Chapter Seventeen: Beautiful, Broken, and Crazy
2015 – Summer
Hana wasn't the kind of person who needled people and asked a bunch of questions, it was part of why Natsumi liked her so much. When she did ask questions, it always seemed so… sincere and well-meaning. It never felt like it was just to satisfy her own curiosity. To Natsumi, it always felt like Hana was genuinely trying to get to know her. That had nothing to do with what she was doing to Getou.
She peppered him with question after question, how old he was and how long they had known each other. It was like an awful game of twenty questions, but Getou took it in stride, much better than she had expected. He'd meant what he said about tolerating her, his jaw may have tensed, and his answers may have been a little clipped, but he did answer the questions.
Occasionally they would lock eyes in the rearview mirror, as if he was waiting for her to interject. Other than explaining how she'd met the girls, Natsumi tried to stay out of it.
"So, what do you do?"
"What do I… do?"
"Like, for a living."
They made eye contact in the rearview for a few seconds, Getou leaning back against the seat with his legs spread. It reminded her of Gojou, the way he spread out and took up more space than he had any right to. His eyes drifted back to Hana and Natsumi turned her eyes back to the road, trying not to think about the other boy she sometimes made sit in the back seat.
"I… help people with… personal… afflictions… for monetary compensation."
It was, quite possibly, the worst thing he could have ever said. Why did he talk that way? Why couldn't he speak like a normal person? "You sound like a prostitute."
She saw his eyes widen in the rearview mirror. "Why would you say something like that?"
"Because that's what you made it sound like."
"I did not."
"You help people with 'personal afflictions' for money? I know you're not a doctor and you're not a therapist. So, it sounds a little like sex work to me." She glanced at Hana, who was pointedly staring forward and had gone rather silent. "The way you sit doesn't help."
"What's wrong with how I sit?"
"Well, you sit like a hooker for starters." She stopped a red light and turned to gesture at his wide-spread legs, each of his knees touching the back of the seats. "Legs spread like a cheap hooker."
He rolled his eyes at her. "You're being ridiculous."
"Okay, yeah sure, except Hana's barely spoken and it's because she thinks you're a prostitute," Natsumi said, looking over at Hana. "Right, Hana?"
"I – I – well the thing – you see – it's not that I think that, it's just that it sounded… a little bit like… It's a little… There was some ambiguity and well… It was just a little odd was all," Hana answered. "Anyway, I'm sure you know what he meant."
The light turned green and Natsumi faced forward, fingers drumming along the steering wheel. Truth be told, she didn't. She had no idea how he spent his days outside of raising the girls. It had been the majority of their common ground, so she knew plenty about the girls. She didn't know much about Getou, nothing that would answer the kind of questions that Hana had.
Hana looked back at Getou, continuing her onslaught of questions. "So… you have two daughters?"
"Yes."
"What are their names?"
"Nanako and Mimiko."
"Oh, their names are so pretty!" Hana clapped her hands together, her voice taking on a wistful tone as she continued. "I went to school with a girl named Nanako actually, she was so sweet. What's she like?"
There was a pause, a quiet that made Natsumi's skin crawl and she didn't know what that meant, that hesitation. He said he would tolerate her, so how much longer would he entertain her questions? Would he shut down because she was asking about the girls? She toyed with the radio, considering the options. They were still a good distance from Hana's place, would Hana notice if she started speeding? How fast could she go without being too obvious?
"Nanako is…" Getou hesitated as if he was considering his words carefully. "She's very independent for her age," he answered finally. "She does most of the cooking now, rarely lets me help anymore."
"You can cook?" Natsumi asked, glancing at the rearview mirror.
He raised a brow at her. "Did you think I couldn't?"
"Well… you're always getting take-out. I guess I just assumed."
"Only because Nanako asks for it, it's not my preference. Who do you think taught her to cook?"
Natsumi turned her eyes back to the road. "I guess I just never thought about it all that much."
Hana turned in her seat, knees toward Natsumi as she turned to look back at Getou. "What does she like to make?"
"Dessert mostly," he said. "She's an excellent baker."
"Oh, I love baking. Do you have any pictures?"
"I…" he trailed off, and she heard him shifting around slightly. "Yes, I do."
Natsumi pulled to a stop at a red light, whipping her head around to look fully at him. Hana was still turned slightly, her knees toward Natsumi and Getou was leaning forward over the console, phone in hand. He had it tilted toward Hana, his finger swiping across the screen through pictures. His shoulders were still tense, and his hand twitched when Hana pointed at his phone. At any moment he was prepared to pull back if she got too close, but still, he showed her the pictures of whatever it was Nanako had made.
"Oh, she's so good at icing! I can never get my hands to be that steady."
"I showed her how to do that, and… she made this one last week. It took her all day, but she was very determined." His eyes flicked to Natsumi and then tilted his head forward. "Eyes on the road."
Natsumi rolled her eyes but turned forward and continued driving, listening to Hana offer praise to the pictures. Getou responded with more… enthusiasm than she had expected from him. Ten minutes ago, he'd talked about tolerating Hana. Now, he was showing her pictures of desserts. The conversation shifted toward Mimiko, and Getou continued entertaining her questions, eventually showing her a picture of the girls. He sounded like a proud father, which Natsumi supposed was exactly what he was.
It wasn't long before Hana got out of the car and waved goodbye from the stairs outside her apartment. The same stairs Natsumi had cried on, drunk and ashamed of what had happened. She was still ashamed of that whole night, of having Hana in the middle of it and needing to be saved from herself, from Kazumi.
More than that, she was ashamed that she was wondering if Kazumi was around.
It wasn't like she wanted him. Sex with him had been all that great, maybe it had seemed that way at the time because she was young and had much less to compare it to. The best sex with Kazumi did not compare to the way Getou touched her, the way he made her feel. But wondering about Kazumi never had anything to do with him. She didn't want him, had stopped wanting him a long time ago. All she wanted from him were the drugs that he might offer her. The drugs that he would offer her because he'd always liked her best when she was high. Pliant and willing and easily manipulated.
Her fingers tapped along the steering wheel, beating out a rhythm that didn't match the song on the radio. As if that would help. As if it would make the itch under her skin leave. The itch she could ignore on a good day but it wasn't a good day and it was screaming at her.
She turned the music up, much too loud and she couldn't look at Getou when he slid in the front seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the frown on his face and the furrow in his brow. Was he thinking about the last time they'd been over there? Was he thinking about whatever it was Kazumi had said to him? He never told her what Kazumi said, but she could guess. Kazumi had so much dirt on her, it wasn't like he needed to lie. She could ask Getou, but then what would she say to defend herself? It wasn't as if she could say none of it was true.
He could have said anything, a laundry list of terrible things that she had done with him. Not to mention the things she'd done to piss him off. The friends she'd slept with that were never really his friends, because she'd seen the way they looked at her. Kazumi had liked the way they looked at her, that they wanted her, and he had something they wanted but couldn't have. Until she'd let them touch her to get back at him, to hurt him like he was always hurting her.
She didn't miss it.
She didn't.
She wanted to be better, to choose better, to do better and if she repeated it enough it would eventually be true. That feeling would get quiet. It was just a bad day, a rough few weeks and it was so much louder when she wasn't drinking. She just had to outlast it, it would go away eventually. She just had to last long enough and then she would stop thinking about it, stop wanting it. One day, she wouldn't want to get high or drink or run and it would all go away and it would be okay. Everything would be okay.
Wouldn't it?
Getou's hand covered hers on the steering wheel, startling her out of the spiral she was heading into (the spiral she was always in and never seemed to leave for very long). She stared forward in shock, while he pried her fingers off the wheel one by one. Somehow, she'd driven them all the way to her house and barely noticed.
"I've said your name three times," he whispered.
Maybe it would never go away and she would never stop thinking about it.
"Sorry."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she lied, "just tired."
"Then let me drive next time."
There it was again. Next time. Would she know if it was the last time? "Okay."
He didn't let go of her hands, holding them gently and rubbing at her stiff knuckles. A soothing touch that she couldn't bear to pull away from even though the shame was pressing in on her. She was thinking of Kazumi and drugs while he was next to her. Would he still want to be next to her if he knew that?
"Do you… want me to leave?"
She sat up a little straighter. "Why?"
"You said you're tired. If you're too tired, then I can leave."
"I'm not that tired," she said. "I was just thinking, and you know already how much focus that takes for me… exceptionally stupid and all that," she joked and pulled her hands away, grabbing the keys out of the ignition and opening the door.
"I never should have said that to you."
She shrugged and got out of the car, hooking her purse on her shoulder as she closed the door. "It's fine," she told him as she headed for the steps.
"It's not," he insisted from behind her. "You aren't stupid."
"You don't have to lie because we had sex," she said, trying to keep her tone light and playful. She flipped on a few lights as she stepped through the door, turning on the hall and the kitchen light but leaving the main lights off. Just enough light that it cast a dim glow on the rest of the room. "I'll keep fucking you even if you think I'm stupid."
It was an odd sense of déjà vu. Was it still déjà vu if she knew they'd done this before? They had stepped through her front door like this before, him trailing behind her as they talked. Even setting her purse on the wall and slipping off her shoes felt too familiar, the only difference was they didn't have food.
"Oh hey, I forgot to ask if you were –"
His chest pressing against her back and his arms wrapping around her waist cut her off. He pressed his face into her neck, cool breath fanning against her neck. "I don't think you're stupid," he muttered against her skin, "stop saying it."
"I was just making a joke."
"Jokes are supposed to be funny," he said, lips brushing against her neck. "What were you going to ask me?"
"I was going to ask if you were hungry. I ate at work, so I didn't think to ask you before, but I was uh… remembering you know, the last time you… So, hungry or?"
"No, I'm fine," he said, letting her go slowly and walking past her to the couch. "Speaking of… do you really watch the news?"
"Yeah, actually, I do," she said, following behind him and sitting on the couch. "It's uh…" Was there any way to talk about why she watched the news without talking about Gojou? She'd brought him up once already and it had been fine. How much could she avoid the subject when he was such a part of her life? "Sumiko and Gojou are gone still."
He raised an eyebrow at her as he joined her on the couch, head tilted as if waiting for her to continue.
"Okay so… Gojou has this tendency to not… tell me things until after the fact. So, when Sumiko started going with him, I started watching the news." Natsumi grabbed the remote off the coffee table and sat back, fingers moving idly over the buttons but never pressing them.
"And you do this because…" he trailed.
"Uh… Sumiko used to point out these like… bad coverups for cursed spirits, I guess? Like, disappearances and landslides that didn't make sense or…" or a fire that decimated an entire village because a teenager had killed them all. "You know, weird stuff that doesn't make sense. Now, when they're gone, I turn on the news and…" and drank until she passed out. "Whatever, it doesn't let me know if she's okay, but it's something."
"Do you flip through stations aimlessly?"
"Uh, sometimes. I have lately because I haven't heard from them so much. Gojou said it was bad this year."
Getou nodded from next to her, an arm on the back of the couch and it reminded her too much of Gojou again. Too spread out, like he belonged there and it never occurred to him that he didn't. Was it a coincidence or did Getou sit like that because of Gojou? Or maybe it was the other way around?
"It's always bad in the summer, but this summer has been… worse than it has in a long time."
"Yeah, Gojou said that too, things are always worse in the summer. Why is that?"
"You don't know?"
She shrugged, flipping through the stations, where had they said they were last? They had been in Kyoto earlier in the week, something about helping out Iori-san. "Gojou tells me the bare minimum. He's gotten better about it, but I know he still leaves me in the dark. Sumiko doesn't tell me as much anymore either, and it's not like I know what questions to ask most of the time."
"He probably thinks it's safer for you not to know," he said, voice quiet as the screen flitted between different images. "Keeping everything a secret is… It's a habit for him, it's the generally accepted way of doing things and it's not… entirely wrong."
"But you don't agree?"
"No," he said, "I don't think blatant ignorance helps matters. It might help in the short term, but it doesn't fix anything."
"So, what do you think it would be better if everyone knew?"
"No, I think that might be worse. Either way, it just treats the symptoms. The problem would still exist."
"What do you think the problem is?"
He shook his head and looked away from her, removing his arm from the back of the couch. "We shouldn't talk about this."
"You said you wanted to talk," she said, but he wouldn't look back at her. She set the remote next to her on the cushion and angled herself, so she was facing more toward him. At some point, she'd stopped flipping through the channels, landing on some local news station that wouldn't tell her anything she didn't already know.
"Not in this much detail," he said, "I just needed you to know my feelings hadn't changed. I wanted to be clear about where I stood."
"But… it's related right?"
Getou still wouldn't look at her, only lifting his hand and rubbing his thumb against his forehead. "You don't want to hear this," he whispered. "You already know how I feel, this won't… hearing this won't make you feel any better."
"I pretty much know anyway, so just say it." And didn't she know? Between the things Getou had admitted and everything that Gojou had told her over the years. She knew enough, just enough but… but she needed to hear it from him.
He looked over at her, his dropping to his knee, head tilted and bangs brushing his cheekbones. The glow from the television casting odd shadows on his face, and he looked… tired. There were no dark circles under his eyes and his skin didn't have that dull quality that lack of sleep often left people with. It was something else, something in his eyes, an exhaustion that Natsumi was a little too familiar with.
"Fine."
She was mostly right. They were things she knew already, non-sorcerers couldn't control cursed energy and they created cursed spirits. It was a little different to hear from him, colored with his opinions and the way he thought of things. Sorcerers were trying to fix a problem they weren't creating, and a problem they could never fix because there would always be more. Protecting people who created the problem, while they sat in ignorant bliss, never knowing how much had been given to keep them safe.
It would be bad enough if it was just a thankless job, that was enough to drive anyone to the edge, but it was so much worse than that.
Those same people that sorcerers gave up their childhoods, their lives, to protect turned around and did things that no one should be expected to look past. They put two little girls in a cage because they feared them. They hired a hitman to kill a teenage girl who was a glorified sacrifice, a sacrifice only necessary to keep them safe. They worshipped cursed spirits like deities until they became so powerful that teenagers died trying to keep them safe. And what was it all for? What was the point of sorcerers dying to fix a problem they had no hand in creating?
The question became, how do you fix that problem?
She knew Gojou's solution. He wanted to instill his values into the next generation, to make them stronger and more capable until things reached a point where the kids could be kids. It was too slow, and maybe, just a tad too idealistic. A little too much the person Getou used to be and not who he'd become.
Getou's solution was… different. He wanted to make it so that cursed spirits wouldn't be created in the first place and there were a few ways to do that. Eliminate cursed energy entirely or make it possible for everyone to control cursed energy. Maybe if he was still idealistic, if he hadn't watched a fourteen-year-old shot in the head and seen two little girls inside cages, then maybe he could have chosen a different way than he had. As he saw it, through the lens of a boy who'd been through too much, there was only one good way to solve the problem.
Get rid of anyone who couldn't control their cursed energy.
That's what he'd said, but she knew what he'd really meant, what he wanted to say but wouldn't let himself.
Kill all the monkeys.
A part of her wish he had yelled, that he had looked and sounded as crazy as he was. Instead, he had sounded calm, his voice almost cold as he had explained it to her. As if he was detached from it all. The same fear she'd felt in the parking lot slithered under her skin, the coldness in his voice was frightening. Even if she already knew he was crazy, it still left her unsettled for him to explain it so calmly.
"That was… a lot."
"I told you, that we shouldn't talk about it," he whispered, leaning back and resting his head against the back of the couch.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs slowly and exhaling. It wasn't as soothing as she hoped it would be. "You know that it's… insane, right?" she said tentatively.
"I'm not crazy," he said, his eyes snapping open so wide she could see the whites of them even from only seeing the side of his face. "I'm thinking very clearly."
"Killing everyone isn't… that's not a sane thing," she said, "no matter how you justify it."
Her stomach twisted when he clenched his jaw, his voice tight as he spoke through gritted teeth. "I don't expect you to understand."
The thing was, in a twisted way, she did. Not that she agreed with it, because it was insane and wrong in ways she couldn't even begin to comprehend. The very clinical definition of insanity. White coats and padded rooms and IV drips (somehow, she doubted any of it would help). Getou explained it all very logically as if he was emotionally separated from what he was doing, and it was all a means to an end. It was just a logical conclusion he'd made to a problem that needed fixing.
That wasn't the part she resonated with because despite how convincingly he portrayed it, she knew it wasn't true. When he talked about the man who shot a fourteen-year-old girl, he rubbed at the scar on his chest and she knew without him saying that it was the same man.
If it was all reason and logic, then he wouldn't be so angry. Sane people didn't look at others with such unbridled rage that she thought they might catch fire. Sane people didn't have rage under their skin and hate in their eyes. Sane people didn't think they were justified for burning the whole world down around them.
She understood, as much as she could, because Getou was angry and tired in a way that she was too familiar with.
Hadn't she been so angry at herself and the world and just so tired of everything that she'd decided to just… stop? Everything had piled too high, she couldn't stay sober, and she couldn't see the point anymore. Living had never been easy and then it had become too difficult to bear. The difference was when Getou felt that way he hadn't become suicidal like she had. The fact that he had unchecked power in the palm of his hand probably hadn't helped.
"I can understand that… broken people make broken choices," she said finally.
His jaw unclenched and he sat up, turning to look at her full-on. "You think I'm broken?"
"You think you're not?"
Getou brought his hand up to cover his eyes, elbow still resting on the back of the couch as he sat with one leg bent on the couch, knee brushing hers. His shoulders slumped, his body sagging with a weight she would never feel.
It reminded her so much of when she'd sat with Gojou on Christmas Eve. When she'd realized just how young he was, how young all of them were. When they'd talked about Getou and how the jujutsu world had broken him, how dying, might have been better. Even with everything he told her, she didn't think she agreed with that. Wouldn't it be a shame if the man in front of her was gone? If the softness and the kindness buried underneath the rage were gone?
"Gojou told me the jujutsu world kills people or it breaks them," she said. "Personally, I think broken is better than dead in this case."
Half his face was still covered but she saw the barest hint of his lip twitching. "You said something like that at the hospital."
"I did?" Most of the night was a blur of tears and panic. As soon as Sumiko was safe and she realized Getou wasn't going to kill her, she'd fallen asleep. She remembered rambling at him, and him telling her she talked too much.
"You said that you'd rather Sumiko be like me than dead." Getou uncovered his face and turned away from her, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "There was something else I needed to tell you. I'm not sure how you'll take it."
How could there possibly be more? "It can't be worse than all the other stuff."
"It's not worse exactly, it's just… more personal," he said. "I meant what I said last time, you can ask me to leave any time."
What could be worse than what he'd already said? What could be more personal than deciding everyone just like her should die? Was it supposed to be impersonal since she was safe?
Safe.
For as long as he wanted her.
What happened when he didn't anymore?
"Kazumi is dead."
Her lips parted but she couldn't… couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her mind couldn't come up with anything at all and she was half convinced she hadn't even heard him right. All she could do was stare at him, sitting on her couch so normally. As if he had not announced that he'd killed her ex-boyfriend.
Well, he was right, it wasn't worse.
"I… You told me you didn't," she said slowly, trying to grasp at the half-thoughts that were forming and disappearing. Had he lied to her? Was that the only part of it that bothered her? What did that say about her? "Why did you lie to me?"
"No, no I didn't lie to you," he assured her. "I didn't kill him that night, this happened a couple of weeks ago."
After they'd slept together, but… that couldn't be why. Could it? Something so small and petty as jealousy? "Why?"
"I only let him live because you asked, and at the time, I thought he meant something to you. I was… okay with that, I was able to let it go but then…"
"Then?"
"Then I saw the bruises he left on you," he whispered, "I couldn't… I knew when I saw the bruises that I couldn't let it go. He hurt you and you were… so nonchalant about it like it's happened before."
It had, more than once, more times than she cared to count. She rubbed her hand along her thigh, the smooth material of the skirt in the way, over a scar he hadn't noticed. Left by the first man she had sex with and the only man she'd ever lived with. He was gone. There one minute and gone the next.
"Are you… scared?"
"Scared?" she echoed. Was she? Not more than she ever was of him and far less than she should be. She was… in shock maybe, but there was… there was a sort of relief. There was still an itch under her skin, but knowing Kazumi was dead, that he wasn't there for her to run to… It brought a relief that she didn't realize how badly she needed.
He looked at her, finally. It was a little funny how much he'd avoided eye contact with her since they started the conversation, given that last time she was the one avoiding eye contact. Trying to avoid the way he always made her feel, the butterflies in her stomach, and the racing of her heart. How pointless that had been.
"I should go."
She was on her feet before she could think, following him as he walked away from her, the words and questions tumbling out of her mouth. "What? Why? Did I do something?"
"Did you –" he turned around to look at her, eyes meeting hers for a few seconds before he looked away from her. "You look petrified."
"I'm not scared."
She should be, shouldn't she? Kazumi was dead and he'd done it, but she knew Kazumi would die. Getou had cursed him, and Kazumi would die anyway. Maybe it should feel different that he'd done it this way because he'd sought him out intending to kill him. That should be different.
"I don't blame you for being scared."
She should be. She should be afraid because he calmly explained how he thought everyone deserved to die. She should be afraid because he killed her ex-boyfriend.
"But I'm not."
She was more afraid that he was leaving.
"You said yourself that it was too much."
"That's not what I said," she snapped, heart pounding so hard she could hear the blood rushing. "I said it was a lot, I never said too much. This isn't… this doesn't bother me like it should. It never has."
"You don't have to lie to spare my feelings."
"Oh, please. I'm not that nice."
"Natsumi –"
"Oh, fucking hell, I'll be right back."
It wasn't like she didn't know his penchant for murder, she had a list of names hidden in the bottom of a dresser drawer. She grabbed the papers and a pen from her nightstand drawer and headed back down the hall, her heart racing as she did. He was standing in the entryway, hand on the doorknob but standing so still, as if he was trying to make himself leave.
"Getou."
He turned immediately, his eyes burning through her as she sat on the couch and set the papers on the coffee table. She crossed her arms in front of her, waiting for him to join her. Getou stepped away from the door and approached her carefully. "What is this?"
"This is your file. I found this a year ago right after you told me your name and –" Familiar heat spread across her cheeks as she mumbled, "I made a copy."
He sat down next to her, sifting through the papers, lingering for a moment on the first page. The page with a picture of a boy whose smile radiated such warmth that she'd barely been able to believe it was him. "There are so many names," he said quietly.
There hadn't been, not originally. She'd tallied them up and as if that hadn't been bad enough to know the numbers she'd started writing the names. At the time, she thought maybe it would make her come clean. It left her feeling worse than when she'd started and just as unable to say anything as before. "You didn't know how many, did you?"
"I don't keep track of them," he sounded bitter as he squinted at the page.
"I didn't show you to guilt you or anything I was…" Natsumi pulled one of the papers toward herself and uncapped the pen she grabbed. She could feel him watching her and it was probably the most fucked up set of conversations they'd ever had. Natsumi finished writing the name and slid the paper toward him. "Kazumi being on this list doesn't bother me. I wasn't scared I was… I'm a little in shock, but I'm not scared."
Could she tell him she was relieved? No looking over her shoulder when she dropped Hana off. Kazumi would never touch her again, he would never be around for her to run to. Sure, there were other people she could go to if she really wanted, but it would be far more hoops to jump through. Kazumi had always been the easiest access, the person she ran to when she had wanted to escape her life.
"Kazumi's dead." She turned to face him, pulling her legs onto the couch and sitting with both of her knees bent. They sat close enough that the tops of her knees brushed his thigh. "Like… dead dead?"
Getou didn't look up from the papers in his hands. "Is there another kind?"
"I mean… brain dead is dead but not dead."
"Don't be silly."
"You asked," she said. "I just… it doesn't feel real. Kazumi is dead… It's weird."
Getou leaned back against the couch, pulling away from the papers scattered on the coffee table that listed out the bodies he'd dropped over the years. She was sure it was an incomplete list, but he didn't say anything about it and she wasn't going to ask (for now). "Does it upset you?" he said, turning his head to look at her.
"Upset me? No… I'm not… I feel…" It was a little like cutting her hair, which felt like a shallow way to think about it but it felt oddly similar. Nothing had truly changed, nothing was undone or different but she felt a little lighter. "You know, he's the reason I grew my hair out," she told him, because it was easier to say that than to explain how she felt. "I grew it out and then… then I just kept it like that. I never really thought about how much I didn't like it until Hana offered to cut it, but it made me feel better that it was gone."
He reached out to her slowly, his fingers brushing her shoulder as he curled the ends around his finger. It was such a slight touch, through the fabric of her shirt no less, but it still made her stomach flutter. "Short hair suits you."
"You said I looked nice."
His lip twitched and his shoulders eased as he moved his hand to her cheek, she leaned into the touch without even thinking. "Did that bother you?"
"It's as bad as calling me decent," she said, covering the back of his hand with hers, holding him there.
His lips pulled into a smile and her heart stuttered as if they hadn't spent the entire evening talking about just how dangerous he was. As if they hadn't discussed how he'd killed a man and how many more he would. "You're beautiful, and I recall telling you that the last time I was here."
The heat in her cheeks spread across her face and she had to resist the urge to cover her face. "Shut up, I know I'm beautiful, but you said it during sex and that doesn't count."
"It doesn't?"
"No, anything you say before or during sex doesn't count."
Getou leaned in slowly, his palm still resting against her cheek. Was he trying to give her time to change her mind? That ship sailed a very long time ago (she didn't know when, but she knew it had).
"So, if I say it after, that counts?"
"Depends on how soon after."
"Didn't know there were so many rules," his lips brushed against hers as he leaned into her, never enough pressure to be satisfying.
Natsumi enjoyed his teasing and the little game they were playing, there was a certain thrill to the anticipation, but it had been a long day and she was very, very tired of talking. She pushed at his shoulder until his back was pressed against the couch and she slipped her leg over his lap, straddling his hips. Her skirt rode up and his hands caressed along the exposed skin of her thighs, slow languid touches that left her wanting more.
She shoved at his clothes, desperate to feel his skin against hers, to feel more of him. There was a glint in his eye and a half smile on his face, he was laughing at her and her impatience, but he let her remove his clothes, tossing both shirts somewhere behind the couch. As soon as it was gone her hands were on him, gliding across his skin and relishing the feel of him beneath her fingertips.
There was a little voice in the back of her head that said they shouldn't do this right here. Of all the places they could, this couch should not be one of them, not ever. It wasn't even a couch she'd picked out, a shopping trip she hadn't wanted to go on. All to replace a couch she hadn't cared about one way or the other, all to silence complaints about how no human should ever be subjected to something with so many lumps.
She ran her fingers through Getou's hair, crushing her lips against his and silencing the little voice in her head that said she shouldn't. It was easy to pretend that she'd never heard that voice in the first place when he quickly undid the buttons of her shirt. Sinful heat pooled in her stomach with each touch, even something as simple as sliding her shirt off her or the light touches against her back as he unclasped her bra. How could it be wrong when it felt so good?
It was the only time the itch was so quiet it felt almost gone, so far in her rearview it was like she forgot she ever wanted anything but him. Gentle hands that both caused the ache between her legs and soothed it. She knew it wouldn't last. It would all come crashing in, the guilt and the itch.
None of that mattered when he touched her, his hands cupping her breasts as he kissed down her neck, fingers pinching her nipples until she arched into him. He sucked the soft skin of her neck, teasing her with his tongue and teeth, and she knew there would be more marks to replace the ones that faded. She should tell him not to leave a mark so visible right on her neck for the whole world to see. There was only so much that makeup could do to cover it, but all she could do was grind her hips down against his, searching for the friction she needed.
"Condoms," she rasped out, "in my room."
"Don't need it," he muttered, dipping his head down to her breast.
"I – yes we – fuck," she gasped out when he bit her nipple. "Yes, we do."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom, and tossed it onto the cushion next to him. "I came prepared," he said before he returned his attention to her breasts.
"That's a little – ah – overconfident."
She rocked her hips against him, spreading her legs wider when he slipped his hand between her thighs. His fingers ran along her slit and he hummed against her skin, only the thin fabric of her underwear in the way. They both knew it wasn't true, not when she was arching into him with her panties already soaked.
If she'd thought he'd been a tease before, it was nothing compared to the slow drag of his fingertips against her. No matter how she rolled her hips against him, he kept that same agonizing pace, like he was taunting her. Touching her enough to fan the flames under her skin but never enough to give her the relief he knew she wanted. He pulled his lips away from her, one hand rolling her nipple between his fingers as he leaned back, eyes boring into hers as he touched her.
"Please," she begged.
Getou pulled her underwear to the side, fingers gliding up and down between her slick folds. A sigh of relief slipped from her lips, and she closed her eyes when his fingers circled her clit. The warmth pooling in her stomach built slowly as he drew slow circles around her clit. She bucked her hips against him, two fingers sliding down to tease her entrance before going back up to her clit. Even with her on top he was somehow the one in control, going at a pace too slow to bring any relief.
"Please."
His lips wrapped around her nipple, tongue flicking across it as his fingers continued at the same speed, toying with her. She dragged her fingernails across his scalp and pulled at his hair, a silent plea to give her more. He shuddered but didn't give in, only bit her nipple as he continued tormenting her. Every touch of his fingers against her was deliberate and much too slow. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and he knew it.
"Getou, please."
She gasped when he bit her nipple harder, his tongue running over it as if to soothe it. His lips traveled up her chest, kissing along her skin and biting at her collarbone. "That's the third time, you've called me that today."
"It's – ah – your name."
"It's the wrong one, and you know it," he muttered against her throat, fingers slipping out of her underwear.
Her eyes flew open, grabbing his arm and holding him between her legs before he could pull away completely. It hadn't even been a thought, a desperate need to keep him where he was, for him to keep touching her. She tugged on his hair until he leaned his head back to look at her, the want in his eyes scorching her skin.
"Please, Suguru." She let go of his arm, resting her palm against his chest and pressing her forehead against his. "Fuck me," she said, breath mingling with his as she pleaded.
He kissed her, lips insistent against hers as he grabbed her hips and pulled her tight against him, his erection pressing into her. The friction of his pants against her soaked underwear helped ease the ache, but it wasn't enough. Not when she knew what it felt like when he was inside her, not when it was all she'd thought about for weeks. She kissed along his jaw to his neck, biting at the tender skin and running a hand through his hair.
Getou's fingers slipped under the hem of her underwear, pulling them down her thighs until he couldn't anymore. It took some awkward maneuvering to slide them the rest of the way off but after a moment her underwear was hurriedly tossed aside and she was straddling his lap again.
Natsumi groaned when he touched her again, two fingers thrusting into her, thumb tracing achingly slow circles around her clit. Her eyes slipped closed as she leaned her head back, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other fisted in his hair. She rocked against his hand, urging him to touch her more, faster, the pleasure building as his fingers slid in and out of her. It wasn't what she meant when she asked him to fuck her but he was getting her close to that edge all the same.
"Close, so close, please just – " Her breath hitched as his fingers curled inside her, his thumb rubbing harsh circles against her clit. "Don't stop, don't stop."
Another finger slid inside her, the pleasure climbing higher but not quite pushing her over, not yet. He grasped her chin gently, tilting her face down and she knew what he wanted, what he asked for when he knew she was close. She forced her eyes open and looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, she was so close. He was as bad as she was, hair disheveled from her hands and pupils dilated, eyes fixated on her.
"Almost – fuck – so close."
"Come for me," he whispered.
The request sent her over the edge, her lips crashing against his as her muscles tensed. His tongue ran along her bottom lip, she parted her lips for him, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Sweat dampened her brow, electric shocks shooting through her with each movement of his fingers inside her, curling against the spot that made her writhe against him. She moaned as his tongue slid along hers, fingers fucking into her as her hips rocked against him, dragging out her pleasure.
It never faded, crashing into her over and over as his fingers continued to thrust inside her, the pace never slowing. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, breaking the kiss to bury her face in his neck. He caressed her back as she leaned against him, broken pleading sounds leaving her lips as she pressed her chest tight against him.
"Please, please, please." She just wanted him.
"One more, just one more," he whispered, his hand burying in her hair, holding her against him.
Every touch was deliberate, intent on building her up before she finished falling over. It was too much, threatening to burn her from the inside out, her breath coming in short quick pants as he touched her, his thumb rubbing messy circles onto her clit.
His name came out in a choked cry as she fell over the edge again, blood thrumming in her ears so loud it was all she could hear. Lips pressed against her shoulder, tugging at her hair and angling her until he could kiss her neck. Her blood was on fire, burning her alive and she might let it, maybe even wanted it. Nothing else mattered, just his touch and his kiss and the heat under her skin.
Soft lips at her shoulder turned the burning heat into sweet warmth as his fingers slowed their pace, letting her come down from the high gently. He kissed along her shoulder, humming against her skin while she still clenched around his fingers, needy and wet and wanting.
"Still think I'm overconfident?" he asked, breath fanning across her skin and sending shivers down her spine. His fingers withdrew slowly but he left his thumb on her clit, rubbing slow circles to ease her down.
She shifted against him and covered his mouth with her hand, her head too foggy to think of anything to say. He grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss against her palm and then her wrist. His fingertips dragged up the length of her arm, his lips following close behind, soft kisses trailing the length of her arm, to her shoulder and her neck. His hand caressed her shoulder, down to her waist, reaching around to splay across her back, pressing her closer to him.
Lips and tongue skimmed along her skin, nipping at her neck until his lips were next to her ear. His tongue darted out, licking the shell of her ear. "Too tired?" he teased.
She leaned back and forced herself to meet his gaze, feeling flushed and exposed under his gaze. Her skirt uselessly pushed around her hips, and she knew she looked as needy as she felt, the evidence of it all over the hand still between her legs. Her breathing was ragged, her hips still moving against him as he teased her clit.
"Please," she begged. Always, always begging him, she was past the point of feeling humiliated by it. She'd beg him every time if that was what he wanted, anything to feel the way she did under his touch.
The hand at her back slid to her waist, caressing her skin and slipping up to touch her breast, thumb brushing against her sensitive nipple. "Tell me what you want."
Natsumi ran her hands from his shoulders to his arms and back up again, feather-light touches that made his skin twitch under her hands. The assurance she needed, that he wanted her just as badly even while he teased her, withheld pleasure until he overwhelmed her with it. She pressed her palms against his face, cupping his cheeks the way he'd made a habit of doing to her.
"You," she said, leaning down to brush her lips against his. "I just want you."
It probably wasn't the kind of answer he'd been looking for, she knew that. All the same, his eyes widened, and his hands were on her, pulling her to him and bruising her lips with his. He shifted underneath her, his hands leaving her long enough to shove his pants down around his thighs. She ground her hips down against him, moaning against his lips at the feel of him hard underneath her, so close to what she needed.
His hands on her hips guided her back and forth, his cock sliding against her slit but not entering her. He kept one hand on her hip and pulled away from the kiss, his other hand reaching for the condom he'd tossed to the side. She slid back slightly, his tip gliding across her clit as his cock sprang up between them.
She slipped one hand between her legs, wrapping around his cock and pumping along the shaft, messy from her slick coating him. He watched for a moment, tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth as he did. A soft moan left his lips when she squeezed her hand around him, her thumb running along the tip. He pulled her hand away from him, interrupting her to slide the condom on.
She raised up slightly, angling her hips until his tip was at her entrance, her thighs trembling as she stayed there. Lowering herself down and back up again, never going past the tip, taunting him the same way he had her. His brows furrowed, eyes fixated on the way her hips rose back up each time, denying them both. She could feel his fingers clench and unclench around her hips, never pulling her down but desperately wanting to.
It was what she wanted too, what she'd been begging him for, but she was starting to see the appeal of why he teased her. Wanted to know if she could make him fall apart with her hands and her mouth the way he did her. Would he cry out for her the way she did for him? Her thighs shook and she leaned her head back as she sank down on him slowly.
Maybe next time.
Dizzying pleasure fogged her brain, the anticipation was well worth it as he filled her. She rocked her hips against him, his lips on her shoulder and hands roaming her body. Every touch, every sensation building the heat in her belly. It was all-consuming, she couldn't imagine a time where she didn't want this, want him.
One hand slipped between her legs, fingers slipping to where they were connected, wetting his fingers before rubbing at her clit. His fingers circled her clit quickly, hips thrusting underneath her while she moaned for him. How could she be scared of him, when he touched her like this? When all he did was make her feel so good. So good that she couldn't think of anything else, even if she wanted to.
Natsumi dug her fingernails into his shoulders, the heat under her skin building into those flames that swallowed her whole. Her hands slipped down to arms, fingernails digging into his biceps, and she knew it had to hurt, would leave marks. She opened her eyes and saw the look on his face as he watched her. Intense eyes and pink cheeks, lips swollen from kissing her. A beautiful man who looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Whimpers left her lips, the look in his eyes and the press of his fingers on her clit sending over that edge again. Tears pricked her eyes, heat washing over her as she pulsed around him, his hips moving against her as she came undone for him. Did he even need to touch her to make her fall apart? Could he do it just by looking at her?
She forced her eyes to stay open, holding his face between her hands as her eyes watered and her pulse raced. There was something thrilling about holding his face between her hands. Maybe it was because he was so beautiful, with a sharp jawline and intense eyes, soft lips that pulled into teasing smiles.
Or maybe it was because she knew the only reason she could touch him was because he allowed it. Maybe it was why she wanted him so badly because she was a little sick and crazy too. She had to be with the way the night had gone because, after everything he'd said, she'd still ended up like this, begging him to fuck her and praying he never stopped.
Her head fell back, sweat collecting on the back of her neck, dripping down her back as she lifted herself up and fucked herself on his cock. Her hands shifted back to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, the pressure and heat building in her stomach again. It was building too fast, she was too sensitive from before, or maybe it was the feeling of his hands on her. The hand between her legs moved to her hip, both his hands grabbing her by the hips, lifting her and pulling her back down, burying himself inside her as her thighs shook.
"Come for me again," he whispered.
She shook her head. "Can't."
"Just one more," he said, and if she could think clearly, she might think he was begging. "Just one more," he repeated.
She couldn't form the words, could barely breathe as the intensity crushed into her. He'd said that before and it had been so much more than one more, it felt like he'd never stopped. Getou held her tightly to her hips, fingers digging in as his hips pounded into her. He shifted underneath her, changing the angle until she cried out, bright spots behind her eyes.
He groaned as she clenched around him, slamming his hips into her and hitting that same spot over and over again. She muttered his name, pressing her forehead against his as her body gave out on her. One arm wrapped around her back, the other staying on her hip and moving her against him.
His lips sought hers, as he buried himself into the hilt, his body tensing as he pulled her flush against him. She carded her hands through his hair, couldn't get enough of his hair between her fingers, or the way he leaned his head back into her touch. Her hips rocked against him slowly and he let out a moan against her lips, hands trailing lazily across her skin.
She trailed her lips to his jaw, listening to his harsh breathing as she kissed down his neck. His arms wrapped tight around her, almost painful with how tightly he held onto her. Natsumi wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing the juncture between his neck and shoulder.
"Does it count yet?" he whispered.
Laughter bubbled out of her chest, shaking her shoulders. "Now who's silly?"
"Still you."
Natsumi sat up slowly, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of sweat against her skin. He was giving her that half smile, pupils still dilated, and his cheeks tinged the slightest pink. She held his face in her hands, leaning until her lips brushed his. "You're beautiful too."
He didn't turn red the way she did, but he buried his face in her neck lips brushing against her pulse. "You're ridiculous."
"Yeah, but you still fucked me so jokes on you."
"You're not half as funny as you think you are."
"Am so."
"You aren't." He kissed up her neck, his hands trailing up and down her sides. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, running her fingers through his hair again. "I'm fine, we should move, though."
He nodded but made no effort to move, hands drifting toward her back. "Shower?"
"Last time you ate me out until I cried."
"I fail to see the problem."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course you don't, you weren't the one sore the next day."
"I don't remember you asking me to stop," he said.
Natsumi raised up slowly, ignoring the empty ache once she was off him, and grabbed her clothes from the floor. She couldn't bring herself to sit down, or to even look back at him, if she looked back she'd start to think about where they were and she didn't want to. There was no way to ignore it forever, but maybe she could put it off until the morning, she peeked at the clock in the kitchen. It was past midnight, officially her birthday.
That wasn't something she really wanted to think about either as she walked straight down the hall to her bedroom, taking off her skirt and tossing it into her dirty clothes. She ran the water and stepped into the shower, eager to rinse the sweat off her skin. Panic was starting to settle over her, each memory of what they'd done bringing her back to where they'd done it.
How the fuck was she supposed to clean that thing?
She groaned and leaned her head back against the tile, maybe she could just flip the cushions, there was no way she could buy a new couch without raising questions. How long could she keep this up for? At what point would someone notice something that she couldn't explain?
How long would Getou keep coming back for?
She heard the bathroom door open before she heard his panicked voice. "Natsumi."
His pants hung low on his lips when she turned, wide eyes as he held her phone in his hands. "It's ringing."
The familiar ringtone filled the bathroom and she swore under her breath, sliding the glass door open to hold her hand out for it. "Give it here."
He passed the phone over to her, the ringing stopping as he did. She flipped through the notifications, it was just the one call, nothing to be too concerned about. A short message following it, the missed call notification.
(1:33) Happy Birthday
(1:34) Call me when you're up
She sighed in relief and scrolled through the other notifications, a few texts from Sumiko and Hana, all wishing her a happy birthday right around midnight. A text from Tsumiki confirming tomorrow along with the happy birthday texts, and the obligatory text from Megumi was sent a few minutes later. He'd probably said there wasn't a point when they would see her later on, and Tsumiki had made him anyway.
"It's fine," she told him, "it's just… They're just saying happy birthday."
"It's your…" he tilted his head, eyes wide as it all clicked into place. "That's why she said tonight."
She passed her phone back to him and he set it on the counter, she'd have to figure out how she was going to keep this from Gojou once they were back. Could they even continue when he came back? Would he want to?
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Natsumi shrugged, turning her back to him and leaving the shower door open for him. He slipped in behind her, chest pressing against her back, hands gliding along her skin. They were avoiding the phone call, or rather, who had called her. She knew he had to have seen the number, probably recognized it from when he'd broken her last phone. It felt like such a long time ago but it was less than six months.
"It's… the first birthday without Sumiko since my parents died. She's gone and so is…" she trailed, letting him fill in the blanks with a name she couldn't bring herself to say at that moment. "I'll see Megumi and Tsumiki later for dinner but it's not… not the same. I just feel weird about it."
He wrapped his arms around her waist, his face against her neck as he pulled her close to him, not so different from when they'd walked in. It was quiet a long moment, the sound of the rushing water and her blood pounding in her ears. "We have to talk about him."
"I really, really don't want to."
"We have to."
She leaned her head back against his shoulder, holding his arms around her waist. "In the morning?"
"Am I… You want me to stay?"
Her heart clenched, fear and doubt winding itself painfully in her chest. "No, it's fine, you don't have to. I shouldn't have assumed."
He brushed his lips against her neck, arms wrapping so tight around her she thought he might crush her to death. "I want to, but you didn't sleep last time."
"Oh… is that the only reason?"
Getou's lips trailed up her neck, hovering next to her ear. "I think it's a good reason."
"We'll… figure it out."
He nodded, kissing the spot behind her ear. "And in the morning, we'll… talk about him."
She patted his arm until he loosened his grip, turned in his arms, and wound her arms around his neck. "I promise," she said, one hand carding through his hair.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back into her hand. "You like my hair down."
Her hand stilled in his hair, and he cracked open one eye, watching her face. "Is that a question?"
"No, just something I've noticed," he hummed as she continued. "Last time, you took it down every time I put it up. Then again tonight. I don't why I bothered."
"It's… it's pretty," she admitted, "and you look… you look softer, with it down."
"I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment."
"It is," she assured him.
Getou leaned down, kissing her softly, a contrast from how he'd kissed her before. His lips trailed down to her jaw, pressing featherlight kisses to her face while his hands caressed her back. She fisted her hand in his hair as he kissed down her neck, a trail of goosebumps rising under his touch. Natsumi arched against him, eager for more. No matter how much he touched her, she thought maybe she would always want more.
His lips brushed along her neck, sweet tender kisses. "Happy birthday."
"Shut up."