massages into her tired, achy muscles and joints after a lifetime of sports injuries, and like -

On some level, she recognizes that she's gonna have to, some day.

Because people grow up, yeah?

They get new jobs and meet new people; they start relationships and families and savings accounts.

And it's not like she wants to hold Suguru back or anything.

She doesn't want to keep her friend at her side at the cost of letting her make progress towards her own life goals. That would be rude, and also kinda selfish, and while Satoru can admit that she's a glutton for her friend's attention, she likes to think she's not so terrible that she'd actually prevent Suguru from getting what she wants in order to make herself happy.

Of course not.

She just - wishes she could find a way to have her cake and eat it too, that she could selfishly keep Suguru at her side for the rest of her life even as her friend continues to grow and their lives continue to change.

Is that too much to ask?

…maybe, she thinks, glancing back down at her phone and seeing yet another message from Suguru, no doubt something she's sent to try and keep Satoru on track as she waits for her to get here.

Maybe it's too much of ask of anyone.

How are you doing, sweetheart? Suguru asks, full punctuation and all. Find any water?

Satoru is delighted to discover there's a bottle of water already in her hand, unopened and everything; she must have ordered it before she left the bar, and she happily cracks it open and guzzles down half of it in one long drink, ignoring the little droplets that leak out the side of her mouth.

God, it's delicious.

It's the best thing she's ever tasted -

Which she's quick to tell Suguru, actually, setting the bottle down on the curb as she types out a message.

Fond wtr, she says.

Then, for good measure, she snaps a picture of herself with it and sends it off into the void as well, not even bothering to stop and check if the selfie's any good.

Suguru's seen her worse off than this after a night out, she figures.

She's seen her face down, ass up, hair plastered all over her face with sweat as she dry heaves into a toilet after a night out at the bar, and also with makeup running down her cheeks as she bawled her eyes out in a dingy bathroom in the back of said bar, so.

This can't be too bad.

And sure enough, the response she gets back from Suguru (still several minutes delayed, like she's only texting when she runs into stoplights) is mostly fond. The slightly condescending You're so precious that she gets is still layered with very real affection, and staring at it for too long makes Satoru feel funny.

It makes her feel all loopy, and also even warmer, and while that's better than the abject mess of anxiety and frustration she'd been feeling earlier, she still doesn't quite know what to do with it. She doesn't really know what it all means, and she's way too drunk to find out, so she irritably shoves her phone into the crook of her lap and downs the rest of the water bottle in silence as she waits for Suguru to arrive.

It doesn't take long.

She's just thought to trash the bottle in the bin lining the sidewalk when a cute baby blue convertible pulls up to the curb, Suguru's head popping out the window.

"Hey, pretty lady," she grins, eyeing Satoru's general state. "Looking for a good time?"

"Fuck you," Satoru snaps, popping up to her feet.

Suguru snickers and puts the car into park, pushing the button for the hazard lights before she steps out of the car and helps Satoru make her way to the passenger seat.

"This isn't right," Satoru points out as she's pushed down into the cushions, Suguru's strong hands at her shoulder and waist buckling her in. "Suguru, this is my car."

Suguru snorts. "No shit."

"I wanted to ride your motorcycle -"

"When you're fucking wasted? Not a chance, you'd just fall off the back."

Satoru whines and wheedles as Suguru comes back around the other side and plops down behind the wheel. She thinks she says something about torque and terminal velocity and a bunch of other things that would only make sense if you were living inside her brain, and since Suguru is not living inside her skull (regrettable), she just sends Satoru a kind of amused but mostly exasperated look as she pulls back out into traffic.

"Wow," she muses, patting Satoru's thigh. "You really are drunk."

Satoru mouth snaps shut so fast her teeth click.

"I am not," she says, ignoring the sting in her incisors. "I'm not - no."

Suguru hums. "What music do you wanna listen to, then?"

"Oh! Spice Girls!"

She makes a grab for Suguru's phone, fully ready to pull up the playlist Suguru keeps curated just for her, the one that has all of her favorites -

But Suguru easily snatches it out of her grasp, shoving it between her thighs as she effortlessly weaves through the rest of the late night traffic jamming the streets. She clamps her legs together, and bats Satoru's hands away when she tries to get it back.

It's probably not all that hard, she thinks.

Satoru's movements are clumsy, her vision still hazy from all the alcohol she's had to drink; Suguru swats her away as easily as if she were a child, and after a few more minutes of making fruitless grabby hands at her across the center console, Satoru gives up. She pouts and leans back in her seat, head thumping back against the headrest with enough force that it makes her ears ring.

"You suck," she complains.

Suguru laughs. "I just picked your drunk ass up from the club," she points out.

"You suck."

"On a Friday night, in fucking Shibuya."

"…you're not too bad, I guess."

"Aw. I love you, too, babe."

The words make something twist in Satoru's stomach - and not entirely unpleasantly, she's forced to admit.

She thinks of how it might feel to hear those words in a more romantic context, to have Suguru say that while looking her in the eye, brushing the hair back from her face and pressing her lips to Satoru's cheek. She thinks how it might feel to wake up in the morning, roll over, and have the words spoken directly into her ear, Suguru's hands on her hips and her face pressed into her hair.

God, that's -

The heat that floods her then is less lust and more want.

It's just plain longing, that old, familiar ache that starts in her chest and settles somewhere deep in her core the more that she thinks about it.

Because wouldn't it be nice, she thinks?

To be wanted like that, to be adored?

It's really not all that elaborate of a fantasy, with barely even a hint of desire - and yet, it's everything she's ever wanted, ever since she was old enough to know what true want really was. It's what she wishes every hookup would bring, why the way all of her past relationships have just kinda sorta fallen apart after a few months leave her frustrated and sad and wanting.

Can she… have that, she wonders?

That domesticity, where someone wants her just because it's her?

She glances down at the hand Suguru's replaced over her knee, and then up at Suguru's face; she eyes the soft, easy grin Suguru shoots her way, the casual, almost careless way that she holds the steering wheel as she drives Satoru home.

Inexplicably, Satoru wants to cry.

Or, well.

Maybe not quite inexplicably, considering she is both A) inebriated and B) emotionally distraught.

But there's really no reason for her to look at her best friend and abruptly burst into tears, and so she sniffles and wipes irritably at her face to try and ward off the inevitable flurry of emotion she can feel welling up in her throat.

"Satoru? You okay?"

Satoru nods so hard her earrings hit her cheeks.

"I'm drunk," she says, a little miserable, and Suguru's expression softens.

It shifts into something warm, something a little sad, as she reaches her hand up and cradles Satoru's cheek, her thumb rubbing at the delicate skin just beneath Satoru's eye.

"You wanna talk about it?" she murmurs. "Whatever's got you feeling so down?"

Yes, she thinks. Please.

Then, thinking better of it, she shakes her head.

"Just wanna sleep," she says instead.

Suguru makes a soothing sound, fingers tangling in her hair.

"Okay, babe," she says softly. "It's okay, just - go to sleep, yeah? I'll wake you up when we're home."

Satoru nods, pressing a little more firmly into the hand at her temple; she lets her eyes drift shut, takes in a deep, shuddering breath -

And when she blinks them open again, she's in her bed, all tucked up in her cozy blankets.

Suguru's gotten her into a pair of pajamas, she notes, and no doubt wiped the make-up from her face. She's taken off her jewelry and her shoes, and plugged her phone in to charge on the nightstand; the lamp on her dresser is turned down low, leaving just enough soft, warm light for her to see the water bottle and couple of aspirin she's left out for Satoru to take, and when she groans and shifts onto her side, half-burying her face in the pillow, she stills.

She melts, some of that strange tension in her chest easing a bit when she sees Suguru curled up on the bed next to her, her own phone still glowing dimly in her hand.

Had she sat up with her for long, Satoru wonders?

Had she fallen asleep watching Satoru?

The thought makes her happy, makes her feel safe - because though she doesn't really need a protector, and isn't quite drunk enough to be in danger of getting sick, Suguru had recognized she'd been in a weird headspace all night. She'd seen through all of Satoru's deflections and stayed, just so that she wouldn't have to be alone, the same as she has these past few months, and that's -

Well.

It just makes Satoru feel really, really good, even as she knows she's going to wake up in the morning feeling really, really bad, and so she lets herself smile as she cuddles into her best friend's side.

The feeling doesn't go away.

It lingers, festers -

But not like a wound, Satoru thinks. Not like a sore, like an infection.

Rather, it feels a little like the way a plant blooms, the way these feelings she has for Suguru just kind of burst into being all around her, sudden and lush and warm as she accepts them.

When had Suguru started to feel like her home, Satoru wonders? When had her closest friend become her favorite person, the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with?

She's not sure she could really put a date on it. She's not sure she could build out an exact timeline of the events that had led her to this moment, or that it's anything quite so linear.

She's also not entirely sure that it matters, because regardless of how she had ended up here, she's finally allowing herself to admit that she's there, that this is how she feels.

She loves Suguru.

She wants Suguru.

She has a big, gay crush on her big, gay best friend; she wants to ride her face and kiss her awake in the morning, wants to hold her hand and cuddle on the couch. She wants to buy a house together, and cook her breakfast, and maybe also have her babies (if she wants that, of course, if she's into that kind of thing), and while maybe that's getting ahead of things here, Satoru finds she doesn't care.

Because they've already been friends forever, yeah?

They already know everything there is know about each other, have seen each other at both their very best and their very worst. She can think of no one else she trusts more, no one else that she'd rather spend the rest of her life with; she is absolutely, one-hundred percent certain now that this is what she wants. Her mind is made up.

She just -

Isn't certain that that's also what Suguru wants, and that's where she's stalling.

That's what's giving her pause.

Because for all that Satoru knows she's pretty, and smart, and obviously a catch, she's not sure that Suguru likes her that way. She's not certain that she's really Suguru's type, because she's not all that similar to any of the other women that Suguru's dated before; she can't just assume that because Suguru is gay, and very much into women, that that necessarily translates into her being into Satoru, and wouldn't Suguru have said something to her by now? Wouldn't there have been signs?

If she was into Satoru, if she had feelings for her.

While Satoru knows she isn't, like, the most socially aware person in their circle, she likes to think she's more observant than most. She likes to think she can put two and two together, and since Suguru hasn't really even given her one single little inkling that she's into Satoru that way, nothing so easy to interpret as a longing glance or a wanton sigh, she hesitates.

She bites her lip, she doesn't say anything.

It's a recipe for disaster, obviously; there's only so long she can keep a secret of that magnitude before it all just comes bubbling out. There's only so much time she's allotted before Suguru - being the shrewd, intelligent woman that she is - figures it all out on her own.

Which is what happens, actually.

It's what actually comes to pass, everything that's been building up between them finally coming to a head one random Wednesday afternoon in the middle of August.

Satoru has had the longest day in the history of long days, her temples absolutely throbbing in protest after an entire afternoon spent working hard. Her feet feel sore and pinched after she'd accidentally slipped her feet into Suguru's two sizes too small loafers that morning instead of Satoru's own shoes, and she'd then gotten so absorbed in grading papers that she'd forgotten to take her lunch.

Add in the fact that she'd woken up late after a night spent dreaming of Suguru rejecting her, over and over again, and she kinda just feels like she's gonna cry, and also maybe like she might throw up. She can't decide whether the first thing she wants to do when she gets home is to take a bath or faceplant into her bed and suffocate in the soft embrace of her various throw pillows, but ultimately, she ends up in Suguru's room.

Her friend is sprawled out on her bed, flicking mindlessly through her phone with one hand as she scratches idly at her bare stomach with the other; the ring on her thumb clicks against the plastic phone case every time she moves her hand, and she's humming softly under her breath, some tune Satoru half-recognizes from one of the playlists Suguru listens to as she cleans up around the house, or when she's working on client workout plans out in the living room.

It's a sight Satoru's seen a hundred other times, on a hundred other occasions -

Somehow, tonight feels different.

The air between them feels loaded, charged.

Satoru gets the feeling that anything that might happen, her emotions too threadbare for her to truly reign in, and when Suguru smiles at something she sees on her screen, when she huffs out a soft laugh that's just barely audible over the sound of the air-con pumping cool air into the living room, Satoru really does start to cry.

Suguru hears, unfortunately.

She sets her phone aside, quirking an eyebrow at Satoru when she just continues to loiter near the door instead of coming into her room.

"Hey," she murmurs, pushing up onto an elbow. "What's up?"

She could tell her, Satoru thinks.

She could fess up, could tell Suguru that she doesn't think she can take a single second more of being just friends with her, that over the past few months, she's come to the very enlightening, pathetically self-evident truth that she's in love with her, actually, and would very much like a hug, and maybe also a kiss to the forehead.

Instead, Satoru just makes a weak, unhappy sound; she looks away, unable to say the words sitting on the tip of her tongue -

And Suguru, predictably, pushes to her feet, crossing the room in two seconds as she wraps an arm around Satoru's shoulders, dragging her into a hug.

"Aw, babe," she croons.

Satoru makes a face, even as she presses her head into Suguru's neck. She twists into Suguru's warmth, curls a hand around her hip; she has to duck a little to do it, the handful of extra centimeters she has on Suguru making it so that she has to more or less wrap herself around Suguru's torso like a snake.

But Suguru doesn't seem to mind.

She's never seemed to mind, has only ever encouraged Satoru to be as clingy as she wants, and so she quickly steers them to the bed, settling back down into the lingering heat of the blankets and tugging Satoru down beside her.

"C'mon," she urges, rubbing absently at Satoru's back. "Tell me what's wrong."

Satoru's shoulders hunch up a little.

She opens her mouth, tries to make the words come out.

Once again, they stick in her throat.

"That bad, huh?" Suguru teases.

Satoru sniffles, pathetic, and nods.

Suguru makes a soft, encouraging noise, dragging her fingers through Satoru's hair in slow, practiced strokes; she plucks out the barrettes keeping her bangs at bay, unclasps Satoru's earrings and sets them aside on the nightstand, and when she puts a hand on the back of Satoru's head and slowly urges her face down and into her neck, Satoru's tears spill over.

She cries, clutching at the straps of Suguru's sports bra.

She sobs, even as she does her best to keep quiet, her breaths these terrible, awkward little hiccuping sounds that force their way out past her lips and onto Suguru's skin.

She's getting Suguru's pillows wet.

She's getting Suguru wet, and while she knows her friend would never hold it against her, it also doesn't really help much with the whole feeling like a pathetic ball of emotions thing, so.

Yeah.

Still, it's probably better to get it all out now.

It's better than bottling all the emotion up inside and having it explode out of her at a later date, and so she cries until she can't. She cries until her face hurts and her nose is all stuffed up, and when she finally pulls back, wiping at her puffy face with a hand, Suguru lifts an eyebrow.

"Ready to talk?" she asks.

Satoru's mouth juts out into a pout, the effect likely ruined by the way her mouth is hanging open like a fish so she can breathe.

"No," she replies, her voice thick.

Suguru purses her lips and pinches at her hip. Though Satoru yelps and flinches away, her strong hands hold her steady, and when she clears her throat and repeats the question, a little more firmly, Satoru nods, properly chastised.

"I… had a bad day," she admits.

Suguru nods, as if she'd expected that.

"Work stuff?"

"Partially, yeah. I had meetings all morning, and then I forgot to eat lunch because I got so caught up grading. I've had a headache since three, my feet fucking hurt, and I… may or may not have started an interdepartmental war with the fine arts group over the library printers?" She shakes her head, sighing. "I don't know, I can never tell whether the literature people are being sarcastic or, you know - literal."

Suguru looks torn between laughing and offering her condolences.

She settles for something in between, her lips quivering with mirth even as she says, "And is the physics department prepared for that kind of attack?"

Satoru snorts. "Are you kidding? The entire department consists of me, Takahashi, and three guys old enough to be my grandfather. They can't even open a fucking PDF without contracting a computer virus, and don't even get me started on spreadsheets. We're fucked, Suguru."

Suguru snickers. "I'm sorry," she says, sounding nothing of the sort.

"I'll have to send over a peace treaty," Satoru groans, waving a hand. "Apologize for - taking up all the good paper, or monopolizing all the magenta ink. Whatever it is they're pissed about."

"What were you printing in magenta ink?"

"Technically, I was printing star charts in red font - because I like to differentiate between different clusters using different colors. But that uses a lot of magenta, which means that the figures the literature professors were trying to print out for their students all turned out kinda green, so…" Satoru shrugs. "The vendetta is very personal."

"…academia is a strange place."

"The strangest."

Suguru hums, her hand tracing idle patterns on Satoru's hip.

"And is that all that's bothering you?" she asks, her eyes flicking across Satoru's face in a way that feels far too casual for the situation. "Is that… everything?"

Satoru's inhale is sharp.

She holds it in her lungs for a moment, tries to count to ten in her head before she thinks to blow it back out. It does absolutely nothing to ease the sense of dread pooling in hot and fast in her stomach, the heady anticipation of a fall thrumming in her veins.

But she's too close to the edge now.

She's already got one foot off the ledge, her body half-suspended in the air as she leans over the precipice, looking down at a sharp, deep descent -

"No," she admits. "It's not."

Suguru's hand moves from her hip to her cheek, cradling her face with such soft, careful intent that it makes Satoru shudder.

"Tell me," she implores softly.

- and all Satoru can do is fall.

"I think I like you," she says, arms coming up to wrap around Suguru's neck. "I think I want you, Suguru, and it scares the shit out of me."

Suguru's head tilts to the side. "Why would that scare you?"

"Because it's - it's too much, Suguru. I want too much. It's too big, and I don't know what to do with it -"

"Shh, sweetheart -"

Satoru's arms tighten. "No," she protests, shaking her head even as she presses her cheek into Suguru's palm. "No, you don't - you don't get it, Suguru. You don't understand -"

"I think I do."

Satoru blinks.

"You do?" she repeats.

Suguru smiles, and it's a little like the sun poking up above the horizon first thing in the morning.

"You, um, haven't been super subtle."

Satoru groans, her eyes squeezing shut as she knocks their foreheads together.

"You're kidding me," she says. "You're shitting me, you - you knew?"

"…kinda."

Satoru's lips purse into a pout. "All this time, you knew I was thirsting after you?"

Suguru laughs, unbearably fond, as she pushes a stray lock of hair behind Satoru's ear.

"Well, I'd hoped you wanted a little more than just sex," she admits. "But yeah, Satoru. I knew."

Satoru wrenches her eyes back open to stare at her friend; though she scrutinizes Suguru's face with a careful eye, she can't detect any hint of a lie. She doesn't get the impression that Suguru's being even the least bit untruthful here, or that she's grossed out or uncomfortable by the admission, and so she bites her lip, the dread in her core slowly morphing into something warmer, something gooey and sticky and hot.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Suguru shrugs, thumbing at the delicate skin beneath her eye. "Well, first of all, I didn't know you were into women that way. I didn't know you were…"

She trails off, allowing Satoru to fill in the label on her own time, in her own way.

It's gratifying, as is the way she smiles when Satoru nods and easily supplies, "Bisexual."

"I thought so. Maybe. But that also seems like the sort of thing you need to work through on your own, and, I didn't… I didn't want to interfere, or have how I feel about you cloud your judgment."

Beside her, Satoru goes very, very still.

"How… you feel about me?" she asks, quiet.

Suguru laughs again, and this time it's a little mean, a little self-deprecating. Satoru can scarcely dare to breathe as she waits for the answer to her question.

"Babe," Suguru breathes, shaking her head. "Satoru."

"…yes?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

Satoru chances a glance up at her, lower lip tugged between her teeth. She's a little afraid of what she might see reflected back at her in Suguru's eyes -

But there is no judgment to be found.

There's no disgust, no sadness, nothing that would indicate she's trying to figure out a way to let Satoru down gently, and so she exhales out a shaky breath, still a little unbelieving that this is real, and says, "Maybe. I dunno. Verbal confirmation might be nice."

Suguru snorts.

"My feelings for you are bigger than I know what to do with, too," she admits. "I've barely been able to keep them to myself, it is so fucking obvious that I'm into you -"

"Not to me, it wasn't!"

"- which is why Shoko and Utahime have been giving me shit for years."

Satoru's fairly confident that she chokes on her spit - or maybe it's snot.

Either way, the noise she makes at the admission is gross, and watery, and a thousand other not cool things, and when she blinks and demands, "That's not - what, for real?"she feels very dumb.

Suguru winces through her smile.

"Yeah," she admits. "It's pretty embarrassing, actually. How down bad for you I am."

"But you - you never said anything," Satoru splutters. "You never told me jack shit, and you've had girlfriends! You've brought people over -"

"So have you," Suguru points out.

Satoru's mouth snaps shut.

"Was I supposed to wait for you?" she continues. "Was I supposed to just sit around pining for you, hoping you'd like me back one day?"

Satoru huffs. "Well, that definitely would've made it a little more obvious -"

Suguru rolls her eyes.

"I didn't know if it was ever going to happen, Satoru," she says. "I didn't know if you'd ever feel the same way, and the only people you ever brought home were guys, so… I tried to move past it, tried to find someone who didn't remind me so much of you, someone I could be happy with."

Satoru swallows the sudden lump in her throat.

"Did it work?" she asks, her voice small.

Suguru leans forward a little bit, so that their noses are brushing. Satoru can feel her breath on her lips, can feel the heat of her on her tongue.

"Obviously not," she murmurs.

Satoru makes a noise that's half whine, half whimper, fisting a hand in Suguru's inky black hair. She tangles their legs together beneath the blanket, intent on getting rid of any and all space remaining between them, and when she glances back up at Suguru, and sees the way her gaze has gone all hooded and dark, soft and wanting, she decides she can't wait anymore. She wants Suguru now -

And so she kisses her, hard.

She leans forward and takes what she wants, drinking down the low, rough noise that pushes its way out of Suguru's mouth as she presses their mouths together.

It's… different than what she's used to, she thinks.

Probably because Suguru actually applies lip balm when her lips are chapped, and also allows Satoru to slather her mouth in scrubs and masks and chapstick whenever she insists on a night spent pampering themselves. Her mouth is warm and sensual and soft.

But at the same time, it's not.

The way that Suguru groans and easily takes control of the kiss is a little proprietary, the hand she's kept on Satoru's face sliding down her neck to curl around the base of her throat. Her teeth nip at the span of Satoru's lower lip, and when her mouth falls open on a gasp, she is all too eager to lick into her mouth, to drink down the heady noise she makes.

Satoru's body floods with heat, and her heart thunders against her ribs.

Her mind goes completely, blissfully blank, Suguru's touch burning in a way that nothing else ever has, and Satoru, greedy thing that she is, finds herself desperate for more.

She even says as much, apparently, because Suguru chuckles, pulling back just enough to grin down at her. "That good, huh?" she teases, running a thumb across the bow of Satoru's mouth.

It comes back sticky with spit, and Satoru scowls.

"Shut up," she mutters, dragging Suguru back down into another kiss, and then another after that. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, Suguru -"

Suguru laughs as she shifts, twisting their bodies to the side.

She rolls them over and straddles Satoru's waist, her big hands palming Satoru's cheeks as she deepens the kiss, and when Satoru groans, mouth parting easily in invitation as Suguru traces her tongue across the seam of her lips, she shudders and makes a very embarrassing sort of whimper.

"God, you sound so good," Suguru murmurs. "You sound so - fuck, Satoru."

"Again," Satoru begs, mouthing sloppily at Suguru's face, pressing kisses wherever she can reach. "Again, Suguru, please -"

Suguru complies.

She kisses Satoru like her life depends on it, slowly taking her apart with her tongue; she kisses Satoru until her lips ache with it, until her breath comes hot and fast in her chest and she feels like she's about to float straight out of the bed and up into the ceiling, weightless and buoyant.

It's incredible, she thinks, panting.

It's amazing, what the fuck, Satoru's toes curling in her socks and her pussy throbbing between her thighs, aching, empty, wet-

And maybe that's a little embarrassing, that she's so worked up from just a little kissing.

Maybe she's a little more desperate than she thought.

But then Suguru shifts against her, pulling back from where she'd been painting a trail of bitemarks and bruises against Satoru's neck in order to lean forward and capture Satoru's mouth again, and she feels it.

The steady thrum of Suguru's heartbeat is transformed into something quick and sharp as Satoru presses her fingers against her neck, rapt. It beats against her fingertips, her pulse wild and frenetic as she groans into Satoru's mouth, and presses their bodies ever closer, and Satoru thinks that maybe, just maybe, she's not the only one so affected here.

"Satoru," she breathes, fingers tangling in Satoru's hair. "Baby -"

Satoru whines at the pet name, hips bucking, and Suguru moans into her mouth.

"What do you want?" she asks, breathless. "What do you - what do you want, Satoru?"

And here's the thing.

Satoru's never really thought of Suguru as someone who hesitates.

Much like Satoru herself, she's always taken exactly what she wants, and the walls of their apartment are… kinda thin. Satoru's heard her fuck girls absolutely senseless; she's heard them begging for mercy and crying out for gods that maybe don't exist, and while she's always been a little skeptical that anything could ever feel quite that good as the others have made Suguru's tongue seem, Satoru also knows that those skills probably aren't exaggerated.

But she's hovering over Satoru like she's something delicate.

She keeps pulling back to pause and bite her lip, to stare down at Satoru like she can't quite believe this is happening; it's considerate of her, probably - to make sure that Satoru isn't having second thoughts, to check in with her at every step of the process.

It's also fucking maddening, and Satoru makes an irritated noise as she slaps a palm around the back of Suguru's neck, dragging her back in.

"I told you," she gasps, something deep and satisfying curling up in her core as Suguru finally rests her full weight atop her, her breasts and thighs pressing into Satoru's. "I want you."

She squeezes at Suguru's arms, wraps a calf around her leg.

"So stop fucking around and fuck me."

Suguru snorts, fixing her with a look that is half-exasperated, half-fond.

"Don't worry, princess," she says, kissing first Satoru's lips, and then the tip of her nose. "I'll give you what you need. I just… want to be sure that's what this is, first."

Her lips find Satoru's jaw, and then the little hollow at the base of her ear.

She presses a kiss to the delicate skin, featherlight, and then flicks her tongue against Satoru's earlobe, her teeth clicking against the secondary studs she hadn't bothered to take out.

"Because it's you and me, yeah?" she breathes. "Us, together?"

Satoru's hands flex around nothing as Suguru works a mark into her neck; her body is shaking, practically vibrating with want, and when Suguru slides a hand down her side, squeezing gently at the plush of her hip, so close to her core, she gasps.

"That's what you want?"

Satoru nods, frantic. She wrenches her eyes open, grabs Suguru by her hair and pulls her face back up so she can look her right in the eye -

"You and me," she agrees. "Us, the two of us, two peas in a pod, together forever -"

Suguru snorts, entirely fond. "You're such a dork."

"Yeah, but I'm your dork, so… you love me anyways."

The way Suguru looks at her then is so, so soft and happier than Satoru thinks she's ever seen; the way she pets at Satoru's face makes something in her threaten to break -

But then Suguru pulls away, hands tugging at the fabric of Satoru's shirt.

"Take this off, then," she murmurs. "I want to see you."

Satoru is quick to obey, whipping off her shirt in record time; she hooks her fingers around the clasp of her bra, too, shoving the flimsy straps of fabric off her shoulders. Gravity does the rest of the work for her, leaving her bare from the waist up as she presses up onto her elbows; the skin of her breasts pricks with the sudden cold, nipples hard and peaked.

And here's the thing.

Satoru knows she doesn't have a whole lot to work with here; she's very aware that both of her breasts, together, fill approximately one B-sized cup, and her areolae are practically the same peachy-pink as the rest of her. Her boobs aren't great to look at.

But Suguru's eyes are almost reverant, as is the groan that slips past her lips as she reaches out and presses Satoru back into the mattress, and that -

Well.

Satoru thinks she could get used to that.

Just as she could used to the way Suguru cups each breast in her hands, the way she rolls Satoru's nipples around with her fingers; she tweaks and she tugs, thumbs rubbing appreciative little circles around the sensitive skin, and when she seems to tire of flicking them with her fingers, she leans down and takes first one and then the other into her mouth.

"Suguru," Satoru pants.

Suguru flicks one nipple with her tongue, grinning at the way Satoru shakes.

"Good?" she teases, trading her tongue for her lips, kissing at Satoru's skin.

Satoru nods and fists a hand in Suguru's hair, urging her to continue.

"Good," she agrees, fighting not to writhe. "So good, your mouth is - oh, my god, please."

Suguru hums, settling into her a little more firmly.

"Fuck, I love your tits," she breathes. "I love your - fuck, Satoru."

"…what, really?"

Suguru glances up, smirking.

"Is it not obvious?" she asks, mouthing at her breast again.

Then, unexpectedly, she bites down, just hard enough to leave a mark, and Satoru gasps.

"They're so small, though. They're so -"

Suguru cuts her off with a shake of her head, relinquishing her hold on Satoru in favor of pressing her forehead to her sternum, breathing in the scent of her skin.

"They're perfect," she says, pushing up onto her hands. "You're perfect."

Satoru whimpers, and tries to clamp her thighs shut.

Considering Suguru is still laying between them, the movement does nothing other than betray how very desperate Satoru is starting to feel, and she throws her head back into the pillows, a little embarrassed.

"Has no one ever told you that before?"

Satoru buries her face in her hands.

"Has no one ever told you you're beautiful?"

"Of course they have," she murmurs, peeking out of the cage of her fingers as Suguru toys with the waistband of her pants, a question on her face. "But it's not - it's just pillow talk."

The noise Suguru makes is disapproving, as is the way her mouth slants down into a frown.

"It's just something people say, when they wanna fuck you -"

"No, Satoru. It's not."

Satoru lets her pull her hands away from her face, lets Suguru palm her cheek with her hand.

"You're lovely," she murmurs, even as Satoru's face goes pink with the praise, "You are stunning - and I want to see all of you, if you'll let me."

Again, Satoru nods.

"I want to hear you," Suguru breathes, slowly forcing Satoru's legs a little farther apart, pushing down on her knees as she slowly sinks to her stomach, putting her face at eye level with the front of Satoru's pants. "I want to taste you -"

Satoru groans, her entire core clenching in want.

"Please," she gasps, hands sliding down her belly to settle on the button of her trousers, working frantically at the zipper. "Please, Suguru, I -"

"Can I, Satoru?"

Satoru gasps and shoves the fabric off her hips.

"Can I make you feel good?"

"Please," she says again, and this time, it's a little damning.

But Suguru is there to catch her.

She's there to hold Satoru steady as she falls apart, her hands coming up to help slide the trousers from her legs and peel the underwear from her thighs, and when she dips her head in and licks a long, hot stripe up the length of her cunt, groaning into her core, she keeps her still.

She holds her tight, even as she flicks at her clit with her tongue and licks at her folds like a woman possessed; her grip on Satoru's waist is strong, and when she snakes a hand down between them, pulling back just enough that she can spread Satoru wide, staring down at the way her drenched pussy glistens in the late afternoon sunlight streaming in the window -

"Fuck, Satoru," she murmurs, pressing a soft, almost delicate kiss to her clit.

Satoru whines, grinding her hips into Suguru's face.

"Fuck."

Suguru sinks into her warmth with another moan, eyes slipping shut as she resumes her work; the noises she makes as she eats Satoru out are a little obscene, and almost as loud as the ones Satoru tries (and fails) to keep from pouring past her lips. It's so good, so incredibly messy, and when Satoru feels herself getting close, when her pants start to devolve into these short, gasping little breaths, and her hips start to twitch, Suguru just presses her face into her cunt all the more, presses her lips to her clit, and sucks -

Satoru cums with a shout, and also a sob.

Her body curls up like a bow, taut, and she bucks her hips into Suguru's face, the hand she's twined in Suguru's hair forcing her to keep still as she rides out the orgasm - yet Suguru doesn't seem to want to be anywhere else, golden eyes glittering up at Satoru with nothing short of sheer unconditional love from between her thighs as she slowly comes down from the high.

"Satoru," she murmurs, pressing kiss after kiss into the soft skin of her thighs.

Satoru hums, a little dazed.

"Satoru," she tries again. This time, it's accompanied by a pinch, and Satoru can't help but huff out a frustrated breath, twisting to the side to glare down at Suguru.

"Yeah?" she demands.

Suguru laughs, pulling back and pressing a kiss to the thatch of white hair just above her clit, licking up the mess Satoru's made of herself, relishing the way her breath hitches.

"You don't have to sound so put out," she teases, fingers tracing circles around her hip bones.

"I'm not put out," Satoru disagrees, frowning.

"No?"

"I'm just - contemplating."

"…contemplating."

"I am thinking very hard."

Suguru snorts and sits back, hiking Satoru's legs up so that she can press a thigh between them; she lifts Satoru effortlessly, settles her weight across her lap like it's nothing, and when Satoru hisses at the friction, groaning at the way the fabric of Suguru's sweats rubs just right against her, her fingers scrabble for purchase on Suguru's broad shoulders.

"About?"

Satoru blinks down at her as Suguru gathers her hair up in her hand, twisting the mass of it into one long, white tail; she tucks it neatly over one of Satoru's shoulders, leaning it to press another kiss to the little hollow at the base of Satoru's throat, and Satoru grinds down a bit harder, testing her own limits.

"A lot of things," she admits, exhaling out a shaky breath.

"Mmm. Tell me some of them."

Watching Suguru carefully, Satoru starts to move her hips back and forth along the other woman's thigh; she rides her leg slowly, spreading her own hips wider to give herself a bit more leverage, and feels high off the way that Suguru stares.

"I thought about you like this, you know," she pants, curling a hand around Suguru's neck.

Suguru groans. "Did you?"

"All the time," Satoru says, nodding. "Riding your thigh, getting off on it -"

Suguru shifts her hands from Satoru's waist to her hips; she runs them along her flank, sliding up supple thighs and reaching round to cup her ass, appreciative.

"I wanted to see if I could do it. I wanted to see if it was, ah, enough."

Suguru's helping her now, helping her hump her leg; her fingers are digging into Satoru's skin, nails just long enough to sting, just sharp enough to leave marks behind.

Satoru relishes the thought of waking up to them.

"Is it?" Suguru asks, her voice rough. "Is it enough?"

Satoru groans and tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes as she chases the burning pleasure between her thighs. It's coming up on her fast, making her legs shake and her cunt clench - she always cums quickly the second time, she's found, her nerves something of a hair trigger afterwards that first, initial orgasm.

"Yes," she replies, desperate. "Yes, yes, yes, fuck, Suguru - "

Suguru's hands squeeze her tight.

"Come on, sweetheart," she encourages, rapt. "You're doing so good for me, so well -"

The praise hits Satoru like a freight train.

It goes straight to her head, and also her cunt, and she yells as the orgasm hits her; she thinks her vision actually whites out for a moment there, and she definitely loses track of who she is and what she's doing -

But then Suguru flips them, pressing her back down into the mattress.

Satoru barely has time to blink her eyes back open before Suguru's sliding two fingers inside her, the heel of her hand bumping up against her over-sensitive clit. She works Satoru open relentlessly, rubbing frantically at the soft, spongey little spot deep inside her cunt, and despite Satoru's best efforts to reciprocate, to try and peel Suguru's sweats off, she can't.

She can't really do much of anything, really, because Suguru's hand is merciless.

"Suguru," she whines, tears beading along her lash line at how good it feels, how raw. "Suguru."

"Did you think about this, Satoru?" Suguru asks, panting.

Another twist of Suguru's fingers has Satoru whining, incoherent, and so she just settles for a nod, hips bucking up into Suguru's palm.

"Did you think about me fucking you on my fingers? On my tongue?"

Suguru leans in then, bites at first her neck and then up the span of her jaw; the movement has her mouth right at Satoru's ear, her voice low and heady as she murmurs, "How about me fucking you open on my cock?"

Satoru chokes, eyes rolling.

She feels the way her cunt throbs at the words, the way her own wetness drips hot and sticky along Suguru's hand, along the fabric of the mattress -

And judging from the way Suguru groans above her, she's not the only one who can.

"Suguru, please," she pants. "I can't - I can't take another -"

Suguru shifts to catch her mouth in a desperate kiss, one that's more teeth than tongue.

"You can," she disagrees, grinning. "You can, baby, you - one more, okay? Just one more -"

Satoru shakes her head. "I can't -"

Suguru shushes her with her lips, thumb working tiny circles against her clit.

The pressure is just enough to drive Satoru mad, and her mouth falls open, lungs heaving; the warmth pooling hot and fast in the pit of her stomach is one she's felt only a handful of times before, and she tries to catch Suguru's attention, tries to tell her this one is different -

But all that comes out of her mouth is a desperate squeak, followed by a sound she only truly categorize as a wail. Her thighs clench, all the tension in her belly snapping at once, and just as she'd predicted, Satoru cums so hard, she squirts.

She gushes, soaking Suguru's hand, and sucks down a breathe so deep, she sees spots.

"Fuck," she thinks she hears, somewhere above her. "Fucking hell, Satoru -"

There's a rustling sound, and a slight shifting on the mattress as Suguru finally takes off her (thoroughly dirtied) sweatpants. She doesn't appear to have been wearing anything underneath, if the ease with which she slips a hand between her thighs and starts to rub at her own pussy, fingers still wet with her, is any indication, and when Satoru sneaks a glance up at her, when she finally blinks her bleary eyes open and musters up a terribly rough, ruined, "Suguru," she keens.

She falls forward, thrusting her hips into her palm as she rides out the aftershocks of own orgasm, and when Satoru opens up her arms in welcome, she's all too eager to sink down into her embrace.

Her weight feels good on top of her, Satoru thinks.

It feels… heavy, but also light, and warm in all the right places, all the places that their bodies still connect. Suguru's breath against her neck and her arms around her back have her feeling loved, in the sense that the word is a verb and not just a noun; she doesn't ever want to leave this moment -

But they do, eventually.

Suguru pulls back and presses up onto her arms, shifting her weight a little so she can smooth the hair back from Satoru's sweaty forehead. She kisses Satoru's temple, and then her lips, only settling back onto her haunches when Satoru puts a hand to her chest and gently pushes her away.

She doesn't go far, of course.

Satoru just wants to get out of the (really big, fuck) wet spot they've made on the sheets, tumbling forward into Suguru's lap in a move that is both very clumsy and very obvious. Her sudden movement drives the breath from Suguru's lungs, and they fall back down onto the mattress in a tangle of sticky limbs and laughter, Satoru feeling lighter than she has in weeks -

And it's because it's real, she thinks.

The way she and Suguru love each other is an actual, tangible thing that she can feel stretched taut between them, like a thread, or maybe a string.

How she'd ever questioned it, she doesn't know.

How she'd ever thought that this was just platonic, or that Suguru might not feel the same way, is beyond her, incomprehensible; it's impossible not to understand, for there to be any misinterpretations.

She loves Suguru.

She loves her, for now and forever.

Sometimes, she thinks, you maybe don't have to choose between platonic and romantic love; sometimes they get all tangled up together into one, because you realize your best friend is really your favorite person, and that -

Well.

Maybe it's not such a terrible, confusing thing after all.

"We should get up."

Satoru shakes her head, kissing at Suguru's jaw. "Don't wanna."

"C'mon, don't you want to shower?"

Hmm.

A shower did sound nice.

Especially if she could drag Suguru in with her, if she could sneak some of that super expensive shampoo she uses whose smell that Satoru has always loved. She didn't normally let her use it, complaining Satoru always wasted too much, but now…

"We could… order dinner afterwards. And maybe watch that movie you like?"

Suguru swallows and adds, "If you want, that is, if you… want to stay in. With me."

Incredulous, Satoru pulls back.

Because how could Suguru even think she wouldn't want that?

But then maybe she's not the only one who's been harboring some doubts, she thinks, catching the flash of uncertainty in Suguru's eyes just before it recedes.

She resolves to stamp it out permanently, to chase away any lingering doubts the same way that Suguru had done for her earlier.

"Of course, I want that, you idiot," she says, following it up with a firm press of their lips. "Obviously, I want you. Still. Forever."

Suguru shrugs. "I mean, I hoped."

Satoru rolls her eyes, even as she smiles.

"We have to cuddle, though," she huffs, entirely serious. "And you gotta let me put on the version with commentary."

Suguru's expression pinches. "No."

"Um, yes?"

"Do we have to?"

Clambering to her feet, Satoru gives an imperious nod.

"We must," she says. "For science."

"But we always watch the version with commentary," Suguru groans.

"We do not -"

"Babe. You have it fucking memorized."

Satoru's eyes narrow. "Are you implying that my ability to monologue along with the narrator is anything less than charming?"

Suguru stands up, tossing an arm around Satoru's waist as she presses a kiss to her cheek.

"I would never," she coos, pacifying.

But then she grins and pinches at Satoru's hip, yanking away from her to streak towards the bathroom as she says, "But it's also kind of annoying, so -"

"Suguru!"

Warm laughter echoes all the way down the hall.

It's the best thing Satoru's ever heard.