Summary: Yukino asks Hachiman to define the word "waifu" for her, thus leading to an awkward, but not exactly unpleasant, encounter.

Waifu

Oneshot:

In the hundreds upon hundreds of various anime fandoms, there is a single word that continues to weigh down on the conscience of humanity. Let's face it: the very concept of there being people so obsessed with anime shows that they proceed to draw fanart of their favourite characters and post it on DeviantArt, or write one hundred thousand word long works of "fiction" and post it on Fanfiction or Archive of our Own, is pretty much the most depressing notion that can possibly enter your brain. I'd honestly rather think about the horrific permutations and suffering caused by the Holocaust than consider the fact there are people who would genuinely go and write scenes of homo-eroticism between Eren Jaeger and Levi Ackerman (1)- and then post it on online. It's made even more apocalyptic by the accompanying truth, namely that such works have been penned because there also people actively seeking to read them.

And in case you're wondering how I came to know the names of the websites in question, and indeed the particulars of the select minority's smut tastes... well... I'll concede that I'm treading on dangerously thin ice in terms of hypocrisy. Okay. Perhaps there might've been a time when, influenced by chuuni affliction and encouraged by the manipulating but continally not-eloquent words of Zaimokuza, that I might've hypothetically penned some fanfictions of my own. But they definitely weren't one hundred thousand words long. Or related to a titan shifter and humanity's strongest soldier in any way, shape or form. I promise.

*ahem*

But before you begin to suspect whether this is actually some sort've bizarre confession of previous sins, I'd like to declare that the stage of keeping spirit diaries and such is well behind me. I am now a fully re-integrated, contributing member of society. Sort've. Of course, I'm certainly not a contributing member of society, and I'm anything but re-integrated, but I am a member of society. If a somewhat unwilling one, on occasion.

Thankfully, I'm not alone in my incompatibility with general societal existence. There are others that are like me. Or, at the very least, others who were like me: as I mentioned only a couple of moments ago, I've now progressed from being a loner with no social life who obsesses over anime, to just being a loner with no social life (phrased like that, it seems more like regression than progression...). As a result, the frequency with which I use the word that I also mentioned a couple of moments ago has significantly reduced. The word in question is "waifu".

The definition of waifu that you'd receive from typing the word into the hub of all knowledge and wisdom that is Google is as follows- a fictional character from non-live action visual media that one is attracted to and considers a significant other. Phrased in this way, with carefully chosen verbs and adjectives, it makes the custom of declaring on an online forum who your waifu is a lot less saddening. Here's my personal ammendment of that definition- an anime character specifically designed by artists to appeal to the shallow and easily predicted tastes of otaku, who have no forthcoming future with a genuine human women. There isn't anything particularly wrong or distasteful about the whole waifu culture in theory. In fact, I'd go as far to say that previous anime addicts such as myself have every right to fantasise over pleasingly drawn tsunderes with an oppai of inspiring proportions, if it grants them some form of minimal happiness.

I mean, let's face it. Life is shit. It's a continous whirlwind of abuse and disappointment and hatred and misshaps that you have no means of escaping from, which blows away your house and life prospects before you can so much as lift a finger in response. My personal experience with life can also be described with another analogy, which goes as follows; imagine a mugger who, for whatever reason, has decided to make a habit out of robbing the same innocent highschool girl returning from home every day. Life is the mugger, and I am the victim, who is destined to live a cycle of constant humiliation and dissatisfaction.

So, to conclude, I only take up a moral stance of objection against those with a waifu when their obsession begins to escalate above cracking half-true jokes on social media, or an occasional mildly shameful daydream. I'm sorry to the corporate bastards making their living off such an industry (okay, that's basically a lie), but both the production and purchase of body pillows is, in my eyes, a sin. A crime against humanity. A blatant disregard of basic fictitious female character rights. Basically, the Christian God should've had more foresight (considering his omnipotence and all) and sent Moses eleven slabs of grey stone instead of ten. The eleventh in question should've read as follows:

Thou shalt not corrupt the image of a Waifu.

And thus concludes my internal monologue for the day. Whew. I must say, I'm quite proud of that one.

My reason for embarking on that little unspoken soliloquy was, as it often is, to waste a bit of time. Attending the Service Club is, if I'm being honest, a pretty pointless and repetitive endeavour that most of the time achieves very little. I'll concede that I usually manage to make pretty good progress on whatever light novel I've decided to bless with my attention for the week, but then again, I could be making said progress at home in the comfort of my bed. I could also be making it without the Ice Queen insulting me for the mere fact that I'm reading said light novel, and without any Yuigahama or evil underclassmen based distractions.

Today, it is the latter who has been hammering nails of annoyance into my brain, and other nails of exhaustion into my arms. Yuigahama is nowhere to be found; as of late, she's been neglecting her other, ahem, "friends" in Class 2F, and thus has been coerced by Miura and Ebina into going to a cafe with them. That left me alone with Yukinoshita Yukino, which is essentially an infallibe arbitrator of verbal abuse. And, since it's absolutely unthinkable that my club president should be allowed to do physical work in the presence of an unlucky nearby male, that being Yours Truly, I've been forced into doing more slave labour for Isshiki. Since she too is a not-so-innocent and equally manipulative female, she often asks me to help shifting boxes and other inconveniently heavy objects around the student council room. I don't have much choice but to oblige her. Especially with Yukino's death glare fixed on me if I so much as mutter a half-assed attempt at a complaint. I'm not joking when I say that meeting that woman's gaze when she's angry is like staring into the fiery pits of eternal damnation.

*shudder*

One day, I'm going to die from all this work. But, maybe that's a good thing. Perhaps I'll be hailed as a noble martyr, who died in the good name of laziness and idle loners worldwide. Smell that burning flesh? I certainly do.

Anyway, my monologues had once again proven to be an indispensible ally when it comes to time wasting, as the room to the Service Club now stood in front of me. Despite my back-breaking, strenous and spirit-crushingly unnecessary work for Isshiki, it only managed to pass about half an hour in total. Taking into account the fifteen minutes Yukino and I sat around for at the start of the club meeting, that leaves us with about fifteen minutes remaining (see, I can do Maths!).

Okay. Just give me a few moments for mental preparation. This has become something of a ritual for me as I approach the Service Club room. Yukino is, if I were to understate things a little, absolutely bloody terrifying, and also just a little bit sadistic. Some of those quips can hurt you know, even for someone as regrettably accustomed to taking emotional punches as myself.

Think positive, Hachiman. Think Violet before she met Major Gilbert (2). Be tough. Unfeeling. A hardened soldier in a war of attrition against attractive women.

...

Okay, I'm ready.

The door opened, and the noble warrior stepped out onto the battlefield. Pervaying the terrifying, yet deceptively beautiful adversary that sat before him, his eyes narrowed. How many good men had rushed into battle against this angel of death, only to meet their untimely fate in a spray of blood, swept aside as if they were a puny fly? The ranks of his army (all of them using their invisbility cloakers, of course) watched as their brave general faced up to the monstrocity. This one, single fight could well alter the course of the whole conflict. They gasped as he uttered his renowned, universally feared battle cry...

'Yo.'

Man. If could draw manga or had any storytelling talent to speak of, I'd probably submit that to Shonen Jump.

'Ah, Hikigaya-kun,' came the icy reply of the War Goddess. 'I trust you had fun with Isshiki's request...?'

'Oh, believe me,' I replied, blunt as a brick, 'it was joyous. I absolute love shifting fifty tonne heavy boxes from one side of a room to another for no apparent reason.'

The tiniest hint of a smirk could be seen playing on her lips, but her voice refused to thaw. 'Once again, you're displaying your aptitude for ridiculous exaggeration. Have you by any chance considered a job in the acting profession?'

'The exaggeration was clearly sarcastic,' I grumbled, sitting down.

'But isn't sarcasm supposed to be somewhat humorous? One should at least try to make their jokes funny, otherwise there isn't much point in making them. Don't you think, Hikigaya-kun?'

'When I become a comedian, you'll be sorry.'

'Well, your face is certainly amusing to look at, though not necessarily for the right reasons.'

That was just plain rude. I really should report this woman for workplace bullying at some stage.

I picked up my light novel, hoping to drown my continual sorrows in poorly written action sequences and fan service. Yukino's eyes reverted back to her own book.

'Would you like to hear about a miracle, Hikigaya-kun?'

I glanced at her bemusedly. '... Why do I feel like I'm being approached by a Jehovah's Witness? You haven't converted, have you?'

'Of course not. My beliefs are firmly grounded in the realm of logic and fact.'

'Then why the heck are we talking about miracles, woman?'

She sighed. 'I thought it might be of mutual interest for you to learn that we've received a second request today.'

'... You're right. That is a miracle.'

'Indeed, although it could well be a curse in disguise.'

I winced. Such a comment could only mean one thing. 'Zaimokuza?'

She nodded, nostrils wrinkling. 'Indeed.'

'Well, it's your turn, so get on it.'

Despite the natural conclusion someone would come to if they heard this conversation without any context, that being Yukino and I were an old married couple and Zaimokuza are errant child... well, only about 50 percent of this conclusion is unrealistic if you really contemplate it. Zaimokuza is indeed like an errant child. In fact, I'd go as far to cut out the simile and declare that Zaimokuza just is an errant child. However, the chances of me and Yukino reaching a position where we'd even consider marriage are, of course, similar to the NASA moon landing in the sense that they're both nonexistent.

The last line was just a joke, obviously. I'm sorry for causing offence to the innumerable amount of mentalists that claim themselves to be "conspiracy theorists", but the NASA moon landing probably did happen, and since it took place about half a century ago you'd think we'd have moved on from it by now. But, returning to the matter at hand, Yukino and I had essentially devised a rotational system by which we could deal with Zaimokuza's misery inducing attempts at light novel manuscripts as they came, which incidentally was usually weekly. The man has the attention span of a goldfish with an especially hindering case of ADHD. It was just an unfortunate coincidence that our phrasing suggested a familiarity that we in no way possess.

'Unfortunately, it seems that, for once your life, you're actually correct-'

'-Oi, none of that plea-'

'-And I celebrated such a rare occurence by being proactive and getting started on his...' She reached down and picked up a pile of loosely binded A4 pages from the floor, flicking through it absently. 'Approximately three short chapter long excuse for a manuscript.'

'Hope you enjoy it,' I said, returning to my own (actually passable) light novel, and secretly revelling in her inevitable suffering.

Yukino exhaled gently, before muttering something under her breath about staying strong and opening the manuscript. For a minute or so, the only sound that could be heard was the oddly comforting turning of two sets of pages, and our soft breathing.

Once or twice, I glanced in her direction. I may loathe to admit it, but... there truly is something effortlessly graceful and elegant about the way that Yukino just exists. She's one of those bizarre individuals who can make the most simplistic and routine of tasks seem like a rare form of artwork that only she is aware of. It takes a serious amount of class to turn pouring tea into something that's genuinely thrilling to watch. Well... thrilling might be a bit excessive. She turns the experience of waiting for tea to be poured from vaguely irritating in your haste to actually drink it, to something gentle and soothing. In a strange way, I think I almost look forward to watching Yukino pouring tea, or even reading, as much as I enjo-

Okay... that sounded less weird in my head than it actually came out. I mean, I still totally hate Yukino and anything. Only a masochist would still appreciate the company of a girl who insulted their masculinity, intelligence and everything else inbetween on a regular basis. Even if they were stupidly attractive.

Ugh. That sounded weird as wel- look, let's just change the subject, god-damnit.

I forcefully averted my gaze, feeling uncomfortable.

'If it's of any interest to you, it seems that Zaimokuza has also included some of his hastily scribbled planning notes this time,' she commented passingly. 'It remains to be seen whether this was intentional or not.'

'Knowing Zaimokuza, it definitely wasn't.'

For some unbeknowst reason, Yukinoshita Yukino appears to have made it a personal crusade of hers not to laugh at any of my jokes. An upper class socialite mustn't give a peasant the wrong idea, of course. But there are always a few telltale indicators of her amusement, like that tiny smirk which, staggeringly, I've managed to summon forth twice in the course of this conversation.

'Some of these notes are... enlightening.'

I shrugged. Who knew what was going through that morons head?

She flicked another page.

'Hikigaya-kun?'

'... Uh huh?'

'Might I inquire as to the meaning of a word?'

My eyebrow rose a little. 'If the Yuki-dictionary doesn't know it, then I fail to see how I'd be of much help, but sure.'

'The word seems to be utilised in reference to a character... waifu?'

I froze.

In hindsight, I suppose there were actually several things that were amusing about the sight before me. First and foremost, the expression beheld on the Service Club president's face, which for the first time in what felt like months was not a variant upon contempt or disdain. Instead, it was one of puzzlement, which seemed to only highlight the absurdly perfect features and pale skin of her face all the more. It helped that the tiniest of pouts was resting on the delicate pink of her lips, as it no doubt annoyed her that she was ignorant of the word's meaning- in the warming light of the afternoon, autumn sun, Yukino appeared so much more innocent and blissfully naive than the Ice Queen I'd come to know. It also helped that she'd totally mispronounced the word in question. In another time and place, I might've laughed.

Instead, I'm pretty sure that my sweat glands had increased their productivity by record figures.

'Um...'

She looked at me, confused. 'Are you unaware of its meaning too?'

I scratched the back of my head. 'Well... not exactly.'

Yep. That was a really stupid thing to say on my part, and something that I instantly regretted. If she doesn't know, then just lie about it, you idiot!

'Then perhaps you could elaborate?'

'Uh- could you give me the context?' I said, stalling while desperately trying to think of the right thing to stay.

Obliviously, her eyes fell to the passage in question. 'It starts here: "Note to self: make sure that you write a top tier waifu for inbetween battle sequences. Princess or barmaiden? Oppai emphasis, definitely, and probably a kuudere. Then, you can marry the voice actre...'

Yukino stopped reading.

Her eyes narrowed.

I bit my lip. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any readily available weapon by which I could commit suicide. Defenestration was an option, but Yukino was inbetween me and the window, and coming into close proximity with her at that moment in time was an extremely bad ide-

'Is this by any chance relating to a character of my own gender, Hikigaya-kun?' she said dangerously, voice dropping to a temperature that would've made the Abominable Snowman shiver.

Damn it Zaimokuza! How could you do this to me?! How could you jeopardise my very existence by being so careless with your, by the way, aspirational at best writing notes?! Never have I been so convinced that capital punishment was a valid means of exacting justice than I was there and then. You can rest assured, Zaimokuza, that if I ever just so happen to come across the casually discarded notebook of a shinigami (3), your name will be the first that I pen. Light Yagami himself would shiver at the cold, calculating, callous nature by which I exacted my righteous judgement.

'P- perhaps, but I can assure you that it's a term used only to reflect the g- greatest amount of respect and admiration for a female character-'

'Admiration of what kind, Hikigaya-kun?'

'Well... only a passing appreciation for their, um...'

I trailed off when Yukino fixed me with a glare which took any words I might've attempted to stammer out in resistance to her onslaught and ripped them into miniscule shreds.

'I'm afraid that I don't believe you, Hikigaya-kun,' she drawled, re-inspecting the evidence like a Judge might to a helpless (but probably deserving) defendant in the docks. 'Personally, I'm beginning to suspect that "waifu" is a word that only the most perverse and spiritually ugly of individuals, such as yourself and Zaimokuza, would use to describe a character that they had some... some sort've unsavoury attraction towards.' She looked at me again. 'What would you say in response to my assessment, Hikigerma-kun?'

I closed my eyes for a moment, before letting out a long, resigned sigh. At this point, I had moved on through the Five Stages of Grief, from denial to depression; now, I was progressing at at a terrifyingly fast pace towards acceptance. What was I grieving for, you ask? Easy- just my sanity and all hope of recovery from an encounter that was sure to devastate the minimal social confidence I still retained.

'Look,' I said warily, 'do you remember when I explained what it meant to be chuunibyou? Talking about waifus is basically a rite of passage for anyone with that disease, like Zaimokuza and once, as I've repeatedly expressed my regret for, myself. It's what they say when there's an anime character which, as the name suggests, they think would make a good wife.'

As much as it truly hurt to force those words out and break the long upheld otaku code- that being never mention waifus in the presence of an actually three dimensional woman- I'd calculated that honesty might help me a little in this situation. At least now, Yukino could only bully me for being fully acquainted with the word and not for lying about my knowledge of it too. The lesser of two evils, I suppose.

But alas, it seemed that Yukino had taken an unnatural and unhealthy joy in toying with her prey.

'And what are the assets that would characterise a "waifu" for you, personally?'

I wasn't looking at her at this point, mostly because I was afraid of what I'd see. Her voice, however, had a layer of emotion that, outside of the previously noted derision, I couldn't quite pinpoint.

'... Do I really have to answer that?' I replied, wincing.

'Yes. Think of it as a means of repaying some of the debt you owe the rest of your species for existing.'

Her tone suggested that insults of an even more vicious calibre would follow if I resisted her question, and so reluctantly, I wracked my brains for a character that the me of a few years ago had considered a waifu. If I got this out of the way as quickly as possible, then I could go home and hope the younger Yukinoshita sister decided not to torment me about this matter in future. Wishful thinking, of course, but it was a nice wish.

'... Are you aware of an anime-' I snorted. 'Heck, of course you're not aware of an anime.'

'And thankfully so, considering that you're interested in-'

'Anyway, there's this anime I used to really enjoy that's set in a Japanese high school in the near future (4). Long story short, one of the main female characters is called Suzune Horikita- she was one of my waifus.'

I'd hoped that this would satisfy her, but alas, I'd was sorely mistaken.

'I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. Why, exactly, was she deserving of this "waifu" term?'

I considered this for a moment, lifting up my light novel in a vain attempt to distract from my embarrassment.

'Well... a mixture of things. Obviously, I can't deny the fact that she was... well, intriguingly drawn, but even then, her appearance wasn't so exaggerated that it seemed unrealistic. She had really long black hair that reached all the way down to her waist, and her face was kind've doll-like, I suppose. But also, her personality itself and relationship with the other characters was really interesting. The rest of her peers perceived her as this ice cold, aloof beauty, which wasn't exactly untrue. She was a high achiever and very intellectual as well, but... she struggled to communicate with other people.'

I scratched the back of my head, uncomfortably. 'I dunno. It's kinda weird to talk about aloud, but... she seemed like the kind of person I'd like to be with a real life. Or, y'know, at least the kind of woman I'd be a good house husband for.'

I turned a page of my light novel, hoping the moment of slight self-depracation at the end would break the awkward atmosphere.

It didn't. Instead, there was a long, long, long, long silence.

I wasn't even reading the text, but flicked yet another page aside just to occupy myself while waiting for her response.

...

Eventually, I steeled myself and glanced back at Yukino, wondering why she'd chosen not to say anything.

Her head was ever so slightly bowed, meaning that some of her raven hair spilled over her face like blackened sun rays. It made it difficult to discern her expression, but her lips were pursed and the blue of her eyes had dilated.

Huh. If I didn't know better, I'd ever go as far to say that she was blushing. Ridiculous, right?

Yukino opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I tilted my head to oneside.

'Are you okay?' I asked.

She still didn't speak.

'... I haven't traumatised you, hav-'

'No!'

Shock rippled across my features at the abruptness of her exclamation. Yukino had raised her head as spoke, finally granting me a clear view of her face. It seemed that she actually was embarassed, though for what reason I couldn't fathom. I'm pretty sure that I'm one who should've been embarassed.

The eye contact only lasted a few seconds before she looked away again. I heard the sound of her fiddling with the fabric of her skirt.

'I just... wasn't... anticipating you to answer in s- such a manner,' she stammered.

I frowned. 'Okay?'

She didn't expand on whatever she was trying to convey, so I awkwardly returned to my light novel.

The chunk of minutes remaining of our Service Club session proved to the most strained we'd undertaken in a long time. I hadn't experienced such unsettling awkwardness, such an inability to find the right words to say for fear of treading on a nerve, since the very first time Hiratsuka-sensei had shown me through the door. Yukinoshita Yukino was no different, but in contrast to Yours Truly, who was trying to distract himself from the atmosphere via half-hearted reading, she did nothing. Nothing, except occasionally glance in my direction when she thought I wouldn't notice.

I noticed. Every single time.

I wasn't sure what had trigged a reaction of this extremity, but... the sensation of her looking at me wasn't unpleasant, per say. More so surprising.

God, that came out sounding weird as well. What is wrong with us today?!

When the second hand, at long last, indicated that the hour was up, I stood up and packed up my bag. 'I'll head back home now, if you don't mind. I have... uh... important matters of relaxation to attend to.'

Still no response, but she did stand up and nod. 'I- I'll take the key to Hiratsuka-sensei.'

I turned towards the door, but couldn't escape the feeling that we were leaving something incredibly uncomfortable up in the air. Was it right to leave without asking what was wrong? Would that be appropriate? Would she appreciate me askin-

Curse me and my perpetual overthinking. Don't think about it. Just do it.

'Yukinoshit-'

'Yes?'

Her voice struck me as oddly expectant.

'Did we...' I hesitated, and tried again. 'I didn't... say anything wrong, did I?'

She still wasn't looking at me. Instead, her fingers returned to the hem of her skirt. Geez, woman. Does she not realise how distracting that particular habit is? How many innocent male adolescent brains have you destroyed by needlessly drawing attention to that article of clothing?!

Okay. That was definitely weird. I apologise.

'No. You didn't say anything wrong.'

Now I'm even more confused. Have you, by any chance, heard of the phrase "mixed signals"? You're currently emitting a humongous amount of them, Yukinoshita-san. You're basically the human equivalent of a satellite.

'Then why-'

'If you don't know already, then I doubt there's much I could say to make you understand.'

Frustration. That was definitely the emotion I was feeling when she said that. Why does absolutely everything that happens between us have to be multi-layered? Why does every word have to have a dozen meanings? Why does everything have to be implicit, and not explicit?

Why does genuine have to be so damn complicated?

Yukino finally begins to move, walking past me with the key in hand towards the door. 'I look forward to our club meeting tomorrow, Hikigaya-kun,' she said, her voice inexpressive.

Caught partly between my natural, parent enforced compulsion to be a gentleman, and out of desire not to let this, whatever this was, slip through my fingers, I moved forward. Suddenly, I was opening the door for her, which she gave me her gratitude for under her breath.

Then we stood still. A part of me fixed my legs in place, stiff and strangely certain, standing inbetween Yukino and the doorway.

She sucked on the bottom of her lip. 'It was very courteous of you to open the door for me Hikigaya-kun, but my intention was to actually use it-'

'There's nothing... nothing especially wrong about not knowing. Bu- but if we don't try, then there's no chance that we'll ever understand.'

Her eyes widened again.

I shuffled my feet. The words I'd spoken were ugly, and impulsive, and horribly unplanned. But I couldn't deny that this was what I thought. I couldn't deny that I was sick of waiting, and of not understanding, and of remaining ignorant because it made things easier. Because it made every club session pass by just a little bit quicker.

I was sick of convenience, because relationships aren't convenient, and it's arrogant and selfish to pretend that they are.

'But... you told me that words could never be enough-'

'I know. And I stand by that.'

Her fingers were trembling. Ever so slightly.

I looked over the top of head, towards the window. 'I wasn't talking about words. I was talking about actions.'

I could feel each of my nerves being shredded, one by one by one, as I waited for her answer.

'I... I...' she stammered.

In the positions that Yukino and I had taken, we were only about a foot away from each other. I'm not especially tall, but for some reason, I'd never quite realised how much taller than the Service Club president I was. I had to glance down just to meet her eyes, though I was scared to glance too long, or too deep, in case I realised that I didn't want to look away.

A part of me still trembled. Still fretted. Had I dreamt of a moment of this kind? No. Of course not. That would've been silly and all too felicitous. Moments like these should've been confined to fantasies. To highschool crushes that blushed and kissed their youth until it faded away, and became a marriage and a happily ever after. Not for me and a girl who, dressed in her immaculate Soubu High uniform, with her gorgeous hair and her eyes and her skin, seemed too delicate to be tangible. The tiniest touch would surely send her shattering, disappearing, leaving me to wish she'd only just return again.

Even now, it still wasn't a fantasy. It could never be a dream, or a perfection. There was no way of knowing if it could even be genuine.

But I couldn't help but think it was worth gambling on.

I took a step closer. Yukino didn't move. Both of us stared and watched, predicting and calculating, waiting to see if something, after so long, was finally going to change.

'You know that it will never be the same, right?' I rasped.

'... I know. I... I don't think that I want it to be.'

Then, we kissed.

I wish I could say it felt good, or that it was some incredible, unmitigated union of pleasure and anticipation or some shit like that. Quite frankly, I'd be lying. Neither of us were really sure what we were doing. We broke apart to breathe, and then kissed nervously, and then broke apart again. Sometimes, I opened my eyes, just to make sure I wasn't doing anything too drastically wrong, and I'm pretty sure that she did the same.

I expected her lips to taste of tea, or something exotic, but honestly they didn't really taste of anything.

But you know what? It still really enjoyed it.

Perhaps I've found my waifu?!

...

God, that was cheesy...

1. Attack on Titan

2. Violet Evergarden

3. Death Note

4. Classroom of the Elite